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Where Did They All Go?
Colophonia, here we came!
by Jim & Norma Kapplin
We’re just a wee bit late for the San Diego NAPA Convention. But finally, on March 14, 1985, we got here only to find that everyone else had gone home! Gale Sheldon did everything possible to lessen our disappointment and minimize our loneliness. He gave us a list of motels and eateries, a mess of tourist literature plus directions to his printery in El Cajon.
We’ve had a tour of his spacious shop, watched a Linotype demonstration, checked out the four presses and inspected much type. Gale’s shop is so neat, you can eat off the floor and the inkplates.
San Diego is a beautiful city and we’re delighted to be here on our vacation. Now’s the time for us to plan our trip to the Alliance-Canton Convention so that we get there on time.
Who Keeps this Show on the Road, Anyway?
In Defense of Cliques
Author Unknown
Rumor has it that organizations are run by a “clique.” Careful investigation would show that this is true.
Furthermore, you will find that the clique is composed of faithful members who are present at the meetings, who do the work, who give willingly of their time, energies, and who sincerely believe that the more one puts into the organization the more one will get out of it.
There is no question that the enthusiasm, responsibility and efforts of those members are of inestimable value to an organization and it is suggested, therefore, that you join this clique. It is not difficult to do so – in fact, it is very easy.
Begin by attending meetings regularly; take a lively interest in its activities; accept responsibilities in the work; never refuse a place of service. Show a continual interest in all affairs pertaining to your organization. Before you realize it, you will become a member of the clique, and you will be surprised to know how anxious they are to have you.
Transcontinental Visitors
Baltimoreans come to San Diego to Check Out the Climate and Der Press in El Cajon
Jim and Norma Kapplin toured the Zoo first (they said it was more famous), then headed east to the printery in the hills on the edge of El Cajon. They got a cool reception from the weather – 40 to 50 degrees, not much sun – and thought we needn’t brag so much about it. (Rarely quick with the quip, I forgot to remind Jim that we didn’t have to go 3000 miles to Baltimore in 1981 to get rain over the 4th of July, either.) But Jim found heat in the printshop – the gas linotype pot was cooking away at 535 degrees – and Norma piled on wool Afghans in the house amidst the din of the college kids’ Friday night party.
Purist that he is, Ethnic Press-er Jim refused to have his noble creations set on the insidious metal monster in lines of lead, and stoically pursued the original letterpress tradition, letter by Times Roman letter, on a cast-off high school composing stick. With his jacket removed (because of the passion of his palaver, or the fumes from the clanking linotype, I was not quite sure) Jim discoursed on all the topics common to amateur printers’ get-togethers since the time of Gutenberg, or shortly thereafter. With the Model 8 running smoothly I set as much copy as I could, always remembering that you get as much done as you can while the machine is behaving itself. (Once I said in a fit of slight annoyance as I tapped it gently with three-pound sledge hammer: “Take that, you fleabitten, miserable, rusting ton of junk!” Or words of similar intent. The machine didn’t work for a week. Hurt feelings, I guess.)
During the course of the evening I learned that Jim got his printing start in junior high school, and never lost the love for it. Years later he learned of NAPA and his recent fourth issue of The Ethnicicicist (how does he ever keep track of the spelling?) displays some mighty pretty printing. As some of us were discussing at the convention last July, maybe we need to focus more of our recruiting efforts on youngsters of junior high age.
And the sun did shine the day before the Kapplins left for the jungles of L.A.
This exotic adventure in avante-garde typographical experimentation was typeset and whammed into existence out here in the garage by two characters in search of wildly creative expression (mucho malarkey and baloney), Jim Kapplin and Gale Sheldon. Printed at El Cajon, CA 92020.