The spice of life

Variety is the name of the game with this project -- we're visiting 22 institutions and seeing thousands of collections, so a range of subjects is to be expected. Most of the time, though, there's a relatively smooth progression of topics from one collection to the next one. We might, for example, go through a number of personal papers and then work our way through a series of institutional records. At the moment, for example, we're looking through personal papers at the Presbyterian Historical Society. Many of these are collections of letters and reports from missionaries. Even though we're jumping around geographically -- from India to Korea to Cameroon to Iran to China -- there is a fairly consistent format and tone to the materials. However, there have been a few times when moving from one collection to another has made me sit up and notice how odd the juxtapositions can be.

The first wild jump in topic that comes to mind comes from fairly early in the project, when we surveyed collections at the Chemical Heritage Foundation (one of the institutions where depth of coverage of a particular discipline is the norm, and where, for a non-chemist, the differences between collections can be a bit subtle). This shift in subject matter can be explained by the fact that they have a collection that's pretty far out of their normal collecting scope: the records of the National Democratic Club in New York City. We looked at this set of scrapbooks of club activities and minutes of various committees right before we surveyed the records of the Advisory Council on College Chemistry. One minute I'm scrounging through scrapbooks looking to see what big politicos attended the club's dinners and the next I'm reading reports on how to revise the chemistry curriculum for the college student of the 1960s.

At many of the other PACSCL institutions, diverse subject matter is more to be expected, but seeing what collections fall next to each other in the survey order can still be entertaining and informative. At Bryn Mawr we surveyed a collection of materials compiled by Susan Braudy as part of the research for her book on the radical Kathy Boudin, who was convicted for involvement in the Weather Underground and Black Liberation Army robbery of a Brinks truck in 1981. This collection contains court transcripts, copies of FBI files, transcripts of police radio transmissions, and clippings of contemporary news accounts. After this taste of counter-culture and the American justice system, we went on to more traditional cultural fare with the papers of the Philadelphia artist Ben Wolf. (Wolf also appeared in national print media, but it was his artwork that showed up, not his mug-shot). The papers document Wolf's career as an artist, illustrator, and critic, but more interesting to me was the collection of Sherlockiana among his papers. He was a member of the Baker Street Irregulars and provided illustrations for the dinner menus of the Sons of the Copper Beeches (a Philadelphia "scion society" of the Baker Street Irregulars), and he collected all sorts of programs, articles, newsletters, photographs, and ephemera about the brilliant detective.

At Temple University, another institution with quite a wide range of subject matter on the shelves, we ran into what in retrospect looks like a very similar pairing of diverse subjects. This time it was Fred Zimring's research materials on Barrows Dunham, a chairman of the University's philosophy department who was dismissed from his position for refusing to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee, which was investigating him on charges of subversive activities and alleged membership in the Communist Party. Just the day before we were browsing these interviews about the reach of government into academe during the red scare, we had been steeped in motherhood and apple pie, with the Emilie Mulholland baseball collection. Mulholland had worked for both the Philadelphia Athletics and the Pittsburgh Pirates, and she amassed a pretty impressive collection of memorabilia: baseballs, photographs, programs, a couple of jerseys, and a variety of elephants (the mascot of the Athletics). Mulholland was also a dedicated scorekeeper, and her collection includes years' worth of scorecards.

Consideration of these shifts subject, and shifts of geography, discipline, time period, and weightiness of the matter at hand (not to say, of course, that baseball isn't a very weighty matter...), reinforces for me how interesting this project is for the surveyors. Digging into one collection and savoring its contents (albeit for a short time) is one of the primary joys of this job, and being served a brand new dish with the very next collection is another.

You describe my back...

Recently Josie, our intern for the semester, and I surveyed a collection that reminded me of one of the hoped for outcomes of this project: that once people find out about some of these "hidden" collections we're surveying, they will want to use them, and that maybe they'll even want to assist in bringing them further into the light.

The particular collection that spurred these thoughts consisted of 140 feet of 19th and 20th century records of an prominent Philadelphia publishing house, the J.B. Lippincott Company. I'll admit I had been holding off on surveying it for awhile, because it seemed like, to use a highly technical term, a monster - more than 90 boxes of volumes and paper records, plus nearly one hundred volumes that weren't in boxes. We had an accession record, and some donor correspondence to work from, but it seemed like that was it.

Before we started surveying, however, our staff liaison brought another access tool to our attention. It turned out that within the past year a researcher had learned of the collection's existence and requested to use it. Undaunted at learning that there was very little description and that it would be difficult to use in its current state, the researcher worked out an arrangement with the institution whereby he would provide a preliminary assessment and listing for the entire collection. The result was a very useful (albeit skeletal) wordprocessed box- and volume-level inventory that will undoubtedly aid both staff and other researchers who request access in the future. (A secondary benefit for the PACSCL survey team is that a collection that could have taken the good part of a day to assess, got done in less than an hour.) (Update: HSP has posted a preliminary finding aid for this collection that combines the survey description and the inventory.)

In this era of movement towards minimum standards cataloging and processing and increasing pressure to make resources available more quickly, there is a lot of talk of what role user-supplied description could play and how best to encourage it. Some people seemed convinced that this is something far on the horizon, something that requires advanced cyberinfrastracture and a thorough understanding of Web 2.0 technologies. While I'm all for exploiting technology as much as possible to improve our service to and interaction with our researchers, this example is a reminder that we don't have to work out all the technological kinks to make user-supplied description a reality now. Something as simple as asking a researcher to give you a copy of that Word document they produced on their laptop over the course of their research visit can make access better -- and the lives of your friendly neighborhood surveyors a whole lot easier!

What do you do with the collection of a nobody?

One of the most active archival institutional blogs is Historical Notes from OHSU, the blog of Oregon Health & Science University's Historical Collections & Archives. I'm in awe of the frequency and the quality of the posts on this blog, which attest to some serious blogger discipline. I was struck by this recent post about the desirability of collecting "the great" versus collecting "nobodies," because I had been thinking along similar lines as the result of a collection we surveyed recently.

This particular collection consisted of the papers of a Pennsylvania man who appears to have worked in middle management in some sort of factory or plant. This man was a frustrated writer and inventor, as evidenced by the reams of unpublished manuscripts he left behind -- for poems, plays, essays, and novels (often accompanied by rejection letters), as well as notes on inventions and many politely worded declines from a range of companies of this man’s ideas for "the next big thing." Correspondence in the collection indicates that its creator had contacted a number of repositories in a desperate bid to have it placed somewhere, anywhere, so that his life's work wouldn't be for naught. Correspondence in the collection from the holding repository suggests that the curator took pity on this person, and agreed to take in the collection as "storage." (The collection arrived in the early 1970s, likely at a time when stack space was at less of a premium.) So, this collection has survived and made it into a repository, but to what purpose?

Certainly there is a now fairly longstanding trend of looking into the lives of ordinary people, particularly ordinary women. I don't know if this collection is that reflective of the experience of an "ordinary" man, however – it seems fairly unordinary to leave behind 18 feet of unpublished manuscripts and a raft of letters to various companies suggesting improvements to typewriter efficiency and renewed marketing of the hula hoop. If we approach it from the angle of literature, and place this collection in contrast to the papers of many successful, "great" writers in this repository and other PACSCL repositories, is it a worthwhile juxtaposition? Are bad writers, to paraphrase from Tolstoy’s observation on unhappy families, all bad in their own way? And does that make them worth studying?

Jenny has a category that she's jokingly asked to be added to the survey – whether the collection is good source material for a novel or a movie. This collection certainly fits the bill. I can definitely see the makings of something like American Movie in this person's frustrated aspirations to fame and fortune. But whether this collection could be anything more than that, I just don't know.

Back on the archival track, in the RLG-sponsored "Digitization Matters" forum last summer, Yale's Bill Landis suggested in a talk on mass digitization for archives that it's perhaps best suited for our not-so-great stuff (sound file; if you prefer to read some similarly provocative thoughts along these lines, check out OCLC’s report Shifting Gears: Gearing Up to Get Into the Flow). Why not put up an undistinguished collection in its entirety with minimal metadata and see whether anyone uses it, he queried. This collection would certainly make for an interesting experiment in that vein.

Sweating the small stuff

In my pre-PACSCL life, my archives career focused heavily on institutional records -- in particular, processing medium to large collections of institutional records. I processed the records of university presidents, museum administrators, heads of non-profit organizations, school deans, and (in some of the most dreary processing of my career), administrative records of the financial aid office. It wasn't uncommon to be processing 100+ foot collections several times a year, and to view nearly anything under five feet as a lower priority since it could be tackled "anytime."

Moving to PACSCL and the unprocessed and underprocessed collections of the 22 institutions participating in this project, I've come to a major shift in my assumptions about what's a significant enough body of material to survey. When I visit institutions, it often turns out that they have a rather good handle on their larger collections - it's the small stuff that's giving them fits.

A lot of what we've surveyed is small, by pretty much any definition. Of the 1,078 collections surveyed as of today, 717 are under 5 feet -- and a staggering 400 of those are under 1 foot. And surveying really does seem to be beneficial for these types of materials.

This is because there are two main aims for the surveying. One is to assist with
internal control and prioritization of collections, both within and across institutions. The other is to improve intellectual access to collections. When we survey small collections, the benefit is largely in the second category. The survey record provides a collection-level description that can be used to create a MARC record, an EAD finding aid, or even a simple printout to put in a binder. The distance from our survey collection-level description to the description for a "fully processed" version of these collections tends to be much shorter than for larger collections (in fact, some participants tell us they consider our survey records for these types of collections pretty much final).

It seems there's a growing recognition of the benefits of applying archival standards and methods to processing and cataloging small collections. One sign of this is a new workshop offered by the Society of American Archivists titled "Applying DACS to Single-Item Manuscript Cataloging." I like to think we're a little ahead of the curve on this one!

I was also struck by a post on the Archives and Archivists listserv yesterday about the Alaska and Polar Regions Collections at the University of Alaska Fairbanks designating a "processing day" where all of the staff will work on their backlog of small collections; the idea is that everyone will set aside everything else they're doing and just get through as much as they can. I love this idea - we set aside special days for moves and cleaning out offices, why not do it for increasing access to our collections?

Klingons at Temple

I'll begin this post with the caveat that I'm not a big science fiction fan and what I don't know about Star Trek and Cons and so on could fill a decent sized library. That being said, one of the sci-fi collections that we surveyed recently at Temple University has really stuck with me. (Temple has a great science fiction collection, by the way, if you're interested. Check out their page describing the Paskow Science Fiction Collection.) The one we looked at the other day is the Sue Frank Klingon/Star Trek collection of fanzines and organizational newsletters. These were assembled by Dr. Frank from groups within and outside of the U.S. -- fan groups are to be found in Britain, New Zealand, and Italy, among other places. The titles include "Klingon Assault Group Force Recon," "The Pillage Voice," "Engage!," "Disruptor," and "Something Else." The newsletters reflect the range of Klingon-related activities afoot in the terran world. They contain drawings, photos, recipes, letters, poems, stories, technical information, and analyses of many aspects of Klingon language and culture. And lots of pearls of information; did you know, for example, that the species of cocoa bean grown on earth is inferior to that grown by the Klingons?

The collection consists of about six linear feet of material, so I'm sure it's just a drop in the bucket of the total Star Trek fan literature that exists in the world. Even so, when you see it all together, it seems like a great resource, both for those looking for the facts and the flavor of Klingon life and for those interested in the phenomenon of Star Trek fandom. What the collection as a whole conveys is the extent to which this piece of popular culture has worked its way into people's everyday lives. It's impossible to tell from the fanzines what proportion of their lives the fans spend as Klingons; I assume that for at least some of the fans, the Klingon identity is pretty central.

At any rate, the production of all this Klingon-related material is a nice illustration of the theme of the "dedicated collector" that crops up again and again in our surveying. (With this collection, I think both Sue Frank and the creators of the fanzines count as dedicated collectors). The collections we see that were created by this kind of devoted, focused person are almost always compelling, if not always as obviously interesting as the Klingon stuff. When a collection is visibly a labor of love, it inspires a certain respect, regardless of the research value of the information contained within.

And for a summary of science fiction collections around the country (including plenty of Star Trek materials), see the Research Resources at AboutSF.

I dream of genies

Lately we've been simultaneously surveying at two different sites. While John and Jenny progress through Temple's collections, I've been back at The Historical Society of Pennsylvania, working on collections of the Genealogical Society of Pennsylvania with special guest star David, a reference librarian at HSP. Under the terms of HSP’s strategic alliance with GSP, materials which GSP collected (including several hundred feet of manuscript collections) are now part of HSP's holdings, so we’re surveying the manuscript material to help HSP's staff get a better handle on what's there.

HSP is already a rich source for genealogical and family research and the resources of GSP undoubtedly add to that richness. We've only been at the surveying for a little while, but already we've seen a variety of types of collections that fit under the "genealogy" umbrella, including funeral home records, items related to a Catholic church and cemetery, diaries of a minister recording his responses to personal and world events, and small caches of family papers.

By far the largest category of material, however, is genealogical research, created by people with various purposes: professional genealogists who conducted family research for others, individuals researching their own family connections, individuals interested in the genealogies of great persons like Charlemagne or William the Conqueror. The collections vary quite a bit both in how the research was compiled and how it was presented. Some people created scrapbooks or narrative histories that present a polished final product, while others maintained the research in its raw form. There are transcribed or photocopied extracts from published sources, printouts from microfilm, correspondence that documents the researcher’s inquiries to various libraries and archives, government offices, religious institutions, and personal contacts, pedigree charts, rough notes, and detailed data forms. Sometimes sources are cited, sometimes they're not. Some collections are thoroughly indexed by their creator or by volunteers at the society, while others are so idiosyncratic that at first glance their method seems decipherable only by their creator.

These collections provoke a number of questions when it comes to assessing research value. What do measures like "documentation quality" and "interest" mean when what is being assessed is someone's research using primary sources, rather than the sources themselves? We know that genealogy itself is a high interest topic; some sources claim that genealogy is now the second most popular hobby in the United States. (Even though some dispute the accuracy of these claims, anecdotal evidence and the success of services like Ancestry.com clearly points to a large segment of the population being interested in tracing its roots.) But how are genealogical research materials in archives used by researchers other than the person who created them – and how likely are they to be used? While each collection has a fairly narrow focus, does its value exponentially increase when added to an accumulation of similar materials in a place like HSP? Is this a category of material where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts?

Taking a slightly broader perspective, in addition to the genealogical content of these collections, do they tell us something about the nature of genealogical research? There’s a small but growing body of archival literature on the information seeking behavior of genealogists. For example, see Wendy Duff and Catherine A. Johnson's 2003 article from the American Archivist titled "Where is the list with all the names? Information-seeking behavior of genealogists" (soon to be available online, but currently print only) or Elizabeth Yakel's "Seeking information, seeking connections, seeking meaning: genealogists and family historians" from Information Research. These studies used interviews with and observation of individual genealogists to ferret out details of their research methods, but might an examination of those methods as exhibited in the collections they create also be useful?

Given that we still have over a hundred collections to survey, we'll be grappling with these questions for awhile. We have colleagues onsite here at HSP and GSP whose expertise will be invaluable, but I'd be interested to hear from other people who collect or access genealogical research materials about how such collections are used once they've passed from their creator into a repository.

Chess by telegraph, Quaker golfers, and Philadelphia numismatists...

Is this the answer to a Carnac riddle?* Possibly, but it's also a sampling of the subjects of collections you might uncover when searching our database of unprocessed and underprocessed collections. These are the results of a search for collections related to the PACSCL-designated theme "Leisure activities" (full results can be viewed here), but there are plenty more waiting to be found. Our database currently features 1,000 collections from eight repositories, and more collections and institutions will be added regularly.

This database is the first step of many toward improving physical and intellectual access to the collections surveyed for this project. It's also our small contribution to the increasing push in the archives and special collections community to provide researchers with information about our collections -- both processed and unprocessed -- in a timely fashion.

There are a number of other interesting approaches to providing information on unprocessed collections. For example, Yale University’s Beinecke Library has a searchable database of uncataloged acquisitions online, and its blogs often highlight particular collections from this queue.

The American Heritage Center, under the leadership of Mark Greene of "More Product, Less Process" fame, undertook a massive reevaluation of its holdings (the majority of which were unprocessed) and created MARC records in OCLC’s WorldCat for all the collections it decided to retain (you can read a press release about this project at here).

Princeton University's Mudd Manuscript Library provides multiple access points for both unprocessed and processed collections; within the last eighteen months, the staff have created collection-level MARC records for every previously uncataloged archival collection in its holdings, then used the freeware program MarcEdit to convert them to collection-level EAD finding aids that are web discoverable, like this one. The catalog records go into Princeton’s online catalog and Worldcat, and the finding aids are contributed to Princeton’s own EAD website and OCLC’s ArchiveGrid.

Lastly, but certainly not leastly, our very own University of Delaware provides preliminary descriptions of many of its unprocessed collections and lists them on its manuscript collections web page (see one for landscape architect Armistead W. Browning Jr. here). It's a simple, but effective, way of calling researchers' attention to these collections' existence.

Telling the world about our unprocessed collections is certainly not without its challenges, but our researchers will certainly benefit from it, and I’m confident that we will too.

* Yes, I know this is an incredibly dated reference, but even more than 15 years after Johnny Carson vacated the airwaves, there’s still no more recognizable trope for linking seemingly unrelated items!