I was a bit overexcited when I opened the September 1944 issue of the ALA Bulletin and found an article on Montclair (N.J.) Public Library's use of International Business Machines to analyze library usage statistics. In my head, IBM equals computers, and computers equal cool. (This is despite knowing the former statement to be untrue. I'll stand by the latter.)

In any event, the inspiringly-titled "Business Machine—Tool of Library Progress" (Sep. 1944, p. 291-294) wasn't about a computer by the modern (electronic and programmable) definition; IBM didn't introduce its first model until that year, although a few other machines had been built by then. While there's no explicit model or even machine type listed, it looks like Montclair was using a punchcard-based tabulating machine. (Author Felix E. Hirsch referred to the "Ten minutes of sorting time, which is sufficient for a considerable run of cards" needed to find the answer to a demographic question.)

Despite starring only a computer precursor, the article seems to have the energy and excitement of the herald of a new, computerized, era. No doubt they'll arrive on the scene shortly, right?

Well... not quite. There were, perhaps, a few nods in that direction in the coming years: an address at the 1946 Annual Conference reprinted in the September issue of that year (p. 261) by Tennessee Valley Authority Director David Lilienthal asked the now-age-old question "Is the machine good, or is it evil?", while a September 1956 article by Frank Anderson of East Chicago Public Library mused on what libraries would be like in 2006. (Among his predictions: Carnegie libraries would be razed to make space for heliports; physical books will all be filmed and then shredded and sold for waste paper, which would be used in boxes to pack nuclear device components; and an automated "electronic book plucker" that could search circulation records kept on IBM punchcards.)

I'd say the computer age didn't really reach the Bulletin until the March 1959 issue, in which ALA Associate Executive Director Richard B. Harwell announced the Library Technology Project, a grant-funded program at ALA with a full-time staff of five. Even that's not quite accurate: While the Project soon turned its attention to the use of computers in libraries, its initial charge was to develop standards for library supplies, to contribute to the development of new or redesigned library equipment (including an inexpensive microfilm reader, scuff-free paperclips, and a permanent ink), and to maintain a clearinghouse of information on library technology.

Even if the Library Technology Project wasn't instantly focused on computer technology, others were. In October 1961, Jesse H. Shera (former bigwig in the Junior Members Round Table and then dean of the School of Library Science at Western Reserve University) published "Automation Without Fear." (p. 787-794) This article identifies three sources of fear of computers: psychological, technological, and economic; it describes potential uses of computers in reference work—the examples, while specific, appear to be hypothetical rather than based on actual uses at the time; and it ruminated on the question of whether or not computers can "think." (It also represents what I believe to be the first time the Bulletin used the word "computer" to refer to the machines so familiar to us today.)

The Library Technology Project joined the computer game by 1963. The project's director, Frazer Poole, reported on the four-day Conference on Libraries and Automation in the July-August issue of that year (p. 658-659).

About 100 people attended the conference, a meeting of two worlds: librarians and computer experts. Despite high-level support—Librarian of Congress L. Quincy Mumford opened the first session—the conference was rough going. "It was obvious to even the casual observer that the computer experts and the librarians were not always talking the same language," Poole wrote. He noted the skepticism held by many of the attending librarians that computers could improve processes at all, and observed a basic failure to communicate. "In too many instances, librarians were saying, in effect: Tell us what your machines can do and we will tell you whether we can use them. The machine men, on the other hand, stated again and again their basic tenet: Tell us your requirements and we will tell you what machines can do to help libraries."

But the Library Technology Project did, finally, lead to concrete computer applications, reported in 1964 and 1965 in a series of seven articles by engineer-librarian Joseph Becker. He covered: MEDLARS, the Medical Literature Analysis and Retrieval System at the National Library of Medicine; the University of California at San Diego's experiments with using computers to maintain serial holdings records for 1,500 titles (with 3,500 more promised); Los Angeles County Public Library's use of computers to automatically generate a printed catalog of its 223,000 titles; a remote-retrieval system demonstrated at the New York World's Fair; the IBM Research Library's computer-based circulation record updating and maintenance; Pennsylvania State University Library's systems analysis project; and a case study of Florida Atlantic University, which was established in 1964 and whose library was the first in the United States to use computer-based data processing from its founding.

Sure, the programs aren't sophisticated by today's standards; it would be absurd to expect them to be. (If we accept Moore's law as an estimate, computing power has doubled 28 times since then, so we've got about 268 million times more juice to work with.) MEDLARS, for example, required a typist to prepare catalog entries on a special typewriter, which converted letters to punched holes on a paper tape, which could be spliced together, and run through a machine to transfer that information to magnetic tape. That tape was read by a computer, which could: Compare subject headings with a master list to detect errors; generate full citations and create cross-references; sort citations alphabetically; and "look for logical errors in the citations themselves and print out exactly where they occur," although the article doesn't specify how.

Still, it's a start. Welcome, computer era.

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.

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.