Danny's Disease

Morgan J. McArthur

For Plenty magazine 

My new friend Danny has an incurable disease.

I don’t feel sorry for him. Especially because he gave it to me.

Two years ago I misplaced a burgundy Parker 51 fountain pen that once belonged to my grandfather. I was gutted when I realised that pen had gone to the repository for lost earrings, single socks, and other I’ll-put-it-where-I-can-find-it-but-never-see-it-again important stuff.

After a month ‘misplaced’ became ‘gone’.

Replacing a precious pen is not a casual bit of business. This Parker was older than I was and it had history. This would have to be a carefully considered decision, not to be rushed. For me, finding enough time to get a haircut is hard; to go pen hunting would be im-possible.

For months I was Biro-bound and ballpoint-bored.

Then an opportunity came along: an overseas business trip. My itinerary was tight as a tick but I would have a half day in Knoxville, Tennessee, USA that was commitment-free. Surely a city the size of Christchurch would have a pen store?

Google would know.

No joy for pen stores. But waaaay down the hit list there was a remote prospect - a man named Jeff Daniel Marion. He was associated with the Pen Collectors of America. He lived in Knoxville.

Danny.

I sent him an email explaining that I’d lost an important pen and was coming from halfway‘round the world to Knoxville. I’d have a rare bit of spare time for pen hunting and I asked if he could recommend a good pen store.

‘Not really. What exactly are you looking for?’

I didn’t really know. We began an electronic conversation about fountain pens.

Turns out Danny is a retired English professor and a reknown poet/author. He does all of his wordwork with fountain pens. He knows and appreciates a good writing stick. He owns many.

Danny told me that if I ever experienced writing with a vintage pen – one that was considerably older than the one I’d lost – I would no longer be satisfied looking for new pens.

Just quietly, my thoughts were that this man didn’t understand that we live in techno-times. That life progresses at broadband speed. Last year’s cellphones are obsolete, faxes are outdated and anything instant is just too slow.

He’s telling me that pens made in the 1920’s and 30’s are better than what I can buy new today?

Yeah right.

Danny offered to show me his pen collection when I came to town.

He picked me up at my hotel and we went to his home. He opened a leather portfolio on his dining room table to reveal a platoon of beautiful pens.

Each of those wondrous pens had history. Most were sixty to ninety years old. Their barrels sported splendid colours and elegant designs. The gold nibs were exquisite.

I drove each one. I got the same joy out of writing with these fine pens that a motor enthusiast might get from taking a dream spin in a vintage car.

As I doodled with a Parker Vacumatic Danny said ‘How do you like that one?’ It was nice. Very nice.

He said ‘I want you to have it.’

Gasp! Here I was, a stranger, and this fellow was offering to give me something special from his cherished collection.

This was an unforgettable moment. What a supreme gesture of friendship. What an incentive for the student (me) to want to continue learning from the master. And what a bold beginning of a bond.

I never would have imagined that this was how I’d replace my sentimental old Parker. How cool was this?! Of course, Danny was not only giving me a prized pen. In that moment he was also infecting me with Fountain Pen Disease.

Our time at Danny’s table was too short. Soon I had to go. Over our last handshake we committed to two things: exchanging handwritten letters at least once a month and to reunite again when I had more time.

Our letters are a delight. In these times of instant everything it’s a joy to slow down from light speed to life speed and write and receive handwritten letters. A genuine connection happens with the crafting of caring words. In my mailbox, and I’ll bet in yours, a handwritten envelope gets opened before bills and bulk mail. Every time. Making an ink link with someone by snail mail sends a bold, unusual and often-saved statement.

That’s the power of the pen. That’s Danny’s Disease.

The pleasure I’ve gotten from acquiring and using old pens to make a difference to people one letter at a time has certainly offset the costs of my new affliction.

Today I have my own portfolio with a baby collection of new old pens. I’m spending more money on stamps. Danny’s Disease is about making contact and having an impact. These beautiful old pens remind me that in a high-tech world we can still make a positive difference using low-tech means.

Is there a cure for this disease? I hope not. Please pass the ink.

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