That was one of Frank Dubiel’s mantras. You’d be waxing lyrical about this wicked good “51” you got last week, extolling its virtues to the sky as if it were the very Holy Grail that Lancelot, Galahad, Percival, Sagramore, and all the other knights of Arthur’s court went questing after all over Europe, and Frank would listen quietly until you were done. Then he’d bring you back to earth with four words: “It’s just a pen.”

Frank understood about pens. He understood that they are first and foremost writing instruments — it’s not his fault that so many people have turned them into expensive tchotchkes, and in fact he did his part to keep them in their place by choosing what to collect. Frank collected Wearevers. He had a blue million of the things. Nice ones, crappy ones, exotic ones, dirt-common ones, he had ’em all. As things have fallen out, my son-in-law Don Fluckinger also collects Wearevers, and after Frank’s death Don ended up with probably the majority of Frank’s Wearever collection. Junk boxes and all. And here’s the real start of my story for today.

Don has written about Wearevers more than once in his Extra Fine Points essays, and I’ve restored a fair number of the Wearevers in his collection. I don’t want them. I don’t want any of them. They’re Wearevers, for petesake! On the other hand, when I was photographing a number of them for him, one turned up that got my attention. I decided then and there that I needed one like it, and that was the only Wearever I would ever permit to join my collection. (Yeah, that’s pretty hardnosed, and — if I run true to form – wrong anyway.)

What could turn me on to a junky pen like a Wearever? (They’re actually not universally junky at all, but this is my story, so I’ll tell it my way.) Well, let’s turn back the clock to the middle of April, and recall that I went to Philadelphia to assemble a CARE package of Sheaffer parts. I also, while there, assembled a pen for my collection:

Now, the cool thing about this pen, besides the fact that it’s a Targa, is that it’s brilliant green. None of this wishy-washy green stuff, but the real McCoy. Bright Green.  And therein lies the key to my fascination with that one particular Wearever. So when Don handed me the parts to build one yesterday, I was properly appreciative. This is not, apparently, a common color. And this Wearever Deluxe is mine, all mine, and I think it’s wicked cool. Maybe even as wicked cool as that Holy Grail “51” I mentioned earlier.

The really cool thing about this pen, if you’re not into the color as much as I am, or even if you are, is the nib. In an effort to keep costs down so they could sell their pens at a price the average lower-middle-class worker could afford, Wearever designed and patented a very unusual nib made in two parts. The point is 14K gold, and it’s held in place by tabs on a “frame” of stainless steel. Here’s a close-up of it:

Now that really is cool, isn’t it?

So this one pen is actually three things to me: it’s a memory of Frank, it’s a bright green pen, and it has a cool nib. There I go, having fun again! But, after all, it’s just a pen.