A view of the Ohio Pen Show, from the first table you passed on your way into the sea of pens
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It started Thursday afternoon, when Barbara and I blew into town. Len Provisor appeared pretty much out of nowhere, bearing a new medium-nibbed Parker 51 for me to regrind into a stub. Not far behind came Giovanni Abrate, who may well win the prize for the most jovial person at the show; I can't bring to mind a moment when I saw him wearing any expression other than a smile. The smiles came in all degrees, from the subtle sardonic grin to major outbursts of hilarity. On Thursday I also acquired one of my desiderata, a 1932 Blue and Black Sheaffer's 3-25 Balance. It was in the possession of Rick Horne, whose price for it seemed, well, acceptable. There's some brassing on the band and clip, and neither Rick nor I spotted the split section, but doggonit, this is one sweet pen! Rick also had three Chiltons, one a gorgeous Wing Flow that I swore I'd buy from him if he still had it Sunday afternoon. Fortunately for my wallet, he sold the Wing Flow shortly after I saw him on Thursday! On Thursday evening, as I really began to feel the impact of my 12-hour drive from Nashua, I ended up in the hotel bar with Len, Giovanni, Rick Propas, David Isaacson, and a couple of others whose faces are now a blur. Friday afternoon, after the requisite amount of dithering, I gathered up "The Coffin," the oversize wheeled suitcase that houses my paraphernalia on tour, and repaired to the ballroom to set up and maybe say hi to a few friends. The table I picked was next to the one staked out by Frank Dubiel, and we had a long and fascinating chat, after which I took out Len's 51 and stubbed it for him. He professed himself pleased, and that seemed to set the tone for the weekend's work! I shall of course cherish the memory of hearing my name called as the winner of a prize in the drawing at the pizza party Friday evening; the prize I brought home with me was a FILCAO Leader 1918 celluloid fountain pen. The pen Giovanni had donated was in the brilliant Tuscan Sunset color; but when on Saturday morning he heard my reverent mention of Cracked Ice, he pretty much snatched the pen away from me and returned with a Cracked Ice -- which Barbara thereupon appropriated. I stuck in a rOtring red-brown cartridge for her; it harmonized nicely with the lines in the celluloid pattern, but she thinks now that she'd prefer something in the violet line. But not my Tanzanite clone. That's too blue, she says. Saturday was nonstop at my table. Tweak, regrind, adjust, smooth, regrind, regrind... All day. I wasn't ever bogged down, and I didn't bring any regrinding work home with me, but I had something to do the whole time, and so did Barbara, who managed everything at the table that didn't actually require my attention. If you stopped by, and several of you did, you will have met her. Know ye all by these presents that I could not have done it without her, any more than I could do it day to day here at home. It was she who ensured that I had a power bar and orange juice or Burpsi when I needed a lift. There seem to be somewhat fewer people in Ohio than on the Eastern seaboard who know what specialty nibs are or why they might want one; far more than it was at Washington in August, the weekend was an opportunity to educate new people into the addiction. I'm here to tell you that it's really something to see someone's eyes light up after a sweep or two with a cursive italic! Saturday evening a dozen or so of us went out to a Spanish restaurant, where the food was good and the supply of Sangria, once the servers twigged to the fact that that was what we all craved, was limitless. My paella could easily have fed three of me, and Barbara's arroz con pollo was big enough to feed half the table, had anyone else been sensible enough to refrain from ordering and just sit back waiting for the inevitable leftovers. Sunday was pretty much like Saturday, but I ended that day too whacked to go out for a gregarious dinner, so Barbara and I snuck off for Chinese, which is for us a "comfort food." The part of going to a show that makes it all worthwhile for me is the many
people I see. I love corresponding with my clients by email and, occasionally,
telephone, but the opportunity to chat with people face to face is just too good
to be missed. And oh, the faces. In no particular order, here are about half of
those with whom I was able to chat a little: There were many more, there really were, but I've lost track of them in the sea of names, faces, and pens. I saw dozens of pens I wanted in the few brief seconds when Barbara unchained me FROM my chair, but it seems that I'd left the cash envelope back at my table... |
Sitting
here trying to remember what I remember of the Ohio Pen Show, I'm struck most
of all by the great time I had. All day Saturday and all day Sunday, I was chained
to my table, grinding nibs and adjusting tines and in general working for my keep,
yet the overwhelming impression is one of good cheer and camaraderie.