In the late ’nineties I began the study of printing and the design of types; by 1925 I had made many drawings for types for which matrices were engraved for me by the late Robert Weibking of Chicago. His work was technically satisfactory but I did not feel that the types cast from them carried fully into print the exact qualities of rhythm and feeling I was striving for in my original drawings. I soon found that no punch cutter or matrix engraver, no matter how skillful he may be, can do more than approximate in his work the subtleties of another’s thought and feeling, or carry into his rendering of another’s design the subtle touches which the designer himself instinctively would give, were he working out his own conceptions, since as he worked he would vary each stroke to meet fully his demands for complete harmony with every other stroke.

Nor has the designer the right to expect a mere artisan entrusted with the work of engraving his designs, to retain by mechanical means the element of rhythm which is the result of artistic feeling and is not the result of any ideal of mechanical precision.

By 1921 I had visions of becoming the producer of my own designs and of carrying out with my own hands every detail of it type from drawing to the printed page. Curiously enough, it is almost by accident that the dream came true. In 1925 I had never attempted to cut a matrix, nor did I realize the extent of the work entailed or the equipment required to make a satisfactory matrix for casting type. I had accepted, with all the assurance in the world, a commission to design and furnish a private type for the exclusive use of the Woman’s Home Companion. In accepting the commission I had planned to do only what I had done previously with all of my types, merely make drawings and have my friend Weibking engrave the matrices for me. When my drawings were completed I was shocked to learn of my friend’s death and I knew of no one else to whom I could turn for the work he did so admirably for me.

With more assurance than good judgment I decided to make the Village Letter Foundery a type foundry in fact as well as in name and at once set about getting together the paraphernalia of a modest foundry. In short, it meant for me, with no previous typefounding experience or “tutelage under any master,” to attempt to make patterns, to grind cutting tools for engraving matrices, to learn every detail of typefounding from the ground up in order to carry out this commission, and too, after I had passed my sixtieth birthday.

The little foundry gradually acquired apparatus, replacing makeshift tools and machines with better ones as opportunity made possible, when suddenly on the early morning of January 26, 1939, fire took from me the equipment so laboriously got together, the hundreds of drawings, master and work patterns, fifteen or twenty designs for types in process of production—all gone. It was a body blow. What to do next. My seventy’ fourth birthday was less than six weeks away, yet my hands itched to be busy with some phase of my chosen work. Why not finish an autobiography, begun some years ago, in which I might include a first-hand account of each of the types I had made? Maybe design another type, should a commission turn up.

My typographic friends in all parts of the country wrote me hundreds of letters of sympathy; a little fund was raised to help me make a fresh start. The amount raised did enable me to erect a little studio opening out of my library where I could write, draw and study in comfort, owing to good lighting and in close proximity to my books.

Then a commission to do a type for a Western college came along. How to produce it? The amount of money available did not permit the employment of outside help in engraving matrices. To find a place in which to install machines and equipment ran to more money than I could afford. There the matter rested.

A severe illness in December, 1940 and into March, 1941, took from me the pep to carry on or even to consider seriously the re-establishment of a place actually to produce matrices, even in a small way. During a slow convalescence the way seemed to open, new courage to go on came to me. Dean Spencer of Syracuse University School of Journalism had offered to lend me engraving equipment for cutting matrices the University had acquired to he used in the school by an instructor under my supervision. I had been placed on the faculty roster of the University. The instructor mentioned meanwhile had resigned to take a position in New York City, leaving the equipment so far unused.

I determined, if the Dean was in the same mood regarding my use of the equipment, to install it in a larger room in my house, the use of which, peculiarly enough, had not occurred to me until it was called to my attention by my daughter-in-law. Soon painters, carpenters, etc., were busy turning it into an adequate workshop with fluorescent lighting, work benches, etc., and now together with the Syracuse equipment so kindly provided, with additional gadgets and apparatus, I am able once more to “putter” about with my hands which I hope retain still a measure of cunning.

And now at seventy-six I expect to add two or more type designs to my long list, for which I shall not need to apologize, type faces which I hope will live and which will combine simplicity with the beauty and practicality for which I have always striven, which will, as well, conform to the untranslatable spirit of our age. Renascitur Prelum Vicanum.

Poem written by Carl P. Rollins, for the Typophiles in honor of Goudy’s 77th birthday. The types used in the setting of the stanzas are, in order: Bertham, Tory, Kaatskill, Friar, Mediaeval.