This week, a roundup of brief and hopefully amusing nuggets from the history of American Libraries.

Wonderful ads
Beginning in 1948, the Bulletin began accepting advertising. There's not much flash by modern standards, hardly surprising given that things like inexpensive color printing are pretty recent developments. There is a lot of charm, however.

World Book

Compton

A pair of encyclopedias led the way. World Book vividly described the lengths it went to to make its entries accurate boasting on the back cover of the December 1951 issue, for example, how "We anesthetized a snake to make our World Book Diagram accurate!"

Compton Encyclopedia's ads were even better; they consisted of "Compton Comments" written by "L.J.L." on a wide range of topics, always tying them back to an updated entry or some event of the day. Take the irresistable September 1951 missive, which opens: "How would you have felt on the morning after the A.L. A. Conference if you had awakened at 6:15 to find a sky-blue parakeet sitting on your pillow peeking at your nose?"

I don't know if these ads make me any more motivated to buy an encyclopedia (it's not a question that comes up often in my current position), but they sure make me want to read more ads.

The Library in Cartoons

The Bulletin published a series of cartoons in 1936 and 1937 detailing life in various types of libraries or library departments. My favorite is the first one, published in January 1936 (p. 24-26) detailing the duties of a public branch librarian, which include telephoning the Animal Rescue League to call for a basket of kittens deposited on the return desk, calling an ambulence for a passer "who has slipped on a bit of orange peel", and having a talk with a sailor who wants a card (right; click for larger versions).

An unintentional sequel of sorts came in May 1949 (p. 181), with "The Bookmobile Arrives" (left). I'm especially fond of the pilot who's reading as he's about to crash into a tree, although maybe I'm just in a weird mood.

Image
In November 1946 (p. 463), ALA's Public Relations Office put out a call for photos of librarians at work, for use in recruiting materials. On one hand, it's a nice, forward-thinking little project: "Let's declare a moratorium on pictures of empty charging desks, still and deserted bookmobiles, childless children's rooms," wrote PRO Chief Olga Peterson. On the other hand, the call could have perhaps been delivered with a bit more tact. It came under the heading "Good-Looking Librarians, Note!!!" (sic) was addressed "To Photogenic Members" and declared that "good pictures" showing attractive librarians at work "are very scarce."

The 1950s
There is no excuse for this.

Richardson

Clift

Stevenson

Beginning with the April 1953 issue, author photos for the editorial by Ransom Richardson took this format: a disembodied and poorly cut-out head on a line-art suit. Executive Secretary David Clift started getting the same treatment in May. Meanwhile, Grace Stevenson, ALA associate executive secretary, got merely an unclothed disembodied head at the top of her "In the Mill" department. I apologize for any nightmares.

I'm gonna say, "not"
The February 1946 issue (p. 72) related this tale: "At a recent convention of English teachers in Indianapolis, Marian McFadden, city librarian, presented a talk, the notes for which she threw into the wastebasket. Later she was asked for a copy of the talk or of the notes so that they could be sent to a professional periodical for possible publication. That night, when Miss McFadden was walking home some papers were deposited at her feet by the wind. Believe it or note, they were the notes she had thrown into the wastebasket!"

Conference Entertainment
Here's the partial list of social activities on the five days of the 1942 Annual Conference in Milwaukee, as listed in the June issue (p. 398): Dancing, brewery tour, folk dancing, square dancing, square dancing, stunts, and square dancing.

(For those who found the square dancing units in elementary, junior high, and high school gym classes an unpleasant and traumatic experience, some closure can be gained by reading the list in your best Terry Jones-as-a-waitress voice.)

—Greg Landgraf, American Libraries editorial assistant.

I don't remember specifically when I first started hearing about the scourge that is Generation X. It was somewhere in my high school or college years, but more detail than that I can't give. I do, however, remember specifically that at the time, the media reports discussing the scourge that is Generation X were saying that the last Gen-Xers were born in 1975. That's a year before I was born, so I felt enthusiastic, optimistic, and even a bit entitled at having dodged that bullet.

It wasn't to last, though. Before long, the birth range for Generation X was extended to 1978, turning me into the lazy, sullen, apathetic sod I am today.

In an unrelated event (I swear—it happened a few months before I joined the staff), AL dug up a bit of controversy on the generational issues front in May 2004, with a cover story titled "What Will Gen Next Need to Lead." (pp. 32-35) In it, authors Arthur Young, Peter Hernon, and Ronald Powell related results of their "five-year study of what today's library directors see as desirable leadership attributes for their successors."

Several letters took the authors, and the magazine, to task for a variety of pretty well-founded reasons: The fact that none of the authors belonged to Generation X, that the survey hadn't asked opinions of any Gen-Xers, that its title was intentionally condescending, that the desirable attributes were desirable for leaders regardless of age, and that the whole concept of leadership needed to be rethought anyhow. (Aug. 2004, p. 35-36.)

I'm not going to defend the treatment here—I can see some legitimate reasons for it, but AL Editor Leonard Kniffel has expressed some interest in writing about it, and since he was here at the time he's probably got better insights than I. Instead, I'd like to examine some of the magazine's early intergenerational issues.

The Junior Members Round Table was founded, informally at least, in 1931. Despite not officially joining ALA until 1941, its activities made regular appearances in the Bulletin throughout the Thirties. And the JMRT was a reasonably active group, with projects such as Library literature, 1921-32, an update to a bibliography of library science writings; a series of Library Information Leaflets to help patrons use catalogs, periodical indexes, and other library tools; the "Dividends" section of the Bulletin, a neat little department relating specific examples of impressive service feats, such as a library helping a hospital increase the efficiency of its steam power plant, saving the city the cost of a new system; an essay contest; and state projects coordinated by regional subgroups (Jan. 1937, p. 13; Mar. 1937, p. 156-158; Apr. 1937, p. 231; Jan. 1938, p. 49).

The non-unifying non-theme: Almost none had any relation to age or the specific concerns of new librarians. There were a few—a survey of round table members' reactions to library schools, a statement by JMRT Chair Robert Miller at a 1933 meeting of the Board of Education for Librarianship on the JMRT's recommendations to address unemployment, and a directory of librarians under 35 in Louisiana compiled by that state's group (Feb. 1933, p. 97; Mar. 1934, p. 139; Mar. 1937, p. 158). But most of the JMRT's activities could have been done by any group.

There were only a couple of instances of overt hostility towards young librarians published during that era. One, a "quotation received recently from an Illinois librarian" whose name, sadly, wasn't revealed, declared that "Apparently they want the A.L.A. to be a sort of combination of a trade union with delegates to send around to fight their local salary and service battles, and a public relations office including a group of talent scouts to travel around and keep the juniors busy with frequent visits, local meetings, and chances to perform. ... As a national body it should concern itself with national and over-all affairs and should not have to worry about seeing that the junior members get their money's worth." (Apr. 1945, p. 152) In a second, Aubry Lee Hill of the public library in New Rochelle, New York, in her her address "Speaking for the Younger Generation" at the 1935 Annual Conference in Denver, read a letter she received from another unnamed librarian: "What some of you lack is unselfish idealism—you are so damnably ego-centric—and you lack humane tolerance and understanding of imperfections, which will give you the patience and ability to work yourselves to the top of a difficult situation instead of blowing up. ... P.S. You lack ballast, too, and you lack patina."

Nasty postscripts aside, the general tone the magazine took towards the juniors was one of mild condescension. Sadly, much of this tone came from the servility of the juniors themselves. For example, in 1938, Chair J.H. Shera's "Swan-Song of a Junior" pulls out a bunch of overwrought highbrow references (citing "Cassandrian qualities of perspective", the oppressive inertia facing Tolstoy or Gorki characters, the pacifism of Ferdinand the bull, and of course, Shakespeare) to prove that he's ready to graduate to the regular membership upon turning thirty-five. In 1934, JMRT Chair Louis Nourse declared library staff associations "A Job for Junior Members"—a double-whammy implication that neither junior members nor staff associations were good enough for the real members to worry about.

So it seems that the young have picked up ground in the intergenerational bicker-off. Go us! Of course, as generational date ranges seem to shift every so often, we all may find ourselves on a different side one day.

—Greg Landgraf, American Libraries editorial assistant

As I prepare to leave for Annual, I'd like to share a conference-related curiosity from the middle years of the ALA Bulletin: Fashion advice.

From 1935 through 1961 (though not in every year), the Bulletin offered suggestions on what to wear at conference. These articles covered the type of weather to expect, but in most cases they also provided style guidance—in detail simultaneously delightful and grotesque to my T-shirt-and-jeans fashion sensibility.

In Boston in 1941 (Apr., p. 232–236), for example, Hugh McLennon of Wm. Filene's Sons Co. advised women (he called them "feminine visitors") to bring an assortment of "light cotton washables of the tailored variety," a lightweight wool coat, a tailored lightweight wool suit, and a lightweight pastel wool. He also encouraged visitors to take advantage of the beaches, noting that "Suits of the more daring variety are not unknown nor are they unappreciated here. Men, however, must wear tops at most of the local beaches."

McLennon's advice to men (yes, he did call them "masculine visitors") included: a summer "weightsuit," a medium-weight gabardine or flannel with a topcoat or sport jacket, a white Palm Beach tuxedo jacket over black or midnight-blue dress trousers for formal evening wear, and a white suit or white flannels with a dark blue or camel's-hair jacket for informal evenings.

The next year (May 1942, p. 332–333), an unnamed representative of Emma Lange, Inc., advised conference attendees that women in the host city of Milwaukee acclaim their city a "suit town" and wear suits of all types, "plus their accompanying colorful display of sweaters and blouses, frills, dickys, ruches, and jabots." Men seemed to have it a bit easier, although the author warned that "white and very light suits are seldom seen" and that "slacks are worn everywhere with separate sport coats."

A brief unsigned note in the April 1946 issue (p. 136) suggested that due to lingering effects of wartime restrictions on the clothing markets, attendees dress formally or informally at Annual as they saw fit. (Feel free to try to wrap your head around what precisely was intended with the line "Obviously, no male President would dare to set himself up as a moderator of convention fashions.") Fashion concerns returned with a vengeance in the May 1947 issue (p. 142), in which one Anne M. Farrell declared that "While the hatless craze is practiced to a small extent in San Francisco, it is usually the school or college girl who is the devotee." (So if you're not wearing a hat, congratulations—you're part of a craze!)

The next "What to Wear" articles, in 1948 and 1959, came in verse.

Yes, poetry.

Highlights from "ALA couture" the far more extensive May 1959 edition (p. 419) by Helen-Anne Hilker that covered Washington, D.C., fashion trends:

"Since the strong sex still comes crated
'Mid cravat and shirt outdated,
Males may find our June like Hades.
(Summer's not so rough on ladies.)
Men of Butte, Seattle, Akron—
Come in cotton loomed with dacron.
Wool and man-made textile mated
Rank with suits of silk light-weighted."

"Pert chapeaux do add allure so,
Hats are smart—not de rigueur, 'tho.
Gauntlets are another matter,
Even when you snub your hatter.
Gloves are worn—not clutched—for highlight.
Hands are clad from dawn past twilight!"

The series, such as it was, concluded at the Cleveland conference in the April 1961 issue (p. 365–366) with a tour de force combo of his-and-hers articles by husband-and-wife "fashion authorities" Rita and Oscar Bergman. Rita recommended "that seven-day wonder, the shirtwaist dress" for women, calling it a "lifesaver for today's busy woman with places to go and not much time to change into outfit after outfit," along with simple and minimal accessories. Oscar's suggestions, on the other hand, were precise: "6 short-sleeve dress shirts, 2 long-sleeve white shirts for the evening parties, 3 sport shirts, 8 pairs of hose, 3 neckties, 6 linen changes, pajamas, and handkerchiefs."

If you're looking for last-minute fashion advice for D.C., I'm afraid I can't be of much help, but I do have one suggestion: Wear clothes. Historically, very few ALA sessions have welcomed those who are nude.

—Greg Landgraf, American Libraries editorial assistant.

The tech desert in the ALA Bulletin continued, in reality, to 1933. The magazine's entrance into a more technological age was heralded relatively innocuously in the November issue of that year, with the printing of an abridged version of ALA President Harry Miller Lydenberg's speech at the Annual Conference in Chicago. Near the end of his speech (p. 492), Lydenberg observed that "With the camera, the offset process, the rubber blanket, the film slide, the phonograph record—to say nothing about radio broadcasting, television, sound pictures—so emphatically at our elbow, what can we as librarians do but ask earnestly where we may find the man with vision extensive enough and accurate enough to picture exactly whither we go and what we are to encounter? ... We are living in a new world, with a new emphasis on the machine."

The growing awareness of technology was echoed in the September 1934 Montreal Annual Conference proceedings. Helen Gordon Stewart, director of Fraser Valley Demonstration in British Columbia, spoke on "Social Trends," noting her generation's acceptance of change: "In our own experience we have run the gamut of a whole scale of new things from incubators and carpet sweepers to vitamines and television.... And if the future decrees that we shall travel from place to place as projectiles, I have no doubt we shall face our first human pea-shooter with the equanimity of a Jules Verne hero." (p. 485)

There were, certainly, specifics as well. A May 1934 article by Edward M. Peterson, chairman of the ALA Committee on Work with the Blind, reported on the development of the talking book (p. 243-244), noting that there were then two types of readers, one electric and one spring-driven, and that manufacturers were debating which materials to use in making the records and how to best maximize the disc capacity. An Oct. 1, 1937 article listed the mechanical equipment used in modern libraries, based on a survey of eight facilities. Among them: Label pasting machines, floor scrubbing and polishing machines, calculator machines, adding machines, typewriters, projectors, mimeographs, and stereopticons. The Bulletin was also covering radio, in terms of its potential for publicity, and movies, in terms of their value in collections, by this time.

But the first technological development that truly got major coverage in the Bulletin, the "killer app" of this post's title, was microphotography.

Between mid-1936 and late 1938, the Bulletin published nearly monthly articles on the topic. (Several of these articles have been digitized and are available online at the New Deal Network.) It began in August 1936, with coverage of a microphotography symposium at the Annual Conference in Richmond (p. 719-723). That symposium developed into the Microphotography Round Table, which held a fiery meeting at the 1937 New York Annual Conference (p. 808-813), where "The crowd of five hundred who packed the Sert Room to overflowing then demanded a show-down on projectors, while the group that lunched together afterward were equally insistent on starting a new journal." It also never met again.

But in those two years, the Bulletin covered numerous aspects of the practice: Uses, including current ones like filming newspapers, and experimental ones like filming encyclopedias, dictionaries, and telephone directories; practical considerations like how to care for and catalog the films; comparisons of cameras; news; and a speculative article in the April 1938 issue (p. 241-243) suggesting that library card catalogs could be transferred to microfilm. (This last one brings back happy memories of using the microfiche at my childhood library—and a certain amusement, remembering my father's angry resistance to it.)

After 1938, technology coverage slipped into the background once again: I suspect due to a combination of the heavy coverage microphotography had received and the impending war. It won't be like that for long, though: Big Blue makes its first appearance in the Bulletin in 1944, and in Part 3.

—Greg Landgraf, American Libraries editorial assistant.