Antique Corona TypewriterMany years ago, on a Monday night, shortly after borrowing money from our local bank to buy a nice new state-of-the-art electronic typewriter, I sat down to write a Cracker Barrel column. I flipped on the power switch, fed a sheet of paper in the sleek, space-age machine, and hit the “T” key.

Brrrrpppp!  Pssssss…Tscik. Alarming noises arise from the normally quiet machine. In spite of my trepidation, I can’t help but smile. At least—at last—this silent pile of chips and circuitry is making noise.

I turn it off, then try again. Same results. What we have here is clearly a malfunction. As usual, when faced with such an emergency, I swallow my macho pride and call for my wife. Surely her womanly intuition will penetrate through the surface of the Euro-styling and identify the glitch.

But no. The outer-space sounds ring no bell with her, either. Together we shake our heads and remove the technological marvel from its command post atop my desk and in its place install the old Corona.

I turn it on and immediately it begins to whir and hum and make sounds that put my mind at ease. Here, by God, is a machine you can relate to. I pound out the heading of the column, feeling the old machine tremble beneath my hands. Slow, yeah, but steady, just like driving nails into a deck. This is a tool, built to get the job done.

By contrast, the new machine is cold, computery, quiet. It’s somehow alien, and though it is faster and requires less manual effort than the old machine, it has never felt friendly to the touch. And while it’s capable of correcting my mistakes, I’m not capable of keeping it up and running. No paperclip-and-rubber-band remedies are possible with such advanced technology.

And that, I fear, is the trouble with most of our contemporary devices. They’re technologically marvelous—but utterly useless if the slightest thing goes wrong. Cars, appliances, computers—all have become increasingly distant from the humans who rely on them. Not only does this add to a sense of alienation and helplessness for the rank and file of our citizenry, it is also quite impractical.

Good technology, I submit, should be simple, reliable, and accessible for repair. Anything else is a mere indulgence on the part of the designer, or a calculated profit-play by the manufacturer. I see no reason why people should be at the mercy of machines, or why the buyer of a machine should be at the mercy of the seller.

I may be wrong, but I fear we’re being high-teched right into helplessness.

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