The Perfect Print Shop

What letterpress printer doesn’t dream about the perfect print shop? I know my father Gary Hantke did. No matter how many fonts of type or ornaments or borders are in any print shop, there’s always that one illusive item that would make it absolutely perfect.

But by the end of the 1980’s, my father had assembled a pretty amazing print shop, full of wonderful type, cuts, or other printing paraphernalia. Decades of hard work and patient sorting had given him literally tons of options for printing.

Unfortunately in the last two years of his life Dad was too ill to print. His declining health wouldn’t allow him to stand and set type, much less run the printing press. He tried to content himself with immersion in one of his other hobbies, stamps. But more than once Dad told me how much he wished he could print.

After my father’s passing in 1990, my husband and I printed a flyer to be given away to those attending the memorial service. A good printer friend, Rich Hopkins of Hill and Dale Press, produced a booklet of his memories of my father that was distributed throughout our APA printing hobbyist group.




As the months wore on after his death, I wonder how Dad was doing. I missed him terribly. Was he happy? Was he still separated from the printing hobby he loved so much?

Then one night I had a dream. In it I saw my father in a huge, beautiful print shop. He was designing printed pieces, happily collaborating with printing friends who had passed on before him ― Emerson Duerr, Jim Eckman, Norman Forgue, and others.

The unique thing about this print shop in the dream was that it was absolutely unlimited. No type, cut, ornament, or border was lacking. Anytime a printer needed anything, all he or she had to do was think of the item and it would manifest, ready for use. All the setting and press work was still done by hand. That’s the fun of the hobby, after all. But anything a printer could imagine using ― like ornaments from the Bruce Foundry, or fanciful borders from MacKellar, Smiths, and Jordan ― was available instantly through thought.

What a print shop! It made me so happy to think about Dad working there, enjoying the company of his dearest friends.

This printing blog was started a year ago, and it’s been a joy to produce. With a long-distance move of the print shop in my husband’s and my near future however (see April 27th blog), I’ll be taking a break until the move is complete, possibly some time in June. By then I’m sure there’ll be lots more to share.

I’ll close for now with the printed piece my father always kept posted over his Chandler and Price press. Since the long s characters make it hard to read, here’s the text: “I have been obliged by the sheer Weight of Fatigue to leave my Post, & repair to my Dwelling-house, until I have recovered my usual Composure. All Patrons will find me of a cheerful Demeanor, and in good Readiness for Business or for Consultation upon my Return on the Morrow.”

The Best of The Willow Press

If my father Gary Hantke, proprietor of the Willow Press, were alive he’d be 91 today. He would have had 21 more years to print, a gift he would have enjoyed. As it was, he printed actively for about 40 years, from the 1950s to the end of the 1980s.

Dad loved his print shop! He spent much of his free time on weekends there. Often he couldn’t sleep in the morning, so he went downstairs to print. As a result he was a prolific printer – though much of his printing consisted of smaller pieces he could complete in the early morning hours. But projects large and small show the same careful craftsmanship.

Following is a selection of printed pieces by The Willow Press. As I look at Dad’s printing today, I appreciate the design, the impression, the use of white space. Here are some of the best of the best.

Type ‘N’ Stuff was a journal my father put out in the 1950s. I like the colors he used on this cover, and the Parsons type in the title.


My father frequently contributed pages to cooperative booklets such as Treasure Gems and It’s a Small World. This piece for It’s a Small World showcased some of his collection of initial letters.



Dad’s favorite type designer was Frederic Goudy. This quote was one he liked, and he hung it on his print shop wall.


Below are two holiday booklets produced by the Willow Press (see also “Hantke Family Christmas Cards”, December 2010).



There’s a personal story behind “A Council of Free Nations”. Before printing it my father wrote to Herbert Hoover to request permission to quote the speech. In the letter Dad told an anecdote about his mother ― she'd told him cocoa that helped to keep relatives in Germany alive between the World Wars came from Herbert Hoover. Hoover replied personally to Dad’s letter and gave permission to reprint the speech. He added that the cocoa came from the American people and he was only the instrument.


Dad’s largest printing effort was a book, “Lincoln the Railsplitter”, published in 1961. It was entirely handset, one letter and space at a time, a true labor of love. Though reasonably priced at $4.00, the 500 copies of the book sold sluggishly. Perhaps as a result, Dad decided to devote his time to less time-consuming printing projects. He still entertained the idea of a miniature book with fellow printer Ward Schori, who had produced several, but it never happened.



Of the many pieces my father printed, The Fool’s Prayer is one of my favorites. I appreciate the cover with its pattern of clowns, and the imaginative usage of Worrell Uncial inside. Simple and beautifully printed, it’s a piece that speaks for itself.



So Happy Birthday, Dad! I still miss you. How I wish you could have had those extra years! But my husband and I are so grateful for the love of printing you handed down to us.

Sumac and Willow

Dr. Emerson Wulling of the Sumac Press of La Crosse, Wisconsin must hold the record for the longest running private press in North America. He began printing when he was 11 (1915) and continued until age 101 (2005). He produced over two hundred letterpress books, pamphlets and publications in those ninety years. A close friend and mentor to my father Gary Hantke (Willow Press), he was a family friend too. I remember him from my childhood as a delightful gentleman with a quick wit, a kind heart, and a wry sense of humor.

My dad told me how he and Emerson Wulling had met. He was a freshman in Professor Wulling’s English class in 1938. Asked to write about a hobby, Dad wrote about printing. Dr. Wulling called him over after class and told him that his hobby was printing, too. That was the start of an over fifty year friendship between the two men.

Emerson Wulling usually visited on Saturday mornings. An unfailing gentleman, he would always call first. When we lived near the college he often arrived on his ancient bicycle, which he rode in slow circles before parking in front of our house. Only later did I learn that was his way to slow down because the bicycle had no brakes.

Usually Dr. Wulling brought something printing related with him when he visited -- a book, a specimen sheet, or an item he’d printed. He was my father’s mentor as well as mine. When I printed a children’s fairytale at age 8 (with lots of help from my dad), Emerson Wulling listed it in one of his publications of recently printed pieces. I was so proud.

Dad wrote about his friendship with Emerson Wulling in a printed piece called, “On Printing ... and Friends”: “I muddled along. My father made me a composing stick formed out of sheet steel, but my lines were still uncertainly justified. I acquired another quoin and a can of black ink. Then, in my freshman year at college, there came a turning point and the beginning of a friendship which still continues. My English prof was himself a hobby printer. Emerson Wulling, already a craftsman with type and press, gently guided my crude attempts and taught me to use my press properly and to appreciate printing done in good taste. His work is still today the example which I strive to emulate.”

Together Emerson Wulling and my father – Sumac and Willow − formed The Impromptu Chappel. When another printer came to visit La Crosse, Dr. Wulling and my father would print a cooperative piece. I helped out in The Impromptu Chappel, setting type, feeding the press, and enjoying the fun with the printers.

After my father’s death in 1990, Emerson Wulling was a support to my husband Bob and I as we reduced dad’s print shop to manageable size and moved it to St. Louis. On a trip to La Crosse in the late 1990‘s, we visited Dr. Wulling and his wife, and enjoyed a tour of The Sumac Press. Dr. Wulling was delighted to show us his shop, printing books, and collection of composing sticks. He was particularly pleased with a pulley arrangement his son had created to help him lift the chase into his C&P press.

We retained our friendship with Dr. Wulling through correspondence, phone calls, and holiday cards. An optimist despite increasing age, Emerson Wulling signed his letters “Good Cheer!” We delighted in his hand printed New Year’s card for 2004: “With a combined age of 193 years, we have had how many times to say HAPPY NEW YEAR? Here is another! Jean and Emerson Wulling”

Emerson Wulling passed away in 2006, an active private press printer to almost the end of his lifetime. He was a superb craftsman, creating classic, beautifully designed books and booklets. But I most remember the kind, witty, intelligent man that he was. His generosity, warmth, and enthusiasm for living made him a person truly worth knowing. I feel fortunate to have called him a friend.


Press Preterite 1 from 1945, a record of Sumac Press printed pieces for the first thirty years of the press. Wulling printed eight Press Preterites throughout his lifetime.


"Again the Kensington Stone", a 1969 booklet printed by the Sumac Press.


An article about private presses in La Crosse, Wisconsin in the 1970's mentions Gary Hantke and Emerson Wulling.


Emerson Wulling's printed piece on the double knee composing stick. Wulling was fascinated with unique composing sticks and had a large collection of them.


Ever the printer, Emerson Wulling explores his printery in his later years.

Chuckwagon Charlie and His Missus

A visit to the Duerrs' home on Myrtle Avenue in Elmhurst, June 1962: from left to right, my mother, my sister, me, my dad, and Emerson Duerr.


From left to right, my mother, my sister, Blanche Duerr, me, and my dad. This time Emerson took the picture.


Two wonderful people I remember from my childhood in the Amalgamated Printers Association were Emerson Duerr (APA 273), who often called himself “Chuckwagon Charlie” in print, and his spirited wife Blanche. I met the Duerrs about 1960, when my dad was making frequent trips to Chicago to visit rare book libraries and printer friends.

Emerson Duerr ‘s main press was a huge Golding Art Jobber with a balky fountain that gave him fits. His favorite cut was an electro of a Civil War era woman with a train in the background, which my dad dubbed, “The Lady and the Locomotive.” He used it on most of his printing.

Emerson Duerr had a dry sense of humor in person and in his writing. His dead-on W.C. Fields imitation would make my sister and I giggle every time. He was a lawyer, but his field could have been comedy writing. My entire family looked forward to his letters. He deliberately exaggerated and misspelled words, signing himself, “Yore ole frend”, and talking about himself and “his missus” as he called Blanche.

Here’s an example of his writing, from a cooperative piece printed during a 1968 visit to our home in La Crosse, Wisconsin. In it he talks tongue in cheek about APA bundle submissions:
“Some of our members would be better craftsmen if they were acquainted with the interior arrangement of Mr. Webster’s word garage and its most effective use. It was suggested we hire Mr. Webster on a per diem and mileage basis to visit our members and properly orient them. This was ruled out because Noah Webster died in 1843 and is no longer available for such employment.
Then it was suggested that our Mailer, who is a college instructor, be authorized to exclude from the bundle any contribution containing a misteak in spelling. This was loudly hooted down as an invasion of the freedom of speech.
But what shall we do about members who think erroneously that they are ‘hobbiests’? Professor Wulling, an authority on words, concedes that an amateur printer is a hobbyist, but it is possible that this ‘hobbiest’ business is an effort to distinguish between degrees of amateurism. Thus, ‘You are a hobby printer, but I am a hobbier printer, and he is the hobbiest printer of us all.’”

Emerson’s wife Blanche was a lively grandmotherly type, spunky and full of fun. Her stories and home cooking made it a treat to visit her and Emerson in Elmhurst. Blanche looked like a sedate older woman, but she was not to be outdone. I remember when my family was riding with her and a teenager pulled up next to her at a stop sign in Elmhurst. He revved his engine, and yelled, “Want to race, grandma?” The daughter of an auto dealer, Blanche knew cars. She warned us all to hang on. When the light turned green, she floor boarded her big Buick, leaving her challenger far behind.

Emerson Duerr was in his sixties when we met him, and already suffering from a heart condition. After his death in 1972, my father and his frequent printing collaborator Emerson Wulling produced a memorial booklet in his honor entitled “Yore Ole Frend, CWC”. I helped with the booklet, shown below.

One of the joys of printing is meeting other people who print. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to know “Chuckwagon Charlie and His Missus” – two outstanding human beings.


Cooperative piece printed during the Duerrs' visit to our home in La Crosse, Wisconsin, August 1968.


Memorial booklet for Emerson Duerr, produced by Gary Hantke and Emerson Wulling. "The Lady and the Locomotive" cut is featured.

A Printer's Daughter

So how did I get interested in printing? I was lucky enough to catch the printing bug from my dad, a longtime letterpress enthusiast. In both houses where I grew up, the printing press was in the basement directly below my bedroom. Dad was an insomniac, so most Saturday mornings the press was running by 6:00am. I’d sneak downstairs in my pajamas and go, “Whatcha doing, daddy? Can I help?” And he’d let me. As a little girl I put paper slip sheets between his printed pieces as he ran them off. From there I graduated to distributing type, with a diagram of the California Job Case in front of me. Then he taught me how to set type, first ragged right and then justified.

My first printed piece was a fairy tale I wrote when I was eight, called “What You Get Depends On What You Do”. With much help, I set the straight matter in 18 point (big type for little fingers). Dad set the title page and colophon, and did the lockup. Then he hand-turned the flywheel of the 8x12 Chandler and Price while I stood on a stepstool and fed each piece of paper to the press.

Growing up with a printer father meant I had birthday napkins with my name on them; a printed license plate for my blue pedal car; and when I got older, business cards for babysitting. I remember Dad and I printing a poster with antique type and a clipper ship for my history class, and a menu for a Latin club banquet. I liked to set and distribute type, so I was a good helper, or “printer’s devil”(printing apprentice). Plus I learned about design, lockup, and impression through watching Dad print.

One bigger project we did together was an ambitious Christmas card when I was in college. I wrote and set “Green is for Christmas”, and helped with cut choice and layout. Dad’s skill in printing the many multi-color cuts in the booklet was amazing to me. He printed a lot, almost every weekend and some weeknights, so I suppose his abilities grew with practice. As I look now at his earliest printed pieces, I can see his printing evolving. By the time I was learning, printing was second nature to him.

After I got married, my husband Bob caught the printing bug. We acquired our first press, a tabletop Kelsey which was hard to get to print well. The only way to get a decent impression was to pad the platen with Kleenex. We had our share of printing bloopers, including printing a piece on erasable bond typing paper with ink that refused to dry. Dad came to the rescue, offering an ink that would work with our dubious paper choice.

I was lucky enough to grow up with printer’s ink in my blood. Now I share the hobby with a husband who is equally enthusiastic. We’re happy to carry on a family tradition of printing just for fun!

My first printed piece, "What You Get Depends on What You Do".


Latin Club Menu cover. My Latin teacher also taught my father, and was a family friend.


Latin Club menu interior. Don't ask me what all we had: the main course was KFC with side dishes, but this menu made it look elegant.


"Green Is For Christmas": this card included five pages of text and five multicolor cuts.


"Green Is For Christmas" interior: Dad's ability to print in close register is something I admire to this day.

Mr. Willow Press: Gary Hantke

During the mid-1950’s my father Gary Hantke worked at Trane Company in La Crosse, Wisconsin as a designer of air conditioning equipment. Though still an active hobby letterpress printer, much of his energy necessarily went toward providing for his wife and two young daughters. By now his basement print shop housed about 20 fonts of type and two presses, a treadle 5 x 8 Pearl, and the faithful Baltimorean tabletop. Then he made an acquisition that absorbed him in letterpress printing in a big way.

My father learned that A.A. Liesenfeld, founder of a quality commercial print shop that had been in business for over 50 years, was being forced to sell his type and machinery because of poor health. As Dad tells the story in Brief Biography of a Basement Printer, “It was then that I visited him, hoping to buy a few fonts of used type. The old printer was reluctant to part with the material he had worked with for so long, but realized that he could never again use it.”

I visited A.A. Liesenfeld as a little girl, and remember he was kind to me. Dad had been having a hard time talking the old printer into selling the shop. Maybe Dad thought his daughter would help to establish his reliability. I wonder now if the old man somehow sensed his print shop would be carried on to the next generation. At any rate, he agreed to sell to my father.

Dad began hauling. And hauling. And manhandling literally tons of type and cases and equipment down the steep stairs into our basement. Fortunately there was an anchor point -- a large willow tree in our back yard. My father tied heavy ropes around its trunk to lower the 8 x 12 Chandler and Price press and 25” paper cutter into the shop.

So Dad named his press Willow. As he explains, “Custom dictates that any printery, private or commercial, have a name; and since this is perhaps the least costly item required, my shop too can afford this small luxury. It will be called The Willow Press, not for its flexibilities of use, but for the willow tree in the backyard. Had it not been for a stout rope slung around its trunk, the press might never have reached the basement in usable condition.”

Now the real work began, as Dad sorted galley after galley of standing forms, putting away type that hadn’t been distributed in years. The resulting cases of type overflowed. Apparently in the commercial shop it had been easier to cast new type rather than putting things back where they belonged.

After over a year of sorting, Dad got the shop in order. He kept it in order through years of use, and taught me the value of running a clean shop by keeping up with form distribution. To this day Bob and I distribute our forms soon after printing – most of the time! A good discipline -- thank you, Dad!


Advertisement for the Liesenfeld Printing Company - Notice the two-color registration, printed in two separate, carefully aligned impressions.


Dad setting up a form for the press. The form is locked up in a rectangular metal frame called a chase.


Dad with a copy of "Brief Biography of a Basement Printer". A 1923 ATF specimen book and a copy of a Gutenberg Bible page are on the desk in front of him. Notice also our 1950's era TV in the background.


Carole with the Chandler and Price press, shortly after it was moved into the house. The big paper cutter is on the left.