York times columnist James Reston or USA Today founder Allen H. Neuharth.

Former US President George Bush swore by one for personal notes. Renowned Canadian novelist Robertson Davies continues to write his books on one, and many a secretary in backwater offices are still pounding away on one, but for most people today the typewriter ranks with the dinosaur in terms of obsolescence.

In fact, there's a whole generation out there who don't even know what a typewriter is.

The pace of technology has moved so quickly that word processors and computers are a way of life, even for pre-schoolers.

This week, Taste steps back a few decades in time to recall the Age of the Typewriter.

* * * Just thirtysomething years ago, Lynn set foot into the business world as a secretary.

Well-trained, young and pretty, she joined the vast legion of women who would spend many hours of the working day sitting in front of a typewriter.

Her manicured fingers would pound the keys in the style and rhythm so carefully learned at secretarial school.

Interspersed with the incessant clatter of the lettered metal arms striking the paper would be the ding of the bell signifying the end of a line, followed by the athletic zip of the carriage being manually slammed back with a lever to herald the start of a new line.

How fast or how slow Lynn carved out her boss's correspondence would depend on her manual dexterity, and her flair for accurately hitting the right keys.

This was the pre-electric age, so hand strength was also a factor. Manual typewriters required much more energy and finger strength to operate than today's computer keyboards.

It was also the pre-copier era, so when multiple copies were required, Lynn would delve into her supplies of carbon paper, carefully leafing them between sheets of stationery.

The stronger the fingers, the better the copies, of course, but usually the fifth copy would be fuzzy. And what if the boss wanted seven copies? Why, Lynn would simply type the item twice, no matter what its length.

By no means unique, Lynn's boss was a stickler for accuracy and perfect presentation. He would not sign or disseminate anything which bore the slightest evidence of imperfection.

But of course his secretary was human, so typing errors did occur. It was up to her to correct them so perfectly that they were undetectable.

Thus, Lynn's arsenal of desk supplies included a variety of erasers, a piece of white chalk, and a collection of thin pieces of cardboard or old envelopes with telltale black smudges all over them.

With no corrective typewriter ribbons or fluid at her disposal, the secretary's challenge was to erase the offending letter and replace it without blemish to the paper or surrounding letters.

The process would begin with the placing of bits of cardboard or envelopes behind each sheet of carbon paper to prevent smudging. Next, the carbon copies were individually erased. On the top copy, the ink of the incorrect letter was first "blotted'' with the dab of a pencil eraser. Then, using a delicate, circular motion, an abrasive typewriter eraser would carefully remove the most obvious letter traces. This was followed by a soft eraser until the paper surface was "clean''. White chalk would then be rubbed over the spot, and the finish of the paper "restored'' with a light, circular rub of the finger.

However, this system would only work if the paper was white because the chalk was white. Cream, grey or any other hue of top copy paper mandated a fresh beginning every time an error occurred.

And speaking of fresh beginnings, if, in copy typing, Lynn's eye skipped a line of text or typed it twice, there was only solution: to begin all over again.

On a bad day, this type of mistake could mean two or three beginnings. Such knowledge was nerve-wracking, causing many a secretary to make errors she would otherwise not have made.

To disseminate large quantities of any given item in her photocopier-free world, Lynn would turn to stencils -- a three-part "sandwich'' consisting of a thin, waxy top sheet, a piece of black paper to show up the typed letters, and a stiff backing sheet.

With the typewriter set to stencil, the sharp-edged keys would strike free of the ribbon and cut their impressions into the stencil's waxy surface.

Corrections were a whiz: liquid wax containing a quick-drying agent that smelled like ether would be painted over the offending letter. If applied correctly -- that is, neither too thick nor too thin -- a letter could be re-cut without standing out from the others when printed.

But there was a trade-off in this simplified system: though infinitely easier to effect than paper corrections, the liquid wax was a bright orange-red, so the typist's compe tence -- or incompetence -- was highly visible for all to see! With typing complete, the stencil would then be affixed to a drum containing gooey black ink. As it rotated, the ink would ooze through the cut letters and onto blank sheets of paper.

On a humid day -- and remember, there was no air conditioning -- the mimeographed (as the term for this process was known) pages would be spread to dry, lest they smudge.

If such material happened to be minutes of a meeting, Lynn would also have to re-type the whole thing onto special minute book pages, with no mistakes, for this was an inviolate record for all time, and mistakes would render it invalid. Or so she was told.

And what happened if Lynn's boss wanted excerpts from a magazine, book or other source copied and disseminated? She would simply copy type them, either with carbon copies or onto a stencil, depending on the number required.

Drafts of proposed material were always typed with double spacing. Very often the paragraphs were then cut up with scissors and reassembled with staples, from which another draft or final copy would be produced.

Fussy or indecisive bosses frequently incurred a great deal of time-consuming secretarial labour on the way to getting something the way they wanted it -- a sore test of the secretary's patience.

Of course, a good secretary was also expected to "maintain'' her typewriter in good condition, so Lynn's supplies also included a box of plasticine and a straight pin with which to clean the keys.

Since the ribbon was made of inked cloth, the constant bashing of the keys against it ultimately took a toll. The bowls of such letters as o, p, d and e would fill with inky lint which, if not removed, would result in a series of unsightly blobs throughout the text.

So a piece of plasticine would be worked into a pliable ball with the warmth of the hands and then pressed against the keys. After each dab, the inky deposit would be worked back into the plasticine, giving the secretary a nice set of dirty fingers in exchange for clean keys.

And where the plasticine failed, a straight pin would succeed in removing the last vestiges of lint from the bowls of the round letters.

At day's end, Lynn would dust the chrome parts of her machine to dissuade corrosion before placing a fitted, soft cover over her typewriter to keep out the dust.

Cumbersome, time-consuming and inefficient though yesteryear's typing tasks would seem by today's standards, at least no-one using a manual typewriter ever suffered from repetitive stress injury (RSI) -- the pain that comes from typing too much for too long.

With manual typewriters interruptions were frequent.

Typists had to change the paper, pull the carriage return, make erasures -- all activities that used different muscles and gave fingers and wrists a break.

Now, the computer that eliminates all those distractions to make the task easier on the brain has made it harder on the hands.

"I think there was a lot more movement in the hands and arms with a manual typewriter,'' said Jean Landa Pytel, an assistant professor of engineering at Penn State University and a human motion expert.

"What's happening now is that people working in these work stations assume a position and maintain that position for a long period of time. There's very little movement deviation.'' In fact, repetitive stress injuries are the fastest-growing workplace disability. They usually cause pain in the arm and wrist and can cause permanent damage.

WHAT'S THIS? -- Believe it or not, it's a typewriter! Less than 40 years ago manual typewriters were a normal part of office life.