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.

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.

On the front page of today’s Dallas Morning News, the discussion continues over whether documents from the Dallas DA’s office that relate to the Kennedy assassination in 1963 will head to the National Archives in Washington D.C. (where the Warren Commission materials and the other assassination-related documents are held), or whether they will be donated to the Sixth Floor Museum in the former Texas School Book Depository building.
I can understand the desire for Dallas residents to keep as much of the local history and information about the assassination in Dallas as possible. Furthermore, NARA has not yet examined the documents to appraise whether or not they would fall within their collecting scope; ie. whether there is information of historical or evidentiary value that belongs with the other related collections. It’s possible that NARA might pass on this particular collection, anyway. But I think that there are a few more questions to be raised, particularly:

-to whom do these documents currently belong? The creator of the documents (DA in 1963)? The Dallas DA’s office? who has the authority to donate records that belong to the city of Dallas?

-what is the provenance of these records, and why are they just coming to light now? is the collection complete, or has it been ravaged/damaged by souvenir hunters or others?

-what does the collection cover? how much related information is contained, and how much of it is unique versus copies of documents held elsewhere? how much was originated in the DA’s office?

One of my other concerns was also shared by a federal judge by letter to the potential donor and quoted in the article, namely the conditions and continued existence of the Sixth Floor Museum.

The National Archives’ JFK collection “is a treasure trove of information, preserved under ideal conditions and accessible to the public,” Judge Tunheim wrote in a Feb. 22 letter to Mr. Watkins.

He also argued against giving the documents to The Sixth Floor Museum. “I have always been concerned that it may not be a proper archival facility, particularly for documents, and may not continue into perpetuity,” the judge wrote.

From my own visit to the Sixth Floor Museum and a subsequent visit to their website, I noted that many (if not most) of their materials appear to be copies of material held elsewhere or widely available, with the exception of their oral history collection. Without having been there in a research capacity, I obviously cannot comment on the storage of their materials, but I hope that the potential donor/s have been able to view and understand the conditions under which they will be cared for, available for use, and handled. The expectations under which materials are given should be understood by both donor and institution before anything else happens.

Full article here: Dallas DA says unearthed JFK documents will likely be given to Sixth Floor

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

Bill Lamin,  grandson of Pvt. Harry Lamin, has been posting his grandfather’s war letters in “real time” on a blog, simulating the experience that the family had while waiting for updates from Harry during WWI.  I happened to read an article about this on the BBC website (this Telegraph article has more details).

This blog effort is a great example of the fascination and interest that real documents and letters hold for people. What an interesting way to promote the need for preservation of the past. Even though this wasn’t set up by an archive (that I could find, anyway), I think that it would be an interesting way to set up some kind of interactive exhibit, outreach website, or display. Promoting the concept that history was once the present, and that these documents connect us to the past– I can get behind that.

Link to WWi: Experiences of an English Soldier

Link to War Diary of the 9th Battalion of York & Lancaster Regiment

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?

This morning’s brief NYT article about the death of one of the last known survivors of the Titanic made me pause for a moment. Not because I’m a Titanic buff (I’m not, though I do find the story to be fascinating), but because of the mention that the deceased was one of the last two survivors of that fateful journey, a representative of the past. As time marches onward, memories fade and we begin to lose more and more “eyewitnesses” to history. Within my lifetime, the last Holocaust survivor, the last soldier present on D-Day, and others will slowly go “into that good night.” I’m not ready for that to happen yet. As an archivist charged with preserving history, I feel that I am always looking for ways to stave off a time when firsthand accounts are no longer available in the flesh. Of course oral histories look to fill that gap, but are there other things that we can do as keepers of the record to preserve the immediacy of speaking with someone who was there at Normandy? How can we, without overinterpreting or overemphasizing, better bring an accurate sense of the past to the present? What are the best ways to capture these things now, before the opportunity is lost?

Over the past weekend, I had a fantastic time at the Texas Book Festival in Austin. Some highlights of the festival part of the weekend included sitting in more than a few author talks, having some new books signed, and making a huge list of books to check out once I’ve finished the current pile. One discussion that I particularly enjoyed on Sunday was that of the excellent-looking book Lone Stars of David: the Jews of Texas. Co-editors Hollace Ava Weiner and Rabbi Kenneth Roseman gave a rousing description of their process in compiling the source materials for this book (part of the Brandeis series on American Jewish History) that so moved me to run down to the B&N tent, purchase the book, and be the first person standing in line to have it signed. During the short talk, Weiner showed off her custom-made boots (shown on the cover of the book), and Roseman compared his theory of the melting pot/Jewish & immigrant assimilation to chocolate-chip cookies; eg. the chocolate chips are part of the batter and of the finished cookie, but they remain separate from the batter, unblended but still adding something special to the whole. I’m looking forward to settling down with the book once I have a spare hour or two.

Just a few of the other highlights: Kinky Friedman, the Cast-Iron Cookoff, and Elizabeth Samet. Of course, the weekend would not have been complete without some good BBQ, great Mexican food, and fantastic Indian food. Mmm. Books and good food– what more could one want?

NARA announced yesterday that they are opening approximately six million veterans records at NPRC. This is exciting news for veterans, genealogists, and historians. The original records can be viewed at the NPRC reading room in St. Louis. Honestly, understanding which military records reside in various NARA (and other) facilities is somewhat confusing, but there’s a handy grid here that helps to clarify which records are available at NPRC. This batch of OMPFs (Official Military Personnel Files) corresponds with individuals who served in the Army, Army Air Corps, Army Air Forces, Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard and left the service (discharged, retired, died) prior to 1946. However, additional records are also available at NPRC. Note: the DD 214s (OMPFs) will not be available online, and will require authorization from veterans or kin for third-party release. More information available through NARA.