Almost There

One feature of towns and cities in the United Kingdom is the Blue Plaque. These are put on the outside of buildings to commemorate famous people who had some association with that building. Or at least that is the idea. Most of the blue plaques commemorate people that most of us have never heard of. They may have been well known in their own field at one time but they never came to the attention of the general public. We approach the plaques in anticipation and go away wondering who on earth the person commemorated was and why they were considered so important.

Raul Entzpach does not have a blue plaque to his name. He was supposed to have a much more important commemoration. But his achievements will forever be tainted by one moment of madness. He is only remembered if at all as the man who cast away everything he worked for and never lived to repent of his misdeeds.

Herr Entzpach was an Austrian. He arrived in the U.K. in 1917 as a Prisoner of War. He was glad to get out of the fighting and wanted a chance to learn a more useful trade than the cataloguing of archery relics he used to do in Vienna. He therefore pleaded for useful work in the Prisoner of War camp. He was set to repairing army vehicles and proved fairly competent at this. Gradually he was given other machinery to fix and one fateful day this included a typewriter. He had done typing before. Now with time on his hands he not only repaired the typewriter but became very proficient in its use. The owner let him keep it until the end of the war. When the armistice was signed Raul was the fastest typist for miles around and the owner of the typewriter gave him a secretarial job as soon as he was released from the camp. Despite his faltering English Raul proved both brilliant and popular and seemed to have a fine future ahead of him.

As the best typist around Raul could name his own price for his skills. He soon did. Within a few years typing competitons had become common as a means of encouraging people to take up the activity. Raul was unbeaten in these competitions for five years. Of course as time went by typing proficiency was measured not in words typed per minute but in artistic interpretation of a given text. In these terms too Raul excelled. By now he had adopted the English name of Reg and as Reg Entzpach he gave memorable renditions of the typing classics required by all serious practitioners. His sweeping interpretations of "To Whom It May Concern" and "Polite Notice: No Nailed Shoes Beyond This Door" will never be forgotten by those privileged enough to have witnessed them.

Although largely unknown to the general public Entzpach was the acknowledged king of the typing world. His fellow professionals sought to honour him in some way. A plaque on his Prisoner of War camp was suggested but this was rejected by Entzpach himself who regarded himself as fully assimilated in British society. Then it dawned on someone that Entzpach already had a place named after him by default. Reg Entzpach was only one small step from Regent's Park. The Prince Regent had never been popular even when he was alive. The simple redistribution of the space between the words would provide a fitting honour for the uncrowned King of Typists.

Records reveal that the Corporation of London was perfectly happy to accede to the demands of the art typists and rename the park after Entzpach. Then disaster struck. The Times newspaper ran a small story on an inside page in its May 23rd 1927 edition suggesting that Entzpach owed his pre-eminence to the use of performance enhancing drugs. This was of course long before the term or even the concept had become generally known. Entzpach did not consider the allegation worthy of his attention. He was therefore shocked when the same newspaper ran a front page story six weeks later. This included an interview with the man who had supplied him with the masking agent which nullified the effects of keyboard noise and the inhalation of printer's ink. He tried to defend himself but the weight of evidence and the hostility of jealous rivals who had previously supported him proved too strong. Reg Entzpach never got a park named after him. He disappeared into obscurity far quicker than he had emerged from it. Two weeks after the article he had a stress-induced stroke and was confined to a wheelchair. His typing days were over. Six months later he deliberately wheeled himself off Beachyhead into the tumbling English Channel below. His life and reputation were gone. There was no point in living when all he had had been taken away by his own greedy desire to remain at the top forever.

The death of Reg Entzpach was also the death of artistic typing. No one could follow in his footsteps and arouse enough public interest for the activity to be considered worth anything. It also provoked a reaction from the authorities. With redoubled force they ensured that long articles about the origins of Regent's Park and its connection with the Prince Regent appeared in the public press. They did everything they could to distance themselves from the disgraced artistic typist. So much so that today he is forgotten and his area of expertise derided at every turn. Want to be an artistic typist? They would rather lock you up than do anything at all to help you fulfil your desire.

Next time you see a blue plaque commemorating someone you have never heard of ask yourself this. Why are there no plaques on some of the other houses in the street? Is it because no one who achieved anything lived there? Or is it because the authorities are so ashamed of their conduct that they do not want you to know who lived there? The houses with plaques on are not architecturally distinguished from their neighbours. They attracted the same sort of residents. What might the world have been if their inhabitants had the character to live up to what people expect achievers to be?