This week, I returned to the Montgomery County-Norristown Public Library (MCNPL) to continue using the meeting minutes of its Board of Directors. I'm elbow-deep in the 1980s, and during that time, new-hires were routinely mentioned by the library's Executive Director. When I got to the minutes for 1985, my eyes widened in surprise and delight: my former mentor, Dolores Fidishun, "walked" onto the page. In the formal (and perhaps patriarchal) style some workplaces still used at the time, she was sometimes referred to as "Mrs. Labonis," and I wasn't previously aware she'd worked in Norristown, but I had no doubt it was her. The new librarian in the minute-book was hired to supervise MCNPL's Audiovisual Department -- a specialty I knew Dolores had pursued. Also, the person on the page had previously worked at several Bucks County schools, which meshed with what Dolores had told me about starting her career as a media specialist.
A few months further in the ledger, I found a July 1985 memo from Board President Stanford S. Hunn to Executive Director Patricia A. Dobbin that confirmed the connection. Dobbin had just returned from vacation and apparently Hunn had overseen the library in her absence. Among other things, he reported that "the Audio-Visual Department is now up-to-date in the booking of 16mm films," and that a backlog of videocassette bookings was being addressed. He wrote, "there is abundant evidence that Ms. Fidishun has earned the support and confidence of the District." My first reaction was to chuckle, imagining my feminist friend setting everyone's record straight about her professional name. I also nodded in recognition as I read of Dolores taking charge, organizing and cleaning up the AV department. I didn't know her during her Norristown days, but here was more evidence of the leadership that I became familiar with 20 years later, when Dolores was head of Penn State Great Valley's library and she became my mentor.
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| Dolores Fidishun (standing right), attending journalist Linda Ellerbee's book signing at PaLA's 1987 annual conference. Image provided by Dolores Fidishun. |
Until my present project, my research has focused on the 19th/early 20th century, so I haven't had many experiences of uncovering documentation about a living person that I also consider a friend. As I ate my lunch that afternoon, I reflected on both the joys and the ethical responsibilities related to this. My knee-jerk reaction had been to snap a photo of the memo and text it to Dolores, thinking it might brighten her day to see a "blast from the past" and a positive mention of her work. Just before I tapped the "send" button, though, my inner historian re-asserted herself. I carefully re-read Pennsylvania's Sunshine Act, the Citizen's Guide to the Right to Know Law, and other material on the Commonwealth's Office of Open Records site which provide essential guidance about sharing public agencies' records. Since MCNPL receives significant funding from Montgomery County; it performs an essential public function; and the board's meeting minutes (including appended documents) record official business and policy actions, these records aren't closed to the public.
This said, being an ethical researcher involves far more than adhering to state law. While the American Historical Association's Statement on Standards of Professional Conduct doesn't provide advice applicable to my sort of situation, statements of the American Association for State and Local History and the National Council on Public History advise me to keep focused on the purpose of my research and avoid using historical records for personal gain. I am also expected to maintain the confidentiality of certain types of documents, and to otherwise act with integrity, respect, trust, and an understanding of the interpersonal and social impacts of my actions. Thinking about Dolores and my impulse to share a single, upbeat paragraph from a public document, I was probably alright (and I did ultimately send her that snapshot). But, I decided shouldn't allow myself to get diverted too much from my project, especially since I am doing it on company time. Also, if I were ever to encounter disciplinary, salary, or other "h. r." information about any employee -- such private data sometimes creeps into older board records -- it must remain confidential, both for the individual's and for MCNPL's sakes. I don't want want to expose or hurt my colleagues.
Beyond these ethical concerns, encountering Dolores in MCNPL's archives got me to rethink how I should be identifying and prioritizing candidates for oral history interviews. Since I started my project, I've been developing a list of contacts, but her story has encouraged me to reconsider my inclusion criteria. Up to this point, I've mainly made note of long-serving library directors and department heads, and they will definitely be important sources for me. Yet, while Dolores only worked at Norristown for 2 years (1985-1987), then moved on to academic libraries, she was involved in audiovisual services at an important period in AV and District Library Center (DLC) history.
During that time, 16mm films were giving way to videocassettes, and library collections were broadening to add popular movies and TV series to their longstanding educational materials. This complicated DLCs' efforts to meet the state's Minimum Standards and Guidelines (1978) which specified that MCNPL should have at least 1 sound recording for every 50 residents, plus at least 300 16mm films. The 16mm format was expensive and fragile, requiring awkward projection equipment and a knowledgeable operator. It was becoming obsolete against consumer-friendly VHS tapes that could be played with VCRs on home televisions. In addition to maintaining AV in various formats, DLCs also needed to provide a reasonably up-to-date catalog of the titles titles they owned, and deliver desired items to other libraries upon request. I am foggy on how that all worked.
Besides the unique challenges that non-book items presented, during the late 1970s to mid-1990s the State Library of Pennsylvania was demanding that DLCs be more accountable, not only to the Commonwealth, but to the libraries and communities they served. This first took the form of submitting reports and plans to the state, in-district libraries, and in-district local governments. Accountability also manifested in the establishment of advisory councils, comprised of local librarians and trustees, which provided input on DLC plans and policies. Later on, there were service agreements signed by both the DLCs and the local libraries, and a peer-review system in which DLCs were evaluated by external teams which included feedback from local libraries. In addition to these requirements, during the 1980s MCNPL's board invited a different local library head to provide a presentation at each of its meetings, and occasionally those heads relayed concerns and dissatisfaction with DLC services. Within the meeting minutes, I've found evidence that access to Norristown's AV collection was a bone of contention before Dolores arrived, and during the first few months of her tenure. Talking with her about that could help me better understand relationships among district, county, and local institutions.
As I reflected on my easy willingness to share old documents with Dolores, as well as her openness and her longstanding interest in genealogy and history, I was reminded of how research can reinforce interpersonal relationships and build people's personal senses of meaning. I surmised that she might contribute all the more avidly to my project because of our friendship. As careful as I've been to harvest potential interviewees' names from library records, I had not even considered tapping my own networks -- the many academic librarians I know who may have worked at public libraries in the past. When I get to a point when I'm ready to reach out to potential interviewees, I need to put out a broad ask to my colleagues at Penn State and my friends on social media. Though I don't currently have many folks from academia on my radar, my call might uncover willing interviewees who have great stories to share.
As luck would have it, Dolores and I were able to meet for lunch this week, and she informally shared some anecdotes. As a Penn State employee, I couldn't conduct a formal interview without prior IRB approval, so I limited my questioning and I won't share her comments here. But I came away from our meetup thinking about how librarians' legacies, and the materials that document them, are spread across multiple institutions. Though Dolores and I might believe that our years at Penn State were the culminations of our careers, there are traces of us, and remnants of our impacts, in many places. I hope my thoughtful research, personal connections, and a dash of good luck will be enough to uncover all our important stories.
