Thank You, Benjamin Franklin!

As a letterpress printer, I’m one of the many admirers of Benjamin Franklin, born 305 years ago (1706) this coming Monday the 17th. This talented gentleman became renowned not only as a printer and writer, but as a statesman, scientist, philosopher, and American patriot. Certainly life today would have been different if Franklin had never lived: he invented the odometer, lightning rod, Franklin stove, glass harmonica, swim fins, and bifocal lenses, and came up with the ideas for daylight savings time, fire departments, public hospitals, street cleaning, political cartoons, and public libraries. He secured the crucial allegiance of France during the American Revolutionary War, without which the United States might well not have won its independence.

But it’s for his printing and writing that I appreciate Ben Franklin the most. First, he was involved with printing for much of his life. He began as an apprentice, continued as a journeyman, and carried on an active printing business in Philadelphia. Through shrewd management, one shop grew into a network of print shops by his retirement. Despite his many accomplishments, Franklin considered himself a printer first, composing his famous epitaph starting, “The body of B. Franklin, Printer; (Like the cover of an old book, Its contents worn out, and stripped of its lettering and gilding) Lies here...”

Ben Franklin was a wonderful writer, especially with short, pithy sayings that are perfect for printing. These gems from Poor Richard’s Almanac are pretty much timeless: “Love your enemies, for they will tell you your faults.” “He’s a fool that cannot conceal his wisdom.” “Necessity never made a good bargain.” “Where there’s marriage without love, there will be love without marriage.” “When the well’s dry we know the worth of water.” and “God helps them that help themselves.” One of my favorites, which I believe and live by, is “Fish and company stink in three days.” It’s really true. My husband and I try never to stay at anyone’s house for more than three days at a time.

Finally, I admire the fact that Franklin was an independent, self-made man. He wasn’t born to wealth or privilege, but rose through ingenuity and hard work. His path to success wasn’t easy, but he had the grit and determination to make his own luck.

In 2006 my husband Bob and I had the rare opportunity to see Benjamin Franklin’s press firsthand, as part of an exhibit on “Benjamin Franklin, In Search of a Better World, 300 Years” hosted by the Missouri Historical Society where Bob works. And my husband got to demonstrate printing at the museum to groups of schoolchildren. The kids printed commemorative Franklin bookmarks on our Baltimorean tabletop press, which was a thrilling experience for them.






We’ve enjoyed printing pieces about Benjamin Franklin over the years, and we look forward to doing many more. And as a printer I’ve taken one of Ben’s sayings to heart: “Doest thou love life? Then do not squander time; for that is the stuff of which life is made.”

Why I'm A Hobby Printer

Why am I a hobby printer? Why not make money with our letterpress shop? With the current popularity of letterpress wedding invitations, birth announcements, and other hand-crafted pieces, there’s a market for what my husband and I could produce. Despite this, we have remained primarily printing hobbyists.

The growing appeal of letterpress to the general public is certainly a trend I applaud. More people are recognizing the beauty and skill that goes into creating a handmade printed piece. And why not commemorate a wedding, anniversary, or birth with something one of a kind? I’ve seen wonderful creativity go into many of these letterpress pieces for hire done by other printers.

But instead of dealing with sometimes demanding customers, Bob and I have chosen to print what we want, when we want, how we want. It’s just the way we are. We’re stubbornly independent, and if we printed mainly for money it would take much of the joy out of it for us. So apart from the occasional job that interests us, we choose what we want to print − a poem, a saying, a holiday card, a booklet, a historical piece. We design and print each piece the way we want to print it. This keeps letterpress open-ended and exciting for us.

Something we’ve had fun doing over the years is using our press to print quotes that are significant to ourselves or others. For example, the custodian at the public library where I worked found a battered photocopy of a quote on attitudes inside a returned library book. He shared it with me, since it was a favorite of his. When he retired, Bob and I printed and framed the quote and gave it to him. I know it was one of the more meaningful gifts that he received.

Another friend had a favorite saying that we printed to decorate her desk at work: “Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.” We enjoyed designing the piece using old Victorian type that bent and curved, with a wiggly border to match.

We have a friend who loves to go out for breakfast, so much so that he calls himself, “The Commissioner of Breakfast”. We printed a business card for him to leave at restaurants where he’d had an especially good breakfast − and we liked the idea so much that we printed cards for ourselves, too. It’s amazing to see how happy you can make a waiter or waitress by handing them a simple hand-printed card. Interestingly, people tend to believe there’s really a Commissioner of Breakfast, even when you tell them it’s a joke − if it’s printed on a business card, it must be true, right?

One piece we printed, “Destined for Greatness...” sums up much of the feeling I have towards printing for pleasure. When I print I try to remember to take it easy, pace myself, and remember that the things I do just for the love and joy of it truly matter.


This quote on attitudes by an anonymous author was printed in Grolier with Empire border.


The eccentricities of Scribner by the Central Type Foundry of St Louis fit this quote.


We love handing these out whenever we have an especially good restaurant breakfast.

Printer's Pie (Pi)

If somebody offers you printer’s pie, just say no! Unlike the dessert, printer’s pie (or more properly, pi) is a mess of dropped and disorderly type that slipped from some printer’s fingers. It’s type cobbler if you will, but without any of delightful aspects of that homemade treat.

Rather than praise and drooling, printer’s pi calls forth unprintable language and despair. All that hard work hand setting type one letter and one space at a time has to be done over again. Sometimes it’s even worse: try to fix pied type, and often more will pi. It’s the law of gravity at its worst.

Have I pied type? You bet. Every printer who’s set any amount of type has probably pied a line or two. Thankfully for me (knock on wood), it’s seldom been much more than that. But there are printers who can tell horror stories of huge forms sliding off metal galleys or falling out of the chase after lockup. Hopefully that’s not you. If it is, you have my sympathies. I know what it’s like to try to fix pied type. It takes the eyes of an eagle and the patience of a saint. As letters accidentally go back into the form out of order, upside down and standing on their heads, it feels like if anything can go wrong it will.

Fortunately I had a good teacher, my dad, who showed me basic techniques to avoid the dreaded printer’s pi.

1) Fill out lines completely and evenly when setting type. Don’t set type so loosely that it wobbles in the composing stick, or try to squeeze in too big a piece of spacing material. When setting smaller type, add em quads or larger to the ends of lines to help hold the type upright.

2) Slide type from the composing stick directly onto a galley whenever possible, and block the lines in with wood or metal furniture to keep them from falling over. My husband and I like to use magnets on our galleys for further security.

3) After locking up the form in the chase, test the lockup before lifting it. Put a piece of wooden furniture under the one edge of the chase and push down on various parts of the form. If anything moves, the lockup needs to be re-done. That is, unless you like picking up pied type!

Even with every precaution, the most careful compositor can still pi type. It’s the nature of the beast. Thousands of slivers of metal standing on end next to each other are an invitation to human klutziness.

But printer’s pi does have one good aspect (doesn’t everything!) Sometimes you can get nice type given to you that somebody pied and didn’t want to straighten out. We’ve acquired a few attractive fonts of type that way.

Mostly though, printer’s pi is far from sweet. Instead it’s a recipe for frustration. Do yourself a favor and stay far, far away!



Blocking in the Form on the galley with wooden and metal furniture and magnets.

Checking the Lockup for loose characters that could pi. A piece of wood furniture props up the chase.

Purple Ink and No Composing Stick

Seventy-six years ago my late father Gary Hantke became a letterpress printer, trading his chemistry set for a 5 x 8 Baltimorean hand press, two fonts of Caslon, a tube of purple ink, some leads, and a lead cutter. The year was 1934, and he was 14 years old. Dad had become interested in printing through advertisements in the Kelsey catalog, which urged depression era boys to earn extra money with their own press.

With no type cases, no composing stick, and no instruction, the would-be printer faced challenges. The first time Dad printed his name, it came out upside down and backwards. But he was determined to learn. A school friend’s father owned a print shop, so Dad started helping out. Gradually his printing got better, as he termed it, “slowly, painfully, and without sensational results.”

The young entrepreneur discovered a gold mine in printing graduation name cards for seniors at his high school. He charged 40 cents a hundred and made a grand profit of 18 cents on every order. But everybody needed graduation name cards, and 1935 wasn’t a time of great wealth. Dad was encouraged by the jingle of change in his pockets. He bought a little more type, a composing stick, and a tube of black ink, “having gotten tired of purple by now.”

Then came a huge order for 50,000 envelopes. Dad started printing as fast as he could pump the handle of the little Baltimorean press. After several thousand pumps, though, he started thinking of ways to mechanize the operation.

A little cobbling came to the rescue. As Dad writes in his booklet, “Brief Biography of a Basement Printer”: “Quite by chance, our old washing machine, after years of faithful service, chose this time to spring a rather bad leak, necessitating replacement. With parts from the old washer and some odds and ends the press was motorized, and I was clicking off a thousand impressions per hour almost without effort. Although the press lacked a throwoff, misfeeds caused me little trouble, for by use of the washing machine’s wringer control gear mechanism, I was able not only to stop the press, but even reverse it when necessary.”

So the young printer’s hobby was launched. Dad printed for 56 years of his life, until his death in 1990. Along the way I learned from him, as did my husband Bob after we were married. We owe our printing heritage to my father. His Baltimorean hand press resides in our basement along with his other presses, and it is still being used.

Dad passed away 20 years ago today, on May 12, 1990. This series of printing remembrances, past and present, humorous and serious, is written in his honor. Dad, we hope you’re puttering around somewhere in an incredible print shop in another world with all your old friends. What marvelous things you’d be creating! Without you we wouldn’t be printers. Thank you for teaching us, and giving us this wonderful hobby to enjoy!

Dad's autobiography, "Brief Biography of a Basement Printer", printed in 1958.


Carole in the printshop with the Baltimorean, shortly after moving it in.