Most days, the news is like slicing a soccer-ball-sized onion. The headlines will make your eyes water with frustration, anger or fear—mass murders, disappearing jobs, tariffs on a yo-yo string, trade wars or panic over prices. But beneath all that, there’s a significant story that’s getting barely a whisper of notice.
Under the onion-like layers of odorous news is the likelihood that cursive handwriting will go the way of ancient hieroglyphics. And that would really stink. I am a communicator. Words and pictures have been keeping breakfast, lunch and supper on my plate for 54 years.
Yes, I know.
Technology has shifted my industry into overdrive, but that’s no excuse for laziness. The world has gone ga-ga over keyboards, so why waste time learning cursive? After all, if you’ve got two thumbs to text, why would you want to bother with gripping a pen or pencil to scratch out a note?
I’ll tell you why.
One of my dearest mentors, the late Dr. J.W. Fanning, opined, “Only words live forever.” There is absolutely nothing that replaces the value or impact of a sincere, handwritten note. I have a shoebox of Dr. Fanning’s words stored in a fireproof safe. Over the 15 years he wrote to me, I could see the years taking a toll on his penmanship, but that just makes the letters even more priceless.
My mother, who lived a full 90 years, called note-writing her ministry. Rolls of stamps flew off her desk as she produced as many as 12 notes a day. Before the rooster opened its eyes, she’d already crafted a half-dozen notes. I remember one recipient–who was struggling in a family crisis—said, “I have more than 100 letters from your mother. I keep them in a desk drawer. When I’m having a bad day, I read a few of her letters. It’s the medicine I need.” And he was a doctor.
Yes, I know.
This is 2025, not 1955.
Still, how many emails and text messages do you get a day? If you’re someone like me, there’s a never-ending tsunami of electronic words. If each word weighed a pound and was plopped into the oceans, the Pacific would meet the Atlantic around Omaha. Sure, some messages are heartfelt and meaningful. I appreciate my friends staying in touch, but I have a treasured file for handwritten correspondence.
My second-grade teacher, Ms. Barbara Billfelt, wrinkled her nose when she looked at my hen-scratching on Blue Horse ruled paper. My handwriting still reeks. It will make your eyes water.
Nonetheless, I believe pen and ink bring out the better side of people. In our rapid-fire, got-a-new-communications-gadget-every-day world, civility and common courtesy are slipping, too. It’s too easy to rat-a-tat-tat-rat off an angry email.
Yes, I know.
This sounds like the rumblings of a dinosaur, but I believe children would become better adults if their parents insisted that they write thank-you notes. A grandparent may be impressed by a grandchild’s tweet of appreciation. But a handwritten note will be placed in an honored spot, behind a magnet on the refrigerator door.
There are arguments that cursive is irrelevant, even elitist. I believe that, even if you don’t have the swirling flair of John Hancock, a founding father of America, or Gordon Bishop, a late Wayne County ordinary (probate judge), penmanship is a worthwhile life-skill discipline.
It’s like learning to offer a firm handshake. Look people in the eye when you are talking to them. And I’ll add “no problem” is a stinky substitute for “you are welcome” or “my pleasure.” Good manners will get you into places where money never will.
If we write off the value of teaching cursive, we will take a step backwards. And just like peeling an onion, that should make us “cry.”
(A version of this column was first published on Feb. 2, 2011.)
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
