Ottmar Mergenthaler

Dur­ing the 400-plus years between Guttenberg’s inven­tion of move­able type and the advent of per­sonal com­put­ers, one of the most sig­nif­i­cant inno­va­tions in pub­lish­ing was Ottmar Mergenthaler’s lino­type machine.

Mer­gen­thaler was a watch­maker and inven­tor born in Hachtel, Ger­many, in 1854. He immi­grated to Amer­ica in 1872 at age 18, arriv­ing in Bal­ti­more to work in Wash­ing­ton, D.C., at a shop owned by his step-cousin, August Hahl. Mer­gen­thaler inspected and repaired clocks in gov­ern­ment build­ings around Wash­ing­ton. In Hahl’s shop, he machined knives and other tools for cus­tomers. A tal­ented designer with a nat­ural sense of engi­neer­ing, Mer­gen­thaler received his first patent at age 20.

Hahl and Mer­gen­thaler – who was made co-owner – moved their shop to Bal­ti­more, and made a spe­cialty of fab­ri­cat­ing patent mod­els. At the time, the Patent Office required appli­cants to sub­mit a model of their inven­tion, a work­ing model no larger than a foot in any dimen­sion Today these exquis­ite minia­ture patent mod­els are valu­able collector’s items.

In 1876, a cus­tomer named Charles Moore asked Mergenthaler’s help with a prob­lem. Moore held a patent on a type­writer intended to elim­i­nate the need for type­set­ting. But he couldn’t get it to work. Mer­gen­thaler rec­og­nized the flaws in Moore’s design, and spent two years improv­ing it, even­tu­ally pro­duc­ing a type­writer that stamped let­ters onto cardboard.

He then spent the next eight years per­fect­ing a machine that auto­mat­i­cally set metal type. For hun­dreds of years, all printed mat­ter had been pro­duced the same way – with blocks of metal or wood set in a row by hand; a slow, painstak­ing and labo­ri­ous process. Prior the inven­tion of the lino­type, no news­pa­per in the world was longer than 8 pages.

Mergenthaler’s machine was a huge, noisy beast seven feet tall, six feet wide, and six feet deep. A lino­type is hot and loud, a clank­ing array of levers and but­tons that pro­duces a line of type cast in lead. The lino­type, faster than a dozen type­set­ters work­ing simul­ta­ne­ously, rev­o­lu­tion­ized publishing.

The first lino­type was installed at the New York Tri­bune on July 3, 1886. Although con­tro­ver­sial when intro­duced – type­set­ters and sym­pa­thetic unions protested los­ing their jobs to automa­tion, and Mer­gen­thaler was viciously attacked in print through­out the U.S. and Europe – effi­ciency ulti­mately won out.

Shortly after his tech­no­log­i­cal tour de force, Mer­gen­thaler con­tracted tuber­cu­lo­sis. Although ill, he worked cease­lessly to improve his lino­type design until his death two years later on Octo­ber 28, 1888, only 34 years old.

Had he lived longer, Mer­gen­thaler would doubtlessly have pro­duced more inven­tions and likely joined the ranks of Thomas Edi­son, Henry Ford, and George Fire­stone as leg­endary Amer­i­can innovators.

Mergenthaler’s memo­r­ial was held at Zion Church of the City of Bal­ti­more, where the fam­ily attended ser­vices. The chan­de­lier and four wall sconces adorn­ing Zion Church’s library were a gift from Mergenthaler’s widow and are said to have hung in the family’s home at 159 W. Lan­vale Street in Bolton Hill.

Today the Zion Church has one of the strangest items found in stained glass; in the win­dow by the stairs near the sanc­tu­ary entrance is Mergenthaler’s lino­type machine.

Baltimore’s voca­tional high school was named after Mer­gen­thaler, and Mer­gen­thaler Hall on the Home­wood cam­pus of Johns Hop­kins Uni­ver­sity was con­structed in 1940–41 with money from Emma and Eugene Mer­gen­thaler, the inventor’s widow and son.

You can see a work­ing lino­type machine at the Bal­ti­more Museum of Indus­try.

Mer­gen­thaler is buried at Loudon Park Cemetery at 39° 16' 44.20 N 76° 40' 46.73" W.


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