Archives Found

I’ve been slowly catching up with the rest of the world with regards to watching the John Adams HBO miniseries. While I’m only up to the third episode (Don’t Tread on Me), I’ve become somewhat fascinated by the choices that were made by the producers and directors in the name of storytelling, and I’ve been doing some poking around online to see what others  think about the series. In particular, check out Boston 1775’s “Quizzing John Adams” posts for some interesting thoughts and links.  
Last year I had a chance to see John Adams: Unbound at the Boston Public Library, and while the exhibit was interesting, I was completely fascinated by the digitized materials. Being able to look at both the transcript and the handwritten notations of Adams throughout his personal library seemed so, well, personal to me. His one-sided arguments with various thinkers of the time could be a valuable resource to researchers looking to uncover his motives in one area or another.

You can check out the digitized Adams Family Papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society, including a new online discussion of documents relating to specific episodes of the miniseries. Due to the hard work of one of my grad school classmates, Jeremy Dibbell, you can now compare your library to that of John Adams on LibraryThing, and you can view a digital version of John Adams’ personal copy of the Declaration of Independence here.

While these important projects were funded generously over the years by a number of foundation grants, I think that they can in some ways serve as a model for smaller but still important collections in other institutions. The level of access to this information that is now provided to researchers using these documents is wildly above the level of access that many repositories have for even their most important collections. Through dogged publicity, grant writing, and support, these institutions have managed to create a model that is much more useful and interconnected than previous incarnations of accessibility. Even though I’m late to the party on this one, kudos to all involved in these projects.

Think about the boxes or albums full of photos in your garage, attic, spare bedroom, or storage unit. Once upon a time, in your past, you or someone else felt that you should keep all of these two-dimensional reminders. But when was the last time that you thought about how long you would like them to last?

Take a look at your wedding photos– can you still name everyone? What about Cousin Amy’s date or that neighbor from your old town? What was going on in the photo– was it cocktail hour, or late into the post-cake phase of the evening? Who’s that girl, and why is she wearing a feather boa and a garter on her head?

What about all of the people in your parents’ wedding? Your siblings’ wedding? Those of your grandparents, or further removed? While you may have been present, perhaps you weren’t part of the action, or privvy to many of the moments pictured. Weddings moreso than some other gatherings can be a good source of stories, both about that particular day and about traditions and events preceding the photo. Several generations of the same family will likely be present, and sometimes there are a number of shots taken at opportune moments– ie. three or four generations together, or siblings reunited. During an occasion where lots of photos are taken and not all necessarily by a professional, wedding photos can yield a lot of different viewpoints, situations, and information. Ever wondered what happens when random strangers and friends have too much time in between the salad and main course? Leave a camera on the table, and you may get to see more of your relatives than you bargained for.

Wedding photos can reveal secondary information about the subjects such as class, mobility, religiosity, and stature in the community. Sometimes photos can be dated by buildings and other landmarks, or by the persons inside (or not included within) the frame. Historically, wedding photos tend to show women more often than other photos, potentially leading to a somewhat skewed vision of what women wore in eras where not much additional photographic evidence is available.

How does an archivist assess and describe photos? What other kinds of evidence can be drawn from a photo, and what makes a photo worth keeping? Stay tuned for part 2…

…oh, and the reference to your ‘wedding silver’ in the title? Depending on the era of your ancestors, both yours and their wedding photographs may well have been made using the still-popular gelatin-silver process, which was first introduced in the 1870’s.

Continuing my thoughts about historical markers in Denver; I noticed something interesting about the front steps of the Colorado State Capitol building. Carved into the fifteenth step (yes, I counted) was the inscription “One Mile Above Sea Level.” Three steps above that on step eighteen, a round, gold-colored marker was embedded in 1969 stating that it is “5,260 feet [1 mile] above sea level.” A third marker was installed in 2003 when the distance was apparently measured again. What’s so special about this?

Well, for starters, in conjunction with the nearby Sand Creek marker, it shows that perhaps Coloradans are more willing than the average bear to admit that they were wrong; a generally admirable trait. Furthermore, I don’t think that it’s stretching to say that both were situations in which the understanding or measurement of the past was regarded as being no longer valid. While the mile-high marker probably didn’t do as much harm to historical memory as the Civil War marker, I think that it would be interesting to learn more about the process by which each was updated. Additionally, I think that by adding markers instead of modifying or removing those that were already in place, the various groups have helped to show that history is not static and that as understanding and opinion shifted, more information was added.

So what does all of this mean when it comes to archives? Well, in some cases, when the understanding of an historical actor shifts, there is renewed interest in reviewing archival material related to the person and their situation. Perhaps a scandal, or a new piece of legislation, or an anniversary compels researchers to take a different tack when approaching various records. Sometimes new materials come to light years after a collection has been accessioned and processed and the dominant version of history has been accepted. As archivists, one of the challenges of providing access to collections is to place the documents within the context of the historical narrative without judging the records or the records creators. I think that in situations where new material is received, or a reexamination is warranted, that it makes sense to not only reevaluate the organization and understanding of the collection as it stands, but also to document the thinking behind any changes that may be made, and the reasoning for doing so. By doing this we can attempt to preserve not only the documents, but also create a new record of shifts in growth and understanding that could ultimately become just as valuable.

I’m going to admit something here: I love to read historical markers, and I generally keep one eye peeled for them because they can be so unexpectedly interesting or intriguing. I can’t seem to resist a bronze plaque. I was in Denver last week for a workshop and for the AIC annual meeting, and I spent some time exploring the area around the Colorado capitol building.

Part of the reason that historical markers fascinate me is that they provide a glimpse of what was thought by some group of influential persons at some point in time, as to be truth so important that it should be immortalized in fifty words or less and riveted to something immoveable. Thinking about the preservation of heritage as a starting point, there are some similarities in intent between this and archives that are readily apparent: obviously the sign shows information that was meant to be preserved, as well as shared with a wider public audience. The paths diverge here; the marker was created with the intent of display, and the preservation of the plaque itself is not necessarily the intent, while documents housed in an archive are generally judged to be of enduring value and were created as a byproduct of some activity.

However, here’s where things meet back up for me: is the plaque a transactional record of an activity? I think that it can be. For example, one of the plaques on the plaza in front of the capitol building reads as follows:

The controversy surrounding this Civil War monument has become a symbol of Coloradans’ struggle to understand and take responsibility for our past. On November 29, 1864, Colorado’s First and Third Cavalry, commanded by Colonel John Chivington, attacked Chief Black Kettle’s peaceful camp of Cheyenne and Arapahoe Indians on the banks of Sand Creek, about 180 miles southeast of here. In the surprise attack, soldiers killed more than 150 of the village’s 500 inhabitants. Most of the victims were elderly men, women, and children.

Though some civilians and military personnel immediately denounced the attack as a massacre, others claimed the village was a legitimate target. This Civil War monument, paid for by funds from the Pioneers’ Association and the State, was erected on July 24, 1909, to honor all Colorado soldiers who had fought in battles of the Civil War in Colorado and elsewhere. By designating Sand Creek a battle, the monument’s designers mischaracterized the actual events. Protests led by some Sand Creek descendants and others throughout the twentieth century have since led to the widespread recognition of the tragedy as the Sand Creek Massacre.

This plaque was authorized by Senate Joint Resolution 99-017

This marker was clearly added more recently, and reflects a shift in both understanding and public attitude, as well as considerable pressure and discussion by various groups. While I’m not sure I’d consider the marker to be something that I’d add to my collection, I do think that a discussion of the historical or informational value is a valid one, and I think that documents created as a product of the discussion and shift in sentiment would be interesting and of enduring value to persons seeking to understand how historical memory can change.

While clearly I’ve been pretty busy with other things lately, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to talk about the MayDay initiative. Started in 2006 by then-SAA president Richard Pearce-Moses and several others, MayDay is a way to call attention to the challenges of protecting historical collections. Some of the ways to participate in MayDay: update your disaster plan, educate administrators and users regarding the dangers that collections face, do a preservation survey to assess conditions and hazards. SAA has helpfully compiled many other suggestions here. Check them out– and even if you’ve missed MayDay this year, no reason why you can’t implement these ideas in the coming months.

A few weeks ago, I was busy filling out my Annual Faculty Evaluation for 2007. Because it runs with the calendar year, and as of December I’d only been at my current institution for five months, there were understandably some gaps. Since I’m not teaching, the areas that I needed to fill were those of “professional performance,” “scholarship and professional service,” and “individual/community service.” Instead of seeing those white spaces on the page as “failings,” however, I see them as opportunities for growth. The question that I’ve been mulling over: is the growth good for the institution or for me?

In a lot of ways those things are not mutually exclusive; however, there are some ways in which I think that those particular areas are at odds. For example: my current portfolio includes a lot of processing and supervision of processing, as well as reference work and records-related office visits. In particular, the thorough and careful processing of collections is a boon to the university and to many people: researchers, local and distant faculty members, genealogists, and others that can then use those collections. In other words, my judgment and selection of various collections for processing, when based upon a careful study of what researchers or others might find to be useful, can yield lots of good results for lots of people. Encoding the finding aids in XML/EAD and posting them to both our website and other regional and topically relevant sites makes our collections both visible and somewhat more accessible. An active plan to gather and process collections relevant to our scope and institutional mission is an essential piece of the pie, and the judicious application of that plan is important for the continued growth and prosperity of the institution.

However, there are other expectations that must be met as I travel towards tenure which force me to take time away from processing as described above. Conference attendance, sitting on various committees, publication, preservation duties, and other things all interfere with processing time. While arguably processing is the most important part of my job from the perspective of the researcher; from the perspective of the archival profession and of the best interests of the entire collection, there are many other things at play. Creating and maintaining an ideal preservation environment, an updated/current disaster plan, a viable records management plan, and a comprehensive collections management database are at the top of my wish list this year. All of these things are important to the long-term survival, access, and use of our collections– but much like Rome, will not be built in a single day or by a single person.

Incremental steps and much collaboration are characteristics of my job that can be different from those seeking tenure in a traditional manner, as a member of the teaching faculty. In a lot of ways, I’ve found that balancing the needs of the collection and the university, the needs of researchers, the obligations of the profession, and the demands of the tenure-track process is a lot like walking a tightrope while carrying the unabridged OED. What else can I say? Most days I love it.

This seems to be a banner season for archives and photographs. Suddenly, it seems like wherever I turn, I run into more articles about donations and recent findings.

First it was the snapshots that quite possibly show Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg some 144 years ago, on the day of delivering his famous address. This op-ed intrigued me greatly, for one of the biggest problems with this type of photo is the actual identification of the subjects within the frame. While the author can make no certain claim, the feeling evoked by the article is one of participating in a particularly historic and interesting moment. And this? Poetry:

Looking at Lincoln in these two photographs — all but his hat nearly lost in the emulsion of the film itself — I find myself wondering what it would have been like if photography had been a rudimentary discovery and had been with us, say, as long as the printing press. What would the photographic record show if it reached back, say 500 years, instead of 180?

One answer is that it would show us this same structure over and over again: a fiercely concentrated knot of people hanging on the words of someone at the center of the crowd. And around them? People standing in looser and looser concentrations, until finally — far enough from the epicenter — their attention turns away from history and focuses on the abiding interest of almost anything else. And this is somehow the inherent bias of the camera. It always directs us toward the center of attention, never away to the periphery, even though that is where our attention eventually wanders.

Full article: History and the Problem of Following the Camera’s Gaze

Related Newsweek article: Flickr Helps the Library of Congress

If you haven’t read about the Library of Congress and their Flickr project, you haven’t been paying attention. LoC recently posted a small (very, very small) digitized portion of their image collection on Flickr’s new public image area, The Commons. Using Web 2.0 and social tagging, the LoC has brought their collections to an audience that may not have otherwise encountered these images. More in Wired, and on the LoC blog.

Lastly, the Robert Capa and Gerda Taro photos, seemingly lost to history and then rediscovered and eventually acquired by the International Center for Photography. I’m really interested in seeing the rest of the reclaimed negatives– and finding out if any other evidence surrounding “The Falling Soldier” was found.

NYT article: The Capa Cache

Apparently, self-proclaimed “archives rat” Drew Gilpin Faust, president of Harvard University. I wonder how many other university presidents (or indeed, faculty) are more than marginally aware that archives may exist on their campuses?

Full Washington Post article here.

This kind of thing just makes me sick.

A state archivist was charged Monday with stealing hundreds of artifacts — documents representing “the heritage of all Americans,” according to the history buff who found some of them on eBay — to pay his household bills. Yahoo article here.

How was this discovered, you ask? NYT Article: History Buff Uncovers Theft of American History Treasures

When I think about the irreplaceable items that have been entrusted to my care, and to the care of other archivists, I feel a sense of pride and of responsibility. To think that an archivist would betray that public trust is upsetting, and frankly, disturbing, to me.

How did this archivist know what to steal? He literally wrote the book. Daniel Lorello was the author of The Union Preserved: A Guide to Civil War Documents in the New York State Archives. Knowing the value of these documents to collectors and historians, he was caught while selling a letter written by John C. Calhoun on eBay.

Best of luck today and in the coming weeks to our friends at the New York State Archives as they try to discern what was stolen, and attempt to recover lost items.

Every so often, there’s a news story about a copy of a state constitution or declaration that has been discovered and auctioned to the highest bidder. Sometimes there’s a twist: the state’s trying to recover the materials, or a benefactor has magnanimously donated the papers to an archival repository. This time, an early copy of the Declaration of Independence was found in an attic in Wiscasset, ME in 1994 and sold to a private collector. Now Maine is trying to reclaim the property through courts by reason of replevin, which states that property created by and of the state must be returned to the state. However, since the document was actually created as part of the original thirteen US colonies and not the state of Maine, I wonder what the outcome will be?

The article that discusses the provenance of the document and other particulars can be found on the NYT site here.

I’m mostly opposed to the practices of private collectors snatching up various documents and thereby making them unavailable to the general public. In many cases, documents owned by private investors may not be receiving proper care, preservation treatment, handling, or ideal storage conditions. Is the Declaration of Independence any different? Does it matter that we have other copies, that the informational content is available elsewhere? Does this case rest just as heavily on the Declaration as a symbol that should be held by the public as it does on the actual document?