Sometimes a little goes a long way.

Sometimes you start down a path convinced that you’ve got the problem cornered. Only to realize that you’re heading down a rabbit hole. When I acquired this Remington Super-Riter, I found that it was in immaculate condition – no rust, no gunk, no dust – just perfect. Except for the carriage… As I tried typing a line, I noticed that the carriage would stop moving at about the halfway point. The keybars continued to strike, but the platen was stuck. Using the carriage release buttons allowed the carriage to move freely back and forth. So what was up? The carriage seemed free to move when it was released, but it would get stuck halfway when typing.

I figured it was no big deal, just some gumminess in the carriage rails. With a lighter fluid-dipped q-tip, I would get the rails clean and the carriage running flawlessly again. I tried this approach, but I couldn’t reach deep along the rails before bumping into the carriage itself. The cleaning job didn’t work; the carriage still stuck at the midpoint of its journey. Hmmm.

After mulling this problem over for a while, I realized that I would have to remove the carriage and get deep into the rail assembly. This model of Remington typewriters (the “Super-Riter” series) has a multi-part rail system. There is a lower rail bolted to the typewriter’s frame, an upper rail bolted to the carriage, and a set of bearings arranged in parallel rows that nest between the two rails. This system allows for very smooth carriage movement and is pretty slick to look at. Disassembly and reassembly, however, are not so slick. Actually, they’re nightmarish. Once I got everything apart (mostly by instinct, with a few glances at a 1951-vintage repair manual I found online), I panicked briefly, thinking I would never get this assembly back together. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get back to the rabbit hole, shall we?

Knowing that I would need to get at the carriage rail assembly, I considered how to get in there. This machine, unlike Olympia SG1s, Adler Universals, and Hermes Ambassadors, doesn’t have a quick-release carriage. Nope, the Remington wasn’t going to go quietly. It’s secrets would only be revealed by the efforts of a truly adventuresome dactylographer. On the other hand, the Super-Riter had a neat ace up its sleeve to help the typewriter tinkerer: the Fold-a-Matic system! This mechanical magic trick allows the repairman to literally unfold the whole typewriter, granting easy access to its major systems. Its kind of like a typewriter Jeffries Tube. Behold:

As the above diagram (courtesy of a vintage repair manual) demonstrates, with the removal of a few screws, you can open up the typewriter like a briefcase. Voila:

Now, how exactly do we get from buttoned up, ready to go writing iron, to this? Well, first, we have to remove the sleek 1950s fenders:

With the fenders all removed, the real magic can happen. Time to engage the Fold-a-Matic. Here are the the screws that make the Fold-a-Matic possible:

With all those screws removed, the main event can take center stage. I present, the unfolding:

So, having successfully activated the Fold-a-Matic, I took a moment to bask in my accomplishment. But, the project had only just begun. Now, to get into the carriage rail assembly. Why pour over a repair manual when you can explore? Screws began to turn and parts began to fall off in earnest. Soon, I had a pile of parts and a vague understanding of how everything went back together:

After much unbolting and flinging aside, I finally reached the carriage rail assembly. And promptly broke it. Well, not quite broke it – it just wouldn’t go back the way it was. I left the lower rail bolted to the typewriter frame, unbolted the upper rail from the carriage, and, as I slid the upper rail off the lower rail – oops – there fell the nested bearings. At this point, I panicked and forgot to continue taking photos. So, instead, I’ve provided diagrams from the 1951 repair manual. This is the complete carriage assembly, including the rails:

And here are the lower rail, upper rail, and bearing assembly, marked on the diagram:

Thankfully, the bearings weren’t separate little balls or tiny cylinders. Rather, they were arranged in their own small sub-assemblies, which fit in between the upper and lower carriage rails. The trick was getting these parts to mate-up again. A glance at the repair manual illuminated my frustrating mistake. The manual insisted that the repairman should make a small pencil mark on the lower carriage rail showing the relative position of the upper carriage rail and the nested bearing assembly. I hadn’t made any such mark. So… it was trial and error to get the parts to line up again. It’s difficult to describe the various permutations of my attempts to re-align everything. Suffice it to say, it was touch-and-go there for a while, with much doubt that the thing would ever work again. Imagine trying to re-rail a de-railed toy train set, in the dark, with a loop of fishing line as your only tool. It took a while.

While I was in there, tinkering with the carriage rail assembly, I noticed that the rails and bearings were, in fact, a little dirty. But, once they were all back together, I was able to easily move the upper rail (sans carriage) along the lower rail with no binding or seizing whatsoever. And, I hadn’t even cleaned anything. This didn’t bode well. Clearly the problem was not as I had imagined it; the carriage rail assembly was not the culprit.

Having spent hours disassembling and, now, reassembling the carriage rail assembly and carriage (which further disassembled into its paper bail and tabulator mechanism assemblies), I was no closer to solving the reluctant carriage problem. The carriage was still getting stuck halfway along its straight and narrow route. There had to be something else causing the roadblock. I unfolded the machine again and took a fresh look at its various systems: tab mechanism, bell assembly, mainspring housing, drawband. Suddenly, the mainspring caught my attention.

Maybe the mainspring simply wasn’t tensioned enough. That would, theoretically, cause the carriage to be sluggish. No pull, no pep. But how to tension it? Most typewriters have some easy way to add or subtract spring tension. But the Remington refused to give up its secrets yet again. Would I really have to remove the drawband and rotate the mainspring drum manually, hoping the drum wouldn’t slip in my hand and cause the powerful mainspring to unwind violently? Would it break under the stress?

Just as I was pondering my next move, I took a closer look at the mainspring assembly. There was a small lever that seemed to be attached directly to the mainspring.

I pulled on it and that caused the mainspring to unwind by one “tooth” of its attached gear. I pulled the lever the other way and the mainspring unwound by another “tooth.” Repeating this back-and-forth motion with the lever unwound the mainspring almost completely. So, thought I, there must be an equally easy way to wind the mainspring back to full power. I noticed that the mainspring had a large flathead screw in the center of its housing.

So, I took a screwdriver to it and gave it a turn. It turned easily with a satisfying “clicking” sound. Sure enough, the mainspring was winding up, tightening the slack drawband in the process. I began winding the mainspring up, every so often testing the carriage to see if it would get stuck along its travel. The carriage did get stuck. But, as I wound up the mainspring, the carriage got stuck less and less. At one point, the mainspring stopped winding, but I realize that the mainspring housing had just bound on something. Rotating the housing with my hand, the mainspring suddenly sprang to life again and the drawband pulled tight. Tinkering with the mainspring, I eventually found the optimum spring tension, and the carriage no longer stalled on its journey across the keys. The typewriter was fixed.

So, it turned out that there was no need to get into the carriage rail assembly. There was no need to engage the Fold-a-Matic system at all. I could do all the mainspring winding I wanted with just the rear fender off. I had spent hours completely disassembling the carriage for no reason at all. But, I learned all about the Fold-a-Matic, the carriage rail system with its nested bearings, and the mainspring housing and gear. It was a thorough education on mid-Century Remingtons that, I’m sure, will prove valuable someday. Nevertheless, sometimes it pays to consider all alternative diagnoses of a problem before diving into the approach that “looks” right. If you’re open to trying the simplest method first, you might avoid falling down the rabbit hole. But, that wouldn’t be much fun, would it?