Atop a hillside in West Salem, in the enclosed end of a cul-de-sac, past a novelty street sign that reads “Type Road,” in a house that looks like any other, and down a wood-lined set of stairs that feels dark like a king’s armory, Lee Schrunk hosts his underground letterpress parties. Though he can’t quite put his finger on why, the party guests keep getting younger.

“The people who visit me take letterpress very seriously,” Schrunk said. “They listen attentively; they’re really into it.”

Despite the dawn of the Internet and the rise of universal access to information, and perhaps even because of it, letterpress has experienced something of a minor renaissance in the past decade. Stylish young couples want letterpress wedding invitations, discerning thank-you writers insist on letterpress cards, and a new generation of craft book-makers has fallen in love with the authentic act of setting type by individual letters and printing it by hand.

Lee Schrunk was born to serve the last group. For two decades, Schrunk has been amassing a collection of 19th century letterpress and printing equipment for his own use – he likes to recreate Victorian and early 20th century letterpress posters – and to teach students and hobbyists how to use the letterpress.

Though it has become difficult to find complete alphabets as the market for letterpress letters has exploded in recent years, Schrunk has a acquired a couple hundred full letterpress alphabets, six floor-model presses, a couple more in the garage, a couple hundred table-top presses, a learning library, ink, and hundreds of other items related to the antique printing trade, all of which he keeps in his basement museum.

“I kind of found my purpose by default,” the retiree said. “I like authenticity and I like completeness. There is something special about setting type by hand.”

Since Schrunk retired as Oregon State Printer in 1989, his collection of hand-set letterpress printing materials has ballooned from a simple outgrowth of his professional interests into a full-on obsession large enough to warrant the distinction “museum.” He can’t remember what particular item it was that lifted his collection’s curatorial distinction, that’s what he calls it today – the Nineteenth Century Operative Letterpress & Hand Bindery Museum.

In a basement space roughly 14 by 20 ft., Schrunk has set up the museum to appear as if it had been plucked from an early 19th century printing workshop. The equipment on display includes several generations of hand presses, all of them hand or foot-operated. Many of them require the strength of more than one person to make a successful print.

But the jewel of his collection is a gorgeous 1860 Civil War-era Washington hand press, on which he has set the entire text of the Declaration of Independence in 8,000 pieces of wood, copper and brass letters. It would take a group of printers two-three hours to set the document.

“If the old guys were around today, they’d be able to walk right in and print something,” Schrunk said.

Old guys – well, not really.

Schrunk hosts a group of graduating visual communications students from Chemeketa Community College in the letterpress printing studio, but he has also hosted groups from Portland, including an association of independent ‘zine publishers drawn to the craft.

Schrunk is still flummoxed by the sudden interest in his work, but he is surprised and tickled that his personal interest, one that reflects his entire life, is back in vogue among young people.

“I still can’t believe that anyone is interested in what I do,” Schrunk said.

After all, letterpress printers no longer serve the function they once did as clearing house for community information.

“This was once the Internet, the newspaper, e-mail, all of it combined in one,” Schrunk said. “You were the focal point of the community – all of the information came through you.”

For most people, the type-setter’s craft has long been lost to the desktop publishing revolution, which allows a text to be created long before design is even a concern. But Schrunk is still drawn to the meticulous act of knowing exactly what he will create before it is hand-set, and accomplishing it with a seriousness that is paid off when a sheet of paper comes out perfect the first time it is printed. He must factor in readability and aesthetic feel before he sets a single letter.

“Revisions were verboten in the old days,” Schrunk said. “Printers set their rates based on corrected type,” he explained.

Schrunk isn’t sure what will happen to the museum when he is no longer around. The interest in letterpress may be high, but no one is interested in financing a museum devoted to the subject, he says.

So he sees his museum as a selfish place where he gets to do his thing, sometimes sharing that knowledge with others, sometimes hosting groups of the selectively interested who treat his collection as if it were the Hope Diamond itself.

“This is much cheaper than playing golf,” Schrunk said. “I tried that 100 years ago and the only product I had at the end was a score card.”