Tom Hanks - Uncommon Type - Some Stories

Kenny used the stamps and hotel pens on the paper, drawing lines and signing his name next to the stamps. Then he had an idea.

He took the cover off the typewriter that was on its own little desk beside his mother’s. The machine was light blue, had the letters IBM on the front, and was really big, taking up most of its special table. He rolled a sheet of paper into the workings of the typewriter and pressed on the keys, but they were dead. Nothing happened. Kenny was about to ask Miss Abbott why the typewriter didn’t work but then he saw the rocker switch that said ON/OFF and that the OFF part was depressed. He rocked it to ON and the machine hummed and vibrated. The mechanical ball with the letters on it swept back and forth once, then stopped on the left side. The carriage with the paper in it did not move, which made Kenny think the typewriter must be part computer or one of those Teletype machines.

He tried to type his name, but it came out That’s when he discovered that if he kept the key pressed down, the letter repeated, sounding like a machine gun— . What confused him the most was the lack of a handle he was supposed to slap to make the page go back. There was none. There was a very big button that said RETURN on it. When he pressed that the ball moved back with a chunk and he could type a new line. This was now, officially, the most amazing typewriter Kenny had ever seen or heard of.

Kenny did not know how to type like a grown-up—like Miss Abbott or his mom—so he used just one finger, finding the letters he wanted but sometimes hitting ones he didn’t— . By going very slowly and being very careful he finally typed his name correctly— —and rolled that page out of the IBM. He put the date stamp next to his name along with .

“How about a coffee break?” Miss Abbott was standing in the door.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Kenny said.

Miss Abbott nodded. “Well, let’s see what else we can find, shall we?”

He followed her into the lobby, where Kenny saw his mother standing with a group of men. They were all talking business, but Kenny still called out to her.

“Mom!” he hollered, pointing toward the hotel kitchen. “I’m taking a coffee break!”

She turned to him and smiled and gave a little wave, then turned back to the businessmen.

In the kitchen, he asked Miss Abbott if he could get his own chocolate milk like he used to, but the dispenser no longer held chocolate milk. Just regular milk and something called Skim. Instead, Miss Abbott went to a silver refrigerator and pulled out a carton of chocolate milk, grabbed one of the big drinking glasses, and filled it to the top. This was more chocolate milk than Kenny had ever been allowed, which he thought was great. Miss Abbott got herself some coffee out of a round, glass pitcher that sat on a Bunn Coffee Service maker. They could not take their drinks back through the lobby, so they went into the coffee shop, which looked and smelled exactly the same as when Kenny was little. They sat in an empty booth, not at the counter.

“Do you remember me?” she asked him. “I worked here with your daddy. Before your mommy started.” Miss Abbott asked Kenny more questions, mostly if he liked the same things her nephew liked—baseball, karate class, and TV shows. Kenny told her they only got Channel 12 from Chico.

Back in his mother’s office he decided to write her a letter on the IBM typewriter. He started with a new sheet of Leamington Hotel paper and went very slowly.

Deear Mom,

How are you I am fine

Your friends sport car is like a racecar. I like how loud the motor goes and working the radio.

I saw you in the hotel just now and wonder what is my big surprise?????? ?

I am going to leave this letter in a place where it will be a SURPEIZE for you. After you find it right me back on this tiperighter that is so cooooool and esy to do.

Kenny folded the letter as best he could and put it into a hotel envelope and licked the seal, careful not to cut his tongue on the sharp edge. He wrote TO MOM on the front with a Leamington Hotel pen, then looked for a place to hide the letter, deciding the best place would be in a desk drawer under a few pages of Leamington Hotel stationery.

Kenny was playing with some rubber bands when his mom came back into her office. She was with a man who had dark brown skin and the straightest, blackest hair. “Kenny, this is Mr. Garcia. He let us borrow his car for the ride down today.”

“Hello,” Kenny said. “That’s your car? The sports car?”

“It is,” Mr. Garcia said. “I’m glad to meet you. But let’s do it proper, shall we? Stand up.”

Kenny did as he was told.

“Now,” Mr. Garcia continued, “we shake hands. Grab firm now.”

Kenny squeezed Mr. Garcia’s hand as hard as he could.

“Don’t hurt me.” Mr. Garcia chuckled. Kenny’s mom beamed at the two men. “Now, look me in the eye, just like I look at you. Good. Now you say, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kenny repeated.

“Now comes the most important part. We ask each other a question, engage each other, man to man, see? I’m going to ask you this—do you know what ‘Fiat’ stands for?”

Kenny shook his head, because he was confused by the question and because he had no idea what was going on. No one had ever explained to him how to shake hands.

“‘Fix it again, Tony.’” Mr. Garcia laughed. “Now you ask me a question. Go ahead.”