I sold a pen: an ode to a vintage Parker Vacumatic
And I only cried for two days
Once upon a time last year I thought it was a good idea to scour Etsy for a vintage pen. I even almost bought one with a… snake skin finish? I still don’t believe it was actual skin of an actual snake, but if it was, boy did I miss out. Imagine if you wrote the next American novel with a pen made of snakes. Neil Gaiman has nothing on me with his silly Pilot Custom 823. Anyway, that pen aside, during my very educated and intentional search, I stumbled upon this gem:
The last pic of the pen in my hand (RIP).
The pen looked stunning in the pictures. Further research (or rather, the description on the listing) told me that I was looking at an Azure Blue Parker Vacumatic Major from the late 1930s (likely 1936), with a 14k nib that proved to be relatively soft(ish) and wrote with a FM point of sorts. The pen was missing the signature blue gem in the cap, which meant I would get a discount. The pen was of course also restored, with a new diaphragm installed, the whole thing cleaned, and thus was deemed fully functional. Normal disclaimers apply: don’t use inks not suitable for consumption in vintage pens, so no calligraphy ink, or, Flying Spaghetti Monster forbid, Noodler’s ink.
For how much I know about modern pens, I know absolutely nothing about vintage pens, so if I said something silly in the previous paragraph, that is on the author of this post who is silly like that. The pen arrived safely and was even more beautiful in person, with the azure stripes more noticeable on one side than the other — where they faded into black — and totally not noticeable at all when the pen is inked. It also wrote super well and unlike any modern pen I have in my collection.
Recent writing sample.
Almost black side in the inked pen.
I used Pelikan Blue Black because I am edgy and because I figured the untraceable amount of iron gall1 wouldn’t do it any harm, but would make the pen feel even more vintage-y. It paired well; I wouldn’t know how it fares with other inks as I’ve never used it with anything else.
The issue arose when, after one fill, the pen wouldn’t fill again. Pressing the plunger behind the blind cap did nothing but produce a funny squeaking noise; there was no resistance, so no vacuum, and thus no fill happening. For the price I paid, I felt like I should have gotten a working pen. Thankfully, the seller fixed the pen for free (which, in hindsight, was the least they could do, and now I am a bit tilted I had to pay for shipping). Anyway, the pen was promptly returned and I had no further issues. I like the pen. It’s a beautiful pen.
It’s just not for me.
Why, you ask? Well, apart from the fact I am a swine and do not know how to appreciate the classic, timeless look of vintage pens, I also am not a fan of extremely small grips, tiny nibs, or the idea of the pen being extremely flammable. I prefer my pens to be on the conservative side of the spontaneous combustion scale, which I don’t think is a great ask.
Furthermore, I just didn’t seem to use this pen very often, which is very likely my fault given the state of the collection, i.e. the sheer number of pens I have acquired in the last few years (see hurricane preparedness post for that); it is also likely that it just didn’t fit the collection itself. I would place it next to some sparkly new pens and it just looked out of place.
Real video of the Parker Vacumatic blending in with Benu pens.
It’s interesting to me that the idea of a diaphragm is still popping up in some other pens; I even have the Wing Sung 618 with the “pump” filler, which almost looks like this pen, save for the nib, feed, general looks, and price. Of course, the 618 does not have a diaphragm per se, but the general concept of pushing a dongle and it creating a vacuum that sucks up ink is there. As for the rest of the pen, there is a barely visible serial number and the note that the pen was made in Canada; the feed is made of ebonite, and the blind cap is extremely well made to the point you almost can’t tell it’s there.
Proof I didn’t make the pen up.
The Vacumatic fits comfortably in the hand in the sense it’s light and pleasant to the touch (and warms up in the hand being made of cellulose and yes I almost wrote cellulite because I really am all over the place with sadness). However, the threads are too close to the grip so there is no way around them, and I just couldn’t get over that. It is also too small looking for a pen that has “major” in its name. I feel like it’s a misnomer. It measures 13.5mm uncapped, which, I know, is smaller than a banana and I have finally measured a pen which is also a new thing for me.
See, I am just not a vintage type. I do new things.
As of writing of this post, the pen is drying after my cleaning it in preparation to send it to my friend who bought it from me. Thank you, Michael. I hope you’re gonna be a better penrent than I was. It fills me with sadness to think I wasn’t able to enjoy this pen as much as I wanted, but I am giving myself grace.
Not every pen is for every individual. This world is full of amazing pens; tastes change and adapt; what I don’t like someone else will love, and I will be able to buy someone else’s pen off them if they don’t like it.
Like that one custom made F3 pen with the #8 titanium nib.
Is there a pen you wish you liked and then got sad when you finally sold it? Comment down below and let me know how silly I am to have sold something this gorgeous.
Interesting read about the ink: https://thepelikansperch.com/2016/04/20/pelikan-4001-blue-black-story/
So far, I don’t have a pen I regret selling.
I love this Substack btw, the way you write makes me happy.
I had the same reaction to buying and using a vintage pen. Only my experience was with the Parker 51. I romanticized the use of something that was 50 years old and probably had been owned by at least three other people. My reticence rests in the care of the object. I want to use the fun inks, I want to be able to write for long periods of time. I don’t want to feel like I need to be gentle with it lest it break (or catch fire).