I remember elementary school and Mr. D.’s penmanship class. Armed with our pencil boxes, we filed silently into the Temple – in awe of the master.
Mr. D. was a flamboyant fellow with a patrician profile and a penchant for perfection. The wall above the blackboard was awash in examples of perfect Palmer techniques.
Under his tutelage, cursive became a mystical experience. He instilled the belief that cursive was an extension of personality, a work of art and a sign of maturity.
For one hour, we shunned the Dixon Ticonderoga No. 2 and explored the wonders of nib and inkwell. Nothing beat the gritty sound of nib on paper – especially parchment. The fountain pen and the ball-point couldn’t compare.
In the course of time, we dabbled in handwriting analysis to help individualize our styles. Some liked to “forge” signatures on the Declaration of Independence (blush!).
The point is that cursive writing is a personal creation that belongs to each of us and is a part of who we are. Let’s keep it alive! On this, I affectionately affix my John Hancock.
Long live cursive! And not with ball points or gel pens, but with narrow calligraphic nibs in fountain pens.