Last week, I was again drawn helplessly to the McDonald’s in Germantown, MD. The powerful gravitational force of a large, dysfunctional Olympia SG1 pulled me into its orbit and brought me to a parking lot in suburban Maryland during a heat wave.

I met up with Michael, a local typewriter enthusiast who has an enormous collection, many of which he refers to as “sad bastards”.

I brought with me two of Michael’s SMs that I recently worked on, and he greeted their return with open-armed affection. They are beautiful little machines.

Michael had brought with him a 1957 Olympia SG1. He reported that the carriage seemed to have a mind of its own, sometimes flying to the left of its own volition. It’s missing its plastic paper support, but it seems otherwise intact.

In the pleasant shade of a grassy strip near the parking lot, we examined the SG1. It was dirty, with a furry crust inside and splotches of rust and corrosion. Typing was very sticky and stiff, but it gamely turned out perfect lines. I tried to reproduce the errant carriage behavior, but failed. Olympias will just Olympia. Perhaps the escapement was a bit gummy, and a tiny bit of use had loosened it up.

The nice thing about these is that the carriage comes off very easily. You turn two side knobs and lift. This made getting it into my car easier.  Assembled, this SG1 weighs close to 40 lbs. Use your legs when you lift, not your back.

Here’s a Joe Van Cleave video demonstrating the way to lift the carriage from the main body:

His video also describes interesting differences between older SG1s of the 1950s and newer SG1s of the 1960s.

Michael had thoughtfully brought along a spiral-bound SG1 Repair Bible in case I needed repair resources. It contains not just a users manual, service manual, parts reference, and a typeface catalog but also a sales manual that contains soul-killing sales pitches like this one:

Before I left, Michael pulled out another interesting tidbit, a 1974 Husqvarna Viking 6430 that he had found at Goodwill for $25. It came with a users manual and assorted ephemera.

He said he didn’t know anything about sewing machines, so he gifted it to me. He guessed that I might enjoy tinkering with it. He guessed right.

At home, I removed the cover plates of the Olympia to do a deep clean. It wasn’t terrible, but dirty enough to give me a happy few hours swabbing it with mineral spirits and blowing dust bunnies and crunchy debris away with my air compressor.

A member at Typewriter Database has posted a public gallery of very dirty Olympia SG1 photos (if you’re into that sort of thing) as well as “in progress” images and “after” shots of his very, very clean SG1.

This Olympia SG1 is a pleasure to service. Every bit of its high quality mechanics is easily accessible with the cover plates and carriage off.

Sticky parts (segment, tab mechanism) loosened up with dabs of mineral spirits.

I had a typebar that didn’t rest with its neighbors. The typebar connecting wire underneath was subtly bent. I tried and tried to carefully straighten it out after heating it with my mini torch. No luck. The wire is extremely rigid and strong.

The key tops were dull and I thought about removing each one and polishing them one by one. Here’s a video from HotRod Typewriter on removing and reinstalling these spring loaded key tops;

I removed one key top and said “Oh hell, no!” and just polished the rest of them in situ. There is corrosion underneath each key top that makes removal and replacement challenging (even with lubrication), and I didn’t want to damage any of them. In olden times, Olympia had a clever little tool for the job.

I could probably fabricate a tool like this with a sewing machine foot and the handle of a screwdriver. Or maybe 3D print something…

I contemplated removing the platen for a thorough cleaning, but after reading this post at the Antique Typewriters Maintenance  group at Facebook, I decided to leave it be. When dealing with platens, I am used to loosening set screws and pulling out long platen rods. On this SG1, you unscrew the right and left platen knobs. They each have threaded shafts that screw into the platen.

After cleaning,  I did a little testing. Looked good. I had cleaned the cover panels in soapy water and Simple Green, afterwards gluing in some new felt sound insulation. I have a drawer of craft felt and I chose a pretty charcoal.

I was excited about getting it back together and did the finishing touches which included inserting a missing red doodad on the ribbon color selector.

I have a drawer of Perler beads (don’t judge me; I know it’s a lot plastic, but I have krafty kids):

I glued a red Perler bead into the empty slot, and it seemed to be an almost perfect fit.

I got to typing. It was absolutely great—until I got to the end of the line. Aaaagh! I replaced the cover plates too soon. I was hit with the dreaded Line Lock Doesn’t Engage problem.

Let’s look at the manual:

I took the back cover plates off. The line lock mechanism runs along the back and then through the machine to the front to activate the key lever block.  It’s like a game of Mouse Trap—though I didn’t see an old boot and a bathtub.

I cleaned and lubricated all the parts carefully and straightened out the suspiciously bent line lock bell crank. That didn’t fix it.

I then did what  the manual told me I should have done first: adjusted the position of the right margin stop downwards so that nose part “a” has better contact with the center block that activates the line lock. All better now. Line lock working.

What a swell ride! Precision German engineering! I feel like I am typing in the lap of luxury on a solid, high-quality machine.

This SG1 would be good for recipes because it has fractions, a “1/” character, and a degree symbol.  It also has a circumflex/caret and a ^th sign. I don’t know why, but these special characters often show up on SG1 keyboards.

[Addendum: I am noticing some intermittent ribbon issues while I type a long letter. It’s probably a loose/missing spring or bent/gummy part in the ribbon mechanism. I will investigate for another post.]

Another Classy Machine

Sewing machine content now follows. I know you’re here for the typewriters, but I am determined to make at least some of you Sewing Machine-Curious. Vintage sewing machines are so fun to work on. If you get them running, you can sew and mend clothes, a handy skill and delightful creative act that doesn’t get old. You can use your sewing machine to sew covers for your typewriters.

Well, well, well. I am rising up in the world. Here I am in possession of a Husqvarna. I know sewing machines, but I only know run-of-the-mill Singers and Kenmores. Before I met this Husqvarna, I thought of Husqvarna as the company that makes chainsaws and motorcycles and expensive sewing machines for rich ladies. Husqvarnas were Swedish-made sewing machines that you purchased after you reached a certain level of affluence and skill to justify the expense. Today you can buy Husqvarnas (no longer Swedish-made) that cost $20,000+.

This Husqvarna came with the original receipt from 1974. A lady in Springfield, VA paid $546 for the machine and the little extension table.  That’s $3,329.74 in today’s dollars.

 

The machine has classy little accents like its badge.

Though the machine was very heavy, once I started removing the shell, I found a concerning number of nylon gears and acetal pieces.

Oh why, oh why? Such a beautiful, classy machine. Why can’t you be all-metal like my Kenmore 158?

And unlike most sewing machines of its era, this Husqvarna is a proud “no-oil” self-lubricating machine with oil-impregnated sintered steel bearings that the the service manual assures us have been thoroughly tested over several years.

But what happens after 50 years and prolonged disuse?

The machine was frozen and I could only turn the hand wheel with great difficulty. I wasn’t getting great results in freeing the mechanics with dabs of mineral spirits, so I did some research and found YouTube videos on freeing up old Husqvarnas. I went the hair dryer route which warmed the old lubricant and freed the seized parts.

After warming up the guts, I cleaned with mineral spirits—which should be safe on the nylon and acetal parts. I then applied tiny amounts of Tri-Flow lubricant to pivot points and worked it in by hand.

It got me thinking: should I use a hair dryer when freeing up typewriters with sticky congealed grease problems? If I avoid the rubber pieces, could this speed up my loosening by applying heat to typewriters and flushing out old grease with mineral spirits/solvent of choice?

I did hand turning until I felt it was freeing up enough to run the motor. When I did, I had a floppy thread take-up and my upper tension was a mess. I determined I had a very common 6000 series problem: the plastic take-up arm crank slide had cracked and the take-up crank arm was flying around loose.

I did some more research on YouTube and joined the Husqvarna Viking Sewing Machines Facebook group. I read through posts, found a 6000 series service manual in the group’s files archive, and conducted surgery.

All’s well that ends well. I glued the broken take-up arm crank slide back together and reinstalled it. There are replacement parts available, but I will see how gluing works.

After I reinstalled the take-up arm crank slide, I did some testing and cue the elephants, it was a triumph.

Despite a cracked (ugh—acetal plastic) fixed cam, I am getting great pattern stitching.

I love this classy little dame. I finally have a free arm machine—good for making and mending tiny little clothes.

Here’s a day in the life of a Russian sewing machine repairman. I don’t speak Russian, but I enjoy ogling the orange 6430 he’s working on. For a skinny minute, I considered adding an orange 6430 to my eBay alerts, but I will practice restraint. I already have a perfectly nice little Husqvarna 6430.