July 2, 1909—One of the unsung generators of the spectacular growth of American business in the 20th century, the Special Libraries Association, was established. The new organization elected as its president John Cotton Dana, who already had his hands full that year as director of the Newark Public Library and founding director of the Newark Museum.
When I tell people unfamiliar with the profession that I work in a special library, quizzical looks come over their faces. The best way to describe it—one conforming to the general outlines laid out by Dana a century ago—is that, unlike public and academic libraries, it exists for specialized audiences—businesses, associations, and legislatures, for instance.
If you want an idea of the kind of work that I and thousands of my colleagues perform every day, then rent from Blockbuster or Netflix the sparkling 1957 romantic comedy Desk Set, starring Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.
Sure, there’s one big difference between then and now—instead of gigantic electronic monstrosities that fill a huge part of a room and threaten to replace knowledge workers, there are now far smaller desktops or, God help us, laptops that are the essential part of our work.
But on the other hand, the situation has changed far less than one might think.
Librarians (I’m old-fashioned enough to prefer this term rather than “cybrarian” or “information scientist”) are still, like Hepburn and colleagues Joan Blondell, Dina Merrill and Sue Randall (all in the still accompanying this post), a bright, vivacious lot who are mentally agile enough to field a bewildering variety of crazy requests, often under the most stressful deadlines. They’re the best answer to the “Marian the Librarian” stereotype that has existed in the public mind for far too long.
Unfortunately, far too many still must contend with bosses outside the information science profession who may not always appreciate what their work involves day to day and, thus, blithely create situations that badly serve librarians and even their own companies.
Most economists and politicians, when asked what the phrase “Bretton Woods” means, will tell you that it refers to the postwar system of international free trade that took its cue from the U.S. That system took its name from the conference of economic aides of the Allied Powers in this small New Hampshire community in 1944.
But 35 years earlier, this same rural New England community had a similar large impact on information science. There, Dana and 25 other librarians gathered on the veranda of the Mt. Washington Hotel to exchange ideas about their jobs.
When I tell people unfamiliar with the profession that I work in a special library, quizzical looks come over their faces. The best way to describe it—one conforming to the general outlines laid out by Dana a century ago—is that, unlike public and academic libraries, it exists for specialized audiences—businesses, associations, and legislatures, for instance.
If you want an idea of the kind of work that I and thousands of my colleagues perform every day, then rent from Blockbuster or Netflix the sparkling 1957 romantic comedy Desk Set, starring Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.
Sure, there’s one big difference between then and now—instead of gigantic electronic monstrosities that fill a huge part of a room and threaten to replace knowledge workers, there are now far smaller desktops or, God help us, laptops that are the essential part of our work.
But on the other hand, the situation has changed far less than one might think.
Librarians (I’m old-fashioned enough to prefer this term rather than “cybrarian” or “information scientist”) are still, like Hepburn and colleagues Joan Blondell, Dina Merrill and Sue Randall (all in the still accompanying this post), a bright, vivacious lot who are mentally agile enough to field a bewildering variety of crazy requests, often under the most stressful deadlines. They’re the best answer to the “Marian the Librarian” stereotype that has existed in the public mind for far too long.
Unfortunately, far too many still must contend with bosses outside the information science profession who may not always appreciate what their work involves day to day and, thus, blithely create situations that badly serve librarians and even their own companies.
Most economists and politicians, when asked what the phrase “Bretton Woods” means, will tell you that it refers to the postwar system of international free trade that took its cue from the U.S. That system took its name from the conference of economic aides of the Allied Powers in this small New Hampshire community in 1944.
But 35 years earlier, this same rural New England community had a similar large impact on information science. There, Dana and 25 other librarians gathered on the veranda of the Mt. Washington Hotel to exchange ideas about their jobs.
Carol Duncan, a professor emeritus of art history at Ramapo College in New Jersey, has a new book out called "How to Have A Museum With Brains": John Cotton Dana and the Making of A Democratic Culture in America (Periscope, 2009). The subject matter—how Dana’s life work figured into the larger meaning of the Progressive Era—sounds fascinating, and I hope to get around to the book before long.
A news release discussing a speaking appearance by Duncan indicates that, at least on some points, she regards Dana as an “ideologue who advanced upper-class agendas.”
That may well be so. Yet for the first three decades of the 20th century, Dana was also instrumental in opening up libraries in a way they never had before to swelling immigrant populations. Moreover, in ways the larger public can barely appreciate even now, he made libraries essential in advancing the worldwide spread of American business in the first half of the 20th century.
How? Because 20th-century businesses, in ways only dimly understood by much of the public, came to rely as much on information as much as on ready capital to size up changing demographic conditions, to create new processes to meet these demands, and to gather competitive intelligence that would allow it to stay ahead of rivals.
For instance, let’s say you’re investigating where to open a new unit of your business. You need maps to help you find nearby highways that have the traffic you need, transportation routes, water supply lines, even sewage equipment. You’d also want statistics to help you determine if the area you’re studying is growing or declining, as well as what kind of products consumers are buying.
Information has become as much the coin of the realm in business as the dollar. To persuade multiple actors who are pivotal in moving an enterprise forward—corporate executives, town leaders, the community—you need facts, amply and persuasively documented. That’s where special libraries come in.
The central importance of librarians in this process would have immensely pleased Dana. One of his quotes is one that I and so many others in my field aspire to daily, despite never-ending challenges: "For over twenty years I have found that I leave my library with regret, however long the day has been, and return to it always with delight."
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