You're listening to an airwave media podcast.

It's 1948 in Patterson, New Jersey, and in a small room a man is typing, typing away at his aunt's house.

This is where he can think, remembering vivid images of what happened last year.

Recording them, first in a written journal that he got at the stationery store and then typing them.

The hitchhiking, the things that farmers and truck drivers said, the migrant workers,

the jazz music, the bebop.

I worked out an intricate mathematical thing which determines how assiduously I'm getting my novel

typed and revised a day after day. It's too complicated to explain, but suffice it to

say that yesterday I was batting 246 and after today my batting average rose to 306. The point is I've got to hit like a champion I've got to catch up and stay with Ted Williams

currently hitting 392. Typing away the Chinese food and the painful emotions.

In my fantasy of glee, there is no sea light and no beatness,

just the wind blowing through the kitchen window on an October morning.

He jogs to get himself into shape to get into this typing mood.

When he's done typing, he fixes up his copy and types some more.

Eventually, he decides that he'll create a role of typing paper so that he never has to

stop and type for hours.

It'll become a great American work.

Right now, it's just typing.

We know the political image of 1948 Truman

holding up a paper that says Dewey beats Truman when exactly the opposite it happened.

He had won the presidency for another term. He's holding it up with glee. It's black and white that image and it makes us think that it's old but it's not so far away

And it's not an unmodern time. That's why I bring up Jack Kerouac the writer who's typing at this time, about a hitchhiking trip that he took through the United States the year before.

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