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DIM BULBS AND DIRTY BOOKS : ARCHIVES IN THE FUNNY PAPERS
Recent events suggest that 2003 will be an uncertain year for archivists and the organizations they serve. Right-hand turns in funding directions and institutional restructuring contribute to that uncertainty. There are some things we can always count on, however; one being that the media will continue to use two words in connection with archives: "lost" and "dusty". In these characterizations we can take offence, but also some comfort. It is reassuring that some things never change.
Based on past coverage, journalists will continue to portray us, by inference, as both dim-witted and slovenly. This past fall was rich in stories replete with claims of overlooked treasures and bad archival housekeeping. Here are some recent examples:
On September 29th, the Calgary Herald front page trumpeted Lost Richler manuscript surfaces in U of C library, suggesting that this item had finally surfaced in the same way that an uncomfortable pair of underwear ultimately becomes the only option in the dresser drawer. In this story, and others encountered recently, the researcher is credited with "finding" and recognizing the significance of the archival treasure in question. Here, an unpublished manuscript by Mordecai Richler entitled The Rotten People, was "sitting in the special collections room on the 12th floor of the U of C's MacKimmie Library Tower." One might assume that the manuscript was either hogging a chair in the reference area or had been placed under a potted palm to prevent damage to the furniture.
We know better. Archivists know all too well that such records are neither lost nor "sitting". In fact, archivists are keenly aware of the significance of the records they care for. While we don't necessarily herald their existence from the parapets, we do work hard to preserve their context and position in the scheme of records creation. Facilitating the researcher's discovery reminds me of the able but gracious Sherpa, who steps aside one metre from the mountain summit so that the disoriented climber can collapse on the top and claim the ascent, then leave his or her patient porter to deal with the luggage. Our hard work enables these "discoveries."
In some cases, of course, a researcher really does make a miraculous find. But is it really any wonder, considering the mammoth extent of records? The remarkable letter of Major John McCrae, part of the Harvey Cushing papers at Yale University, may be such a recent discovery. Huge attention was paid to Michael Bliss' story in the National Post and other newspapers on November 11th. The particular letter presaged McCrae's famous poem In Flanders Fields. That McCrae's biographer and the curator of the McCrae home were not aware of its existence should come as no surprise and they should hardly be chided. Revelations will continue to be made; that's what makes research so compelling. Importantly, archivists make these revelations possible by preserving the permanently valuable records that provide context and authenticity to the one "smoking gun" record in flashy press coverage.
In the Calgary Herald of November 22nd (I'm not ragging at the Herald; similar examples abound in other papers), under the banner Diary linked to Louis Riel, we read: "A diary that was gathering dust in the North Dakota state archives could reveal previously unknown details about Metis leader Louis Riel's life during the 1870s." How many times have you seen the "gathering dust" phrase? Once again a researcher has uncovered evidence, in this case suggesting that Riel may have worked as a guide for a British nobleman. Important information for sure, but could it not be expressed a little less archaeologically? Was the dust really that thick? Readers might conclude that records are unboxed and scattered to ensure they will become sufficiently "yellowed."
To top off the year, I spied an article entitled Tolkien discovered at Oxford causes sensation. In addition to being timely, given the raging popularity of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, I should think this heading would cause a considerable stir since most readers are certain the esteemed author is dead (perhaps a tweedy version of an Elvis sighting?). No, in fact, this headline in the December 29th Calgary Herald refers to: "a yellowing manuscript by J. R. R. Tolkien discovered in an Oxford library" by an American academic who "found some of the material, notes bound in board covers, by accident in a box of papers at the Bodleian Library in Oxford." Researcher Michael Drout, who was examining Tolkien's translations and analysis of Beowulf, reported: "I was sitting there going through the transcripts when I saw these four bound volumes at the bottom of the box." Perhaps they were being used as padding.
That Tolkien was a scholar of Beowulf and might have been influenced by the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem doesn't seem much of a stretch. Academics should be searching the entirety of Tolkien's papers for such connections. Archivists gently guide this type of discovery throughout their careers and derive a certain pleasure in researchers' successful journeys. Yet, we generally receive no credit for the acquisition, preservation and delivery of such records. Worse, there is an implication that archivists have little awareness of the existence or value of these records. We may as well have used these tomes to support sagging chair cushions or prop up that bug-infested palm!
Enough grousing; how can we do better with the press? Accounts of dust and derision will continue to be reported. But here are my tips to ensure more constructive reporting when we really need media attention:
Calculate well in advance when you want coverage of success stories and avoid getting entrapped by a paper's desperate lack of news. Wait for a truly worthwhile story, then seek out a journalist with a proven sympathy for archives, history, human interest or whatever will serve you best. Sometimes, this writer has actually been to your archives; not the type who arrives at 5pm on Friday with an impossible demand, but one who has done a bit of reading on your premises. At the beginning of December, the Canadian Architectural Archives scored a beautiful two-page spread in the Calgary Herald, lavishly illustrated and with thoughtful commentary by David Bly. No doubt, it took some work. But it can happen.
Be prepared to supply written descriptive material, reproductions and informed testimonials about a new acquisition or a newly-processed fonds and be willing to let the journalist appropriate this material. In my experience, a traditional press release is often ignored. Something more substantial will often help a writer take up your story or meet a looming deadline. Also, it is better to be mildly misquoted from something written in advance than entirely misquoted or put on the spot in an interview situation.
Finally, if you are maligned about dustiness or cast as an archival dim-bulb, make sure to stand up for yourself. Challenge your accuser to a mutual dust-bunny inspection. At the very least, wave a copy of the offending clipping at the perpetrator next time that thoughtless author re-darkens your door in a last-minute panic. And make sure the clipping is dust-free and in Mylar.
Best wishes for 2003.
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