ILL: Individualized Library Loan

(Marlboro College: NELINET 22nd Annual ILL Spring Meeting, May 30, 2002)

Arnold Hirshon, Executive Director, NELINET

I want to thank Ann Devenish for this opportunity to extend to you all my appreciation for the important work that you do every day, and to explain why what you do is so important to me personally.

Although it may be unusual, I want to start with my conclusion: interlibrary loan is why I am here today. I don’t mean this in the literal sense, that is, that I am here today because I was asked to speak about interlibrary loan. I mean that I am a librarian today because of experiences over 30 years ago with interlibrary loan that inspired me and irrevocably changed my life. To me, ILL was not just interlibrary loan – it was individualized library loan.

Before I go on, let me observe that perhaps some of you expected I would talk to you about the future of resource sharing, and the technological changes that may occur in the near or long-term future. I was very tempted to do so. I have always been very involved in applying technology to improve library service; a colleague at Duke University once labeled me as the leader of the Young Techno Turks. And there have been many important technological advances in resource sharing that make comprehensive searching and access easier and faster.

Nonetheless, while technology speeds our ability to find the materials that library patrons need, technology is not what makes interlibrary loan truly important, valuable, or special to library users. At its core, technology enables interlibrary loan, but at the heart of why interlibrary loan exists is the need to aid individuals in gaining access to information. Before we let go of the past, we should pay homage to it. Providing quality client service will always be the hallmark of delivering the future of any library service. So, while I hope it will not disappoint you, I will not speak much about technology, and I won’t even use technology to deliver this presentation -- no PowerPoint, no cartoons, no sound files, no songs. Today’s tale is one that is much more personal.

During the fall of 1971, I was a senior English major at the State University of New York in Plattsburgh. In that semester, I started an independent study about the portrayal of African-Americans in drama in the United States, with the study beginning in 1768 and ending in the modern era. Plattsburgh, located 60 miles due south of Montreal and directly across on Lake Champlain from Burlington. The town is a bit remote, and its resources about African-Americana at the time were limited. These also were the days before OCLC took hold, so when you did your research, you did it the old-fashioned way – through tedious searches of paper-based resources.

When I began to prepare today’s presentation, I had a general recollection of some experiences related to ILL regarding the preparation of this independent study, and I planned to make some passing references to it. I wasn’t even sure if I had anything left in my files about that study. Since my days at Plattsburgh I have lived in seven different states, and each time I moved, I weeded out more detritus from my personal history. So it was somewhat surprising to me that – long after I discarded most of my college and grad school papers – I had kept not only an undergraduate paper that I have not looked at in over 30 years, but also that I retained most (though apparently not all) of my written notes, replete with numerous citations. As I started going through my old notes, I found the information to be more interesting than I expected.

In my files there was one sheet of paper labeled “Active Requests for Interlibrary Loan.” This apparently was not my first such record of ILL requests because the page also listed “Previous Requests.” On this page I recorded my search to locate the scripts for plays such as A Trip to Coontown, Experience (or, How to Give a Northern Man a Backbone), and The Clansman. No play versions were available for the latter two.

Over the next six or seven months of my research, I sought a host of other plays. Particularly intriguing were the searches for the earliest materials, that is those that were written before the twentieth century. These plays were filled with stereotypes of African-Americans, and they were the cultural antecedents of the minstrel show. Many of these plays were very hard to come by. Some were never published, and others were not particularly popular and therefore unavailable in most libraries. However, each time I was able to secure a text, it added a valuable piece to the puzzle of my research.

For example, one item was a play that was popular before the Civil War play entitled The Octoroon. By the 1800s, American dramas occasionally addressed socially significant issues, particularly for the abolitionist cause. For example, prior to The Octoroon, Uncle Tom’s Cabin had been adapted for the stage from the novel, and the play was produced in numerous different forms. By contrast, The Octoroon, which came after Uncle Tom’s Cabin, did not have an anti-slavery message; its primary concern was melodrama. The name of the play comes from a passage spoken by a character named Zoe, who says that “Of the blood that feeds my heart, one drop in eight is black – bright red as the rest may be, that one drop poisons all the flood … but one black drop gives me despair, for I’m an unclean thing – forbidden by the laws – I’m an Octoroon!” The apotheosis of the octoroon as a stage character was to come much later, in 1927 in the form of the ill-fated character of Julie LaVerne in the musical Showboat.

While it was relatively easy to locate The Octoroon, there were some items that could not be found. There were others that provided an interesting process of discovery, such as Caleb, the Degenerate. The play itself is awful, a didactic screed written in clumsy and pretentious blank verse. What was interesting to me was not the drama itself, but rather the process of discovering how I could get my hands on the play! The research sources at the time indicated that there was only one copy extant in the country – at the New York Public Library. A search on WorldCat today shows that two copies are available on microform; I am fairly sure one of those two copies was made for my use.

Guiding my whole process of discovery from the background were two gentlemen who became my ILL muses. The first was a reference librarian who was on my own campus – Joseph Swinyer. Here was a man of patience, who quickly researched my inquiries, and who never tired of a young man putting in another abstruse request. The second muse was a man I have never had the pleasure to meet: Thomas J. Blauvelt. How do I know this? Typical of the time, my ILL requests did not get simultaneously broadcast as they are today from a college library to many others. Instead, they were placed on request cards that were forwarded to the “North Country Reference and Research Resources Council” in Canton, New York – which was, in effect, ILL Central. In most cases, the Council located an item and they sent it to my library. However, according to the records I kept, in at least three cases, the search was not routine. Fortunately for me, Mr. Blauvelt was clearly attentive to his duties, and he received great satisfaction from performing them. On those occasions when he could not fill a request, I received a complete history.

The first such occasion was his letter of December 7, 1971. I would like to read his response in its entirety, not because you will necessarily find the specifics of my research topic interesting, but because of the love and care for interlibrary loan that his letter demonstrates. Mr. Blauvelt wrote this letter to Joseph Swinyer, who forwarded the letter to me.

Dear Joe:

Regarding your request [for] The Tailor in Distress, I have the following comments to make.

This play was written by Solomon Franklin Smith (1801-1869) in 1823 and was entitled “The Tailor in Distress; or A Yankee Trick.” [At this point, Mr. Blauvelt provides the first of four footnotes to document the sources of his information. Quoting from one source:] “I wrote a sort of farce called “The Tailor in Distress,” in which a well known merchant-tailor in Main St. figured as a hero, and in which Forrest performed the part of a negro.” It was written in Cincinnati in 1823. This reference to the depiction of a Negro identifies it as the one mentioned by Mitchell.

It is also referred to in a life of Forrest, but only in passing. At the time, Smith was a stage prompter and he later became a rather famous actor. He was not a playwright. His only three published works were personal reminiscences; none of his literary works survives.

The following makes me believe that this work was never published: 1) the slight reference both Smith and Forrest make of this “farce,” indicating that it was only performed in Cincinnati for a few days at a time; 2) the mention in the DAB of Smith’s works, with no mention of this; 3) No entry in LC.

The DAB does indicate that two collections of manuscripts and mementoes exist in the possession of relatives, but the NUC of Manuscripts does not give a location for these papers in any library or archive. Direct correspondence with the relatives or their survivors is the only possible recourse.

For these reasons, I have taken the liberty of canceling this request.

Yours truly,

Thomas J. Blauvelt, Director of Reference Services

The next ILL tale of intrigue concerned a different Smith, that is Francis Hopkinson Smith, who wrote a novel, Colonel Carter of Cartersville. The novel was published in 1891, and it was later turned into a play by Augustus Thomas. It was the latter version that I was after. Again, Mr. Blauvelt researched and provided a detailed response on December 30, 1971:

Dear Joe,

A note concerning your request 12-193. This work by Augustus Thomas, 1857-1934, was indeed played at Palmer’s Theatre on March 22, 1892. (Annals of the N.Y. Stage)ⁱ

However, it was never printed. It appears that the copyright law in those days made it very difficult to collect for unauthorized performances of dramatic works, so as a result, the text of most plays were not printed and could not be copied or performed. (See Cambridge History of American Literature, v. 4, for a list of plays by Thomas, and indications of which were printed.)

However, the DAB (entry Thomas) does indicate that the manuscript collections of Thomas’ plays are located in the Locke Theatre collection of the N.Y. Public Library and in the Theatre Collection of the Harvard University Library. If your patron does want them, this would be the next place to go. If your patron will authorize us to negotiate for him we will order microfilm copy of this play from the proper collection, if you wish. This may be done for any play, a copy of which is extant.

Yours Truly,

Thomas J. Blauvelt, Reference Librarian

Unfortunately, I cannot honestly say whether I ever authorized that request. Even if I had done so, it is probable that the play would not have been found. Online searches today in WorldCat were unsuccessful, as were online searches in both the Harvard University and the New York Public Library catalogs. The play also did not turn up on the Internet Broadway Database, a cornucopia of information about plays that were on Broadway since the turn of the 20th century. However, that is not the end of this story. One source I found on the web that could not have been unearthed by Mr. Blauvelt is a summary finding aid from the Manuscripts Department of the Library of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, which describes their collection of the Augustus Thomas Papers. The finding aid noted that the UNC collection contains “manuscript versions of 75 of Thomas's plays, only some of which were published.”

Although a search of the UNC online catalog did not turn up the elusive Colonel Carter, I submitted an email inquiry to their Manuscripts Department. Dorothy Carr Porter, a Research Assistant, recently wrote that “I have checked the full finding aid and you will be pleased to know that we do have the manuscript (and a typescript) of "Colonel Carter of Cartersville," adapted from a novel of the same name by Francis Hopkinson Smith. It is located in Box 8 of Collection #12000.” She went on to note that I was welcome to visit the library to view the manuscript or that they could arrange to have a microfilm copy made at my own expense. Although my interest in reading this particular item is now long gone, it is nonetheless reassuring to know not only that thirty years later this elusive item has finally been located, but that personalized service is still respected.\

There is one final response from Mr. Blauvelt concerning another request that I retained in my records. It is far shorter, and the form of transmission was much less elaborate. Instead of the typed letters I received earlier, this response came as an annotation to a photocopy of the request form. (As a technological side note, the form appears to have been -- though I cannot say for certain – to have been transmitted to Mr. Blauvelt by the now ancient technology of Telex.) This was a request for Shuffle Along, a musical review written by Eubie Blake and Noble Sissel, which was first performed in 1921. Virtually all of the music from the play is readily available, including a sound recording that recreates the entire score of the original play. However, Shuffle Along was not simply a review of musical numbers. It had an actual libretto, of which one description read: “a slender plot held the whole thing together: a mayoralty race in Jim Town between Steven Jackson and Sam Peck. The hit song was “I’m Just Wild About Harry.”ⁱⁱ

Shuffle Along was important for a number of reasons. First, it was written by black men and produced on Broadway at a time when productions by blacks were highly unlikely to be produced at all. Second, the show was highly successful for its day, running for 504 performances. Third, it was attributed as having started a trend of Broadway shows featuring African-American song and dance. The show was so successful that at one time there were three simultaneous touring companies. As a side note, the play also featured a number of famous performers early in their careers, including Josephine Baker and Ethel Waters in the chorus line, and Paul Robeson as a member of a barbershop quartet. Ironically, a revival produced in 1952 ran for only 4 performances.

So, what happened to the libretto? Back to Mr. Blauvelt, who on January 20, 1972 simply wrote:

Dear Joe,

Enclosed is a description of the review “Shuffle Along.” Although it apparently was rather popular, I cannot find that it was ever printed.

The authors are given in the [attached] entry.

Yours truly,

Tom Blauvelt, NCRRRC

Mr. Blauvelt attached an entry from Complete Book of the American Musical Theater. When I searched recently, I still was unable to turn up a published copy of the libretto. However, a typescript of the dialog may be available at the Library of Congress, albeit without an entry in their online catalog. A search of the American Memory Project brought up a picture not only of the front cover of what appears to be the libretto, but also a picture of an envelope that apparently housed the typescript. The return address of the typescript is from the “Author’s Typing Service / Office at Selwyn’s Park Square Theater / Boston Mass / Telephone Beach 193 or 7165.” All that appears written on the tattered envelope are the handwritten words “Shuffle Along.”ⁱⁱⁱ It is possible this envelope did not contain the actual typescript of the libretto, but only the song lyrics. However, thus far I have not continued my research sufficiently to find ascertain if this is the case.

Judging from these records, the state of the art in interlibrary loan over thirty years ago was extraordinary. It was epitomized by highly individualized service with meticulous attention to bibliographic detail. The objective was not only to locate but to educate a young scholar with the most reliable data available. Technology has certainly made many aspects of our work easier, and has made this type of service almost quaint.

I suppose it is possible that some of you in the audience may be wondering what grade I received on this paper. Frankly, I was disappointed. After months of research and writing, I received only a B. Re-reading the professor’s comments today, it is clear that he and I had philosophical disagreements about my central theses, particularly as it was applied to the last part of the paper. There were also, no doubt, cultural differences. While I wrote from the perspective of a presumptuous and cocky while male, he read it from the perspective of a professorial African-American deconstructionist. While I continue thirty years later to disagree with some of the specifics of his criticism, in retrospect it was his final comment that apparently had the greatest effect on my career: “Good research.”

Ultimately, I became a librarian in spite of the grade, and because I was so impressed by the process of research – performed not only by me but for me by others. So, after graduating from college and pondering what I wanted to do when I grew up, I tossed aside thoughts of law school and went to library school instead.

If this presentation were a movie script, no doubt people would wonder: “what ever became of …” the three major players in this drama who changed my life? Where are they today? Ever the librarian, I did some checking around.

The faculty member who led my independent study was Roosevelt Williams. He received his PhD from McGill University in 1975, and his dissertation was entitled Modes of Alienation of the Black Writer: Problem and Solution in the Evolution of Black Drama and Contemporary Black Theatre. In 1994, Williams wrote an article that was published in Griot, the Official Journal of the Southern Conference on Afro-American Studies. Thanks to Lynn Sweet in the ILL department at the University of Connecticut, I received a copy of the article, which indicated that at the time of its publication in 1994 he was a professor at Howard University. According to the Howard web site, he is no longer on the faculty there. Although I cannot yet confirm it, it is quite possible that his most recent appointment may have been in 1997 as the director of the Cipriani College of Labour and Co-operative Studies in the Caribbean.

Joseph Swinyer, the reference librarian at my undergraduate college, retired from service a few years ago. Today, he is listed on the college’s web site as an emeritus faculty member. I sent a message from Mr. Swinyer recently to thank him for his constant assistance as I conducted my research, and I am glad that he recently replied.^v

Fortunately for librarianship, Thomas Blauvelt is still in Canton NY at the North Country Reference And Research Resources Council, where he currently serves as the Head of Reference & Bibliographic Services. ⁱⁱ I forwarded a copy of this paper to both Mr. Swinyer and Mr. Blauvelt in the hopes that they will be pleased that I have – at long last – publicly recognized their work and their influence on my career. I am pleased that Mr. Blauvelt replied to my email. He wrote to me, in part:

“At the time, I was just a year out of library school and at the Council for six months. I do indeed remember your requests although I do not remember writing the letters. I was fortunate to have the time to do as much investigating as I did; as I recall, I took it as a challenge to find out as much as I could about what seemed to be some interesting titles.

I did interlibrary loan for quite a few years. I always thought that this was the essence of librarianship: it combined bibliographic description, scholarship, resource sharing and service to the requestor. That was, of course, as you say, in the days before computers, OCLC and the web, so the practice of this art was completely different from what it is today. Today it is much faster and more efficient, and it still remains a service that differentiates libraries from any other type of institution that I can think of.

…. I have never regretted the decision I made to be a librarian. I trust it is the same with you.”

I would like to close with a different tale about resource sharing, one that – for at least one library – has perhaps a more bittersweet ending.

There once was a man named J.B. Fuqua. Born in 1918, J.B. “was raised by his grandparents on a tobacco farm in southern Virginia, … and educated himself in history, business, and finance through books borrowed by mail from the library of Duke University.”ⁱⁱⁱ More exactly, since J.B.’s town had no library and there was no interlibrary loan, J.B. sent personal requests for books to Ben Powell, the then-director of the Duke University Libraries. Although there was no formal program to do so, Mr. Powell obligingly filled J.B.’s personal requests many times over a number of years.

As an adult, J.B. moved to Atlanta, founded a radio station at the age of 21, and over the next forty years, J.B. bought and sold many business. He served for a time in the Georgia House and in the Senate.ⁱⁱⁱⁱ When he returned to private life, he continued to build his business empire. Today he is the Chairman and CEO of Fuqua Industries.

Self-described as having come “from limited economic background [and] very limited educational background,” ^xx Fuqua also became a philanthropist. By 1980, Fuqua was looking to bestow a “gesture of gratitude for the Duke University library's books-by-mail program, which had been the source of his self-education and an expression of his conviction that improved corporate management was essential to the continued success of the U.S. free enterprise system.”^x J.B. was actively cultivated by Duke University. The University Librarian at the time, Connie Dunlap, met with him, and she came away believing that there was a strong possibility that the Libraries would receive a sizable donation.

In 1980, J.B. did make a sizable contribution to Duke University, but it did not go to the library that had befriended him as a youth. Instead, the $10 million donation he made caused the Business School to be renamed the Fuqua School of Business. Later, J.B. continued to have positive feelings about libraries, and so “In recent years, Fuqua has been an active benefactor of the efforts of the Library of Congress to make its collections available on-line to schools throughout the country …”ⁱⁱ While J.B. has subsequently given to the Duke University Libraries, and his total giving to Duke is more than $37 million, his giving to the Libraries – whose early loan program arguably made his entire career possible -- has never been at the same level as it has been to the business school.

Why do I tell this story? Most obviously, this was a case of individualized library loaning that had a profound influence on the career of a successful man. However, there is more. This is not a tale of good efforts that went unrewarded. J.B. Fuqua is a generous philanthropist who is entitled to give to whatever causes he wishes, and Duke University has certainly been a beneficiary. My point is that libraries provide service because the support of research truly matters to those for whom we expend our efforts, not because the library expects some potential gain in the future. In reality, it may be many years later – if at all – that the profoundest effects of our work will be recognized or acknowledged by others. When they do, it may be through a monetary reward, or through the recognition of a job well done. And even if there is never any such recognition, there is a self-satisfaction that comes knowing that a life may be changed through the work that we do every day.

For me, my sources of inspiration will always be people like Mr. Powell, Mr. Swinyer, and Mr. Blauvelt – some of whom I never met. As resource sharing librarians, what you do everyday makes a difference in people’s lives. While technology may make it possible to provide information faster than ever before, that is only one measure of the quality of service.

I certainly encourage you to employ technology to do more things for more people. This should be balanced by a commitment to individualize service. It is not the technology, but the service, that will be most appreciated and remembered. It is the service that you deliver today and in the future that may inspire someone else for many years to come.

On behalf of all of the many clients whom you each serve every day, please accept my appreciation and thanks as one who was not only the beneficiary thirty years ago, but whose lifetime has been enriched through a career choice made three decades above that was inspired by what you do every day.

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