Words per Minute

As a kid, I wouldn’t dare touch my father’s Royal typewriter that was stored in a locked beige case. That typewriter felt like one of the most intense tools of his profession as a psychiatrist. Every Sunday, when many kids were out in their families’ suburban backyards playing catch or tether ball with their dads, my father spent his day of rest at the far end of the dining room table, typing the bills he would mail to his patients in little plastic-windowed envelopes. Even as a small child, I suspected that was a very inefficient way to handle paperwork for a very busy professional psychiatrist and director of public mental health clinics who worked every weekday from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. (and Saturday mornings). But my dad didn’t ask for my opinion. I’ve since learned that many psychiatrists—concerned with confidentiality—choose to handle their own billing processes.

But while I didn’t want to spend my weekends typing out bills, I did want my own typewriter. I often felt tired writing with a pencil, so I was thrilled at the idea that I could create words through a machine.

Learning to type and getting upgraded from one basic typewriter to another was a huge part of growing up in the mid-20th century. In those days, I could actually keep up with technology. A new typewriter model would come out just as I was ready for it. What progressed most from typewriter to typewriter was the smoothness of the keystrokes and how easy it was to correct mistakes.

I don’t remember my first typewriter, but I do know I loved getting fresh orange boxes of Eaton’s Corrasable typewriter paper. The orange box of lightweight paper was for everyday use. The blue box held heavier stock for special letters or projects. I would ride my bike to Straley’s in Newton Center and stock up.

My parents got me a Smith Corona typewriter with an erase cartridge as my graduation gift from Newton North High School in 1975. And when I arrived in New York and started work at Dell Publishing as a publicity assistant for $165/week, my office typewriter was an IBM Selectric. Gone were the keys that sometimes got stuck—replaced by a steel ball. This gorgeous red machine took professional typing to a whole new level for me. I had to create the company’s publicity newsletter—The Dell Dateline—each week, and having built-in correction tape made life so much easier.

Like many people who start their careers in book publishing, I am a fast typist. I just timed myself on my laptop and I type 84 words per minute. But it wasn’t yet 1987 and the Mavis Beacon typing software program hadn’t been launched, so I was wholly self-taught.

I loved Mavis Beacon. She looked so cool and professional. In the 1990s, we offered her software through Scholastic Book Clubs, and they were big bestsellers. But as I learned while writing this blog post that “corrasable” isn’t a real word (I’m guessing it’s a combination of the two words that describe the paper: coated and erasable), I was more than a little disappointed to find out that Mavis Beacon was not a real person. It turns out the eponymous typing guru was named by the marketing folks at The Software Toolworks, who felt having a realistic-looking spokesperson on the software boxes would help sales. Haitian-born Renée L’Espérance, who was discovered while working at the Saks Fifth Avenue perfume counter in Los Angeles, was hired to be the face of Mavis Beacon. For me, and I am sure for millions of others, Renée as Mavis was an iconic image of a powerful Black woman in technology.

The chilly cows in Farmer Brown’s barn are not concerned with the bells and whistles on their typewriter or how fast they can type. All they want is to get warm…so they use their typing skills to petition their landlord for some blankets. And it works.

New York Times–bestselling author Doreen Cronin had never been on a farm or seen cows up close until she went to college in Pennsylvania, where she was surrounded by them. A journalism major, Doreen would spend all day clicking and clacking on her typewriter, while outside her window the cows would be mooing. Doreen said she didn’t think much of it at the time, but these two ideas came together years later when she sat down to write Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type—our pick for the Scholastic Book Clubs Book of the Week. 

The literacy rates go through the barn roof when Farmer Brown’s cows discover an old typewriter and start practicing their typing skills. But the situation really takes a turn when the cows begin airing their grievances and making demands. When the farmer denies their requests, they take it to the coop and the hens join in on a barnyard boycott.

Today’s younger students might be as bewildered with a typewriter as they are with a rotary telephone, but Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type is a perfect tool to introduce them to this old-school technology, and it teaches them to use their minds and words to solve disputes in a peaceful way.

Here are some additional resources to get students excited about this aMOOsing picture book:

• Take a brain break with the Book Boys as they reenact the story of how some cold cows and hens hatch a plan to get blankets from Farmer Brown in an original music video.

• Curriculum writer Megan Mitchell and first grade teacher Jennifer Briggs share how they use Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type to teach students predicting and inference, writing skills, and problem solving in Book Talks.

• Watch an exclusive video interview with Doreen Cronin to learn about her inspiration for the story and her advice for aspiring authors in Behind the Scenes.

• Download a free printable activity to accompany Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type in Cooked Up from a Book.

At Scholastic Book Clubs, we are always trying to help teachers inspire students to see themselves as readers (and writers). That’s why in addition to the $1 Book of the Week, we’ve created inflation-busting savings, exclusive author events, live read-aloud shows, and fun contests to help make reading come alive in your classroom.

Please feel free to reach out anytime at judy.newman@scholastic.com. I’d love to hear from you!

XX,

Judy