The Proud Rexist

These days it is fashionable to put labels on people ending with the suffix “ist,” and most of the time it’s not a positive thing. However, sometimes labels ending in “ist” are merely descriptive: in my early years I was a cellist, which wasn’t a bad thing. These days I suppose you might call me a “writist” should you be so inclined. Or a “historyist.”

One “ist” that I own unapologetically is that of being a “Rexist.” I am a huge fan of the Rex Manufacturing Company, and if I had to choose whether to spend my last hard earned dollar on a Rex pencil or something else, that something else wouldn’t stand a chance.

Rex has come up twice here in the last couple weeks, but I didn’t want to open the floodgates all the way at the moment – I have a boatload of updates to report to you. We’ll start with the oldest of my new finds:

It was very satisfying to find this one, since I already had the ringtop:

Both of these are marked “Compliments of the Season / Rex Mfg. Co. Prov. R.I.” That season was likely around 1922 or 1923, before McNary’s 1924 patent was a twinkle in the inventor’s eye.

This next one also sits on the early end of the Rex spectrum:

If you compare this to the 1924 McNary patent Franklin pencils from yesterday’s article, this one shares the same basic lines, except of course for that exquisite engraving on the nose and top piece:

The stamp near the top reads “Victor”:

This Victor is unusual, but I have seen this sort of nice metal work before; normally, though, it appears on pencils marked for the Artcraft Pen Company. Here’s my Rex-made Victor and Artcraft pencils together:

And, speaking of Artcraft . . . 

I shot these two together in preparation for a “Rexes Gone Wild” sort of piece, but the Corona at bottom was later included in the series of articles posted here recently concerning the history of the Corona Pen Company (see “As the Primordial Ooze Turns” on August 18, 2025). 

Today’s focus is that top pencil, which turned up in a junk box at the Chicago Show a few years ago. While it is unmarked as to the manufacturer, there’s no doubt in my mind that the Artcraft Pen Company was behind it. I’ve just shown you the proof that Artcraft sourced those black hard rubber pencils from Rex, and Artcraft used this same blue and bronze celluloid on some of its fountain pens – in fact, Artcraft is I believe the only company that did.

This Rex-made ringtop is from the “four horsemen” era, but the two patents relating to the clip have been omitted from the stamp:

This next pair came in one lot in an online auction, and they are both the earlier 1924 McNary patent Rex pencils:

The cap on the red one is marked “Supremacy,” a brand name used by the Supremacy Ink Company - for the background on the Supremacy name, see “We’ve Had It All Wrong” (April 13, 2018: Volume 5, page 230). 

I love these older, paneled Rex barrels. I’ve found the orange (or red) paneled ringtops made for others as well: here are the Supremacy at top, followed by a Webster and one marked “Y & H”:

That woodgrain paneled one, missing its cap, is later. The 1924 patent pencils had a single piece cap, but “four horsemen” era pencils had a two-part cap. Finding one to replace what is missing will be a tall order indeed; here it is shown with that great teal Supremacy from “Widest Range in the Narrowest Market” (May 22, 2020: Volume 6, page 124). 

Those slim, paneled barrels are also found in full-length Rex pencils, although they are much more rare. This next one added to the Rex patent family, marked “Whitney” on the clip:

This one has all four of the Rex patents on the clip, which I find unusual: by the time Rex really hit its stride and was marking pencils with all four patents, I thought that the slim paneled barrels had been discontinued.

I’ve only found one other pencil of any sort marked Whitney. It is shown at top in this next image, with a typical John Holland Rex-made pencil at bottom.

I also found a second “four horsemen” Rex pencil with a slim, paneled barrel. I clearly remember this one coming from an online auction, since for weeks I sat on pins and needles waiting for it to arrive while the post office repeatedly returned it from Columbus to whatever zip code they mistook the sender’s handwriting to read.

This one is marked for the Edison Pen Company, and it now sits proudly alongside the other examples in my Edison collection (see “A Pesky Brand” - June 7, 2021: Volume 7, page 174).

The other two in that earlier image just happened to be laying about when the Edison arrived, and they add a couple footnotes to the Rex story. The jade example is a Webster, and it is very unusual to find one with a price band.

As for the other, it is unmarked . . . but I’ve never seen that barrel color on a Rex before.

Speaking of the worthy and unmarked, here’s another great unmarked Rex pencil, shown here next to one marked “Ye Wm. Penn”:

In addition to that great woodgrain and paneled hard rubber, this one is like those earlier ringtops, marked only with McNary’s 1924 patent date, a feature shared with the Ye Wm. Penn:

I’ll circle back to Ye Wm. Penn in a second, after I show you another 1924 McNary patent pencil that answered a question I raised more than ten years ago. This one has a round barrel and is marked “Krest” on the clip.

The Krest made its one and only previous appearance here in “Another No-Name Heard From” (October 5, 2014: Volume 3, page 32), one of those articles that was destroyed by a Google mega-oopsie. The article introduced and discussed this nondescript pencil, interesting only for the Krest name on it:

In that earlier article, I was unable to pinpoint what retailer offered writing instruments under the “Krest” name, but the print version of the article contains a prophetic note at the end. “Note: since this article was written, I’ve also noticed that the diamond pattern on the crown appears frequently on Rex-made metal pencils.” 

So there. Move the Krest over from a suspected Rex production to the confirmed pile.

Now to return to “Ye Wm. Penn,” which you might recall from my earlier articles is the only brand name conclusively attributed to the Rex Manufacturing Company in connection with writing instruments Rex made on its own account (that is, made for Rex to sell for itself, rather than marked for and supplied to a third party). See “Ye Wm Penn” (May 19, 2020: Volume 6, page 118).

I have a footnote to add in that regard. This one showed up in another online auction:

It is another 1924 McNary patent ringtop, but in a fantastic paneled, robin’s egg blue barrel . . . and it includes a twist:

What else might one call the ladies’ version of a Ye Wm. Penn? Why, “Ye Ladye Penn,” of course! That find really made my day, giving me this nice shot of Ye Ladye amongst her brothers in the Penn clan:

I was well satisfied with what I found, until David Nishimura dropped this on me at the following Ohio Show in 2023:

Oh, my aching wallet . . . David knows I love these Rex pens and pencils, and he also knows that we are but two members in that exclusive club who appreciate how hard something like this is to find.

Nishimura got me again the following August in DC with this. I thought about including it in yesterday’s article, but I thought it made more sense to include it here:

There’s a lot more paneled, striated goodness with this earlier Rex set:

The lever on the fountain pen is marked “REX”:

The pencil, however, is marked with “Franklin,” further substantiating my theory yesterday that Franklin was an early brand name under which Rex offered pens and pencils for sale on its own account.

Last up for today is something that didn’t cost much because, after all, it is something only a true Rexist would appreciate:

A wood tube of pencil leads with a paper label for the Rex Manufacturing Company is icing on the cake in my collection. In my early articles here at the blog, I spent a lot of time and energy trying to conclusively establish that “Rexhold” was a trade name used by the Rex Manufacturing Company, and the final nail in the coffin did not arrive until 2021, and in a very circuitous manner - see “On Rex’s Own Account” (May 1, 2021: Volume 7, page 75). If only I had access to something like this when all that research started . . . 

Oh well. I went the long way around the barn to find the answer, but at least I wasn’t wrong.

Inscribed on the Tablets of Love and Memory

This was a satisfying find. It give me the opportunity to tell two stories – one is about pencils, and the other is something I need to get off my chest.

On the cap is something I have waited for some time to see:

“Franklin” and “Patented Feb. 19, 1924.” The reference is to Lawrence T.  McNary’s patent number 1,484,180, applied for on October 11, 1921 and assigned to the Rex Manufacturing Company of Providence, Rhode Island:

Rex is an ongoing fascination of mine, a company I’ve often referred to as “the biggest pencil manufacturer you’ve never heard of.” Dozens of different pen companies sourced their matching pencils from Rex in the 1920s until 1930 or so, when the Parker Pen Company presumably won a patent infringement case against Rex over Parker’s patent for its familiar washer clip. See “My Working Theory” (December 24, 2016: Volume 4, page 298).

This new example of the Franklin shut down that last one percent of doubt that I have had about these:

All of my other ringtop examples have Franklin stamps on their caps too, but they lack McNary’s patent date.

As for the side clip example, it is marked Franklin on the clip, but the cap is entirely unmarked.

These other examples certainly look like McNary patent pencils, and they appear identical to the Rex-made pencils made under other brand names, such as Supremacy, John Holland, and the like. I always wondered whether Franklin pencils without the McNary patent date had the same works inside – now we know that at least my newest example does. Maybe those other examples were made before McNary’s patent issued, leaving no reference at all to any pending patent application in lieu of  “Pat. App. For.” 

I have also suspected that ”Franklin,” like the Webster (early on) and “Ye Wm. Penn,” was another name under which Rex manufactured pencils on its own account. That part was just a theory, but I think it gained traction with this next find.

I felt a little guilty bringing this one home, because my friend John Lincoln has an affinity for the Lincoln brand of pens and pencils for obvious reasons. When this set appeared in an online auction, the seller did not describe it very well, listing it as a Franklin set rather than a Lincoln. The angel on one of my shoulders told me I should tip John off about it and step aside, but that angel was not very persuasive.

The little guy on my other shoulder was quick to point out that I didn’t have an example of a Rex patent pencil marked for Lincoln, and I’m a bigger Rex freak than John is a Lincoln freak . . . ok, maybe not bigger, but at least as big.

Besides, there was something else about this set that made it even more desirable to a Rex fanatic than to a Lincoln logger. The reason this set was listed as a Franklin wasn’t because the seller had mixed up his founding fathers with his emancipators – it’s because of the box in which the set resides, emblazoned with a faded gold foil name: “Franklin” in script lettering.

Might this be a Lincoln set in the wrong box? No, I told myself (I was still trying to convince myself that I was a more worthy caretaker for this than my brother John). I am one of perhaps ten people on the planet that would latch onto the notion that both the Franklin and the Lincoln were Rex Manufacturing Company brands, and the chances of an online seller adding a bit of NOS goodness to a pen and pencil by housing these Lincolns in a random box that just happens to be marked “Franklin” would be an extraordinary coincidence. 

All of the Rex-made Franklins I have seen are the earlier McNary variety – too small for this box, which was made to fit these later 1920s editions with the “four horsemen” patents on the cap.

This is the first Lincoln I’ve seen with those “four horsemen” patents. Unfortunately, my seminal article concerning the four Rex patents, including the reason why I think of them as riding into the apocalypse, was wiped by the Great Google Cluster... ok, Clusterfudge of 2018. It lives on in print form in Volume 2 - see “Prequel: Let’s Make that Birth, Death and Transfiguration” (March 20, 2013: Volume 2, page 102). 

I have only found two Lincoln pencils in any configuration:

That short metal one is earlier, like the Franklin pencil that started this exercise, and it is also marked with McNary’s 1924 patent date:

That's the first of the two stories concerning the Franklin. This second story, regarding a different sort of Franklin, is one that keeps me awake at nights sometimes. It concerns the Independent Book Publishers Association’s Benjamin Franklin Book Awards – in which I did not place as a finalist this year with Eversharp: Cornerstone of an Industry. This isn't sour grapes because I lost . . . it is about how I lost.

The Benjamin Franklin Book Awards have been around since 1985, and it has been historically one of the most respected awards programs for independent books. It is unique in that all entrants, winners and losers, receive unfiltered judge’s comments on their books. I first entered the Benjamin Franklin Awards for the 2020 season with A Century of Autopoint; I only entered for the feedback I would receive, so that I could write even better books.

I did not win, but the book was well received by the judges and the comments provided many useful suggestions. I did not enter Volumes 6 and 7 of the blog series, even though they “fit” – sort of – into the competition's Craft, Hobby, Home & Garden category. I suspected my frequent tangents and less formal writing style in the blog series might not be as well suited to the awards as a formal monograph, and cost was also an issue. The Benjamin Franklins are among the most expensive award programs, since entrants are required to pay for an IBPA membership in addition to entry fees and the cost of several books. I did not think it a wise investment. 

A Field Guide to Sheaffer's Pencils, however, was a different story. I incorporated all of the judge’s comments from the Autopoint book, entered it for the 2024 awards, and this time – the book was named a finalist. I was thrilled.

The Benjamin Franklins are structured like the Academy Awards: three finalists are announced, and the winner is unveiled at the awards ceremony, so Janet and I flew to Denver, Colorado in April, 2024 to attend. Janet and I had never been to Denver before, and our visit provided me the opportunity to finally meet my friend Matt McColm in person. We met for dinner the day before the ceremony. 

I am being truthful when I say being a finalist was reward enough, and all we expected from the awards ceremony was a nice dinner, some hobnobbing with other independent authors, and a stroll down the red carpet. We had no delusions that my niche book would win, and even though the organizers recommended that all finalists have prepared acceptance remarks, I did not even bother to do so. Predictably, my dark horse did not finish first.

The Benjamin Franklin Awards are held in conjunction with the IBPA’s annual conference, and the membership meeting was held later in the same ballroom. Around the perimeter of the room, vendors had set up booths to promote their printing, editing, and other publishing services. Since I didn’t have time to browse during the awards ceremony, I stopped back later to snoop around a bit during the IBPA’s annual meeting.

As I chatted with a few vendors, the IBPA membership erupted into applause and cheers with a big announcement: the Benjamin Franklin Book Awards would henceforth be called the IBPA Book Awards. Why? Because Ben Franklin owned slaves.

Yes, Franklin did own slaves early in life – and he also ran advertisements for the slave trade in his newspapers. By the late 1750s, however, long before Thomas Jefferson pronounced that all men are created equal, Franklin had become an ardent Abolitionist. He served as president of the Pennsylvania Society for the Abolition of Slavery, and his final public act was to petition Congress to end slavery. After his death, more than 20,000 people, many of whom were African American, came together to mourn the loss of their brother and ally in the fight against racial injustice. A memorial of his funeral stands at the site of the President’s House, a block from Independence Hall in downtown Philadelphia.

Alas . . . redemption is not permitted by the IBPA, which trivializes Franklin’s struggle for freedom on the IBPA’s website as merely a “mixed history.” The IBPA once adopted Franklin’s name in honor of his contributions to publishing, to fighting for all our freedom, and to his commitment to doing what was right as a human being. Now that same organization has canceled him. 

The sanctimonious virtue signaling is served with a side of arrogance at the IBPA website, which states in its FAQ section about the name change, “You can continue calling it the IBPA Benjamin Franklin Award. You can continue using the Gold and Silver seals on your book covers.”

Why, that’s mighty damned big of you, I thought as I read that one.

Now back to that membership meeting in Denver, where the IBPA’s next order of business was to announce the addition of several new categories in the IBPA Book Awards for various racial, gender, and other special interest groups. Entries in these categories are limited to authors and publishers who have the correct skin color, gender identification or other identity politics group – rather than on the content of their character. It is probably best that the awards no longer bear the name of Benjamin Franklin, since this is so opposed to what Franklin believed and fought for.

Of course, judging based on the color of your skin rather than the content of your work also rules out Martin Luther King Jr. as a new namesake. 

Do I care whether the IBPA adds new categories? No. It's their competition. However, while the IBPA giveth to some, the IBPA taketh away from others. Having too many categories is what make a book competition look like a pay-to-play scam, so with the addition of these new categories, the IBPA eliminated several content-based ones – including the Crafts & Hobbies category. I would now be forced to compete in the General Nonfiction and History categories. If my last horse was a dark one, this one would be even darker.

I tried anyway. I knew there was no chance a book about pencils could win, but this time -- before the finalists were even announced, I prepared an acceptance speech I knew I would never have the opportunity to deliver. Here is what I wrote:

“Standing here is one of the proudest moments of my life. I hope this is something people will remember about me long after I’m gone, rather than the mistakes I've made in my life. I am not perfect. None of us are.

“Back home, I am a member of my local Elks Lodge. When one of our brethren passes away, we conduct a memorial service, the script for which has been unchanged for more than a century. One line from that service is something I carry with me everywhere I go: ‘Let his faults be written in the sand, and his virtues inscribed on the tablets of love and memory.'

“The hope for redemption, moral or spiritual, is all that drives us to right our wrongs, correct our mistakes, and improve ourselves. It takes grace and humility to strive for redemption, and it takes the same amount of grace and humility to accept that struggle and extend forgiveness. That is how we make ourselves better, and that is how we allow others to make themselves better.

“That is why, both as a historian and a human being, I have always extended that courtesy to Benjamin Franklin.” 

At least I felt better writing that. My book was not named a finalist, and when I received my feedback from the judges, most deducted points because my book didn’t fit neatly into any of the remaining categories. That alone was enough to knock me out of contention, and that's fair enough. It’s their competition, and nothing says the IBPA owes me a category in which I can compete.

Now, however, I am receiving incessant emails from the IBPA asking me to renew my membership and enter more books in their new and improved awards program. As Ron White would say, I have the right to remain silent but I lack the ability.

I suppose I should be grateful that one judge actually came out and said it: my books will never be judged purely on content, due to “this concerned judge’s desire to speak to inclusivity.”

I hold out hope that the organization I once respected may one day regain its senses, preferably through logic and reason but more likely through the harsh economic reality of declining membership. I am confident that as the IBPA continues down this path, others will also recognize the futility of attempting to swim in the IBPA’s exclusionary pond.

Otherwise, maybe I’ll just enter my next book about antique pencils in the IBPA’s freshly minted “Neurodivergent Communities” category.

After all, I am a little bit crazy.