Knowing Better and Doing Better: Searching for Librarians of Color in PaLA Bulletin (and Beyond)

This week, I lifted a beverage to myself as I cracked open the 1990 volume of PaLA's Bulletin. I was in a celebratory mood because I have been hand-searching the Bulletin, as time permits, for more than 6 months, and the 1990s is the last full decade I need to view for my project. After taking a long sip, I rubbed my eyes and settled in for an hour of skimming and copying.

I was especially hoping to find information about technological developments -- a key theme of the 1990s. About halfway through the volume, though, something very different caught my eye. In the July/August issue, there was an interview with Lydia Scott, an African-American librarian who was the Head of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh's Wylie Avenue branch. Ms. Scott had earned her BA and her MLS from the University of Pittsburgh in the early 1970s, then worked as a children's librarian and storyteller for CLP's Inner City Service, a mobile outreach program that focused on the Hill District. In 1982, she was transferred to Wylie and became its head. Thus, by the time Karl Helicher interviewed her for the Bulletin, she'd been working as a librarian in Pittsburgh for at least 15 years. She had a wealth of knowledge to convey. Although much of the interview focused on practical strategies for working in Black communities, 2 things she said struck me. In describing the importance of self-esteem, she mentioned that "it is extremely important to young people and children to know that great men and women preceded them and overcame obstacles that seemed impossible." Later, in answering a question about successful outreach, she emphasized the importance of *commitment* -- how commitment matters more than budgets or specific tactics. 

Although Scott probably wasn't intending to speak to an academic researcher like me, I took her words as a call to conscience. She reminded me of something I haven't been doing well, that I need to do better: I need to seek out librarians of color and ensure that their stories are included in my work. 

One of the things I am most proud about Made Free, my previous book about the early history of Pennsylvania's libraries, is how I tried to be geographically inclusive. I drove every single mile of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I-80, I-81, I-79, and I-99 in order to visit various regions of the Commonwealth and I conducted research in more than 30 communities. I deliberately went to rural county seats like Gettysburg, Montrose, and Warren, as well as larger cities like Erie, Reading, and Scranton. Another way I tried to make Made Free more inclusive was that I not only utilized libraries' institutional archives, but I also tapped the records of the Pennsylvania Federation of Women's Clubs, the Pennsylvania State Grange, and the Pennsylvania Y.M.C.A. as well other "non-library" entities whose organizational records were available at the Pennsylvania State Archives. In other words, I not only told libraries' stories from the perspective of librarians, but also from the viewpoints of social service organizations and community activists that are often given short-shrift by library historians.

In order to achieve these types of inclusion, though, I made some significant trade-offs. By 2007, when I started the research that ultimately produced Made Free, Philadelphia and Pittsburgh had already been the subjects of various studies. I also knew that those cities are home to robust graduate programs in library science. So I believed they had already been "covered," or would eventually be covered, by other scholars. Thus I relied on published material, dissertations/theses, and the libraries' annual reports rather than doing site visits and consulting primary sources. Also, within the large Pennsylvania cities that I *did* visit, I concentrated on central libraries and I rarely, if ever, used branch records. While shorter visits enabled me to work with more institutions, it skewed my writing away from the vibrant ethnic communities that neighborhood branches serve most closely. My efforts to incorporate non-library organizations into my work was limited in scope as well. I included state-, county-, and local-level women's clubs, farmers' associations, and Y's -- the organizations which had publicly supported library movements in Pennsylvania -- and I assumed they represented "everyone," or "most of everyone." 

A consequence of these choices was that I largely failed to uncover stories about librarians of color; branches and outreach programs serving culturally/racially diverse neighborhoods; or book collections that people established for themselves outside of organizations that were established by (and largely for) white people. Taking Black communities as an example, my work didn't pick up library activity and other booksharing that had been going on in Philadelphia since at least the 1830s -- see the Philadelphia Library Company of Colored Persons, for example -- nor did I amplify the activities of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh's Wylie Avenue Branch, where Lydia Scott and other Black library employees had worked. Wylie's voluminous records are accessible in the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh's institutional archives, and I could have used them if I'd visited the area. 

When I began my current project, which is a kind of sequel to Made Free and focuses on Pennsylvania libraries during the 1940s-2000s, I started with my usual approach -- finding existing books/dissertations/articles and reaching out to public libraries all over the state to locate large collections of primary sources. That remains necessary for the type of "statewide" book I intend to write. But disappointingly, I am finding that material generated by or about Black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American librarians and library users remains elusive.  That's part of the reason why the 1990 interview with Lydia Scott was so special.

Within back issues of PaLA's Bulletin, Black library workers are relatively more visible than Hispanic, Asian, and Native ones. This isn't surprising, because, after people of white European descent, people of African descent comprise the largest number in Pennsylvania's general population, both historically and presently. In PaLA's Bulletin, the most valuable material I have found so far is a small cluster of articles published in the late 1960s. This was a time when Civil Rights Movements were highly visible across the country; librarian/activist E. J. Josey was encouraging Black librarians to make their voices heard within the American Library Association; and both federal grant programs and professional publications were turning the profession's eyes toward more inclusive politics and to underserved constituents. In 1967, Charles R. Peguese, who was then an adult services librarian at the Columbia Avenue branch of the Free Library of Philadelphia, published a Bulletin article that detailed his outreach efforts in the northern part of the city. He emphasized the importance of participating in neighborhood events and offering programs on "non-book" topics such as food stamps and medical assistance. Based on Mr. Peguese's subsequent appearances within the Bulletin, it could be argued that he became one of the most prominent African-Americans in Pennsylvania library circles, as he went on to serve for 14 years within the State Library's Bureau of Library Development.  Due at least in part to this role, and other voluntary positions he pursued at the national level, his name and photo show up in other Bulletin issues.

Charles R. Peguese honored in the September 1988 issue of PaLA Bulletin
for his service at the State Library of Pennsylvania 

Another Black librarian who appears within the Bulletin, especially in conference photos, is Elizabeth E.  McCombs, pictured below. As of September 1971, when a personnel notice about her appeared in the Bulletin, she had recently been appointed to lead Inner City Services for the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh after having served as Head of its Wylie Avenue Branch for a number of years. I haven't encountered any writings of hers in PaLA's Bulletin, but within the May 1969 Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Council of Teachers of English, she published a withering critique of NCTE's bibliographies, which failed to include titles about or relevant to Black children. Bringing passion, statistics, and a plethora of recommended titles to the table, she called on the state and national associations to improve professional tools that they were producing, to be more useful to teachers in contemporary classrooms. Ms. McCombs went on to teach in the library education program at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.  

Kathryn Oller, Elizabeth McCombs, Joseph J. Falgione, and Joan K. Diana at PaLA's 1972 conference. Image courtesy of the PaLA Archives and the State Library of Pennsylvania.

In the late 1960s, at least 2 other Black librarians published substantial articles in the Bulletin. Jessie M. Birtha, a book selection specialist at the Free Library of Philadelphia, wrote a collection development-oriented piece that staunchly criticized Helen Bannerman's Little Black Sambo, Sara Cone Bryant's Epaminondas, and other so-called "classics" that some librarians were still promoting. Ms. Birtha then introduced readers to Augusta Braxton Baker, Charlemae Hill Rollins, and other expert bibliographers/promoters of African American literature. She also explained how to evaluate contemporary works in terms of their approach, writing style, language, characterization, illustrations, and bias. She eventually headed FLP's Nicetown Tioga Library and served on the American Library Association's John Newbery Medal (children's book award) committee. Another Black librarian in Pennsylvania who went on to prominence was Augusta A. Clark, who had been a young adult librarian at the Free Library of Philadelphia. Having recently left the profession, she published an insightful article about how the demeanor of white librarians and their lack of commitment to inner-city constituents was failing Black children. Later known as "Gussie" Clark, she became a pathbreaking city councilor, focused particularly on educational issues.

Jessie Birtha at her 100th birthday celebration.
Photograph by Abdul R. Sulayman, published in the Philadelphia Tribune, February 14, 2020.  

Augusta A. Clark during her years on Philadelphia's City Council.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. 

Even though my research has uncovered some useful publications, I need to do a lot more to identify and include people of color in my work. So far, my best teacher has been my colleague Michele Fenton, who works for Indiana's State Library. I first connected with Ms. Fenton about 15 years ago when I was the editor of the newsletter of ALA's Library History Round Table. and she shared a manuscript she'd written about an African American branch within the Evansville (Indiana) Public Library. Her work pointed out the existence of segregated library services in Midwestern states and the importance of branch libraries in the educational, recreational, and social lives of African Americans. When I read her article back then, I absorbed its content -- the existence of segregated libraries in the North was news to me -- but unfortunately, I didn't think enough about what Ms. Fenton's work could teach me methodologically. Only last year, as I collaborated with her on a bibliography for a forthcoming book, Black Women in Librarianship: Voices from the African Diaspora, did I begin to ponder over our different approaches to finding biographical information. I had offered to tap  databases that she did not have access to at the Indiana State Library, and while my efforts added dozens of items to our list, I saw how Ms. Fenton's approach embodied the self-esteem, personal networking, and commitment that Lydia Scott and other Black librarians in Pennsylvania spoke of. Ms. Fenton's contributions to the bibliography were clearly the result of many years of service to the Black Caucus of ALA, collaborating with and reaching out to colleagues, following up on others' suggestions, starting a blog, Little Known Black Librarian Facts, and generally becoming a hub for information about Black librarians. Through these means, Ms. Fenton uncovered innumerable biographies, narratives, and stories that I would never have found using my typical methods.

For tracking down Black librarians, library employees, and activities, one idea my collaboration with Ms. Fenton gave me is to join, or at least reach out to, organizations for librarians of color. When I was the editor of Libraries: Culture, History, and Society, I became a member of ALA's Black Caucus, REFORMA, APALA, and AILA so that I could share CFPs with other members. I definitely need to tap those groups again when I begin to collect oral histories for my project. Also, I recently found out about the Pennsylvania Black Librarians Caucus; when the time comes, I want to reach out to PBLC and similar associations that focus on other demographics.

Another strategy inspired by Ms. Fenton is to check for news coverage in the Philadelphia Tribune, a Black newspaper I have access to via Penn State's ProQuest subscriptions. A quick search for article titles that include "librarian" or "librarians" turned up 58 items published between 1945 and 2010 that I should definitely sift through. A broader search for those words within full-text generated nearly 2,000 additional leads. Similar strategies for the Pittsburgh Courier, another Black paper available through ProQuest, yielded more 900 articles. I'd like to find out whether there are papers that focus on Pennsylvania's Hispanic, Asian, and Native communities, too. This being said, perhaps there are ways to comb through the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and other larger-circulation city papers. Perhaps I could look for obituaries that mention both "library" words, as well as the names of particular branches -- like the Cecil B. Moore Library (formerly Columbia Avenue Branch) in North Philadelphia, the Lucian E Blackwell West Philadelphia Regional Library, and the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh - Hill District (formerly Wylie Branch), which have served large Black communities. I could also look for obituaries that mention attendance at historically-black or minority-serving colleges and universities, membership in A.M.E. and other churches, or contributions to civic organizations like the NAACP. Hopefully, I can evolve parallel, thorough strategies for Hispanic, Asian, and Native librarians in Pennsylvania as well.

In the 5 years since I published Made Free, I *know* a bit more about inclusive research methods, but Lydia Scott's words remind me that I need to roll up my sleeves and *do* something. One of my favorite literary quotes, attributed to Maya Angelou, is "Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better." I don't have all the answers on how to ensure that my work is culturally and racially inclusive, but I definitely have some starting points. Quick, web-based searches for Ms. Scott didn't uncover an obituary or much other information, so perhaps when I reach the interview stage of my project she'll be the first person I'll try to track down in other ways.

Articles cited:

• "Appointments: Elizabeth McCombs," PLA Bulletin, September 1971, 296,.
• Birtha, Jessie M., "The Portrayal of the Black in Children's Literature," PLA Bulletin, July 1969, 187-197. 
• Clark, Augusta A., "A Black Parent Looks at Service from a Large Urban Library System," PLA Bulletin, November 1969, 321-323.
• "Lydia Scott: Serving the African-American Community," PLA Bulletin, July/August 1990, 6-7.
• McCombs, Elizabeth, "Books to Encompass an Expanding Society, PCTE Bulletin, May 1969, 10-15. ERIC, https://eric.ed.gov/?id=ED041920. 
• Peguese, Charles R., "Public Library Service to the Inner City," PLA Bulletin, November 1967, 115-119.

"We Know What Causes Bad Breath, Do You?": The History of Meadville Public Library's Tel-Med Service

In Spring 2001, when I was working in the Business, Science, and Technology Department of Enoch Pratt Free Library, I had one of the most memorable reference interactions my career. I was wrapping up a telephone call when a wild-eyed man strode up to the desk, hoofed his right foot onto the desktop, and pulled up the leg of his jeans. A large patch of skin on his ankle was badly inflamed. Seepage from several blisters had crystalized into a sticky, amber-colored goo on his sock.

"What's this rash?!?," he barked at me.

By the grace of God, Kate Niemcyzk, Pratt's health librarian, was my partner on-desk. She had decades of experience answering -- and not answering -- all kinds of questions. 

Kate leaned in and explained patiently, "Sir, we know you're in pain and we want to help you as best we can. But we aren't allowed to diagnose medical troubles. Now, we can find you some information on skin conditions and skin care. Or we can get you addresses for walk-in clinics in town. Would that help?" 

After she led the customer and his ooze away, I scrubbed our workspace with Lysol wipes and continued to cover the phones. In between calls, I surfed the Web for some kind of community service that could meet rashy needs. However, I soon got preoccupied by other questions and I let the matter drop.

I don't think of my Baltimore years very often, but they came to mind this week as I was doing research at the Meadville Public Library (MPL). I was skimming Board of Trustees minutes from the late 1970s when I learned that MPL provided an innovative service that was tailor-made to help queasy librarians like me handle consumer health questions. 

It was called Tel-Med.

Founded in 1972 by the San Bernardino County (California) Medical Society, Tel-Med started as a regional service to provide preventative and point-of-need health information for everyday people who might not seek appointments. The society conducted surveys of physicians, health educators, and the public, and used that input to select several dozen consumer medical concerns that were of greatest interest. The doctors wrote 3-5 minute scripts for each topic; the scripts were then revised to be understood by someone with an 8th grade education. The doctors reviewed the edits to ensure accuracy, and, following their approval, the information was professionally recorded on tape. The society set up a phone line and staffed it about 60 hours per week with an operator who responded to callers by playing the cassettes. The pilot project was successful, and two years later, the society received a $150,000 federal grant to develop a self-sustaining service that could be implemented in communities across the country. By the late 1970s, Tel-Med offered a library of more than 300 tapes in English, 200 in Spanish, and procedures for customizing the content for use in other cities. It was available in 180 localities nationwide. 

Before sending its installers from California, Tel-Med required the hosting agency to obtain endorsement and cooperation from the local medical association to ensure that the recordings were appropriate for the region to be served. Hosts were also responsible for setting up any additional phone lines/numbers/services that were needed and supplying operators to handle calls. Technologically, the system included a phone linked to a special audio playback machine that could handle up to 5 cassettes simultaneously -- a cassette deck similar in design to ones then used in radio stations. When someone phoned the dedicated hotline, the operator picked up the receiver, asked the customer which tape they'd like to hear, and inserted the desired cassette. When playback was finished, the tape turned itself off and the deck signaled. The operator removed the cassette, thus reopening the line for another caller.  

MPL's records don't indicate how staff first learned about Tel-Med or who initiated the service. Alice Gertzog, the library's director, was very progressive for the time -- an advocate for outreach to Meadville's most vulnerable residents. However, Laurie Tynan, the library's Assistant Director, was MPL's first Tel-Med coordinator, and judging from records that I encountered at the Montgomery County-Norristown Public Library, where Tynan later served as director, I would say she was a strong proponent of technology. But anyone who read the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette may have seen a June 29, 1976 article (cited below) and subsequent news coverage which described Tel-Med service that was provided by the city's Health Education Center. Just 4 weeks after it opened, it had handled more than 27,000 calls. It's also possible that Gertzog, Tynan, or another MPL employee saw articles about Tel-Med in American Libraries and/or Library Journal (cited below) which were published in Fall 1978. The American Libraries article detailed a successful installation by the Public Library of Columbus and Franklin County which was funded through an LSCA grant and was serving 11,000-12,000 customers per month. The Library Journal piece described a similar library-based service in Prince George's County, Maryland. 

Whatever the case, MPL had to do some wheeling and dealing to offer Tel-Med to its patrons. Judging from the articles in American Libraries and LJ, Tel-Med may have cost as much as $30,000 to set up, plus $8,000 to operate annually -- roughly $170,000 and $45,000 in 2026 dollars. If that were the case for Meadville, getting Tel-Med up and running would have sucked up more than 1/6 of the library's total annual budget. Perhaps for that reason, MPL collaborated with an entity that the minutes often refer to as "MH/MR" or "Mental Health/Mental Retardation" -- possibly a predecessor of CHAPS. Both MH/MR and the local United Way provided initial funding, and as far as I can tell, MH/MR continued to provide most of the program's financing for the next few years. Besides cost, though, there were a few other hurdles. Even though MPL obtained the support of the Crawford County Medical Society as the national Tel-Med program required, the library's board of directors remained concerned about liability. They checked on insurance coverage, and they insisted that MH/MR, rather than MPL, sign the contract with Tel-Med. In other words, MPL would administer the service on MH/MR's behalf, but MH/MR would "own" both the equipment and the legal responsibility. A third issue, staffing, was addressed with volunteers rather than paid employees. A fourth concern, offering a free hotline to everyone in Crawford County, including residents who weren't in Meadville's calling district, was resolved by instructing out-of-towners to dial 0 and ask the phone company's operator for a special connection, "Enterprise 6780."

Laurie Tynan, then Assistant Director of MPL, demonstrating the library's new Tel-Med system. From the Meadville Tribune, October 14, 1979. Copy available in MPL's 1980 scrapbook.

A clearer photo of MPL's Tel-Med equipment, early 1980s.
Image courtesy of Meadville Public Library.

Opening day on October 15, 1979 was quite an affair, with the first call being made by County Commissioner Oakley Lamb, and answered by Donald Leberman, the President of the library's Board of Directors. I haven't yet found a photographic record of that momentous occasion. But two days later, the Meadville Tribune reported that MPL's Tel-Med handled more than 150 calls on day one. The top 3 most-requested cassettes on opening day were "I'm Just Tired, Doctor," "Fears of the After-40 Man," and "We Know What Causes Bad Breath, Do You?" By the following July, when Gertzog compiled her annual report for 1979/1980, MPL had handled more than 10,800 Tel-Med calls. In October 1981, she proudly relayed the news that Tel-Med would receive a two-page spread in the upcoming telephone book. The detailed listing would help callers identify the cassettes they wanted to hear before they contacted the library. 

One side of a pamphlet that promoted MPL's Tel-Med service, while also conveying its proper, non-emergency uses. Copy available in MPL board minute book, 1979-1980.

The reverse of the same pamphlet. In the beginning, it appears that MPL's tape collection consisted of a mix of general health topics, as well as some addiction, mental health, and reproductive subjects that customers may have been reluctant to discuss face-to-face with their doctors. 

MPL's scrapbooks do not cover every year of the 1980s, and unfortunately, the Meadville Tribune isn't accessible online for that decade. But the articles I was able to find provide some interesting details. For example, a piece in the August 28, 1982 edition of the Tribune notes that cassettes on "Female Sexual Response," "Where Did I Come from, Mama," and "So You Love an Alcoholic" were among the most popular at that point. Another article published in the February 24, 1983 issue of the Erie Times includes comments from Judy Fryling, a volunteer operator and possibly a volunteer coordinator. Perhaps prompted by a question about the popularity of so-called controversial tapes, she admitted that "some kids call out of childish curiosity," but that complainers usually calmed down after they actually listen to the content. An anniversary piece in the October 15, 1984 Tribune pictures most of the steadfast volunteers who had been with the service from its beginning: William Johnston (seated), Gerry Johnston, Betty Keifer, and Frances Harrington. Rita Henderson, not pictured, was another 5-year volunteer. The same article mentions that Pat Baussman, the technical librarian, Jean Marsh, bookkeeper, Lorraine Leech, film librarian, O. Grove, the building's custodian, and more than 70 other people sometimes filled in. 

Some of Tel-Med's most steadfast volunteers. From the October 15, 1984 edition of the Meadville Tribune Copy available in MPL's 1984 scrapbook. 

Even with such dedicated volunteers, the cost of Tel-Med always ran high, as did other technological initiatives of the late 1970s/early 1980s. As early as 1983, it seems that MH/MR faced difficulty scraping up the necessary funds, as there is mention in MPL's board minutes that "MH/MR is now looking very carefully at all of their projects. We think they will finance Tel-Med again this year; if not, we will return the system to them." Again, in 1985, the board learned from Marjorie Hopkins, who had replaced Alice Gertzog as MPL's Director, that MH/MR "wanted funds to continue the operation of Tel-Med and 'would like to have some help' from the Library." The board's point of view was that MPL was already providing "in-kind" support and that the library wasn't "in a position to contribute any money." In the next contract, MPL only received an administrative fee of $2,600, plus some money for additional tapes and telephone service. The next year, MH/MR indicated that it wanted to "discontinue" Tel-Med, prompting Hopkins put out feelers out to Meadville Medical Center. Fortunately, in 1986 MMC agreed to fund MPL's service. In 1987 and 1988 there were several months when usage reached more than 2,000 calls.

Tel-Med's double-page listing in Meadville's 1989 telephone book, showing the range of MPL's cassette collection in the final year that the library operated the service.
Image courtesy of Crawford County Historical Society.

As shown from by the list of cassettes in the 1989 phone book, Meadville's Tel-Med library was extensive -- and socially progressive. While Meadville was/is a college town, it is situated within a conservative area of the state and a significant portion of its funding came from the county. So I was surprised that I didn't uncover any evidence of negative responses from the public. Admittedly, library scrapbooks can be biased toward preserving the more positive news stories while not including embarrassing or distressing ones, but I didn't see any controversies mentioned in the library's board minutes, librarians' reports, or anywhere else, either. It's interesting to compare this to disputes over Internet filtering that occurred just a few years later, during the mid/late 1990s and the early 2000s. People all over the country lost their minds over the possibility of kids accessing digital information about masturbation and other sex-related topics. But in the 1970s-1980s, there wasn't much to stop youngsters from anonymously calling Tel-Med and hearing about it over the phone. What made the difference? -- that Tel-Med was developed and endorsed by medical professionals? That it was delivered via audio, rather than visually? Unfortunately, quite a few of today's cultural warriors, swarming and responding in thoughtless fashion as directed by their favorite pundits, would still try to get it banned, I'm sure, if their libraries tried to provide something as openly-available as Tel-Med was.

Ironically, the popularity of Tel-Med might have speeded its decommissioning at MPL, because it eventually became apparent that the library couldn't meet the public's demand. At the board's February 1989 meeting, Hopkins conveyed that "Tel-Med is a good service, but in its present form it is ineffective." Volunteers were only able to cover the phone about half the time MPL was open, and there were an increasing number of calls after-hours that couldn't be picked up. By then, Tel-Med offered a newer, automated system that could handle calls 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After Hopkins and board members investigated the matter further, the decision was made to transfer Tel-Med operations to Meadville Medical Center. By mid-February 1990, the move was complete, and this chapter of MPL's history came to a close.

As I hope my brief description conveys, Tel-Med is an inspiring story from a public-services angle, and a fun story from a technological angle. But in addition, it's a reminder that forward-thinkingness can come from any corner of Pennsylvania. With just 13,000 residents, Meadville is a small town within a small county. But its employees and volunteers showed enormous creativity and energy in promoting their neighbors' mental and physical well-being. 

For more information about Tel-Med:

• Harer, W. Benson, "Tel-Med: A Public Medical Service by Phone," California Medicine, August 1972, 68-70. PubMed, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC1518590/. 
• Harer, W. Benson, "Tel-Med: A Success Story," Western Journal of Medicine, August 1979, 162-164. PubMed, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC1271730/.
• "Health Service Inaugurated," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA)], October 17, 1979, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1980 scrapbook.
• "Health Tapes Popular Here," The Times (Erie, PA), February 24, 1980, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1980 scrapbook.
• "Meadville Adds New Tapes," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA)], August 18, 1982, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1982/1983 scrapbook.
• Meadville Public Library, Board of Directors Meeting Minutes, September 14, 1978, October 12, 1978, February 22, 1979, March 8, 1979, August 9, 1979, October 11, 1979,  February 10, 1983, March 14, 1985, October 15, 1985, November 19, 1985, June 17, 1986, February 16, 1989, July 20, 1989, September 21, 1989, and February 15, 1990. 
• "Medical Info: New Access," Library Journal, October 1, 1978, 1905-1906.
• Pierce, Henry W., "S-E-X is a Hang-up for Health Phone Callers," The Post-Gazette (Pittsburgh, PA), June 29, 1976, 9. ProQuest Historical Newspapers, https://www.proquest.com/hnppittsburghpostgazette/newspapers/june-29-1976-page-9-24/docview/1858213982/.
• Sager, Donald J., "Answering the Call for Health Information," American Libraries, September 1978, 480-482. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/25623424. 
• Smith, Jane. "Tel-Med Marks Fifth Anniversary," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA)], October 15, 1984, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1982/1983 scrapbook.
• "Tel-Med in Operation," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA)], October 14, 1979, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1980 scrapbook.
• "TEL-MED Opens Fifth Year," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA}], October 15, 1983, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1982/1983 scrapbook.
• "Telephone Health Tapes Now Offered by Library," [The Tribune (Meadville, PA)], October 13, 1979, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1980 scrapbook.
• "Volunteers Operate Tel-Med," The Times (Erie, PA), February 24, 1983, n.p.. Copy available in MPL 1982/1983 scrapbook.

A Talk About Leadership: Keith Doms in 1986

I returned to library work on July 1st, and one of my goals for the month has been to reconnect with each of the Directors, Department Heads, Supervisors, and Coordinators that I intersect with as part of my multi-hatted role at Penn State. I can't remember a time when I've met with all of them in the same month, and back-to-back discussions about each person's priorities and goals encouraged me to think about different styles of leadership. All of the people I work with have different backgrounds and personalities, and while I don't agree with all their decisions, I can say that they each bring different strengths that I've learned from. Whether they are analytical or creative, bean-counting or easy-going, commanding or supportive, my 30 years in libraries have presented me with situations where some of those types can be helpful. 

Because of all the meetings I've been having, I was primed to appreciate an article I recently found in the February 1987 issue of the Pennsylvania Library Association's Bulletin, "An Interview with Keith Doms: a Lifetime of Public Library Service." It's illustrated with a photo of Doms at the 1986 annual conference, lecturing about the qualities of the "perfect" library director. His poster lists the most-desired qualities from A (accountability) to Z (zealous). 

Keith Doms explaining the qualities of a "perfect" library director
at PaLA's annual conference, November 9, 1986.
From the PaLA Bulletin, January/February 1987. 

If any Pennsylvania librarian could speak from experience about leading other people, it'd be hard to pick someone with more authority. A quick search of the literature uncovers a stellar career during a dynamic era in library history. Shortly after World War II, Doms worked for the District of Columbia Public Library and he enjoyed it so much that he went to library school. He graduated with a BLS from the University of Wisconsin (1947), headed 2 smaller libraries, then moved back east to work under Ralph Munn, a PaLA and ALA leader who was nationally known as an administrator, author, and educator. Doms became Assistant Director of the Carnegie Library of  Pittsburgh (1956), and when Munn retired, he became CLP's Director (1964). During Doms's tenure, the library system added 3 new branches and developed a mobile outreach service to reach low-income neighborhoods. Aligning with CLP's designation as a state-funded library center, Doms developed a sci-tech information service in collaboration with Penn State (PennTap), supported enhanced services to blind customers, and developed plans for a regional film center. He also spearheaded a consortium called the Pittsburgh Regional Library Center, which ultimately merged into PALINET (now Lyrasis). Doms filled high-level voluntary positions as well: while in western PA, he became involved in PaLA and rose to become its President (1960/1961). He also served on the Governor's Advisory Council on Library Development, was President of Allegheny County United Mental Health Services, and served on the boards of directors for WQED-WQEX (the local PBS TV and radio stations) and the Historical Society of Western Pennsylvania. 

Keith Doms, ca. 1960, when he was working at the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh
and serving as PaLA President. Photo by Fabian Bachrach.
Image courtesy of the State Library of Pennsylvania,
from the PaLA Archives Past Presidents Photograph Collection

At the end of the 1960s, when Emerson Greenway retired from the Free Library of Philadelphia, FLP's board searched nationwide for "the best librarian in America" and they picked Doms over more than 20 other candidates (quote from Current Biography, below). When Doms arrived in Philadelphia, FLP had 42 branches, more than 1,000 employees, and more than 2 million volumes. Like many urban libraries of the 1970s, FLP faced severe budget problems; yet, despite austere times, Doms found the resources to introduce cutting-edge information technologies to the city -- an achievement he was especially proud of. He also made national headlines for defending FLP and the library profession against censorship, particularly concerning Do It!: Scenarios of the Revolution by political activist Jerry Rubin. By this point in his career, Doms was active in the American Library Association as well, and he ultimately became its President (1971/1972). Lesser-known is the fact that he was also a consultant and author: I've found library development surveys that he performed in Altoona, Beaver County, Cameron County, Kittanning, and various communities in the Mon Valley, as well as a weeklong seminar he provided for librarians in Pakistan! According to an interview, he completed more than 60 library studies. He also co-edited a book on library planning. 

Plenty more can be said about Doms, and I intend to do so after I conduct research at CLP and FLP. But the A-Z list of qualities he recommended for the "perfect" director is thought-provoking enough on its own. Grouping similar traits together, intelligence is clearly important: bookish, gifted, judgment, knowledge, quotability, wise. Integrity in various forms is also apparent: accountability, honesty, responsibility, trustworthy, virtuous. The energy that so many people mentioned when they spoke of Doms is prominent in the list: enthusiastic, initiative, ubiquitous, zealous. Several words relate to people skills, too, including cooperative, democratic, loyalty, sensitive. Finally, a few pertain to organization skills: managerial, orchestrative, planner.

Intelligence.

Integrity.

Energy.

People skills.

Organization. 

Thinking back to the meetings I've been having with my supervisors, it is interesting to note that Doms's list is similar to Penn State's Values of Integrity, Respect, Responsibility, Discovery, Excellence, and Community. That said, I was challenged to find parallels to "Respect" within his advice. Maybe as a member of the "greatest generation," as a white male, and as an accomplished administrator, he was so used to receiving respect that he didn't enter his mind as something that needed to be said. But as I think of my own era, the diversity of today's library workplace, our ongoing challenge to ensure that everyone's voice is valued, and how most employees are called to show initiative and teamwork within the parameters of their jobs, I'd say that Respect is an important quality for a leader to model.

This isn't all it takes, of course. Doms himself rounded things out with fundraising, nimble, and yeoman-like. These points emphasize administrators' responsibility for capacity-building and for getting their hands dirty -- very apropos for cash-strapped libraries of any era. Given the culturally-contentious and financially difficult environments that Doms weathered, though, I was surprised he didn't emphasize practicality and courage more. In my experience, the most stressful positions I've had were ones where I was expected to make bricks without straw, and I survived them by setting priorities, making tough choices, and trimming some sails. But maybe Doms approached these situations with a different mindset than an "in the weeds" person like me would. 

Setting that particular difference aside, there are a few other qualities I would recommend when I think back to the best supervisors I've ever had. The leaders I remember most fondly are the ones who taught me things, whether about libraries or about life. So, while I agree with the importance of enthusiasm, management skills, and trustworthiness, I'd swap one of them out and place "educator," "mentor," or "teacher" on the list. The teams I worked on were especially successful when we were led by managers who were good at matching people's talents to the tasks that helped them shine -- especially when the institution could afford little investment or time for folks to get up to speed. When good librarians fail, it's often because they're miscast. I've also appreciated bosses who were kind and had a sense of humor -- you need that to put up with me! 

I'm not interested in combing the management literature to see how Doms's ABCs align with the best practices of his time or ours. But thinking about what he wrote and comparing it to my personal experiences, I feel he conveyed some timeless ideas. His advice is an inspiring reminder of the best self I'd like to bring to work each day. As I move forward with my research, I'm excited to learn more about Keith Doms and other Pennsylvania library leaders.

For more about Keith Doms:

• "Appointments: Keith Doms," PLA Bulletin, March 1969, 87.
• Collins, Huntly, "A Moldering Gem," The Inquirer [Philadelphia, PA], December 15, 1986, 1, 12. ProQuest Historical Newspapers, https://www.proquest.com/pagelevelimagepdf/1852948438. 
• "'Do It!' Does It Again," Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom, January 1971, 2.
• Doms, Keith, "The Pittsburgh Regional Library Center," PLA Bulletin, February 1968, 169-171.
• "Doms, Keith," Current Biography, vol. 32, June 1971, 104-106. 
• Pierce, Henry W., "Doms Urges Mental Health Coordination," The Post-Gazette [Pittsburgh, PA], June 4, 1965, 5. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/88028885.  
• "He Helps Pakistan Over Hump," The Pittsburgh Press, May 6, 1964, 4. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/149359741.
• Helicher, Karl, "An Interview with Keith Doms: A Lifetime of Library Service," PLA Bulletin (February 1987), 11-12.
• Larkin, Mary G., "Woman Asks Libraries to Remove Yippie's Book," The Inquirer [Philadelphia, PA], October 11, 1970, 203. ProQuest Historical Newspapers, https://www.proquest.com/docview/1842039952. 
• Morrison, John F., "Keith Doms, 'Passionate' Head of the Free Library He Loved," Daily News [Philadelphia, PA], September 30, 2009, pg. 23. ProQuest Newsstream, https://www.proquest.com/docview/430494697. 
• "Obituary of Keith Doms, 89," StateCollege.com, https://www.statecollege.com/obituaries/obituary-of-keith-doms-89/. 
• Padwe, Sandy, "Who Says Life in Library Is Dull?," The Inquirer [Philadelphia, PA], December 7, 1970, 33. ProQuest Historical Newspapers, https://www.proquest.com/docview/1841951251. 
• "Speaker Pictures Library's Future," The Republic [Meyersdale, PA], May 25, 1961, 1, 8. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/410247978/. 
• "Storm in Philadelphia: Rubin Book Assailed," Library Journal, December 15, 1970, 4212.
• "Turning Another Page" [editorial], The Daily News [Philadelphia, PA], April 11, 1986, 121. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/186122059.

"Death Does Not Stop the Spirit": Librarians Seeking Ten Nights in a Bar-Room

In February 1952, librarians throughout Pennsylvania were on a treasure hunt. They were scouring card catalogs, donation bins, and book dealers' price lists for an out-of-print title that most had discarded decades earlier. At stake was a trust fund of $25,000 -- more than $300,000 in 2026 dollars. 

The book was Ten Nights in a Bar-Room (1854), by Timothy Shay Arthur, and the person who needed it was Janet Bender, a librarian at Stroudsburg High School in the heart of the Pocono Mountains in  northeastern Pennsylvania.

Title page of an 1854 Philadelphia edition of Ten Nights in a Bar-Room.
Image courtesy of the University of California Libraries and the Internet Archive.

I had encountered one or two allusions to Ten Nights, Shay, and/or Bender over the past few months as I was combing through library board minutes and librarian's reports for my current research project. I can't say whether it was in Easton, Emporium, Norristown, Scranton, or somewhere else, because I didn't take  notes -- the mentions were vague and seemed to fall out of scope for my work. But this week, as I was searching Newspapers.com for articles about Scranton's libraries, I found a piece in the February 19, 1952 edition of the Times which shed more light. It described how William Bryan was looking in "every nook and cranny" of the Albright Memorial Library to help a colleague in need. After I harvested and searched keywords from that article, I put together an interesting tale that touches upon quirky donors, rare books librarianship, communication networks of the 1950s, and altruism within the cultural and educational professions.

According to a February 20, 1952 article in The Pocono Record, Samuel M. Schoonover (1863-1943) was "one of the strongest and most vocal of all Monroe County prohibitionists." He taught school for a number of years, then moved to Stroudsburg when he retired in the 1920s. Another article in the May 1, 1960 edition of the Allentown Morning Call provides more details about his unusual personality. John Biggs, whose mother had rented a furnished room to Schoonover, remembered him as someone who was a lifelong bachelor, said little, read most of the time, and shined his own shoes, though he also had a soft-spot for a Biggs toddler for whom he often bought ice cream sodas. Funny enough, while reporters were able to dig up these odd details, nobody could definitively say why alcoholism was an issue so close to Schoonover's heart. 

At any rate, Schoonover's will provided funds to cover his own burial and reinterment of some of his relatives. He also specified the establishment of a trust fund to benefit Stroudsburg schools, particularly in terms of reference materials, science equipment, and other items that a small-town budget didn't normally cover. He directed that the endowment and its earnings be re-invested until the total reached $25,000. After Schoonover died in 1943, it took nearly a decade for the fund to reach that threshold. On Valentine's Day, 1952, the Stroudsburg School Board received a check from the First Stroudsburg National Bank, which served as the trustee of Schoonover's estate. Amounting to more than $2,400 or $3,400, depending on which news article you believe, that meant something between $30,000 and $43,000 in 2026 dollars.

But that wasn't the end of the story. Schoonover and his bequest got its 15 minutes of fame largely because of an usual codicil that he added to his will in 1937. He specified that the first book to be purchased with the proceeds of the endowment should be Ten Nights,10 copies of which were to be held in the library permanently for students to use. Librarian Janet Bender found one beat-up copy in her school; both she the school board were very willing to purchase more. But Shay's classic had been out-of-print for decades, as far as she could tell.

Unless you're familiar with American literary, theater, or cinematic history, Shay's book may not ring a bell. But in its time, it was well-known. A fictional and propagandistic depiction of the negative effects of alcohol misuse on families and communities, it was adapted for the stage by William W. Pratt and performed throughout the country, especially in areas with strong temperance movements. According to theater scholar Thomas Hischak, it was the "most famous temperance play of the nineteenth century" and in rural America it was "one of the most popular plays" on any topic (298). Several film versions appeared during the 1910s-1930s, and as national sentiments about drinking changed, a musical comedy version by Fred Carmichael also came to fruition. 

There was something about the oddity and urgency of the Schoonover/Ten Nights story that made it "viral" to the extent that news of the early 1950s could be. Word from was picked up by the Associated Press and United Press International, and it shot across the world. It seems that many newspapers republished it as entertaining filler for their back pages. Brief versions ran in the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Harrisburg Patriot-News, the York Dispatch, and various other Pennsylvania papers and well as the Boston Globe, the Baltimore Sun, the New Orleans Times-Picayune, the San Francisco Examiner, and other big-city publications. Some editors amped up the drama or got playful with the headline -- for instance, see "Kiddies to Read '10 Nights in Bar'" (Times-Picayune) or "The Lady's Shy 9 Nights in Barroom" (Sun). Eventually, Stroudsburg even got blurbs in Life and Time, two of the most popular magazines of that era!

All over the country, people hoped to cash-in by selling their copies of Ten Nights to the Stroudsburg school system. The asking prices ranged from a South Carolina woman who simply wanted enough money to buy a new pair of shoes, all the way up to $2,000 from someone who probably figured that was a relatively small amount to pay for a "rare" book that would unlock a trust fund worth 10 times as much. In fact, so many hopefuls called collect -- asking the school to pay the cost of long-distance telephone calls and telegrams -- that the school board decided to refuse all future calls and wires. 

It doesn't seem that Scranton's Albright Memorial Library had an edition of Ten Nights to give away, but fortunately, other institutions and individuals did. Amazingly, within just 5 days of the story breaking, Bender had all the copies she needed -- and then some. One of the first came from a Rochester, New York, gas station operator named Alphonse Papilia who mailed it to Stroudsburg free of charge. More came from residents in the Pocono region. Judging from newspaper accounts, the Little Theatre Group of Wilkes-Barre put Stroudsburg over the top. The group still held 7 copies which it had acquired in the 1930s in preparation for a show; it sent 3 of them to Bender. Unfortunately, though, a lot of people further away didn't get the message that her library was all set. By the end of the month, the school system had received more than 1,200 letters and more than 70 copies of Ten Nights. They kept the required number on-shelf and stored dozens of spares to in case they had to replenish the library's stock. 

Stroud Union School Superintendent Earl F. Groner
and Stroudsburg High School's public-facing copies of Ten Nights.
From the Allentown Morning Call, May 1, 1960. 

Low-cost donations of Ten Nights enabled Stroudsburg to devote more of the endowment's dividends toward items that probably had more immediate usefulness for teachers and students. One early purchase was a set of Great Books of the Western World, a series produced by Encyclopedia Britannica and the University of Chicago Press. Newly published in 1952, it consisted of 54 volumes including more than 400 works from Homer to Samuel Becket. It was an efficient way for a small high school to acquire the foundations for a solid library. One of Great Books's special features were its "Syntopicon" essays which traced the history of ideas such as "Beauty," "Democracy," and "Wealth" through the primary texts that the other volumes republished. 

Judging from quick newspaper and Google searches, it seems like Schoonover and his abiding interest in Ten Nights rapidly faded into obscurity, but the story revived a couple of times in the 70 years that followed. In addition to the 1960 article in the Morning Call (mentioned above), Bruce Frassinelli, an instructor at Lehigh Carbon Community College, wrote an update for the same paper in 2010. At that point, the Schoonover endowment was worth more than $43,000 and there was still at least one copy of Ten Nights on the library's shelves. It seemed, however, that higher-level school officials weren't knowledgeable of the story. This week, when I checked the high school library's catalog, I didn't find any copies at all. But that doesn't mean there aren't some still lying around. 

As I read through the old newspaper articles, I was grateful at how much rare books librarianship has evolved since the early 1950s. When I was a graduate student in the 1990s, I had a part-time job at Rutgers's Special Collections and University Archives, where one of my responsibilities was to thumb through rare book dealers' catalogs and flag New Jersey items for my supervisor to consider. From what I understand, some exceptional and pricey materials are still acquired that way. However, an educator who simply wants to introduce today's youngsters to Ten Nights can tap Google Books, Hathi Trust, Internet Archive/Open Library, Project Gutenberg, and other online repositories. A practitioner who is looking for inexpensive print copies, as Bender was seeking for her school's library, might start with viaLibri, an aggregator that searches Amazon, eBay, and dozens of dealers' web sites. There are also professional listservs such as exlibris and sharp-l where colleagues can pose questions about rare materials and book history. This said, the limited communication system of the 1950s -- newspapers and the U.S. Postal Service -- were enough to provide Bender what she needed in a surprisingly short amount of time. 

What impresses me most is the willingness of people across America to help a small-town Pennsylvania school that they had likely never heard of. In relation to this fascinating story, news reporter Leonard Randolph commented that "death does not stop the spirit." Although he was speaking of Schoonover's efforts to instill prohibitionist sentiments in Stroudsburg's youth, similar can be said of the altruistic spirit of Scranton librarian William Bryan, Rochester gas station owner Alphonse Papilia, the thespians of the Little Theatre Group in Wilkes-Barre, and others who took a few minutes out of their day to respond. At the root, there is a love of literature, a love of children, and a love for treasure-seeking which continue to make this a compelling story. 

For more about Samuel Schoonover, Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, and the race to find copies:

• "Bryan Joins 'Ten Nights' Hunt to Help School Get $25,000," The Times (Scranton, PA), February 19, 1952, 12. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/534027157/. 
• Frassinelli, Bruce, "Anti-Alcohol Message Behind Bequest to Stroudsburg School," The Morning Call (Allentown, PA), November 19, 2010, A23. ProQuest Newsstream, https://www.proquest.com/docview/807467581. 
• Hischak, Thomas S., 100 Greatest American Plays (New York, NY: Bloomsbury, 2017). 
• "Income from 'Ten Nights' Bequest Makes Possible Valuable Addition to Library," The Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA), October 17, 1952, 1, 3. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/82788922/. 
• Kortz, Wealthy, "Mystery Covers Recluse Monroe Benefactor," The Morning Call (Allentown, PA), May 1, 1960, A1, A5. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/275301747/. 
• "Library Receives 71 Copies of 'Ten Nights' Together With More Than 1200 Letters," The Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA), February 26, 1952, 11. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/60797638/. 
• "Miss Bender's Ten Nights," Time, March 3, 1952, 52. 
• "Nationwide Search Under Way for Copies of 'Ten Nights in a Barroom," The Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA), February 19, 1952, 19. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/60796203/. 
• Randolph, Leonard, "Man Who Gave Town 'Ten Nights in a Barroom'," The Globe (Boston, MA), March 2, 1952, A5. ProQuest Historical Newspapers, https://www.proquest.com/docview/821429248. 
• Randolph, Leonard, "Stroudsburg High Qualifies for Bequest as Offers of Book Deluge School Library," The Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA), February 20, 1952, 13, 17. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/60796383/. 
• "Stroudsburg Assured 10 '10 Nights' Copies," The Times-Tribune (Scranton, PA), February 20, 1952, 15. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/534027703/. 
• "Ten Volumes for a School Library," Life, March 17, 1952, 63-64. 
• "Unusual Request Accompanies Gift of $3,422 to Library from S. M. Schoonover Estate," The Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA), February 15, 1952, 17. Newspapers.com, https://www.newspapers.com/image/60795503/.

  

ALTBLA: Development of Altoona's First Community Website

Imagine typing the name of your town into Google and finding virtually no information about it. 

No Wikipedia entry. 

No news stories. 

No maps. 

No weather information. 

No "things to do" advice. 

No photographs.

No YouTube videos. 

Not even links to local government, schools, businesses, or other organizations. 

Such was the situation in many mid-sized and small American communities in the mid 1990s, when the Internet was new and most people were just starting to use it.

Here's a story about that early, uncharted territory, and someone named Matthew Kane, head of the Altoona Area Public Library, who decided to do something with it.

In 1994, AAPL received a Library Services and Construction Act (LSCA) grant that paid for upgrades to its computer system and enabled staff to access the Internet. The following year, AAPL installed a Internet access station for the public. Along the way, Kane discovered that precious little information about Altoona was available on the web. As he later put it, all he found was "candy wrapper collections" (perhaps related to Boyer Company's Mallo Cup), places to play "paint ball" (a popular recreational sport at the time), and "not too much else." For a city of more than 50,000 residents, this lack of online presence was both a significant problem and a golden opportunity. 

So, in Summer 1995, Kane teamed up with Craig Kumar of Altoona Area School District's Center for Advanced Technologies, Peter Nigh of the Southwestern Pennsylvania Heritage Preservation Commission, and Jay Strawmire of the Altoona/Blair Chamber of Commerce to approach other movers and shakers. Wanting to "make Altoona and Blair County a leader on the Internet," they invited everyone to a meeting to discuss developing a website that would present their community in an "organized, positive way" in the World Wide Web that was emerging.

In some ways, a librarian taking a leadership role in developing a community website was just the latest iteration of a role that libraries had played for decades. Reference departments, which typically embraced information-provision as part of their missions, often subscribed to printed telephone/address directories; maintained vertical files, rolodexes, and other compilations of local data; and willingly provided referrals for those who asked. By convening Altoona colleagues from the cultural, educational, business, government, and health sectors, Kane was simply creating a directory in an exciting new format -- albeit one that was more colorful, expandible, updatable, and interactive than anything he'd probably known before. 

It might seem that the dream-team Kane assembled were overthinking things by involving so many people just to produce a website. But this particular historical moment required that. Today, many of us author digital material without much consultation or fanfare; off-the-shelf software makes it easy to create something attractive and functional in no time flat. However, in the mid-1990s, such tools didn't exist. Web authorship involved significant coding skills that most people didn't have. So the involvement of Kumar and CAT was essential to the project's success. By getting Nigh of SPHPC and Strawmire of the Chamber on-board, Kane was involving two of the most civically-active sectors in his region -- its history professionals and business community. Working for a cash-strapped institution, Kane probably hoped that the other entities could help pay for CAT's labors, or, they could collectively achieve some economies of scale. He and his colleagues also believed that their site might be the first and only impression outsiders might get of their city/county, so they all wanted that impression to be a favorable one. 

At any rate, nearly 30 representatives from all types of organizations came to an initial meeting on June 16, 1995 --including people from state senator Robert C. Jubelirer's office, Altoona's City Hall and its Planning Department, the Blair County Commissioners' office, various cultural, educational, and human services agencies, the Altoona Mirror newspaper, and WTAJ-TV. They participated in "sharing sessions" about how they were putting local information on the Internet, and they explored potential partnerships and funding streams. Unfortunately the minutes from this particular meeting don't detail which organizations already had their own websites, but judging from information shared at subsequent gatherings, we can conclude that few if any did. 

As a result of the June meeting, a "Blair County Internet Partnership Committee" formed and it included: 

• Matthew Kane (chair), Altoona Area Public Library
• Catherine Augustine, Center for Advanced Technologies
• Julia Bennett, Blair County Library System
• Cheryl Ebersole, Allegheny Mountains Convention and Visitors Bureau
• Steve Gildea, Mercy Regional Health Systems
• Donna Gority, County of Blair
• Marty Marasco, Altoona Enterprises
• Frank Meloy, Altoona Area School District
• Peter Nigh, Southwestern Pennsylvania Heritage Preservation Commission
• Toby Sky Rispoli, Penn State Altoona
• Ronald Roefar, Appalachia Intermediate Unit 08
• JoEllen Steinbrunner (originally), later Jean Johnstone and Patrick Miller, Blair County Mental Health/Drugs and Alcohol
• Jay Strawmine, Altoona-Blair County Chamber of Commerce
• Deborah Weakland, Altoona Area Public Library
• Jian Wu, City of Altoona

In subsequent meetings, they reviewed online content from other localities. especially Pittsburgh and York County. They decided that the Altoona-Blair site should have a landing page with links to second-level pages that were categorized as "Business," "Government," "History," "Services," "Education," "Health," "Travel," and "Libraries." Two-person teams were appointed to provide Kane with outlines for second-level material -- including any organizations that should be listed, and further content to be written. CAT would develop the first and second-level pages free of charge and add links to organizations' sites as they emerged. Entities that wanted CAT's assistance for developing their own sites would pay for it through their own budgets. 

As of August 1995, some organizations were still in exploratory stages while others were actively collaborating with 3rd parties. For example, SPHPC had reached out to Bell Atlantic about developing a local server, while Altoona City Hall had posted documents to the site of the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's Pittsburgh office. Of everyone at the meeting, Mercy Hospital seemed to be the furthest along: not only did it have its own site, but it had also created an online training course for nurses. Among the educational organizations, Penn State Altoona was the first in the area to offer "in-depth homepages." However, AAPL and most of the others hadn't mounted their own sites yet.

After committee members turned in their outlines to Kane, website development seems to have taken several months. Over that time, some began referring to the project as "ALTBLA" -- likely because of  abbreviations for "Altoona" and "Blair" within the site's URL, though it could also be said that the site provided an "alternative" to the "blather" that the Internet otherwise provided about their area. Either way, the long-awaited unveiling of the ALTBLA homepage on Friday, March 1, 1996, was a red-letter date, hosted in AAPL's theater with State Senator Robert C. Jubelirer as a keynote speaker. Ironically, though, it's difficult to get a sense of what the thing actually looked like. According to a "script" for the event, which still exists in AAPL's Administrative Office files, Kane explained that the design was intended to "reflect the evolution of the area from a primarily railroad region to a region that is embracing computer technology." Referencing Bill Gates's book The Road Ahead, which was a bestseller at the time, Kane described the Internet as a "townsquare" [sic] where people meet, converse, exchange information -- "generally an environment for sharing and learning from one another." 

Fortunately, Kane then provided a walk-through of the site, and this provides us a sense of how it functioned. In those early days when few organizations had their own servers or the impetus to register domain names, the Altoona-Blair site had an impossibly complicated URL that reflected its hosting by CAT within the Altoona Area School District:

http://cat99.altoona.k12.pa.us/altoonablair/ALTBLA.htm 

After sharing this mouthful, Kane described the links on each of the second-level pages. As he did so, he sometimes invited relevant guests to speak about how they were using the Internet to enhance their work. For example, when describing the "Education" page, Kane paused for a word from Dr. Allen Meadors, CEO of Penn State Altoona, who mentioned that professors and students were developing individual pages and gaining wider audiences for their writings. It seems that Kane even gave a shoutout or shared the stage with New Pig. a company that manufactured industrial cleanup supplies! The overall message of the program was that the Internet, and ALTBLA, could benefit a wide variety of constituents near and far. 

Through the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine, I found a snapshot from July 1997 of the ALTBLA landing page. Sadly, most of the graphics that embellished it are missing, and many of the links led to 404 messages. However, the "Library" link still worked. It provided a photo, brief information, and a catalog link for both AAPL and Penn State Altoona's Eiche Library. There was also a link to a list of other libraries in Blair County. While the Eiche Library had its own web page, AAPL and all the other public libraries did not. Those who wanted to access AAPL's catalog and other online resources had to dial-in using Telnet, a text-based protocol. 

[Telnet -- OMG, the memories!] 

At the time, Kane and his colleagues may have thought that they had made a long-lasting contribution toward finding Altoona and Blair County resources online. But as it turned out, the Internet evolved faster than most people could have imagined. Within less than a year, rudimentary directories such as Yahoo were replaced with increasingly powerful search engines from Mosaic to Ask Jeeves to Google.  Gradually, all the organizations mentioned in this story developed websites of their own. For instance, no later than May 2000, AAPL's first website emerged -- and it even had clickable buttons shaped like card catalog drawers running down its left side. So, the need for ALTBLA and its content quickly subsided. 

Overall, this story may seem like a "nothingburger," but to me, it demonstrates some important points about the early history of our online world. While many chroniclers point to 1989 as the year Tim Berners-Lee "invented" the Internet, most everyday people, at least in smaller cities like Altoona and rural counties like Blair, did not gain hands-on experience using it until the mid-1990s. Some did not become involved in web authorship until years after that. Given the yearlong effort to produce ALTBLA, it also seems that the cost of equipment and the lack of technical expertise prevented many from getting online as quickly as they wanted to. Thirdly -- as demonstrated by the several meetings Altoona and Blair County leaders attended to discuss the presentation of their region in the digital environment -- there was a moment in history when people thought very deeply about what the Internet should do for *community* life (not just corporate bottom lines). Finally, as illustrated by ALTBLA's high-profile unveiling, the occasion of claiming one's space in this new environment was momentous and exhilarating. Comparing this moment to the current build-up surrounding AI -- which is being pushed hard, top-down, by tech bros and corporate leaders, while encountering significant resistance among the general public -- is it possible that we have we lost a sense of the costs, effort, learning-curve, thoughtfulness, and wonder that using new technologies have always entailed? It would be interesting to hear Matthew Kane's and other community leaders' perspectives on that.

For more information:

• Altoona Area Public Library, Administrative Office files, folder "Internet Partnership." 
• Altoona Area Public Library, Board of Trustees Meeting Minutes, June 28, 1995.
• Kane, Matthew, "Homepage Gives People Worldwide Information Online," The Mirror (Altoona, PA), March 18, 1996. 

Reference Commandments for the 1970s, 1990s, and Today

On July 1st I returned to library work and it also happens to be a holiday week. At times like these, when I want to ease-in or ease-out of work, I turn to my interlibrary loan account, skim new arrivals, and upload all the useful ones to my citation manager. It's tedious, but at least I can listen to documentaries or music while I do it. Today, I received a 1971 article by Nathan A Josel called "Ten Reference Commandments." It was published in RQ (the predecessor of RUSQ), which was a relatively new publication at the time. Back then, Josel was Head of the History and Travel Department of the Memphis (TN) Public Library and there are indications he'd worked at the Enoch Pratt Free Library (Baltimore, MD) previously. Having worked at "the Pratt" myself, I can guarantee you that's a green flag that Josel was a well-trained reference librarian. 

Many librarians can rattle off S. R. Ranganathan's Five Laws of Library Science ...

[Say it along with me: Books are for use. Every person has his or her book. Every book has its reader. Save the time of the reader. A library is a growing organism. Very good!]

Winter 1971 cover of RQ,
where Josel's article appeared.
Image courtesy of
Allborg University Library (Denmark)
and JSTOR. 

Well, if one could say that Ranganathan's Five Laws reflect a theoretical, "spirit of" what we do, maybe one could say that Josel's Ten Commandments are the nitty-gritty regulations that govern everyday practice at a service desk:

1. The patron is always wrong.
2. When you know the answer is in a source, it is.
3. Depend on no one's prior research for accuracy or completeness.
4. Coincidence is no coincidence.
5. If it was that hard to find, put it in the query file.
6. Remember special indexes.
7. Use tracings.
8. Synonyms are the key.
9. Keep a list of where you have looked.
10. "No" is never an answer.

Apparently, this list was thought-provoking to at least one RQ reader, because the next issue included a letter to the editor from Lillian Tudiver, Chief of the Social Sciences Department of Brooklyn Public Library (see "Tudiver's Ten"). Tudiver largely agreed with Josel and felt that commandment 5, about putting tough questions in the query file, should be "triple starred." However, she took issue with the idea that "no is never an answer." Sometimes, she noted, questions simply aren't worth the amount of time it would take to find a definitive answer or source. Or, some referrals may not be appropriate given the context and needs of the user. As an explanation, Tudiver described the example of a young child who was researching American Indians for a school assignment, who asked a "minute point" [my-noot: meaning, pickiola] about a tribe. After trying colleagues and resources in various departments, she "wouldn't dream" of telling the kid to phone or write to scholarly libraries out-of-state. It's also worth noting that, in regards to Josel's commandments 1 and 3, Tudiver seldom trusted "research" done by customers, but she *did* tend to trust the work of her BPL colleagues. 

From there, it looks like Josel's list faded from view, at least if citation counts in JCR, Scopus, and Google Scholar are to be believed. A quick search of Google Book Search indicates that he popped up in the bibliographies of some late 20th-century librarianship encyclopedias and textbooks (mainly ones by Marcia J. Bates and William A. "Bill" Katz who knew *everything* about reference!). But interestingly, in 1995, Charles R. Anderson, then the editor of "The Exchange" column in RQ, reviewed Josel's advice and developed a revision for the coming 21st century. Anderson himself was an experienced professional at the King County (WA) Library System and he offered what I feel is a solid update for the mid-1990s:

Summer 1995 cover of RQ,
where Anderson's article appeared.
Image courtesy of
Allborg University Library
(Denmark) and JSTOR. 

1. Never assume you understand every question asked.
2. If the answer should be in a source, it was probably in the print version.
3. Give every question your best shot; no one else has the time to be as passionate.
4. Coincidence is no coincidence [no improvement offered]
5. If it was that hard to find, put it in the online fugitive facts file.
6. Create special indexes and share them online!
7. Insist on excellent authority control and automatic cross-references in your online catalog system. 
8. Learning to manipulate and use effectively the keyword and Boolean capabilities of your database.
9. Keep a list of where you have looked [Anderson noted that this is "still valid," but questioned whether anyone else would use the list].
10. "No" is never an answer. [Anderson believed "this one should be engraved in titanium for all time"].

Anderson's valuable list, though, doesn't seem to have generated much published commentary, either.

Josel (1971) was writing in an environment where college, corporate, and government librarians where starting to develop computerized search tools, but where most public libraries, especially small ones, couldn't afford and didn't have room for the technology. Anderson (1995) may have started his career in a similar world, but had likely participated in or witnessed automation projects, including the introduction of the Internet as a reference resource. As I reflected on their writings, I recognized that I might have come to the library profession during a golden age. I began using library reference books in the early/mid 1980s, became a more sophisticated user as a student library worker and paraprofessional in the early 1990s, and earned my MLS in the mid-late 1990s. During my childhood, many small public libraries had little if any automation, and by the time I finished grad school, Google had just emerged as an important search engine. In other words, I came of library age when printed dictionaries, encyclopedias, statistics, and technical manuals were abundant; the U.S. government was one of the largest publishers in the world; many professional and scholarly journals were produced by non-profits and universities that didn't charge sinful prices; and the Internet was beginning to provide access to information that was often deemed too local or "niche" to be picked up by commercial publishers. 

Thus I have "lived" quite a few of the experiences that Josel and Tudiver likely had in mind as they were writing. For example, Josel's comments about "query files" gave me a smile, because when I worked at the Pratt in the early 2000s, the Business, Science, and Technology department had an index card file just inside the door between the staff office and the reference area. It contained generations of librarians' notes on how to handle "stumpers." If you got to write and insert a card of your own, you initialed and dated it, which was felt like you were leaving your mark on history! I also remembered how "tracings" -- recommended subject headings within library catalogs -- often unlocked doors to many other publications on the same topic. As a college librarian, I still teach database thesauri to faculty and advanced students, though keyword searching will usually suffice for lower-level undergraduates. 

Ruefully, Anderson's bit about fugitive answers being "in the print version" rings very true. While the ability to instantly update web content makes it more timely, past information that is useful to historians like me is often overwritten. Although I've become very skilled at using the Wayback Machine, it hasn't always captured the deep innards of websites, nor can it unlock a lot of information that has been behind paywalls. I also found myself nodding at the seemingly-lowered expectation of giving a question "your best shot" rather than going to the ends of the Earth and leaving fastidious breadcrumbs behind. I often tell stressed-out colleagues that it's OK to quit when you can "leave 'em better than you found 'em" because "80% for everyone is better than leaving some customers or necessary tasks unaddressed." 

When I started working at Penn State in 2004, I was the youngest librarian at my campus and now I'm one of the older ones. Just this month, we welcomed a new-to-us librarian to our team, and while he doesn't need my advice, it's got me thinking about Josel and Anderson and whether I would I say anything different to newer colleagues. Commentary about the "wrongness" of patrons, and whether librarians should ever say "no," struck a particular nerve with me. As chronicled by Don Borchert (2007), Warren Graham (2013), Kaetrena Davis-Kendrick (2017-present), Susan Orleans (2019), William Ottens (2020), Miranda Dube and Carrie Wade (2021), Amanda Oliver (2022), Amanda Jones (2024), and others, my generation of library employees have dealt with rising numbers of patrons who range from humorously weird, to blisteringly hostile, to dangerously criminal. And unfortunately, as Kendrick and Oliver have demonstrated, library supervisors too often turn a blind eye or even perpetuate low morale and abuse. 

Thinking about my more difficult experiences and how I've tried to help new colleagues survive or avoid the same, a lot of the wisdom I'd share would probably revolve around standing up for oneself. One of the most valuable mentors I ever had was in the 1990s at the New Brunswick (NJ) Free Public Library, where Barbara Ketterer -- a kind but no-nonsense senior librarian -- taught a certain 23-year-old how to carry herself self with squared shoulders and manage disruptive customers with the authority of an admiral. Bless Mrs. Ketterer, I know *she's* resting in peace because she wouldn't tolerate otherwise! Having dealt with some abrasive, clueless, and cravenly self-centered administrators at various institutions over my 30-year career, another thing I find myself saying a lot is "make the bosses take responsibility for their decisions." Sometimes, this involves pointing an irate customer to someone else's directory information, especially when they are behind closed doors most of the day. Other times, it's about radically accepting the limits that your institutional context places on you, even though you can envision, and you have the skills, do better for your customers. For example, if your institution refuses to give you anything but Corolla parts (i.e., cheap or middling resources), it shouldn't be on you to give customers a Lexus experience at your own personal expense. 

These days, I often find myself turning to social media and online networks like ALATT, Everything Library, and Library Employee Support Network when I'm facing a professional conundrum or I need a shot in the arm. These sites enable me to quickly tap the hive mind and the collective heart of thousands of colleagues. But professional journals like RQ provide a valuable archive -- a way to visit with my professional grandparents -- and some articles, like Josel's and Anderson's, seem to encourage deeper reflection. Although my efforts to gather the older material are often tedious, they are richly rewarding.