Some of the historical figures whose penmanship I’ve replicated over the years were true heroes—like Frederick Douglass (abolitionist, statesman, orator, and inspiration for Douglass Pen). But some also had a shady side. For instance, most of those whose hands inspired my Texas Heroes Font Set owned slaves; then again both Sam Houston (Houston Pen) and Thomas J Rusk (Texas Hero), Texas’s first two U.S. Senators, opposed secession from the Union.
Bonhomme Richard, my latest, just-released old pen font, is modeled after the fine cursive script of John Paul Jones, who happens to fall into the latter category. On the one hand, he was the hero of one of the earliest and most famous U.S. naval engagements, the Battle of Flamborough Head; on the other, Jones demonstrated something of a disagreeable nature, leading to lifelong disputes, accusations, and clashes with authority.
As a Scottish youth named John Paul, Jones went to sea, sailed the Atlantic on merchant and slave ships, and worked his way up to ship’s master—albeit with an apparent affinity for violent leadership. He spent time in jail for flogging a crew member who died as a result, and later he killed a mutinous crewman with a sword. Although he claimed self-defense in the second incident, he doubted he’d get a fair trial and fled to the American colony of Virginia, where he added the last name “Jones.”
In the Colonies, thanks to his undeniable mariner’s skills, Jones soon found himself a commander in the fledgling Continental Navy. In France in 1777, appealing for the Colonial cause, Jones met (perhaps even befriended) American Commissioner Benjamin Franklin. Two years later, he took command of the Continental frigate Bonhomme Richard, named after Franklin (from Les Maximes du Bonhomme Richard, the French translation of Poor Richard’s Almanack). Although his ship was lost at Flamborough Head, Jones and crew emerged victorious over the British warship HMS Serapis, commanded by Richard Pearson. When Pearson challenged Jones to surrender, he’s said to have replied, “I have not yet begun to fight!” (It’s likely to have been something more like “I may sink, but I’m damned if I strike!”)
The next year,King Louis XVI of France honored Jones with the title “Chevalier,” likely the high point of his career.
After the war, Chevalier Jones had various commands fall through or expire until 1887, when he entered the service of Catherine the Great of Russia. But there, too, he found himself mired in controversy—including an 1889 charge of having sexually assaulted a ten-year-old girl. Although very likely guilty of the deed, he managed to avoid punishment and died in Paris three years later, at age 45.
Humanity is full of good and bad characters. But just to be clear, the old pen fonts I design don’t celebrate the characters of the historical figures who wrote that way—just their writing styles. Some folks just had very cool handwriting. And the ability to write clearly and stylishly by hand seems a dying art these days.
Not very long ago I announced that Austin Pen (released a year and a half ago) would be my last original font. Just kidding!
O.K., I wasn’t kidding at all at the time—but I’ve changed my mind.
What prompted my reconsideration was an out-of-the-blue query by a U.S. Navy Chief about the possibility of modeling a font after the handwriting of America’s first naval hero, John Paul Jones. He included a link to a three-page letter Jones wrote in 1779, now in the digital archives of the U.S. Naval Academy.
Not only did the letter’s author have a neat, legible, graceful hand, but somehow the idea of modeling a font after the script of an 18th-century ship’s captain—let alone the most famous naval commander of the Revolutionary War—truly piqued my fancy.
Commander John Paul Jones.
Just that last phrase should tell you something. Despite the hundreds of hours required, and all the tedium endured, designing these old pen fonts brings more than just a new addition to folks’ font menus—it sends me on an adventure back through time. I get to read the minds of people from the past as translated via ink onto paper. I get a glimpse of their personalities, not just from the words they chose but their writing style. And brush up on historical turns-of-phrase while I’m at it.
Of course I can’t help but imagine what those bygone days must’ve been like to the people wielding those pens. I put myself, however briefly, in their strange old shoes instead of these trusty sandals.
I’ve already begun the project by researching this famous Scots-born naval commander. His were vastly different times: He took to sea in his early teens, worked on merchant (even slave) ships, killed a mutinous crewman by sword, added “Jones” to his birth name to throw the authorities off his trail upon moving to Virginia, joined the Continental Navy, took command of the USS Bonhomme Richard, and emerged victorious from the legendary Battle of Flamborough Head (which spawned his apocryphal “I have not yet begun to fight!”). He befriended Benjamin Franklin, dined with John and Abigail Adams on multiple occasions, preferred the title Chevalier to Commander, ended his career as an Admiral in Imperial Russia, and died in Paris at age 45.
I found an elucidating mention of Jones in a letter from Abigail Adams to her sister Betsy, dated December 3rd, 1784. Here’s a snippet set in Abigail’s eponymous font:
A snippet of Abigail Adams’s impressions of John Paul Jones (set in Abigail Adams).
“We do not often See the Warriour and the Abigail thus united.” Ah, the delightful mental images handwritten letters to sisters leave you with.
It’ll take me a while to make this font, but stay tuned sometime in 2020—perhaps the 228th anniversary of the death of Chevalier Jones.
Last February I released Austin Pen, my 14th typeface simulating real historical handwriting—and my 33rd overall. Soon after, I decided it would be my last original type design. Making a modern font takes hundreds of hours over a span of several months. At least for me it does. Probably I’m slow, or overly painstaking, or merely perfectionistic (considering I’m never entirely satisfied with the end result).
But I’ve reached an age where I feel compelled to spend time creating other things I’d like to make while there’s still time. Which is no doubt why I haven’t polished off a new Antique Penman post since February. I apologize for that.
Thomas J. Rusk’s lament.
Just yesterday I got to looking back at Texas Hero, my very first old pen font, which I started working on pretty much exactly 25 years ago. Texas Hero was, I’m pretty sure, the first typeface designed to replicate the look of genuine old handwriting, warts and all. I was new at the font game back then, having made three eclectic faces earlier in 1993. Didn’t know what I was doing at first, and certainly had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I recall one day hunting around for a font that looked like 18th century handwriting—and finding none. For not the first time, I decided to fill a void. My indispensable partner in this enterprise was my late ma, Jeanne R. Willson, a historical librarian who then worked at what is now the Dolph Briscoe Center for American History at the University of Texas (my alma mater). I knew she had long studied historical letters and documents and would certainly be able to supply examples of old cursive script.
Emily Austin Perry’s hand.
And she did. I got photocopies of letters from several famous Texans (naturally) dating back to the time of the Republic. I got to see the handwriting of folks like Sam Houston, Mirabeau B. Lamar, Stephen F. Austin, Emily Austin Perry, David Burnet (I think), and Thomas J. Rusk. All their hands were distinctly different—fancy, flowery, bold, intricate, and/or a bit messy—but one had just the balance of legibility and period authenticity: Rusk’s.
When people think of Texas heroes, they don’t usually think of Thomas Jefferson Rusk. But he served as a general at the Battle of San Jacinto, as the fledgling Republic’s first Secretary of War, and in 1846 was elected one of the new state’s first U.S. Senators (the other being Houston). He died in 1857, at age 53, by self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Frederick Douglass’s penmanship.
I remember vividly having to look extremely closely at Rusk’s handwriting, getting intimately familiar with his loops and curves, reading and rereading several of his official letters—and one sad, oft-folded lament of the death of his two-year-old namesake son. It was the first of many times I found myself both deeply moved and somehow changed by the words and penmanship of a person who’d died more than a century ago.*
And still I think often of the closeness, familiarity, and nuance we stand to lose in this era of keyboards and texting and speech-to-text. We might even end up communicating like we did before the age of literacy: verbally or visually or via smoke signal.
I hold out hope, though, that writing by hand will remain a thing—even if only a sort of calligraphic art form.