(3691,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country. I have directed three large grant projects at the APS to digitize images and audio recordings related to Native American culture. Once in digital form, the material becomes much more accessible to students. I am, therefore, in a unique position to provide my students with access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.\n\nFor most of the twentieth century, Penn was home to some of the greatest anthropologists working on Native American cultures: Frank Speck, A. Irving Hallowell, Anthony F.C. Wallace, and Dell Hymes. All of these scholars gave their papers to the APS, while Speck and Hallowell also donated artifacts to the Penn Museum. The collections fit together very nicely, even though the institutions do not have a formal collaborative relationship. My Penn students thus have many opportunities to connect the two collections in a variety of interesting ways that are beneficial to the APS, the Penn Museum, and Native American communities.\n\nMuch of my own research involves how digital technology can strengthen outreach to Native American communities. I have overseen six grant projects that share the aim of returning digital surrogates of archival materials to their communities of origin. In 2005, I started a website entitled <em><a href=\"http://gibagadinamaagoom.info/\">Gibagadinamaagoom: An Ojibwe Digital Archive</a></em> that houses digital materials and is used by Ojibwe high school and tribal college students throughout the state of Minnesota. Several years later I started a sister site, <em><a href=\"http://www.sas.upenn.edu/dpic/\">Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities</a></em>, which allows the students to “publish” their work. When their work is polished enough, which usually entails some substantive editing, it is then made available to Native communities via the <em>Digital Partnerships</em> website. Both sites are designed with the Drupal content management system and are maintained by the School of Arts and Sciences Computing at Penn. This provides long-term sustainability. Because Drupal is so flexible, students can learn how to design digital exhibits that incorporate highlights of the archival materials and make them more accessible to Native communities. This requires training and outstanding students, many of whom receive grant support from Penn or other sources to work with me on these projects.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 1','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country.','inherit','open','open','','1577-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1577,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1577-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3692,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','Archival work <em>is</em> my curriculum. Integrating it into the broader university curriculum has been a long-term project. The year I started at Wesleyan, I began an intensive, perhaps even aggressive, approach to bringing classes into Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). The first step was to find a close connection between our holdings and Wesleyan’s curriculum. To do this, I studied the course catalog carefully and matched holdings to what was being taught. I wrote detailed letters to each faculty member whose course seemed to connect well to our holdings. Although I used the same basic form for each letter, I tailored each one with a specific list of items I would show to the class if they would come in for a visit. (At the time, a letter still had more impact than an email message.) In the first year alone, this effort resulted in twenty-four class sessions for nineteen different courses and a total of 276 students. As the program has grown, certain trends have emerged. Perhaps not surprisingly, the largest number of requests for class sessions comes from the American Studies, English, and History departments. Faculty in African American Studies; Astronomy; Classical Studies; Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies; Music; Romance Languages and Literatures; Science in Society; and Studio Art are regular participants as well. We have also hosted classes in atomic theory, computer science, dance, German, government, and sociology. By now, I have worked with upwards of one hundred different faculty members (including visitors and non-tenure-track faculty) to bring classes to SC&amp;A. This often includes helping them to design assignments that reinforce or build on the visit to SC&amp;A, while enhancing the pedagogical goals of the course and promoting the use of our collections. At this point, the program needs very little advertising to sustain itself, although I do still send reminders to some faculty to schedule a class visit, and I encourage new faculty to consider the possibility when our holdings are a good match for their courses.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 5','','inherit','open','open','','1571-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1571,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1571-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3693,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','The single biggest challenge my program faces is one of supply and demand. Demand for class sessions in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A) is increasing—all to the good!—but the supply of time for teaching is not. In this sense, we are the victims of our own success. More staff to share the teaching load would help. Increased use of digitized sources and online tutorials can help as well, and many institutions, both large and small, are exploring these options, some with considerable success. Digitization can help make our holdings more readily accessible to larger numbers of students. Naturally, care and preservation of materials that are heavily used is always a concern. Digitization helps to protect the originals from being damaged in the service of learning and scholarship, but the experience of using digital surrogates is not really the same as using the “real thing.” Best, of course, is when the original and a digital surrogate can be used in tandem.\n\nOften faculty find it difficult to squeeze a visit to SC&amp;A into an already full syllabus, even when it is pedagogically desirable. Scheduling extra sessions outside of regular class meetings can be complex in the extreme, since students are extraordinarily busy with academic and extracurricular commitments.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 4','','inherit','open','open','','1568-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1568,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1568-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3694,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','From 50,000 feet up, my greatest success is developing our program of outreach and teaching, and sustaining it over nearly fifteen years. In 1997-98, seven classes visited Special Collections &amp; Archives. Last semester, I taught thirty-one class sessions. The numbers document the faculty’s growing interest in bringing their classes to SC&amp;A and the success of our outreach. The value and enrichment to the curriculum and the students are, of course, harder to quantify.\n\nThe best, most rewarding experiences for me personally are those in which I can see the collections really come alive for students, when they come back to use our materials even when they are not required to do so, and when their enthusiasm for archives and special collections is clearly evident. There are many examples. At the most basic level, I know that students are engaged when they show up with their parents during our open house at Homecoming/Family Weekend, and they tell their families enthusiastically about their visit with an introductory astronomy class in which they saw, among other items, some of Einstein’s manuscripts and artists’ books with astronomical themes. This is a perfect example of how even the “dog and pony show” can reach students and provide a memorable experience. At the other end of the spectrum, some students find materials first encountered in a class visit so intriguing that they spend a full year (or sometimes more) researching them as the focus of a senior thesis. In recent years we have had excellent theses centered on a sixteenth-century German prayer book, a Shakespeare folio with eighteenth-century annotations, Civil War letters written by a Wesleyan alumnus, and the papers of a faculty member from the 1930s-50s, to name a few. In all of these cases, students have done high-level, truly original research that was sparked during a visit to SC&amp;A.\n\nThere are non-curricular peak experiences as well. From time to time, students use the University Archives to research family members who attended Wesleyan in the past. These projects are often exciting in a deeply personal way for both the students and their families. Perhaps the most memorable search for a Wesleyan ancestor ended up with a student weeping in our reading room. She had found yearbook pictures and evidence of a vibrant social and intellectual life of a grandfather she had never known because he had committed suicide before she was born. It is hard for me to imagine an archival experience more moving than this. Still, there have been many times over the years when students’ connections—intellectual, emotional, or both—with our holdings have been deeply gratifying to me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 3','','inherit','open','open','','1565-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1565,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1565-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3695,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','Engagement is a clear benefit. Many students are visibly excited, even awed, by their first visit to our Davison Rare Book Room, where the class sessions take place. The room is itself beautiful, echoing an eighteenth-century English gentleman’s library with glass-fronted bookcases and walnut paneling. The setting, combined with the intriguing materials presented, often inspires students to focus especially closely on the objects on display. The “wow” factor helps to make the experience memorable. While the visit to Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A)and attendant procedures (such as signing in, only using pencils, stowing bags, etc.) could easily be intimidating for some students, we work hard to ensure that the department is welcoming and friendly so that students feel encouraged to return on their own.\n\nPedagogically and intellectually, first-hand encounters with special collections and archives facilitate students’ thinking outside the box as they identify and pursue research topics. Direct contact with primary sources can fuel students’ interests, and many students find captivating the detective work involved in teasing out meanings from unedited and unglossed documents. Learning about the history and technology of the book opens students’ eyes to aspects of texts that can be far less evident with the ubiquitous electronic sources and secondary readings that fuel so much of their research. Through studying rare books and other special collections, students begin to understand that marginalia, provenance, typography, design, binding, and illustrations—all the physical aspects of specific copies of a book—offer avenues for viewing the book in the context of its own time. They begin to appreciate the many people beside the author who helped create the physical book. Often the study of these aspects of books helps to frame the text in such a way that students can step outside of themselves to evaluate it and analyze it, not just from a twenty-first-century point of view, but within the intellectual and historical context of its own time.\n\nOf course the active use of SC&amp;A by undergraduates benefits the department and the library as well. The deep integration of SC&amp;A into Wesleyan’s curriculum helps to ensure that we are not marginalized, that we are truly part of the University’s academic community, and that the materials are well (albeit carefully) used. As circulating collections and electronic resources in academic libraries become more homogenous, the strengths of archives and special collections holdings are often what distinguish an academic library from its peers at other institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 2','','inherit','open','open','','1562-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1562,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1562-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3696,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1558-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3697,1,'2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','In addition to what I have already addressed, I will just add that if you want to include archival work in your courses, you need to work closely with your librarians. Before you assume that students can have access to any rare materials, or that they can take notes on a rare book, or compare multiple manuscripts, check your special collections’ policies. And before you assume that your library does or does not have material relevant to your course, talk with the librarians. You might be surprised to learn that some books are too fragile to be handled, for instance, or that there is a large number of books relevant to the history of science in the 1700s. No one knows a special collection better than its librarians, and they are your first resource and your first ally in making archival work relevant to your curriculum.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 5','','inherit','open','open','','1553-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:34:47','2013-04-18 20:34:47','',1553,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1553-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3698,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','The first set of challenges is logistical. Bringing students into the Library changed some of the Library’s usual operating procedures and has made me adjust some of my own habits of teaching. The Undergraduate Program was the first time the Library allowed undergraduates into the Library to conduct research in any sort of ongoing basis. (There is an established fellowship for Amherst students that brings two or three students down to do research at the Library for a couple of weeks each year, but the intense use of rare materials and the duration of the fellowship are significantly different from the structure of the Undergraduate Seminars.) Even though the Library was supportive of my program and eager to help adjust policy, understandably there was some concern about how needy the students would be: Would they require a lot of supervision? Would they be asking for a lot of assistance? Would they be disruptive to the other readers? (The answer to all of these is no. In part because of the intensive training they receive in the classroom about how to handle books and how to find the resources they need, the students are in many ways better prepared to work in the Reading Rooms than many others!) There were also procedural questions that needed to be resolved. Before my program, rare materials were not routinely brought into the Library’s classrooms and were never handled by non-staff members in classrooms. Putting together a new policy on classroom use (how many items, how they could and could not be handled, the number of staff members necessary to supervise, etc.) was vital. And it was not difficult, thanks to the supportive curatorial staff. I did have to adjust my own teaching style. My preference is to decide what I am going to do in any given class as I go along. I might decide to try a particular approach the day before class, if my sense of how the class is proceeding suggests it. But I cannot decide at the last minute to bring a set of rare books into the seminar room because curators need to vet the rare materials in advance. That is not a big obstacle, but it has required me to adjust.\n\nA bigger challenge has been getting used to not having all the answers. My students come from a wide range of majors: English and history, to be sure, but I have also taught majors in French, theology, art history, music, drama, medieval studies, physics, and economics. And because I let them choose any work that was printed before 1700 for their research project, students often choose works that I have never heard of. What this means is that I need to learn along with them. A student working on <em>Utopia</em> is fairly easy; a student working on a Czech herbal (a book describing plants and their medicinal properties) is a lot harder to guide. But this is also a challenge that is fun and beneficial: if I knew everything, I’d be bored and my students wouldn’t have room for discovery.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 4','','inherit','open','open','','1550-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1550,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1550-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3699,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','Oh my, this is a hard one to answer. Without intending to sound unbearably sappy, there are nearly too many moments of success for me to count! My favorite moments are those that come outside the seminar: when a student makes a connection between what we have been discussing and what another class of hers is doing; when a professor tells me that a former student has been teaching them all to pay attention to the textual history of a poem they are reading; or when a former student sends me an e-mail to point out a newspaper article about books he found interesting. All those moments mean that the lessons they have learned in our seminar are living on for them in other contexts.\n\nOther favorite moments have been when students have found something out about a book that is news to the Library’s catalogers. Given how tremendous the Folger catalogers are, that is hard to do! But, for instance, one student was working on <em>The essayes of a prentise</em>, a book that had been written by King James in 1594, when he was James VI of Scotland and not yet James I of England. The student’s interpretation of the book was that it was deeply embedded in James’s perspective as a Scottish monarch and aspirant to the English throne, especially since the book was bound as a presentation copy for Lord Burghley. But the catalog record for the book, following standard name authority rules, listed the author as James I. Given the student’s research, however, the book’s record now includes a note clarifying the nature of James’s title when it was written. (You can see a blog post I wrote about the book and this issue <a href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/blog/index.php/2009/09/essayes-of-a-prentise/\">here</a>; you can find the catalog record for it <a href=\"http://shakespeare.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=163210\">here</a>.)\n\nAnother student was working on James Smith’s <em>The generall historie of Virginia</em> (1624) and was struck by its odd binding, in which one armorial device was stamped on top of another. The Folger’s catalog identified one of them as James I’s, but it took some joint sleuthing for her and I to work out that the stamp on top of James’s was that of George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham. As far as I can work out, no one else had noticed that, not the previous owners, the booksellers, or the Library’s catalogers. (That record still does not include the additional information about the binding because I have not yet brought it to their attention. But you can read about the book and see some pictures of the binding <a href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/blog/index.php/2011/04/an-armorial-binding-mystery/\">here</a>; the catalog record is <a href=\"http://shakespeare.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=164134\">here</a>.)','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 3','','inherit','open','open','','1547-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1547,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1547-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3700,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','I think the biggest benefit of bringing students into special collections through this course is that students own the process of discovery. In many undergraduate humanities courses, students learn about a subject through reading about it and, sometimes, conducting research on a topic of their choosing. But their research is rarely significant in terms of discovering new knowledge or generating a new perspective on something. Anyone who has taught a Shakespeare course can attest to the fact that even the best student papers do not often contribute something new to the field of Shakespeare studies; they might be interesting, and insightful, and they might be genuinely exciting to the student, but they are not new. But when students work with primary materials in special collections, they can be working with something that no one else has considered before. Sure, many people have written about More’s <em>Utopia</em>, but no one else may have produced a history of the particular copy of the third English edition of his book, which can now be found at the Folger with the call number STC 18096 Copy 1. More importantly, I have not done that either. In creating the biographies of their books, students are on their own, doing utterly original research. I can provide guidance, and so can generations of scholars before them, but students will not have that sinking feeling of realizing that somebody else has already written what they want to say, and has written it better.\n\nThat ownership of their research shifts how students see themselves as scholars. They are each experts on their own book, and everyone teaches everyone else when it comes to sharing insights into the nature of the book trade, the shape of authorship, or the variety of book use. Students produce long research papers on their final biographies, having revised earlier drafts, rethought their assumptions, and spent countless hours in the Library and at home working through their books’ stories. There is a consistent level of engagement with the material that I have not seen in other advanced-level seminars I have taught. Their papers routinely go above and beyond the expectations I have set for the projects; I have learned to suggest word limits as minimum expectations, not maximum cut-offs, since when I ask for a 3000-word paper, there are always students who have produced such rich research that they need 5000 words to do it justice.\n\nI suppose some might question the scholarly benefit of pouring all that energy into one copy of one edition of one book. But by limiting their attention to one copy, students have the room to fully explore the range of connections and complications for that book, and with that knowledge, students are able to extrapolate to the production of other books and to the ways in which knowledge passes from one generation to the next. The history of who read and collected the 1597 English <em>Utopia</em> over the centuries sheds light on our reading and use of the text today. More importantly, the skills students learn exploring one book can be used to explore any book, even a book made after the hand-press period. And because students are genuinely excited by the sense of discovery, they absorb and retain those ideas, bringing them to their other courses and to their lives following graduation. Being able to discover and to be real scholars as undergraduates opens up doors to them long after our class is done.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 2','','inherit','open','open','','1544-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1544,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1544-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3701,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','I am the director of the Undergraduate Program at the Folger Shakespeare Library, a program I created five years ago. It consists of two semester-long seminars in which students from universities in the D.C. area come to the Library to study book history and early modern culture. The goal of the seminars is for students to expand their knowledge of the period and their research skills by working directly with rare materials in the context of book history. The course is divided into three thematic concerns: books as physical objects (descriptive bibliography), the relationship between books and cultural forces (print culture), and books as vehicles for text (editorial theory and practice). By moving from how books are made to the economics of authorship and readers’ uses of books to how their manifestation in print affects books’ meanings, the course models different approaches to studying the histories of books and strives to explore how each approach is related to others. The class as a whole reads secondary sources (Darnton, McKenzie, McLeod, Sherman, Lesser), and class discussions make frequent use of rare materials brought into the classroom.  (The current syllabus for the course can be found <a title=\"Book and Early Modern Culture Syllabus\" href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/FolgerBooks\">here</a>.) When we discuss how books are printed, for instance, I will bring books into class that illustrate moments where the printing went askew—a misfoliated book, perhaps—in order to learn what the evidence of these mistakes can teach us about the process of making a book. Or we will devote a session to looking at bibles from the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries in order to see how their physical appearance changes, to explore how physical characteristics suggest different ways to read and use the bibles, and to examine what they might reveal about cultural and religious battles.\n\nWhile the class works together on these discussions, each student is studying one book that they have chosen to focus on. With their own book, they research its makers (authors, translators, and compilers as well as printers, publishers, and booksellers), its intended audience, and its later users and collectors. At the end of the semester, each student produces a biography of their book using their primary research and the book’s physical characteristics to tell its life story, from its inception to its afterlife as both text and object.\n\nIn both of these ways, working with rare materials is integral to the course and to the students’ learning experiences. Students in the class are Readers at the Library on the same terms that any other scholar given a Reader’s Card is: they can use any of the modern and rare materials in our collections that are not normally restricted. They come to the Library weekly for the seminar and return to the Library regularly to conduct their research for the class. Their Reader’s Cards are good for twelve months, so students can return to the Library after the seminar is done to carry on their own research. In other words, through the Undergraduate Seminar, students learn not only to use rare materials in their studies, but to be citizens of rare materials libraries.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 1','','inherit','open','open','','1541-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1541,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1541-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3702,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','As an undergraduate I felt like the archive primed me to search for pristine differences between the past and present. It was as if the past was a foreign country I was visiting while in the archive and that I had to translate into a more modern language. Yet the evidence I worked with was rarely so easily explained on the page. Similarities across time were often differences in addition, illustrating the messiness of historiography. There was also the logistical challenge of gauging the depth of a semester-long archival project. I had the classic Goldilocks problem of finding a research question that was neither too big nor too small.\n\nThe added obstacle is that undergraduates rarely devote their time to academics as faithfully as graduate students and faculty do. As an undergraduate I was juggling internships, part-time jobs, and community service with my class work. Before I started my undergraduate archival work, I usually resolved the logistical tangles by relegating reading and writing to the wee morning hours. When I needed to start visiting collections around New York City, this was not so easy. I started setting aside time to commute uptown to the New York Public Library, for example, while giving myself enough time to grab lunch and get back downtown for class.\n\nThe challenge was manageable on a practical level, but also on a conceptual one. Undergraduates—and I include myself when I was one—tend to think that setting aside business hours for internships will help develop the practical skills necessary for landing the perfect job after graduation. And there is no denying that internships can be useful in teaching the rigors of the workplace. But when we design courses for undergraduates, requiring them to spend time actively engaged in searching and <em>re</em>-searching, the pace and tenor of undergraduate study changes. For me, substituting work done alone, late at night in my apartment, for the work of talking with librarians, archivists, and other experts was a far more meaningful undergraduate experience, and something that was actually easily marketable for a job interview.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 5','As an undergraduate I felt like the archive primed me to search for pristine differences between the past and present. It was as if the past was a foreign country I was visiting while in the archive and that I had to translate into a more modern language. Yet the evidence I worked with was rarely so easily explained on the page.','inherit','open','open','','1536-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1536,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1536-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3703,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','Doing undergraduate archival work can be like learning to ride a bike without training wheels. In most classes, the readings and discussions act as essential compasses in guiding the student through the semester. In the archive, most, if not all, bets are off; rarely are there already made tutorials on organizing and making sense of the productive entropy that often marks an archive. How are we to situate a newly discovered text if we have not even finished our undergraduate prerequisite courses?\n\nFor me, the most challenging moments in the archive were the earliest, both because I was adjusting to the demands of archival methods and because I had only a small number of anchoring texts echoing in my head to help me make sense of anything I found. In fact, I probably missed a number of promising leads in the archive because I did not know to look for them.\n\nA good friend and I won a small grant at NYU for a research project about marginalia. We were to trace the marginalia of a particular ancient religious text, the <em>Hermes Trismegistus</em>. While I was scouring libraries in Paris for the history of the text’s early translation, my partner was in New York looking for evidence of contemporary readers’ marks on the book. My job was to plot the ancient scribbles, which seemed easy enough before I actually entered the stacks (see Figure 3). I was looking for the text itself while piecing together others’ accounts of the its migrations. <span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; padding-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig3.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2333 \" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig3-190x250.jpg\" alt=\"Figure 3\" width=\"190\" height=\"250\" /></a> Figure 3: Depiction of the god Hermes Trismegistus (courtesy of Roanoke College)</span>\n\nAs it turns out, the <em>Hermes Trismegistus</em> is an enduringly baffling historical object and its ancestry is riddled with gaps. A more experienced researcher would know how to explain this fitful history and perhaps use the inconsistencies and question marks as launching pads for substantive contributions. But since it was my first time in the archive for a sustained and labor-intensive project, they instead weighed on me like chains. Not only did I have trouble tracing the marginalia themselves, I had trouble explaining how I was having trouble.\n\nI realize now that this situation is not so much overcome with academic training as it is more efficiently handled with it. That moment of chaos and crisis is in fact a prerequisite to clear thinking, in my experience. As an undergraduate I was overwhelmed by the disorder of the archival process; but then again, these troubles might have been the best training.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 4','Doing undergraduate archival work can be like learning to ride a bike without training wheels. In most classes, the readings and discussions act as essential compasses in guiding the student through the semester. In the archive, most, if not all, bets are off; rarely are there already made tutorials on organizing and making sense of the productive entropy that often marks an archive.','inherit','open','open','','1533-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1533,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1533-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3704,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','In one of my undergraduate courses a professor handed out a checklist for good archival research. The last item on the list was simply, “Get lucky.” My most meaningful archival work has indeed come out of the pleasures of spelunking in archives, hoping to come upon a hidden gem. In my junior year of college I studied abroad in Paris, where I took a class on global media structures. As many graduate-level courses require, the final paper was an individual research project rather than a paper based on class readings and discussions. I knew that my home department in New York offered a course called “Hacker Culture &amp; Politics,” which I ended up taking as soon as I returned. In anticipation of that course, I contacted the professor, Biella Coleman, to ask if she had any contacts in Paris who were working on hacking. After a series of e-mail introductions through friends of friends, I got in touch with the head of a hacker space just outside of Paris.\n<span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; margin-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig2.png\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2332\" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig2\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig2-199x250.png\" alt=\"Figure 2\" width=\"199\" height=\"250\" /></a> Figure 2: Example of a typical French hacker e-zine c. 1994</span>\n\nAlthough I originally intended to study a contemporary aspect of hacking, I ended up with a historical project. After talking with a few French hackers on Internet Relay Chat, it became clear that the early French hacker scene was highly ritualized around electronic magazines, or e-zines. Ultimately, I wrote the paper based on research from about seventy different e-zines sent over digital bulletin board systems and the nascent Internet (see Figure 2). Getting access to the e-zines was not easy, and in the end, I amassed my own archive. Mine was not the image of the archive-as-dungeon, but instead the archive-as-disk-space. Perhaps as difficult to catalog and maintain as any rare book collection (if not more so), the e-zines I collected were infinitely reproducible and accessible from anywhere, even after I left France.\n\nArchival practices change when the historical subject is itself born digital. The challenge of marshaling evidence around a research question is no less important, but the dematerialized archive demands new techniques of investigation. What happens, for example, when we can do archival research from a coffee shop? The absence of the physical walls in a traditional archive might become a new figurative challenge. What is archival work if the archivist is not literally surrounded by material? These are the questions that productively vex my research. Creating the digital archive has been my greatest success because it provided me with a set of substantive and methodological questions that continue to complicate and broaden my research years later.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 3','In one of my undergraduate courses a professor handed out a checklist for good archival research. The last item on the list was simply, “Get lucky.” My most meaningful archival work has indeed come out of the pleasures of spelunking in archives, hoping to come upon a hidden gem. In my junior year of college I studied abroad in Paris, where I took a class on global media structures.','inherit','open','open','','1530-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1530,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1530-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3705,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','My experience in the archive directly contributed to my interest in graduate school, which is perhaps unsurprising when you think about the demands of archival work. The move from undergraduate to graduate study shares the guiding principles of archival work. You must first learn what others have said, before delving into the topics that demand further examination. Archival research, in this sense, is the never-ending game of hide-and-seek with that perfect research subject we yen for in each new project, class, and semester.\n\nAside from its importance in training future scholars, archival work is significant even for students who have less professional allegiance to the academy. Original research is a principle worth incorporating in undergraduate course design, as it signifies the marketable job-placement skills that supposedly evidence proper university training. In the 1997 <em>Harper’s Magazine</em> essay “On the Uses of a Liberal Education,” Mark Edmundson suggests undergraduate study has become “lite entertainment for bored college students.” He writes, “University culture, like American culture writ large, is, to put it crudely, ever more devoted to consumption and entertainment, to the using and using up of goods and images.”<sup><a href=\"#_ftn1\">[1]</a></sup> Edmundson goes on to argue that the transactional nature of undergraduate study creates an imbalance between what professors put into a syllabus and what students get out of it. But if we think about archival research as a process of skill development, it just may serve as a corrective to the literal and figurative banking of education.\n\nArchival work is often thought to be methodologically opposed to new media research techniques; thus, the theory goes, undergraduates, as “digital natives,” must learn and maintain a skill set in the archive apart from their new media literacy. How, for example, should undergraduates be expected to navigate the thick mess of a paper archive when Facebook and Twitter are their daily information grounds, where information streams are updated automatically and search boxes are never further than the top of the page? If the job market is increasingly concerned with social media, why should students spend time poring over “dead” technologies? Contrary to the notion that the archive and new media are irreconcilable, we might instead think of them as complementary educational forces. It is no coincidence, for example, that undergraduates in the archive are more likely to be keen and discerning arbiters of information.\n<div class=\"footnotes\">\n<div id=\"_ftn1\" class=\"footnote\">[1] Mark Edmundson, “On the Uses of a Liberal Education: I. As Lite Entertainment for Bored College Students,” <em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, September 1997, 40.</div>\n<div></div>\n</div>','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 2','My experience in the archive directly contributed to my interest in graduate school, which is perhaps unsurprising when you think about the demands of archival work. The move from undergraduate to graduate study shares the guiding principles of archival work. ','inherit','open','open','','1527-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1527,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1527-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3706,1,'2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','A few years ago, I was an undergraduate in the archive. In a class called “Dead Media Research Studio” at New York University (NYU), Professor Ben Kafka introduced me to the great quip about the chiasmic imperative of good research: to “make the familiar strange and the strange familiar.” With this echoing in my ears, I found myself in the entrails of Bobst Library interviewing two preservation specialists about a small but intriguing collection of wire recordings. The recordings, I found out, were of rather unknown origins in the early 1950s and contained some controversial tirades against President Truman. Though certainly not an exhaustive archive, the recordings provided me with my first meaningful interaction with historical primary sources. And it was a rather lonely endeavor; the hallways leading to troves of under-researched sources were woefully empty compared to the bustling study lounges located just a few floors above.\n\nMy research on wire recordings ended up as part of a dossier (similar to the format and scope of a Wikipedia entry) I wrote with two classmates for the Dead Media Archive. Professors Ben Kafka and Alex Galloway had rescued this archive from its own ironic demise as an e-mail list created by Bruce Sterling to catalog and describe obsolete technologies. The new Dead Media Archive, technically a wiki platform for simultaneous publishing and editing, became the centerpiece for two classes in the Department of Media, Culture, &amp; Communication (one undergraduate and one graduate). The semester in which I took the class, there were barely ten students enrolled. It puzzled me a bit, since Professor Kafka announced on the first day what every undergraduate seems to dream of hearing: there would be no exams, no papers, and very little reading. Instead, we were to be immersed in the city’s archives for a semester. Each student ended up producing three dossiers for the archive. In addition to one on wire recording, I also wrote an entry on spirit photography, a popular turn-of-the-century practice of “capturing” ghosts on film, which was accompanied by the rise of Spiritualism. A sizeable portion of my hard drive is still taken up by copies of the microform proceedings of the 1869 trial against William Mumler, a New York City spirit photographer accused of fraud (see Figure 1). My final dossier presented a more argumentative take on the “death” of media by cataloging marginalia, the scribbles in a text’s margins, as obsolete relics of a technological paradigm.<span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; padding-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig1.png\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2331 alignright\" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig1\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig1-193x250.png\" alt=\"Figure 1\" width=\"193\" height=\"250\" /></a>Figure 1: Microform copy of the proceedings of a 1869 court case against spirit photographer William Mumler.</span>\n\nBefore arriving at NYU, I would have scoffed at the idea of studying media history. There was much sighing on my first day in the required “History of Communication” course; I imagined, like many fellow undergraduates, that a degree in media studies would help me land a job in New York’s radio, television, or film industries. History, for us, was a roadblock in the path to careers less concerned with the past than with the frenetic present. The thrill of finding primary sources changed my mind. In the archive, I realized the opportunity to conduct original research. The excitement of archival work is shared by undergraduates, graduate students, and faculty alike; it is the thrill of finding something that has not been thought about enough, and then working hard enough to make it both familiar and strange.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 1','','inherit','open','open','','1528-revision-2','','','2013-04-18 20:35:22','2013-04-18 20:35:22','',1528,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1528-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3707,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team. Penn, of course, is home to the Wharton School of Business, and I often have a few Wharton students in class. These students helpfully pointed out that many Wharton classes assign students to a team in order to better prepare them for the private sector. This also allows the students to divide up the work according to each individual’s skill set. I have found the team-oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger group devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn. However, this culture is double edged, for it also makes it difficult to attract pre-professional students to courses on Native American studies, which is not a program or a department at Penn.\n\nAs I became more comfortable and was able to prepare more quickly for the semester, I found that I could make more materials available to the students. I try to balance the students’ exposure to the originals by providing them with digital surrogates and by visiting the Penn Museum and the APS. This can be challenging because the APS is not set up for student visits; it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange for a classroom to view original documents. The Penn Museum, on the other hand, actively encourages professors to bring their classes and provides access to the storage facilities. This planning paid off when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects. Last semester, one student suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project. When we talked about this together, the students expressed that they felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about their historical and cultural background. The best students had done this research on their own, but I realized that the early part of the course could be structured to teach the students a great deal more about the cultural context of the archival materials, which would result in them understanding the materials better and doing a better job designing the exhibits. So this spring I am devoting an entire semester of a graduate seminar to researching archival materials and creating a digital exhibit based on student research. The APS recently acquired more than 500 hours of audio recordings related to Ojibwe culture in northern Canada (the acquisition was an outcome of the Pimachiowin Aki collaboration). The first five weeks of the class will be devoted to teaching the students the religious background necessary to understand the Ojibwe ceremonies being discussed; the ethics of working with religious materials in terms of what can or cannot be placed on the web; and basic archival skills so that the students can create a database and tags to make this new material more accessible to scholars and the Ojibwe communities where the material originated. All of the students’ work will be donated to those communities and the database will be housed at the APS.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 5','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team.','inherit','open','open','','1589-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1589,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1589-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3708,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','The biggest challenge by far is the preliminary work, which must be completed before the semester begins. In order to work with either the APS or Penn Museum collections, a good deal of paperwork must be filled out to secure permission from the curatorial staff. Because this material is rarely used by students who are designing digital exhibits for the web, often we must create new forms and convince very cautious curators who want to be sure that the tribe’s involvement will be properly documented—itself a very time-consuming endeavor. I find that it is also essential to communicate openly and honestly with institutional administrators at every level to help them understand that such projects are mutually beneficial to the archive, the students, and the indigenous communities. The next challenge is to locate enough relevant material to keep the students occupied for a month, or even an entire semester. One must also be aware that a good deal of time and expertise are required after the semester is over to ensure that the resulting exhibit is of a high enough quality to be valuable to the Native American communities and the general public. The current Andrew W. Mellon grant that I direct for the APS includes a Native American Fellows program that brings distinguished members of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Indians and the Ojibwe Nation to Philadelphia. Ideally, this provides the students a unique opportunity to meet the indigenous wisdom keepers who are responsible for returning the digital surrogates to their community. This is a wonderful experience for the students, but requires great care to make sure that the Native people feel comfortable talking to students who have no real sense of the diplomacy and respect for indigenous protocols involved in this kind of work.\n\nPedagogically, it takes at least a month to provide the students with enough historical, anthropological, religious, and cultural background so that they can identify important primary materials. Because some of the material is considered sacred, students must learn protocols for dealing with culturally sensitive objects. This is made even more difficult because the Society of American Archivists has not yet issued protocols concerning Native American cultural sensitivities. The current APS Mellon grant will digitize 3000 hours of audio recordings related to Native American cultures. The grant has also allowed us to create a Native American advisory board to establish protocols for protecting culturally sensitive archival materials. Currently, I have two independent-study students working on documenting and implementing protocols for cultural sensitivity at the APS. This cutting-edge work is another important means of involving the most advanced students in ongoing research projects with archival materials.\n\nIt can be difficult, however, to teach the students to be respectful of how Native people see their own culture. The idea, for example, that museum artifacts are considered animate objects—or living beings—is sometimes beyond the intellectual reach of some students. The success of the projects, therefore, often depends on the students’ respect for and understanding of the culture. The students’ performance can be very uneven, with some going on to win grants to pursue further work in the area and others sitting quietly in the corner.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 4','The biggest challenge by far is the preliminary work, which must be completed before the semester begins. In order to work with either the APS or Penn Museum collections, a good deal of paperwork must be filled out to secure permission from the curatorial staff. ','inherit','open','open','','1586-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1586,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1586-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3709,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:04','2013-04-18 20:38:04','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team. Penn, of course, is home to the Wharton School of Business, and I often have a few Wharton students in class. These students helpfully pointed out that many Wharton classes assign students to a team in order to better prepare them for the private sector. This also allows the students to divide up the work according to each individual’s skill set. I have found the team-oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger group devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn. However, this culture is double edged, for it also makes it difficult to attract pre-professional students to courses on Native American studies, which is not a program or a department at Penn.\n\nAs I became more comfortable and was able to prepare more quickly for the semester, I found that I could make more materials available to the students. I try to balance the students’ exposure to the originals by providing them with digital surrogates and by visiting the Penn Museum and the APS. This can be challenging because the APS is not set up for student visits; it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange for a classroom to view original documents. The Penn Museum, on the other hand, actively encourages professors to bring their classes and provides access to the storage facilities. This planning paid off when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects. Last semester, one student suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project. When we talked about this together, the students expressed that they felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about their historical and cultural background. The best students had done this research on their own, but I realized that the early part of the course could be structured to teach the students a great deal more about the cultural context of the archival materials, which would result in them understanding the materials better and doing a better job designing the exhibits. So this spring I am devoting an entire semester of a graduate seminar to researching archival materials and creating a digital exhibit based on student research. The APS recently acquired more than 500 hours of audio recordings related to Ojibwe culture in northern Canada (the acquisition was an outcome of the Pimachiowin Aki collaboration). The first five weeks of the class will be devoted to teaching the students the religious background necessary to understand the Ojibwe ceremonies being discussed; the ethics of working with religious materials in terms of what can or cannot be placed on the web; and basic archival skills so that the students can create a database and tags to make this new material more accessible to scholars and the Ojibwe communities where the material originated. All of the students’ work will be donated to those communities and the database will be housed at the APS.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 5','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team.','inherit','open','open','','1589-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:38:04','2013-04-18 20:38:04','',1589,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1589-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3710,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:08','2013-04-18 20:38:08','The biggest challenge by far is the preliminary work, which must be completed before the semester begins. In order to work with either the APS or Penn Museum collections, a good deal of paperwork must be filled out to secure permission from the curatorial staff. Because this material is rarely used by students who are designing digital exhibits for the web, often we must create new forms and convince very cautious curators who want to be sure that the tribe’s involvement will be properly documented—itself a very time-consuming endeavor. I find that it is also essential to communicate openly and honestly with institutional administrators at every level to help them understand that such projects are mutually beneficial to the archive, the students, and the indigenous communities. The next challenge is to locate enough relevant material to keep the students occupied for a month, or even an entire semester. One must also be aware that a good deal of time and expertise are required after the semester is over to ensure that the resulting exhibit is of a high enough quality to be valuable to the Native American communities and the general public. The current Andrew W. Mellon grant that I direct for the APS includes a Native American Fellows program that brings distinguished members of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Indians and the Ojibwe Nation to Philadelphia. Ideally, this provides the students a unique opportunity to meet the indigenous wisdom keepers who are responsible for returning the digital surrogates to their community. This is a wonderful experience for the students, but requires great care to make sure that the Native people feel comfortable talking to students who have no real sense of the diplomacy and respect for indigenous protocols involved in this kind of work.\n\nPedagogically, it takes at least a month to provide the students with enough historical, anthropological, religious, and cultural background so that they can identify important primary materials. Because some of the material is considered sacred, students must learn protocols for dealing with culturally sensitive objects. This is made even more difficult because the Society of American Archivists has not yet issued protocols concerning Native American cultural sensitivities. The current APS Mellon grant will digitize 3000 hours of audio recordings related to Native American cultures. The grant has also allowed us to create a Native American advisory board to establish protocols for protecting culturally sensitive archival materials. Currently, I have two independent-study students working on documenting and implementing protocols for cultural sensitivity at the APS. This cutting-edge work is another important means of involving the most advanced students in ongoing research projects with archival materials.\n\nIt can be difficult, however, to teach the students to be respectful of how Native people see their own culture. The idea, for example, that museum artifacts are considered animate objects—or living beings—is sometimes beyond the intellectual reach of some students. The success of the projects, therefore, often depends on the students’ respect for and understanding of the culture. The students’ performance can be very uneven, with some going on to win grants to pursue further work in the area and others sitting quietly in the corner.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 4','The biggest challenge by far is the preliminary work, which must be completed before the semester begins. In order to work with either the APS or Penn Museum collections, a good deal of paperwork must be filled out to secure permission from the curatorial staff. ','inherit','open','open','','1586-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:38:08','2013-04-18 20:38:08','',1586,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1586-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3711,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','There have been many exciting outcomes from the students’ interactions with archival materials. In the spring of 2010, the class project was to design a digital exhibit that would bring together Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell’s Ojibwe photographs from the American Philosophical Society and Ojibwe artifacts from the Penn Museum, all of which were collected in the 1930s. (See Figure 1.)<span id=\"attachment_2610\" class=\"alignright wp-caption\" style=\"width: 335px;\"><a title=\"Bandolier Bag\" href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/powell_1.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2625\" title=\"Ojibwe Bandolier Bag\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/powell_1-333x147.jpg\" alt=\"\'Ojibwe Bandolier Bag,\' Penn Museum, photograph by David McDonald, DMcD Productions.\" width=\"333\" height=\"147\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 1</em>: \"Ojibwe Bandolier Bag,\" Penn Museum, photograph by David McDonald, DMcD Productions.</span></span> Not long before the semester started, I had been contacted by Gord Jones, the project manager of Pimachiowin Aki Corporation, who is working on submitting a UNESCO World Heritage Site grant application to preserve 40,000 square kilometers of boreal forest and the cultural landscape of five Ojibwe First Nations. One challenge of the grant is to define a “cultural landscape.” A number of scholars associated with the Pimachiowin Aki project had come to the APS and digitized material from the Hallowell collection. Hallowell had worked in Ojibwe First Nation communities in northern Manitoba and Ontario for ten years, so there was a large amount of material related to this very small, remote place. The students photographed and documented the objects from the Hallowell collection at the Penn Museum and presented them to Ojibwe representatives of the Pimachiowin Aki project at a conference held at the APS shortly after the semester ended. The students’ material is now part of a historic project, the first UNESCO World Heritage Site application ever submitted by the Canadian government on behalf of First Nations.\n\nLast semester my students worked in groups to curate an exhibit entitled <em>Cherokee Stickball</em>, based on the research of Frank Speck, a highly distinguished anthropologist. Speck taught at Penn for half a century, collecting more than forty stickball sticks for the Penn Museum and depositing photographs of Cherokee stickball games at the APS. (See Figure 2.) <span id=\"attachment_2609\" class=\"alignright wp-caption\" style=\"width: 300px;\"><a href=\"http://www.archivejournal.net/issue/2/three-sixty/undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-3/attachment/powell_2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-2609\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-2609\" title=\"Powell 2, Cherokee Stickball\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/powell_2.jpg\" alt=\"Cherokee Stickball, American Philosophical Society, Frank Speck collection.\" width=\"300\" height=\"345\" /></a> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 2.</em> Cherokee Stickball, American Philosophical Society, Frank Speck collection.</span></span> In the 1930s, Speck worked with a Cherokee Medicine Man named Will West Long, who provided Speck with a rich ethnographic description of the spiritual dimensions of the game. Will West’s grand nephew, T.J. Holland, came to the APS conference in the spring of 2010, and I had the opportunity to interview him along with another very knowledgeable elder, Tom Belt. The students created Quick Time videos that combined Speck’s photographs taken in the 1930s with the contemporary oral histories. They also photographed all of the sticks in the Penn Museum’s collection and created a database of descriptive materials. One of the students won a Mellon grant through Penn to take the digital materials to the Eastern Band of the Cherokee in North Carolina. Today, Cherokee craftsman are recreating the older sticks based on the students’ photographs, and the videos will be used in a museum exhibit that will be displayed at the tribally owned Junaluska Museum, located in Robbinsville, North Carolina.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 3','There have been many exciting outcomes from the students’ interactions with archival materials. In the spring of 2010, the class project was to design a digital exhibit that would bring together Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell’s Ojibwe photographs from the American Philosophical Society and Ojibwe artifacts from the Penn Museum.','inherit','open','open','','1583-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1583,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1583-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3712,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is the opportunity to work on a project designed to be used by Native American community members and to hear the voices of elders. Penn, unfortunately, has no Native American faculty working in the field of American Indian studies, and the state of Pennsylvania has no Indian reservations. As a result, students generally have no contact with the people they are studying. Because many have never met a Native American, they are prone to thinking of Indians as extinct. By getting students to look at archival materials from an indigenous perspective, they learn to think about such basic terms as “American,” “history,” “literature,” “knowledge,” and “writing” in new ways. Even if the students do not major in American Indian studies, the intellectual experience of understanding a very different cultural epistemology and ontology is inherently valuable.\n\nFrom a pedagogical perspective, the students learn research skills in archives that will serve them well no matter what careers they chose. In my experience, most undergraduates do not have the opportunity to work with archival or museum collections. Many students seem to enjoy the courses more once they have been to the American Philosophical Society and have seen Thomas Jefferson’s hand-written draft of the Declaration of Independence, or have held a drum owned by Sitting Bull in their hands. It makes history and culture come alive in a way that textbooks rarely do. I find that it requires a lot of preliminary work—selecting and skimming documents, scanning photographs, etc.—to prepare a class for doing research in the archives. This semester my students will be going through hundreds of pages of oral history transcripts about an Ojibwe Medicine Man. The students will try to match the transcripts to historical documents and photographs in order to make them more useful to the community in northern Manitoba, where the recordings were originally made more than seventy-five years ago. I find that the students’ work is more thoughtful and more inspired when they realize that it may possibly benefit Native Americans, rather than just be read by one person: me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 2','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is the opportunity to work on a project designed to be used by Native American community members and to hear the voices of elders. Penn, unfortunately, has no Native American faculty working in the field of American Indian studies, and the state of Pennsylvania has no Indian reservations.','inherit','open','open','','1580-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1580,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1580-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3713,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country. I have directed three large grant projects at the APS to digitize images and audio recordings related to Native American culture. Once in digital form, the material becomes much more accessible to students. I am, therefore, in a unique position to provide my students with access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.\n\nFor most of the twentieth century, Penn was home to some of the greatest anthropologists working on Native American cultures: Frank Speck, A. Irving Hallowell, Anthony F.C. Wallace, and Dell Hymes. All of these scholars gave their papers to the APS, while Speck and Hallowell also donated artifacts to the Penn Museum. The collections fit together very nicely, even though the institutions do not have a formal collaborative relationship. My Penn students thus have many opportunities to connect the two collections in a variety of interesting ways that are beneficial to the APS, the Penn Museum, and Native American communities.\n\nMuch of my own research involves how digital technology can strengthen outreach to Native American communities. I have overseen six grant projects that share the aim of returning digital surrogates of archival materials to their communities of origin. In 2005, I started a website entitled <em><a href=\"http://gibagadinamaagoom.info/\">Gibagadinamaagoom: An Ojibwe Digital Archive</a></em> that houses digital materials and is used by Ojibwe high school and tribal college students throughout the state of Minnesota. Several years later I started a sister site, <em><a href=\"http://www.sas.upenn.edu/dpic/\">Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities</a></em>, which allows the students to “publish” their work. When their work is polished enough, which usually entails some substantive editing, it is then made available to Native communities via the <em>Digital Partnerships</em> website. Both sites are designed with the Drupal content management system and are maintained by the School of Arts and Sciences Computing at Penn. This provides long-term sustainability. Because Drupal is so flexible, students can learn how to design digital exhibits that incorporate highlights of the archival materials and make them more accessible to Native communities. This requires training and outstanding students, many of whom receive grant support from Penn or other sources to work with me on these projects.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 1','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country.','inherit','open','open','','1577-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1577,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1577-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3714,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','Archival work <em>is</em> my curriculum. Integrating it into the broader university curriculum has been a long-term project. The year I started at Wesleyan, I began an intensive, perhaps even aggressive, approach to bringing classes into Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). The first step was to find a close connection between our holdings and Wesleyan’s curriculum. To do this, I studied the course catalog carefully and matched holdings to what was being taught. I wrote detailed letters to each faculty member whose course seemed to connect well to our holdings. Although I used the same basic form for each letter, I tailored each one with a specific list of items I would show to the class if they would come in for a visit. (At the time, a letter still had more impact than an email message.) In the first year alone, this effort resulted in twenty-four class sessions for nineteen different courses and a total of 276 students. As the program has grown, certain trends have emerged. Perhaps not surprisingly, the largest number of requests for class sessions comes from the American Studies, English, and History departments. Faculty in African American Studies; Astronomy; Classical Studies; Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies; Music; Romance Languages and Literatures; Science in Society; and Studio Art are regular participants as well. We have also hosted classes in atomic theory, computer science, dance, German, government, and sociology. By now, I have worked with upwards of one hundred different faculty members (including visitors and non-tenure-track faculty) to bring classes to SC&amp;A. This often includes helping them to design assignments that reinforce or build on the visit to SC&amp;A, while enhancing the pedagogical goals of the course and promoting the use of our collections. At this point, the program needs very little advertising to sustain itself, although I do still send reminders to some faculty to schedule a class visit, and I encourage new faculty to consider the possibility when our holdings are a good match for their courses.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 5','','inherit','open','open','','1571-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1571,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1571-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3715,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','The single biggest challenge my program faces is one of supply and demand. Demand for class sessions in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A) is increasing—all to the good!—but the supply of time for teaching is not. In this sense, we are the victims of our own success. More staff to share the teaching load would help. Increased use of digitized sources and online tutorials can help as well, and many institutions, both large and small, are exploring these options, some with considerable success. Digitization can help make our holdings more readily accessible to larger numbers of students. Naturally, care and preservation of materials that are heavily used is always a concern. Digitization helps to protect the originals from being damaged in the service of learning and scholarship, but the experience of using digital surrogates is not really the same as using the “real thing.” Best, of course, is when the original and a digital surrogate can be used in tandem.\n\nOften faculty find it difficult to squeeze a visit to SC&amp;A into an already full syllabus, even when it is pedagogically desirable. Scheduling extra sessions outside of regular class meetings can be complex in the extreme, since students are extraordinarily busy with academic and extracurricular commitments.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 4','','inherit','open','open','','1568-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1568,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1568-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3716,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','From 50,000 feet up, my greatest success is developing our program of outreach and teaching, and sustaining it over nearly fifteen years. In 1997-98, seven classes visited Special Collections &amp; Archives. Last semester, I taught thirty-one class sessions. The numbers document the faculty’s growing interest in bringing their classes to SC&amp;A and the success of our outreach. The value and enrichment to the curriculum and the students are, of course, harder to quantify.\n\nThe best, most rewarding experiences for me personally are those in which I can see the collections really come alive for students, when they come back to use our materials even when they are not required to do so, and when their enthusiasm for archives and special collections is clearly evident. There are many examples. At the most basic level, I know that students are engaged when they show up with their parents during our open house at Homecoming/Family Weekend, and they tell their families enthusiastically about their visit with an introductory astronomy class in which they saw, among other items, some of Einstein’s manuscripts and artists’ books with astronomical themes. This is a perfect example of how even the “dog and pony show” can reach students and provide a memorable experience. At the other end of the spectrum, some students find materials first encountered in a class visit so intriguing that they spend a full year (or sometimes more) researching them as the focus of a senior thesis. In recent years we have had excellent theses centered on a sixteenth-century German prayer book, a Shakespeare folio with eighteenth-century annotations, Civil War letters written by a Wesleyan alumnus, and the papers of a faculty member from the 1930s-50s, to name a few. In all of these cases, students have done high-level, truly original research that was sparked during a visit to SC&amp;A.\n\nThere are non-curricular peak experiences as well. From time to time, students use the University Archives to research family members who attended Wesleyan in the past. These projects are often exciting in a deeply personal way for both the students and their families. Perhaps the most memorable search for a Wesleyan ancestor ended up with a student weeping in our reading room. She had found yearbook pictures and evidence of a vibrant social and intellectual life of a grandfather she had never known because he had committed suicide before she was born. It is hard for me to imagine an archival experience more moving than this. Still, there have been many times over the years when students’ connections—intellectual, emotional, or both—with our holdings have been deeply gratifying to me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 3','','inherit','open','open','','1565-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1565,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1565-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3717,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','Engagement is a clear benefit. Many students are visibly excited, even awed, by their first visit to our Davison Rare Book Room, where the class sessions take place. The room is itself beautiful, echoing an eighteenth-century English gentleman’s library with glass-fronted bookcases and walnut paneling. The setting, combined with the intriguing materials presented, often inspires students to focus especially closely on the objects on display. The “wow” factor helps to make the experience memorable. While the visit to Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A)and attendant procedures (such as signing in, only using pencils, stowing bags, etc.) could easily be intimidating for some students, we work hard to ensure that the department is welcoming and friendly so that students feel encouraged to return on their own.\n\nPedagogically and intellectually, first-hand encounters with special collections and archives facilitate students’ thinking outside the box as they identify and pursue research topics. Direct contact with primary sources can fuel students’ interests, and many students find captivating the detective work involved in teasing out meanings from unedited and unglossed documents. Learning about the history and technology of the book opens students’ eyes to aspects of texts that can be far less evident with the ubiquitous electronic sources and secondary readings that fuel so much of their research. Through studying rare books and other special collections, students begin to understand that marginalia, provenance, typography, design, binding, and illustrations—all the physical aspects of specific copies of a book—offer avenues for viewing the book in the context of its own time. They begin to appreciate the many people beside the author who helped create the physical book. Often the study of these aspects of books helps to frame the text in such a way that students can step outside of themselves to evaluate it and analyze it, not just from a twenty-first-century point of view, but within the intellectual and historical context of its own time.\n\nOf course the active use of SC&amp;A by undergraduates benefits the department and the library as well. The deep integration of SC&amp;A into Wesleyan’s curriculum helps to ensure that we are not marginalized, that we are truly part of the University’s academic community, and that the materials are well (albeit carefully) used. As circulating collections and electronic resources in academic libraries become more homogenous, the strengths of archives and special collections holdings are often what distinguish an academic library from its peers at other institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 2','','inherit','open','open','','1562-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1562,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1562-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3718,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1558-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3719,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','In addition to what I have already addressed, I will just add that if you want to include archival work in your courses, you need to work closely with your librarians. Before you assume that students can have access to any rare materials, or that they can take notes on a rare book, or compare multiple manuscripts, check your special collections’ policies. And before you assume that your library does or does not have material relevant to your course, talk with the librarians. You might be surprised to learn that some books are too fragile to be handled, for instance, or that there is a large number of books relevant to the history of science in the 1700s. No one knows a special collection better than its librarians, and they are your first resource and your first ally in making archival work relevant to your curriculum.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 5','','inherit','open','open','','1553-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1553,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1553-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3720,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','The first set of challenges is logistical. Bringing students into the Library changed some of the Library’s usual operating procedures and has made me adjust some of my own habits of teaching. The Undergraduate Program was the first time the Library allowed undergraduates into the Library to conduct research in any sort of ongoing basis. (There is an established fellowship for Amherst students that brings two or three students down to do research at the Library for a couple of weeks each year, but the intense use of rare materials and the duration of the fellowship are significantly different from the structure of the Undergraduate Seminars.) Even though the Library was supportive of my program and eager to help adjust policy, understandably there was some concern about how needy the students would be: Would they require a lot of supervision? Would they be asking for a lot of assistance? Would they be disruptive to the other readers? (The answer to all of these is no. In part because of the intensive training they receive in the classroom about how to handle books and how to find the resources they need, the students are in many ways better prepared to work in the Reading Rooms than many others!) There were also procedural questions that needed to be resolved. Before my program, rare materials were not routinely brought into the Library’s classrooms and were never handled by non-staff members in classrooms. Putting together a new policy on classroom use (how many items, how they could and could not be handled, the number of staff members necessary to supervise, etc.) was vital. And it was not difficult, thanks to the supportive curatorial staff. I did have to adjust my own teaching style. My preference is to decide what I am going to do in any given class as I go along. I might decide to try a particular approach the day before class, if my sense of how the class is proceeding suggests it. But I cannot decide at the last minute to bring a set of rare books into the seminar room because curators need to vet the rare materials in advance. That is not a big obstacle, but it has required me to adjust.\n\nA bigger challenge has been getting used to not having all the answers. My students come from a wide range of majors: English and history, to be sure, but I have also taught majors in French, theology, art history, music, drama, medieval studies, physics, and economics. And because I let them choose any work that was printed before 1700 for their research project, students often choose works that I have never heard of. What this means is that I need to learn along with them. A student working on <em>Utopia</em> is fairly easy; a student working on a Czech herbal (a book describing plants and their medicinal properties) is a lot harder to guide. But this is also a challenge that is fun and beneficial: if I knew everything, I’d be bored and my students wouldn’t have room for discovery.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 4','','inherit','open','open','','1550-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1550,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1550-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3721,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','Oh my, this is a hard one to answer. Without intending to sound unbearably sappy, there are nearly too many moments of success for me to count! My favorite moments are those that come outside the seminar: when a student makes a connection between what we have been discussing and what another class of hers is doing; when a professor tells me that a former student has been teaching them all to pay attention to the textual history of a poem they are reading; or when a former student sends me an e-mail to point out a newspaper article about books he found interesting. All those moments mean that the lessons they have learned in our seminar are living on for them in other contexts.\n\nOther favorite moments have been when students have found something out about a book that is news to the Library’s catalogers. Given how tremendous the Folger catalogers are, that is hard to do! But, for instance, one student was working on <em>The essayes of a prentise</em>, a book that had been written by King James in 1594, when he was James VI of Scotland and not yet James I of England. The student’s interpretation of the book was that it was deeply embedded in James’s perspective as a Scottish monarch and aspirant to the English throne, especially since the book was bound as a presentation copy for Lord Burghley. But the catalog record for the book, following standard name authority rules, listed the author as James I. Given the student’s research, however, the book’s record now includes a note clarifying the nature of James’s title when it was written. (You can see a blog post I wrote about the book and this issue <a href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/blog/index.php/2009/09/essayes-of-a-prentise/\">here</a>; you can find the catalog record for it <a href=\"http://shakespeare.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=163210\">here</a>.)\n\nAnother student was working on James Smith’s <em>The generall historie of Virginia</em> (1624) and was struck by its odd binding, in which one armorial device was stamped on top of another. The Folger’s catalog identified one of them as James I’s, but it took some joint sleuthing for her and I to work out that the stamp on top of James’s was that of George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham. As far as I can work out, no one else had noticed that, not the previous owners, the booksellers, or the Library’s catalogers. (That record still does not include the additional information about the binding because I have not yet brought it to their attention. But you can read about the book and see some pictures of the binding <a href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/blog/index.php/2011/04/an-armorial-binding-mystery/\">here</a>; the catalog record is <a href=\"http://shakespeare.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=164134\">here</a>.)','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 3','','inherit','open','open','','1547-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:45','2013-04-18 20:37:45','',1547,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1547-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3722,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','I think the biggest benefit of bringing students into special collections through this course is that students own the process of discovery. In many undergraduate humanities courses, students learn about a subject through reading about it and, sometimes, conducting research on a topic of their choosing. But their research is rarely significant in terms of discovering new knowledge or generating a new perspective on something. Anyone who has taught a Shakespeare course can attest to the fact that even the best student papers do not often contribute something new to the field of Shakespeare studies; they might be interesting, and insightful, and they might be genuinely exciting to the student, but they are not new. But when students work with primary materials in special collections, they can be working with something that no one else has considered before. Sure, many people have written about More’s <em>Utopia</em>, but no one else may have produced a history of the particular copy of the third English edition of his book, which can now be found at the Folger with the call number STC 18096 Copy 1. More importantly, I have not done that either. In creating the biographies of their books, students are on their own, doing utterly original research. I can provide guidance, and so can generations of scholars before them, but students will not have that sinking feeling of realizing that somebody else has already written what they want to say, and has written it better.\n\nThat ownership of their research shifts how students see themselves as scholars. They are each experts on their own book, and everyone teaches everyone else when it comes to sharing insights into the nature of the book trade, the shape of authorship, or the variety of book use. Students produce long research papers on their final biographies, having revised earlier drafts, rethought their assumptions, and spent countless hours in the Library and at home working through their books’ stories. There is a consistent level of engagement with the material that I have not seen in other advanced-level seminars I have taught. Their papers routinely go above and beyond the expectations I have set for the projects; I have learned to suggest word limits as minimum expectations, not maximum cut-offs, since when I ask for a 3000-word paper, there are always students who have produced such rich research that they need 5000 words to do it justice.\n\nI suppose some might question the scholarly benefit of pouring all that energy into one copy of one edition of one book. But by limiting their attention to one copy, students have the room to fully explore the range of connections and complications for that book, and with that knowledge, students are able to extrapolate to the production of other books and to the ways in which knowledge passes from one generation to the next. The history of who read and collected the 1597 English <em>Utopia</em> over the centuries sheds light on our reading and use of the text today. More importantly, the skills students learn exploring one book can be used to explore any book, even a book made after the hand-press period. And because students are genuinely excited by the sense of discovery, they absorb and retain those ideas, bringing them to their other courses and to their lives following graduation. Being able to discover and to be real scholars as undergraduates opens up doors to them long after our class is done.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 2','','inherit','open','open','','1544-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1544,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1544-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3723,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','I am the director of the Undergraduate Program at the Folger Shakespeare Library, a program I created five years ago. It consists of two semester-long seminars in which students from universities in the D.C. area come to the Library to study book history and early modern culture. The goal of the seminars is for students to expand their knowledge of the period and their research skills by working directly with rare materials in the context of book history. The course is divided into three thematic concerns: books as physical objects (descriptive bibliography), the relationship between books and cultural forces (print culture), and books as vehicles for text (editorial theory and practice). By moving from how books are made to the economics of authorship and readers’ uses of books to how their manifestation in print affects books’ meanings, the course models different approaches to studying the histories of books and strives to explore how each approach is related to others. The class as a whole reads secondary sources (Darnton, McKenzie, McLeod, Sherman, Lesser), and class discussions make frequent use of rare materials brought into the classroom.  (The current syllabus for the course can be found <a title=\"Book and Early Modern Culture Syllabus\" href=\"http://sarahwerner.net/FolgerBooks\">here</a>.) When we discuss how books are printed, for instance, I will bring books into class that illustrate moments where the printing went askew—a misfoliated book, perhaps—in order to learn what the evidence of these mistakes can teach us about the process of making a book. Or we will devote a session to looking at bibles from the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries in order to see how their physical appearance changes, to explore how physical characteristics suggest different ways to read and use the bibles, and to examine what they might reveal about cultural and religious battles.\n\nWhile the class works together on these discussions, each student is studying one book that they have chosen to focus on. With their own book, they research its makers (authors, translators, and compilers as well as printers, publishers, and booksellers), its intended audience, and its later users and collectors. At the end of the semester, each student produces a biography of their book using their primary research and the book’s physical characteristics to tell its life story, from its inception to its afterlife as both text and object.\n\nIn both of these ways, working with rare materials is integral to the course and to the students’ learning experiences. Students in the class are Readers at the Library on the same terms that any other scholar given a Reader’s Card is: they can use any of the modern and rare materials in our collections that are not normally restricted. They come to the Library weekly for the seminar and return to the Library regularly to conduct their research for the class. Their Reader’s Cards are good for twelve months, so students can return to the Library after the seminar is done to carry on their own research. In other words, through the Undergraduate Seminar, students learn not only to use rare materials in their studies, but to be citizens of rare materials libraries.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Werner 1','','inherit','open','open','','1541-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1541,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1541-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3724,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','As an undergraduate I felt like the archive primed me to search for pristine differences between the past and present. It was as if the past was a foreign country I was visiting while in the archive and that I had to translate into a more modern language. Yet the evidence I worked with was rarely so easily explained on the page. Similarities across time were often differences in addition, illustrating the messiness of historiography. There was also the logistical challenge of gauging the depth of a semester-long archival project. I had the classic Goldilocks problem of finding a research question that was neither too big nor too small.\n\nThe added obstacle is that undergraduates rarely devote their time to academics as faithfully as graduate students and faculty do. As an undergraduate I was juggling internships, part-time jobs, and community service with my class work. Before I started my undergraduate archival work, I usually resolved the logistical tangles by relegating reading and writing to the wee morning hours. When I needed to start visiting collections around New York City, this was not so easy. I started setting aside time to commute uptown to the New York Public Library, for example, while giving myself enough time to grab lunch and get back downtown for class.\n\nThe challenge was manageable on a practical level, but also on a conceptual one. Undergraduates—and I include myself when I was one—tend to think that setting aside business hours for internships will help develop the practical skills necessary for landing the perfect job after graduation. And there is no denying that internships can be useful in teaching the rigors of the workplace. But when we design courses for undergraduates, requiring them to spend time actively engaged in searching and <em>re</em>-searching, the pace and tenor of undergraduate study changes. For me, substituting work done alone, late at night in my apartment, for the work of talking with librarians, archivists, and other experts was a far more meaningful undergraduate experience, and something that was actually easily marketable for a job interview.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 5','As an undergraduate I felt like the archive primed me to search for pristine differences between the past and present. It was as if the past was a foreign country I was visiting while in the archive and that I had to translate into a more modern language. Yet the evidence I worked with was rarely so easily explained on the page.','inherit','open','open','','1536-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1536,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1536-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3725,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','Doing undergraduate archival work can be like learning to ride a bike without training wheels. In most classes, the readings and discussions act as essential compasses in guiding the student through the semester. In the archive, most, if not all, bets are off; rarely are there already made tutorials on organizing and making sense of the productive entropy that often marks an archive. How are we to situate a newly discovered text if we have not even finished our undergraduate prerequisite courses?\n\nFor me, the most challenging moments in the archive were the earliest, both because I was adjusting to the demands of archival methods and because I had only a small number of anchoring texts echoing in my head to help me make sense of anything I found. In fact, I probably missed a number of promising leads in the archive because I did not know to look for them.\n\nA good friend and I won a small grant at NYU for a research project about marginalia. We were to trace the marginalia of a particular ancient religious text, the <em>Hermes Trismegistus</em>. While I was scouring libraries in Paris for the history of the text’s early translation, my partner was in New York looking for evidence of contemporary readers’ marks on the book. My job was to plot the ancient scribbles, which seemed easy enough before I actually entered the stacks (see Figure 3). I was looking for the text itself while piecing together others’ accounts of the its migrations. <span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; padding-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig3.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2333 \" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig3-190x250.jpg\" alt=\"Figure 3\" width=\"190\" height=\"250\" /></a> Figure 3: Depiction of the god Hermes Trismegistus (courtesy of Roanoke College)</span>\n\nAs it turns out, the <em>Hermes Trismegistus</em> is an enduringly baffling historical object and its ancestry is riddled with gaps. A more experienced researcher would know how to explain this fitful history and perhaps use the inconsistencies and question marks as launching pads for substantive contributions. But since it was my first time in the archive for a sustained and labor-intensive project, they instead weighed on me like chains. Not only did I have trouble tracing the marginalia themselves, I had trouble explaining how I was having trouble.\n\nI realize now that this situation is not so much overcome with academic training as it is more efficiently handled with it. That moment of chaos and crisis is in fact a prerequisite to clear thinking, in my experience. As an undergraduate I was overwhelmed by the disorder of the archival process; but then again, these troubles might have been the best training.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 4','Doing undergraduate archival work can be like learning to ride a bike without training wheels. In most classes, the readings and discussions act as essential compasses in guiding the student through the semester. In the archive, most, if not all, bets are off; rarely are there already made tutorials on organizing and making sense of the productive entropy that often marks an archive.','inherit','open','open','','1533-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1533,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1533-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3726,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','In one of my undergraduate courses a professor handed out a checklist for good archival research. The last item on the list was simply, “Get lucky.” My most meaningful archival work has indeed come out of the pleasures of spelunking in archives, hoping to come upon a hidden gem. In my junior year of college I studied abroad in Paris, where I took a class on global media structures. As many graduate-level courses require, the final paper was an individual research project rather than a paper based on class readings and discussions. I knew that my home department in New York offered a course called “Hacker Culture &amp; Politics,” which I ended up taking as soon as I returned. In anticipation of that course, I contacted the professor, Biella Coleman, to ask if she had any contacts in Paris who were working on hacking. After a series of e-mail introductions through friends of friends, I got in touch with the head of a hacker space just outside of Paris.\n<span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; margin-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig2.png\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2332\" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig2\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig2-199x250.png\" alt=\"Figure 2\" width=\"199\" height=\"250\" /></a> Figure 2: Example of a typical French hacker e-zine c. 1994</span>\n\nAlthough I originally intended to study a contemporary aspect of hacking, I ended up with a historical project. After talking with a few French hackers on Internet Relay Chat, it became clear that the early French hacker scene was highly ritualized around electronic magazines, or e-zines. Ultimately, I wrote the paper based on research from about seventy different e-zines sent over digital bulletin board systems and the nascent Internet (see Figure 2). Getting access to the e-zines was not easy, and in the end, I amassed my own archive. Mine was not the image of the archive-as-dungeon, but instead the archive-as-disk-space. Perhaps as difficult to catalog and maintain as any rare book collection (if not more so), the e-zines I collected were infinitely reproducible and accessible from anywhere, even after I left France.\n\nArchival practices change when the historical subject is itself born digital. The challenge of marshaling evidence around a research question is no less important, but the dematerialized archive demands new techniques of investigation. What happens, for example, when we can do archival research from a coffee shop? The absence of the physical walls in a traditional archive might become a new figurative challenge. What is archival work if the archivist is not literally surrounded by material? These are the questions that productively vex my research. Creating the digital archive has been my greatest success because it provided me with a set of substantive and methodological questions that continue to complicate and broaden my research years later.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 3','In one of my undergraduate courses a professor handed out a checklist for good archival research. The last item on the list was simply, “Get lucky.” My most meaningful archival work has indeed come out of the pleasures of spelunking in archives, hoping to come upon a hidden gem. In my junior year of college I studied abroad in Paris, where I took a class on global media structures.','inherit','open','open','','1530-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1530,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1530-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3727,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','My experience in the archive directly contributed to my interest in graduate school, which is perhaps unsurprising when you think about the demands of archival work. The move from undergraduate to graduate study shares the guiding principles of archival work. You must first learn what others have said, before delving into the topics that demand further examination. Archival research, in this sense, is the never-ending game of hide-and-seek with that perfect research subject we yen for in each new project, class, and semester.\n\nAside from its importance in training future scholars, archival work is significant even for students who have less professional allegiance to the academy. Original research is a principle worth incorporating in undergraduate course design, as it signifies the marketable job-placement skills that supposedly evidence proper university training. In the 1997 <em>Harper’s Magazine</em> essay “On the Uses of a Liberal Education,” Mark Edmundson suggests undergraduate study has become “lite entertainment for bored college students.” He writes, “University culture, like American culture writ large, is, to put it crudely, ever more devoted to consumption and entertainment, to the using and using up of goods and images.”<sup><a href=\"#_ftn1\">[1]</a></sup> Edmundson goes on to argue that the transactional nature of undergraduate study creates an imbalance between what professors put into a syllabus and what students get out of it. But if we think about archival research as a process of skill development, it just may serve as a corrective to the literal and figurative banking of education.\n\nArchival work is often thought to be methodologically opposed to new media research techniques; thus, the theory goes, undergraduates, as “digital natives,” must learn and maintain a skill set in the archive apart from their new media literacy. How, for example, should undergraduates be expected to navigate the thick mess of a paper archive when Facebook and Twitter are their daily information grounds, where information streams are updated automatically and search boxes are never further than the top of the page? If the job market is increasingly concerned with social media, why should students spend time poring over “dead” technologies? Contrary to the notion that the archive and new media are irreconcilable, we might instead think of them as complementary educational forces. It is no coincidence, for example, that undergraduates in the archive are more likely to be keen and discerning arbiters of information.\n<div class=\"footnotes\">\n<div id=\"_ftn1\" class=\"footnote\">[1] Mark Edmundson, “On the Uses of a Liberal Education: I. As Lite Entertainment for Bored College Students,” <em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, September 1997, 40.</div>\n<div></div>\n</div>','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 2','My experience in the archive directly contributed to my interest in graduate school, which is perhaps unsurprising when you think about the demands of archival work. The move from undergraduate to graduate study shares the guiding principles of archival work. ','inherit','open','open','','1527-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1527,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1527-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3728,1,'2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','A few years ago, I was an undergraduate in the archive. In a class called “Dead Media Research Studio” at New York University (NYU), Professor Ben Kafka introduced me to the great quip about the chiasmic imperative of good research: to “make the familiar strange and the strange familiar.” With this echoing in my ears, I found myself in the entrails of Bobst Library interviewing two preservation specialists about a small but intriguing collection of wire recordings. The recordings, I found out, were of rather unknown origins in the early 1950s and contained some controversial tirades against President Truman. Though certainly not an exhaustive archive, the recordings provided me with my first meaningful interaction with historical primary sources. And it was a rather lonely endeavor; the hallways leading to troves of under-researched sources were woefully empty compared to the bustling study lounges located just a few floors above.\n\nMy research on wire recordings ended up as part of a dossier (similar to the format and scope of a Wikipedia entry) I wrote with two classmates for the Dead Media Archive. Professors Ben Kafka and Alex Galloway had rescued this archive from its own ironic demise as an e-mail list created by Bruce Sterling to catalog and describe obsolete technologies. The new Dead Media Archive, technically a wiki platform for simultaneous publishing and editing, became the centerpiece for two classes in the Department of Media, Culture, &amp; Communication (one undergraduate and one graduate). The semester in which I took the class, there were barely ten students enrolled. It puzzled me a bit, since Professor Kafka announced on the first day what every undergraduate seems to dream of hearing: there would be no exams, no papers, and very little reading. Instead, we were to be immersed in the city’s archives for a semester. Each student ended up producing three dossiers for the archive. In addition to one on wire recording, I also wrote an entry on spirit photography, a popular turn-of-the-century practice of “capturing” ghosts on film, which was accompanied by the rise of Spiritualism. A sizeable portion of my hard drive is still taken up by copies of the microform proceedings of the 1869 trial against William Mumler, a New York City spirit photographer accused of fraud (see Figure 1). My final dossier presented a more argumentative take on the “death” of media by cataloging marginalia, the scribbles in a text’s margins, as obsolete relics of a technological paradigm.<span class=\"caption right\" style=\"width: 200px; padding-left: 20px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig1.png\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2331 alignright\" style=\"margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"gotkin_fig1\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/gotkin_fig1-193x250.png\" alt=\"Figure 1\" width=\"193\" height=\"250\" /></a>Figure 1: Microform copy of the proceedings of a 1869 court case against spirit photographer William Mumler.</span>\n\nBefore arriving at NYU, I would have scoffed at the idea of studying media history. There was much sighing on my first day in the required “History of Communication” course; I imagined, like many fellow undergraduates, that a degree in media studies would help me land a job in New York’s radio, television, or film industries. History, for us, was a roadblock in the path to careers less concerned with the past than with the frenetic present. The thrill of finding primary sources changed my mind. In the archive, I realized the opportunity to conduct original research. The excitement of archival work is shared by undergraduates, graduate students, and faculty alike; it is the thrill of finding something that has not been thought about enough, and then working hard enough to make it both familiar and strange.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Gotkin 1','','inherit','open','open','','1528-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:37:46','2013-04-18 20:37:46','',1528,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1528-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3729,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','There have been many exciting outcomes from the students’ interactions with archival materials. In the spring of 2010, the class project was to design a digital exhibit that would bring together Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell’s Ojibwe photographs from the American Philosophical Society and Ojibwe artifacts from the Penn Museum, all of which were collected in the 1930s. (See Figure 1.)<span id=\"attachment_2610\" class=\"alignright wp-caption\" style=\"width: 335px;\"><a title=\"Bandolier Bag\" href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/powell_1.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-2625\" title=\"Ojibwe Bandolier Bag\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/powell_1-333x147.jpg\" alt=\"\'Ojibwe Bandolier Bag,\' Penn Museum, photograph by David McDonald, DMcD Productions.\" width=\"333\" height=\"147\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 1</em>: \"Ojibwe Bandolier Bag,\" Penn Museum, photograph by David McDonald, DMcD Productions.</span></span> Not long before the semester started, I had been contacted by Gord Jones, the project manager of Pimachiowin Aki Corporation, who is working on submitting a UNESCO World Heritage Site grant application to preserve 40,000 square kilometers of boreal forest and the cultural landscape of five Ojibwe First Nations. One challenge of the grant is to define a “cultural landscape.” A number of scholars associated with the Pimachiowin Aki project had come to the APS and digitized material from the Hallowell collection. Hallowell had worked in Ojibwe First Nation communities in northern Manitoba and Ontario for ten years, so there was a large amount of material related to this very small, remote place. The students photographed and documented the objects from the Hallowell collection at the Penn Museum and presented them to Ojibwe representatives of the Pimachiowin Aki project at a conference held at the APS shortly after the semester ended. The students’ material is now part of a historic project, the first UNESCO World Heritage Site application ever submitted by the Canadian government on behalf of First Nations.\n\nLast semester my students worked in groups to curate an exhibit entitled <em>Cherokee Stickball</em>, based on the research of Frank Speck, a highly distinguished anthropologist. Speck taught at Penn for half a century, collecting more than forty stickball sticks for the Penn Museum and depositing photographs of Cherokee stickball games at the APS. (See Figure 2.) <span id=\"attachment_2609\" class=\"alignright wp-caption\" style=\"width: 300px;\"><a href=\"http://www.archivejournal.net/issue/2/three-sixty/undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-3/attachment/powell_2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-2609\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-2609\" title=\"Powell 2, Cherokee Stickball\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/powell_2.jpg\" alt=\"Cherokee Stickball, American Philosophical Society, Frank Speck collection.\" width=\"300\" height=\"345\" /></a> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 2.</em> Cherokee Stickball, American Philosophical Society, Frank Speck collection.</span></span> In the 1930s, Speck worked with a Cherokee Medicine Man named Will West Long, who provided Speck with a rich ethnographic description of the spiritual dimensions of the game. Will West’s grand nephew, T.J. Holland, came to the APS conference in the spring of 2010, and I had the opportunity to interview him along with another very knowledgeable elder, Tom Belt. The students created Quick Time videos that combined Speck’s photographs taken in the 1930s with the contemporary oral histories. They also photographed all of the sticks in the Penn Museum’s collection and created a database of descriptive materials. One of the students won a Mellon grant through Penn to take the digital materials to the Eastern Band of the Cherokee in North Carolina. Today, Cherokee craftsman are recreating the older sticks based on the students’ photographs, and the videos will be used in a museum exhibit that will be displayed at the tribally owned Junaluska Museum, located in Robbinsville, North Carolina.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 3','There have been many exciting outcomes from the students’ interactions with archival materials. In the spring of 2010, the class project was to design a digital exhibit that would bring together Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell’s Ojibwe photographs from the American Philosophical Society and Ojibwe artifacts from the Penn Museum.','inherit','open','open','','1583-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1583,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1583-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3730,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is the opportunity to work on a project designed to be used by Native American community members and to hear the voices of elders. Penn, unfortunately, has no Native American faculty working in the field of American Indian studies, and the state of Pennsylvania has no Indian reservations. As a result, students generally have no contact with the people they are studying. Because many have never met a Native American, they are prone to thinking of Indians as extinct. By getting students to look at archival materials from an indigenous perspective, they learn to think about such basic terms as “American,” “history,” “literature,” “knowledge,” and “writing” in new ways. Even if the students do not major in American Indian studies, the intellectual experience of understanding a very different cultural epistemology and ontology is inherently valuable.\n\nFrom a pedagogical perspective, the students learn research skills in archives that will serve them well no matter what careers they chose. In my experience, most undergraduates do not have the opportunity to work with archival or museum collections. Many students seem to enjoy the courses more once they have been to the American Philosophical Society and have seen Thomas Jefferson’s hand-written draft of the Declaration of Independence, or have held a drum owned by Sitting Bull in their hands. It makes history and culture come alive in a way that textbooks rarely do. I find that it requires a lot of preliminary work—selecting and skimming documents, scanning photographs, etc.—to prepare a class for doing research in the archives. This semester my students will be going through hundreds of pages of oral history transcripts about an Ojibwe Medicine Man. The students will try to match the transcripts to historical documents and photographs in order to make them more useful to the community in northern Manitoba, where the recordings were originally made more than seventy-five years ago. I find that the students’ work is more thoughtful and more inspired when they realize that it may possibly benefit Native Americans, rather than just be read by one person: me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 2','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is the opportunity to work on a project designed to be used by Native American community members and to hear the voices of elders. Penn, unfortunately, has no Native American faculty working in the field of American Indian studies, and the state of Pennsylvania has no Indian reservations.','inherit','open','open','','1580-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1580,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1580-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3731,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country. I have directed three large grant projects at the APS to digitize images and audio recordings related to Native American culture. Once in digital form, the material becomes much more accessible to students. I am, therefore, in a unique position to provide my students with access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.\n\nFor most of the twentieth century, Penn was home to some of the greatest anthropologists working on Native American cultures: Frank Speck, A. Irving Hallowell, Anthony F.C. Wallace, and Dell Hymes. All of these scholars gave their papers to the APS, while Speck and Hallowell also donated artifacts to the Penn Museum. The collections fit together very nicely, even though the institutions do not have a formal collaborative relationship. My Penn students thus have many opportunities to connect the two collections in a variety of interesting ways that are beneficial to the APS, the Penn Museum, and Native American communities.\n\nMuch of my own research involves how digital technology can strengthen outreach to Native American communities. I have overseen six grant projects that share the aim of returning digital surrogates of archival materials to their communities of origin. In 2005, I started a website entitled <em><a href=\"http://gibagadinamaagoom.info/\">Gibagadinamaagoom: An Ojibwe Digital Archive</a></em> that houses digital materials and is used by Ojibwe high school and tribal college students throughout the state of Minnesota. Several years later I started a sister site, <em><a href=\"http://www.sas.upenn.edu/dpic/\">Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities</a></em>, which allows the students to “publish” their work. When their work is polished enough, which usually entails some substantive editing, it is then made available to Native communities via the <em>Digital Partnerships</em> website. Both sites are designed with the Drupal content management system and are maintained by the School of Arts and Sciences Computing at Penn. This provides long-term sustainability. Because Drupal is so flexible, students can learn how to design digital exhibits that incorporate highlights of the archival materials and make them more accessible to Native communities. This requires training and outstanding students, many of whom receive grant support from Penn or other sources to work with me on these projects.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 1','I am fortunate to hold positions at three major cultural institutions in Philadelphia. I teach in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Pennsylvania, work as a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and, as Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I oversee one of the finest collections of Native American archival materials in the country.','inherit','open','open','','1577-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1577,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1577-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3732,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','Archival work <em>is</em> my curriculum. Integrating it into the broader university curriculum has been a long-term project. The year I started at Wesleyan, I began an intensive, perhaps even aggressive, approach to bringing classes into Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). The first step was to find a close connection between our holdings and Wesleyan’s curriculum. To do this, I studied the course catalog carefully and matched holdings to what was being taught. I wrote detailed letters to each faculty member whose course seemed to connect well to our holdings. Although I used the same basic form for each letter, I tailored each one with a specific list of items I would show to the class if they would come in for a visit. (At the time, a letter still had more impact than an email message.) In the first year alone, this effort resulted in twenty-four class sessions for nineteen different courses and a total of 276 students. As the program has grown, certain trends have emerged. Perhaps not surprisingly, the largest number of requests for class sessions comes from the American Studies, English, and History departments. Faculty in African American Studies; Astronomy; Classical Studies; Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies; Music; Romance Languages and Literatures; Science in Society; and Studio Art are regular participants as well. We have also hosted classes in atomic theory, computer science, dance, German, government, and sociology. By now, I have worked with upwards of one hundred different faculty members (including visitors and non-tenure-track faculty) to bring classes to SC&amp;A. This often includes helping them to design assignments that reinforce or build on the visit to SC&amp;A, while enhancing the pedagogical goals of the course and promoting the use of our collections. At this point, the program needs very little advertising to sustain itself, although I do still send reminders to some faculty to schedule a class visit, and I encourage new faculty to consider the possibility when our holdings are a good match for their courses.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 5','','inherit','open','open','','1571-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1571,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1571-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3733,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','The single biggest challenge my program faces is one of supply and demand. Demand for class sessions in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A) is increasing—all to the good!—but the supply of time for teaching is not. In this sense, we are the victims of our own success. More staff to share the teaching load would help. Increased use of digitized sources and online tutorials can help as well, and many institutions, both large and small, are exploring these options, some with considerable success. Digitization can help make our holdings more readily accessible to larger numbers of students. Naturally, care and preservation of materials that are heavily used is always a concern. Digitization helps to protect the originals from being damaged in the service of learning and scholarship, but the experience of using digital surrogates is not really the same as using the “real thing.” Best, of course, is when the original and a digital surrogate can be used in tandem.\n\nOften faculty find it difficult to squeeze a visit to SC&amp;A into an already full syllabus, even when it is pedagogically desirable. Scheduling extra sessions outside of regular class meetings can be complex in the extreme, since students are extraordinarily busy with academic and extracurricular commitments.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 4','','inherit','open','open','','1568-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1568,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1568-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3734,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','From 50,000 feet up, my greatest success is developing our program of outreach and teaching, and sustaining it over nearly fifteen years. In 1997-98, seven classes visited Special Collections &amp; Archives. Last semester, I taught thirty-one class sessions. The numbers document the faculty’s growing interest in bringing their classes to SC&amp;A and the success of our outreach. The value and enrichment to the curriculum and the students are, of course, harder to quantify.\n\nThe best, most rewarding experiences for me personally are those in which I can see the collections really come alive for students, when they come back to use our materials even when they are not required to do so, and when their enthusiasm for archives and special collections is clearly evident. There are many examples. At the most basic level, I know that students are engaged when they show up with their parents during our open house at Homecoming/Family Weekend, and they tell their families enthusiastically about their visit with an introductory astronomy class in which they saw, among other items, some of Einstein’s manuscripts and artists’ books with astronomical themes. This is a perfect example of how even the “dog and pony show” can reach students and provide a memorable experience. At the other end of the spectrum, some students find materials first encountered in a class visit so intriguing that they spend a full year (or sometimes more) researching them as the focus of a senior thesis. In recent years we have had excellent theses centered on a sixteenth-century German prayer book, a Shakespeare folio with eighteenth-century annotations, Civil War letters written by a Wesleyan alumnus, and the papers of a faculty member from the 1930s-50s, to name a few. In all of these cases, students have done high-level, truly original research that was sparked during a visit to SC&amp;A.\n\nThere are non-curricular peak experiences as well. From time to time, students use the University Archives to research family members who attended Wesleyan in the past. These projects are often exciting in a deeply personal way for both the students and their families. Perhaps the most memorable search for a Wesleyan ancestor ended up with a student weeping in our reading room. She had found yearbook pictures and evidence of a vibrant social and intellectual life of a grandfather she had never known because he had committed suicide before she was born. It is hard for me to imagine an archival experience more moving than this. Still, there have been many times over the years when students’ connections—intellectual, emotional, or both—with our holdings have been deeply gratifying to me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 3','','inherit','open','open','','1565-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1565,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1565-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3735,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','Engagement is a clear benefit. Many students are visibly excited, even awed, by their first visit to our Davison Rare Book Room, where the class sessions take place. The room is itself beautiful, echoing an eighteenth-century English gentleman’s library with glass-fronted bookcases and walnut paneling. The setting, combined with the intriguing materials presented, often inspires students to focus especially closely on the objects on display. The “wow” factor helps to make the experience memorable. While the visit to Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A)and attendant procedures (such as signing in, only using pencils, stowing bags, etc.) could easily be intimidating for some students, we work hard to ensure that the department is welcoming and friendly so that students feel encouraged to return on their own.\n\nPedagogically and intellectually, first-hand encounters with special collections and archives facilitate students’ thinking outside the box as they identify and pursue research topics. Direct contact with primary sources can fuel students’ interests, and many students find captivating the detective work involved in teasing out meanings from unedited and unglossed documents. Learning about the history and technology of the book opens students’ eyes to aspects of texts that can be far less evident with the ubiquitous electronic sources and secondary readings that fuel so much of their research. Through studying rare books and other special collections, students begin to understand that marginalia, provenance, typography, design, binding, and illustrations—all the physical aspects of specific copies of a book—offer avenues for viewing the book in the context of its own time. They begin to appreciate the many people beside the author who helped create the physical book. Often the study of these aspects of books helps to frame the text in such a way that students can step outside of themselves to evaluate it and analyze it, not just from a twenty-first-century point of view, but within the intellectual and historical context of its own time.\n\nOf course the active use of SC&amp;A by undergraduates benefits the department and the library as well. The deep integration of SC&amp;A into Wesleyan’s curriculum helps to ensure that we are not marginalized, that we are truly part of the University’s academic community, and that the materials are well (albeit carefully) used. As circulating collections and electronic resources in academic libraries become more homogenous, the strengths of archives and special collections holdings are often what distinguish an academic library from its peers at other institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 2','','inherit','open','open','','1562-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1562,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1562-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3736,1,'2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:38:36','2013-04-18 20:38:36','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue-2/uncategorized/1558-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3737,1,'2013-04-18 20:39:29','2013-04-18 20:39:29','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 20:39:29','2013-04-18 20:39:29','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1558-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3738,1,'2013-04-18 20:39:33','2013-04-18 20:39:33','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-revision-6','','','2013-04-18 20:39:33','2013-04-18 20:39:33','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1558-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0);

INSERT INTO `archive_posts` VALUES (3938,1,'2013-04-18 20:46:27','2013-04-18 20:46:27','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (Can we get a close-up of a box, please, to show the label with the long call number? [note type=\'figure\' number=\'1\'] <iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\"></iframe> A staged archival encounter.[/note]) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. [note number=\'1\']See Jerome McGann, A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, eg, printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).[/note]\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” [note number=\'2\']Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” Yale French Studies 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.[/note] With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. [note number=\'3\']See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, Understanding Archives and Manuscripts (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).[/note] Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. [note number=\'4\']Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.[/note] Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” [note number=\'5\']Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.[/note] While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'2\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photocopy of Alice Yaeger Kaplan’s “Working in the Archives.”[/note]; Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1994/95) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'3\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Print out of Jacque Derrida’s “Archive Fever” from Diacritics.[/note]; and Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (2001). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'4\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Library copy of Carolyn Steedman’s Dust.[/note] [note number=\'6\']Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” Diacritics 25.2 (Summer 1995): 9-63. Web. 1 Dec. 2010. Carolyn Steedman, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2001).[/note] A cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. [note number=\'8\']See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., Refiguring the Archive (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).[/note] But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. [note number=\'9\']Kaplan, 106, 107.[/note]\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title Archive Fever. As Carolyn Steedman points out in Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” [note number=\'10\']Steedman, 3.[/note]\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” [note number=\'11\']Kaplan, 107-108.[/note] Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to Dust is from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, one chapter treats George Eliot’s Middlemarch in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. [note number=\'12\']Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel Mary Barton, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend.[/note] Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; Mal d’Archive was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. [note number=\'13\']Steedman, 2.[/note] As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” [note number=\'14\']Derrida, 14. [/note] If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. [note number=\'15\']The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” (Derrida, 23).[/note]\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” [note number=\'16\']A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.[/note] For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to Archive Fever—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, Dust, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” [note number=\'17\']Kaplan, 116.[/note] Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. [note number=\'18\']Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?[/note]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” [note number=\'19\']Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.[/note] These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” [note number=\'20\']Kaplan, 103.[/note] Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” [note number=\'21\']Kaplan, 104.[/note] Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'5\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/note] It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. [note number=\'22\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” [note number=\'23\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title Archive Fever to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. [note number=\'24\']Derrida, 19.[/note] It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. [note number=\'25\']Kaplan, 113.[/note] This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. [note number=\'26\']This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. [/note] But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. [note number=\'27\']“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).[/note] If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” [note number=\'28\']Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents. [/note]\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like Refiguring the Archive (2002), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History (2005) and Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. [note number=\'29\']Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?[/note] But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. [note number=\'30\']Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. Archive Stories is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.[/note]\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of Archive Fever to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. [note number=\'31\']Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'6\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" /></a>Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).[/note] We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. [note number=\'32\']The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868 (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.[/note] We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. [note number=\'33\']Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'7\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/note] We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'8\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/note] Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'9\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” [note number=\'34\']“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.[/note] The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" [note number=\'35\']Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions. . 11 Mar. 2011.[/note] When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'10\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" /></a>Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/note] This schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. [note number=\'36\']See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” Libraries &amp; Culture 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” ; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. [note number=\'37\']Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'11\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/note] My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” [note number=\'38\']Rough and Ready Annual (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).[/note]\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\nThe Rough and Ready Annual is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'12\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/note] This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them, edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. [note number=\'39\']Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" Antebellum Writers in New York and the South, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'13\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/note] Arthur shows up again as co-editor of The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” [note number=\'40\']The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).[/note] We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. [note number=\'41\']The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'14\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The rare book room.[/note] In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is The Family Circle and Parlor Annual, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). [note number=\'42\']The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (New York: Comstock, 1847).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'15\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'16\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Call slips and flags.[/note] It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” [note number=\'43\']The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse (Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'17\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Inscription in The New American Reader.[/note]) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” [note number=\'44\']Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 84.1 (2003), 19.[/note] Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” [note number=\'45\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.[/note] Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” [note number=\'46\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.[/note] Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'18\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/note] But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'19\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\n\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. [note number=\'47\']See William Frederick Poole, Remarks on Library Construction (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).[/note] Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves [note type=\'figure\' number=\'20\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/note]. It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? Is it naïve to imagine a space that, in putting into practice the archival turn’s preliminary insights about disciplinary and disorder, can support experimentation, facilitate connection across professions and disciplines, and enable new discoveries?','Disciplinarity and Disorder','','inherit','open','open','','2199-revision-9','','','2013-04-18 20:46:27','2013-04-18 20:46:27','',2199,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/2199-revision-9/',0,'revision','',0),(3939,1,'2013-04-18 20:49:13','2013-04-18 20:49:13','“So, how do we bring students to our table?” That was the question a special collections librarian asked in 1999. <sup><a id=\"ref1\" href=\"#fn1\">[1]</a></sup> Now, in 2012, the question is no longer <em>how</em>: “Teaching with primary source materials is unquestionably ‘hot’ in higher education [as] authentic rare books, manuscripts, or archival documents\" appear in many undergraduate classrooms. <sup><a id=\"ref2\" href=\"#fn2\">[2]</a></sup>\n\nThe table is full; the effort to bring undergraduates into special collections and archives has been enormously successful. What matters now is how to turn these encounters to account. What happens in the archival laboratory, a place where students are actively involved in research, stewardship, publication, and exhibits? How do librarians, curators, archivists, instructors, and technology specialists collaborate to get such projects off the ground? How do we make use of these encounters to develop research and interpretive skills, showcase students’ findings, and learn from their discoveries? What do students report that they have gained through their archival experiences?\n\nIn this issue of “Archives, Remixed,” we present six case studies illustrating inventive solutions to these dilemmas of success. The parameters and formats of these projects demonstrate the diversity of ways to teach with primary source materials: not all of the projects take place in a classroom context (although some do); not all the student work is authored singly (although some is). Some projects involve one institution, while others involve partnerships with local organizations or other universities or colleges; some projects are more analog, others more digital; and some end when the student’s work is complete, while others continue. The projects all have historical claims, but the array of objects under consideration—architectural drawings, photographs, ancient statuary, newspaper clippings, rare books, personal mementos—speaks to many disciplines. The academic institutions where these projects originate, from a community college to liberal arts colleges to a research university, vary as much as the projects themselves.\n\nEach case study focuses on the work students produce in these archival encounters. On each case-study page, you will find a sample of student work accompanied by a project description; commentary on the project by the student(s); commentary from the teachers, librarians, and/or technologists who structured the projects and guided students through them; as well as links to related or additional resources.\n\nWe invite you to explore, to comment, and to use these case studies as fodder for your own research and teaching projects.\n<div class=\"footnote\"><sup id=\"fn1\">[1]</sup>Allen, Susan M. “Rare Books and the College Library: Current Practices in Marrying Undergraduates to Special Collections.” Rare Books &amp; Manuscripts Librarianship 13.2 (Spring 1999): 110-19.</div>\n<div class=\"footnote\"><sup id=\"fn1\">[2]</sup> Bahde, Anne. “Taking the Show on the Road: Special Collections Instruction in the Campus Classroom.” RBM: A Journal of Rare Books, Manuscripts, &amp; Cultural Heritage 12.2 (Fall 2011): 75.</div>','Undergraduates in the Archives','What happens in the archival laboratory, a place where students are actively involved in research, stewardship, publication, and exhibits? These six case studies answer this question by showcasing student work that emerges from hands-on archival work, including course papers, robots, digitized images, documentary film, and more.  Each case study features the student work, accompanied and contextualized by a project description; commentary on the project by the student(s); and commentary from the teachers, librarians, and/or technologists who worked with the students.','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:49:13','2013-04-18 20:49:13','',1711,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1711-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3940,1,'2013-04-18 20:48:12','2013-04-18 20:48:12','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/beaupre/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1977\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1977\" title=\"beaupre\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/beaupre.png\" alt=\"Beaupre\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" /></a>','Walters - Beaupre Devos','','inherit','open','open','','1975-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:48:12','2013-04-18 20:48:12','',1975,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1975-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3941,1,'2013-04-18 20:49:00','2013-04-18 20:49:00','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/casket/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1970\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/casket1.png\" alt=\"Romances Casket\" title=\"casket\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1970\" /></a>','Walters - Romances Casket Tkacs','','inherit','open','open','','1967-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:49:00','2013-04-18 20:49:00','',1967,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1967-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3942,1,'2013-04-18 20:49:04','2013-04-18 20:49:04','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/amazon/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1973\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/amazon1.png\" alt=\"Amazon Dowdle\" title=\"amazon\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1973\" /></a>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1957-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:49:04','2013-04-18 20:49:04','',1957,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1957-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3943,1,'2013-04-18 20:56:49','2013-04-18 20:56:49','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1185\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_dowdle.jpg\" alt=\"Elizabeth Dowdle (in striped shirt) with Capitoline Amazon, marble\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /> <span class=\"caption\">Elizabeth Dowdle (in striped shirt) and co-instructor Ben Tilghman (kneeling at right) with Capitoline Amazon, marble (Roman copy after Kresilas, Greek, active ca. 450 BC - 420 BC). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\nMy research focused on discovering the provenance of the Walters’ Capitoline Amazon, a Roman copy of a Greek bronze sculpture. Though the beautiful marble immediately caught my attention, I was surprised to find how little the museum actually knew about the object’s history. In order to unravel the mystery surrounding the sculpture, I looked for similar examples of sculpture in other museum collections and, consulting the records that came with them, began to piece together a tentative history of this ancient artwork.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\nThis project was unique in that I was provided with an ending point in the Walters gallery, but lacked a starting point for my research. This issue forced me to think outside the box and look for new ways to come up with the information I needed to draw out this object’s provenance. This called for more than an average trip to the library; I had to consult other institutions with similar sculptures in their collections and find possible answers to my questions based on the records they had on their pieces. It was a unique challenge, but this project truly taught me that where there is a will, there is a way.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\nIt was both exciting and inspiring to create a project that would be presented to the public. Knowing that my work would be recognized outside the classroom inspired me to design a product that would make a difference not only for the Walters, but also for anyone looking for information about the Capitoline Amazon. I was driven to deliver a professional, museum-quality presentation that the Walters would be proud to add to their website.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\nIt is always a privilege to work with professionals in the field you aspire to join, especially when you get to do so in the museum itself. Working with the staff at the Walters gave me insight into the everyday activities of registrars, curators, and collections managers as well as the challenges they face when caring for their collections and working to further their institutions’ missions. Especially in collections containing antiquities, it is not uncommon to come across objects with questionable histories. My time at the Walters taught me that it is of the utmost importance to authenticate the contents of your collection by making their unique histories known, despite the challenges this task might pose.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\nThis course and the project I produced solidified my desire to pursue a career in museums. The opportunity to work with museum objects and their records has inspired me to continue my education so that I can also work in an institution dedicated to the preservation of culture for future generations. I graduated from Johns Hopkins University in May 2011 with a degree in the History of Science, Medicine and Technology and am now pursuing a master’s degree in Museum Studies at George Washington University, with a focus in museum administration and classical studies.','Elizabeth Dowdle - Commentary','My research focused on discovering the provenance of the Walters’ Capitoline Amazon, a Roman copy of a Greek bronze sculpture. Though the beautiful marble immediately caught my attention, I was surprised to find how little the museum actually knew about the object’s history. In order to unravel the mystery surrounding the sculpture, I looked for similar examples of sculpture in other museum collections and, consulting the records that came with them, began to piece together a tentative history of this ancient artwork.','inherit','open','open','','1152-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:56:49','2013-04-18 20:56:49','',1152,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1152-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3944,1,'2013-04-18 20:56:53','2013-04-18 20:56:53','<span class=\"alignright wp-caption-text\" style=\"width: 166px; margin-bottom: 20px;\"><img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1220\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"Elizabeth Rodini\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/rodini.jpg\" alt=\"Elizabeth Rodini\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" /> Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a></span>Material Migrations, like many of the practicum courses offered in the Program in Museums and Society (M&amp;S), gave students the chance to engage directly with objects, conduct research in and around those materials, and, most distinctively, develop a final project to be shared with a general audience—in this case, Google Earth “tours” of object provenance histories, to be incorporated into the website of the Walters Art Museum. M&amp;S practicum projects take the form of exhibitions, both actual and virtual; interpretative materials, such as audio tours, gallery guides, and websites; and program development. I like to think of them as works of “public humanities,” sharing the research we do in the university with a larger audience.\n\nWhy bother with such an exercise? The answer Ben Tilghman and I provided in our syllabus for this course: “To share what we are learning with the public. This is a fundamental task of museums. . . <em>in this course we extend that mission to the undergraduate classroom.</em>” Universities suffer from being removed from the broader community, while humanistic disciplines without clear “practical” applications are particularly at risk from this sort of isolation and perceived irrelevance. On the other hand, archives, museums, and other collections with a public face are places where humanistic research can be made available, accessible, and meaningful.\n\nAlthough historians are familiar with the sub-field of public history, other disciplines have not developed the potential for outreach in such a direct, institutionalized way. It is hard to imagine the awarding of a degree in, say, public art history. But in this class our students were taking on that very role as curators presenting research through a lively interactive tool with broad dissemination.\n\nIn developing their object itineraries for the Walters Art Museum and Google Earth, students had to consider both the historical narratives they were tracing and the matter of presenting them to the public. What information would be accessible? How could they both engage and challenge their audience? How would they balance the nuanced elements of their story with the broader theoretical issues at stake in the project? What is lost in the task of producing highly condensed text, and what might be gained?\n\nIn all of our museum-based practicum courses we face the challenge of fitting student work into an established institutional frame. Classrooms are messy places where ideas are tested and debated. Despite our best efforts, the many young voices we work with over the semester may not easily gel into the perfect, marketable whole that modern museums require. Our students carefully crafted their texts, which Walters professionals then polished to a sheen. The students constructed imaginative itineraries that we honed to fit a simpler, more streamlined model.\n\nIf it seems like the nature of university research (independent, serendipitous, evolving) cannot quite square with museum exhibitions (corporate, formal, fixed), there is nevertheless much to be gained from encouraging their intersection—for students, audiences, and collections, and for universities as well. University humanities made more public are also more relevant, appreciated, and valued.','Elizabeth Rodini - Commentary','Material Migrations, like many of the practicum courses offered in the Program in Museums and Society (M&S), gave students the chance to engage directly with objects, conduct research in and around those materials, and, most distinctively, develop a final project to be shared with a general audience—in this case, Google Earth “tours” of object provenance histories, to be incorporated into the website of the Walters Art Museum. M&S practicum projects take the form of exhibitions, both actual and virtual; interpretative materials, such as audio tours, gallery guides, and websites; and program development. I like to think of them as works of “public humanities,” sharing the research we do in the university with a larger audience.','inherit','open','open','','1132-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:56:53','2013-04-18 20:56:53','',1132,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1132-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3945,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:00','2013-04-18 20:57:00','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1189\" title=\"walters_student action photo_devos\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_devos.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /><span class=\"caption\"> Dakota DeVos (pointing at books) with Antiphonary for Abbess of Sainte-Marie of Beaupré, ink on parchment (Flemish, 1290). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\nThis project required a diverse approach to research, including reading topical books and contemporary articles, conducting interviews with Walters conservators and curators, and making comparisons with similar objects from the period or in the artists’ oeuvres. However, an exhaustive physical examination of the objects themselves was the starting and ending point for piecing together the objects’ paths of alteration, ownership, and usage. Our final product was meant to offer a new way for viewers to connect with an object, so both our maps and audio clips reinforce our findings by continually asking the viewer to look closely at the evidence right in front of them.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\nThis course offered three unique qualities. First, our research was meant for publication for museum visitors rather than exclusively for our professors. Second, we were able to do hands-on research with many of the Walters’ most revered objects while curators and conservators guided us in our examinations. Finally, this course encouraged an object-centric view of history, which was antithetical, conceptually, to the art history courses I had taken until that point. As an art history major I was accustomed to viewing specific art historical objects as close studies of broader trends that characterized the periods in which they were made. However, our assignment for Material Migrations was concerned not only with a study of the object’s creation and use in its own time, but also how its use changed throughout its history. I came away from the course with a greater appreciation for the power of contextualization. Art objects rarely remain static relics of a bygone era; rather, they continue to have vibrant lives and changing effects on their successive owners and audiences, not the least of which is their position as a tool for learning in the museum.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\nThe project was intended to engage as broad a scope of museum visitors as possible, including youths and viewers who might have no background on the object, while still interesting our academic peers. Part of what made these objects so fascinating was the very unwieldiness of their provenance. I decided on central themes for both of my objects and ultimately cut out much of my research in order to focus on their tortuous histories. Considerations of display also affected the content of the map and audio. For example, while some of the pages of the illuminated manuscript I researched had beautiful drolleries in their margins, it was impractical to cite specific instances because only one spread of the fragile manuscript could be on display, and it might not have any drolleries.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\nI chose one of my objects, the Beaupré Antiphonary, specifically because I had the opportunity to work with Professor Tilghman and the Walters’ rare books curator, Dr. William Noel. Collaborating with two of the top scholars in the field on an object that they knew intimately remains one of the brightest moments of my undergraduate career.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\nThis course reinforced my ambition to work in the field of museums because I found the work rewarding and academically invigorating. It was meaningful and exhilarating to produce work for a class that would help enrich the presentation of the Walters’ holdings.','Dakota Devos - Commentary','This project required a diverse approach to research, including reading topical books and contemporary articles, conducting interviews with Walters conservators and curators, and making comparisons with similar objects from the period or in the artists’ oeuvres. However, an exhaustive physical examination of the objects themselves was the starting and ending point for piecing together the objects’ paths of alteration, ownership, and usage. Our final product was meant to offer a new way for viewers to connect with an object, so both our maps and audio clips reinforce our findings by continually asking the viewer to look closely at the evidence right in front of them.','inherit','open','open','','1128-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:00','2013-04-18 20:57:00','',1128,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1128-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3946,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:03','2013-04-18 20:57:03','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1193\" title=\"walters_student action photo_tkacs\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_tkacs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /><span class=\"caption\">\nJoan Tkcas (on far right, in brown) and Casket with Scenes of Romances, ivory and bone with modern iron mounts (French, 1330-1350). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\n\nI researched two objects for this project, a painted tile and an ivory casket. The Walters Art Museum had a thorough record of the objects’ provenances, so the bulk of my time was spent uncovering details about the lives and tastes of their previous owners. It was important to me to understand why they found the objects interesting enough to purchase. If the owners were art collectors, I tried finding other objects in their collections to get a sense of their taste. From there, it was a matter of organizing the object’s history into a simple and compelling narrative.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\n\nThe credit line that you see on the typical museum label does not do justice to the histories of these objects. For example, the ivory casket I researched was made in the fourteenth century and was probably meant to function as a jewelry box, but one of its later owners took the individual panels of the case apart and framed them. He was looking at the casket in a completely different way than we do now. I did not know this before I started the project, and the research gave me a new appreciation for just how dynamic these objects are.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\n\nThe Google Earth project was a lesson in learning how to write concisely. After spending a semester researching the history of a given object, the temptation is to then write a long-winded report on all that you had discovered. But very few people would be interested in reading something like that, I think. It is a bit harder to boil down everything you have learned into a punchy and informative presentation.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\n\nThe Walters’ staff was incredibly giving of their time. We met with Gary Vikan, the museum director, Robert Mintz, the curator of Asian art, and William Noel, the curator of manuscripts. We got to look at the museum’s storage, and learned about what art museums take into consideration when accessioning works of art. What I remember best was getting to meet with Amanda Kodeck, a member of the museum’s education department, and getting feedback on what we had written for the project. That kind of collaboration was incredibly helpful.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\n\nThe Google Earth project was a first for me. In other classes I may have had to research a single object for a paper, but I had never focused solely on an object’s provenance. This project proved to be a very worthwhile experience for me. Right now I am an intern at the Georgia Museum of Art and I spend a lot of my time working with the archival materials of the museum’s Pierre Daura Study Center. I do not know if I would have had this opportunity without my experience working on the Google Earth project at the Walters.','Joan Tkacs - Commentary','I researched two objects for this project, a painted tile and an ivory casket. The Walters Art Museum had a thorough record of the objects’ provenances, so the bulk of my time was spent uncovering details about the lives and tastes of their previous owners. It was important to me to understand why they found the objects interesting enough to purchase. If the owners were art collectors, I tried finding other objects in their collections to get a sense of their taste. From there, it was a matter of organizing the object’s history into a simple and compelling narrative.','inherit','open','open','','1126-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:03','2013-04-18 20:57:03','',1126,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1126-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3947,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:07','2013-04-18 20:57:07','<span class=\"alignright wp-caption-text\" style=\"width: 166px; margin-bottom: 20px;\"><img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1223\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"szerba\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/szerba.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Photo: Jay VanRensselaer, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n<div><em>Sczerba worked closely with the course instructors, Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman, to develop and refine the Google Earth tools and to train students in building tours.</em></div>\n<strong>1. Describe your role in this project. </strong>\nI work for a faculty support center at Johns Hopkins University called the Center for Educational Resources (CER). As the center’s multimedia developer, I aided Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman with the technical and logistical aspects of the project. This included determining a viable technology for the project tours and developing resource guides that aided students’ tour creation.\n\n<strong>2. What tasks did you perform at various stages of the project?</strong>\nInitially we had to find a program that would be available freely (both in access and cost) for students to use with a relatively low learning curve. We selected Google Earth because it allows tour creation with rich media and text mapped to the earth, and it is free to download on PCs and Macs. I then created a template tour, set up with pre-made placemarks as a starting point for the students, and content layout templates for the appearance of the tour’s placemarks. After those two resources were set, I needed to create a well-written and comprehensible workflow. I chose to create both a visual and textual workflow to clearly express what actions needed to happen and at what stages. The final step was to present this workflow to the students in a training workshop so that they could see how it all came together and do it themselves.\n\n<strong>3. What sorts of interactions did you have with faculty, students, and other members of the project community over the course of the project?</strong>\nI met with Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman initially to gather the project’s requirements, then later to introduce them to the proposed solution. One of my colleagues from the CER also joined these meetings to offer ideas. I was also available by e-mail to answer questions as they came up, especially during the process of approving the workflow, as it needed to be as simple as possible to follow. I also held a training workshop for the students with Professor Rodini. I continued to be available for questions by e-mail as the students worked on their projects.\n\n<strong>4. What particular challenges did this project present?</strong>\nThis project required that every placemark on a tour include images at that location. The only way to do this in Google Earth was to code it yourself. Certain aspects of using Google Earth were easy to master, but customizing the appearance of the placemarks requires HTML programming knowledge. Despite the fact that most students nowadays have grown up with the Internet, we have found that very few know how to use HTML. Our solution utilized an online HTML editor that had a prebuilt HTML template loaded in it. When the students were ready to create the content for their placemarks, they simply copied the content from a Word document and then pasted it in the HTML editor to generate the code. The students pasted that code into their Google Earth placemark, circumventing the need for them to learn HTML.\n\n<strong>5. What lessons did you learn from this project and what might you do differently in the future? </strong>\nA more ideal solution may have been to create an application that would generate the tours without using Google Earth. This would have taken more time and resources to build than we had, but it could have been a useful application for other courses as well. It was disappointing to realize that Google Earth did not have an HMTL editor built in, and that there was no application that could suit our needs at the time. Perhaps when this course is offered again, there will be an ideal solution available to allow students to create tours and focus on the content rather than the technology. If not, then perhaps we will have the time to build one ourselves and share it.','Reid Sczerba - Commentary','I work for a faculty support center at Johns Hopkins University called the Center for Educational Resources (CER). As the center’s multimedia developer, I aided Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman with the technical and logistical aspects of the project. This included determining a viable technology for the project tours and developing resource guides that aided students’ tour creation.','inherit','open','open','','1123-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:07','2013-04-18 20:57:07','',1123,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1123-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3948,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/beaupre/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1977\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1977\" title=\"beaupre\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/beaupre.png\" alt=\"Beaupre\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" /></a>','Walters - Beaupre Devos','','inherit','open','open','','1975-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1975,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1975-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3949,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/casket/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1970\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/casket1.png\" alt=\"Romances Casket\" title=\"casket\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1970\" /></a>','Walters - Romances Casket Tkacs','','inherit','open','open','','1967-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1967,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1967-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3950,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/amazon/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-1973\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/amazon1.png\" alt=\"Amazon Dowdle\" title=\"amazon\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1973\" /></a>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1957-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1957,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1957-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3951,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:15','2013-04-18 20:57:15','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1380\" title=\"lehigh_support head shot_maserjian\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_support-head-shot_maserjian.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />I’d like to tell you a story, one about a series of experiences that changed the way I work with students and faculty at Lehigh. In fact, the story is about stories—digital storytelling, to be exact. Digital storytelling uses computer-based still and moving images, text, audio, and music to document experiences, ideas, and research.\n\nIn the fall of 2005 I had the pleasure of working with English professor Ed Gallagher in an experimental, first-year writing course, “Digital Songs, Stories, and Histories,” that offered students new ways to communicate through a variety of multi-media assignments. For one assignment the students were asked to create a video based on a research question they developed from materials they found in Lehigh’s Digital Library project, <a href=\"http://digital.lib.lehigh.edu/remain/con/digwriting.html\">I Remain: A Digital Archive of Letters, Manuscripts, and Ephemera</a>. The site contains hundreds of items from the university’s Special Collections and Archives that represent five centuries of writers, explorers, scientists, philosophers, and politicians.\n\nThe students were asked to select a document from the site that piqued their curiosity, transcribe that document, formulate a historical question, develop a thesis, select materials that would support that thesis, and produce a video based on those efforts. The vast majority of the students embraced the archival and technological challenge. The results appear on the <em>I Remain</em> site.\n\nIn order to understand the content development and technological challenges our students faced, I delved into my family archives and produced a short personal video story about my father. I was amazed at the ability of this process to challenge and change my perspective on the past. Cathartic is the only way I can describe my experience. Clearly smitten with this medium, the following year I taught a course for the History Department, Digital History and Video. This class had a mix of undergraduate and graduate students who were also asked to explore the archival materials on the <em>I Remain</em> site. They had to perform many of the same assignments as the previous class did, but, as the course level dictated, they had to be even more rigorous in their research. The students wrote a footnoted essay about their document(s), and then converted their research essay into a script to include narration and accompanying visuals.\n\nOne of the Digital History students, a senior with a double major in history and education, discovered a treasure trove of primary sources when she came upon a scrapbook of memorabilia related to the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. The scrapbook was compiled by American boundary commissioner, Rhode Island Secretary of State, historian, and author John R. Bartlett. Using many of the images in the scrapbook, she constructed a <a href=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170\">seven-minute video about the assassination of President Lincoln</a> and the effect his death had on the country. Rather than address a scholarly audience in her production, she chose to produce a documentary with a general audience in mind. The storytelling choices she made in her narration and accompanying voice-over collaborations with faculty and fellow classmates are clearly directed toward that general audience. Though initially intimidated by the use of new technology, this student was pleased that she was able to face the challenge and learn a new skill that would help her in her career in elementary education.\n\nSince these initial forays into student-produced documentary, I am pleased to say that this form of communication is alive and well at Lehigh University. As the number of requests for video projects grew, Library and Technology Services formed the Documentary Resource Team. The Team is comprised of librarians, instructional technologists, and media specialists who help faculty and students navigate the opportunities and challenges of video production. In many of these classes, students use physical and virtual archives extensively in their research and image selection. With the opportunities of archival discovery also come the challenges of representing findings.\n\nThe materials we uncover in archives and the way we choose to use them has provoked an ongoing series of questions about copyright, research methodology, and documentary ethics. Regardless of the event (long ago or yesterday) or the individual (living or dead), the lessons our students learn about their obligations in representing the lives of others are important ones. What is at stake when, as digital storytellers, we document the experience of others? What happens when those experiences move beyond the confines of the classroom and become part of a larger audience at public screenings or on the web? The questions of authority, privacy, responsibility, and moral obligations are good ones with no easy answers. Luckily, as educators, we are not in the business of easy answers.','Julia Maserjian - Commentary','I’d like to tell you a story, one about a series of experiences that changed the way I work with students and faculty at Lehigh. In fact, the story is about stories—digital storytelling, to be exact. Digital storytelling uses computer-based still and moving images, text, audio, and music to document experiences, ideas, and research.','inherit','open','open','','1116-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:15','2013-04-18 20:57:15','',1116,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1116-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3952,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:19','2013-04-18 20:57:19','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1378\" title=\"lehigh_student head shot_weber\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-head-shot_weber.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />\n\nDuring the fall 2011 semester, I was a part of Lehigh University’s Theories of Masculinity class, an upper-level English and Women’s Studies course. Initially, I signed up for it because it was a prerequisite for graduating with department honors. As part of this course, we created a documentary film on coeducation and its effects on men and masculinity at Lehigh, which is currently celebrating its fortieth anniversary of admitting female students. My role in this film became a challenging and ultimately very rewarding part of my education at Lehigh.\n\nCreating the film required extensive use of Lehigh University’s Special Collections. As someone unfamiliar with the process of researching in the archives, I was unaware of the extensive time and effort such an undertaking required. Yet, it was through delving into the pages and pages of yearbook photos from the late 1960s and early 1970s (see Figures <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">2</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">3</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">6</a>), and seeing headlines from that time in <em>The Brown and White</em>, Lehigh’s student newspaper (see Figures <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">1</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">5</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image7.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">7</a>), that I began to appreciate the power of the project our class was creating. This project allowed me to see the trajectory of Lehigh’s transition to a coeducational institution, a transition colored by many challenges, including sexism. These challenges are not easily visible in 2011, forty years later, so seeing the headlines and pictures in the archives literally, and in a unique way, demonstrated the hurdles women had to face at Lehigh. Some were the only girls in their classes, and all had to overcome being seen simply as weekend entertainment for the male students, as was the case for the women who were bussed in and out on Saturdays from nearby Cedar Crest College prior to coeducation (see <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">Figure 1</a>). I had been taking my role as a woman on Lehigh’s campus for granted, and this process really made me consider the journey that others had taken to provide me with such an opportunity.\n\nThe archives played a major role in our documentary. The images and video clips we found provided evidence of our claims about the challenges women came up against at a conservative institution transitioning to coeducation, and in a way that our words alone could not do justice to. Simply hearing about the awkward mixers held before coeducation was implemented is not as powerful as seeing pictures of wide-eyed men groping at women, or of the huge amounts of alcohol they consumed at these parties. Lehigh’s archives are not used nearly enough. I am embarrassed to admit that as a first-semester senior English major I am just now getting my first taste of their value. It is my hope that our documentary project will serve as a positive example of the power that these resources can provide to our university. As these images fade further and further into the past, students have the chance to keep them alive in our contemporary work by using them in various classes and research projects. I hope that our documentary project can show the university, and especially other students like me who may not have known the extent of the material available, the value of these resources to the legacy of our institution and the appreciation of our education.','Kim Weber - Commentary','During the fall 2011 semester, I was a part of Lehigh University’s Theories of Masculinity class, an upper-level English and Women’s Studies course. Initially, I signed up for it because it was a prerequisite for graduating with department honors. As part of this course, we created a documentary film on coeducation and its effects on men and masculinity at Lehigh, which is currently celebrating its fortieth anniversary of admitting female students. My role in this film became a challenging and ultimately very rewarding part of my education at Lehigh.','inherit','open','open','','1113-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:19','2013-04-18 20:57:19','',1113,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1113-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3953,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:28','2013-04-18 20:57:28','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1374\" title=\"lehigh_instructor head shot_kramp\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_instructor-head-shot_kramp.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />My fall 2011 English and Women’s Studies upper-level undergraduate class, Theories of Masculinity, was designed to coordinate with the fortieth anniversary of admitting undergraduate women to Lehigh University. A major component of this course was a student-produced documentary film that considers the effects of coeducation on men and masculinity at Lehigh. This film project provided my students with an opportunity to examine critically Lehigh’s institutional history, focusing on the late 1960s and early 1970s. While it was not my initial intention, I was extremely pleased by the students’ abilities to research and study their own school’s history. They made extensive use of Lehigh’s Archives and Special Collections to collect numerous articles, documents, and perhaps most importantly, photographs, and they incorporated these materials into the different sections of the film (see Figures 1-6, below). Students discovered several cultural texts from the 1960s and 1970s that portrayed Lehigh as a haven for privileged masculinity, a sphere in which men appeared largely ignorant of the volatile civil rights movement and the emergent mid-century women’s movement. And yet, my students’ research also revealed that the Lehigh community of this era was also clearly cognizant of impending social changes. As my students tracked this tension between the ossification of male hegemony and the certainty of coming shifts, they developed a newfound appreciation for the importance of institutional history to the present operations of a university.\n\nThe prominence of Greek life is certainly one such feature of this legacy. Two of the four segments of the film address the role of fraternities and Greek social life, including the final section, which focuses on men and masculinity in Lehigh’s contemporary culture. The students who explored Lehigh’s mid-century Greek culture found ample textual evidence of its importance, including photographs, yearbook coverage, and film footage. When students interviewed alumni from the 1960s and 1970s, the men reported that Greek life had waned significantly in the years following coeducation. But when other students spoke with current male and female students, these individuals emphasized the enduring importance of fraternities and sororities to the culture of Lehigh. In addition, the group of filmmakers who focused on the period prior to coeducation highlighted the ways in which women were brought to campus for Saturday evening social events such as dances. My students interviewed several alumni who commented on the awkwardness of such activities, for both the men and the women. They even include a telling newspaper story in which Cedar Crest College, a small women’s college in nearby Allentown, is referenced as the bordello of Lehigh Valley (see <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">Figure 1</a>). The student filmmakers who covered the years immediately following coeducation also treated the clumsiness of men’s interactions with women; they point to challenges in managing facilities and planning building construction, developing female athletics, and integrating women into extra-curricular clubs and organizations, such as the marching band. The filmmakers who treated contemporary conceptions of masculinity within the Lehigh community explicitly referenced the enduring legacy of sexual inequality and the perceived intellectual inferiority of women. They cited recent newspaper accounts on persistent gender inequities on campus and conducted numerous interviews on the topic. While it may very well have been unintentional, these students never interviewed a male and female subject together; instead, they consistently showed pairs of male students, suggesting the extant homosocial culture of Lehigh.\n\nI wanted my students to engage the history and culture of Lehigh through film technology because it would provide them with an opportunity to artistically synthesize a variety of different kinds of texts (photos, newspaper articles, found film footage, interviews, etc.). The film medium also allowed my students to share their work in public forums, respond to questions and concerns, and discuss their own research and artistic strategies. In effect, the film project allowed my students to contribute to the very institutional history of Lehigh University that they were researching. The archival work my students completed for this film has effectively introduced them to both the depths of information housed in Lehigh’s Special Collections and the profound relevance of institutional history to their own educational experiences. As I reflect upon the experience, there is no doubt in my mind that the most important single component of this process was done long before this class started; the cataloguing and digitization of the university newspaper and annual yearbooks made such a classroom project possible. The film has allowed students, faculty, and alumni to look back into Lehigh’s past, and, while this project has undoubtedly opened some uncomfortable topics and discussions, it has also reminded current and former members of the Lehigh community of their shared history.\n<div><span id=\"attachment_1388\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1388\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image1\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1-333x159.jpg\" alt=\"The Trade with Cedar Crest.\" width=\"333\" height=\"159\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 1: </em>The Trade with Cedar Crest. From Lehigh’s student newspaper, <em>The Brown &amp; White</em> (September 17, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.</span></span><span id=\"attachment_1410\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 183px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1410\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image2\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2-183x250.jpg\" alt=\"Lehigh Student Work\" width=\"183\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 2: </em>Alpha Lambda Omega fraternity member list from <em>Epitome</em>, Lehigh’s yearbook (1970, p. 233). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1390\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 133px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1390\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3-133x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"133\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 3: </em>A Lehigh student dances with his date at a mixer (<em>Epitome</em> 1970, p.252). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span id=\"attachment_1391\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image4.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1391\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image4\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image4-333x233.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"233\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 4: </em>Photograph of the Class of 1948’s 15th reunion (1963). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1392\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 239px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1392\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image5\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5-239x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"239\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 5: </em>Cartoon by Gene Mater in <em>The Brown &amp; White</em> (September 14, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1393\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1393\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image6\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6-333x245.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"245\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 6: </em>Student Gene Mater speaking out at a student event (<em>Epitome</em> 1970, p.40). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span></div>','Michael Kramp - Commentary','My fall 2011 English and Women’s Studies upper-level undergraduate class, Theories of Masculinity, was designed to coordinate with the fortieth anniversary of admitting undergraduate women to Lehigh University. A major component of this course was a student-produced documentary film that considers the effects of coeducation on men and masculinity at Lehigh. This film project provided my students with an opportunity to examine critically Lehigh’s institutional history, focusing on the late 1960s and early 1970s. ','inherit','open','open','','1110-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:28','2013-04-18 20:57:28','',1110,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1110-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3954,1,'2013-04-18 20:58:08','2013-04-18 20:58:08','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1247\" title=\"jhu_teacher photo_hinderer\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_teacher-photo_hinderer.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Over the last four years, I have worked as a lecturer teaching courses about Baltimore and African American history, and I have also served as the project manager for the Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project (DPAAP), a partnership between Johns Hopkins University and the <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. These experiences have shown me that students learn best when they are not simply taught history, but when they also act as historians. Baltimore offers both possibilities and challenges for students doing historical projects. Much of the city’s history remains unwritten, and historical materials are often tucked away in small archives and private homes. Records that are not easily accessible present a special problem for students who are constrained by time and transportation. Both the East Baltimore Oral History Project and the <em>Afro</em> Archives partnership seek to address these challenges by involving students in the process of uncovering, describing, and making accessible historical records, and then encouraging students to use these resources for historical research.\n\nThe East Baltimore Oral History Project involves students in the work of preserving the memories of established members of the East Baltimore community. For students, this work addresses a major complaint about life as a Johns Hopkins undergraduate: they are too removed from the life of the city, and they are not encouraged to interact with the city and its inhabitants in meaningful ways. The interviewing process has the additional benefit of making students experts, allowing them to bring a substantive point of view and body of evidence as they critique course readings and engage in class discussions. As interviews are added to the project website, students produce an accessible community history resource that will last well beyond the usual semester-long class project.\n\nDPAAP also depends heavily on the work of student archival interns, and on the technical skills of the current and former students who form the Project Gado team, led by recent Johns Hopkins University graduate Tom Smith. Archival interns have been involved in every step of uncovering the archives, from labeling boxes and shelves, to entering information into our archival database, to writing essays for our database website. This work has given interns a perspective on African American history usually reserved for history professionals. With materials pertaining to almost every local, national, and international aspect of Black history, interns are often asked to describe the central themes and narratives of this diverse archive. This challenge requires them to address the problem of twentieth-century information overload familiar to both historians and archivists. The Project Gado team offers a different set of solutions to the problem of preserving and making accessible vast amounts of archival materials. The members of Project Gado are involved in innovative work in the digital humanities as they create low-cost options for large-scale digitization. The work of Tom Smith and Project Gado suggests another possibility for hands-on coursework in history, courses that would integrate technical skills and the creation of hardware and software into a rigorous humanities education to prepare students to be twenty-first-century humanities scholars.','Moira Hinderer - Commentary','Over the last four years, I have worked as a lecturer teaching courses about Baltimore and African American history, and I have also served as the project manager for the Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project (DPAAP), a partnership between Johns Hopkins University and the Afro-American Newspapers funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. These experiences have shown me that students learn best when they are not simply taught history, but when they also act as historians. Baltimore offers both possibilities and challenges for students doing historical projects. Much of the city’s history remains unwritten, and historical materials are often tucked away in small archives and private homes. Records that are not easily accessible present a special problem for students who are constrained by time and transportation. Both the East Baltimore Oral History Project and the Afro Archives partnership seek to address these challenges by involving students in the process of uncovering, describing, and making accessible historical records, and then encouraging students to use these resources for historical research. ','inherit','open','open','','1062-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:58:08','2013-04-18 20:58:08','',1062,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1062-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3955,1,'2013-04-18 20:58:03','2013-04-18 20:58:03','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1244\" title=\"jhu_student photo_smith\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-photo_smith.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />When people think of Johns Hopkins University they think of medicine, and rightly so. JHU prepares people for medical school better than any college in the world. The medical attitude, however, extends beyond the bounded world of pre-meds. Hopkins often values the reductionism of the scientific method and the cleanliness of the lab over holism and real-world, big-picture thinking. In looking for classes during my sophomore year at JHU, then, I was surprised to find The Power of Place taught by Melanie Shell-Weiss. The course was a practicum, and all participants would conduct oral histories as part of the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH). This was a rare chance to get out of the infamous “Hopkins Bubble.” I signed up.\n\nDuring Power of Place I helped produce several oral histories. As interviews flowed in, however, I began to see a problem. Each interview was around two hours long and included a full transcript. From my class alone, the project would amass nearly thirty hours of audio and several hundred pages of text. Making use of those materials would be tough. As a software developer, I saw a solution. I imagined a tool that could link transcripts with audio, allow people to tag important areas within interviews, and make all the EBOH materials searchable. With support from the university, I spent the next year working with Professor Shell-Weiss to make my idea into a working web application.\n\nWhile working on EBOH, I started visiting archives. I could find few digital images of East Baltimore, and I wanted to know why. On a trip to the <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> with Moira Hinderer, I found a plethora of visual materials. Very few, however, had been digitized. The main factor was cost; resources to manually digitize the <em>Afro</em> collection simply were not available. Again, I saw a technical solution: I would build a robot. I proposed creating an automatic scanner that could lift and digitize the <em>Afro</em>’s sensitive artifacts, all for less than $500. No one at JHU thought it would happen. Luckily, Professor Shell-Weiss managed to raise some funds, and I spent a summer prototyping. The result was the Gado 1, a proof-of-concept that would later scan over 1,000 images at the <em>Afro</em>. The price tag was $496.\n\nAfter graduating from JHU in May 2011, I wanted to continue refining my technology. With support from the JHU Sheridan Libraries and the Abell Foundation (a regional grantsmaker), I secured enough funding to work on my project full time. In December 2011, I completed the Gado 2, a second-generation machine that dramatically outpaces the original. Since testing began, my machine has digitized over 3,000 artifacts at the <em>Afro</em>, at a tiny fraction of the cost of manual scanning. In February 2012, we made these images available to the general public and launched GadoImages.com to distribute them to paying licensors. I believe Gado has the potential to dramatically alter the economics of archival digitization. I would never be at this point without that first push to step outside the classroom and start thinking in broader terms.','Tom Smith - Commentary','When people think of Johns Hopkins University they think of medicine, and rightly so. JHU prepares people for medical school better than any college in the world. The medical attitude, however, extends beyond the bounded world of pre-meds. Hopkins often values the reductionism of the scientific method and the cleanliness of the lab over holism and real-world, big-picture thinking. In looking for classes during my sophomore year at JHU, then, I was surprised to find The Power of Place taught by Melanie Shell-Weiss. The course was a practicum, and all participants would conduct oral histories as part of the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH). This was a rare chance to get out of the infamous “Hopkins Bubble.” I signed up.','inherit','open','open','','1059-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:58:03','2013-04-18 20:58:03','',1059,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1059-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3956,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:49','2013-04-18 20:57:49','As an undergraduate English major with a concentration in creative writing, I had always regarded books as a portal into the world of fiction, a place where I could study plots and themes, setting and syntax. I had never stopped to consider books as historical objects until my first class in English 241: Archeology of Text. The assignment for the final research paper seemed simple: use what we learned during the semester to explore, analyze, and describe a document of interest from Goucher’s Special Collections.\n\nI knew from the start that I was intrigued by Goucher’s prolific collection of Jane Austen materials, but needed something specific to spark my interest. Walking around the small Special Collections room in the Julia Rogers Library, my gaze landed on a blue box behind a glass case. I soon learned that inside that box lay the first American edition of <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).  Nancy Magnuson, college librarian, told me all about Alberta Burke’s letters and thought that they might contain clues for my research. I have always been fascinated with letters (both reading and writing them), and the process of tracking a specific book through personal correspondences captivated me. I chose to study the 1816 first American edition of <em>Emma</em> and explore the letters that track how it found a home in Goucher’s library.\n\n<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1273\" title=\"goucher_student action photo_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-action-photo_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"Sarah Kendall working with the Burke copy of the American first edition of Austen\'s Emma\" width=\"320\" height=\"375\" />\n<span class=\"caption\" style=\"width: 320px\">Sarah Kendall working with the Burke copy of the American first edition of Austen\'s Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells & Lilly, Boston, 1816) in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room (December 2007).</span>\n\nI remain baffled by the amount of information and detailed history I discovered while writing a descriptive bibliography. I wrote detailed accounts of the letters from Alberta Burke and David Gilson, the letters between David Gilson and Henry Burke, and the 1816 first edition of <em>Emma</em>. After seeing the interest that both Alberta Burke and David Gilson had in the first American edition of <em>Emma</em>, I knew that perusing the pages and studying the tome in detail would be essential to revealing the book’s history. Sifting through dozens of letters hoping to find mention of <em>Emma</em> thrilled me to no end. Reading different letters from various sources also illuminated how various people valued the first edition and why they wanted it in their possession. The circuit of corresponding materials proved equally intriguing and helpful for tracking down how the book traveled from Philadelphia to Goucher’s library.\n\nI learned that by latching on to a specific topic, I could follow a steady thread of conversation about <em>Emma</em>. The experience made me feel like a genuine historian instead of an undergraduate student simply researching journal articles or internet resources. It felt very special and intellectually stimulating to handle history with my own hands! I even discovered two additional letters hidden between the inside cover and the title page of the first volume. Unearthing these two letters felt very encouraging and proved that there is always the possibility of finding something new within the archives.','Sarah Kendall - Commentary','As an undergraduate English major with a concentration in creative writing, I had always regarded books as a portal into the world of fiction, a place where I could study plots and themes, setting and syntax. I had never stopped to consider books as historical objects until my first class in English 241: Archeology of Text. The assignment for the final research paper seemed simple: use what we learned during the semester to explore, analyze, and describe a document of interest from Goucher’s Special Collections.','inherit','open','open','','1053-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:49','2013-04-18 20:57:49','',1053,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1053-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3957,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:37','2013-04-18 20:57:37','When I heard about English 241: Archeology of Text, I was immediately excited. I had been working in Special Collections and Archives at Goucher College for about a year, and I knew the class would give me a chance to learn more about books and archives in a setting that would encourage discussions with my peers. When it came time to pick a collection for my final project, I decided to work with archival materials rather than books so that I could challenge myself.\n\nWhile working in Special Collections, I had often walked by large blue boxes containing scrapbooks, but I had yet to look through them. When I began leafing through them, I found that I learned as much about Goucher College as I did about the women who put the scrapbooks together. Many of the scrapbooks had things in common, including Valentines, pressed flowers, calling cards, and photographs. But what intrigued me most were the dance cards. I had never before encountered dance cards, or even heard of them, even though I had been dancing all my life. Many of the dance cards were from the U.S. Naval Academy, a nearby all-male school in need of women with whom to dance. Goucher girls would often travel to Annapolis for the weekend dances and bring back dance cards as souvenirs.\n\n<img class=\" wp-image-1275\" title=\"goucher_student action photo_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-action-photo_brand.jpg\" alt=\"Cassie Brand working in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room \" width=\"510\" height=\"382\" />\n<span class=\"caption\" style=\"width: 510px\">Cassie Brand working in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room (December 2007) with an early Chaucer edition from Special Collections (Ed. John Urry, London: Printed for Bernard Lintot, 1721). </span>\n\nWhen I began researching these cards, I found very little information. I went to all of the reference librarians I could find, but even they had difficulties because very few secondary sources were available. I looked through all the etiquette books I could get my hands on and even asked people to tell me what they knew about dance cards. Those who knew of them provided me with the basic information I needed to study the cards.\n\nI contacted the U.S. Naval Academy Archives, and with the help of Nancy Magnuson, Goucher College Librarian, I made an appointment to see their collection. There I found an almost complete run of dance cards from the Farewell Ball, which was held every year after graduation. Some were blank, some were filled in, some contained photographs, and some still had their tiny pencils attached. Looking through the cards, I found that they could be studied in several ways. One could examine print history, dance history, social history, or even one woman’s history of dance partners. The first and last dance cards were so drastically different that I chose to look at how the cards changed over the years. I found that the cards’ modifications reflected the changes in social dances.\n\nThough I have not yet returned to the dance card collections to study them further, they have never been far from my mind. I am still trying to convince people that dance cards are brilliant and should be reinstated for social events. Dance cards remain an interest of mine, and I would love to eventually write their complete history.','Cassie Brand - Commentary','When I heard about English 241: Archeology of Text, I was immediately excited. I had been working in Special Collections and Archives at Goucher College for about a year, and I knew the class would give me a chance to learn more about books and archives in a setting that would encourage discussions with my peers. When it came time to pick a collection for my final project, I decided to work with archival materials rather than books so that I could challenge myself.','inherit','open','open','','1051-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:37','2013-04-18 20:57:37','',1051,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1051-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3958,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:44','2013-04-18 20:57:44','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1279\" title=\"goucher_instructor image_sanders\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_instructor-image_sanders.jpg\" alt=\"Sanders\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Students prepare for English 241: Archeology of Text research projects in twelve weeks of readings and laboratory experiences, which introduce the skills necessary to work with early printed books and archival documents. (For the text of the assignment, see <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/241_individual_research_projects_F09.htm\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>). The goal of these projects is to enable each student to pursue a self-designed creative or descriptive study of books, manuscripts, and other artifacts from Special Collections and Archives. Because the course is interdisciplinary and students come from many majors, it is hard to predict where students’ curiosities will take them. The best way to encourage active student engagement is to prepare students for the widest range of book- and document-related work. Successful projects can lead to further research supported by Goucher’s Peirce Center fellowships.\n\nBeginning with the study of how a digital document is constructed and the history of the Internet’s “cloud” library, students practice searching online scholarly sites such as the <em>Oxford English Dictionary</em> (OED), WorldCat, <em>English Short-Title Catalog</em> (ESTC), and the continental library collections accessible through the University of Karlsruhe’s online catalog. They also explore using search engines and databases to identify and locate people, places, and things. Those skills provide interpretive context for hand-press books in the course’s next segment. After three weeks of studying typography, format, bindings, and hand-made paper and its manufacture, students have learned the most basic descriptive bibliography skills. This enables them to describe the edition-specific and copy-specific details of their “cadaver books,” a set of early printed books they handle each week to encourage safe and intelligent treatment of early paper and bindings. Finally, paper and parchment manuscript laboratories teach students to decipher secretary and scribal hands from the nineteenth through the thirteenth centuries. This enables them to interpret marginalia in early printed books, including owners’ inscriptions and other provenance and use evidence.\n\nSarah Kendall’s study of the Burke Austen Collection’s copy of the two-volume American first edition of Jane Austen’s <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816) represents a creative response to traditional rare-book provenance study, resulting in her discovery of a significant trove of correspondence in the book’s archival container. Before Alberta Burke brought the book to Baltimore, it had passed through the hands of Christina Broun Dalhousie (the Countess Dalhousie); a prominent collector, Frank J. Hogan; and a poet, Siegfried Sassoon. Kendall’s study demonstrates the way a book’s value changes as it moves from owner to owner, becoming as attractive for its associations and rarity as it is for its text. An archives-based approach to using the course’s analytical tools is represented by Cassie Brand’s study of U.S. Naval Academy dance cards found in the scrapbook kept by Goucher student Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924), augmented by research at The Nimitz Library in Annapolis. Brand showed how the cards could be used to study crucial changes in American courtship conventions as women took control of their relations with potential suitors.\n\nThese two projects represent the course’s goal: to enable original, undergraduate, hands-on archival research using interdisciplinary skills:\n<ul>\n	<li>See images from <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/cassie_brand_IRP_imaging_Fall%202007.htm\" target=\"_blank\">Brand’s dance card project</a>.</li>\n	<li>See a portfolio of images of the <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/English_241_IRP_Images_F07.htm\" target=\"_blank\">2007 class researching final projects</a>.</li>\n</ul>','Arnold Sanders - Commentary','Students prepare for English 241, “Archeology of Text,” research projects in twelve weeks of readings and laboratory experiences which introduce skills necessary to work with early printed books and archival documents. The goal of these projects is to enable each student to pursue a self-designed creative or descriptive study of books, manuscripts, and other artifacts from Special Collections and Archives. Because the course is interdisciplinary and students come from many majors, it is hard to predict where students’ curiosities will take them. The best way to encourage active student engagement is prepare students for the widest range of book and document related work. Successful projects can lead to further research supported by Goucher’s Peirce Center fellowships.','inherit','open','open','','1049-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:44','2013-04-18 20:57:44','',1049,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1049-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3959,1,'2013-04-18 20:52:47','2013-04-18 20:52:47','<a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-action-photo_saunders.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1367 \" title=\"cscc_student action photo_saunders\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-action-photo_saunders-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"Matthew Saunders exploring the Ramsey Family Papers at the Cleveland Bradley County Library History Branch.\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>\n<span class=\"caption\" style=\"width: 333px\">Matthew Saunders exploring the Ramsey Family Papers at the Cleveland Bradley County Library History Branch (CPLHB). Photo credit: Sarah Copeland.</span>\n\nI was one of the first students to take the History Laboratory class at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). My previous experience during an extra-credit activity in a traditional history course initially sparked my interest. During an American history survey course, Mr. Reed, the CSCC instructor who founded the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive (SETDA), offered students a chance to digitize historical photographs. He demonstrated how to research a photograph\'s history, starting with the limited information written on the back and clues within the picture itself. I was eager to enroll in a course that was dedicated to digitizing historical photographs.\n\nFew history majors would turn down the opportunity to go beyond lecture courses and work directly with historical documents, but I never expected a two-year college to offer me this opportunity. The History Laboratory allowed me to gain hands-on experience preserving important records of local history. Moreover, the History Lab transformed how I research. I had to learn to use a library because the most relevant research material was not accessible online. It took a while to get into the groove of picking up a book and reading through the text as opposed to using a search engine to gather information. Using physical books to research is an invaluable experience that I will take with me throughout my future courses and career.\n\nAnother new experience was the archiving section of the class, in which we digitized photographs and organized the research in a way that would be coherent on the SETDA website. As students, we are accustomed to elaborating and expanding upon our research to produce an essay. The archiving section of the course, instead, forced me to condense my findings into a few concise sentences. The term “metadata” was foreign to me before this class, so working my research into that format was not the easiest task. Entering metadata into ContentDM was a challenge. Nevertheless, this exercise has helped me to convey my thoughts more clearly in other classes.\n\nOverall, the History Laboratory was a great experience. I had wanted to add some constructive criticism, but after reflecting on my experience I cannot think of any suggestions. The instructors were terrific and the course of study was refreshing. I would recommend this course to history students or any student who is searching for an experience that goes beyond a classroom lecture.','Matthew E. Saunders - Commentary','I was one of the first students to take the History Laboratory class at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). My previous experience during an extra-credit activity in a traditional history course initially sparked my interest. During an American history survey course, Mr. Reed, the CSCC instructor who founded the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive (SETDA), offered students a chance to digitize historical photographs. He demonstrated how to research a photograph\'s history, starting with the limited information written on the back and clues within the picture itself. I was eager to enroll in a course that was dedicated to digitizing historical photographs.','inherit','open','open','','1040-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:52:47','2013-04-18 20:52:47','',1040,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1040-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3960,1,'2013-04-18 20:52:58','2013-04-18 20:52:58','Cleveland State Community College (CSCC), a small two-year college in southeast Tennessee, offers freshman and sophomore students a service-learning course as an introduction to research in archives. In this course, the History Laboratory students assist local cultural heritage institutions with digitizing collections and publishing them on the web. As of spring 2012, students have completed service-learning hours at the Cleveland Bradley County Public Library History Branch, the Museum Center at 5ive Points, and the Polk County Historical and Genealogical Society Library. These local archives and museums benefit from increased access to their collections, while CSCC history students gain experience with handling and researching primary sources.\n\nSeveral developments led the Department of History and the Library to collaborate on the creation of the History Laboratory. The college’s administrators recently encouraged instructors of every discipline, including the humanities, to develop content-appropriate service-learning courses to promote student engagement. Moreover, the history curriculum at CSCC emphasizes the central role of primary sources in historical analysis, even in research projects assigned in introductory courses. A history instructor, Bryan Reed, realized that his students could access a rich learning experience if they contributed to a regional digitization project, the <a href=\" http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\">Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive</a>. Thus, Reed and I developed a service-learning history course where students assist local archives, museums, and historical societies that lack staff to digitize their collections.\n\nAs the primary instructor, I oversee the classroom content of the course, which is informed by my training in both history and information science (MA, History; MS, Information Science). The historian’s need to understand primary sources, where they are found and how they are curated, shapes the goal of the course. Information science, including the philosophy of archives, digitization, and creating metadata, shapes the course activities. Reed serves as the local history expert, assisting students with research in obscure local publications.\n\nBecause the History Laboratory’s target audience is freshman and sophomore history majors, the course is very basic. The primary goal is to expose students to the cultural heritage institution’s role as curator of artifacts. At the archive I introduce students to the archivist, collections, finding aids, and additional tools for discovering information about a collection. After this introduction to cultural heritage institutions, we discuss the historian’s role as interpreter of artifacts. This discussion is often the students’ initiation to the “historian’s craft”: assembling a narrative, interpreting facts, and determining significance.\n\nThe learning outcomes for the History Laboratory are similarly basic. By the end of the course, we expect students to demonstrate appropriate handling of unique historical materials, to create digital surrogates of assigned primary documents, to research these primary documents using relevant resources (in paper and electronic formats), and to organize and present their findings in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive (SETDA) using a simple content management system (CONTENTdm). The last learning outcome, creating and entering metadata, may seem out of place in a history course. Nevertheless, we felt it was essential for students to complete this step; it gives them the opportunity to digest their research, consider their audience, and share their findings. This process empowers students to take on the role of expert.\n\nAfter two pilot semesters, the History Laboratory is now an officially sanctioned course in the history curriculum at Cleveland State Community College. Former students have indicated that the course was a valuable first introduction to archives and their importance to historical research. In the future, we look forward to requiring this service-learning experience for all CSCC history majors. Although we believe that the History Laboratory offers an unparalleled initiation to archival research, we look forward to hearing whether our graduates’ experiences remain relevant as they continue their academic careers.','Sarah Shippy Copeland - Commentary','Cleveland State Community College (CSCC), a small two-year college in southeast Tennessee, offers freshman and sophomore students a service-learning course as an introduction to research in archives. In this course, the History Laboratory students assist local cultural heritage institutions with digitizing collections and publishing them on the web. As of spring 2012, students have completed service-learning hours at the Cleveland Bradley County Public Library History Branch, the Museum Center at 5ive Points, and the Polk County Historical and Genealogical Society Library. These local archives and museums benefit from increased access to their collections, while CSCC history students gain experience with handling and researching primary sources.','inherit','open','open','','1027-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:52:58','2013-04-18 20:52:58','',1027,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1027-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3961,1,'2013-04-18 20:53:03','2013-04-18 20:53:03','<ol>\n	<li><strong>How many students worked at the History Branch and Archives of the Cleveland Bradley County Library?</strong>\nTwo students worked at the History Branch one evening a week for a set number of weeks.</li>\n	<li><strong>Will you work with History Lab students again?</strong>\nCertainly. The students were polite, reliable, diligent in their work, and followed directions with little supervision.</li>\n	<li><strong>What did you find most productive or enjoyable about the process of working with the students?</strong>\nIt was rewarding to see the students’ progress from novice researchers to becoming confident in their work. Along the way their project changed from a class assignment to one of discovery. They became excited and interested in their subject and <em>wanted</em> to expand the scope of their work through additional research.</li>\n	<li><strong>How has the students’ work impacted the History Branch and its collections?</strong>\n<ul>\n	<li>The additional research done by the students will be available to all of the library’s patrons.</li>\n	<li>Students have given presentations on their research to the Bradley County Historical and Genealogical Society.</li>\n	<li>Observing the students as they worked with the photograph collection helped me to be more aware of the type of material that captures a new researcher’s attention.</li>\n</ul>\n</li>\n</ol>','Barbara Fagen - Commentary','','inherit','open','open','','1020-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:53:03','2013-04-18 20:53:03','',1020,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1020-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3962,1,'2013-04-18 20:53:16','2013-04-18 20:53:16','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-977\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"uf_leader headshot_nemmers\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_leader-headshot_nemmers.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"75\" height=\"100\" />In 2010, Flagler College and the University of Florida (UF) were awarded a <em>Save America’s Treasures</em> grant by the National Endowment for the Humanities to preserve and provide access to architectural drawings for the National Historic Landmark Hotel Ponce de Leon (1885-1887) and the Memorial Presbyterian Church (1889-1890) in St. Augustine, Florida. During this two-year project, the UF Smathers Libraries are conserving and digitizing an irreplaceable collection of the earliest architectural drawings of the Carrère &amp; Hastings firm. The drawings were created for the oil and railroad tycoon Henry Flagler beginning in the 1880s, but the majority of the drawings subsequently had been “lost” for decades. The few people who knew of their existence were unaware of their historical significance, and the drawings remained stored for years in a boiler room under high Florida temperatures and humidity, and exposed to insects and rodents.\n\nThis treasure trove remained unknown and endangered until its rediscovery in 2004 at Flagler College. To ensure that the drawings are protected and accessible to researchers, the drawings were deposited in 2005 in the UF Architecture Archives, a unit of Special &amp; Area Studies Collections. Comprised of over 260 fragile objects, the St. Augustine collection includes original drawings on cloth, silk, and paper, and a variety of blueprints, diazotypes, and other reproductions. Sizes range from eight by eight inches to over four by eight feet. Many of the drawings could not be unrolled or handled because they were literally crumbling on the shelves; it is very likely that some of these drawings had not been unrolled since they were last used in the 1890s. The grant funding has enabled UF to hire personnel and supplies to properly conserve and digitize all of the drawings.\n\nThe UF Digital Library Center (DLC) has an excellent track record employing students to digitize materials in all formats and conditions. One undergraduate student, James (Jimmy) Barnett, already had experience digitizing architectural drawings in the DLC, so we were happy to hire him as the imaging technician for this project. We knew that we could trust Jimmy to handle the items properly during imaging, which is crucial since many of the drawings are in extremely poor condition and are over eight feet long. Moreover, with his background and coursework in art we were confident that Jimmy could appreciate the drawings as cultural objects and be sensitive to the techniques and media used to produce them. Our trust was well placed, and Jimmy has been an exemplary steward of the drawings placed temporarily in his custody.\n\nIn planning for this project, there was no hesitation about employing an undergraduate student to work with fragile drawings. The archivists and curators in Special Collections have long relied on undergraduate students to assist with processing, research, and outreach activities. We offer an internship course through the History Department, and we have had great success retaining former interns as either paid employees or volunteers. We are able to maintain a pool of highly-trained, motivated assistants, and the students gain practical experience working with historical records. Several of these students have gone on to pursue archives, library, or public history master’s degrees. But regardless of their educational and career paths, we have found that many undergraduate students truly appreciate the value of cultural heritage materials, and many, such as Jimmy, can be trusted to treat them with the care they require.','John Nemmers - Commentary','In 2010, Flagler College and the University of Florida (UF) were awarded a Save America’s Treasures grant by the National Endowment for the Humanities to preserve and provide access to architectural drawings for the National Historic Landmark Hotel Ponce de Leon (1885-1887) and the Memorial Presbyterian Church (1889-1890) in St. Augustine, Florida. During this two-year project, the UF Smathers Libraries are conserving and digitizing an irreplaceable collection of the earliest architectural drawings of the Carrère & Hastings firm. The drawings were created for the oil and railroad tycoon Henry Flagler beginning in the 1880s, but the majority of the drawings subsequently had been “lost” for decades. The few people who knew of their existence were unaware of their historical significance, and the drawings remained stored for years in a boiler room under high Florida temperatures and humidity, and exposed to insects and rodents.','inherit','open','open','','976-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:53:16','2013-04-18 20:53:16','',976,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/976-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3963,1,'2013-04-18 20:53:20','2013-04-18 20:53:20','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-968\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"James barnett\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/barnett.jpg\" alt=\"James Barnett Headshot\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />\n\nDigitally scanning archival objects requires not only technical know-how but also an appreciation for the subject matter. My fine-arts background gave me the knowledge and skill set to digitize architectural renderings by Carrère &amp; Hastings of historic structures in Saint Augustine, Florida. I worked on the scanning with two concerns: the drawing as an artifact and the drawing’s content, or what is being represented. The architectural renderings averaged six feet by three feet, some larger and some smaller, though all were difficult to handle. Add the paper’s age and brittleness to the immense size, and one has to have quite a bit of finesse in handling the renderings. I had to hatch a strategy to properly scan each of the uniquely sized drawings.\n\nGoing into the project, I thought my experience in printmaking would influence the way I scanned the drawings, not realizing that the reverse would happen; the scanning actually affected my art practice. In printmaking I have dealt with large paper before, but never anything quite as large as these archival renderings. My experience handling large paper for the digitization project scaled up my thinking in my own work outside of the project. Consequently, my own art work got larger. With confidence in my newly learned ability to handle paper larger than me, I started a large installation piece in which I put together staging proofs of an etching plate into a single four-by-six feet layered installation. The scale and construction would have never come to mind had I not worked with these large architectural drawings.\n\n<span class=\"alignright wp-caption\" style=\"width: 333px;\"><img class=\"alignright size-medium wp-image-969\" style=\"margin-left: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 6\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-6-333x222.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"222\" /> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barnett using a Betterlight Super 8k-HS camera back and custom mount configuration to digitize John Carrère and Thomas Hastings’ “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890. Photo credit: Joe Kaleita, University of Florida Libraries.</span></span>Working with the photo editing software to optimize the scanned images for online viewing has also affected my art. Most of the archival pieces were so large they had to be captured in successive scans of two or more and stitched together in a photo editing program. In the digital stitching process, layers are important in getting a seamless product. When scanning the segments, I had to figure out where the respective scans would overlap in their respective digital layers so that when I got to the stitching, they all line up correctly. This takes planning, calculating, and configuring measurements in relation to the object. This idea of smaller units constructing a whole informed my process in constructing the art installation mentioned above, and it continues to affect my work.\n\nWhile I did not realize it at the time, my artwork reflects the processes I was dealing with at work. All together, the many different renderings that are part of the Carrère &amp; Hastings project build a picture of the architects’ process. I learned to see their end result, the building itself, as not the whole story but the final step in the process that you can only see if you include the drawings. This idea influenced my own installation. I felt that my whole process had to be shown; the print proofs (the intermittent states) are just as important as the end result. I never would have come to this idea had I not worked on the Carrère &amp; Hastings project.','James Barnett - Commentary','Digitally scanning archival objects requires not only technical know-how but also an appreciation for the subject matter. My fine-arts background gave me the knowledge and skill set to digitize architectural renderings by Carrère & Hastings of historic structures in Saint Augustine, Florida. I worked on the scanning with two concerns: the drawing as an artifact and the drawing’s content, or what is being represented. The architectural renderings averaged six feet by three feet, some larger and some smaller, though all were difficult to handle. Add the paper’s age and brittleness to the immense size, and one has to have quite a bit of finesse in handling the renderings. I had to hatch a strategy to properly scan each of the uniquely sized drawings.','inherit','open','open','','967-revision-3','','','2013-04-18 20:53:20','2013-04-18 20:53:20','',967,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/967-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3964,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:40','2013-04-18 21:13:40','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1380\" title=\"lehigh_support head shot_maserjian\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_support-head-shot_maserjian.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />I’d like to tell you a story, one about a series of experiences that changed the way I work with students and faculty at Lehigh. In fact, the story is about stories—digital storytelling, to be exact. Digital storytelling uses computer-based still and moving images, text, audio, and music to document experiences, ideas, and research.\n\nIn the fall of 2005 I had the pleasure of working with English professor Ed Gallagher in an experimental, first-year writing course, “Digital Songs, Stories, and Histories,” that offered students new ways to communicate through a variety of multi-media assignments. For one assignment the students were asked to create a video based on a research question they developed from materials they found in Lehigh’s Digital Library project, <a href=\"http://digital.lib.lehigh.edu/remain/con/digwriting.html\">I Remain: A Digital Archive of Letters, Manuscripts, and Ephemera</a>. The site contains hundreds of items from the university’s Special Collections and Archives that represent five centuries of writers, explorers, scientists, philosophers, and politicians.\n\nThe students were asked to select a document from the site that piqued their curiosity, transcribe that document, formulate a historical question, develop a thesis, select materials that would support that thesis, and produce a video based on those efforts. The vast majority of the students embraced the archival and technological challenge. The results appear on the <em>I Remain</em> site.\n\nIn order to understand the content development and technological challenges our students faced, I delved into my family archives and produced a short personal video story about my father. I was amazed at the ability of this process to challenge and change my perspective on the past. Cathartic is the only way I can describe my experience. Clearly smitten with this medium, the following year I taught a course for the History Department, Digital History and Video. This class had a mix of undergraduate and graduate students who were also asked to explore the archival materials on the <em>I Remain</em> site. They had to perform many of the same assignments as the previous class did, but, as the course level dictated, they had to be even more rigorous in their research. The students wrote a footnoted essay about their document(s), and then converted their research essay into a script to include narration and accompanying visuals.\n\nOne of the Digital History students, a senior with a double major in history and education, discovered a treasure trove of primary sources when she came upon a scrapbook of memorabilia related to the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. The scrapbook was compiled by American boundary commissioner, Rhode Island Secretary of State, historian, and author John R. Bartlett. Using many of the images in the scrapbook, she constructed a <a href=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170\">seven-minute video about the assassination of President Lincoln</a> and the effect his death had on the country. Rather than address a scholarly audience in her production, she chose to produce a documentary with a general audience in mind. The storytelling choices she made in her narration and accompanying voice-over collaborations with faculty and fellow classmates are clearly directed toward that general audience. Though initially intimidated by the use of new technology, this student was pleased that she was able to face the challenge and learn a new skill that would help her in her career in elementary education.\n\nSince these initial forays into student-produced documentary, I am pleased to say that this form of communication is alive and well at Lehigh University. As the number of requests for video projects grew, Library and Technology Services formed the Documentary Resource Team. The Team is comprised of librarians, instructional technologists, and media specialists who help faculty and students navigate the opportunities and challenges of video production. In many of these classes, students use physical and virtual archives extensively in their research and image selection. With the opportunities of archival discovery also come the challenges of representing findings.\n\nThe materials we uncover in archives and the way we choose to use them has provoked an ongoing series of questions about copyright, research methodology, and documentary ethics. Regardless of the event (long ago or yesterday) or the individual (living or dead), the lessons our students learn about their obligations in representing the lives of others are important ones. What is at stake when, as digital storytellers, we document the experience of others? What happens when those experiences move beyond the confines of the classroom and become part of a larger audience at public screenings or on the web? The questions of authority, privacy, responsibility, and moral obligations are good ones with no easy answers. Luckily, as educators, we are not in the business of easy answers.','Julia Maserjian - Commentary','I’d like to tell you a story, one about a series of experiences that changed the way I work with students and faculty at Lehigh. In fact, the story is about stories—digital storytelling, to be exact. Digital storytelling uses computer-based still and moving images, text, audio, and music to document experiences, ideas, and research.','inherit','open','open','','1116-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:40','2013-04-18 21:13:40','',1116,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1116-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3965,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:40','2013-04-18 21:13:40','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1378\" title=\"lehigh_student head shot_weber\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-head-shot_weber.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />\n\nDuring the fall 2011 semester, I was a part of Lehigh University’s Theories of Masculinity class, an upper-level English and Women’s Studies course. Initially, I signed up for it because it was a prerequisite for graduating with department honors. As part of this course, we created a documentary film on coeducation and its effects on men and masculinity at Lehigh, which is currently celebrating its fortieth anniversary of admitting female students. My role in this film became a challenging and ultimately very rewarding part of my education at Lehigh.\n\nCreating the film required extensive use of Lehigh University’s Special Collections. As someone unfamiliar with the process of researching in the archives, I was unaware of the extensive time and effort such an undertaking required. Yet, it was through delving into the pages and pages of yearbook photos from the late 1960s and early 1970s (see Figures <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">2</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">3</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">6</a>), and seeing headlines from that time in <em>The Brown and White</em>, Lehigh’s student newspaper (see Figures <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">1</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">5</a>, <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image7.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">7</a>), that I began to appreciate the power of the project our class was creating. This project allowed me to see the trajectory of Lehigh’s transition to a coeducational institution, a transition colored by many challenges, including sexism. These challenges are not easily visible in 2011, forty years later, so seeing the headlines and pictures in the archives literally, and in a unique way, demonstrated the hurdles women had to face at Lehigh. Some were the only girls in their classes, and all had to overcome being seen simply as weekend entertainment for the male students, as was the case for the women who were bussed in and out on Saturdays from nearby Cedar Crest College prior to coeducation (see <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">Figure 1</a>). I had been taking my role as a woman on Lehigh’s campus for granted, and this process really made me consider the journey that others had taken to provide me with such an opportunity.\n\nThe archives played a major role in our documentary. The images and video clips we found provided evidence of our claims about the challenges women came up against at a conservative institution transitioning to coeducation, and in a way that our words alone could not do justice to. Simply hearing about the awkward mixers held before coeducation was implemented is not as powerful as seeing pictures of wide-eyed men groping at women, or of the huge amounts of alcohol they consumed at these parties. Lehigh’s archives are not used nearly enough. I am embarrassed to admit that as a first-semester senior English major I am just now getting my first taste of their value. It is my hope that our documentary project will serve as a positive example of the power that these resources can provide to our university. As these images fade further and further into the past, students have the chance to keep them alive in our contemporary work by using them in various classes and research projects. I hope that our documentary project can show the university, and especially other students like me who may not have known the extent of the material available, the value of these resources to the legacy of our institution and the appreciation of our education.','Kim Weber - Commentary','During the fall 2011 semester, I was a part of Lehigh University’s Theories of Masculinity class, an upper-level English and Women’s Studies course. Initially, I signed up for it because it was a prerequisite for graduating with department honors. As part of this course, we created a documentary film on coeducation and its effects on men and masculinity at Lehigh, which is currently celebrating its fortieth anniversary of admitting female students. My role in this film became a challenging and ultimately very rewarding part of my education at Lehigh.','inherit','open','open','','1113-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:40','2013-04-18 21:13:40','',1113,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1113-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3966,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1374\" title=\"lehigh_instructor head shot_kramp\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_instructor-head-shot_kramp.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />My fall 2011 English and Women’s Studies upper-level undergraduate class, Theories of Masculinity, was designed to coordinate with the fortieth anniversary of admitting undergraduate women to Lehigh University. A major component of this course was a student-produced documentary film that considers the effects of coeducation on men and masculinity at Lehigh. This film project provided my students with an opportunity to examine critically Lehigh’s institutional history, focusing on the late 1960s and early 1970s. While it was not my initial intention, I was extremely pleased by the students’ abilities to research and study their own school’s history. They made extensive use of Lehigh’s Archives and Special Collections to collect numerous articles, documents, and perhaps most importantly, photographs, and they incorporated these materials into the different sections of the film (see Figures 1-6, below). Students discovered several cultural texts from the 1960s and 1970s that portrayed Lehigh as a haven for privileged masculinity, a sphere in which men appeared largely ignorant of the volatile civil rights movement and the emergent mid-century women’s movement. And yet, my students’ research also revealed that the Lehigh community of this era was also clearly cognizant of impending social changes. As my students tracked this tension between the ossification of male hegemony and the certainty of coming shifts, they developed a newfound appreciation for the importance of institutional history to the present operations of a university.\n\nThe prominence of Greek life is certainly one such feature of this legacy. Two of the four segments of the film address the role of fraternities and Greek social life, including the final section, which focuses on men and masculinity in Lehigh’s contemporary culture. The students who explored Lehigh’s mid-century Greek culture found ample textual evidence of its importance, including photographs, yearbook coverage, and film footage. When students interviewed alumni from the 1960s and 1970s, the men reported that Greek life had waned significantly in the years following coeducation. But when other students spoke with current male and female students, these individuals emphasized the enduring importance of fraternities and sororities to the culture of Lehigh. In addition, the group of filmmakers who focused on the period prior to coeducation highlighted the ways in which women were brought to campus for Saturday evening social events such as dances. My students interviewed several alumni who commented on the awkwardness of such activities, for both the men and the women. They even include a telling newspaper story in which Cedar Crest College, a small women’s college in nearby Allentown, is referenced as the bordello of Lehigh Valley (see <a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\">Figure 1</a>). The student filmmakers who covered the years immediately following coeducation also treated the clumsiness of men’s interactions with women; they point to challenges in managing facilities and planning building construction, developing female athletics, and integrating women into extra-curricular clubs and organizations, such as the marching band. The filmmakers who treated contemporary conceptions of masculinity within the Lehigh community explicitly referenced the enduring legacy of sexual inequality and the perceived intellectual inferiority of women. They cited recent newspaper accounts on persistent gender inequities on campus and conducted numerous interviews on the topic. While it may very well have been unintentional, these students never interviewed a male and female subject together; instead, they consistently showed pairs of male students, suggesting the extant homosocial culture of Lehigh.\n\nI wanted my students to engage the history and culture of Lehigh through film technology because it would provide them with an opportunity to artistically synthesize a variety of different kinds of texts (photos, newspaper articles, found film footage, interviews, etc.). The film medium also allowed my students to share their work in public forums, respond to questions and concerns, and discuss their own research and artistic strategies. In effect, the film project allowed my students to contribute to the very institutional history of Lehigh University that they were researching. The archival work my students completed for this film has effectively introduced them to both the depths of information housed in Lehigh’s Special Collections and the profound relevance of institutional history to their own educational experiences. As I reflect upon the experience, there is no doubt in my mind that the most important single component of this process was done long before this class started; the cataloguing and digitization of the university newspaper and annual yearbooks made such a classroom project possible. The film has allowed students, faculty, and alumni to look back into Lehigh’s past, and, while this project has undoubtedly opened some uncomfortable topics and discussions, it has also reminded current and former members of the Lehigh community of their shared history.\n<div><span id=\"attachment_1388\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1388\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image1\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1-333x159.jpg\" alt=\"The Trade with Cedar Crest.\" width=\"333\" height=\"159\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 1: </em>The Trade with Cedar Crest. From Lehigh’s student newspaper, <em>The Brown &amp; White</em> (September 17, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.</span></span><span id=\"attachment_1410\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 183px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1410\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image2\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2-183x250.jpg\" alt=\"Lehigh Student Work\" width=\"183\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 2: </em>Alpha Lambda Omega fraternity member list from <em>Epitome</em>, Lehigh’s yearbook (1970, p. 233). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1390\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 133px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1390\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3-133x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"133\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 3: </em>A Lehigh student dances with his date at a mixer (<em>Epitome</em> 1970, p.252). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span id=\"attachment_1391\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image4.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1391\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image4\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image4-333x233.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"233\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 4: </em>Photograph of the Class of 1948’s 15th reunion (1963). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1392\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 239px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1392\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image5\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5-239x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"239\" height=\"250\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 5: </em>Cartoon by Gene Mater in <em>The Brown &amp; White</em> (September 14, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.</span></span><span style=\"clear: both; display: block; overflow: auto;\"> </span><span id=\"attachment_1393\" class=\"left alignleft\" style=\"width: 333px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-right: 15px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1393\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image6\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6-333x245.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"245\" /></a><span class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Figure 6: </em>Student Gene Mater speaking out at a student event (<em>Epitome</em> 1970, p.40). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.</span></span></div>','Michael Kramp - Commentary','My fall 2011 English and Women’s Studies upper-level undergraduate class, Theories of Masculinity, was designed to coordinate with the fortieth anniversary of admitting undergraduate women to Lehigh University. A major component of this course was a student-produced documentary film that considers the effects of coeducation on men and masculinity at Lehigh. This film project provided my students with an opportunity to examine critically Lehigh’s institutional history, focusing on the late 1960s and early 1970s. ','inherit','open','open','','1110-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1110,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1110-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3967,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:32','2013-04-18 20:57:32','<h4>Students in an upper-level English and Women\'s Studies course produced this documentary film, <em>The Development of Masculinity: Lehigh, Coeducation, and Its Impact</em>.</h4>','Archival Materials into Documentary Film','Students in an English and Women’s Studies undergraduate course at Lehigh University used materials from Lehigh’s Special Collections and University Archives to create a documentary film. The students used these archival resources, along with interviews and other research, to tell a chapter of their own institution’s history, focusing on issues of gender and masculinity as Lehigh went from all-male to coed in 1971.','inherit','open','open','','1108-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:32','2013-04-18 20:57:32','',1108,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1108-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3968,1,'2013-04-18 20:58:18','2013-04-18 20:58:18','In 2008 Tom Smith took a practicum course called The Power of Place, taught by Melanie Shell-Weiss through the <a href=\"http://krieger.jhu.edu/africana\">Center for Africana Studies</a>. The students recorded oral histories of residents of Baltimore\'s Middle East neighborhood for the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH), which they later assembled into a <a href=\"http://eboh.jhu.edu/oralhistoryplayer/\">digital audio archive</a>. The course led Smith to think about how to integrate the recordings with their lengthy transcripts. In addition to the interviews he conducted for the class, Smith eventually built the player software featured on the project website. The software that he developed is open source, so anyone can use it without having to pay license or royalty fees. Smith’s company, ESDA LLC, can implement the software on a contract basis for those without the expertise to do it in-house.\n\n<a href=\"http://morgue.afro.com/AfroArchon/\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1253\" title=\"jhu_project photo_afro\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_project-photo_afro.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"425\" /></a> <span class=\"caption\" style=\"margin-bottom: 30px;\">Unprocessed boxes of archival material, Baltimore <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em>, 2008.</span>\n\nSmith’s research on practical archival problems brought him into contact with Moira Hinderer, the project manager for the <a href=\"http://magazine.jhu.edu/2011/11/unboxing-history/\">Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project</a> (DPAAP), a partnership between the Baltimore <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> and Johns Hopkins University. DPAAP focuses on organizing and preserving the archives of the <em>Afro-American Newspapers;</em> they have worked on the newspapers’ <a href=\"http://morgue.afro.com/AfroArchon/\">morgue collections</a> as well as personal papers and institutional records. Hinderer, who is also a lecturer in the Center for Africana Studies at Johns Hopkins, teaches classes in which students work directly with the <em>Afro</em>’s archives. Smith watched Hinderer\'s students and archival interns involved in the painstaking labor of flatbed scanning and wondered if this process could be made more efficient. The time and expense involved in the digitization of delicate archival materials at the <em>Afro</em> prompted Smith to invent another tool: the <a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\">Gado scanner</a>.','Afro - Project Description','','inherit','open','open','','1064-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:58:18','2013-04-18 20:58:18','',1064,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1064-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3969,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1247\" title=\"jhu_teacher photo_hinderer\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_teacher-photo_hinderer.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Over the last four years, I have worked as a lecturer teaching courses about Baltimore and African American history, and I have also served as the project manager for the Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project (DPAAP), a partnership between Johns Hopkins University and the <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. These experiences have shown me that students learn best when they are not simply taught history, but when they also act as historians. Baltimore offers both possibilities and challenges for students doing historical projects. Much of the city’s history remains unwritten, and historical materials are often tucked away in small archives and private homes. Records that are not easily accessible present a special problem for students who are constrained by time and transportation. Both the East Baltimore Oral History Project and the <em>Afro</em> Archives partnership seek to address these challenges by involving students in the process of uncovering, describing, and making accessible historical records, and then encouraging students to use these resources for historical research.\n\nThe East Baltimore Oral History Project involves students in the work of preserving the memories of established members of the East Baltimore community. For students, this work addresses a major complaint about life as a Johns Hopkins undergraduate: they are too removed from the life of the city, and they are not encouraged to interact with the city and its inhabitants in meaningful ways. The interviewing process has the additional benefit of making students experts, allowing them to bring a substantive point of view and body of evidence as they critique course readings and engage in class discussions. As interviews are added to the project website, students produce an accessible community history resource that will last well beyond the usual semester-long class project.\n\nDPAAP also depends heavily on the work of student archival interns, and on the technical skills of the current and former students who form the Project Gado team, led by recent Johns Hopkins University graduate Tom Smith. Archival interns have been involved in every step of uncovering the archives, from labeling boxes and shelves, to entering information into our archival database, to writing essays for our database website. This work has given interns a perspective on African American history usually reserved for history professionals. With materials pertaining to almost every local, national, and international aspect of Black history, interns are often asked to describe the central themes and narratives of this diverse archive. This challenge requires them to address the problem of twentieth-century information overload familiar to both historians and archivists. The Project Gado team offers a different set of solutions to the problem of preserving and making accessible vast amounts of archival materials. The members of Project Gado are involved in innovative work in the digital humanities as they create low-cost options for large-scale digitization. The work of Tom Smith and Project Gado suggests another possibility for hands-on coursework in history, courses that would integrate technical skills and the creation of hardware and software into a rigorous humanities education to prepare students to be twenty-first-century humanities scholars.','Moira Hinderer - Commentary','Over the last four years, I have worked as a lecturer teaching courses about Baltimore and African American history, and I have also served as the project manager for the Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project (DPAAP), a partnership between Johns Hopkins University and the Afro-American Newspapers funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. These experiences have shown me that students learn best when they are not simply taught history, but when they also act as historians. Baltimore offers both possibilities and challenges for students doing historical projects. Much of the city’s history remains unwritten, and historical materials are often tucked away in small archives and private homes. Records that are not easily accessible present a special problem for students who are constrained by time and transportation. Both the East Baltimore Oral History Project and the Afro Archives partnership seek to address these challenges by involving students in the process of uncovering, describing, and making accessible historical records, and then encouraging students to use these resources for historical research. ','inherit','open','open','','1062-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1062,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1062-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3970,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1244\" title=\"jhu_student photo_smith\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-photo_smith.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />When people think of Johns Hopkins University they think of medicine, and rightly so. JHU prepares people for medical school better than any college in the world. The medical attitude, however, extends beyond the bounded world of pre-meds. Hopkins often values the reductionism of the scientific method and the cleanliness of the lab over holism and real-world, big-picture thinking. In looking for classes during my sophomore year at JHU, then, I was surprised to find The Power of Place taught by Melanie Shell-Weiss. The course was a practicum, and all participants would conduct oral histories as part of the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH). This was a rare chance to get out of the infamous “Hopkins Bubble.” I signed up.\n\nDuring Power of Place I helped produce several oral histories. As interviews flowed in, however, I began to see a problem. Each interview was around two hours long and included a full transcript. From my class alone, the project would amass nearly thirty hours of audio and several hundred pages of text. Making use of those materials would be tough. As a software developer, I saw a solution. I imagined a tool that could link transcripts with audio, allow people to tag important areas within interviews, and make all the EBOH materials searchable. With support from the university, I spent the next year working with Professor Shell-Weiss to make my idea into a working web application.\n\nWhile working on EBOH, I started visiting archives. I could find few digital images of East Baltimore, and I wanted to know why. On a trip to the <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> with Moira Hinderer, I found a plethora of visual materials. Very few, however, had been digitized. The main factor was cost; resources to manually digitize the <em>Afro</em> collection simply were not available. Again, I saw a technical solution: I would build a robot. I proposed creating an automatic scanner that could lift and digitize the <em>Afro</em>’s sensitive artifacts, all for less than $500. No one at JHU thought it would happen. Luckily, Professor Shell-Weiss managed to raise some funds, and I spent a summer prototyping. The result was the Gado 1, a proof-of-concept that would later scan over 1,000 images at the <em>Afro</em>. The price tag was $496.\n\nAfter graduating from JHU in May 2011, I wanted to continue refining my technology. With support from the JHU Sheridan Libraries and the Abell Foundation (a regional grantsmaker), I secured enough funding to work on my project full time. In December 2011, I completed the Gado 2, a second-generation machine that dramatically outpaces the original. Since testing began, my machine has digitized over 3,000 artifacts at the <em>Afro</em>, at a tiny fraction of the cost of manual scanning. In February 2012, we made these images available to the general public and launched GadoImages.com to distribute them to paying licensors. I believe Gado has the potential to dramatically alter the economics of archival digitization. I would never be at this point without that first push to step outside the classroom and start thinking in broader terms.','Tom Smith - Commentary','When people think of Johns Hopkins University they think of medicine, and rightly so. JHU prepares people for medical school better than any college in the world. The medical attitude, however, extends beyond the bounded world of pre-meds. Hopkins often values the reductionism of the scientific method and the cleanliness of the lab over holism and real-world, big-picture thinking. In looking for classes during my sophomore year at JHU, then, I was surprised to find The Power of Place taught by Melanie Shell-Weiss. The course was a practicum, and all participants would conduct oral histories as part of the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH). This was a rare chance to get out of the infamous “Hopkins Bubble.” I signed up.','inherit','open','open','','1059-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1059,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1059-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3971,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:53','2013-04-18 20:57:53','<h4>The student work for this case study is two archival tools designed by Tom Smith:  a low-cost robotic scanner for paper-based materials and a web application for an oral history archive.  Click on the images below to learn more about these tools.</h4>\n<a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1258\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 1_gado\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-project-photo-1_gado.jpg\" alt=\"The Gado 2 Robotic Scanner scanning photos at the Afro-American Newspapers archive.\" width=\"638\" height=\"478\" /></a> <span class=\"caption\">The Gado 2 Robotic Scanner scanning photos at the <em>Afro-American Newspapers</em> archive.</span>\n\n<a href=\"http://eboh.jhu.edu/oralhistoryplayer\"><img class=\" wp-image-2451\" style=\"margin-top: 30px;\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 2_eboh\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/jhu_student-project-photo-2_eboh.jpg\" alt=\"The East Baltimore Oral History Player showing the index entry for a resident whose story Tom Smith helped to document and record.\" width=\"630\" /></a> <span class=\"caption\">The East Baltimore Oral History Player showing the index entry for a resident whose story Tom Smith helped to document and record.</span>','Student-Built Archival Tools','This case study focuses on a student who contributed much more than expected to digital projects by creating two archival tools: a web application for an oral history archive and a low-cost robotic scanner for paper-based materials. In a practicum course at Johns Hopkins University, Tom Smith and his peers worked on recording and organizing oral histories. Smith also developed an audio player for the digital archive. This work brought him in contact with the <a href=\"http://archive.magazine.jhu.edu/2011/11/unboxing-history\">Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project</a> (DPAAP) and led Smith to invent another tool: the <a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\">Gado scanner</a>. This powerful, durable robotic scanner digitizes sensitive archival materials and can be built using simple components for less than $500.','inherit','open','open','','1057-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:53','2013-04-18 20:57:53','',1057,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1057-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3972,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','As an undergraduate English major with a concentration in creative writing, I had always regarded books as a portal into the world of fiction, a place where I could study plots and themes, setting and syntax. I had never stopped to consider books as historical objects until my first class in English 241: Archeology of Text. The assignment for the final research paper seemed simple: use what we learned during the semester to explore, analyze, and describe a document of interest from Goucher’s Special Collections.\n\nI knew from the start that I was intrigued by Goucher’s prolific collection of Jane Austen materials, but needed something specific to spark my interest. Walking around the small Special Collections room in the Julia Rogers Library, my gaze landed on a blue box behind a glass case. I soon learned that inside that box lay the first American edition of <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).  Nancy Magnuson, college librarian, told me all about Alberta Burke’s letters and thought that they might contain clues for my research. I have always been fascinated with letters (both reading and writing them), and the process of tracking a specific book through personal correspondences captivated me. I chose to study the 1816 first American edition of <em>Emma</em> and explore the letters that track how it found a home in Goucher’s library.\n\n<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1273\" title=\"goucher_student action photo_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-action-photo_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"Sarah Kendall working with the Burke copy of the American first edition of Austen\'s Emma\" width=\"320\" height=\"375\" />\n<span class=\"caption\" style=\"width: 320px\">Sarah Kendall working with the Burke copy of the American first edition of Austen\'s Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells & Lilly, Boston, 1816) in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room (December 2007).</span>\n\nI remain baffled by the amount of information and detailed history I discovered while writing a descriptive bibliography. I wrote detailed accounts of the letters from Alberta Burke and David Gilson, the letters between David Gilson and Henry Burke, and the 1816 first edition of <em>Emma</em>. After seeing the interest that both Alberta Burke and David Gilson had in the first American edition of <em>Emma</em>, I knew that perusing the pages and studying the tome in detail would be essential to revealing the book’s history. Sifting through dozens of letters hoping to find mention of <em>Emma</em> thrilled me to no end. Reading different letters from various sources also illuminated how various people valued the first edition and why they wanted it in their possession. The circuit of corresponding materials proved equally intriguing and helpful for tracking down how the book traveled from Philadelphia to Goucher’s library.\n\nI learned that by latching on to a specific topic, I could follow a steady thread of conversation about <em>Emma</em>. The experience made me feel like a genuine historian instead of an undergraduate student simply researching journal articles or internet resources. It felt very special and intellectually stimulating to handle history with my own hands! I even discovered two additional letters hidden between the inside cover and the title page of the first volume. Unearthing these two letters felt very encouraging and proved that there is always the possibility of finding something new within the archives.','Sarah Kendall - Commentary','As an undergraduate English major with a concentration in creative writing, I had always regarded books as a portal into the world of fiction, a place where I could study plots and themes, setting and syntax. I had never stopped to consider books as historical objects until my first class in English 241: Archeology of Text. The assignment for the final research paper seemed simple: use what we learned during the semester to explore, analyze, and describe a document of interest from Goucher’s Special Collections.','inherit','open','open','','1053-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1053,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1053-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3973,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','When I heard about English 241: Archeology of Text, I was immediately excited. I had been working in Special Collections and Archives at Goucher College for about a year, and I knew the class would give me a chance to learn more about books and archives in a setting that would encourage discussions with my peers. When it came time to pick a collection for my final project, I decided to work with archival materials rather than books so that I could challenge myself.\n\nWhile working in Special Collections, I had often walked by large blue boxes containing scrapbooks, but I had yet to look through them. When I began leafing through them, I found that I learned as much about Goucher College as I did about the women who put the scrapbooks together. Many of the scrapbooks had things in common, including Valentines, pressed flowers, calling cards, and photographs. But what intrigued me most were the dance cards. I had never before encountered dance cards, or even heard of them, even though I had been dancing all my life. Many of the dance cards were from the U.S. Naval Academy, a nearby all-male school in need of women with whom to dance. Goucher girls would often travel to Annapolis for the weekend dances and bring back dance cards as souvenirs.\n\n<img class=\" wp-image-1275\" title=\"goucher_student action photo_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-action-photo_brand.jpg\" alt=\"Cassie Brand working in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room \" width=\"510\" height=\"382\" />\n<span class=\"caption\" style=\"width: 510px\">Cassie Brand working in the former Rare Book Collection Seminar Room (December 2007) with an early Chaucer edition from Special Collections (Ed. John Urry, London: Printed for Bernard Lintot, 1721). </span>\n\nWhen I began researching these cards, I found very little information. I went to all of the reference librarians I could find, but even they had difficulties because very few secondary sources were available. I looked through all the etiquette books I could get my hands on and even asked people to tell me what they knew about dance cards. Those who knew of them provided me with the basic information I needed to study the cards.\n\nI contacted the U.S. Naval Academy Archives, and with the help of Nancy Magnuson, Goucher College Librarian, I made an appointment to see their collection. There I found an almost complete run of dance cards from the Farewell Ball, which was held every year after graduation. Some were blank, some were filled in, some contained photographs, and some still had their tiny pencils attached. Looking through the cards, I found that they could be studied in several ways. One could examine print history, dance history, social history, or even one woman’s history of dance partners. The first and last dance cards were so drastically different that I chose to look at how the cards changed over the years. I found that the cards’ modifications reflected the changes in social dances.\n\nThough I have not yet returned to the dance card collections to study them further, they have never been far from my mind. I am still trying to convince people that dance cards are brilliant and should be reinstated for social events. Dance cards remain an interest of mine, and I would love to eventually write their complete history.','Cassie Brand - Commentary','When I heard about English 241: Archeology of Text, I was immediately excited. I had been working in Special Collections and Archives at Goucher College for about a year, and I knew the class would give me a chance to learn more about books and archives in a setting that would encourage discussions with my peers. When it came time to pick a collection for my final project, I decided to work with archival materials rather than books so that I could challenge myself.','inherit','open','open','','1051-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1051,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1051-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3974,1,'2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','<img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1279\" title=\"goucher_instructor image_sanders\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_instructor-image_sanders.jpg\" alt=\"Sanders\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Students prepare for English 241: Archeology of Text research projects in twelve weeks of readings and laboratory experiences, which introduce the skills necessary to work with early printed books and archival documents. (For the text of the assignment, see <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/241_individual_research_projects_F09.htm\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>). The goal of these projects is to enable each student to pursue a self-designed creative or descriptive study of books, manuscripts, and other artifacts from Special Collections and Archives. Because the course is interdisciplinary and students come from many majors, it is hard to predict where students’ curiosities will take them. The best way to encourage active student engagement is to prepare students for the widest range of book- and document-related work. Successful projects can lead to further research supported by Goucher’s Peirce Center fellowships.\n\nBeginning with the study of how a digital document is constructed and the history of the Internet’s “cloud” library, students practice searching online scholarly sites such as the <em>Oxford English Dictionary</em> (OED), WorldCat, <em>English Short-Title Catalog</em> (ESTC), and the continental library collections accessible through the University of Karlsruhe’s online catalog. They also explore using search engines and databases to identify and locate people, places, and things. Those skills provide interpretive context for hand-press books in the course’s next segment. After three weeks of studying typography, format, bindings, and hand-made paper and its manufacture, students have learned the most basic descriptive bibliography skills. This enables them to describe the edition-specific and copy-specific details of their “cadaver books,” a set of early printed books they handle each week to encourage safe and intelligent treatment of early paper and bindings. Finally, paper and parchment manuscript laboratories teach students to decipher secretary and scribal hands from the nineteenth through the thirteenth centuries. This enables them to interpret marginalia in early printed books, including owners’ inscriptions and other provenance and use evidence.\n\nSarah Kendall’s study of the Burke Austen Collection’s copy of the two-volume American first edition of Jane Austen’s <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816) represents a creative response to traditional rare-book provenance study, resulting in her discovery of a significant trove of correspondence in the book’s archival container. Before Alberta Burke brought the book to Baltimore, it had passed through the hands of Christina Broun Dalhousie (the Countess Dalhousie); a prominent collector, Frank J. Hogan; and a poet, Siegfried Sassoon. Kendall’s study demonstrates the way a book’s value changes as it moves from owner to owner, becoming as attractive for its associations and rarity as it is for its text. An archives-based approach to using the course’s analytical tools is represented by Cassie Brand’s study of U.S. Naval Academy dance cards found in the scrapbook kept by Goucher student Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924), augmented by research at The Nimitz Library in Annapolis. Brand showed how the cards could be used to study crucial changes in American courtship conventions as women took control of their relations with potential suitors.\n\nThese two projects represent the course’s goal: to enable original, undergraduate, hands-on archival research using interdisciplinary skills:\n<ul>\n	<li>See images from <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/cassie_brand_IRP_imaging_Fall%202007.htm\" target=\"_blank\">Brand’s dance card project</a>.</li>\n	<li>See a portfolio of images of the <a href=\"http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng241/English_241_IRP_Images_F07.htm\" target=\"_blank\">2007 class researching final projects</a>.</li>\n</ul>','Arnold Sanders - Commentary','Students prepare for English 241, “Archeology of Text,” research projects in twelve weeks of readings and laboratory experiences which introduce skills necessary to work with early printed books and archival documents. The goal of these projects is to enable each student to pursue a self-designed creative or descriptive study of books, manuscripts, and other artifacts from Special Collections and Archives. Because the course is interdisciplinary and students come from many majors, it is hard to predict where students’ curiosities will take them. The best way to encourage active student engagement is prepare students for the widest range of book and document related work. Successful projects can lead to further research supported by Goucher’s Peirce Center fellowships.','inherit','open','open','','1049-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:13:41','2013-04-18 21:13:41','',1049,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1049-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3975,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:40','2013-04-18 20:57:40','','Hands-On Research with Rare Books and Ephemera','This case study features work that two students completed in an English class at Goucher College. The course, The Archeology of Text, offers students an understanding of the social and historical frameworks for the production and consumption of text, beginning with the digital age and moving backwards in time. Students are also trained in bibliographic research skills, which they apply to objects in Goucher’s Special Collections library. These objects then become the subjects of a research paper that serves as the final course project.','inherit','open','open','','1047-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:40','2013-04-18 20:57:40','',1047,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1047-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(4488,1,'2013-05-22 03:18:22','2013-05-22 03:18:22','Behind a low glass case in Goucher’s Special Collection Room sits a humble blue book box that holds the first American edition of Jane Austen’s <em>Emma</em>. Valued from nineteen to seventy-five thousand dollars on ABEBooks.com, the edition is unquestionably valuable. But how did this extremely rare copy end up in Goucher’s modest library? In a letter to David Gilson on August 5th, 1967 Alberta Burke revealed that she owned a copy of the 1816 Philadelphia <em>Emma</em>, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon. The two corresponded from 1967 to 1975 until Alberta fell ill. Throughout this time a steady thread of conversation exists about the Philadelphia Emma.\n\nAfter seeing the interest that both Alberta Burke and David Gilson had in the first American edition of Emma, perusing the pages and studying the tome in detail was essential to discover first hand the majesty of the volumes.\n\n<span class=\"wp-caption alignright\" id=\"attachment_1319\" style=\"width: 281px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_kendall.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1319  \" title=\"goucher_student work image2_kendall\" alt=\"First Edition of Emma (1816)\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_kendall-281x250.jpg\" width=\"281\" height=\"250\" /></a> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\">Front pastedown and first flyleaf of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816), with the book plates of the Countess of Dalhousie, Frank J. Hogan, and Alberta H. Burke.</span></span>\n\nThe inside of the custom-made blue book box is coated with a light perimeter of oil damage. Nancy Magnuson, one of Goucher’s librarians and liaisons for the Special Collections, said that Alberta Burke felt so attached to the books and bindings in her collections that she oiled the leather twice a year, far more then necessary. The first volume’s brown leather is faded and has been repaired after cracking. On the inside cover are two pasted rectangular cutouts. The first, measuring 3.5cm tall and 8cm wide, reads “Countess of Dalhousie” in delicate black print. The mysterious figure of the Countess Dalhousie intrigued both David Gilson and Alberta Burke. In a letter dated August 15th 1967 Burke wrote, “The Countess of Dalhousie’s signature, but no date, is on the title page. I like to think, most romantically, but with no evidence that she purchased it in new york when she was in Canada with her husband who was governor-general there in 1819.”\n\nFive months later Burke and Gilson are still perplexed by the elusive Countess and her involvement with the edition. On January 12th, 1968 she writes to Gilson hoping to answer the questions he’d had about the 1816 Philadelphia Emma. She notes that over the first half of the page in volume I there is a note in pencil, “not I think in Sasoon’s writing, probably in that of Percy (Mathews) who was the agent who arranged the sale from Mr. Sasoon to Mr. Hogan.” The note, hand-written in pencil that has faded to the extent of being almost translucent, reads “Countess of D- wife to the 9th Earl (1770-1838). Who was Governor of Canada, Nova Scotia, etc 1819-1828- this explains her owning this edition, which was unknown to G. Keynes when he compiled his Bibliography of Jane Austen, 1929.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\nThese pieces of evidence show that after being published by M. Carey in Philadelphia, this edition left Chesnut Street and most likely traveled into the hands of Lady Dalhousie. “This copy,” Gilson writes in his bibliography of Jane Austen, “was in the present century found in Salisbury by Siegfried Sassoon.”\n\nIn the same letter dated August 15th, 1967 in which she writes to Gilson about her romantic notion that the Countess of Dalhousie purchased Emma when visiting New York, she alludes to another letter involving Siegfried Sassoon. “You may be amused at a sentence from Siegfried Sassoon’s letter to Mr. Percy Elkin Mathews (who arranged the sale of the other 1816 Emma to Mr. Hogan in 1941. G. Keynes will be livid with me, as he wrote saying he must collate it as he wants to write something bout it for the Times Lit Supplement- which is poaching on your preserves, isn’t it?” She writes specifically to Gilson that, “ this is not for quotation in any article, but solely for your own pleasure.” Alberta Burke must have known this would tickle David Gilson’s fancy. Since Gilson first intended to write his bibliography on Jane Austen as a revised edition Geoffrey Keynes’s 1929 bibliography, he would understand Muir’s frustration with people encroaching on his research topic.\n\nBetween the letters from Burke and Gilson and the evidence left behind inside Emma, the provenance of this edition is fairly clear. Emma travels from the Philadelphia publisher to the Countess to Siegfried Sassoon. Inside the first volume of the Emma being examined lays a piece of lavender stationary, measuring 17.6cm tall x 13cm wide, folded in half. Opening it reveals that at the top of the stationary is typed “Heytesbury House, Wiltshire” and at the end of the letter is the minute script signature of Siegfried Sassoon.\n\nThe letter, addressed to Muir, dated March 12th, 1941 is written in Sassoon’s light and witty style. He starts his letter with, “Emma returns to you in a twitter of excitement about going to California. She is sure that Mr. F. Hogan is a very nice man, though she intends to be a bit sharp with him until she gets to know him.” He then jokes with Muir at the expense of Keynes, writing how “G. Keynes will be livid with me, as he wrote saying he must collate it as he wants to write something about it for the Times Lit Supplement- which is poaching on your preserves, isn’t it?”\n\nIn 1941 Sassoon sold the edition through Elkin Mathews to Frank J. Hogan (Gilson, 100). Under the Countess of Dalhousie’s book label is the red leather label of Frank J. Hogan. Around the name in gold lettering it reads “the true university of these days is a collection of books.”\n\nIn addition to the lavender letter from Siegfried Sassoon, two additional correspondences hide between the inside cover and the title page. One letter was written to Mr. Hogan from Mr. Muir relating that the 1816 Philadelphia edition of Emma was on its way. The stationary was that of The Antiquarian Booksellers Association, shown by the stamp on the top right corner. Printed at the top is the name “Elkin Mathews LTD” followed by the director’s names: Greville Worthington, Ian L. Fleming, and P. H. Muir. Underneath the names describes the objects in which these men were interested in: “Rare Books, Manuscripts, Literary Portraits, Music.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\nLetters leading to other letters seems to be a theme when following this first American edition of Emma. In the letter to Mr. Hogan from Mr. Muir, Muir writes how he feels it is important that Mr. Hogan also get, along with the copy of Emma, the letter from Mr. Sassoon (the lavender letter found in the first volume.) “I think it is only right and proper that you should have with the book the letter that Sassoon sent me when sending the book to me. My own feeling is that one cannot have too much of this kind of thing in association with books.” The truth in Muir’s statement could not be more paramount as it relates to this particular edition of Emma. Burke and Gilson’s letter lead to examining the 1816 Philadelphia edition, which hold the additional correspondences from Sassoon and Muir. Being able to handle and analyze one of the three first American editions is a privilege in itself (Gilson, 100). Yet more than just handling the two volumes, I found the circuit of corresponding materials equally intriguing and helpful to track how the book came from Philadelphia, to the Countess Dalhousie, to Siegfried Sassoon to Frank J. Hogan and finally to Alberta Burke.\n\nThe last letter found inside the first volume relating to Emma’s provenance is from Mr. Muir to Alberta Burke. Muir writes to Alberta on different stationary then when writing to Mr. Hogan, perhaps to add a more personal touch. Typed on yellow paper with the green “Elkin Mathews Ltd” insignia printed at the top, the letter is typed and dated May 22nd, 1945. Mr. Muir writes that Mr. Hogan purchased the first American 1816 Philadelphia edition for Alberta for only 300 dollars. “I congratulate you,” he writes, “on getting it so cheaply. It is exceedingly rare.”\n\nThe last letter from Alberta Burke to David Gilson is dated February 4th, 1975. After this date the Austen letters continue between Alberta’s husband Henry Burke and David Gilson. After Alberta’s death on May 22nd, 1975 Goucher’s library received her Jane Austen collection. According to Goucher’s pamphlet “Twenty-Five Years of Jane Austen,” Alberta had always intended to donate the collection to Goucher. “From the time when my Jane Austen material first began to overflow the one-shelf bounds assigned to it, I have always intended that Goucher should be the ultimate recipient, and I have hoped that, sometime in the future, others would partake of the very great pleasure which they have given me for many years.”\n\nWhen David Gilson in 1982 published A Bibliography of Jane Austen he acknowledged his gratitude to Alberta and Henry Burke. Both Alberta Burke and David Gilson benefited from their letters to one another. Alberta Burke, with her deep seeded love and interest in all things Austen, was able to help David Gilson with his mission to track down Austen texts, study and describe them.\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\n<div class=\"footnote\">Gilson, David. <em>A Bibliography of Jane Austen</em>. first. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.</div>\n<div class=\"footnote\">Austen, Jane. <em>Emma</em>. First. Philadelphia: M.Carey, 1816.</div>\n<!--nextpage-->\n<h5>Letters From Alberta Burke to David Gilson</h5>\n<ul>\n	<li>“Apartment Stationary” 18.8 cm tall x 25.9 cm wide, written section is 18.8cm tall x 13.1 cm wide, folded into four quarters for mailing, black ink, cream paper, red print of “Apartment 1318 116 West University Parkway Baltimore, Maryland 21210.” Gray and maroon thin stripe border.</li>\n	<li>“Blue Air Mail” 30.5 cm tall x 18.1cm wide, folded into a 9.7cm tall x 14.8cm wide envelope, black ink, written completely on first side and on first fourth and last fourth on other side.</li>\n	<li>“Gray Apartment Stationary” 18.8cm tall x 25.9cm wide, written section is 18.8 cm tall x 13.1 cm wide, folded into four quarters for mailing, black ink, cream paper, gray print of “Apartment 1318 116 West University Parkway Baltimore, Maryland 21210.” Gray thin stripe border.</li>\n	<li>“Small Note Card” 14cm tall x 8.4cm wide, thicker note-card type cream paper, written only on one side, addressed to “Mr. D.J Gilson, J1 Blenheim Drive Oxford OX2 8DL England” Airmail! is written above the address in red marker. “Burke 1318 Broadview Apts. 116 W. University Parkway Baltimore, Maryland 21210” is typed in upper left corner. Written in blue ink.</li>\n</ul>\n<strong>August 5, 1967\n</strong><em>Apartment Stationary\n</em>Tells Mr. Gilson that she has the Frank J. Hogan copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.\n\n<strong>August 15, 1967\n</strong><em>Apartment Stationary\n</em><em>Written in black fountain pen (script writing), fairly uniform line spacing\n</em>“You may be amused at a sentence from Siegfried Sassoon’s letter to Mr. Percy Elkin Mathews (who arranged the sale of the other 1816 Emma to Mr. Hogan in 1941. “G. Keynes will be livid with me, as he wrote saying he must collate it as he wants to write something bout it for the Times Lit Supplement—which is poaching on your preserves, isn’t it?” This is not for quotation in any article, but solely for your own pleasure.”\n\n“Since my copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma…her signature, but no date, is on the title page) I like to think, most romantically, but with no evidence, that she purchased it as a new work when she was in Canada with her husband who was governor-general there in 1819.”\n\n<strong>January 12, 1968\n</strong><em>Apartment Stationary\n</em>“I hope that I can answer your questions about the Philadelphia 1816 Emma satisfactorily. On inside cover of both volumes is a book place or visiting card (I don’t know which it is) bearing only the engraved words “Coweliers Dalhousie”…no device etc. In the first volume at the left and perpendicular to the lives of priutsey on the title pages is the signature “Cou C Dalhousie” (there is a bit of extra curlicue over the first letter.) However in volume two the signature…is plainly “C B Dalhousie” over the first preliminary half of volume I here is a note in pencil, not I think in Sassoon’s writing, probably in that of Percy (Mathews) who was the agent who arranged the sale from Mr. Sassoon to Mr. Hogan.”\n\n<strong>June 10, 1969\n</strong><em>Blue Air Mail\n</em>“Does Mr. C.B. Hogan’s copy of the 1st Am. E [Emma] conform to the Goodspeed, Boolm Cat. No 317, p.4, 1940 description: “Three vols. In 2…Published by M. Cary. 21 Chestnut St. ….Boston 1816.” I – not sure M. Hogan’s article so can’t collate my copy until his description of his E of my 1st edition is bound(?)”\n\n<strong>November 18, 1969\n</strong><em>Gray Apartment Stationary\n</em>“I was delighted to know of a 3rd (if imperfect copy of the Philadelphia E turning up. When I first read the description of it in Goodspeeds (I think) 1940 catalogue I thought it was some Bookshop.\n#16 went for $1300 to the same buyer\n#17 \" \" 550 \" \" \"\n#18 $40.00\n#19 $35.00\n#20 (The companion to the A--) was valued at $1250 00 by the estate and had a reserve price of $550 which was not reached so that the item was withdrawn.”\n\n<strong>March 11, 1973\n</strong><em>Small Note Card\n</em>“In looking for something else, I picked out a letter of Dr. R.W. Chapurace to me dated 13.10.51. In it he says “The 1816 Philadelphia Emma was the result of Scott’s Quarterly Review, I guess. One day I looked out [the word looks like “whatelup” but this is impossible!] 2 R 1826 and found that it is of a ‘New Edition’ N.A+P that lso is unrecorded.” I haven’t checked further to see if I, or any one else has these listed, and perhaps, I am first causing you unnecessary trouble or being commonly behind the fair.”\n\n<strong>December 16, 1973\n</strong><em>Gray Apartment Stationary\n</em>“The only first in boards which I have which has its labels intact (they match Keynes) is M.P. The E has had the backstrips repaired and the N.A.+P 2 packstrips have crumbled away completely + 2 are very cracked + missing the labels”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n<h5>Letters from Gilson to Henry Burke (after Alberta falls ill)</h5>\n<ul>\n	<li>“Small White Paper” 17.9cm tall x 13.7cm wide, blue ink, almost transparent white paper, written on only one side.</li>\n	<li>“Blue Air Mail” 30.5 cm tall x 18.1cm wide, folded into a 9.7cm tall x 14.8cm wide envelope, black ink, written completely on first side and on first fourth and last fourth on other side.</li>\n</ul>\n<strong>June 14th, 1975\n</strong><em>Blue Air Mail\n</em>“I see that Sotheby’s are selling on 23rd of June “an autograph letter by Jane Austen to her publisher commenting on the review of her novel Emma by Sir Walter Scott”: presumably RWC 127, marked as ‘original not traced’. I suppose the Pierpont Morgan will be bidding for this!”\n\n<strong>August 3rd, 1975\n</strong><em>Small White Paper\n</em>“It would be very kind if you could give me the correct address of Goucher College, and also the name of the librarian whom I should contact with any query relating to Alberta’s books (there may be queries over some of the rarer items, especially the 1816 Philadelphia Emma.)”\n\n<strong>October 16th, 1976\n</strong><em>Small White Pape</em><em>r\n</em><em>Written on both sides.\n</em>“I spent a very interesting morning on 1st September at John Murray in Albemarte Street; they kindly allowed me to see their ledgers, giving the publication costs and other details of the first editions of Emma and Northanger Abbey and Persuasion.”\n\n<strong>December 26th, 1976\n</strong><em>Small White Paper.\n</em><em>Written on both sides.\n</em>“Miss Jones of Goucher College has very kindly sent me-free of charge- an excellent photograph of the title page of Vol.1 of Alberta’s copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma (my reproduction in the Autumn 1969 Book Collector was from a Xerox of Mr. Hogan’s copy; this photograph is much clearer).”\n\n<strong>March 20th, 1977\n</strong><em>Small White Paper\n</em><em>Written on both sides.\n</em>“Christie’s sold first editions of Emma and of Northanger Abbey and Persuasion on 2nd February- not particularly good copies (from the catalogue descriptions) although with the half-titles in each case; I don’t know who bought them, but they fetched 350 pounds and 230 pounds respectively. I have been given an extremely imperfect copy of the first-edition of Emma, consisting only of Vol.1 (lacking the half-title), and Vol.3 (lacking all before p.19.) It clearly has no commercial value, but still seems worth having.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n<h5>Letters Found Inside First Volume of 1816 Philadelphia <em>Emma</em></h5>\n<strong>Letter 1\n</strong><em>17.6cm tall x 13cm wide, grayish blue stationary with “Heytesbury House, Wiltshire” printed on top, dated “12a.3.41,” hand written in script, black ink.</em>\n“Dear Muir,\n‘Emma’ returns to you in a twitter of excitement about ‘going to California.’ She is sure that Mr. F. Hogan is a very nice man though she intends to be a bit sharp with him until she has got to know him.\nSeriously- I am greatly obliged to you and --- agree to your 15% etc, and my wish you are making a bit more out of it. (G. Keynes will be livid with me, as he would say, he ---- collate it as he wants to write something about it for the ----- which his --- on your ---, isn’t it?) ….\nYours, SS (written on top of each other)\n\n<span id=\"attachment_1316\" style=\"width: 250px;\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_kendall.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1316\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_kendall\" alt=\"Siegfried Sassoon\'s letter to Percy Muir\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_kendall-186x250.jpg\" width=\"186\" height=\"250\" /></a> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\">Siegfried Sassoon\'s letter to Percy Muir, antiquarian book dealer, regarding Sassoon\'s sale of the American first edition of <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816) to Frank J. Hogan (dated December 3, 1941). The letter was discovered inside the front cover of the Burke Collection copy.</span></span>\n\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\n<em>“Antiquarian Booksellers Association” stamp on top left, written March 18, 1941 and received April 17, 1941 (received date written in pencil on top right corner,) stationary is of “Elkin Mathews LTD. Directors: Greville Worthington, Ian L. Fleming, and P.H. Muir,” underneath is typed “Rare Books, Manuscripts, Literary Portraits, Music.”</em>\n“Dear Mr. Hogan,\nThis is just a brief note formally to announce the fact that “Emma” left here today on her long journey to California. I think it only right and proper that you should have with the book the letter that Sassoon sent me when sending the book to me. My own feeling is that one cannot have too much of this kind of thing in association with books. I think Siegfried Sassoon a great writer and I would be glad to have this letter myself were I buying one of his books, and I have the feeling that you may think that way, too, so I enclose the letter. He was a great friend and admirer of Charlotte Mew’s, by the way, which may help to endear him to you.\nWith every good wish and kind regards,\nYours very sincerely,\nP. H. MuirHand\nwritten note (in same green ink as Muir’s signature) written below signature of “P.H Muir”:\n“Note the date on SS’s letter, evidently written on 131h”\n\n<strong>Letter 3</strong>\n<em>Yellow paper, green “Elkin Mathews Ltd,” dated May 22, 1945, typed in faded black ink.</em>\n“Dear Mrs. Burke,\nThank you very much indeed for your letter of May 6th. I congratulate you on getting the “Emma” so cheaply. It is exceedingly rare and Mr. Hogan as very glad to pay 300 dollars for it. I mention the price in dollars because at the time he bought it the 1-pound was below par and fluctuating, so that the price was actually quoted in dollars. I say that the price was set by Mr. Sassoon and not by me, but I saw no reason at the time to take exception to it.\nI always have you in mind for any interesting Jane Austen items, which turn up.\nYours very sincerely,\nP.H. Muir (signed in green ink)\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n<h5>Emma (1st Edition Philadelphia 1816)</h5>\n18.3cm tall x 11.1cm (cover)\n\n<em>Inside Cover</em>\ncut and pasted paper of: COUNTESS OF DALHOUSIE, below: maroon and gold sticker of: Ex Libris Frank J. Hogan (around name says: the true university of these days is a collection of books”\n\n<em>Next Page</em>\nwritten by hand in faded pencil: ”Countess of d.- wife of the 9th Earl (1770-1838). Who was Governor of Canada, Nova Scotia, etc. 1819-1828- This explains her owning this edition, which was unknown to G. Keynes when he compiled his Bibliography of Jane Austen, 1929.”\nunder this is the paper square for the “Alberta H. Burke”\n\n<span id=\"attachment_1314\"><a href=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_kendall.jpg\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-1314\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_kendall\" alt=\"American first edition of Jane Austen\'s Emma\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_kendall-147x250.jpg\" width=\"147\" height=\"250\" /></a> <span class=\"wp-caption-text\">Title page of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Jane Austen\'s <em>Emma</em> (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).</span></span>\n\n<em>Title Page</em>\nEMMA:\nA Novel\nHere Volumes in Two\n(written on side, vertically: A.B. Dallhousie)\nBy the Author of “Pride and Prejudice,”\n&amp;c. &amp;c.\nVol. 1\nPHILADELPHIA:\nPublished by M.Carey, No. 121 Chesnut Street\nAnd for Sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston\n1816\n\n<em>Next Page</em>\nTo his Royal Highness\nThe Prince Regent, This Work Is, By his Royal Highness’s Permission, Most Respectfully Dedicated, By His Royal Highness’s Dutiful and Obedient Humble Servant, The Author.”\n\n<em>First Page of Text</em>\n18cm tall x 9.8cm wide\nA2 at bottom of first page – 8 pages later is “B” (vol.1), 4 pages later “B2”, 8 pages later “C” (vol.1.), 4 pages later “C2”, 8 pages later “D” (vol.1)\naverage full page text block: 12.5cm tall x 7.4cm wide\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n<h5>Letters Found Inside Second Volume</h5>\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\n<em>21.5cm tall x13.9cm wide, typed: “Charles Sessler Inc.” Established 1882, Bookseller and Printseller 1308 Walnut Street Philadelphia, PA. 19107” stationary</em>\n<em> dated April 24, 1967</em>\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\nIn 1945 we purchased in New York at the sale of the Frank J. Hogan Library, item No. 7, a copy of EMMA, printed in Philadelphia by Carey in 1816.\nDo you still have this book and would you be willing to part with it?”\nYours Sincerely,\nMabel Zahn (signed in ink)\nZ.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)\n\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\n<em>Typed, same stationary as letter 1</em>\n<em> dated May 3, 1967</em>\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\nThank you so much for your letter of May 1st.\nI am glad that you still have the copy of EMMA. Our inquiry was for a bibliographic purpose. Someone who is working on the bibliography has asked us about the copy we sold you and naturally we followed through for him.\nWith best wishes,\nYours Sincerely,\nMabel Zahn\n-Z.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)','How Emma Travels: By Letters, Hands and Libraries','Behind a low glass case in Goucher’s Special Collection Room sits a humble blue book box that holds the first American edition of Jane Austen’s Emma. Valued from nineteen to seventy-five thousand dollars on ABEBooks.com, the edition is unquestionably valuable. But how did this extremely rare copy end up in Goucher’s modest library? In a letter to David Gilson on August 5th, 1967 Alberta Burke revealed that she owned a copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon. The two corresponded from 1967 to 1975 until Alberta fell ill. Throughout this time a steady thread of conversation exists about the Philadelphia Emma.\n\nAfter seeing the interest that both Alberta Burke and David Gilson had in the first American edition of Emma, perusing the pages and studying the tome in detail was essential to discover first hand the majesty of the volumes.','inherit','open','open','','1300-autosave','','','2013-05-22 03:18:22','2013-05-22 03:18:22','',1300,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue//uncategorized/1300-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3981,1,'2013-04-18 20:56:56','2013-04-18 20:56:56','Art on the Move was an outcome of the course Behind the Scenes at the Walters Art Museum: Material Migrations, offered at the Walters Art Museum through the <a href=\"http://krieger.jhu.edu/museums/\">Program in Museums and Society</a>at Johns Hopkins University in the fall of 2009. Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman were co-instructors and, with the technical guidance of Reid Sczerba, Multimedia Development Specialist in the university’s Center for Educational Resources, devised and oversaw this project. The course and project were funded by an Arts Innovation Grant from Johns Hopkins.\n\n<h4>Excerpt from course syllabus:</h4>\n\nThe goals of this class can be broken down into several categories:\n<ul>\n	<li>investigating the various ways/means/motives for the circulation of objects, and considering how meaning is shaped by context, from antiquity to the present and including the museum itself;</li>\n	<li>conducting in-depth, independent research on objects in the Walters’ collection;</li>\n	<li>experimenting with different styles of writing and narration;</li>\n	<li>learning about different areas of museum practice, including curation, conservation, registration, and education;</li>\n	<li>applying these experiences to the production of interpretative tools for public audiences of the Walters, in the form of Google Earth itineraries.</li>\n</ul>\nEach student will choose two* objects from the Walters collection to research, focusing on the “trajectory” of the objects and their shifting significance in different contexts. Research will involve studying the objects and object files at the museum as well as work in the Johns Hopkins University library and online. That work will be analyzed, interpreted, and gathered into a Google Earth Map “itinerary” for each object. Why? To share what we are learning with the public. This is a fundamental task of museums, and in this course we extended that mission to the undergraduate classroom.\n\n(*The seven students worked on two objects each; we selected some of these for the final presentation on the Walters website.)','Walters - Project Description/Syllabus','','inherit','open','open','','1130-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:56:56','2013-04-18 20:56:56','',1130,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1130-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3982,1,'2013-04-18 20:56:45','2013-04-18 20:56:45','<div id=\"map3d_devos\"></div>\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Beaupre Devos Live','','inherit','open','open','','1200-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:56:45','2013-04-18 20:56:45','',1200,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1200-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3983,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<span class=\"alignright wp-caption-text\" style=\"width: 166px; margin-bottom: 20px;\"><img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1223\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"szerba\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/szerba.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" />Photo: Jay VanRensselaer, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n<div><em>Sczerba worked closely with the course instructors, Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman, to develop and refine the Google Earth tools and to train students in building tours.</em></div>\n<strong>1. Describe your role in this project. </strong>\nI work for a faculty support center at Johns Hopkins University called the Center for Educational Resources (CER). As the center’s multimedia developer, I aided Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman with the technical and logistical aspects of the project. This included determining a viable technology for the project tours and developing resource guides that aided students’ tour creation.\n\n<strong>2. What tasks did you perform at various stages of the project?</strong>\nInitially we had to find a program that would be available freely (both in access and cost) for students to use with a relatively low learning curve. We selected Google Earth because it allows tour creation with rich media and text mapped to the earth, and it is free to download on PCs and Macs. I then created a template tour, set up with pre-made placemarks as a starting point for the students, and content layout templates for the appearance of the tour’s placemarks. After those two resources were set, I needed to create a well-written and comprehensible workflow. I chose to create both a visual and textual workflow to clearly express what actions needed to happen and at what stages. The final step was to present this workflow to the students in a training workshop so that they could see how it all came together and do it themselves.\n\n<strong>3. What sorts of interactions did you have with faculty, students, and other members of the project community over the course of the project?</strong>\nI met with Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman initially to gather the project’s requirements, then later to introduce them to the proposed solution. One of my colleagues from the CER also joined these meetings to offer ideas. I was also available by e-mail to answer questions as they came up, especially during the process of approving the workflow, as it needed to be as simple as possible to follow. I also held a training workshop for the students with Professor Rodini. I continued to be available for questions by e-mail as the students worked on their projects.\n\n<strong>4. What particular challenges did this project present?</strong>\nThis project required that every placemark on a tour include images at that location. The only way to do this in Google Earth was to code it yourself. Certain aspects of using Google Earth were easy to master, but customizing the appearance of the placemarks requires HTML programming knowledge. Despite the fact that most students nowadays have grown up with the Internet, we have found that very few know how to use HTML. Our solution utilized an online HTML editor that had a prebuilt HTML template loaded in it. When the students were ready to create the content for their placemarks, they simply copied the content from a Word document and then pasted it in the HTML editor to generate the code. The students pasted that code into their Google Earth placemark, circumventing the need for them to learn HTML.\n\n<strong>5. What lessons did you learn from this project and what might you do differently in the future? </strong>\nA more ideal solution may have been to create an application that would generate the tours without using Google Earth. This would have taken more time and resources to build than we had, but it could have been a useful application for other courses as well. It was disappointing to realize that Google Earth did not have an HMTL editor built in, and that there was no application that could suit our needs at the time. Perhaps when this course is offered again, there will be an ideal solution available to allow students to create tours and focus on the content rather than the technology. If not, then perhaps we will have the time to build one ourselves and share it.','Reid Sczerba - Commentary','I work for a faculty support center at Johns Hopkins University called the Center for Educational Resources (CER). As the center’s multimedia developer, I aided Elizabeth Rodini and Ben Tilghman with the technical and logistical aspects of the project. This included determining a viable technology for the project tours and developing resource guides that aided students’ tour creation.','inherit','open','open','','1123-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1123,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1123-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3984,1,'2013-04-18 20:57:11','2013-04-18 20:57:11','','Mapping the Provenance of Museum Objects','The final project for students enrolled in the course Behind the Scenes at the Walters Art Museum: Material Migrations, offered at the Walters Art Museum through Johns Hopkins University, was to trace the provenance of museum objects and describe their historical significance through Google Earth tours. This case study features the work of three students. Their tours, as well as those of several others, have been published by the Walters Art Museum as part of the online exhibit <a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/\">Art on the Move</a>.','inherit','open','open','','1121-revision-4','','','2013-04-18 20:57:11','2013-04-18 20:57:11','',1121,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1121-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3985,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1193\" title=\"walters_student action photo_tkacs\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_tkacs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /><span class=\"caption\">\nJoan Tkcas (on far right, in brown) and Casket with Scenes of Romances, ivory and bone with modern iron mounts (French, 1330-1350). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\n\nI researched two objects for this project, a painted tile and an ivory casket. The Walters Art Museum had a thorough record of the objects’ provenances, so the bulk of my time was spent uncovering details about the lives and tastes of their previous owners. It was important to me to understand why they found the objects interesting enough to purchase. If the owners were art collectors, I tried finding other objects in their collections to get a sense of their taste. From there, it was a matter of organizing the object’s history into a simple and compelling narrative.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\n\nThe credit line that you see on the typical museum label does not do justice to the histories of these objects. For example, the ivory casket I researched was made in the fourteenth century and was probably meant to function as a jewelry box, but one of its later owners took the individual panels of the case apart and framed them. He was looking at the casket in a completely different way than we do now. I did not know this before I started the project, and the research gave me a new appreciation for just how dynamic these objects are.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\n\nThe Google Earth project was a lesson in learning how to write concisely. After spending a semester researching the history of a given object, the temptation is to then write a long-winded report on all that you had discovered. But very few people would be interested in reading something like that, I think. It is a bit harder to boil down everything you have learned into a punchy and informative presentation.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\n\nThe Walters’ staff was incredibly giving of their time. We met with Gary Vikan, the museum director, Robert Mintz, the curator of Asian art, and William Noel, the curator of manuscripts. We got to look at the museum’s storage, and learned about what art museums take into consideration when accessioning works of art. What I remember best was getting to meet with Amanda Kodeck, a member of the museum’s education department, and getting feedback on what we had written for the project. That kind of collaboration was incredibly helpful.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\n\nThe Google Earth project was a first for me. In other classes I may have had to research a single object for a paper, but I had never focused solely on an object’s provenance. This project proved to be a very worthwhile experience for me. Right now I am an intern at the Georgia Museum of Art and I spend a lot of my time working with the archival materials of the museum’s Pierre Daura Study Center. I do not know if I would have had this opportunity without my experience working on the Google Earth project at the Walters.','Joan Tkacs - Commentary','I researched two objects for this project, a painted tile and an ivory casket. The Walters Art Museum had a thorough record of the objects’ provenances, so the bulk of my time was spent uncovering details about the lives and tastes of their previous owners. It was important to me to understand why they found the objects interesting enough to purchase. If the owners were art collectors, I tried finding other objects in their collections to get a sense of their taste. From there, it was a matter of organizing the object’s history into a simple and compelling narrative.','inherit','open','open','','1126-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1126,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1126-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3986,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<span class=\"alignright wp-caption-text\" style=\"width: 166px; margin-bottom: 20px;\"><img class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-1220\" style=\"margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;\" title=\"Elizabeth Rodini\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/rodini.jpg\" alt=\"Elizabeth Rodini\" width=\"120\" height=\"160\" /> Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a></span>Material Migrations, like many of the practicum courses offered in the Program in Museums and Society (M&amp;S), gave students the chance to engage directly with objects, conduct research in and around those materials, and, most distinctively, develop a final project to be shared with a general audience—in this case, Google Earth “tours” of object provenance histories, to be incorporated into the website of the Walters Art Museum. M&amp;S practicum projects take the form of exhibitions, both actual and virtual; interpretative materials, such as audio tours, gallery guides, and websites; and program development. I like to think of them as works of “public humanities,” sharing the research we do in the university with a larger audience.\n\nWhy bother with such an exercise? The answer Ben Tilghman and I provided in our syllabus for this course: “To share what we are learning with the public. This is a fundamental task of museums. . . <em>in this course we extend that mission to the undergraduate classroom.</em>” Universities suffer from being removed from the broader community, while humanistic disciplines without clear “practical” applications are particularly at risk from this sort of isolation and perceived irrelevance. On the other hand, archives, museums, and other collections with a public face are places where humanistic research can be made available, accessible, and meaningful.\n\nAlthough historians are familiar with the sub-field of public history, other disciplines have not developed the potential for outreach in such a direct, institutionalized way. It is hard to imagine the awarding of a degree in, say, public art history. But in this class our students were taking on that very role as curators presenting research through a lively interactive tool with broad dissemination.\n\nIn developing their object itineraries for the Walters Art Museum and Google Earth, students had to consider both the historical narratives they were tracing and the matter of presenting them to the public. What information would be accessible? How could they both engage and challenge their audience? How would they balance the nuanced elements of their story with the broader theoretical issues at stake in the project? What is lost in the task of producing highly condensed text, and what might be gained?\n\nIn all of our museum-based practicum courses we face the challenge of fitting student work into an established institutional frame. Classrooms are messy places where ideas are tested and debated. Despite our best efforts, the many young voices we work with over the semester may not easily gel into the perfect, marketable whole that modern museums require. Our students carefully crafted their texts, which Walters professionals then polished to a sheen. The students constructed imaginative itineraries that we honed to fit a simpler, more streamlined model.\n\nIf it seems like the nature of university research (independent, serendipitous, evolving) cannot quite square with museum exhibitions (corporate, formal, fixed), there is nevertheless much to be gained from encouraging their intersection—for students, audiences, and collections, and for universities as well. University humanities made more public are also more relevant, appreciated, and valued.','Elizabeth Rodini - Commentary','Material Migrations, like many of the practicum courses offered in the Program in Museums and Society (M&S), gave students the chance to engage directly with objects, conduct research in and around those materials, and, most distinctively, develop a final project to be shared with a general audience—in this case, Google Earth “tours” of object provenance histories, to be incorporated into the website of the Walters Art Museum. M&S practicum projects take the form of exhibitions, both actual and virtual; interpretative materials, such as audio tours, gallery guides, and websites; and program development. I like to think of them as works of “public humanities,” sharing the research we do in the university with a larger audience.','inherit','open','open','','1132-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1132,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1132-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3987,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1185\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_dowdle.jpg\" alt=\"Elizabeth Dowdle (in striped shirt) with Capitoline Amazon, marble\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /> <span class=\"caption\">Elizabeth Dowdle (in striped shirt) and co-instructor Ben Tilghman (kneeling at right) with Capitoline Amazon, marble (Roman copy after Kresilas, Greek, active ca. 450 BC - 420 BC). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\nMy research focused on discovering the provenance of the Walters’ Capitoline Amazon, a Roman copy of a Greek bronze sculpture. Though the beautiful marble immediately caught my attention, I was surprised to find how little the museum actually knew about the object’s history. In order to unravel the mystery surrounding the sculpture, I looked for similar examples of sculpture in other museum collections and, consulting the records that came with them, began to piece together a tentative history of this ancient artwork.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\nThis project was unique in that I was provided with an ending point in the Walters gallery, but lacked a starting point for my research. This issue forced me to think outside the box and look for new ways to come up with the information I needed to draw out this object’s provenance. This called for more than an average trip to the library; I had to consult other institutions with similar sculptures in their collections and find possible answers to my questions based on the records they had on their pieces. It was a unique challenge, but this project truly taught me that where there is a will, there is a way.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\nIt was both exciting and inspiring to create a project that would be presented to the public. Knowing that my work would be recognized outside the classroom inspired me to design a product that would make a difference not only for the Walters, but also for anyone looking for information about the Capitoline Amazon. I was driven to deliver a professional, museum-quality presentation that the Walters would be proud to add to their website.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\nIt is always a privilege to work with professionals in the field you aspire to join, especially when you get to do so in the museum itself. Working with the staff at the Walters gave me insight into the everyday activities of registrars, curators, and collections managers as well as the challenges they face when caring for their collections and working to further their institutions’ missions. Especially in collections containing antiquities, it is not uncommon to come across objects with questionable histories. My time at the Walters taught me that it is of the utmost importance to authenticate the contents of your collection by making their unique histories known, despite the challenges this task might pose.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\nThis course and the project I produced solidified my desire to pursue a career in museums. The opportunity to work with museum objects and their records has inspired me to continue my education so that I can also work in an institution dedicated to the preservation of culture for future generations. I graduated from Johns Hopkins University in May 2011 with a degree in the History of Science, Medicine and Technology and am now pursuing a master’s degree in Museum Studies at George Washington University, with a focus in museum administration and classical studies.','Elizabeth Dowdle - Commentary','My research focused on discovering the provenance of the Walters’ Capitoline Amazon, a Roman copy of a Greek bronze sculpture. Though the beautiful marble immediately caught my attention, I was surprised to find how little the museum actually knew about the object’s history. In order to unravel the mystery surrounding the sculpture, I looked for similar examples of sculpture in other museum collections and, consulting the records that came with them, began to piece together a tentative history of this ancient artwork.','inherit','open','open','','1152-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1152,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1152-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3988,1,'2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1189\" title=\"walters_student action photo_devos\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_student-action-photo_devos.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"426\" /><span class=\"caption\"> Dakota DeVos (pointing at books) with Antiphonary for Abbess of Sainte-Marie of Beaupré, ink on parchment (Flemish, 1290). Photo: Will Kirk, <a href=\"http://homewoodphoto.jhu.edu\">homewoodphoto.jhu.edu</a>.</span>\n\n<strong>1. Describe the sorts of work you did in developing your Google Earth presentation on this object. (You might consider both the unique forms of research involved and modes/methods of interpretation.)</strong>\nThis project required a diverse approach to research, including reading topical books and contemporary articles, conducting interviews with Walters conservators and curators, and making comparisons with similar objects from the period or in the artists’ oeuvres. However, an exhaustive physical examination of the objects themselves was the starting and ending point for piecing together the objects’ paths of alteration, ownership, and usage. Our final product was meant to offer a new way for viewers to connect with an object, so both our maps and audio clips reinforce our findings by continually asking the viewer to look closely at the evidence right in front of them.\n\n<strong>2. What did you learn from this project that distinguished it from other academic courses?</strong>\nThis course offered three unique qualities. First, our research was meant for publication for museum visitors rather than exclusively for our professors. Second, we were able to do hands-on research with many of the Walters’ most revered objects while curators and conservators guided us in our examinations. Finally, this course encouraged an object-centric view of history, which was antithetical, conceptually, to the art history courses I had taken until that point. As an art history major I was accustomed to viewing specific art historical objects as close studies of broader trends that characterized the periods in which they were made. However, our assignment for Material Migrations was concerned not only with a study of the object’s creation and use in its own time, but also how its use changed throughout its history. I came away from the course with a greater appreciation for the power of contextualization. Art objects rarely remain static relics of a bygone era; rather, they continue to have vibrant lives and changing effects on their successive owners and audiences, not the least of which is their position as a tool for learning in the museum.\n\n<strong>3. What was it like to create a final project that would be presented to the public?</strong>\nThe project was intended to engage as broad a scope of museum visitors as possible, including youths and viewers who might have no background on the object, while still interesting our academic peers. Part of what made these objects so fascinating was the very unwieldiness of their provenance. I decided on central themes for both of my objects and ultimately cut out much of my research in order to focus on their tortuous histories. Considerations of display also affected the content of the map and audio. For example, while some of the pages of the illuminated manuscript I researched had beautiful drolleries in their margins, it was impractical to cite specific instances because only one spread of the fragile manuscript could be on display, and it might not have any drolleries.\n\n<strong>4. What did you learn from working in a professional museum and in conjunction with its staff?</strong>\nI chose one of my objects, the Beaupré Antiphonary, specifically because I had the opportunity to work with Professor Tilghman and the Walters’ rare books curator, Dr. William Noel. Collaborating with two of the top scholars in the field on an object that they knew intimately remains one of the brightest moments of my undergraduate career.\n\n<strong>5. What did this course/project and the opportunity to work with museum objects and their archival records mean to your education? your future plans? your general interests?</strong>\nThis course reinforced my ambition to work in the field of museums because I found the work rewarding and academically invigorating. It was meaningful and exhilarating to produce work for a class that would help enrich the presentation of the Walters’ holdings.','Dakota Devos - Commentary','This project required a diverse approach to research, including reading topical books and contemporary articles, conducting interviews with Walters conservators and curators, and making comparisons with similar objects from the period or in the artists’ oeuvres. However, an exhaustive physical examination of the objects themselves was the starting and ending point for piecing together the objects’ paths of alteration, ownership, and usage. Our final product was meant to offer a new way for viewers to connect with an object, so both our maps and audio clips reinforce our findings by continually asking the viewer to look closely at the evidence right in front of them.','inherit','open','open','','1128-revision-5','','','2013-04-18 21:12:15','2013-04-18 21:12:15','',1128,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/no-issue/uncategorized/1128-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(4505,1,'2013-05-26 17:54:00','2013-05-26 17:54:00','','Notes + Queries - PressForward','','publish','closed','closed','','acf_notes-queries-pressforward','','','2013-05-26 17:54:00','2013-05-26 17:54:00','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?post_type=acf&#038;p=4505',0,'acf','',0),(3990,1,'2013-07-11 22:06:22','2013-07-11 22:06:22','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (See Figure 1.) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\n<iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" height=\"250\" width=\"333\" frameborder=\"0\"></iframe>\n<div class=\"wp-caption-text\" style=\"width: 333px; margin: 0 auto;\">Figure 1. A staged archival encounter.</div>\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. ((See Jerome McGann, <em>A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism</em> (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, e.g., printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).))\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” ((Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” <em>Yale French Studies</em> 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.)) With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. ((See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, <em>Understanding Archives and Manuscripts</em> (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).)) Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. ((Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” <em>Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History</em>, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.)) Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” ((Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.)) While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990). (See Figure 2.)\n<div class=\"wp-caption-text\">Figure 2.</div>\n<div class=\"\">[gallery ids=\"373,372,369\"]\n\nA cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” ((Kaplan, 114.))</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. ((See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., <em>Refiguring the Archive</em> (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of <em>Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation</em> 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, <em>Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense</em> (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).)) But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. ((Kaplan, 106, 107.))\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as <em>Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne</em> in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title <em>Archive Fever</em>. As Carolyn Steedman points out in <em>Dust: The Archive and Cultural History</em>, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s <em>Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable</em> (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” ((Steedman, 3.))\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” ((Kaplan, 107-108.)) Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to <em>Dust</em> is from Virginia Woolf’s <em>To the Lighthouse</em>, one chapter treats George Eliot’s <em>Middlemarch</em> in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. ((Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel <em>Mary Barton</em>, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ <em>Our Mutual Friend</em>.)) Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; <em>Mal d’Archive</em> was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. ((Steedman, 2.)) As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” ((Derrida, 14.)) If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” ((Derrida, 23.))\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” ((A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.)) For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to <em>Archive Fever</em>—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, <em>Dust</em>, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” ((Kaplan, 116.)) Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. ((Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?))\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_423\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"172\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1.jpg\"><img class=\" wp-image-423    \" alt=\"Figure 3. Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1.jpg\" width=\"172\" height=\"129\" /></a> Figure 3. Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/caption]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” ((Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.)) These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” ((Kaplan, 103.)) Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” ((Kaplan, 104.)) Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. ((Kaplan, 115.)) Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” ((Kaplan, 115.)) “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title <em>Archive Fever</em> to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. ((Derrida, 19.)) It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. ((Kaplan, 113.)) This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. ((This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. )) But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. ((“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).)) If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” ((Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents.))\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like <em>Refiguring the Archive</em> (2002), <em>Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History</em> (2005) and <em>Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense</em> (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. ((Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?)) But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. ((Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. <em>Archive Stories</em> is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.))\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of <em>Archive Fever</em> to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. ((<em>Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore</em>, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).)) (See Figure 4.) We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. ((<em>The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868</em> (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.)) We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. ((<em>Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore</em>, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and <em>Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882</em>, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).)) (See Figure 5.)  We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_395\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"191\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-395 \" alt=\"Figure 4. Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1.jpg\" width=\"191\" height=\"277\" /></a> Figure 4. Alphabetical index from <em>Alphabetical Catalogue </em>(“desiderata”).[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_396\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"269\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-396 \" alt=\"Figure 5. Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat.jpg\" width=\"269\" height=\"202\" /></a> Figure 5. Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_397\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"202\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-397 \" alt=\"Figure 6. One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" width=\"202\" height=\"269\" /></a> Figure 6. One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/caption]\n\n<div style=\"clear: both;\"></div>\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. (See Figure 7.)\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_398\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"203\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-398   \" alt=\"Figure 7. Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail.jpg\" width=\"203\" height=\"165\" /></a> Figure 7. Detail of subject index from <em>Alphabetical Catalouge</em> No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_399\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"171\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-399 \" alt=\"Figure 8. Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail.jpg\" width=\"171\" height=\"230\" /></a> Figure 8. Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/caption]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” ((“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.)) The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" ((Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in<em> George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions.</em> 11 Mar. 2011.)) When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested.\n\nThis schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. ((See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” <em>Libraries &amp; Culture</em> 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” <a href=\"http://www.ifla.org/IV/ifla60/60-stup.htm\">http://www.ifla.org/IV/ifla60/60-stup.htm</a>; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, <a href=\"http://www.mcmillanlibrary.org/history/report_of_trustees.html\">http://www.mcmillanlibrary.org/history/report_of_trustees.html</a>, 12 Dec. 2010.))\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\n[caption id=\"attachment_400\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"215\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-400  \" alt=\"Figure 9. Dewey cards for “gift books.”\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards.jpg\" width=\"215\" height=\"162\" /></a> Figure 9. Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/caption]\n\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. ((Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.)) (See Figure 9.) My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 <em>Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir</em> published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” ((<em>Rough and Ready Annual</em> (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).))\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_401\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"164\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-401 \" alt=\"Figure 10. The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr.jpg\" width=\"164\" height=\"123\" /></a> Figure 10. The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/caption]\n\n<em>The Rough and Ready Annual</em> is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. (See Figure 10.) This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. <em>Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them,</em> edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. ((<em>Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them</em> (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" <em>Antebellum Writers in New York and the South</em>, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s <em>A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (</em>Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.)) (See Figure 11.) Arthur shows up again as co-editor of <em>The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present</em>, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” ((<em>The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present</em> (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).)) We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). <em>The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons</em> is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. ((<em>The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons</em> (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).)) (See Figure 12.) In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is <em>The Family Circle and Parlor Annual</em>, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). ((<em>The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (</em>New York: Comstock, 1847).)) (See Figure 13.)\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_402\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"215\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-402  \" alt=\"Figure 11. Orange Blossoms in the stacks.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange.jpg\" width=\"215\" height=\"162\" /></a> Figure 11. Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_403\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"215\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-403 \" alt=\"Figure 12. The rare book room.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr.jpg\" width=\"215\" height=\"162\" /></a> Figure 12. The rare book room.[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_404\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"215\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-404 \" alt=\"Figure 13. The Parlor Annual in the stacks.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor.jpg\" width=\"215\" height=\"162\" /></a> Figure 13. The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/caption]\n\n<div style=\"clear: both;\"></div>\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_405\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"161\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-405  \" alt=\"Figure 14. Call slips and flags.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips.jpg\" width=\"161\" height=\"121\" /></a> Figure 14. Call slips and flags.[/caption]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. (See Figure 14.) It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find <em>The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse</em>; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” ((<em>The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse </em>(Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).)) (See Figure 15.) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_406\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"269\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-406 \" alt=\"Figure 15. Inscription in The New American Reader.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader.jpg\" width=\"269\" height=\"202\" /></a> Figure 15. Inscription in <em>The New American Reader</em>.[/caption]\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” ((Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” <em>Journal of Personality and Social Psychology</em> 84.1 (2003), 19.)) Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” ((Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.)) Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” ((Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.)) Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. (See Figure 16.) But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. (See Figure 17.)\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_407\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"202\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\"><img class=\" wp-image-407 \" alt=\"Figure 16. The skylight in the George Peabody Library.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" width=\"202\" height=\"269\" /></a> Figure 16. The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/caption]\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_408\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"269\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove.jpg\"><img class=\" wp-image-408 \" alt=\"Figure 17. Alcove in the George Peabody Library.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove.jpg\" width=\"269\" height=\"202\" /></a> Figure 17. Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/caption]\n\n<div style=\"clear: both;\"></div>\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. ((See William Frederick Poole, <em>Remarks on Library Construction</em> (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).)) Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\n[caption id=\"attachment_409\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"151\"]<a href=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station.jpg\"><img class=\"wp-image-409   \" alt=\"Figure 18. Photography station in the George Peabody Library.\" src=\"http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station.jpg\" width=\"151\" height=\"113\" /></a> Figure 18. Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/caption]\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves. (See Figure 18.) It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? 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