(1570,13,'2012-02-16 20:52:28','2012-02-16 20:52:28','The single biggest challenge my program faces is one of supply and demand.  Demand for class sessions in 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 isn’t really the same as that of using the “real thing.”  Best, of course, is when the original and a digital surrogate can be used in tandem.\n\nFaculty often find it difficult to squeeze a visit to Special Collections &amp; Archives into an already full syllabus, even when it’s 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.','Vodou Songs - Taraba 4','','inherit','open','open','','1568-revision','','','2012-02-16 20:52:28','2012-02-16 20:52:28','',1568,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1568-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1571,13,'2012-02-16 20:53:17','2012-02-16 20:53:17','Archival work <strong>is</strong> 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 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 catalogue 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.  And 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 come 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’ve worked with upwards of one hundred different faculty members (including visitors and non-tenure track faculty) to bring classes to Special Collections &amp; Archives.  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','','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-taraba-5','','','2012-10-29 22:59:27','2012-10-29 22:59:27','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1571',21,'post','',0),(1573,13,'2012-02-16 20:52:58','2012-02-16 20:52:58','','Vodou Songs - Taraba 5','','inherit','open','open','','1571-revision','','','2012-02-16 20:52:58','2012-02-16 20:52:58','',1571,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1571-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1574,19,'2012-10-19 03:27:27','2012-10-19 03:27:27','Archival work <strong>is</strong> 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 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 catalogue 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.  And 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 come 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’ve worked with upwards of one hundred different faculty members (including visitors and non-tenure track faculty) to bring classes to Special Collections &amp; Archives.  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-autosave','','','2012-10-19 03:27:27','2012-10-19 03:27:27','',1571,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1571-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(1575,13,'2012-02-16 20:49:05','2012-02-16 20:49:05','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-9','','','2012-02-16 20:49:05','2012-02-16 20:49:05','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-9/',0,'revision','',0),(1576,13,'2012-02-16 20:55:33','2012-02-16 20:55:33','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-10','','','2012-02-16 20:55:33','2012-02-16 20:55:33','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(1577,13,'2012-02-16 20:58:41','2012-02-16 20:58:41','Because I teach at Penn, am a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I am in a unique position to provide my students access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.  For most of the 20<sup>th</sup> century, Penn was home to some of the greatest anthropologists—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 have rarely worked cooperatively.  Students have a plethora of opportunities to connect the two collections in a variety of interesting ways.  I have also directed three large grant projects at the APS to digitize images and audio recordings related to Native American culture.  I am thus intimately familiar with the collection and, now that they are have been digitized, the material is much more accessible to students.\r\n\r\nMuch of my work involves outreach to Native American communities, so I am constantly writing grants that focus on returning digital surrogates of archival materials to their community 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, entitled <em><a href=\"http://gibagadinamaagoom.info/\">Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities</a></em>, that allows the students to “publish” their work.  When their work is polished enough (this 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 on the website that incorporate highlights of the archival materials, thus making them more accessible to Native communities.  This requires training and an outstanding student, many of whom receive grant support from Penn or other sources to work with me on these projects.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 1','Because I teach at Penn, am a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I am in a unique position to provide my students access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.  ','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-1','','','2012-10-29 19:12:06','2012-10-29 19:12:06','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1577',12,'post','',0),(1579,13,'2012-02-16 20:58:12','2012-02-16 20:58:12','Because I teach at Penn, am a Contributing Scholar at the Penn Museum, and Director of Native American Projects at the American Philosophical Society (APS), I am in a unique position to provide my students access to a wide variety of archival materials, many of which are linked in surprising ways.  For most of the 20<sup>th</sup> century, Penn was home to some of the greatest anthropologists—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 have rarely worked cooperatively.  Students have a plethora of opportunities to connect the two collections in a variety of interesting ways.  I have also directed three large grant projects at the APS to digitize images and audio recordings related to Native American culture.  I am thus intimately familiar with the collection and, now that they are have been digitized, the material is much more accessible to students.\n\n&nbsp;\n\nMuch of my work involves outreach to Native American communities, so I am constantly writing grants that focus on returning digital surrogates of archival materials to their community of origin.  In 2005, I started a website entitled <em>Gibagadinamaagoom: An Ojibwe Digital Archive</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, entitled <em><a href=\"http://gibagadinamaagoom.info/\">Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities</a></em>, that allows the students to “publish” their work.  When their work is polished enough (this 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 on the website that incorporate highlights of the archival materials, thus making them more accessible to Native communities.  This requires training and an outstanding student, many of whom receive grant support from Penn or other sources to work with me on these projects.','Vodou Songs - Powell 1','','inherit','open','open','','1577-revision','','','2012-02-16 20:58:12','2012-02-16 20:58:12','',1577,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1577-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1580,13,'2012-02-16 20:59:29','2012-02-16 20:59:29','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is an 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 being 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,” “intelligence,” 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.\r\n\r\nFrom a pedagogical perspective, the students learn research skills in archives that will serve them well no matter what their chosen careers. 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 seen Thomas Jefferson’s hand written draft of the Declaration of Independence or held a drum owned by Sitting Bull in their hands. It makes history and culture come alive in a way that textbooks rarely achieve. 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 to try to match them to historical documents and photographs in order to make them more useful to the community where the recordings were originally made more than 75 years ago. I find that the students’ work is more thoughtful and more inspired when they realize that their work will be shared with community members, rather than writing a paper that will be read by one person. Me.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 2','The most obvious benefit to Penn students is an 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. ','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-2','','','2012-11-18 04:25:05','2012-11-18 04:25:05','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1580',13,'post','',0),(1706,13,'2012-03-06 23:32:58','2012-03-06 23:32:58','[portfolio-slideshow]','Lehigh - Archival Materials','','inherit','open','open','','1387-revision-26','','','2012-03-06 23:32:58','2012-03-06 23:32:58','',1387,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1387-revision-26/',0,'revision','',0),(1700,13,'2012-03-06 20:10:30','2012-03-06 20:10:30','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/37986760?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"400\" height=\"300\"></iframe>\n\n<a href=\"http://vimeo.com/37986760\">The Development of Masculinity</a> from <a href=\"http://vimeo.com/user10713944\">Archive Journal</a> on <a href=\"http://vimeo.com\">Vimeo</a>.','The Development of Masculinity','','inherit','open','open','','1698-revision','','','2012-03-06 20:10:30','2012-03-06 20:10:30','',1698,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1698-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1582,13,'2012-02-16 20:58:58','2012-02-16 20:58:58','','Vodou Songs - Powell 2','','inherit','open','open','','1580-revision','','','2012-02-16 20:58:58','2012-02-16 20:58:58','',1580,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1580-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1583,13,'2012-02-16 21:00:12','2012-02-16 21:00:12','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.','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 integrate the photography and artifact collections of noted Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell, whose photographs are housed at the APS, and whose artifacts are stored at the Penn Museum.  ','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-3','','','2012-10-24 02:53:44','2012-10-24 02:53:44','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1583',14,'post','',0),(1585,13,'2012-02-16 20:59:56','2012-02-16 20:59:56','There have been many exciting outcomes from the students’ interactions with archival materials.  In the spring of 2010, the class project was to integrate the photography and artifact collections of noted Penn anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell, whose photographs are housed at the APS, and whose artifacts are stored at the Penn Museum.  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 to preserve 40,000 square kilometers of boreal forest and the cultural landscape of five Ojibwe First Nations.  One chllange 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 the grant application.\n\n&nbsp;\n\nLast semester, my students worked in groups to curate an exhibit entitled “Cherokee Stickball,” based on the research of the noted anthropologist Frank Speck.  Speck taught at Penn for half a century, collecting more than 40 stickball sticks for the Penn Museum and depositing photographs of Cherokee stickball games at the APS.  In the 1930s, Speck worked with a Cherokee Medicine Man named Will West Long who provided him with rich ethnographic description of the spiritual dimensions of the game.  At the APS conference in the spring of 2010, Will West’s grandson came to the conference and I was able to interview him along with another very knowledgeable elder.  The students created Quick Time videos, combining 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.  She took the 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.','Vodou Songs - Powell 3','','inherit','open','open','','1583-revision','','','2012-02-16 20:59:56','2012-02-16 20:59:56','',1583,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1583-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1586,13,'2012-02-16 21:00:51','2012-02-16 21:00:51','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 securing permission from the curatorial staff.  Because this material is rarely used by students designing digital exhibits for the web, this can require creating new forms and convincing very conservative curators that the material will be used for educational purposes.  I find that it is essential, too, 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.  Having done so, the next challenge is to locate enough relevant material to keep the students occupied for a month and to ensure that the resulting exhibit is of high enough quality that it will be valuable to the Native American communities, and the general public.  In addition, contacts must be set up in the Native American communities and visits to the APS for the Native American scholars program must be coordinated with Penn’s semester schedule to create an opportunity for the elders to speak to the class (this is not always possible, but has worked on occasion).\r\n\r\nPedagogically, it takes at least a month to provide the students with enough historical, anthropological, religious, and cultural background so that they can identify primary important materials.  Because some of the material is considered to be sacred, students must also be taught protocols about culturally sensitive objects.  This is made even more difficult because the Society of American Archivists has delayed issuing protocols concerning Native American cultural sensitivities.  A recent Mellon grant to the APS to digitize more than 3000 hours of audio recordings related to Native American cultures allowed for the creation of a Native American advisory board to address this issue.  This is cutting edge work that interests some of the students, and I currently have two independent study students working on documenting and implementing protocols for cultural sensitivity at the APS.\r\n\r\nIt can also be difficult 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 certain students.  The success of the projects, therefore, often depends on the students’ respect for and intellectual understanding of the culture.  The performance of the students is very uneven, with some students 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 securing permission from the curatorial staff.  Because this material is rarely used by students designing digital exhibits for the web, this can require creating new forms and convincing very conservative curators that the material will be used for educational purposes.','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-4','','','2012-10-29 22:56:11','2012-10-29 22:56:11','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1586',15,'post','',0),(1588,13,'2012-02-16 21:00:39','2012-02-16 21:00:39','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 securing permission from the curatorial staff.  Because this material is rarely used by students designing digital exhibits for the web, this can require creating new forms and convincing very conservative curators that the material will be used for educational purposes  I find that it is essential, too, 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.  Having done so, the next challenge is to locate enough relevant material to keep the students occupied for a month and to ensure that the resulting exhibit is of high enough quality that it will be valuable to the Native American communities, and the general public.  In addition, contacts must be set up in the Native American communities and visits to the APS for the Native American scholars program must be coordinated with Penn’s semester schedule to create an opportunity for the elders to speak to the class (this is not always possible, but has worked on occasion).\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 primary important materials.  Because some of the material is considered to be sacred, students must also be taught protocols about culturally sensitive objects.  This is made even more difficult because the Society of American Archivists has delayed issuing protocols concerning Native American cultural sensitivities.  A recent Mellon grant to the APS to digitize more than 3000 hours of audio recordings related to Native American cultures allowed for the creation of a Native American advisory board to address this issue.  This is cutting edge work that interests some of the students, and I currently have two independent study students working on documenting and implementing protocols for cultural sensitivity at the APS.\n\nIt can also be difficult 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 certain students.  The success of the projects, therefore, often depends on the students’ respect for and intellectual understanding of the culture.  The performance of the students is very uneven, with some students going on to win grants to pursue further work in the area and others sitting quietly in the corner.','Vodou Songs - Powell 4','','inherit','open','open','','1586-revision','','','2012-02-16 21:00:39','2012-02-16 21:00:39','',1586,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1586-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1589,13,'2012-02-16 21:01:25','2012-02-16 21:01:25','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 2-3 weeks of the semester.  I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential that some students are 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 are designed such that students are assigned 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 the skill sets of each individual student.  I have found the team oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger team devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn (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).\r\n\r\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 also having them visit the Penn Museum and the APS.  This can prove a challenge since the APS is not set up for student visits and, therefore, it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange 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, however, when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects.  Last semester, one suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project.  We talked about this together and the students also felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about the historical and cultural background from which the materials emerged.  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 and that this would result in them being able to understand the materials better and to do a better job of .  So this coming semester, that is what I am going to try to accomplish.  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 2-3 weeks of the semester.  I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential that some students are more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team.','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-powell-5','','','2012-10-29 22:56:02','2012-10-29 22:56:02','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1589',16,'post','',0),(1591,13,'2012-02-16 21:01:14','2012-02-16 21:01:14','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 2-3 weeks of the semester.  I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential that some students are 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 are designed such that students are assigned 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 the skill sets of each individual student.  I have found the team oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger team devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn (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 also having them visit the Penn Museum and the APS.  This can prove a challenge since the APS is not set up for student visits and, therefore, it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange 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, however, when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects.  Last semester, one suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project.  We talked about this together and the students also felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about the historical and cultural background from which the materials emerged.  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 and that this would result in them being able to understand the materials better and to do a better job of .  So this coming semester, that is what I am going to try to accomplish.  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.','Vodou Songs - Powell 5','','inherit','open','open','','1589-revision','','','2012-02-16 21:01:14','2012-02-16 21:01:14','',1589,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1589-revision/',0,'revision','',0);
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Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to 2-3 weeks of the semester.  I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential that some students are more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team.','inherit','open','open','','1589-autosave','','','2012-10-29 17:35:11','2012-10-29 17:35:11','',1589,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1589-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(1593,13,'2012-02-16 20:57:07','2012-02-16 20:57:07','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-11','','','2012-02-16 20:57:07','2012-02-16 20:57:07','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1594,13,'2012-02-16 21:43:35','2012-02-16 21:43:35','','Respondents','','inherit','open','open','','acf_respondents-4','','','2012-02-16 21:43:35','2012-02-16 21:43:35','',1457,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_respondents-4/',0,'revision','',0),(1595,13,'2012-02-16 21:06:19','2012-02-16 21:06:19','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-12','','','2012-02-16 21:06:19','2012-02-16 21:06:19','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-12/',0,'revision','',0),(1596,13,'2012-02-16 21:49:16','2012-02-16 21:49:16','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-13','','','2012-02-16 21:49:16','2012-02-16 21:49:16','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-13/',0,'revision','',0),(1597,13,'2012-02-15 07:45:50','2012-02-15 07:45:50','In this issue, five contributors critique and analyze <em><a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/\" target=\"_blank\">The Walt Whitman Archive</a></em> by answering four questions about this digital archive. We invite you to read through the roundtable by question or by author.','The Walt Whitman Archive','','inherit','open','open','','336-revision-16','','','2012-02-15 07:45:50','2012-02-15 07:45:50','',336,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/336-revision-16/',0,'revision','',0),(1601,13,'2012-02-17 07:45:52','2012-02-17 07:45:52','','vodou','','inherit','open','open','','vodou','','','2012-02-17 07:45:52','2012-02-17 07:45:52','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/vodou.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(1602,13,'2012-02-17 07:52:30','2012-02-17 07:52:30','','Post Options','','publish','closed','closed','','acf_post-options','','','2012-09-17 22:43:41','2012-09-17 22:43:41','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?post_type=acf&#038;p=1602',0,'acf','',0),(3301,19,'2012-10-19 04:50:01','2012-10-19 04:50:01','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-61','','','2012-10-19 04:50:01','2012-10-19 04:50:01','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-61/',0,'revision','',0),(3303,19,'2012-10-19 04:50:15','2012-10-19 04:50:15','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-62','','','2012-10-19 04:50:15','2012-10-19 04:50:15','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-62/',0,'revision','',0),(3304,19,'2012-10-19 04:51:31','2012-10-19 04:51:31','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives 1','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-63','','','2012-10-19 04:51:31','2012-10-19 04:51:31','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-63/',0,'revision','',0),(3310,19,'2012-10-19 04:51:34','2012-10-19 04:51:34','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives 1','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-64','','','2012-10-19 04:51:34','2012-10-19 04:51:34','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-64/',0,'revision','',0),(3311,19,'2012-10-19 04:56:45','2012-10-19 04:56:45','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives 1','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-65','','','2012-10-19 04:56:45','2012-10-19 04:56:45','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-65/',0,'revision','',0),(3298,19,'2012-10-19 01:20:36','2012-10-19 01:20:36','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-58','','','2012-10-19 01:20:36','2012-10-19 01:20:36','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-58/',0,'revision','',0),(3299,19,'2012-10-19 04:45:39','2012-10-19 04:45:39','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-59','','','2012-10-19 04:45:39','2012-10-19 04:45:39','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1500-revision-59/',0,'revision','',0),(1605,13,'2012-02-16 22:59:29','2012-02-16 22:59:29','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-14','','','2012-02-16 22:59:29','2012-02-16 22:59:29','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-14/',0,'revision','',0),(1607,13,'2011-04-30 16:36:57','2011-04-30 16:36:57','<img 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13:32:05','2012-02-17 13:32:05','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-17','','','2012-02-17 13:32:05','2012-02-17 13:32:05','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-17/',0,'revision','',0),(1613,13,'2012-02-17 14:43:47','2012-02-17 14:43:47','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-18','','','2012-02-17 14:43:47','2012-02-17 14:43:47','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-18/',0,'revision','',0),(1614,13,'2012-02-17 14:45:17','2012-02-17 14:45:17','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-19','','','2012-02-17 14:45:17','2012-02-17 14:45:17','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-19/',0,'revision','',0),(1615,13,'2012-02-17 14:45:48','2012-02-17 14:45:48','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-20','','','2012-02-17 14:45:48','2012-02-17 14:45:48','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-20/',0,'revision','',0),(1616,13,'2012-02-16 23:00:47','2012-02-16 23:00:47','In this issue, five contributors critique and analyze <em><a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/\" target=\"_blank\">The Walt Whitman Archive</a></em> by answering four questions about this digital archive. We invite you to read through the roundtable by question or by author.','The Walt Whitman Archive','','inherit','open','open','','336-revision-17','','','2012-02-16 23:00:47','2012-02-16 23:00:47','',336,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/336-revision-17/',0,'revision','',0),(2520,19,'2012-07-27 10:25:24','2012-07-27 10:25:24','<div id=\"map3d_devos\"></div>\r\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-19','','','2012-07-27 10:25:24','2012-07-27 10:25:24','',1200,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1200-revision-19/',0,'revision','',0),(2521,19,'2012-09-25 04:25:33','2012-09-25 04:25:33','<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','','','2012-09-25 04:25:33','2012-09-25 04:25:33','',1975,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1975-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(1698,13,'2012-03-06 20:11:12','2012-03-06 20:11:12','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/37986760?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','The Development of Masculinity','','publish','open','open','','the-development-of-masculinity','','','2012-11-14 06:02:06','2012-11-14 06:02:06','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1698',7,'post','',0),(1623,13,'2012-02-17 16:02:40','2012-02-17 16:02:40','','Custom','','inherit','open','open','','acf_custom-3','','','2012-02-17 16:02:40','2012-02-17 16:02:40','',920,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_custom-3/',0,'revision','',0),(1624,13,'2012-02-17 16:04:45','2012-02-17 16:04:45','','Custom','','inherit','open','open','','acf_custom-4','','','2012-02-17 16:04:45','2012-02-17 16:04:45','',920,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_custom-4/',0,'revision','',0),(2527,19,'2012-09-25 04:28:52','2012-09-25 04:28:52','<p>Jimmy Barnett was hired as a student digital imaging technician for the Carrère and Hastings Project. Jimmy worked an average of 10-20 hours per week for on this project for one year, 2010-2011.</p>\r\n<p>The student worker description for Jimmy’s position is below.</p>\r\n<p><strong style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">Student Assistant – Large Format Digital Imaging Technician, Digital Library Center, University of Florida</strong></p>\r\n<p><strong>Job Description</strong></p>\r\n<p>Reporting to the Operations Manager, the Large Format Imaging Technician will capture pages for the Carrère and Hastings Project, perform image optimization and quality control on captured images as needed, and assist in the transportation of materials from Conservation to the Digital Library Center.</p>\r\n<p><strong>Duties and Responsibilities include:</strong></p>\r\n<ul>\r\n	<li>Digitally capture source materials using a Betterlight Super 8K-HS Camera Back.</li>\r\n	<li>Perform quality control on files, process, optimize images as necessary for artifactual fidelity using Adobe Photoshop.</li>\r\n	<li>Monitor work flow history in coordination with Digital Library Center and Conservation staff.</li>\r\n</ul>\r\n<p><strong>Preferred Qualifications</strong></p>\r\n<ul>\r\n	<li>Experience with DSLR and other sophisticated cameras with knowledge of photography. \r\nExperience with Adobe Photoshop.</li>\r\n	<li>Strong computer skills and demonstrated ability to work accurately in detail-oriented, busy production environment.</li>\r\n	<li>Excellent organizational skills, ability to set and follow a written schedule, and the ability to work independently.</li>\r\n	<li>Federal Work Study eligibility.</li>\r\n</ul>\r\n\r\n','UF - Student Job Description','','inherit','open','open','','1004-revision-13','','','2012-09-25 04:28:52','2012-09-25 04:28:52','',1004,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/issue/2/uncategorized/1004-revision-13/',0,'revision','',0),(1630,13,'2012-02-14 07:19:58','2012-02-14 07:19:58','','Mapping the Provenance of Museum 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English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-22','','','2012-02-17 18:20:33','2012-02-17 18:20:33','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-22/',0,'revision','',0),(1659,13,'2012-02-17 18:21:21','2012-02-17 18:21:21','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-23','','','2012-02-17 18:21:21','2012-02-17 18:21:21','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-23/',0,'revision','',0),(1660,13,'2012-02-17 18:22:24','2012-02-17 18:22:24','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-24','','','2012-02-17 18:22:24','2012-02-17 18:22:24','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-24/',0,'revision','',0),(1661,13,'2012-02-16 21:01:25','2012-02-16 21:01:25','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 2-3 weeks of the semester.  I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential that some students are 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 are designed such that students are assigned 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 the skill sets of each individual student.  I have found the team oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger team devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn (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).\r\n\r\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 also having them visit the Penn Museum and the APS.  This can prove a challenge since the APS is not set up for student visits and, therefore, it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange 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, however, when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects.  Last semester, one suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project.  We talked about this together and the students also felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about the historical and cultural background from which the materials emerged.  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 and that this would result in them being able to understand the materials better and to do a better job of .  So this coming semester, that is what I am going to try to accomplish.  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.','Vodou Songs - Powell 5','','inherit','open','open','','1589-revision-2','','','2012-02-16 21:01:25','2012-02-16 21:01:25','',1589,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1589-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(1662,13,'2012-02-16 08:35:17','2012-02-16 08:35:17','<ol>\r\n	<li>How do you integrate archival work, logistically and practically, into your curriculum?</li>\r\n</ol>\r\n<em>The Vodou Archive</em> is being unveiled currently (spring of 2012) in my course “Introduction to Haitian Vodou.” On a weekly basis, different parts of the archive will be highlighted and students will be expected to visit the digital library to read or view the assigned materials. In order to stress the importance of <em>The Vodou Archive</em> as a digital library, I will also require that students write essays about some of its components. As Florida has numerous active Vodou communities, students will be encouraged to produce materials for the archive—photographs or recordings from Vodou ceremonies and rituals, for example.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nThe work undertaken in collaboration with undergraduates to produce <em>Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English</em> and <em>The Vodou Archive</em> has been integrated into the curriculum in numerous ways. For example, students are assigned reading materials that spring from the collaboration. Based on the topics selected for essays, students are encouraged to read or examine parts of <em>The Vodou Archive</em>; for example, students who want to write about how Catholic chromolithographs camouflage Vodou <em>lwa</em> (spirits) are encouraged to visit the selection in <em>The Vodou Archive</em> (<a href=\"http://www.dloc.com/AA00008694/allvolumes2\">click here</a>); other students might need photographic data about Vodou (<a href=\"http://www.dloc.com/AA00005507/00001/thumbs\">click here</a>); other students may need to consult important but hard to find works such as Arthur Holly’s (1928) <em>Dra-po</em> (<a href=\"http://www.dloc.com/UF00076958\">click here</a>); finally, some students will want to listen to rare recordings made by Maya Deren held exclusively by <em>The Vodou Archive</em> (<a href=\"http://www.dloc.com/UF00082017\">click here</a>). <em>The Vodou Archive</em> is rich and diverse assemblage of documents; while not all of it can be directly included in the curriculum for all students, individual students are encouraged to branch into the parts of the archive that are relevant to their own work.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nAnother way that I will increase student contributions to <em>The Vodou Archive</em> will be through the creation of <em>The</em> <em>Vodou Journal</em>, a planned dimension of the digital archive: 10 of the students’ best essays will be submitted to <em>The</em> <em>Vodou Journal </em>for peer review and possible publication. I hope that this unique opportunity for undergraduates to make a significant contribution to the scholarship on Vodou and will also stimulate greater attention to writing and also introduce undergraduates to the process of scholarly publishing in general.','Vodou Songs - Hebblethwaite 5','','inherit','open','open','','1516-revision-2','','','2012-02-16 08:35:17','2012-02-16 08:35:17','',1516,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1516-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(1693,13,'2012-02-12 03:32:28','2012-02-12 03:32:28','[caption id=\"attachment_1388\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The Trade with Cedar Crest. From Lehigh’s student newspaper, The Brown &amp; White (September 17, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1388\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image1\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"306\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1392\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"308\" caption=\"Cartoon by Gene Mater in The Brown &amp; White (September 14, 1971). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1392\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image5\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image5.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"308\" height=\"322\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1394\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"308\" caption=\"Some students were clearly for coeducation, assembling and speaking out at rallies. (The Brown &amp; White, April 18, 1969). Image courtesy of Lehigh University Digital Library.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1394\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image7\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image7.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"308\" height=\"246\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1393\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Student Gene Mater speaking out at a student event (Epitome 1970, p.40). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1393\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image6\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image6.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"471\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1390\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"238\" caption=\"Lehigh student dances with his date at a mixer (Epitome 1970, p.252). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1390\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image3.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"238\" height=\"446\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1410\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"378\" caption=\"Alpha Lambda Omega fraternity member list from Epitome, Lehigh’s yearbook (1970, p. 233). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1410\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image2\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"378\" height=\"515\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1391\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"499\" caption=\"Photograph of the Class of 1948’s 15th reunion (1963). Reproduced by permission from Special Collections, Lehigh University Libraries.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1391\" title=\"lehigh_student work_image4\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/lehigh_student-work_image4.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"499\" height=\"350\" />[/caption]\r\n','Archival Materials','','inherit','open','open','','1387-revision-21','','','2012-02-12 03:32:28','2012-02-12 03:32:28','',1387,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1387-revision-21/',0,'revision','',0),(1663,13,'2012-02-14 07:30:32','2012-02-14 07:30:32','','Hands-On Research with Rare Books and Ephemera ','','inherit','open','open','','1047-revision-18','','','2012-02-14 07:30:32','2012-02-14 07:30:32','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-18/',0,'revision','',0),(1664,13,'2012-05-28 18:05:22','2012-05-28 18:05:22','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.','Hands-On Research with Rare Books and Ephemera ','','inherit','open','open','','1047-autosave','','','2012-05-28 18:05:22','2012-05-28 18:05:22','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(1668,13,'2012-03-01 06:49:13','2012-03-01 06:49:13','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 <em><a href=\"http://thewalters.org/earth/\">Art on the Move</a></em>. <strong></strong>','Mapping the Provenance of Museum Objects','','inherit','open','open','','1121-revision-41','','','2012-03-01 06:49:13','2012-03-01 06:49:13','',1121,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1121-revision-41/',0,'revision','',0),(1669,13,'2012-03-01 06:50:56','2012-03-01 06:50:56','','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/\" target=\"_blank\">Art on the Move</a>.','inherit','open','open','','1121-revision-42','','','2012-03-01 06:50:56','2012-03-01 06:50:56','',1121,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1121-revision-42/',0,'revision','',0),(1670,13,'2012-03-01 06:49:29','2012-03-01 06:49:29','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.','Archival Materials into Documentary Film','','inherit','open','open','','1108-revision-7','','','2012-03-01 06:49:29','2012-03-01 06:49:29','',1108,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1108-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),(1671,13,'2012-02-11 23:14:04','2012-02-11 23:14:04','[caption id=\"attachment_1258\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The Gado 2 Robotic Scanner scanning photos at the Afro.\"]<a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-project-photo-1_gado.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 1_gado\" width=\"638\" height=\"478\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1258\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1259\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The East Baltimore Oral History Player, showing the index entry for a resident whose story Tom Smith helped to document and record. \"]<a href=\"http://eboh.jhu.edu/oralhistoryplayer\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-project-photo-2_eboh.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 2_eboh\" width=\"638\" height=\"667\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1259\" /></a>[/caption]','Student-Built Archival Tools','','inherit','open','open','','1057-revision-12','','','2012-02-11 23:14:04','2012-02-11 23:14:04','',1057,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1057-revision-12/',0,'revision','',0),(1672,13,'2012-03-01 06:43:51','2012-03-01 06:43:51','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.','Hands-On Research with Rare Books and Ephemera ','','inherit','open','open','','1047-revision-19','','','2012-03-01 06:43:51','2012-03-01 06:43:51','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-19/',0,'revision','',0),(1673,13,'2012-02-14 07:42:53','2012-02-14 07:42:53','[caption id=\"attachment_1368\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"386\" caption=\"Image of James A. Bible (c. 1860) from the Ramsey Family Papers (MS 81). Saunders worked on this image for the SETDA. Used by permission of Cleveland Public Library.\"]<a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1368\" title=\"cscc_student work_sample material\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-work_sample-material.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"386\" height=\"640\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n<span class=\"small light\">Matthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>, and the items Saunders contributed <a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>.</span>','History Lab: Combining Service Learning, Research Methods, and Digital Archives ','','inherit','open','open','','1018-revision-14','','','2012-02-14 07:42:53','2012-02-14 07:42:53','',1018,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1018-revision-14/',0,'revision','',0),(1678,13,'2012-03-01 07:34:03','2012-03-01 07:34:03','[caption id=\"attachment_1368\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"386\" caption=\"Image of James A. Bible (c. 1860) from the Ramsey Family Papers (MS 81). Saunders worked on this image for the SETDA. Used by permission of Cleveland Public Library.\"]<a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1368\" title=\"cscc_student work_sample material\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-work_sample-material.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"386\" height=\"640\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;','History Lab: Combining Service Learning, Research Methods, and Digital Archives ','This case study features the work of a student who took History Lab, an introductory history and service-learning course at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). He researched individual items from a local cultural heritage organization that were then digitized, described, and published online in the <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive</a> (SETDA). \r\n\r\nMatthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive here, and the items Saunders contributed here.','inherit','open','open','','1018-revision-16','','','2012-03-01 07:34:03','2012-03-01 07:34:03','',1018,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1018-revision-16/',0,'revision','',0),(1674,13,'2012-02-14 07:42:13','2012-02-14 07:42:13','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-33','','','2012-02-14 07:42:13','2012-02-14 07:42:13','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-33/',0,'revision','',0),(1675,13,'2012-02-17 17:02:11','2012-02-17 17:02:11','<div id=\"map3d_dowdle\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1209-revision-8','','','2012-02-17 17:02:11','2012-02-17 17:02:11','',1209,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1209-revision-8/',0,'revision','',0),(1676,13,'2012-03-01 07:04:31','2012-03-01 07:04:31','<div id=\"map3d_dowdle\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1209-revision-9','','','2012-03-01 07:04:31','2012-03-01 07:04:31','',1209,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1209-revision-9/',0,'revision','',0),(1677,13,'2012-03-01 06:58:50','2012-03-01 06:58:50','[caption id=\"attachment_1368\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"386\" caption=\"Image of James A. Bible (c. 1860) from the Ramsey Family Papers (MS 81). Saunders worked on this image for the SETDA. Used by permission of Cleveland Public Library.\"]<a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1368\" title=\"cscc_student work_sample material\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-work_sample-material.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"386\" height=\"640\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n<span class=\"small light\">Matthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>, and the items Saunders contributed <a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>.</span>','History Lab: Combining Service Learning, Research Methods, and Digital Archives ','This case study features the work of a student who took History Lab, an introductory history and service-learning course at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). He researched individual items from a local cultural heritage organization that were then digitized, described, and published online in the <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive</a> (SETDA). ','inherit','open','open','','1018-revision-15','','','2012-03-01 06:58:50','2012-03-01 06:58:50','',1018,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1018-revision-15/',0,'revision','',0),(1680,13,'2012-02-11 20:13:57','2012-02-11 20:13:57','In 2008 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>. For the course, students recorded oral histories of residents of Baltimore\'s Middle East neighborhood for the East Baltimore Oral History Project (EBOH), which were 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, he eventually built the player software featured on the project website. The software that he developed is open source, so anyone can use it for the own collections without any license/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.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1253\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Unprocessed boxes of archival material, Baltimore Afro-American Newspapers, 2008.\"]<a href=\"http://morgue.afro.com/AfroArchon/\"><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>[/caption]\r\n\r\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 Afro-American Newspapers and Johns Hopkins University. DPAAP focuses on organizing and preserving the archives of the Afro Newspaper; 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 Afro’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 Afro prompted Smith to invent another tool: the <a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\">Gado scanner</a>.','Afro - Project Description','','inherit','open','open','','1064-revision-14','','','2012-02-11 20:13:57','2012-02-11 20:13:57','',1064,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1064-revision-14/',0,'revision','',0),(1679,13,'2012-03-01 07:34:54','2012-03-01 07:34:54','[caption id=\"attachment_1368\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"386\" caption=\"Image of James A. Bible (c. 1860) from the Ramsey Family Papers (MS 81). Saunders worked on this image for the SETDA. Used by permission of Cleveland Public Library.\"]<a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1368\" title=\"cscc_student work_sample material\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-work_sample-material.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"386\" height=\"640\" /></a>[/caption]','History Lab: Combining Service Learning, Research Methods, and Digital Archives ','This case study features the work of a student who took History Lab, an introductory history and service-learning course at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). He researched individual items from a local cultural heritage organization that were then digitized, described, and published online in the <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive</a> (SETDA). \r\n\r\nMatthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>, and the items Saunders contributed <a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>.\r\n\r\nMatthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive here, and the items Saunders contributed here.','inherit','open','open','','1018-revision-17','','','2012-03-01 07:34:54','2012-03-01 07:34:54','',1018,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1018-revision-17/',0,'revision','',0),(1681,13,'2012-02-14 06:53:43','2012-02-14 06:53:43','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 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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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?”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nGilson, David. <em>A Bibliography of Jane Austen</em>. first. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.\r\n\r\nAusten, Jane. <em>Emma</em>. First. Philadelphia: M.Carey, 1816.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters From Alberta Burke to David Gilson</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>August 5, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\nTells Mr. Gilson that she has the Frank J. Hogan copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.\r\n\r\n<strong>August 15, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n<em>Written in black fountain pen (script writing), fairly uniform line spacing</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>January 12, 1968</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>June 10, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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(?)”\r\n\r\n<strong>November 18, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.\r\n#16 went for $1300 to the same buyer\r\n#17 “ “ 550 “ “ “\r\n#18 $40.00\r\n#19 $35.00\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 11, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small Note Card</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 16, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters from Gilson to Henry Burke (after Alberta falls ill)</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\n	<li>“Small White Paper” 17.9cm tall x 13.7cm wide, blue ink, almost transparent white paper, written on only one side.</li>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>June 14th, 1975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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!”\r\n\r\n<strong>August 3rd, 975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n\r\n“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.)”\r\n\r\n<strong>October 16th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Pape</em><em>r</em>\r\n<em></em><em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 26th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper. </em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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).”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 20th, 1977</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside First Volume of 1816 Philadelphia <em>Emma</em></h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\n<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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Muir,\r\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.\r\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?) ….\r\nYours, SS (written on top of each other)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1316\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Siegfried Sassoon&#39;s letter to Percy Muir, antiquarian book dealer, regarding Sassoon&#39;s sale of the American first edition of Emma to Frank J. Hogan (dated December 3, 1941). The letter was discovered inside the front cover of the Burke Collection copy.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1316\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"857\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Hogan,\r\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.\r\nWith every good wish and kind regards,\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP. H. MuirHand\r\nwritten note (in same green ink as Muir’s signature) written below signature of “P.H Muir”:\r\n“Note the date on SS’s letter, evidently written on 131h”\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 3</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Yellow paper, green “Elkin Mathews Ltd,” dated May 22, 1945, typed in faded black ink.</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mrs. Burke,\r\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.\r\nI always have you in mind for any interesting Jane Austen items, which turn up.\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP.H. Muir (signed in green ink)\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Emma (1st Edition Philadelphia 1816)</h5>\r\n18.3cm tall x 11.1cm (cover)\r\n\r\n<em>Inside Cover</em>\r\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”\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\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.”\r\nunder this is the paper square for the “Alberta H. Burke”\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1314\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Title page of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Jane Austen&#39;s Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1314\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"1080\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<em>Title Page</em>\r\nEMMA:\r\nA Novel\r\nHere Volumes in Two\r\n(written on side, vertically: A.B. Dallhousie)\r\nBy the Author of “Pride and Prejudice,”\r\n&amp;c. &amp;c.\r\nVol. 1\r\nPHILADELPHIA:\r\nPublished by M.Carey, No. 121 Chesnut Street\r\nAnd for Sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston\r\n1816\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\nTo his Royal Highness\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<em>First Page of Text</em>\r\n18cm tall x 9.8cm wide\r\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)\r\naverage full page text block: 12.5cm tall x 7.4cm wide\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside Second Volume</h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n<em> dated April 24, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\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.\r\nDo you still have this book and would you be willing to part with it?”\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn (signed in ink)\r\nZ.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Typed, same stationary as letter 1</em>\r\n<em> dated May 3, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\nThank you so much for your letter of May 1st.\r\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.\r\nWith best wishes,\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn\r\n-Z.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)','How Emma Travels','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.\r\n\r\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-revision-22','','','2012-02-14 06:53:43','2012-02-14 06:53:43','',1300,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1300-revision-22/',0,'revision','',0),(1682,13,'2012-02-14 07:06:23','2012-02-14 07:06:23','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-22','','','2012-02-14 07:06:23','2012-02-14 07:06:23','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-22/',0,'revision','',0),(1683,13,'2012-03-01 07:06:04','2012-03-01 07:06:04','<div id=\"map3d_dowdle\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1209-revision-10','','','2012-03-01 07:06:04','2012-03-01 07:06:04','',1209,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1209-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(1684,13,'2012-03-01 07:57:04','2012-03-01 07:57:04','<div id=\"map3d_dowdle\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1209-revision-11','','','2012-03-01 07:57:04','2012-03-01 07:57:04','',1209,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1209-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1685,13,'2012-03-01 07:58:12','2012-03-01 07:58:12','<div id=\"map3d_dowdle\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Amazon Dowdle','','inherit','open','open','','1209-revision-12','','','2012-03-01 07:58:12','2012-03-01 07:58:12','',1209,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1209-revision-12/',0,'revision','',0),(1686,13,'2012-02-17 17:02:04','2012-02-17 17:02:04','<div id=\"map3d_tkacs\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Romances Casket Tkacs','','inherit','open','open','','1205-revision-13','','','2012-02-17 17:02:04','2012-02-17 17:02:04','',1205,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1205-revision-13/',0,'revision','',0),(1687,13,'2012-02-17 17:02:19','2012-02-17 17:02:19','<div id=\"map3d_devos\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Beaupre Devos','','inherit','open','open','','1200-revision-15','','','2012-02-17 17:02:19','2012-02-17 17:02:19','',1200,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1200-revision-15/',0,'revision','',0),(1688,13,'2012-03-01 08:00:52','2012-03-01 08:00:52','<div id=\"map3d_tkacs\"></div>\r\n<div class=\"small light\">Installed Plugin Version: <span id=\"installed-plugin-version\" style=\"font-weight: bold;\">Loading...</span></div>','Walters - Romances Casket Tkacs','','inherit','open','open','','1205-revision-14','','','2012-03-01 08:00:52','2012-03-01 08:00:52','',1205,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1205-revision-14/',0,'revision','',0),(1689,13,'2012-03-01 06:59:20','2012-03-01 06:59:20','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','This case study showcases an undergraduate’s work as the lead digital scanner of architectural drawings for the Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection, a collaborative project between the University of Florida (UF) and Flagler College to conserve and digitally preserve the large and fragile drawings. For years the drawings were stored in a basement boiler room and suffered from exposure to high Florida temperatures, humidity, insects, and rodents. The collection is now under the care of a team of faculty, staff, and students from the UF’s Special Collections, Conservation Unit, and Digital Library Center.','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-34','','','2012-03-01 06:59:20','2012-03-01 06:59:20','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-34/',0,'revision','',0),(1690,13,'2012-03-01 08:06:45','2012-03-01 08:06:45','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nThe images above are a small fraction of the materials made available through the project and Jimmy\'s work.  The full range can be seen in the <a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/caha/all\" target=\"_blank\">Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection</a>, part of the University of Florida Digital Collections.  You can read more at the project blog: <a href=\"\" target=\"_blank\">http://flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com/</a>. ','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','This case study showcases an undergraduate’s work as the lead digital scanner of architectural drawings for the Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection, a collaborative project between the University of Florida (UF) and Flagler College to conserve and digitally preserve the large and fragile drawings. For years the drawings were stored in a basement boiler room and suffered from exposure to high Florida temperatures, humidity, insects, and rodents. The collection is now under the care of a team of faculty, staff, and students from the UF’s Special Collections, Conservation Unit, and Digital Library Center.','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-35','','','2012-03-01 08:06:45','2012-03-01 08:06:45','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-35/',0,'revision','',0),(1691,13,'2012-03-01 08:07:03','2012-03-01 08:07:03','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nThe images above are a small fraction of the materials made available through the project and Jimmy\'s work. The full range can be seen in the <a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/caha/all\" target=\"_blank\">Carrère &amp; Hastings Digital Collection</a>, part of the University of Florida Digital Collections. You can read more at the project blog: <a target=\"_blank\">http://flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com/</a>.','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','This case study showcases an undergraduate’s work as the lead digital scanner of architectural drawings for the Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection, a collaborative project between the University of Florida (UF) and Flagler College to conserve and digitally preserve the large and fragile drawings. For years the drawings were stored in a basement boiler room and suffered from exposure to high Florida temperatures, humidity, insects, and rodents. The collection is now under the care of a team of faculty, staff, and students from the UF’s Special Collections, Conservation Unit, and Digital Library Center.','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-36','','','2012-03-01 08:07:03','2012-03-01 08:07:03','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-36/',0,'revision','',0),(1692,13,'2012-02-11 19:21:31','2012-02-11 19:21:31','<strong>Art on the Move: A Public Humanities Project at Johns Hopkins University</strong>\r\n\r\n<img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-1241\" title=\"walters_project image\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_project-image-258x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"258\" height=\"250\" />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, Senior Programmer Analyst 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.\r\n\r\n<strong>Except From Course Syllabus</strong>\r\n\r\nThe goals of this class can be broken down into several categories:\r\n<ul>\r\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>\r\n	<li>conducting in-depth, independent research on objects in the Walters’ collection;</li>\r\n	<li>experimenting with different styles of writing and narration;</li>\r\n	<li>learning about different areas of museum practice, including curation, conservation, registration, and education;</li>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\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 Hopkins library and on-line. 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 . . . in this course we extended that mission to the undergraduate classroom.\r\n\r\n(*The seven students worked on two objects each; a selection of these was made for the final presentation on the Walters website.)','Walters - Project Description/Syllabus','','inherit','open','open','','1130-revision-10','','','2012-02-11 19:21:31','2012-02-11 19:21:31','',1130,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1130-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(1718,13,'2012-03-06 20:11:46','2012-03-06 20:11:46','','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-9','','','2012-03-06 20:11:46','2012-03-06 20:11:46','',1108,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1108-revision-9/',0,'revision','',0),(1719,13,'2012-03-01 06:56:52','2012-03-01 06:56:52','','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-20','','','2012-03-01 06:56:52','2012-03-01 06:56:52','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-20/',0,'revision','',0),(1720,13,'2012-03-01 06:55:47','2012-03-01 06:55:47','[caption id=\"attachment_1258\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The Gado 2 Robotic Scanner scanning photos at the Afro.\"]<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=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"478\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1259\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The East Baltimore Oral History Player, showing the index entry for a resident whose story Tom Smith helped to document and record.\"]<a href=\"http://eboh.jhu.edu/oralhistoryplayer\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1259\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 2_eboh\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-project-photo-2_eboh.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"667\" /></a>[/caption]','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://magazine.jhu.edu/2011/11/unboxing-history/\" target=\"_blank\">Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project</a> (DPAAP) and led Smith to invent another tool: the <a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\" target=\"_blank\">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-13','','','2012-03-01 06:55:47','2012-03-01 06:55:47','',1057,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1057-revision-13/',0,'revision','',0),(1721,13,'2012-03-01 07:35:13','2012-03-01 07:35:13','[caption id=\"attachment_1368\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"386\" caption=\"Image of James A. Bible (c. 1860) from the Ramsey Family Papers (MS 81). Saunders worked on this image for the SETDA. Used by permission of Cleveland Public Library.\"]<a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1368\" title=\"cscc_student work_sample material\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/cscc_student-work_sample-material.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"386\" height=\"640\" /></a>[/caption]','History Lab: Combining Service Learning, Research Methods, and Digital Archives ','This case study features the work of a student who took History Lab, an introductory history and service-learning course at Cleveland State Community College (CSCC). He researched individual items from a local cultural heritage organization that were then digitized, described, and published online in the <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive</a> (SETDA). \r\n\r\nMatthew Saunders\' work ended up in the Southeast Tennessee Digital Archive. You can find the whole archive <a href=\"http://www.clevelandstatecc.edu/setda/\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>, and the items Saunders contributed <a href=\"http://csccdigital.cdmhost.com/cdm/singleitem/collection/p4024coll8/id/216\" target=\"_blank\">here</a>.','inherit','open','open','','1018-revision-18','','','2012-03-01 07:35:13','2012-03-01 07:35:13','',1018,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1018-revision-18/',0,'revision','',0),(1722,13,'2012-03-01 06:52:36','2012-03-01 06:52:36','','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/\" target=\"_blank\">Art on the Move</a>.','inherit','open','open','','1121-revision-43','','','2012-03-01 06:52:36','2012-03-01 06:52:36','',1121,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1121-revision-43/',0,'revision','',0),(1723,13,'2012-03-07 05:10:39','2012-03-07 05:10:39','','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/\" target=\"_blank\">Art on the Move</a>.','inherit','open','open','','1121-revision-44','','','2012-03-07 05:10:39','2012-03-07 05:10:39','',1121,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1121-revision-44/',0,'revision','',0),(1724,13,'2012-03-01 08:07:40','2012-03-01 08:07:40','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nThe images above are a small fraction of the materials made available through the project and Jimmy\'s work. The full range can be seen in the <a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/caha/all\" target=\"_blank\">Carrère &amp; Hastings Digital Collection</a>, part of the University of Florida Digital Collections. You can read more at the project blog: <a href=\"http://flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com/\" target=\"_blank\">flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com</a>.','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','This case study showcases an undergraduate’s work as the lead digital scanner of architectural drawings for the Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection, a collaborative project between the University of Florida (UF) and Flagler College to conserve and digitally preserve the large and fragile drawings. For years the drawings were stored in a basement boiler room and suffered from exposure to high Florida temperatures, humidity, insects, and rodents. The collection is now under the care of a team of faculty, staff, and students from the UF’s Special Collections, Conservation Unit, and Digital Library Center.','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-37','','','2012-03-01 08:07:40','2012-03-01 08:07:40','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-37/',0,'revision','',0),(1725,13,'2012-03-07 00:29:47','2012-03-07 00:29:47','In this issue, we\'ve chosen to explore several eclectic case studies of student projects focused around archival research and preservation. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.\r\n\r\nDuis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.\r\n\r\nExcepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.\r\n','Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-4','','','2012-03-07 00:29:47','2012-03-07 00:29:47','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(1726,13,'2012-03-07 05:12:31','2012-03-07 05:12:31','In Issue 2 of Archive, we\'ve chosen to explore several eclectic case studies of student projects focused around archival research and preservation. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.\r\n\r\nDuis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.\r\n\r\nExcepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.','Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-5','','','2012-03-07 05:12:31','2012-03-07 05:12:31','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(1727,13,'2012-03-01 07:45:39','2012-03-01 07:45:39','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-23','','','2012-03-01 07:45:39','2012-03-01 07:45:39','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-23/',0,'revision','',0),(1728,13,'2012-03-07 05:26:08','2012-03-07 05:26:08','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1341\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Scrapbook page showing in situ location of the U. S. Naval Academy June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball dance card with other balls&#039; cards, press clippings, trolley ticket stubs, and other memorabilia  from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_brand\" width=\"638\" height=\"761\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1341\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-24','','','2012-03-07 05:26:08','2012-03-07 05:26:08','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-24/',0,'revision','',0),(1729,13,'2012-03-07 05:27:29','2012-03-07 05:27:29','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1341\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Scrapbook page showing in situ location of the U. S. Naval Academy June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball dance card with other balls&#039; cards, press clippings, trolley ticket stubs, and other memorabilia  from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_brand\" width=\"638\" height=\"761\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1341\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-25','','','2012-03-07 05:27:29','2012-03-07 05:27:29','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-25/',0,'revision','',0),(1730,13,'2012-03-07 05:28:59','2012-03-07 05:28:59','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1341\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Scrapbook page showing in situ location of the U. S. Naval Academy June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball dance card with other balls&#039; cards, press clippings, trolley ticket stubs, and other memorabilia  from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_brand\" width=\"638\" height=\"761\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1341\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-26','','','2012-03-07 05:28:59','2012-03-07 05:28:59','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-26/',0,'revision','',0),(1731,13,'2012-03-07 05:30:38','2012-03-07 05:30:38','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1341\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Scrapbook page showing in situ location of the U. S. Naval Academy June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball dance card with other balls&#039; cards, press clippings, trolley ticket stubs, and other memorabilia  from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_brand\" width=\"638\" height=\"761\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1341\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-27','','','2012-03-07 05:30:38','2012-03-07 05:30:38','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-27/',0,'revision','',0),(1732,13,'2012-03-07 05:32:01','2012-03-07 05:32:01','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.\r\n\r\nLists of etiquette books remain from all different periods, instructing men and women how to act in each particular circumstance. Dancing claims a large portion of many of these books, as it was considered an elegant pastime and a way to judge one\'s character. Dancing was a sign of culture and social class, as the upper class had formal dance training while they were young.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1341\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Scrapbook page showing in situ location of the U. S. Naval Academy June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball dance card with other balls&#039; cards, press clippings, trolley ticket stubs, and other memorabilia  from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_brand\" width=\"638\" height=\"761\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1341\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nThe dance card furthered one\'s enjoyment of dancing, as it allowed young women to know who they would dance with; they never needed to worry about procuring a partner for the following dance, because he had already signed her card. A practice known as “dating ahead” became quite common as young women began filling out their dance cards in advance of the evening, to ensure that they would not be without a partner. Many women worried about not being asked to dance, as the most beautiful, best dancers were constantly engaged on the dance floor; the women without partners were often looked down on and pitied. Young women feared not having a partner for every dance, and having a dance card allowed them to make sure they would be busy dancing the entire night.\r\n\r\nDance cards also provided women with a way to gracefully decline a dance invitation. Johnson points out, “a lady must not decline the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she is previously engaged, or does not intend to dance any more during the evening” (79). Having a dance card allowed women to fill out their card with men who they would prefer to dance with, and it also allowed them to gracefully decline a dance by saying her card is full, even though this may not be true.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIt was also a way for young women to remember her engagements:\r\n\r\nIn the etiquette of the ballroom young ladies should be very careful to keep their promises to their various partners. Little books are furnished as memorizers, and the same honor is imperative here as in greater things. (American Code of Manners 43)\r\n\r\nThe dance card acted as a reminder of who she was supposed to dance with for each dance, which helped with confusion in promising multiple dances. The dance card also allowed a convenient excuse when a woman accidentally promised the same dance to two men; she could simply claim that her “programme had got into such a state of confusion” and refrain from offending either party involved (Aldrich 113). After the ball has ended, the dance card can serve as a memento of the event, “Each dance is entered on the program—and many a delightful memory is kept alive by glancing at these names days after the dance is held” (Eichler 97). In this way, the card acts as a reminder both at the ball and after the ball is finished.\r\n\r\nDance cards were predominantly used before the 20th century, but certain groups upheld tradition and used them much longer. As Eichler points out in 1922, “The dance program is rarely used now except at college dances, or army and navy dances. It has lost prestige with the passing of the old fashioned ball” (97).\r\n\r\nThe Archives and Special Collections at the United States Naval Academy holds an extensive collection of cards from many different events. The Academy, with its emphasis on tradition, used dance cards at their Winter Hops, the Ring Dance and the Farewell Ball into the 1960s. The USNA Archives provides a wonderful example of the evolution of the dance card, through the cards they have from the Farewell Ball, spanning from 1893 to 1976.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1344\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Sample dance card page with partners for five dances filled in, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1344\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"932\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe earliest dance card in the collection is from The Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1893 , donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Galt Welles (13 x 8.5 cm). The card is bound by a ribbon bow on the top vertical edge, with heavy cardstock covers in an ivory color. The cover simply states the dance and date in black ink with gold embellishments. The half-inch wide ribbon is long enough for the card to be carried on a lady’s wrist and holds a small pencil 7 cm in length. Inside the cover were 2 pages containing the list of dances with the song titles and composers. The card had not been filled out by its owner. The simple design creates an elegant card, following the guidelines for cards set by The Ballroom Guide published in the 1860s: “modern taste is inclined to favour plain and chaste designs rather than florid” (Aldrich 117). The contents of the card show that the emphasis of the card was on the order of dances, without much information about the ball.\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, the Academy does not have any cards from the balls in between 1893 and 1906, but the card from the 1906 Farewell Ball provides a beautiful example of a dance card. Donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the card is 10 x 7.5 cm with a tan leather cover. The cover has two inside pockets and a strap to attach the card to a woman’s wrist. Inside, the card contains three bifolia with much more decoration than the 1893 card. The card begins with a title page, which announces the name, date, and location of the ball. Following the title page are three pages of dances with spaces for 25 dances. For the first two pages of dances, each recto side holds a space for eight dances and on the verso is an illumination of a woman in an evening gown and a woman in a Navy coat and cover, respectively. The third page lists nine dances on the recto side and lists the committee of midshipmen who planned the ball on the verso. After these there are two blank pages with the word “Autographs” printed at the top of each page. This card—also not filled out—demonstrates the shift in focusing on only the dances to a larger focus on the card as a decorative souvenir.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball card from June 5th, 1908 donated by Mary McCarthy is the first in the collection filled out by its original owner. The last names of eight different men are written in pen with a beautiful cursive hand next to the dances. Ms. McCarthy danced 17 of the 25 dances listed and most of them were two steps and waltz, which were especially popular at the time. This card is much like the 1906 card, with a section listing the committee members and blank pages for autographs. Measuring 10 x 7.5 cm, the dark brown suede cover has a Naval Academy insignia blindly stamped in the center, with a dark brown cord and pockets inside the cover. The inside was printed with brown ink and tissue paper protected the pictures from transfer.\r\n\r\nIn 1909, the Farewell Ball dance card, donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, remained much the same. The 10.5 x 8 cm card had a navy blue vinyl cover with pockets inside to hold pictures and gold tooling for decoration. The inside contained the order of dances—not filled out—a supper list, and a committee list. The illustrations were in black and white with a small bit of red as an accent.\r\n\r\nAlso donated by Mrs. Bradford Bartlett, the Farewell Ball, June 3rd 1910 dance card had a dark grey leather cover with a silver cord (10 x 7 cm). A blind tooled ship decorated the front, and white paint accented the moon and water. Inside, black and white illustrations were accented with the use of yellow, red, blue and green and were protected by tissue paper. The order of dances was filled out in sloppy cursive hand in pencil. The autograph section, however, was left blank.\r\n\r\nThe example from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1911 provided the most intricate cover. Measuring 11 x 6.5 cm while closed, the tan suede cover folds three times, containing extra pockets. Inside the front cover is one pocket and the small booklet of paper, the back cover extends to twice the front cover’s length, folding in on itself. The right side of the cover has a simple pocket, while the middle of the cover has a more complex pocket. The pocket is vertically arranged, with a flap that closes by inserting the narrow point of the flap into a loop. Naval Academy insignia is stamped onto the inner pockets of the cover. The dance card was attached to the lady’s wrist by a dark brown leather strap, which still holds an 8 cm pencil. Inside contains a title page, pictures with color accents, the committee list, a section for autographs and the order of dances, which is not filled out.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 6th 1919 dance card has a navy blue vinyl cover with blind stamped Naval Academy insignia and date and a blue and yellow cord (10 x 8 cm). The inside contains a title page and the dances listed verso and spaces to fill out engagements listed recto. The card is not filled out and is decorated with black and white illustrations.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nBound vertically in a brown leather cover, the Farewell Ball June 3rd 1920 dance card measures 11 x 7.5 cm. The cover is blind stamped with blue and yellow cords. After the order of dances, there is a calendar from June 1920 to May 1921. The months are listed two at a time, with large pictures above them. The stiff cardstock paper has gilt edges.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 2nd 1921 dance card has a significantly different cover than the previous cards. The simple 9 x 6.5 cm white cardstock cover has a full color illustration on the cover with an embossed gold Naval Academy insignia. Previously, the covers were made of a more expensive material—usually leather or vinyl. This was the first ball held in Dahlgren Hall, one of the social buildings on the Naval Academy yard. The dances are listed 3 on a page, with no names of the songs, only the types of dances. The dances are not filled out. Next to the type of dance is a space labeled “meet under” and beneath the dances is a space for memories. There is also a different quote at the bottom of each page.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1343\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front cover of the U. S. Naval Academy dance card for the June 2, 1921 Farewell Ball, from the scrapbook of Mary Lee Keith (Class of 1924).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1343\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_brand\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_brand.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"814\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball June 2nd 1922 dance card has a white cardstock cover with a color illustration (from Keith Scrapbook, Goucher College Library). The 9 x 6.5 cm cover includes blind stamping and a blue and yellow cord. The layout is very much like the 1921 card, containing a list of dances, with a “meet under” space and space below for memories. This card, however, does not have quotes at the bottom of each page. At the end, there is a committee list. The card is filled out with black pen, and in the “meet under” section, flags are drawn with pen and colored. The ball was held in Dahlgren Hall, like the 1921 card also containing a “meet under” section. Dahlgren Hall is lined with flags on either side of the long, rectangular building. The “meet under” space allowed the women to draw in the flag and know exactly where she was to meet her next dancing partner. This aided even more in making sure that the women had a dance partner for every dance; it ensured that she would always be able to find her intended dance partner even in the crowded room. It is also possible that an escort would fill out the card in advance for his date with the illustrations of flags in order to ensure she danced the night away.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nIn 1923, the Academy went back to the leather cover for the Farewell Ball dance card. The cover is Navy blue with a gold tooled insignia, with inside pockets (11 x 8.5 cm). The recto pocket had a clear cut out to hold a photograph. For decoration, there are pictures that are whimsical in nature with tissue paper to protect the pictures from transfer. The dances are filled out in immaculately print black pen with flags drawn and colored next to last names.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball dance card from 1925 has a silver cardstock cover with a picture of the Naval Academy Chapel dome in different shades of blue. Measuring 9.5 x 6.5 cm, the card contains the order of dances and a “meet under” space, but there is no room to record memories or a committee list like in the 1921, 1922, and 1923 cards. The card is filled out in pen with a shaky hand and the flags are drawn and colored next to the names. On the inside cover recto is a hand drawn cartoon of a midshipman.\r\n\r\nThere is a gap until 1942, when the collection resumes with the Farewell Ball, June 18th 1942. It has a white leather cover with stamping and gold accents, measuring 10 x 7.5 cm. The inside is printed in blue and it can be attached to a woman’s wrist by the yellow cord. The card contains a title page and committee list, names the orchestra, and announces that Mrs. John R. Beardall is receiving. The order of dances is filled out in two different shades of blue pen and each name is written in a different style of hand. This indicates another use for the dance card. A woman can hand her card to whoever asks her to dance and have him write in his name. This is very useful, especially if the woman has forgotten his name and can look on the card for a reminder.\r\n\r\nLike the 1942 card, the Farewell Ball, June 5th 1945 card was printed with blue ink and has a yellow cord. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a dark blue faux leather cover with stamping and gold accents. The inside lists who was receiving, the hostesses, committee members and the orchestra. The dances, which are not filled out, are numbered, but there is no information as to what dance or what song each number will be. This shows the diminishing importance of the dances on the dance card.\r\n\r\nSimilarly, the Farewell Ball, May 31st 1956 dance card only lists numbers for the dances. This 10 x 7.5 cm card has an off-white cardstock cover with blue ink and an off-white cord. Inside, it lists the title page, orchestra, the woman receiving and the hostesses. It also lists the committee list for both the Farewell Ball and for the other hops held throughout the year. It ends with a quote, “Three cheers for/ those who are about/ to leave us—/ Three cheers for/ those we leave behind/ us—” This quote becomes a standard addition to each following card.\r\n\r\nThe card from the Farewell Ball, June 2nd 1959 is much the same as the 1956 card. The 10 x 7.5 cm card has a gold cardstock cover with blue wording and a silhouette of a dancing couple. The cord is also blue. The card lists the orchestra, the woman receiving, the hostesses and the program of dances—numbers only, no types of dances or names of songs. Two of the dances are filled out and the others were left blank. After the dances the card lists the Farewell Ball committee and the Hop committee, which organizes the smaller dances throughout the year. It concludes with the Three Cheers quote found in the 1956 card.\r\n\r\nThe cards from the Farewell Balls in 1964, 1965 and 1966 have almost identical contents, with different covers. The 1964 card is 10.5 x 7.5 cm with a white cardstock cover with blue ink and gold embossing and a blue cord. The 1965 card is 11.5 x 9 cm. It has a light blue cover with black embossing and a dark blue cord. The 1966 card measures 11.5 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover with navy blue ink and a navy blue cord. All the cards contain a title page and list the orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director and hostesses. None of the cards are filled out and they are stapled at the fold.\r\n\r\nWith each consecutive card, the changes are minimal. The 1967 and 1968 Farewell Ball dance cards are exactly the same, with a different date. They are both 11.5 x 9 cm and their covers are light blue with black ink and a blue cord. Neither card is filled out.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball June 3rd 1969 card provides a very interesting look at the evolution of the dance card. Very similar to the previous cards, it measures 11.5 x 9cm and lists the title page, orchestra, woman receiving, officer representative, social director, hostesses and committees. It has a white cardstock cover with blue ink and a blue cord. It also includes the Navy “Blue and Gold” song. What it doesn’t include, however, is a program of dances or even a space to write down dance partners. The point of this card is to provide a souvenir of the dance and provide information about it, but it no longer serves a way for women to write down the names of their partners.\r\n\r\nThe cards from 1970, 1971 and 1972 are the same as the 1969 card. However, the 1971 card contains one change: the midshipman’s oath appears after the title page. The all have white cardstock covers, 11.5 x 9 cm, with navy blue ink and navy blue cords.\r\n\r\nThe Farewell Ball, June 4th 1974 card presents another interesting change in the evolution of the dance card. The card no longer has a cord. The 11 x 9 cm card has a white cardstock cover with blue ink, but no cord with which a lady could attach it to her wrist. The cards from the 1975 and 1976 Farewell Balls have all the same internal elements, but measure 13 x 9 cm with a light blue cardstock cover printed in dark blue ink.\r\n\r\nThe progression of the Naval Academy Farewell Ball dance cards shows the decreased emphasis on dance and the move from the dance card as a reminder of the gentleman a woman had promised to dance with to a souvenir and program for the ball. The earlier dance cards contain little information about the ball itself; they focus on the dances, listing the order, the type of dance and the name of the song. Slowly, information is added to the card. In the 1920s, there was a place to write down memories and draw the flag under which the two would meet. These additions keep the focus on the dancing and the use of the dance card as a reminder and as a memento. In the 1940s, the cards begin to list the woman receiving, the committee who planned the ball and other information not directly related to the dancing. Also, the dances are no longer identified by type or name, they are simply numbered. This shows another step away from the focus on dancing. At this stage, the cord also becomes purely decorative. The cords attached to these cards aren’t long enough to secure around a woman’s wrist; they simply add a bit of decoration to the card. By the 1969 and into the 1970s, the dance cards no longer provide space to write the dances. They have transformed into souvenirs from the ball, giving information about the ball and incorporating quotes, song lyrics and lists of the people involved.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nAldrich, Elizabeth. <em>From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance</em>. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1991.\r\n\r\n<em>The American Code of Manners: a study of the usages, laws and observances which govern intercourse in the best social circles, and of the principles which underlie them</em>. New York: W. R. Andrews, 1880\r\n\r\nEichler, Lillian. <em>Book of Etiquette</em>. Oyster Bay: Nelson Doubleday Inc., 1922\r\n\r\nJohnson, Sophia Orne. <em>A Manual of Etiquette, with Hints on Politeness and Good Breeding</em>. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1885.\r\n\r\nGoucher College, Special Collections and Archives. Scrapbook Collection, Mary Lee Keith. Farewell Ball Dance Card, 1922.\r\n\r\nThe Nimitz Library, United States Naval Academy, Special Collections and Archives. Student Life, Dance Card Collection.','My Card Is Full: The Evolution of the Farewell Ball Dance Cards ','In a world of etiquette and formality, dance cards quickly became indispensable to young women in search of dancing partners. They were a manifestation of etiquette, used to keep social order and help their users follow protocol. Though dance cards are rarely used now, the study of these cards gives a lot of insight into the societies and groups that used them.','inherit','open','open','','1326-revision-28','','','2012-03-07 05:32:01','2012-03-07 05:32:01','',1326,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1326-revision-28/',0,'revision','',0),(1733,13,'2012-03-01 07:45:21','2012-03-01 07:45:21','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 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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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?”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nGilson, David. <em>A Bibliography of Jane Austen</em>. first. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.\r\n\r\nAusten, Jane. <em>Emma</em>. First. Philadelphia: M.Carey, 1816.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters From Alberta Burke to David Gilson</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>August 5, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\nTells Mr. Gilson that she has the Frank J. Hogan copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.\r\n\r\n<strong>August 15, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n<em>Written in black fountain pen (script writing), fairly uniform line spacing</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>January 12, 1968</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>June 10, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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(?)”\r\n\r\n<strong>November 18, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.\r\n#16 went for $1300 to the same buyer\r\n#17 “ “ 550 “ “ “\r\n#18 $40.00\r\n#19 $35.00\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 11, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small Note Card</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 16, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters from Gilson to Henry Burke (after Alberta falls ill)</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\n	<li>“Small White Paper” 17.9cm tall x 13.7cm wide, blue ink, almost transparent white paper, written on only one side.</li>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>June 14th, 1975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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!”\r\n\r\n<strong>August 3rd, 975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n\r\n“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.)”\r\n\r\n<strong>October 16th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Pape</em><em>r</em>\r\n<em></em><em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 26th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper. </em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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).”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 20th, 1977</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside First Volume of 1816 Philadelphia <em>Emma</em></h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\n<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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Muir,\r\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.\r\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?) ….\r\nYours, SS (written on top of each other)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1316\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Siegfried Sassoon&#39;s letter to Percy Muir, antiquarian book dealer, regarding Sassoon&#39;s sale of the American first edition of Emma to Frank J. Hogan (dated December 3, 1941). The letter was discovered inside the front cover of the Burke Collection copy.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1316\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"857\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Hogan,\r\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.\r\nWith every good wish and kind regards,\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP. H. MuirHand\r\nwritten note (in same green ink as Muir’s signature) written below signature of “P.H Muir”:\r\n“Note the date on SS’s letter, evidently written on 131h”\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 3</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Yellow paper, green “Elkin Mathews Ltd,” dated May 22, 1945, typed in faded black ink.</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mrs. Burke,\r\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.\r\nI always have you in mind for any interesting Jane Austen items, which turn up.\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP.H. Muir (signed in green ink)\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Emma (1st Edition Philadelphia 1816)</h5>\r\n18.3cm tall x 11.1cm (cover)\r\n\r\n<em>Inside Cover</em>\r\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”\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\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.”\r\nunder this is the paper square for the “Alberta H. Burke”\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1314\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Title page of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Jane Austen&#39;s Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1314\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"1080\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<em>Title Page</em>\r\nEMMA:\r\nA Novel\r\nHere Volumes in Two\r\n(written on side, vertically: A.B. Dallhousie)\r\nBy the Author of “Pride and Prejudice,”\r\n&amp;c. &amp;c.\r\nVol. 1\r\nPHILADELPHIA:\r\nPublished by M.Carey, No. 121 Chesnut Street\r\nAnd for Sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston\r\n1816\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\nTo his Royal Highness\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<em>First Page of Text</em>\r\n18cm tall x 9.8cm wide\r\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)\r\naverage full page text block: 12.5cm tall x 7.4cm wide\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside Second Volume</h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n<em> dated April 24, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\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.\r\nDo you still have this book and would you be willing to part with it?”\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn (signed in ink)\r\nZ.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Typed, same stationary as letter 1</em>\r\n<em> dated May 3, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\nThank you so much for your letter of May 1st.\r\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.\r\nWith best wishes,\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn\r\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.\r\n\r\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-revision-23','','','2012-03-01 07:45:21','2012-03-01 07:45:21','',1300,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1300-revision-23/',0,'revision','',0),(1734,13,'2012-03-07 05:41:12','2012-03-07 05:41:12','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 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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1319\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Front pastedown and first flyleaf of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Emma (1816), with the book plates of the Countess of Dalhousie, Frank J. Hogan, and Alberta H. Burke.\"]<img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image2_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"goucher_student work image2_kendall\" width=\"638\" height=\"567\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1319\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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?”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n<h5>Works Cited</h5>\r\nGilson, David. <em>A Bibliography of Jane Austen</em>. first. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.\r\n\r\nAusten, Jane. <em>Emma</em>. First. Philadelphia: M.Carey, 1816.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters From Alberta Burke to David Gilson</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>August 5, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\nTells Mr. Gilson that she has the Frank J. Hogan copy of the 1816 Philadelphia Emma, which formerly belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.\r\n\r\n<strong>August 15, 1967</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n<em>Written in black fountain pen (script writing), fairly uniform line spacing</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>January 12, 1968</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>June 10, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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(?)”\r\n\r\n<strong>November 18, 1969</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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.\r\n#16 went for $1300 to the same buyer\r\n#17 “ “ 550 “ “ “\r\n#18 $40.00\r\n#19 $35.00\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 11, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small Note Card</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 16, 1973</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Gray Apartment Stationary</em>\r\n\r\n“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”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters from Gilson to Henry Burke (after Alberta falls ill)</h5>\r\n<ul>\r\n	<li>“Small White Paper” 17.9cm tall x 13.7cm wide, blue ink, almost transparent white paper, written on only one side.</li>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\n<strong>June 14th, 1975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Blue Air Mail</em>\r\n\r\n“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!”\r\n\r\n<strong>August 3rd, 975</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n\r\n“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.)”\r\n\r\n<strong>October 16th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Pape</em><em>r</em>\r\n<em></em><em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<strong>December 26th, 1976</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper. </em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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).”\r\n\r\n<strong>March 20th, 1977</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Small White Paper</em>\r\n<em>Written on both sides.</em>\r\n\r\n“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.”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside First Volume of 1816 Philadelphia <em>Emma</em></h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\n<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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Muir,\r\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.\r\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?) ….\r\nYours, SS (written on top of each other)\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1316\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Siegfried Sassoon&#39;s letter to Percy Muir, antiquarian book dealer, regarding Sassoon&#39;s sale of the American first edition of Emma to Frank J. Hogan (dated December 3, 1941). The letter was discovered inside the front cover of the Burke Collection copy.\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1316\" title=\"goucher_student work image3_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image3_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"857\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Hogan,\r\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.\r\nWith every good wish and kind regards,\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP. H. MuirHand\r\nwritten note (in same green ink as Muir’s signature) written below signature of “P.H Muir”:\r\n“Note the date on SS’s letter, evidently written on 131h”\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 3</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Yellow paper, green “Elkin Mathews Ltd,” dated May 22, 1945, typed in faded black ink.</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mrs. Burke,\r\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.\r\nI always have you in mind for any interesting Jane Austen items, which turn up.\r\nYours very sincerely,\r\nP.H. Muir (signed in green ink)\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Emma (1st Edition Philadelphia 1816)</h5>\r\n18.3cm tall x 11.1cm (cover)\r\n\r\n<em>Inside Cover</em>\r\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”\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\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.”\r\nunder this is the paper square for the “Alberta H. Burke”\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1314\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"Title page of the Burke Collection copy of the American first edition of Jane Austen&#39;s Emma (Philadelphia: M. Carey; for sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston, 1816).\"]<img class=\"size-full wp-image-1314\" title=\"goucher_student work image1_kendall\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goucher_student-work-image1_kendall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"1080\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n<em>Title Page</em>\r\nEMMA:\r\nA Novel\r\nHere Volumes in Two\r\n(written on side, vertically: A.B. Dallhousie)\r\nBy the Author of “Pride and Prejudice,”\r\n&amp;c. &amp;c.\r\nVol. 1\r\nPHILADELPHIA:\r\nPublished by M.Carey, No. 121 Chesnut Street\r\nAnd for Sale by Wells &amp; Lilly, Boston\r\n1816\r\n\r\n<em>Next Page</em>\r\nTo his Royal Highness\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<em>First Page of Text</em>\r\n18cm tall x 9.8cm wide\r\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)\r\naverage full page text block: 12.5cm tall x 7.4cm wide\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<h5>Letters Found Inside Second Volume</h5>\r\n<strong>Letter 1</strong>\r\n\r\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>\r\n<em> dated April 24, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\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.\r\nDo you still have this book and would you be willing to part with it?”\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn (signed in ink)\r\nZ.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)\r\n\r\n<strong>Letter 2</strong>\r\n\r\n<em>Typed, same stationary as letter 1</em>\r\n<em> dated May 3, 1967</em>\r\n\r\n“Dear Mr. Burke:\r\nThank you so much for your letter of May 1st.\r\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.\r\nWith best wishes,\r\nYours Sincerely,\r\nMabel Zahn\r\n-Z.T. in bottom left corner, typed (?)\r\n\r\n','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.\r\n\r\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-revision-24','','','2012-03-07 05:41:12','2012-03-07 05:41:12','',1300,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1300-revision-24/',0,'revision','',0),(1735,13,'2012-03-07 05:02:34','2012-03-07 05:02:34','','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-21','','','2012-03-07 05:02:34','2012-03-07 05:02:34','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-21/',0,'revision','',0),(1736,13,'2012-03-07 00:31:24','2012-03-07 00:31:24','','Archives, Remixed','','inherit','open','open','','18-revision-10','','','2012-03-07 00:31:24','2012-03-07 00:31:24','',18,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/18-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(1737,13,'2012-03-07 05:49:17','2012-03-07 05:49:17','','Custom','','inherit','open','open','','acf_custom-5','','','2012-03-07 05:49:17','2012-03-07 05:49:17','',920,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_custom-5/',0,'revision','',0),(1738,13,'2012-03-07 05:48:25','2012-03-07 05:48:25','','Archives, Remixed','','inherit','open','open','','18-revision-11','','','2012-03-07 05:48:25','2012-03-07 05:48:25','',18,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/18-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1739,13,'2012-03-07 05:19:21','2012-03-07 05:19:21','In Issue 2 of Archive, we\'ve chosen to explore several eclectic case studies of projects focused around archival research and preservation, undertaken by students at various institutions. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.\r\n\r\nDuis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.\r\n\r\nExcepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.','Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-6','','','2012-03-07 05:19:21','2012-03-07 05:19:21','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0),(1740,13,'2012-03-07 05:50:30','2012-03-07 05:50:30','','Archives, Remixed','','inherit','open','open','','18-revision-12','','','2012-03-07 05:50:30','2012-03-07 05:50:30','',18,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/18-revision-12/',0,'revision','',0),(1741,13,'2012-03-07 04:59:02','2012-03-07 04:59:02','','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-10','','','2012-03-07 04:59:02','2012-03-07 04:59:02','',1108,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1108-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(1742,13,'2012-03-01 08:08:56','2012-03-01 08:08:56','<img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-1241\" title=\"walters_project image\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/walters_project-image-258x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"258\" height=\"250\" />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, Senior Programmer Analyst 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.\r\n\r\n<strong>Except From Course Syllabus</strong>\r\n\r\nThe goals of this class can be broken down into several categories:\r\n<ul>\r\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>\r\n	<li>conducting in-depth, independent research on objects in the Walters’ collection;</li>\r\n	<li>experimenting with different styles of writing and narration;</li>\r\n	<li>learning about different areas of museum practice, including curation, conservation, registration, and education;</li>\r\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>\r\n</ul>\r\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 Hopkins library and on-line. 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 . . . in this course we extended that mission to the undergraduate classroom.\r\n\r\n(*The seven students worked on two objects each; a selection of these was made for the final presentation on the Walters website.)','Walters - Project Description/Syllabus','','inherit','open','open','','1130-revision-11','','','2012-03-01 08:08:56','2012-03-01 08:08:56','',1130,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1130-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1745,13,'2012-03-07 05:43:01','2012-03-07 05:43:01','','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-22','','','2012-03-07 05:43:01','2012-03-07 05:43:01','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-22/',0,'revision','',0),(1746,13,'2012-03-09 22:22:03','2012-03-09 22:22:03','','Case Study Info','','inherit','open','open','','acf_case-study-info','','','2012-03-09 22:22:03','2012-03-09 22:22:03','',917,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_case-study-info/',0,'revision','',0),(1747,13,'2012-03-09 22:21:35','2012-03-09 22:21:35','','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-23','','','2012-03-09 22:21:35','2012-03-09 22:21:35','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-23/',0,'revision','',0),(1748,13,'2012-03-09 23:17:25','2012-03-09 23:17:25','','Case Study Info','','inherit','open','open','','acf_case-study-info-2','','','2012-03-09 23:17:25','2012-03-09 23:17:25','',917,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/acf_case-study-info-2/',0,'revision','',0),(1749,13,'2012-03-09 23:16:05','2012-03-09 23:16:05','','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-24','','','2012-03-09 23:16:05','2012-03-09 23:16:05','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-24/',0,'revision','',0),(1752,13,'2012-04-23 17:00:47','2012-04-23 17:00:47','<p><iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe></p>\r\n','The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln','','publish','open','open','','the-assassination-of-abraham-lincoln','','','2012-10-15 23:06:43','2012-10-15 23:06:43','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?p=1752',6,'post','',0),(1751,13,'2012-02-17 18:24:42','2012-02-17 18:24:42','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-25','','','2012-02-17 18:24:42','2012-02-17 18:24:42','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-25/',0,'revision','',0),(1754,13,'2012-04-23 16:31:11','2012-04-23 16:31:11','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/37986760?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','','','inherit','open','open','','1752-revision','','','2012-04-23 16:31:11','2012-04-23 16:31:11','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(1755,13,'2012-04-23 16:42:25','2012-04-23 16:42:25','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/37986760?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','','','inherit','open','open','','1752-revision-2','','','2012-04-23 16:42:25','2012-04-23 16:42:25','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(1756,13,'2012-03-07 06:01:40','2012-03-07 06:01:40','','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-11','','','2012-03-07 06:01:40','2012-03-07 06:01:40','',1108,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1108-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1757,13,'2012-04-23 16:54:27','2012-04-23 16:54:27','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','','','inherit','open','open','','1752-revision-3','','','2012-04-23 16:54:27','2012-04-23 16:54:27','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(1758,13,'2012-04-23 17:00:28','2012-04-23 17:00:28','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln','','inherit','open','open','','1752-revision-4','','','2012-04-23 17:00:28','2012-04-23 17:00:28','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(1759,19,'2012-09-21 19:25:30','2012-09-21 19:25:30','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln','','inherit','open','open','','1752-autosave','','','2012-09-21 19:25:30','2012-09-21 19:25:30','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(1760,13,'2012-04-23 17:00:47','2012-04-23 17:00:47','<iframe src=\"http://player.vimeo.com/video/40877170?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\"></iframe>','The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln','','inherit','open','open','','1752-revision-5','','','2012-04-23 17:00:47','2012-04-23 17:00:47','',1752,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1752-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(1761,13,'2012-03-07 06:10:05','2012-03-07 06:10:05','[slideshow]','Lehigh - Archival Materials','','inherit','open','open','','1387-revision-28','','','2012-03-07 06:10:05','2012-03-07 06:10:05','',1387,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1387-revision-28/',0,'revision','',0),(1762,13,'2012-03-08 23:25:12','2012-03-08 23:25:12','In Issue 2 of Archive, we\'ve chosen to explore several eclectic case studies of projects focused around archival research and preservation, undertaken by students at various institutions. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.\r\n\r\nDuis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.\r\n\r\nExcepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.','Student Project Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-8','','','2012-03-08 23:25:12','2012-03-08 23:25:12','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-8/',0,'revision','',0),(1763,13,'2012-04-25 00:18:23','2012-04-25 00:18:23','','Summary','','publish','closed','closed','','acf_summary','','','2012-09-17 22:48:18','2012-09-17 22:48:18','',0,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/?post_type=acf&#038;p=1763',0,'acf','',0),(1764,13,'2012-04-25 00:03:33','2012-04-25 00:03:33','In Issue 2 of Archive, we\'ve chosen to explore several eclectic case studies of projects focused around archival research and preservation, undertaken by students at various institutions. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.\r\n\r\nDuis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.\r\n\r\nExcepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.','Student Project Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-9','','','2012-04-25 00:03:33','2012-04-25 00:03:33','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-9/',0,'revision','',0),(1768,13,'2012-03-09 23:26:14','2012-03-09 23:26:14','','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-25','','','2012-03-09 23:26:14','2012-03-09 23:26:14','',1047,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1047-revision-25/',0,'revision','',0),(1769,13,'2012-03-07 05:11:25','2012-03-07 05:11:25','[caption id=\"attachment_957\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"James (Jimmy) 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.\"]<img class=\"size-large wp-image-957\" title=\"uf_student  action photo_barnett 3\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-action-photo_barnett-3-1024x682.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" />[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_958\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Part Plan of Fourth Floor. Architectural drawings of the Hotel Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida.” 96”x40”.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00089836/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-958\" title=\"Part Plan of Fourth Floor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_959\" align=\"alignright\" width=\"638\" caption=\"An example of the results of Barnett’s work digitizing and preserving a large-scale architectural drawing. John Carrère and Thomas Hastings. “Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church, St. Augustine, Fla.” c. 1889-1890.\"]<a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082657/00001\" target=\"_blank\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-959\" title=\"Ground Plan, Presbyterian Church\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/uf_student-work_image-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nThe images above are a small fraction of the materials made available through the project and Jimmy\'s work. The full range can be seen in the <a href=\"http://ufdc.ufl.edu/caha/all\" target=\"_blank\">Carrère &amp; Hastings Digital Collection</a>, part of the University of Florida Digital Collections. You can read more at the project blog: <a href=\"http://flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com/\" target=\"_blank\">flaglerdrawings.wordpress.com</a>.','Digitizing Large-Format Architectural Plans','This case study showcases an undergraduate’s work as the lead digital scanner of architectural drawings for the Carrère & Hastings Digital Collection, a collaborative project between the University of Florida (UF) and Flagler College to conserve and digitally preserve the large and fragile drawings. For years the drawings were stored in a basement boiler room and suffered from exposure to high Florida temperatures, humidity, insects, and rodents. The collection is now under the care of a team of faculty, staff, and students from the UF’s Special Collections, Conservation Unit, and Digital Library Center.','inherit','open','open','','946-revision-38','','','2012-03-07 05:11:25','2012-03-07 05:11:25','',946,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/946-revision-38/',0,'revision','',0),(1770,13,'2012-03-07 05:06:35','2012-03-07 05:06:35','[caption id=\"attachment_1258\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The Gado 2 Robotic Scanner scanning photos at the Afro.\"]<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=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"478\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1259\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"638\" caption=\"The East Baltimore Oral History Player, showing the index entry for a resident whose story Tom Smith helped to document and record.\"]<a href=\"http://eboh.jhu.edu/oralhistoryplayer\"><img class=\"size-full wp-image-1259\" title=\"jhu_student project photo 2_eboh\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/jhu_student-project-photo-2_eboh.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"638\" height=\"667\" /></a>[/caption]','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://magazine.jhu.edu/2011/11/unboxing-history/\" target=\"_blank\">Diaspora Pathways Archival Access Project</a> (DPAAP) and led Smith to invent another tool: the <a href=\"http://projectgado.org/\" target=\"_blank\">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-14','','','2012-03-07 05:06:35','2012-03-07 05:06:35','',1057,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1057-revision-14/',0,'revision','',0),(1771,13,'2012-04-25 00:31:21','2012-04-25 00:31:21','','Student Project Case Studies','','inherit','open','open','','1711-revision-11','','','2012-04-25 00:31:21','2012-04-25 00:31:21','',1711,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1711-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(1772,13,'2012-03-30 03:39:25','2012-03-30 03:39:25','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-26','','','2012-03-30 03:39:25','2012-03-30 03:39:25','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-26/',0,'revision','',0),(1773,13,'2012-04-25 16:29:28','2012-04-25 16:29:28','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-27','','','2012-04-25 16:29:28','2012-04-25 16:29:28','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-27/',0,'revision','',0),(1774,13,'2012-02-17 15:00:04','2012-02-17 15:00:04','In this issue, five contributors critique and analyze <em><a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/\" target=\"_blank\">The Walt Whitman Archive</a></em> by answering four questions about this digital archive. We invite you to read through the roundtable by question or by author.','The Walt Whitman Archive','','inherit','open','open','','336-revision-18','','','2012-02-17 15:00:04','2012-02-17 15:00:04','',336,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/336-revision-18/',0,'revision','',0),(1775,13,'2012-04-25 16:46:26','2012-04-25 16:46:26','','Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-28','','','2012-04-25 16:46:26','2012-04-25 16:46:26','',1500,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1500-revision-28/',0,'revision','',0),(1776,19,'2012-10-29 22:56:39','2012-10-29 22:56:39','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 the foray into the topics that demand further examination. Archival research, in this sense, is the unending 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 the training of future scholars, archival work is an important paradigm even for students who have less professional allegiances to the academy. Original research is a principle worth thinking about closely in undergraduate course design, as it signifies the marketable job placement skills that are supposed to be evidence of 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.”<a href=\"#_ftn1\">[1]</a> Edmundson goes on to argue that the transactional nature of undergraduate study creates an imbalance between what professors look to put into a syllabus and what students seek to 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 concept of education.\n\nArchival work is often thought to be opposed methodologically to new media research techniques, an unfair corollary being that 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 navigate the thick mess of a paper archive when Facebook and Twitter are their daily information grounds? 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 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>','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-autosave','','','2012-10-29 22:56:39','2012-10-29 22:56:39','',1527,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/1527-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(1777,13,'2012-02-09 06:15:58','2012-02-09 06:15:58','<p>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\']\r\n[youtube width=333 height=250]5ykY6moIaDE[/youtube]\r\nA 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.</p>\r\n<p>I 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.</p>\r\n<p>What 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]</p>\r\n<p>But 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.</p>\r\n<p>	So 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. </p>\r\n<p>	But, 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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" /></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.</p>\r\n<p>How 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.</p>\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<p><strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong></p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<p>Kaplan 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]</p>\r\n<p>Kaplan’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]</p>\r\n<p>Dizzy 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.</p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<p>Archive 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]</p>\r\n<p>Origin 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]</p>\r\n<p>Kaplan, 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" /></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.”</p>\r\n<p>While 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.”</p>\r\n<p>Kaplan 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.</p>\r\n<p>For 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.</p>\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<p>Kaplan, 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?</p>\r\n<p>First, 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.</p>\r\n<p>Secondly, 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]</p>\r\n<p>Finally, 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]</p>\r\n<p>Perhaps 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?</p>\r\n<p>If 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.</p>\r\n<p>In 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.”</p>\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<p><strong>II.  The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong></p>\r\n<p>I 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.</p>\r\n<p><strong>1.  The Perils of Description.</strong></p>\r\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></p>\r\n<br>\r\n<p>When 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.</p>\r\n<p>We 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" /></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.</p>\r\n<p>These 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.</p>\r\n<p>In 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]</p>\r\n<p>Yet 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. <http://hubpages.com/hub/4-of-7-Parts-George-Peabody-1795-1869-A-Z-Handbook>.  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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" /></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 & 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,” <http://www.ifla.org/IV/ifla60/60-stup.htm>; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, <http://www.mcmillanlibrary.org/history/report_of_trustees.html.> 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]</p>\r\n<p>Finally, 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.</p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<p><strong>2.  The Researcher’s Progress.</strong></p>\r\n<p><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></p>\r\n<br>\r\n<p>In 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" /></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]</p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<p>The 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" /></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 & 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" /></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 & 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]</p>\r\n<p>I’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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" /></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.</p>\r\n<p>While 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.</p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n<p><strong>3.  An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong></p>\r\n<p><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></p>\r\n<br>\r\n<p>In “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.</p>\r\n<p>Ten 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.</p>\r\n<p>In 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.</p>\r\n<p>I 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" /></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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]</p>\r\n<p>Ironically, 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.</p>\r\n<p>Now, 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://stage.archivejournal.net/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"fig 20 station\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" /></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.</p>\r\n<p>The 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.</p>\r\n<p>I 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.</p>\r\n</br>\r\n</br>\r\n<p>We 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?</p>','Disciplinarity and Disorder','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?)  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.)','inherit','open','open','','345-revision-91','','','2012-02-09 06:15:58','2012-02-09 06:15:58','',345,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/345-revision-91/',0,'revision','',0),(1779,13,'2012-04-25 22:34:39','2012-04-25 22:34:39','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\']\r\n[youtube width=333 height=250]5ykY6moIaDE[/youtube]\r\nA 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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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.”\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\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?\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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]\r\n\r\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?\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.”\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\r\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>\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/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://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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]\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/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://stage.archivejournal.net/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]\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\r\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>\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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]\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n<!--nextpage-->\r\n\r\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\r\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>\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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://stage.archivejournal.net/archives-remixed/archeology-of-archival-practice/attachment/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://stage.archivejournal.net/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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\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.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\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','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?)  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.)','inherit','open','open','','345-revision-93','','','2012-04-25 22:34:39','2012-04-25 22:34:39','',345,'http://stage.archivejournal.net/uncategorized/345-revision-93/',0,'revision','',0),