America is flush with personal stories, those bits and pieces of history often told 'round a crackling campfire or on a grandma's warm lap. Nonetheless, as memories gray and young'uns colorful images fade, repeated tales stretch -- with a wink or two.
But what if these tales had been captured in black and white?
Back in the day, Paul Fisher made sure future storytellers got his tales right. His remarkable experiences were either handwritten or tapped one key at a time on a faithful Remington typewriter.
"He was the talker, so he'd have my mother type it or write it down," Jane Sherrick of Lima, Ohio said, reminiscing about the pages she holds nowadays. "My mom wrote them up and he was dictating."
Evenings or weekends you might hear the scratch of a fluid pen or the zing of the carriage return accompanied by a rhythmic clickety-clack. This was Paul and Noralee's "together time" recording pieces of their lives.
Typewriters and cursive were a familiar part of their world. Daughter Jane remembers how even as a youngster he had said that one day "there'd be one (a typewriter) that would make the letters look like writing" even before there was any thought about italics.
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The intriguing machines were in his future too.
After the Second World War and marriage to his hometown sweetheart, Paul worked as a typewriter repairman in his brother's downtown shop in Lima. The U.S. Army veteran was up close and personal with metal keys, rollers, and ribbon -- any part that would keep a boss' secretary humming or a news reporter's fingers flying.
It was in this typewriter shop off the beaten path that an unforgettable incident happened -- and later recorded for generations to follow.
"According to him he was working there alone," Jane said, as she set the scene. "He had some kind of accident with his screw driver, must have slipped in his hand."