Meet One of the Last Repairmen Keeping Typewriters Alive in Quiapo

(SPOT.ph) A typewriter shop might be the last thing you'd expect to see while walking along the crowded narrow streets of Quiapo. But there it is, its bright blue walls calling out passersby to come close, its open windows leading to a small nook with shelves carrying old typewriters, typewriter parts, and more. You might even hear the meows of two cute cats lazily lounging about. Here, at one of the few typewriter repair shops left in Metro Manila—perhaps in the entire Philippines—we find Gerald dela Cruz refilling the felines' food bowls one bright weekday morning.

Meet one of the last typewriter repair shop owners in Quiapo

Dela Cruz, 45, was born right in Commandante where he's made his livelihood. Growing up, the boy raised by his lola (his parents lived in Bulacan) held no interest in these mechanical writing machines. But after high school and a self-admitted—and much-regretted—rebellion against college life, a tito sent him to work at an acquaintance's repair shop. "Pinag-aral pa ako ng lola ko pero tamad na ako," Dela Cruz says with a chuckle.

It was in October 1995, somewhere along Evangelista, when Dela Cruz started working with typewriters. At that point, as the "utusan" of a shop filled with old and ornery technicians, he knew nothing about the machines.

"Wala akong interes noon. Tsaka walang nagtuturo ng pag-gawa ng typewriter. Yung mga gumagawa, madamot sila eh," dela Cruz recalls. "Kaya ang ginawa ko, pag gabi—'yung boss ko mabait—doon ako nagkakalikot. Minsan inaabot ng alas otso, bago magsara. Eh wala na yung mga technician, de solong-solo ko yung lugar." He would take the machines apart and put them back before the next morning. "Kalas, balik," he says. Eventually, he made friends with one of the old technicians, thanks to coffee and cigarettes, who was able to teach him more.

Dela Cruz worked his way to becoming a technician through the years. In 2011, he opened his own shop despite difficult circumstances. The businesses around him were closing down. "Sarado na 'yung boss ko kaya ako nawalan ng trabaho, pati 'yung ibang shop nagsasara," he tells us. He was left with no choice. "Wala akong ibang alam na trabaho." He mustered the courage to start his own operation. "Naglakas loob lang."

Who needs typewriters?

When Dela Cruz first started working, typewriter shops were practically everywhere in Quiapo. But as years went by, the shops began to shut down. With no place left to practice the skill that was the source of his livelihood, Dela Cruz opened his own store despite knowing there wasn't exactly a demand for it.

"'Yung unang shop ko, tatlo kami. Isang generator, isang gasket. Sila laging may customer, ako wala. Ngayon, may customer sila naghihintay sa kanila, nakikita nila 'yung typewriter, madalas sabihin sa akin 'May bumibili pa ba nyan? Phaseout na yan'. Siempre masakit sa akin, tapos wala pa akong benta. Eh 'yon na lang bumubuhay sa pamilya ko."

The snide comments hit hard. "Minsan napikon ako, sabi ko 'Pag namatay ka, 'yung typewriter ang gagamitin sa pangalan mo,'" dela Cruz recalls. His words may have sounded angry then but he is now able to laugh at the memory. Most funeral homes still use typewriters, he tells us. He knows this because some of his clients are funeral homes.

As a typewriter expert, Dela Cruz attracts an interesting clientele. While he doesn't get hundreds of customers, the community he's in and the reputation he's built for himself—with the help of social media, too—means he's got quite the loyal base. "May tiwala na sila sa akin," he says.

Apart from funeral homes, hobbyists across the Philippines seek out his services. They find him online and ship their units over for fixing. Some customers message all the way from Mindanao. He has student clients taking up business management courses, and kids interested in typewriters "para sa poetry-poetry nila."

The young ones, he adds, like having their units customized—which means painting the machines with bright colors: green, blue, pink! "Madaming pink nung elections," dela Cruz recalls happily. Then there are those who have their typewriters repaired for sentimental reasons—they were owned by a loved one, or served a special purpose.

Sometimes the units that arrive in the shop are so damaged he can no longer restore them to their old working condition, but Dela Cruz tries to make them look good again. It's the least he can do. "Pero mas gusto ko yung nabubuo ko," he says. "Para maramdaman nila paggamit."

Dela Cruz started out early enough in the typewriter world that he was able to witness its transitions: from vital to outdated and now prized. He points to the 1915 model on his shelf, currently a restoration project he's undertaking. "Dati hindi pinapansin 'yan. May mga ganyan boss ko dati. 'Yung uso noon, mga modern pa. Ngayon baliktad. Ngayon kapag mas luma, mas vintage, mas mahal." 

Through the changing tides, Dela Cruz has managed to raise a family. He and his wife—whose name he attached to his own for the shop's moniker: Gerald Cha—have five kids, two of which have graduated. One, the eldest, is a teacher at a private school, while the other went into IT, the dad shares proudly. As for the shop, Dela Cruz has taken on a younger cousin, Spencer, as an apprentice. Clearly, this typewriter wizard is making sure there's someone after him to keep the machines alive. 

The Gerald Cha store is at 1665 Commandante Street, Quiapo, Manila. You can reach out to Gerald dela Cruz through Instagram.