Retrofit 1: Starting With Pieces

Like Sir Saul Enderby, chief of British intelligence MI6 in le Carré’s Smiley’s People, I can be “thick.” I sometimes need to plot things out, building a thought or idea step by step as if constructing a Euclidean geometric proof. Such is the case as I consider my contributions to a panel discussion/seminar slated for late June, part of the Rare Books and Manuscript Section (RBMS) preconference in Las Vegas. The preliminary description for the seminar — with the title “Retrofitting Expectations or Redefining Reality: What Does the Future of the Special Collections Professional Look Like?” — reads:

Does the popular image of the special collections librarian match what professionals now find in their jobs? Fundamental changes in librarianship and academia are impacting departments and their staffs. New economic and technological realities are reshaping the demands of the communities we serve – both patron and employer. The reality of the work we do may not resemble our visions of the profession when we started. Today’s professional needs a new understanding of expectations and opportunities in order to succeed. This moderated “fishbowl” discussion will put questions to two library administrators and two professionals in order to clarify their expectations and goals. The seminar will aim to provide strategies for building a successful career in a changing field.

Am I showing my RBMS hand by thinking out loud here, thus diminishing any impact I might have during the seminar itself? I don’t think so. There is a slight risk of showing my ignorance, thinking foolish thoughts, or getting sidetracked along the way. I’ll take the risk. I need to get my thoughts in order and out in the open (or at least partially in the open), in the hope that someone might offer an interesting or useful comment, link me to an article or blog, or correct me along the way. I don’t want to spoil our Las Vegas gathering by disclosing too much. On the other hand, this exercise might plant a few seeds and put colleagues in a prepared and productive mode (or mood) once we arrive in “Sin City.”

I’m not going to attempt to build my entire argument (or statement, or contribution) in a single post. And I might not post all the parts here, as I pick out the various pieces of this puzzle, play with them, and put them in place. I might, after all, need to maintain some sense of suspense or anticipation as to where I finally land and what the puzzle ultimately looks like.

For starters, perhaps in a pedantic or pedestrian fashion, let me grab the first thread from the seminar’s description: the popular image of the special collections librarian. Is there such a thing? Certainly there’s the stereotypical image of a librarian—a thing (and topic) I abhor and believe unrealistic. So, right at the start, let's abandon this train of thought and all images, words, etc. associated with the stereotype.

The impression of a special collections librarian is more problematic, so let me attempt to get at such an image through the back door, as it were, by looking at archivists. (I will have more to say about the archival profession as I move through the various steps of my proof. Let me at least put a placeholder here for a thought worth pursuing later, one I may or may not agree with (but have heard uttered by others more than once): archivists—at least in the North American context—engaged in a silent coup as they took over RBMS leadership during the last decade, wresting control from bibliophiles.)

Richard J. Cox, in a blog post from 2006 entitled “What Should the Fictional Archivist Look Like?,” asks:

If an archivist were going to write a novel or mystery portraying an archivist or the work of an archives, what would be the difference between what he or she would write and what a professional writer might compose? Mostly, I suppose, the archivist might work hard to avoid the stereotypical features most writers easily resort to in their portrayal. What are those characteristics? They seem to be absent-mindedness, other-worldliness, clumsiness, dustiness, musty odors, awkwardness, and other features suggesting one who is far more comfortable with dead, rather than living, people.

As to this stereotype, Cox observes: "Whatever the reasons, archivists are surrounded, buried in, layers of stereotypes, that they can hardly see their way through. But, still the question might be, what is the ideal way, if there is an ideal way that the archivist might be brought to life in a realistic fashion?"

Does Cox offer as a suitable image, something acceptable to the profession? Not really. Only hints, e.g. through the academic novels of David Lodge, but even here we have a problem as Cox adds another stereotypical image into the mix.

Everyone knows that the great university is still home to many who have no hope of making a living in any other part of the world, adding to the amusement evident in the most recent trend in university administrators’ thinking or rhetoric, to reform their institutions into the corporate model. Assuming that a business is intended to make some degree of financial profit, it is wonderful to envision our splendid group of professors contributing to the profit line. Most experienced academics know that to transform their departments into business would be a sure way of killing their programs in a relatively short time – but the rhetoric and posturing along the way would be fun....

Indeed, a thread to work with here is that so many academic archivists are frustrated academics, people who spend years preparing for a teaching career and life of quiet solitude only to discover there were no jobs or they were, despite opportunities, unemployable as academics for some reason.

If Cox leaves us with hints (skewering administrators along the way), Rachel Alexander provides more, at least in terms of stereotypes. In her “Literature review on the image archives and archivists project in popular culture,” Alexander provides another string of images, including: "middle-aged to elderly..., wearing glasses, and dressing sloppily or primly.... a 'fossilized anachronism who should have been put out to pasture long before....'" More images follow, none of them complimentary. I'll spare you the details. I’m sure readers can point to other articles, blogs, books, films, etc. with popular portrayals of archivists and librarians (who are often lumped together in those depictions). Unfortunately, I am still left with the original question in the seminar description: Does the popular image of the special collections librarian match what professionals now find in their jobs?

I think this is the wrong preliminary question to ask. We should scrap or ignore the popular image. We delude ourselves by thinking about or even briefly considering prevalent impressions. It is navel-gazing at its worst. If we got into this segment of the profession because of some quixotic idea of the scholar-bookman and no one in our graduate educational experience disabused us of our fanciful notions, then our professors are to blame for continuing the stereotype; we’re to blame for swallowing it hook, line, and sinker; and our administrators are to blame by leading us by the nose through poorly written or deceptive job postings (assuming such things exist).

Instead, we should deal with the real image, or at least the one we talk about in terms of professional competencies. It is here that we need to begin, to take a long, hard look in the mirror, and see if we like the reflection. With any luck, and perhaps with a bit of skill and guidance from others wiser than ourselves, we’ll see (or are in the process of seeing) “a professional who gradually achieves such general proficiency over the course of his/her career” and “a sense of community and common identity among special collections professionals” that at the same time helps “others to understand our work.”

30th Year Reflections/52: Bon Voyage

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” — Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Today I say goodbye to a colleague. I cannot call her a friend, for in my mind such a relationship goes deeper into spirit and soul. We have not scratched those surfaces together. But neither do I call her an enemy, for while we have had an occasional clash, we never went to war against each other. She has been a co-worker, facilitator, overseer, disciplinarian, encourager, leader, and so much more. She is a consummate professional. While not my mentor, I have glanced more than once in her direction for inspiration and guidance, wondering how she does what she does with such ease and poise. We are of a same age. If the winds had moved differently, we might have found ourselves together in graduate school. Instead, we carved our own paths, gathered experiences and expertise along the way, and found ourselves together at this time, in this place. For the last nine years we have worked together. Very soon, she will leave for a new adventure and challenge. I wish her well. She will be missed.

Her imminent departure got me to thinking of other departures, other partings. Thankfully, I can say that almost all the valedictions experienced during my career have been without rancor. Some separations were quiet and uneventful. Others came with a party, gifts, and well-wishes. Still others came with tears and hugs. Each time provoked an introspection—whether it was me taking leave or in farewell to another. Those moments of contemplation following a leave-taking offered a chance to take bearings, soundings, and make a course correction. Now, with this latest sendoff, I find myself wondering what needs attention, correction, or adjustment. What does the future hold? Will I be able to advance confidently in the direction of my dream?

And while a good part of any post-exodus analysis is self-directed or focused, at least part of this contemplation needs to be directed toward the other, the one no longer in the picture. I am painfully aware of at least one breaking of the fellowship in which there was little grace on either side. My default position in this case was one of silence and abstention. I offered no well-wishes and refrained from any recognition of the event. I felt at the time that to say or do anything in recognition would have been insincere. It was, in retrospect, not my best moment as a professional, or a human being.

I am reminded of a scene from a film adaptation of Len Deighton’s “Game, Set, and Match” series. At some point in the film an old hand in British intelligence offers some advice to his young protégé. While I cannot recall the exact quotation, it runs something like this: “Don’t isolate yourself laddie…you’ll need one or two of us before the day is through.” Working as I sometimes do as a “lone arranger” or with long stretches of time without interaction with other staff, it is easy for me to take a solitary route. The exit of my colleague reminds me of a better way, one done in the company of others. It is through such company that friendships are born.

30th Year Reflections/51: Old School?

“If to the Old you the New Schools prefer, And to the fam'd Copernicus adhere; If you esteem that Supposition best, Which moves the Earth, and leaves the Sun at Rest.” — Sir Richard Blackmore, Creation (1712)

I may be experiencing a tiny bit of cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, I have an appreciation of the old, tried, and true. History and tradition inform who I am, what I believe, my praxis. On the other hand, I am open to new ideas, embrace innovative technologies, am not afraid to tinker or experiment (within reason). I can accept and work with change, if I see and understand the underlying logic or rationale behind that change. I am not a fan of change for change’s sake. There has to be a reason behind the change.

What sparked this dissonance? Let me count the ways. All the following headlines/titles were found in recent periodical articles from the American Library Association: makerspace movement, libraries “cache” in on geocaching treasure hunts, Bigfoot hunting, ghost hunters in the library, teaching with zombies, incorporating cartoons in an academic library…. There’s even a website (at least one) for librarians and makerspaces: The Librarian’s Guide to Makerspaces.

On the flip side, while going through some old e-mail I found a recommendation from a late, lamented friend urging a reading of T. Scott Plutchak’s 2011 Janet Doe Lecture on the history or philosophy of medical librarianship, presented at the 111th Annual Meeting of the Medical Library Association in Minneapolis. Plutchak’s lecture, “Breaking the barriers of time and space: the dawning of the great age of librarians,” is what I classify as “a keeper,” i.e. a lecture I’ve saved and plan to refer to again and again. Add to this Meredith Farkas’s offering in the May issue of American Libraries, “Spare Me the Hype Cycle,” and I think you get a good sense of what triggered the dissonance.

In the Sherlockian world (where I’m more than a casual visitor) a similar dissonance has erupted between “elite devotees” and “fandom” or between those with an interest in protecting intellectual property rights and the “Free Sherlock” movement, for whom Holmes belongs, unencumbered, to the world. I like to think of myself as a “big tent” kind of guy, able to appreciate various arguments pro and con. My job—at least on the Sherlockian front—is to stay above the fray, document and preserve as much of the discussion (however contentious) as possible, and make it available for future study and reference. This is the territory I’ve staked out for myself and my institution. We, as a library (and special collection), are neutral territory, the Switzerland among warring factions. It is the best way for us to deal with the Sherlockian dissonance swirling around us. It is the proper way for us to operate.

Plutchak’s lecture provides me with another metaphor or model for dealing with this professional or Sherlockian dissonance, i.e. conversation theory. Plutchak writes:

First elucidated by Gordon Pask in the mid-1970s, conversation theory maintains that the fundamental building block of new knowledge is conversation. This conversation may occur among individuals, but it may also be the conversation that occurs within oneself. Information is what fuels those conversations. The core function of librarians, according to Lankes, is to facilitate conversations for the purpose of advancing knowledge.

I’m all for conversation, be it about (or by) makerspaces, zombies, devotees, or fans. I’ll provide a table large enough for all to gather, from east, west, north, or south. Together, around the table, and with civil tongues we’ll talk about issues that trouble or interest us. I’ll be there to facilitate the conversation, hoping to advance not only knowledge, but understanding and wisdom. If such praxis is “old school” then count me in. We’re at the dawning of a great age.

30th Year Reflections/50: RBMS

“We must grasp fully who, or more correctly what, our performer is. We must eliminate from the word ‘performer’ any notion that he is one who merely reproduces what someone else or even he himself has composed…. Our singer of tales is a composer of tales. Singer, performer, composer, and poet are one under different aspects but at the same time. Singing, performing, composing are facets of the same act.” — Albert B. Lord, quoted by James P. Ascher in the vade mecum of the 54th Annual RBMS Preconference

Last week I soaked up one of my favorite annual events: the Rare Books and Manuscripts Section (RBMS) Preconference. RBMS, as the name implies, is a section of the Association of College and Research Libraries (ACRL), a division of the American Library Association (ALA). I was a member of the local arrangements committee and thoroughly enjoyed the experience (although it meant some early mornings and long days). If given the chance, I highly recommend participation in a local arrangements committee (or program committee) for a conference such as this. Our committee was led by two of my colleagues, Marguerite (Maggie) Ragnow and Arvid Nelsen. They did a splendid job; it was a joy to work with them and other members of the committee.

Perhaps the most backbreaking thing I did in conjunction with getting ready for the conference was stuffing the conference tote bags (and hauling the boxes out from the back room when more bags were needed at the registration desk). It took us about five hours to fill four hundred tote bags with all the information related to the conference, the book dealer’s catalogs, local information, etc. (Thanks to Rob Rulon-Miller for sponsoring this year’s bags and everything else he did for the conference.) Given my height, bending over the spread of tables to put each piece (or pile of pieces) into the bag took a small toll on my back, but such little pains come with the job. I’ve come to the conclusion that anyone working with archival materials will eventually come down with a bad back, unless they’re especially attentive to the proper way to lift.

But enough about boxes, bags, and backs. Naturally, I have a local bias, but I think we did the Twin Cities proud with this conference. Our welcoming reception at the Mill City Museum was spectacular, the final plenary at Pantages Theatre very fitting to the conference theme, our various tours to “bookish” places delightful and informative, and the concert by the Rose Ensemble memorable. In between all the receptions, tours, concert, and other pleasures was a full schedule of seminars, talks, and discussions. Because I was involved in local arrangements I did not get to sit in on all the programming, but what I did experience was insightful and inspiring. At a seminar on bibliography I experienced the bibliographic equivalent of a straight-line wind in the presentation by Stephen Tabor from the Huntington Library. His research over the past two decades blew me away. Likewise, I enjoyed a bit of heat and light in another seminar on curators and book dealers, as the discussion following presentations centered on the continued use and value of dealers’ printed catalogues. At an “unconference” with colleagues in Midwestern institutions we participated in a wide-ranging discussion on professional development, collaboration, internships, exhibits, and other topics. I think we may have stumbled upon a few ideas worth pursuing, e.g. developing information RBMS unconferences for those unable to attend the “main event” due to diminishing travel funds, or creating a regional discussion list for sharing questions and issues closer to home.

Conferences such as RBMS help us grow and develop professional awareness and skills. They help us network and make new connections. Hats off to James Ascher and other members of the RBMS program planning committee for a very thought-provoking and useful conference. I hope everyone who attended RBMS in Minneapolis enjoyed their stay and had a chance to experience a bit of what we get to enjoy every day.

30th Year Reflections/49: Walks

“Ben’s Place was the back room of a dark hotel in Knightsbridge and the three men had met there an hour ago. A notice on the door said ‘MANAGEMENT STRICTLY PRIVATE’ and inside was an ante-room for coats and hats and privacy, and beyond it lay this oak-panelled sanctum full of books and musk, which in turn gave on to its own rectangle of walled garden stolen from the park, with a fish-pond and a marble angel and a path for contemplative walks.” — John le Carré, Smiley’s People

Walking is an important part of my daily work (and life). I don’t have a “Ben’s Place” for secretive meetings like George Smiley (I also don’t have a lot of secretive meetings), but I do have a very large campus—complete with the Mississippi River and adjacent parkland—at my disposal for such contemplative walks.

My day starts with a walk, albeit short, to the bus stop. I use this time to help order my work. Sometime near midday—on a “normal” day—I’ll take another walk to clear cobwebs, stretch legs, let my mind wander, think on some specific item, exercise, or any combination thereof. In the early evening my workday concludes with short walks to and from various buses, home, and a review of the day. All together in the course of a regular day I may walk an hour or more.

And then there are the irregular days, when meetings draw me to the other side of campus; or when a particularly knotty problem or troubling event launches me from my chair into the external regions. I just finished one such walk in the middle of working on this post. It was occasioned by sense of discontent, ill-at-ease and worried for the well-being of two colleagues. It was a short walk, no more than fifteen minutes, but it did a world of good. I told my office companion that I was “heading out for a walk around the block.” (I try to give her a heads-up when leaving for a campus meander. Now that we’ve worked together for a while she usually has a pretty good take on why I’m taking a walk, but not always; I don’t want her to worry.) Along the way my path crossed a parked ice cream truck. Nearby, a small group sat in the shade, enjoying their frosty treats. I avoided the temptation and kept moving. Farther on I bumped into another colleague. She was out walking for much the same reason as I, letting loose a safety valve and saving herself from a stressful meeting aftermath. In those short minutes I thought of four or five more things to write about. It was a productive and healthy break.

My institution encourages us to walk. They provide a way of adding this activity to our wellness portfolio and the means, through provision of a pedometer, of measuring our success. Our individual daily goal, once up to speed, is 10,000 steps a day (the equivalent of about five miles). At the moment I’m not wearing my pedometer. I got out of the habit during the long and nasty winter. Now that warmer weather has arrived I need to make it a daily discipline of strapping on the pedometer and getting in my steps.

Walking, for me, is mostly a solo affair. Rarely do I engage a colleague in a tandem stroll through the campus. When such occasions do arise it is usually coming to or going from a meeting. And in those cases the talk seems to center on work, or the meeting to come (or just past). I use my solitary walks to get away from work, or to come at work from a different perspective. I walk too fast for some, too slow for others. We each have our own pace, our own stride. There are times for marching together and times for private rambles. This is how it should be.

Most likely, I will never match my brother’s feat of hiking the Appalachian Trail. His was an entirely different adventure. Yet both his cross-country trek and my daily jaunts share something in common: they are both voyages of discovery.

30th Year Reflections/48: Metadata

“Each time, making minor electronic adjustments to documents aired juicy details not meant for public disclosure — such as the true author of a file or sensitive data hacked from a final draft. The pitfalls of such hidden ‘metadata’ have been long known in computer-savvy circles, but these high-profile leaks are driving new efforts to keep a lid on metadata.” — Associated Press

Metadata is the new buzz word, at least for the news media. In the midst of all the reporting on the latest security leak, compliments of Edward Snowden, reporters and correspondents right, left, and center have uttered the word “metadata” in almost mystical tones. I have found their newfound reverence somewhat amusing. I would be tempted, given the chance, to put fifty reporters in a room (or better yet, the “talking heads” of television) and give them a very short quiz: define “metadata” and describe its use and importance. I’m almost certain the answers would be all over the map and many of them incorrect.

I’ll set aside my critique of the news media, but note their correctness in attaching a sense of awe to these hidden bits of the electronic world. Metadata is very important. It is part of the (sometimes) hidden infrastructure that orders our automated world. It helps drive and feed vast search engines, allowing us to discover (and be overwhelmed) by all the items that land on our desktop day in and day out.

Consider, for a moment, the metadata attached to this post. It was created using Microsoft Word 2010; named “Post48.doc”; exists in the “backward compatible” format of a Microsoft Word 97-2003 document; located in a certain sub-directory structure on my laptop’s hard drive; 32,768 bytes (for the moment) in size; created June 13, 2013; modified and accessed at certain times since creation; attached to various groups or usernames; contains 315 words (at this point in composition); took 29 minutes of editing time (to this point); allows or denies certain permissions; includes other metadata fields such as: subject, tags, categories, comments, authors, last save by, revision number, version number, company, manager, last printed—all metadata provided simply by viewing the properties attached to this document. Opening other features in Word such as “Track Changes” would provide another realm of metadata. And all this before I cut and paste this post into my blog software, at which point another raft of metadata will be added to this text. Welcome to the relatively unknown and unexplored world of metadata.

I am not a metadata expert. But I have some sense of how important this “data about data” is for our brave new world. As I write, at another work station in our office, metadata is being manually attached to scanned images uploaded into a data management system. Some of this data relies on controlled vocabularies, providing a uniformity of use and understanding. Even before arriving at that workstation those images were automatically tagged with metadata by the scanning program used to create the electronic file (and by the network on which those files were saved). Our manually entered data (and perhaps some of the automated data) provides additional information and points of access to each of these images. Using correct descriptive metadata will insure better results when researchers enter their search terms into a search engine. We want people to discover our stuff. Metadata provides a key to this discovery.

For those in the profession, there’s not a lot that is new here. We’ve lived and worked with metadata since the beginning of library-land time. What is new, and something we might tap into, is this sense of novelty expressed in the popular media. Snowden, the NSA programs, and earlier manifestations of public surveillance such as the Patriot Act, give us a conversational opening, a way to do what libraries and librarians have always done: provide the ways and means for developing an informed citizenry on the meanings, threats, and promises of metadata in our daily life together.

30th Year Reflections/47: Presents

“I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man.” — Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Every now and then it happens. It happened this week: Christmas in June. I speak of those moments of pure joy, of jaw-dropping beauty, of moments that take your breath away and then leave you “giddy as a drunken man.”

In this case it happened three times in one day. One should be so fortunate to have such times every day. But realist that I am, I know that such cannot be the case. Not every day comes wrapped with a bow, with unexpected pleasures waiting around the next corner, ready to spring on us in unalloyed delight. These are the simple pleasures that come with the job—some scripted, others not—that cause us to pause and thank our lucky stars. Such moments are not limited to my special arena of special collections and rare books, although I do believe the odds are improved, if ever so slightly, because I get to work with such amazing stuff, in the company of very good people.

The specific cases of which I speak, and which gave me such a tickle, involved a visit from a rare book dealer, a short note from an intern, and another visit from two extraordinary book artists. The appointment with the book dealer had been on the calendar for some time. It was his first call to our shop in years, and my first acquaintance with him. His arrival was accompanied by somewhat comical circumstances in the form of numerous phone calls asking for directions. At one point I felt like an air traffic controller, gently guiding him in to port. Safely arrived, and in good spirits, he began to spread his wares before me and my intern. In turn, we looked at each volume placed before us, oohing and aahing at the type, the binding, the prints, the beauty. When all was said and done, I indicated that I would take the lot. (Fortunately, I was in a position to do so, and as I explained to my intern later, each piece fit nicely within the scope of our collections.)

My afternoon visit with the book artists was in the same vein, this time accompanied by another colleague. Together we looked at spectacular work, carefully and lovingly crafted. At the time I didn’t commit to any purchases, but I have their catalog and will look at it thoroughly with a hope to add a few of their works to our collection.

The final tickle came in the short note from my intern. Earlier in the day we worked on formulating her learning objectives for the summer. I worked on one draft, she another. She shared her draft with me, and I, taking her thoughts and words and wrapping them in my own language, shared them with her. Her one word response to my version made me giggle, much in the way of Scrooge on Christmas morning: “speechless” (to which she later added in conversation, “I guess that’s why they pay you the big money.”).

Her comment, my reaction to her comment, our shared reactions to the book dealer’s visit, and my later time with the book artists, all point in the same direction. There is joy in our work, even in those moments we might consider mundane, that are there for the taking, waiting to be discovered. My error—and perhaps yours as well—is failing to look for those moments, to savor them for all their worth, to use that energy to the good as we move through the day. Our default position, more often than not, is to wallow in our woes, complain about workloads or recalcitrant colleagues, or whatever ails us. Those moments of joy point to a more excellent way. We need to make them a regular feature of our work.

30th Year Reflections/46: Spies

“Smiley is one of the truly great creations of post-war English literature: a nondescript man of late middle age who confounds every stereotype of the spy as man of action; a man, as le Carré has it, with ‘a past so complex that he himself could not remember all the enemies he might have made’, whose weapons are a beady eye and a profound understanding of human fallibility. As Sherlock Holmes is to the world of detection, so George Smiley is to the world of espionage.” — Mick Brown, The Telegraph

There are a few authors I cannot get enough of, whose works I come back to again and again, reading everything in streaks, long evenings, and entire weekends swallowed up by their writing. John le Carré (aka David Cornwell) is one such author and I am currently on a le Carré binge. Over the past few weeks I’ve read Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; watched the television version starring Sir Alec Guinness and the movie version starring Gary Oldman (multiple times). At the moment I’m reading The Honourable Schoolboy. Smiley’s People awaits. After that, who knows? Why the abiding interest? And what is the professional connection?

At a point in my career when I was looking for a change (and probably sometime shortly after the 9/11 attacks), I applied for a librarian position at the Central Intelligence Agency. I submitted an online application but never heard back from Langley. I have no knowledge of why this was so and let the matter rest. Having talked to a couple of colleagues who worked for, or had contact with, the agency I had no romanticized or movie-inspired thoughts of what the job might entail. I was realistic in my appraisal. I believed—and still do—that I had the necessary skill set to perform well at the position. But I will never know, not having the opportunity.

This brings me, then, to the pen of le Carré and the world of George Smiley, “whose weapons are a beady eye and a profound understanding of human fallibility.” Or has Holmes once said to Watson in a corrective tone of voice: “You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear.” This sense of observation became apparent during a time previously mentioned in these posts: my study of the Iranian Revolution during 1979 as part of a collegiate senior seminar in history; a time in which we of the seminar knew the revolutionary players so well that we could predict with a high degree of accuracy what would happen next. It was this experience, and others, that drew me to the world of Smiley and “the Circus” (le Carré slang for MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service of the United Kingdom). This attraction had less to do with the act of spying, or the apparatus connected with those acts—lamplighters, scalphunters, or wranglers, to use Cornwellian jargon—and more with the hard grind of research; the analysis that made such acts of espionage possible. It was this sometimes grim, often demanding investigative work that drew me to the Smiley character, le Carré’s stories, and the world of academic libraries.

Here, then, is the professional connection: a delight in the difficult yet rewarding work of study, examination, and exploration. And an enjoyment in being of service to others engaged in similar work.

Early in The Honourable Schoolboy, as Smiley and his small circle of confidants attempt to reconstruct a lost portion of Circus history destroyed or misplaced by a Russian double-agent working within the hierarchy, they attack the archives with a vengeance, looking for missing pieces. Two excerpts from the book describe their work:

By minutely charting Haydon’s path of destruction (his pug marks, as Smiley called them); by exhaustively recording his selection of files; by reassembling—after aching weeks of research, if necessary—the intelligence culled in good faith by Circus outstations, and balancing it, in every detail, against the intelligence distributed by Haydon to the Circus’s customers in the Whitehall market-place, it would be possible to take back-bearings (as Connie so rightly called them) and establish Haydon’s, and therefore Karla’s point of departure….To Peter Guillam the night was taking on surreal dimensions. Smiley had become all but wordless. His plump faced turned to rock. Connie in her excitement had forgotten her arthritic aches and pains and was hopping around the shelves like a teenager at the ball.

The grit and joy of research and analysis are here for all to see. In Smiley’s world the stakes were much higher than in my world of archival special collections and rare books. But there is a camaraderie between spheres and a necessary gravitas in each endeavor. Smiley’s people and the world created by le Carré inform my work and my perspective on the world. Is there an author who provides you with the a similar professional esprit de corps?

30th Year Reflections/45: Diversity

“The ancient sage who advised knowledge of the self was not thinking of non-profit membership organizations like ALA. But most such groups do collect basic professional and demographic information about their members. This information helps in planning programs and services, in presenting the group to policy-makers and potential funders, and in responding to questions from the press and from the members themselves.” — Mary Jo Lynch, ALA Office for Research & Statistics

According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics (and a site I’ve quoted from before), there were 156,100 professional librarians in 2010 (professional defined as one having a master’s degree). Another report prepared for the American Library Association (ALA) in 2009, put the number of “credentialed” librarians (i.e. those with a master’s or doctorate) at 104,600. The ALA Committee on Diversity and the ALA Membership Committee provide another snapshot of the profession through a member demographics questionnaire. This survey assists ALA in understanding its own makeup. 40,776 current members (68% of the membership) responded to the survey as of March 2012.

According to this survey, membership age is given as the following:

• 1% of the membership is under the age of 25
• 20.7% are between the ages of 25-34
• 20.5% between 35-44
• 20.6% between 45-54
• 27.7% between 55-64
• 8.4% between 65-74
• 1.1% age 75 or above

The survey notes: “Baby boomers—born between 1946 and 1964—represent 46.9 percent of the ALA membership….Members already at retirement age (over 65) represent 9.5 percent of those who provided a date of birth in their response. If we estimate retirement age beginning at age 62, then about 17.4 percent of members…fall into that range.

Other demographics from the survey present a predominantly female profession (80.7% of the membership). I fall into the other 19.3 percent. As a profession we are also predominantly white (88.7%). The survey notes: “In describing their race/family origin, members selected the following responses:”

• 88.7% White
• 4.5% Black or African American
• 3.7% Hispanic or Latino
• 3.7% Asian
• 1.1% American Indian or Alaska Native
• 0.2% Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander
• 3.8% Other

Other statistics to consider: 63.7% hold a MLS degree. 26.5% hold some other Master’s degree. 4.6% of the membership holds a PhD. 2.9% of respondents reported having a disability.

Why do I bring up these statistics? In part because I think it is important to be aware of professional identity. Who we are matters. But I also bring up the numbers because I’m sometimes asked about them, and my location within those numbers. As the numbers show, in some ways I am part of a majority, in other ways a minority, and each provides a perspective to me on the profession.

I was sometimes asked early in my career (not so much anymore) what it was like to work in a female-dominated profession. Should I have taken offense at such a question? Does it matter? Well, sometimes I think it does. I probably could have made more money in another line of work. But I did not enter this profession to get rich. I went into the field with my eyes wide open. Are compensation levels across the profession suppressed because of the gender imbalance or gender identification given to the profession by others? I don’t know, but I don’t believe this is the case. I think it matters more where the profession is situated within a larger context. Nursing, also identified as a female profession, has a higher median pay for registered nurses than librarians. A registered nurse just starting a career can make more per year than I do after thirty years.

There are other issues or questions raised by the numbers. As a white male of certain age within the profession I think it is fair to say that some doors have been closed to me because of my gender, race, and maybe age. I have experienced some of those closed doors. I’ve not had access to various scholarships, career development opportunities, or leadership positions. Should I be upset? Have I been discriminated against? Can I prove it? It is conceivable that my condition has been prejudiced. Perhaps I should be troubled. But I’m not the litigating type. I’ll leave it to others if they want to play the role of angry white man. They won’t get much support from me. What is true is that we, as a profession, are not as diverse as we should be. There is work to be done.

30th Year Reflections/44: Leadership

“His opponents had been certain that Lincoln would fail in this first test of leadership. ‘The construction of a Cabinet,’ one editorial advised, ‘like the courting of a shrewd girl, belongs to a branch of the fine arts with which the new Executive is not acquainted. There are certain little tricks which go far beyond the arts familiar to the stump, and the cross-road tavern, whose comprehension requires a delicacy of thought and subtlety of perception, secured only by experience.’” — Doris Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals

For the better part of a month I’ve been pondering the concept of leadership. My ponderings were triggered by an invitation to be part of a panel discussion at the multi-day Minnesota Library Association Institute for Leadership Excellence (MILE). In preparation for our discussion, MILE leaders gave us a number of questions to consider. Perhaps the hardest question for me was the one most simply stated: how would you define leadership?

I decided not to answer the question by employing specific examples or experiences. Instead, I attempted a more generic approach, one that answered the question by pointing to various pairings, combinations, or opposites: head and heart, light and dark, passion and intellect, art and science, at the front or behind the scenes. I started with this last pairing first, stating that leadership required a lot of hard work and long hours in the background, away from the bright lights, making sure things got done so that others could enjoy the fruit of your labors. At the same time, and with this same combination, I also stated that there were times when it was appropriate to be out front, to be the public face and voice for a particular issue. As the various pairings poured forth I tried to give attendees a sense of how these interacted or related to each other. The image of a delicate dance sprang to mind, one I communicated to those in the room.

I don’t know if my definition found root with those at the Institute or if it made sense. I’m still wrestling with my answer. The image of a dance works for me, or perhaps a ballet, in which there is more than one performer. Leadership does not happen in a vacuum; it is not a solo experience. It engages other individuals or corporate entities in a movement. There is purpose to the dance. Subconsciously, and in a different existential or metaphysical sense, I believe I was reflecting my own ethos, my own understanding of a faith that is beyond a discussion of professional matters but which informs who I am as a professional. One of my favorite authors, C. S. Lewis, provided an image of the dance that no doubt inspired my answer to the leadership question:

In the plan of the Great Dance plans without number interlock, and each movement becomes in its season the breaking into flower of the whole design to which all else had been directed. Thus each is equally at the centre and none are there by being equals, but some by giving place and some by receiving it, the small things by their smallness and the great by their greatness, and all the patterns linked and looped together by the unions of a kneeling with a sceptred love.

You may think it inappropriate to bring matters of faith (or religion) into a discussion about professional leadership. If this is the case, I have no objection. We are free to choose or reject as we will. But I would ask a question in return: what is the foundation, the bedrock idea on which you base a definition of leadership? I would argue that it has to be on something beyond librarianship, something beyond a professional code of ethics, something beyond ourselves. There are any number of transcendent ideas or systems from which to choose. I’ve given you my choice, the one in which I live and move and have my being. For me it is the root of any definition for leadership. Others will find their own answer, their own way. Shall we dance?

30th Year Reflections/43: Context

“Simply put, our nation needs far more college-educated citizens than are now being produced.” — Jamie Merisotis, ACRL 2013 Annual Conference

As you might tell, I’m still chewing over some of the presentations from the ACRL annual conference. Later this month some of our staff who attended will offer a “Brown Bag” session over the lunch hour to recap their experiences and provide insights into sessions they attended. One of the invited presentations, by Jamie Merisotis (“The Attainment Goal and the Changing Higher Education Landscape”), caught my eye. I’ve re-read his talk a couple of times as I seek to understand this changing landscape in which I work.

Context is important. The context of my work is higher education, and specifically academic libraries within higher education. So what are Merisotis and others saying about my space? They’re saying that change is necessary and change is coming. Merisotis cites labor economist Tony Carnevale at the Georgetown University Center on Education and the Workforce. Carnevale estimates (quoting from Merisotis) “that, by the end of this decade, nearly two-thirds of all jobs will require some postsecondary education and training. The simple fact is, jobs are becoming more complex and require higher-level skills than ever before … and that trend is sure to intensify in coming years.” Beyond the economy and job market Merisotis believes change is necessary in order to create societal benefits “including greater civic and social engagement, higher rates of voter participation and volunteerism, healthier lifestyles, less dependence on public assistance.…” Finally, Merisotis sees change in terms of societal need, “an equity imperative” to address the “massive gaps in educational achievement in this country linked to race and class.”

On other fronts philosophy professors from San Jose State University issued an open letter to Harvard professor Michael Sandel on why they will not use material from Sandel’s online course on justice. The brave new world of MOOCs (massive open online courses) has generated various reactions across higher education. The New York Times, in reporting on the San Jose letter, also noted this reaction: “Faculty backlash against online courses has spread in recent weeks, as the Amherst College faculty voted against joining edX, and the Duke faculty voted down participation in Semester Online, offered by a consortium of universities.” The Chronicle of Higher Education also covered the story, including the text of the open letter. In February my institution announced its partnership with Coursera, “a leading massive open online course (MOOC) platform,” to quote from the news release, “to develop free online courses as part of the university’s efforts to improve teaching and learning through technology.” Our Provost was quoted in the release: “We’re excited by the opportunity to explore innovative ways of using e-learning to extend the reach of University of Minnesota educational offerings across the state, nation and globe. This partnership will give people from around the world the opportunity to learn from the U’s world-class faculty at a time when we are working harder than ever to increase access to higher education, reach broader audiences and strengthen our land-grant mission.” In a conference last weekend, also reported by The Chronicle, scholars gathered in Milwaukee to discuss “The Dark Side of Digital.” MOOCs were part of the discussion. The Chronicle noted: “In a talk dubbed ‘Courseware.com,’ Rita Raley, an associate professor of English at the University of California at Santa Barbara, described how societal and technological changes had ‘reconditioned the idea of the university into that of an educational enterprise that delivers content through big platforms on demand.’”

It is not too hard to find differing opinions on the state of higher education in America. This little post has just scratched the surface. The trick for us, it seems, will come in navigating the currents flowing through this new landscape. Merisotis has a high view of our professional ability to handle change. “In my view libraries and librarians ― have always been in the redesign business … always on the cutting edge of change.” We’ll see if he’s right, knowing as we do that the cutting edge can sometimes be the bleeding edge. Finding our balance between the bright side and the dark side will be crucial.

30th Year Reflections/42: History

“To remain ignorant of things that happened before you were born is to remain a child.” — Cicero

A sinking feeling grows daily in my mind: my profession is becoming historically illiterate about itself. I am not speaking of general historical illiteracy (although that, too, is a problem), but of a lack of historically informed discourse that helps guide our profession into new arenas of theory and practice. One of the most recent and stronger manifestations of this sensibility came as I reviewed the Association of College and Research Libraries (ACRL) preliminary program included with my January issue of College & Research Libraries News. The conference theme was “Imagine, Innovate, Inspire.” Alas, I was not inspired to attend the gathering in Indianapolis, so what follows is based on an examination of the preliminary printed program and the post-conference online version.

I’ll acknowledge up front that my critique is biased and may be unfair. I would be happy to hear from conference attendees to the contrary. But here is my initial “take” on what I saw proposed for a conference of “more than 300 carefully curated, thought-provoking sessions” (to quote from the program) that would help me “explore innovative methods for driving the transformation of libraries, learning, and research.” Of greatest interest to me are the keynote addresses (3), invited papers (4), and contributed papers (80). Unfortunately, ACRL does not provide a full-text version of the program that could be text-mined for keywords in session descriptions such as “history” or “historical.” (They do provide a pull-down menu for “Primary Program Tag,” but the tags are not useful to me for this kind of analysis.) Individual papers are now available on the conference proceedings web site. The complete proceedings are available from Amazon (for a not insignificant price). The three keynote addresses are not provided as part of the proceedings, nor are they available in any form on the ACRL site. The descriptions provided for the four invited papers give at least a small hint of historical awareness. Alison Head’s presentation on Project Information Literacy indicates that the project dates back to 2008 and is ongoing. Here my questions would be how this five-year-old study was informed, if at all, by earlier studies on college students’ information seeking behaviors. David Green’s presentation on the ERIAL Project (Ethnographic Research in Illinois Academic Libraries), a two-year effort by librarians and anthropologists, raises similar historical/contextual questions. Jamie Merisotis’s presentation, “The Attainment Goal and the Changing Higher Education Landscape” give a sense of some historical analysis (if one is looking at a changing landscape). No text is available from the ACRL site, but speculating that at least a few of these folks are good self-promoters, I found Jamie’s talk on the Lumina Foundation web site. I discovered Brian Mathews talk by following a few clicks from his blog to a depository at Virginia Tech.

I still need to wade through the eighty or so contributed papers. There may be a gem or two (or three) there. A quick scan through the online program gives me little hope for historical perspective. One session on copyright provided at least a ten-year perspective: “Over the past decade, the American library community has been confronted by a copyright axis of evil….” Another session on information as a weapon even used the word “historical” in its description: “This session will look at current and historical examples of information as weapon, and examine the role of libraries in developing good consumers of information.” A session on ethnic and racial diversity analyzed “diversity statistics from Association of Research Libraries (ARL) in order to provide a longitudinal view of demographic patterns in ARL academic libraries.” But I also found “beer cans in the stacks” and "mutant superheroes" among the contributed paper titles. Maybe I’ll spend my lunch hours sorting the wheat from the chaff. Kudos, at least, to ACRL for making materials available, especially to those of us who could not attend in person.

30th Year Reflections/41: Boston

“The president commended the work that was done to pursue justice in the Boston Marathon bombing, and underscored the need to continue gathering intelligence to answer the remaining questions about this terrorist attack going forward.” — David Jackson, USA Today

The Boston Marathon bombings were tragic and unsettling. Tragic because lives were lost or damaged. Unsettling because echoes of the 9/11 attacks reverberated in our souls louder than was comfortable. Feelings of vulnerability, unease, suspicion, and a raft of other emotions bubbled back to the surface, suppressed after so many years. We didn’t invite those emotions into our being, but they came all the same. Some of us, perhaps, shied away from the endless news cycles that followed the explosions. We didn’t want to hear any more than we had to. I, on the other hand, had a different response. News junkie that I am, I was glued to the coverage from the immediate aftermath into the days ahead, culminating with the lockdown, manhunt, and capture on Friday evening. In the middle of the week, at a hockey game no less, Bostonians showed us their true character in singing the national anthem. I cried and cheered at the same time while watching the clip on the news (and again and again online). “Boston Strong” came through loud and clear. The bombings took place on “Patriot Day.” The bombers should have known better than to mess with Boston patriots.

I find myself, nearly two weeks after the event, continuously reflecting on what all of this means. I’m torn between those proud emotions of a national anthem at a Bruins game and knowing this is the same government that gave me Watergate, Iran-Contra, and other scandals/constitutional crises. I’m torn between the courage and unwavering compassionate skills of first responders and the breathtaking intelligence sweep that managed in a matter of days to gather, organize, analyze, and put into actionable briefings, maneuvers, and tactics all the video, photographic, electronic, and other source materials. To call for, receive, and act on such a mountain of data in such a meaningful way in short order is both amazing and terrifying. I’m torn between a government that has given us the USA Patriot Act, the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (and its associated secret courts), Homeland Security, the FBI, CIA, NSA, and the whole alphabet soup of government agencies in evidence during that week in Boston with the other side of government that offers help, assistance, counseling, and comfort during emergencies and disasters. On Friday evening I even saw one individual wearing a diplomatic security windbreaker. It was “all hands on deck” for the Boston bombings. We watched it all on the nightly news. The weight and might of our country was on full display.

When I began my professional career there was no Internet where individuals could find out how to build a bomb. There were no cell phones to use in remotely triggering a bomb. There was no Homeland Security agency, Patriot Act, or FISA. It is a much different world thirty years later. So how does my profession inform my responses to events like Boston? What tools does my profession give me to be an informed professional (and citizen) in an age of global terrorism? At the moment I’m sitting in an all-day conference on advocacy. Perhaps some of the professional answers and direction are here. We know the importance of an informed citizenry. We know the importance of intellectual freedom. We know the damage caused by censorship and secrecy. We know how to reinvent ourselves in the midst of technological revolutions. We know how to respond to a subpoena, how to react to book challenges, how to network, communicate, blog, and raise public awareness. Now, more than ever, we need to attend to what it means to be a library/archival professional, how our codes of ethics inform our actions, who to go to in our professional organizations when we don’t know the answers or how to proceed in a time of crisis. Boston and its aftermath tells me, in a very urgent way, that now is a time for vigilant attendance, advocacy, and action within and beyond our profession. Patriot Day is Librarian Day, every day of our lives.

30th Year Reflections/40: Performance Reviews

“Since my last report, this employee has reached rock bottom and has started to dig.” — purportedly written as part of a federal employee performance evaluation

I am in the midst of my annual performance review. For me, this time of year roughly equates to a visit with my dentist. But then, such a comparison would be unkind to my dentist. And it would be unkind to my supervisor as well. Both my dentist and my boss are great people. I am more than satisfied with my dentist and I enjoy working for my boss. I know that I will receive a fair, informative, and directive review from my supervisor. She will steer me right when (and where) I went wrong. We will have a meeting of the minds, agree on future goals and objectives, and map a course for the coming year. No, the issue has nothing to do with me and my immediate superior. It is more a question of timing. April, to quote T. S. Eliot, “is the cruellest month.”

It seems to happen to me every year, and always in April. For the past eleven months I will have chugged along at a fine clip, an occasional bump along the way, but nothing drastic. My performance will be fine, meeting expectations (for the most part) and doing what I am supposed to be doing. But then comes April. All at once, like some cruel joke, everything seems sabotaged, everything I thought I’d handled, smoothed out, delivered, or otherwise completed rears up and sneers “No, no, no you don’t. You didn’t do this, you forgot that, this is wrong, re-do that.” Maybe it has something to do with a phase of the moon. Maybe the conjunction of annual reviews and tax deadlines creates strange ripples in the time-space continuum. Maybe the “little people,” now wakeful after long winter naps, are feeling mischievous. I don’t know what the cause of this April sniping might be. All I know is that I’m not fond of April (except for the fact that it usually marks the beginning of baseball season).

I also will admit to a lack of fondness for the review process, although I understand and appreciate its value to me and the institution I work for. If the process is done well, if there are regular meetings to calibrate and adjust performance during the year, if final judgments are viewed as equitable and informed, then the process should be uneventful and relatively pain-free. When the final year-end evaluation takes place there should be no surprises. Each party—supervisor and supervisee—will have been in constant conversation over the last twelve months. Each will know the issues, understand the problems, chart progress, resolve questions, and document actions. The problem lies in our practice. For the most part, even though we may have created a well-defined map or protocol to guide the process, we rarely execute it to perfection. Meetings to touch base and adjust course will be missed or unscheduled. Conversations, questions, issues, or problems will remain unresolved. Lack of clarity, communication, and equitable standards will create problems. We end up with surprises, tension, and an unpleasant review experience.

Thankfully, I think we have a pretty good system. It is not without its faults, and questions continue to surface (e.g. how do you compare the work of an archivist or curator with catalogers, faculty liaisons, subject specialists, technologists, or other professional members of the staff?) In another week I’ll maybe know the answer to that question, or at least how I stack up in the eyes of my supervisor. I have documented my activities for the past twelve months. I have commented on how well (or poorly) I met the goals set for myself last year. I have linked my performance in specific areas to the expectations spelled out in my job description. My curriculum vitae is up-to-date, as is my job description. I’ve spelled out personal goals for the coming year. The immediate question is whether or not my goals help move me, my department, division, and enterprise forward in the next year. I’ll know the answer to that question next week as well. I’m hoping for no surprises and a pleasant experience. Just like a visit to the dentist.

30th Year Reflections/36: Keeper

“The University has had records ever since it acquired a corporate identity in the early 13th century. It seems that the University's archives were first kept in St Frideswide's Priory before being transferred to the Congregation House in St Mary's Church in the 14th century. There they were stored in chests along with the University's cash and other valuables. When the Congregation House was burgled in 1544 the archives, were left scattered about and in utter confusion. Some were lost. They remained in a chaotic state until the early 17th century when the antiquary Brian Twyne put them in order. Twyne carried out most of the research in the Archives necessary for the compilation of the new University Statutes (the 'Laudian Code') which were approved in 1636; he also prepared the University's petition to Charles I for the 'Great Charter' of the same year. He was appointed to the newly created office of Keeper of the Archives in 1634.” — History of the Archives, Oxford University

This is a longish quote to open up this week’s post, but I wanted you to get a glimpse of this history from a most distinguished archive. I experienced a small bit of this history during a visit to Oxford in 1991. For me this part of my trip—I had just come from Sweden after attending a conference on Swedish and Swedish-American archives—was something of a “busman’s holiday.” I was in the company of a good friend who completed his doctorate at Oxford and was back to do some research for a book. We stayed for a week, with accommodation in a bed and breakfast in North Oxford. Every day we would walk into the city, toward the Bodleian Library. Once there, we would part company, he to read and research, I to explore the city. Sometime around midday we would join up for lunch at a pub (the first being the “Eagle and Child,” aka “The Bird and Baby” given my love for all things related to Lewis, Tolkien, and the Inklings) and after our meal return to our respective activities until late in the day. It was a most delightful schedule.

I took advantage of my time by first visiting the Oxford Tourism office, where I found a guided walking tour, led by a most remarkable (and diminutive) woman who reminded me a bit of Miss Marple. At each stop along the way she would unfold her traveling chair, sit, and share the splendors (and associated tales) of each locale while we in the group strained to hear every word. Tour complete, and with a sense of the landscape, I visited as many colleges and their associated libraries and archives as possible. In each place I identified myself as a librarian/archivist and was generally met with a most hospitable reception and brief tour. My initial tour with guide included a visit to the Bodleian (with a special stop at Duke Humfrey’s). Along the way I enjoyed as many gardens, quads, sculpture, etc. as I was allowed, with side trips to the Botanic Garden, “Mesopotamia,” Oxford University Press, the “Jericho” section of the city (given my other love of the Inspector Morse stories), and anywhere else I could go within this wondrous place.

At some point during my visit, and with the gift of an Oxford diary from my friend, I discovered the title of “Keeper” for those entrusted with the care of archives. I do not quite remember how it happened, but either during the trip or shortly after my arrival back home to Chicago this title stuck to me as a nickname, given by my colleagues. It is a nickname that I’ve grown very fond of (as you might tell from the “vanity” license plate that is part of the sidebar to this blog). It is also a sobriquet limited in use to those who know me from my Chicago days, perhaps a term of endearment; no one in my present place of employment attaches this title to me or my work—“curator” has taken its place—but it is a constant reminder of what my work entails. We are stewards—keepers—of rich histories, both in terms of our profession and the materials under our care. It is an awesome (in the old sense of the word) responsibility and joy. I have this trip to Oxford to thank for the constant reminder.

PS One book I discovered (and read during the evenings on this trip) is Jan Morris’s Oxford. Highly recommended reading for anyone interested in this city and its university.

30th Year Reflections/35: Advocacy

“As the prevalence of e-books, Kindles and Nooks continues to grow, is it time to rethink our need for libraries in a digital world? Some say we need libraries more than ever.” — Minnesota Public Radio, “The Daily Circuit”

“The Daily Circuit” is a mid-morning show on Minnesota Public Radio. One of the topics for discussion on Monday was “the future of libraries.” Because I was in a meeting while this segment of the show aired, I didn’t have a chance to hear the full discussion; I tuned in for the last few minutes; more on that in a moment. (The full segment is available at the site for your listening pleasure.) But this was not the only item that crossed my radar this week. Another story from the Minneapolis Star Tribune focused on security issues and the homeless at the main downtown library. And the ALA’s "American Libraries Direct" featured two articles about authors’ views of libraries and two more articles about publishers suing bloggers for libel because those blogger-librarians were critical of those publishers. It seems like there is no lack of opportunity to engage in discussions about the future of libraries.

I don’t have any comments to make (at the moment) on the issues of library security, the presence of the homeless in libraries, a blogger’s right to express themselves, or a publisher’s right to seek a legal remedy for allegedly damaging comments. But I did have a comment to make on “The Daily Circuit” and made it on their web site. My comment was directed to the final observation made by one of the guests on the show, James Tracy, headmaster of Cushing Academy in Ashburnham, Massachusetts. Tracy was on a riff that libraries as physical spaces are becoming less and less necessary; he was all about digital. To quote from him (as I listened to the whole segment online): “I’m saying their necessity is increasingly attenuated.” Tracy’s foil in this discussion was Kit Hadley, director of the St. Paul Public Library system. One of her comments spoke to the need for both space and access to digital materials: “It is in everyone’s interest that there be equitable access to the tools of learning and engagement. And right now that is only happening because of public libraries.” At the end of the segment, when Tracy made the observation—based on a conversation he had with the chancellor of Oxford University—that 90% of universities (and, I assume, their libraries) will be eliminated in the next half century, I thought he was talking through his hat. I said as much in my comment. Most of the listener comments on the air (and on the web site) seemed directed to the need for the library as a physical space, as a place for those who—for whatever reason—cannot get access to these materials and tools in their home or other spaces, and as a space that reflects—and is part of—a community. Tracy disagreed with Hadley on the access issue—“I think a lot of this is very 'presentist'”—and thought that the issue of a “digital divide” was going to disappear in ten or twenty years (which Hadley also disagreed with).

All of this—leaving Tracy’s name dropping of the Oxford chancellor aside—presents me with quite a bit to think about as I prepare for the Minnesota Library Association’s “Legislative Day” in early March. The last time I actively engaged in an on-site lobbying effort for libraries was as part of an ALA effort decades ago. I’ve kept up letter writing and phone calls, but now I need some “face time.” I’m long overdue to get back into the game with some face-to-face conversations with legislators on library issues. The MLA legislative committee has been hard at work developing a platform statement. This is now in my e-mail in-box waiting review. A briefing will also be held the evening before we make our way through the corridors of power. I’m looking forward to the opportunity and hope you take every chance to lobby for libraries. The landscape may be changing, but we need to assure that all have access to tools and materials that will improve individual lives, create opportunities for education and training, and build stronger communities.

30th Year Reflections/34: Ethos

“From the time we are born, the narrative cradle of story rocks us to the collective heartbeat of our species, ushering us across the threshold of consciousness and into the domain of humanity.” — Marshall Gregory, Shaped By Stories: The Ethical Power of Narratives

I came across Gregory’s book quite by accident. A recent “Weekly Briefing” post from the Chronicle of Higher Education led me to an article/obituary about Gregory (he passed away at the age of 72 after a career as English professor at Butler University) that intrigued me about the man and his work. I wanted to read more by him, and so found his Shaped By Stories on our shelves. At the moment I’m about half way through the volume, so will not unpack all of his arguments here. I will say that the book is worth reading. I will also say that the sentence quoted above is one of the most lovely I have read in some time. There are others like it in the book.

Part of what caught my attention was the title. I am drawn to stories—as perhaps some of these posts give witness to—and agree with Gregory that there are various powers in narrative that we sometimes employ in the classroom, or with our colleagues. What is key to understanding his work is the assertion that our obsession with stories—and his prior claim that we are, indeed, obsessed with stories—“exerts a potentially serious influence on [our] ethos: on the kinds of persons [we] turn out to be.” Ethos, as Gregory points out, is “the Greek word for character…to persons as ethical agents, as people who make decisions about good and bad and who decide their own conduct.”

His book has caught me at what might be termed a tender moment. I have been reminded in very recent days of my own ethos, of the decisions I have made (for good or ill), and in the nature of my own conduct. I have made both good and bad decisions during my career. At times I have conducted myself in an honorable manner, at other times not. I am not proud of the latter. In some cases there is a sense of unfinished business, of a need to ask forgiveness, of being reconciled. These are not terms bandied about in library school, but perhaps they should be. We need to spend some time in the classroom, and in professional development, thinking about what it means to be an ethical agent.

This is not a confessional—although confession is good for the soul—but perhaps more rightly a reminder of our humanity. We all have flaws. We have our good days and our bad. Perhaps the question to ask (among the many that we could ask) is what kind of ethos do we bring to our work? As I write this it is now Monday morning. I’m struggling with the fact that I’m three or four days late in posting this piece; it runs against my character—or my desired character—to be late, to not fulfill a promise. At the same time, I look at the week ahead, of meetings and classes already on the calendar, as new opportunities to connect my ethos with each of these events. What will I bring to each day and to each person I encounter?

A passage springs to mind from another story—one of my favorites: Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. At one point, when Frodo and Sam are held captive by Faramir, a crisis is presented to Faramir in the form of the ruling ring. Sam has inadvertently disclosed the Hobbit’s possession of the Ring of Power to Faramir, a prince of Gondor. Trying to recover the moment, Sam says “Don’t you go taking advantage of my master because his servant’s no better than a fool. You’ve spoken very handsome all along, put me off my guard, talking of Elves and all. But handsome is as handsome does we say. Now’s a chance to show your quality.” Faramir, faced with both a crisis and a challenge, displays his own ethos. At the moment of decision, Faramir utters these words: “And here in the wild I have you: two halflings, and a host of men at my call, and the Ring of Rings. A pretty stroke of fortune! A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality!” A short time later the crisis has passed. Faramir will leave the ring with the Hobbits. He says: “We are truth-speakers, we men of Gondor. We boast seldom, and then perform, or die in the attempt. Not if I found it on the highway would I take it I said. Even if I were such a man as to desire this thing, and even though I knew not clearly what this thing was when I spoke, still I should take those words as a vow, and be held by them.”

What is our ethos? What character do we bring to the workplace each day? Who are our models, the people we wish to emulate? Do we have a Faramir to our Sam?

30th Year Reflections/33: Timbuktu

“One week after Islamic militants fled Timbuktu under French bombing strikes, preservationists are deeply uncertain about how to continue protecting the city’s priceless ancient documents — a conundrum that cuts to the heart of how treasures are safeguarded through political upheaval in places where locals have little trust in government.” -- Vivienne Walt, Time Magazine

When I was much younger I occasionally would hear someone utter a mysterious phrase: “from here to Timbuktu.” I never quite understood what the phrase meant, except that Timbuktu was a place far, far away. If someone told me they were going to kick me “from here to Timbuktu” (not that such a thing ever happened) then chances were good that I was hightailing it out of there before they had the opportunity to execute the first kick. It was not until much later than I learned that Timbuktu was a real place, and later still when I finally located it on a map. The last and greatest disclosure about Timbuktu came to my ears sometime around 1998, perhaps through the pages of the National Geographic or the PBS documentary by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. However it was that I heard the news, I was stunned and excited to hear about so rich a cache of manuscripts and the efforts being made to preserve them.

Then came the news that the manuscripts had been destroyed by Islamic militants during their occupation of the city, followed by other news that contradicted the first: the majority of the manuscripts had been saved by the thirty or forty families who have held private custody for generations, hiding them now and again from invading forces. This little tidbit was then followed up other accounts, including the one in Time, that Timbuktu families were reluctant to part with the manuscripts in favor of government ownership; that the government was not stable enough, or trustworthy enough to gain custody of the manuscripts. Even the United Nations seems puzzled with how to achieve long-term preservation of the manuscripts. We may, indeed, be witness to the destruction of another piece of the world’s culture. There is at least one project in place, the Tombouctou Manuscript Project, that offers some hope in the other direction.

And we have seen this happen before. One only needs to go back a short distance in time to recall stories on the destruction of books and manuscripts at the Institut d'Égypte in Cairo in 2011, the Iraq National Library and Archive in 2003, or the National and University Library in Sarajevo in 1992. (An article on Wikipedia contains a fuller list.) Libraries and archives, by their very natures, can become cultural, political, or military targets. Outside the rule of law or a democratic tradition, these cultural repositories may occupy unstable ground. But even within our own society we can point to a destruction of libraries or archival collections through natural disasters (e.g. Katrina), inept management (Ruskin College), or even by an act of government (burning of the Library on Congress by the British in 1812, or the University of Alabama Library by Union forces during the Civil War). Some destruction may be well-intentioned or part of a regular schedule. I have few concerns about the latter, but some hesitancy about the former. Even in some of our public institutions (e.g. schools) it might be argued that our libraries are disappearing (or perhaps becoming invisible) because school districts so often target librarians and media specialists as the first to be dismissed during a fiscal crisis and spend little to no money on library resources (arguing, as many have, that the public library will meet the need).

You may know of other examples of archival or library destruction. I’m not crying out that it is time to rush to the barricades in defense of all things bibliographic or archival. But what I am asking for is some sort of eternal vigilance that makes this an unending concern for the profession.

30th Year Reflections/32: Membership Has Its Benefits

“Standing together in membership lets librarians and library staff access important solutions and resources to address problems you might otherwise face alone. To help meet these challenges, the American Library Association (ALA) works for members in new and innovative ways….” — ALA website

I renewed my ALA/ACRL membership today. I’ve been a member of ALA and its academic division since I entered the profession although the ALA database won’t confirm this. In a few cases over the decades my membership lapsed by a month or so and when I got around to renewing, the system logged me in as a new member. So be it. From my perspective I’ve always been a part of ALA.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of membership for a while. I am a member of some things, e.g. my family, without a choice on my part. I had no say in the matter. One day I appeared and in the process became connected to any number of souls, both departed and still living. I am a link in a long genetic chain. On the other hand, some memberships are voluntary; we choose them. If I wanted, I could change my citizenship or my association with a group. I can join any number of societies and organizations. My motives for joining such groups may differ. As a member of a faith-based community I can access a tradition, set of beliefs, and other activities attached to the group. I assent to those beliefs and try to live accordingly. Something similar might be said about joining a political party. In our voluntary associations we might look for a congruence between our religious faith and political activism. Or we might see such associations as a means of advancement in our career, societal standing, or some other facet of our life. Each link we make in becoming a member of another group informs the whole. Some people might compartmentalize their life and see little overlap between membership in one group with that of another. Such is not my style; it is not who I am. My memberships have meaning.

There is another kind of membership, one that is bestowed on us by someone else. Sometimes we have a say in the matter; in other cases we don’t. Because I was born in the United States I automatically became an American citizen. Such a membership comes with certain benefits unavailable to others. Or, as another example, I might be selected by others (sometimes in secret)—because of some accomplishment or other attractive attestation—and be recognized. I will never win a Nobel Prize, but those who have are now members of a select group. The only say they had in the matter was in the testimony of their own lives and through their work. It was left to others to judge them worthy. I am comfortable with some of these types of membership, especially if they are judged on a depth of character and integrity of soul. If, on the other hand, the judgments are made on some other basis, I would prefer not to be a part of that group. I am happy in who I am and what I do, flawed though I am.

So where does my ALA/ACRL membership fit into all this? Obviously, it is something I have chosen to be a part of, a voluntary association. My relationship with ALA informs who I am as a professional librarian. It offers me opportunities to share my work experience with others, to learn from others, to expand my professional horizons, to enhance my work. I benefit by having access to the latest thinking and theories, of best practices, news, and legislative activities. At the same time, membership demands engagement. Admittedly, this is something I’ve struggled with over the years, especially in trying to connect with a committee or two that matches my professional interests. But I keep trying to find ways to engage with my professional association. Recently I put my name forward for some committee appointments within ALA. We’ll see if anything comes of it. If not, I'll look for other ways to keep connected.

30th Year Reflections/31: Personality

“Whatever the circumstances of your life, the understanding of type can make your perceptions clearer, your judgments sounder, and your life closer to your heart’s desire.” — Isabel Briggs Myers

The opening quote is found on the web page for the Myers & Briggs Foundation, the folks connected with the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator® test/instrument. I think I’ve taken the MBTI® at least three times in my life and each time I’ve arrived at roughly the same personality type result. I mention this not to disclose my type, but to say that it was very much on my mind last week as I screwed myself up to attend an event on the East Coast that is important to me and my work. I say “screwed myself up” because I do not find comfort in large crowds of people. I work better in small groups and one-on-one situations. For me to enter into the fray of a dinner or cocktail party with a multitude of people in attendance takes some effort on my part. Once I’m there and engaged in individual or small group conversation I’m fine, no problems. But the amount of effort it takes to crank up any level of excitement and motivation to get myself from the comfort of my hotel room to a large venue is at times mind boggling.

Some who know me well might be surprised by this revelation. After all, I speak regularly to large groups and classes and find enjoyment in those acts. But I think those cases are different, for I am engaging a group in a different way. In a more social setting, where the conversation can at times be, frankly, a bit tedious, I am not in my comfort zone. And yet my work calls me to such venues, to such conversations, as a way to engage people with similar interests in the work that I and others do here in my own setting. I need to bring my best game to such situations, to be engaging and personable, to call on other reserves in my own character and being to create meaningful relationships and engage people where they are, at their own point of need or interest. At those times I need, in some ways, to break out of my “type” and become something a little bit different or more expansive. I don’t in any way view this as artificial or “phoney.” It just means that I need to stretch myself in those circumstances to something larger, and perhaps even better, than that place where I feel the greatest comfort and where I reside most of the time. Stretching ourselves is good and we should probably do it more often.

I mention this, in part, because of the continuing stereotype that exists for librarians. I generally don’t like to talk about our professional stereotype because I think, for the most part, it is nonsense. Collectively we’re a varied bunch, a wild garden of delight, taste, and color. And yet, we’re viewed by the majority of the populace in certain set categories. Everyone has their own idea of the prototypical librarian. And they’re wrong.

I remember another time I took a personality test as part of a professional development exercise with a group of librarians in the Chicago metro area. In this case it was the 16PF [Personality Factor] Questionnaire. As I recall, the test was administered by someone associated with the FBI. The questionnaire was administered during one session and some time later we reconvened to have the results explained. What I remember most from that second session was the look of utter amazement on the face of the examiner as he passed the results back to us and began his analysis. We were, he explained, all over the map with our scores; it was not something he had anticipated. He had his own set view of what librarians were and they were false. Our scores on these personality factors “blew him out of the water.” He admitted to his own stereotype and felt chastised by our results. It was a good day to be a librarian.