Closet Enthusiasts

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“No really . . . some of my best friends are pencil collectors.”   Seems like I hear that every time a pen guy says pencils really aren’t his thing at a show, after he’s been standing in front of my table long enough that I’ll ask him if he wants to have a look at something.

I’ll smile inside.  Most of the time, we’ll chat . . . they actually do want to look at something . . . and they’ll end up taking one with them.  And some lead, while they’re here.   As Janet says, two is a coincidence and three is a collection, and I’m sure these guys are looking at coincidences in the rear view mirror.  

I was chatting with a friend the other day who had just taken in a collection from a guy that died – he was actually surprised that there wasn’t a single pencil in the entire pen collection.  It’s become the norm to have a few pencils about, even though most of us call ourselves “pen collectors.”  I do the same thing too sometimes, telling people I don’t know that I collect pens - for whatever reason, it’s just easier to explain.  Maybe I’m just saving a syllable.

Pen collectors have been both drawn to and a little ashamed of their affinity for pencils as long as I’ve been collecting, although the stigma of being a “pencil guy” has disappeared.  When I started collecting twenty years ago, fountain pens were a serious, high-stakes business.  People attended pen shows with thousands of dollars in their pockets, investing in a bull market one thousand-dollar pen at a time.  Pencils?  They just weren’t worth anyone’s time.

Times have changed.  These days, people appreciate that pencils have their own, distinct appeal.  Their colors are perfectly preserved, they have their own “build a better mousetrap” gadgetry, and they always work . . . or usually, anyway . . . at least you can leave a piece of lead in one for years and it will write when you pick it up without missing a beat.

And “low-stakes” no longer means lowbrow – yes, pencils still are generally less expensive than their inky cousins, but people have come to realize and appreciate that smaller investments in the things we enjoy leaves more of an opportunity to relax and have fun.

Even people you wouldn’t expect, like prolific author and pen restorer Richard Binder, who engaged me in conversation recently about a subject you would assume wouldn’t be worth the time of day in polite pen society:

Richard wanted to add information to his Pen “Glossopedia” about these lowly baseball bat pencils, and he was wondering if I had information to confirm or deny that they were made by Scripto in Atlanta.  Anyone can spin a miniature bat and stuff a rudimentary pencil mechanism in one end, I said, and while I didn’t have any proof that Scripto made them, I did have proof of one company that did:

The top pencil in that picture is one of the most common varieties along these lines – commemorating the 100th Anniversary (ish, of course) of the game of baseball.  The next one has an imprint for the United States Military Academy – take from that whatever you will . . . 

. . . as well as something that provides more than just a guess as to whom might have made at least some of these:

The Louis F. Dow Company of St. Paul, Minnesota, like its crosstown competitor Brown and Bigelow (makers of the Redipoint line), specialized mostly in campy stuff like these made for advertising purposes, including cigar-shaped wood pencils complete with mock paper bands:

As well as that puzzling but hysterical example at the bottom: “Dow’s Original Sausage Pencil.”

Richard and I went through the evidence together, and all I could do was draw my usual line between who manufactures a pencil (actually makes it), versus who produces it (has it made for them to sell to the public).  

Then, however, I met with Margaret Jacoby to pick up the rest of Don’s collection.  As she showed me drawer after drawer of pencils (Don, like me, never had any shame about liking the things), there was a drawer of kitchey stuff, including a few bat pencils as well as something I had to message to Richard, right there from the table:

There it is . . . the “M” word . . . clarifying that Dow actually made at least some of these things.  When I got home, I flattened it out a bit better:

“Easy to write with . . . fun to own.”  That’s what I’ve been saying about these things all along!  

Still, the notion that Scripto might also have had something to do with these left some nagging questions, which were answered in what I would consider an unlikely place.  A website dedicated to the 100th Anniversary of Baseball in 1939 (1939baseball.com) celebrates everything in connection with that glorious year in our American pastime.  For a generalized website, this one has a surprisingly detailed dissertation on the art of the baseball bat pencil on a dedicated subpage.  

The author attributes bat pencils in darker finishes and smooth nose cones with Dow, and lighter finishes with grooves around the nose with Scripto.

Although these words are spoken with authority there’s still plenty of room for discussion, starting with the fact that pencil mechanisms may have been sourced by either company separately from the bats themselves.  Maybe I’m putting too fine a point on this issue, but I’d like to see paperwork accompanying a light-colored bat pencil with a grooved nose that has the same “manufactured by” language on the paperwork before I’d accept the conclusion as ironclad.

The humble baseball bat has wormed its way into Richard’s heart, and therefore into his online “Glossopedia” at Richardpens.com – in the entry for Scripto, although if the 1939baseball.com article is correct, the pencil he shows is a Dow.   Dow hasn’t yet warranted an entry of its own, over at Richard’s website . . . oh, but I’m sure Richard hears the company banging more persistently on his door these days!

It's like a tube of Pringles.  You can’t stick your head in that rabbit hole just once . . . 

Unmarked bowling pin pencils, like baseball bats, are a fairly common sight, and ordinarily even I wouldn’t bother to specifically chase one – especially when, like this one, someone apparently poked holes on either side of the neck to accommodate a keychain or something.  But this one had just a little bit more to it:

The auction listing described it as a “Herrin” pencil, but on close examination I can see “HEDPIN,” as in the head pin in a bowling alley.  It’s too small to be an advertisement . . .   and . . . it looks like whatever was written in the bottom of that shield was deliberately but crudely painted over.

The clues were enough to lead me to an old auction listing for another example of the “HEDPIN,” without the obliteration of the rest of the message:

The pictures weren’t helpful, but the title of the auction was: “F.E. Farrant, Marion, Ohio."  If you squint really hard when you look at that picture while thinking that’s what it’s supposed to say, that looks about right.  I was able to confirm a person by that name in that city:

A series of notices in The Marion Star in September, 1949 advertised that the contents of a storage unit owned by F.E. Farrant, “in the first building North of The Highway Rollerina,” was scheduled to be auctioned.  There’s no way to know what Farrant had in storage, but if the lucky winner happened across a treasure trove of unsold “Hedpin” pencils, it would make sense that some would turn up with Farrant’s name painted over – but not the catchy name.

I haven’t found anything else concerning the Hedpin, and outside of these two examples I haven’t seen others marked.  In the absence of the “M” word anywhere, all we can do is guess a bit based on what we might know about the baseball bat pencils.  All the ones I have seen are lighter colored, and those with metal tips have grooves — so if the 1939baseball site is correct, Scripto might have had something to do with these.  However, sometimes these are found with red plastic tips instead (suggesting wartime production); as shown on the “Sausage Pencil” above, we know Dow used those tips – and I haven’t seen one on a Scripto.

Campy, funny and addictive.  I might as well grab that can of Pringles - can’t have just one, after all.