A year ago, TIME magazine did an article about Ben and his antique printing presses. The opening line of the article went something like this:
"There's nothing Ben won't do to get his hands on a letterpress."
We both laughed about this little exaggeration. Well, I should have noticed it was only ME laughing. The author, apparently, nailed it on the head. After it was published, Ben was getting calls from around the country from people thinking he might be interested. Uh, they were right.
We've had presses shipped in from Canada, the East Coast, the Midwest, and now the West coast.
(Ok. Here is where I need to get sidetracked and tell you a funny story about Ben's hair in the photo. Last year he told me he wanted to shave his head, but he wasn't sure. The last time he had done it was in 7th grade. I was like, "Oh Please. Just shave it. It is the end of Summer. If you hate it, no one is going to see you anyways." Well - I kid you not - Ben called me from work the next day. He left before I woke up. He said, "Briar, TIME magazine is doing the article. They are sending a photographer out tomorrow." I said great. He says "Uh, I shaved my head this morning." So, I was a little wrong about no one seeing it.)
So, after Disneyland, Ben set off on a little adventure of his own. I headed to Vegas with the girls and he took off in a huge rented truck. He picked up 2 nice presses in Los Angeles and then drove 8 hours north to San Fransisco to pick up a piece of crap. He'll disagree with "piece of crap" and agrue it is a "thing of beauty." OK.
This is where "Rusty" - as I now call it - lived for 2 years waiting for Ben to come get it. "Mr. SweatPants" here is not a printer. He collects stuff and thought this press was so "beautiful" he had to have it. Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, I guess.Although letterpress printing has been growing in popularity over the last few years, letterpresses are no longer made. You have to grab them when you see them. Many times you hear of them in people's grandparents' basements, or in a dusty corner of an old business. Many times, the current owners have no idea what they are. There is no letterpress store to buy a press, or parts for that matter. Once they are gone, they're gone. Forever. Some of our presses (the pretty ones) date back to the late 1800's. This one is one of the newest, oddly enough. It is from the mid-1900's.
This rusty fork lift had no brakes. 
Ben spent the night on the road, curled-up in a sleeping bag in the cab of this truck. . .along with all of the other semi's. 
Oh look! Another fork lift with no brakes! What is up with that?? This is at his studio unloading the presses.
The studio all shuffled around awaiting the arrival of the new presses.
Everything all jammed in together. Ben told Jeannie that he told me he thinks he's done. That he has all of the presses he's wanted. She just looked at him and said, "That's really mean. Why would you tell her that? You know you're lying." She's right. She always is. 
Well, I hate to end this whole Ben-adventure on a sour note. But guess what, I'm going to. He moved 3 presses across three states and countless others on moves across town to new locations. He's amazingly careful and uptight. No injuries (even with the 3,ooo lb. one he pulled out of a basement through a window well. Jamin, I know you remember well.) Well. well. He sold one of the smaller ones (my favorite one) to a woman. She was there to pick it up the same day Ben was unloading our new ones. She had a truck and Ben had a fork lift (without brakes, remember). Long, sad story short, he bumped the wall and down came the little beauty and it broke in half. . .feet away from the awaiting truck, and just moments away from the awaiting check. It's been around for more than a century and this is how it had to go. Yah, that sucked. Instead of putting it on her truck he pushed it around the corner to the side of the building; its temporary graveyard.
