A Writing Instrument of "Distinction"
Searching for Oscar Part II
Although this is mostly self-contained, it is part of a series. If you didn’t read the first post, you can find it here.
Kelly was knee-deep in a pile of 1960s Good Housekeeping Magazines, so I idled at a rotating watch display that had been reimagined as an ephemera carousel. We were spending an afternoon antique shopping and started at the Barn Door, just over the state line in Millsboro, Delaware. It’s a favorite because it’s nearby and, unlike too many other places, it isn’t a collection of literal junk.
My wife is a collage artist and will take extra time browsing old magazines and books that speak to her, which allows me to appreciate the quirky, oddball, and absurd things on offer at my leisure.
The carousel didn’t move, so I craned my neck to see inside–political buttons from the middle third of the 20th century, beaded bracelets, a pocket knife assortment, and, improbably, a black mechanical pencil embossed in white with “Wicomico County Board of Education.”
A county-issued pencil is more an artifact than a collectible, but it reminded me mechanical pencils were a thing people collected. I showed Kelly but hedged when she encouraged me to buy it. I wasn’t convinced I had the wherewithal or even interest for mechanical pencil collecting.
Yes, I had a bunch of vintage mechanical pencils, but accumulating mechanical pencils isn’t collecting. The Dixon pencil case made me happy, but I can’t put my finger on why. It’s a mass-produced, utilitarian commercial good, not a work of art. More important, it lacked a backstory.
My office tchotchkes and trinkets have a story, a sentimental value, or at least a use. The mechanical pencils had none of that. They aren’t really for writers, they’re engineer’s tools.
Wood pencils are for writing. With their thick graphite centers, wood pencils withstand the urgency of an idea happening under them. They’re hammers, roughing out shapes for future refinement. Their mechanical counterparts crave straightedges and extended ledger entries; they are scalpels.
They were asking, like, $8 or maybe $12, for the board of ed pencil, so it wasn’t the expense. Collectors I researched have boxes and boxes of mechanical pencils. Some had entire wall displays, with little clips to hold each trophy in place. It seemed like borderline hoarding to me.
Indeed, when I reached out to Dave’s Mechanical Pencils for a potential interview, he told me he was paring his collection down. He didn’t want to talk about why on the record. Google “mechanical pencil collection for sale” and you’ll see three or four basic reasons people sell–upgrading, purging, pairing back, and death, which I mentioned last time (and also could count as purging or pairing back).
Why fill box upon box with pencils I wouldn’t use or appreciate so I could say I had a mechanical pencil collection? Continuing through the rooms at the Barn Door, though, I came across a shamrock-colored combination mechanical pencil/construction level. It even had a little window where you could see the bubble. It was a promotional pen for S G Williams & Bros Co., a construction firm that’s still open in Wilmington, Delaware.
The Barn Door’s proprietor, a perpetually upbeat, copper-tone country beach hippie in her 40s, asked about the pencil as we walked to check out. Kelly and I visit this shop two or three times a year and she recognizes us, but we don’t know one another’s names. Often, I’ll catch myself halfway through rehashing an earlier conversation about the awesome turtle chilling in the massive tank behind her register. I have to ask its name every time (I either always think it’s Yertle, and it’s not, or it is Yertle and I’m sure it couldn’t be). I’m no better with turtle names than I am with people names.
“Do you collect those?” she unlocked the cabinet to show me the pencil/level
I told her I was considering it and asked if mechanical pencil collecting was that common.
“Oh, yeah,” she told me as we headed back to the register. “Some people collect one from every state, some people are looking for colors. Sometimes they’ll ask for one because they collect everything ‘Delaware.’”
Niche mechanical pencil collecting captured my imagination because (at the time) I thought it limited the number of pencils out there. Of course, “specific” doesn’t imply “few” when you’re talking about marketing materials, and the bulk of novelty mechanical pencils were giveaways.
Kelly asked me if I was going back for the board of ed pencil. It’s old and from a small nearby county, so it was probably rare, but it was boring.
“I’m a collector now,” I told her. “I have to have standards.”
That got eye rolls all around. I handed over $5 for the level/pencil and so began my life as a collector. I liked that novelty mechanical pencils came with self-contained backstories. When they were made, why, and for whom, were practically written on the front of each. In the ensuing months, I’d pick up more–a double-ended fountain pen/pencil, a cigarette lighter, a faux spark plug, a perpetual calendar.
Once, I grabbed a “regular” bank giveaway in an impetuous moment. I put it to work as a baseball scorekeeping pencil. Our annual cross-country trip would bring more opportunities, and I wanted to pace myself so I didn’t flirt with hoarderdom.
Westward Ho!
We drive to Washington and back over about three weeks to visit our daughter every summer, hitting antique stores whenever we have to stop for gas or lunch. This year, I did not find one novelty mechanical pencil between Delmar, Maryland, and Ellensburg, Washington, so I was feeling desperate when we rolled into Thorp, Washington, two hours southeast of Seattle.
As an East Coast guy, I’m always baffled by how much space they have out West. I grew up in New Jersey, where you’re never more than 10 or so miles from a gas station. Out on the high plains, you can drive an hour or more without seeing one. Forgetting that fact had me coasting in on fumes several times.
Thorp Fruit and Antique Mall started as a farm stand in the late 50s or early 60s. Today, with a combination gas station/quick-mart next door, it’s grown into a tourist attraction and commerce hub in the middle of nowhere. If you have to stop for fuel (and you probably should), you may as well browse.
The owners devoted the bottom floor to a high-end farm market such as you might expect in a tonier neighborhood–islands of wood-wrought faux crates loaded with fruit amid aisles of locally sourced snacks, jellies, spreads, and the like.
The atrium made this three-tiered shopping center the most “mall” antique mall I’ve ever experienced. It allowed visitors a glimpse of what the other floors had to offer. This assured potential customers it wasn’t just piles of junk in an attic.
A wide staircase angled up from the middle of the market, cutting a hard right at the first-story landing and continuing to the second floor. As we ascended, it occurred to me that the heating bill must be enormous. On the upside, they don’t need air conditioning very often in the Pacific North West.
Pepper, our dog, made the trip as well, which meant we each took 15-minute shifts hanging with her while the others browsed. It was a typical low-humidity summer in the PNW as they (a little cringingly) call it, and though it wasn’t “hot” at all, we didn’t want to leave her alone in the cargo van for any extended period.
I had seen about a dozen antique stores during our 2,800-mile trip without finding one mechanical pencil worth having. Tempering my desperation so I didn’t grab just anything, I dithered over a $28 Oscar pen and pencil set tucked low and away in a vertical glass display case behind a defunct watch and some retro shaving gear.
A set that wouldn’t have warranted a second look before I started “collecting,” it appealed to me immediately. Set in a yellow silken-lined black velvet box and practically unused, the brass tip, rings, and clip still shined and the distinctive green wood body looked sleek against the yellow. “Oscar” in bold script appeared angled on the inside of the case top. A line down in said, “Writing Instruments of ‘Distinction.’I worried it might be a fountain pen, which is a whole other ball of collecting wax.
The only way to know whether it was two pens or a pen and pencil was to go back downstairs and ask. Fortunately, as I approached the stairway, I discovered the key mistress behind a small desk in an alcove. She was a teenager, really, maybe a family member pitching in, the place had that kind of vibe. I described the case and, several rings of keys in hand, she escorted me to my potential purchase.
Meet Oscar
It was even more impressive to hold than to see. The wood was so smooth and shiny it didn’t feel genuine, though the green lacquer enhanced its elegance. The instruments were substantial and the pen wasn’t of the fountain variety. Later, I would wonder whether the color put people off when it was new. I thought it looked splendid but maybe it was ahead of its time.
The quality reminded me of how little I knew about vintage pen sets; $28 seemed cheap. I closed the box and presented it to the key mistress, who dropped the pens into a thin paper bag and stapled the price tag to the front.
Even though it’s near a world center of technology, cell reception in the PNW outlands is spotty at best. I gave my daughter the package and my credit card so she could stand in line while I took my dog shift and searched for a “true” online price for Oscar pens. I found that one sold on eBay for $100, so at least I didn’t grossly overpay.
The set included a product description and limited warranty. It also had the company name and address: SMS Products, 3226 Roman St., Metairie, Louisiana.
That was August 9, 2024. By September I’d learn the only online evidence Oscar pens ever existed was the single eBay post. There was nothing in the newspaper archives, not even for SMS Products in Metairie. I decided to punch the address into Newspapers.com and see what businesses it housed over the years.
I spent the occasional hour down the Roman Street rabbit hole over the following weeks, tracing its former inhabitants in search of a clue to the Oscar origin story. It seemed preposterous that something mass-produced had zero online evidence (even the eBay sale disappeared from the site into the archives).
A product might be short-lived and evaporate, but how could a company go missing? There was no trace of SMS Products at that address. The only thing I found was a socially connected family associated with that address in the late 1960s. Pulling on that thread would lead me to stalk a couple of nonagenarians.