Look What You Did To That Librarian!

If you spend any time at all with librarians employed by American universities, you will eventually hear grudging admission that the professional literature for the "discipline" of Library Science is less intellectually robust than that produced for other realms of higher education study. Perhaps the reason rests with those who create it. Regardless if one considers the subject to be equal to other college disciplines, library science has the disadvantage of being written mostly by people who do not do not actually teach it.

After all, faculty librarians at American universities do not teach students who intend to become librarians. That job is exclusively given to the very limited professoriate of the forty-seven ALA accredited graduate schools in the United States. For this very small cohort only, one assumes a more direct correlation between publication and teaching (which, incidentally, is done within the same nine months that other faculty perform the very same duties). In other words, when considering beyond publishing the many differences between library school faculty and academic faculty librarians, you can summarize in just three words: June, July, and August.

Furthermore, at least fourteen of those forty-seven ALA accredited library schools have in recent years shed the offending word “library” from their titles, hoping that their curiously bookless students will continue to pony up the tuition dollars to prepare for a career curating zeros and ones rather than codex collections. Even Forbes magazine has pointed out the failure of this strategy by defining the MIS degree as one of the worst choices for any graduate school student. Nevertheless, the Information Scientists who serve on the faculty of these schools research all kinds of computer alchemy to fill professional journals and bedazzle their screen-hypnotized acolytes.

Insisting that one can now be a librarian while simultaneously having nothing to do with books has not transformed the profession as much as it has killed it. Again we insist, books belong in the archives. Let the Information Scientists have their screens, metadata, and slavish attachment to all things digital!

Slackjawed Subservience

In any given place where Americans gather, in the lecture hall, the restaurant, or even just the street, you will notice them furiously punch their thumbs at the addicting plaything resting in their hands. This drubbing of digits for digital diversion is definitely dumbing down the denizens of democracy. One need look no further than the current election cycle in the United States for evidence that a steady stream of misspelled 140 character broadsides of tripe have allowed the rise of the rule of idiocracy. Reducing political discourse to a level of bumper-sticker sloganeering has resulted in a man of proven incompetence, bigotry, and bloviated boorishness to be seriously in danger of gaining the highest office in the land. (These lines are being composed just two days before the election.)

At True Archives, we believe that Information Science has aided this phenomenon of foolishness by destroying the learning and memorization capacity of our citizens. Never far from their precious electronic devices, slackjawed users whose abilities to read, navigate, or even socially engage are entirely dependent on their handheld computers lend a cruel twist to the very old democratic idea that any idiot is qualified to govern. Their “smart phones” have validated their vacuousness, and woe to anyone perceived as possibly possessing a portion of prudent perspicacity. As writer Isaac Asimov has observed:

There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.

All our country ever needed for the Jacksonian celebration of the “common man” and the corresponding triumph of ignorance was the invention of devices tailor made to destroy our brains. Even the overt knavery of the service providers, whose fees and charges are reminiscent of pushers exploiting their addicts, will never stem the growing ranks of those who mistakenly believe that knowing how to ask a question equals actually knowing the answer. Like drug-addled drones, they will pay ANYTHING to keep the electrons flowing.

Invasion?

Many people are pointing to the current presidential race as proof positive that American stupidity has reached new heights, and they could be right. Here at True Archives, though, we know that the seeds of senselessness were planted about thirty years ago by the Information Scientists and their nefarious henchmen, the Biblioposers. You may recall the halcyon days prior to the digitization of everything where a search for information involved consultation with printed indices and actual human beings. Now, content with nothing more than a Google search and a Wikipedia answer, the newly illiterate citizenry can devote their shrinking attention spans to reality television shows and brief, misspelled broadsides clumsily tapped out with their thumbs and exchanged within the confines of a 120 character limitation.


What accompanies this alarming trend of mental flaccidity is the abandonment of a once noble profession. Forget the Donna Reed flash-forward portrayal of the timid librarian in the film Its A Wonderful Life, real librarians were true bibliophiles who knew the contents of the resources they recommended. They prided themselves in protecting their books as much as they did sharing them, and woe to those who abused that sharing. The beloved character on Seinfeld, Mr. Bookman, knew how to deal with punks who forgot to bring back their checkouts, and reference personnel answered actual questions beyond the building's schedule of the next pilates class. Alas, these savvy savants of sagacity and sharpness have been replaced. They are still there; they even look like the people who used to manage the gates of a shrinking inventory of print, but they replicants. Librarians have replaced by Information Scientists.

Bait and Switch

Once again the Biblioposers celebrate their annual recognition of a thing that does not exist: the banned book. We have all heard this tired story over and over again; libraries are the courageous defenders of your right to read whatever you want by standing up to bullies who would remove selected codex titles from their shelves. This tired and dated bit of nonsense keeps getting trotted out to the unsuspecting public who might actually believe that somehow they would be denied the leisure to read The Catcher in the Rye if the mighty librarian does not intervene.

The problem with this fable is twofold. First, in this age where any text, from the vile to the sublime, is no more than a mouse click away, the notion that an idea can be effectively suppressed by simply removing a copy of a book is laughably absurd. Second, in this age where Information Scientists are destroying books faster than any fascist regime of the past, posing as protectors of print is the pinnacle of perfidy.

A red herring is something that distracts from an important issue, and Banned Book Week smells very much like smoked Boston scrod to the staff at True Archives. The real threat to reading comes from libraries themselves, which are transitioning from book warehouses to community centers, internet cafes, and petting zoos. Of course the Biblioposer will embrace the book when it suits his purpose; the Devil quotes scripture in a similar fashion. However, one cannot jettison print while simultaneously assuming the role of its preserver. Once again we opine that the place for books is in the archive, not the “library.” Once within the protected confines of the archive, the codex will never be “banned” by the systematic disposal it currently suffers under the custodial care of the Information Scientists.

The Analog Past, the Digital Present, and the Future of Institutions

So many institutions have fallen by the wayside since the turn of the twentieth century, and perhaps even more during the early years of the twenty-first. Fraternal orders come to mind. At one point in our history gentlemen and gentlewomen of good cheer would seek each other out to form lodges where the better angels of their nature could be continually encouraged, but they only flourished at a time when there were less distractions such as television and the internet. Libraries, too, when confined to their traditional role as the custodians of the codex, enjoyed a steady yet orderly flow of clientele dedicated to deep reading and quiet contemplation. In those innocent times both Lodges and Libraries were seen as a positive influence on citizens, reinforcing the tendencies of humans interested in self improvement. It is a different story today. Now it appears youth is only interested in "selfies" and "improvement" they seek is merely an impressive number of "likes" indicated within online social media profiles. Neither fraternal nor learning institutions seem as relevant when fellowship can be established, and understanding confirmed, by the ability to connect with any self-validating group, be it ever so vile or sublime.

We know now that not every invention has been a step forward for mankind; one need look no further than the atomic bomb for a more obvious example. Perhaps it is time to reconsider this digital world the Information Scientists have created that those millennials will inherit.

God Bless Scrooge McDuck!

In these times, when a wealthy, orange-complexioned man with a haystack on his head dominates the news, it is truly difficult to sing the praises of society’s one percent that owns ninety percent of our collective wealth. However, that is precisely what we intend to do in this brief essay.

The simple fact is that if it were not for the wealthy who have collected and hoarded books throughout history, there would be none in public repositories. Think about it. All those rich guys (and admittedly, those of modest means as well) who scoured the book stalls and shops in search of printed treasure became the saviors of civilization as they added to their personal troves. But, like all living things, these bibliophiles eventually shuffled off their mortal coils and a decision needed to be made on the private libraries they left behind. Sometimes dispersed, sometimes lost, but sometimes established as a public or semi-public repository for the enjoyment of all. In this sense, they are much like those doctors or lawyers who purchase historic buildings for restoration and repurposing. They temporarily assume stewardship over a material treasure which oftentimes benefits all of us.

The danger today, of course, comes from the threat of Information Scientists. Scorning the collecting habits of collectors they consider little more than eccentric cat ladies, those in charge of our libraries today no longer even WANT these inherited artifacts. This is why public libraries have become little more than internet cafes that sell off donated books during increasingly frequent book sales. Biblioposers who pretend to be the custodians of mankind’s printed legacy continue to slip volumes from their own stacks into the mix as well, insuring the remaining collection available to the public erodes into a pile of dog-eared paperback laundromat romances.

At True Archives we salute the one percenters whose passion for books drives them to collect. This “Gentle Madness” so eloquently described by Nicholas Basbanes in his book of the same title should be encouraged and celebrated. It is these happy few that will save the heritage of our planet (along with archivists) now that we can no longer trust libraries to do so.

Meetings of the Mind

At True Archives, we never tire of exposing the knavery of the Biblioposers and the global threat of the Information Scientists. However, in the spirit of good fellowship (and as an example to our wretched national political dialogue) we feel it is time to point out at least one positive thing about the rise of the internet that we heartily admire. There is an application of internet use that has the potential to liberate mankind from that most dreaded organizational torture: the group meeting.

Certainly anyone who works in academia or in business management knows the crippling boredom that must be endured during meetings. The endless discussions, the collegial posturing, the ignored agendas, and the lame excuses of those who "have to leave early" are all part and parcel of the meeting ritual. One only need look around the room to calculate the combined wages of the participants in order to estimate the expense of an hour at such depressing droning drivel.

There is, however, relief to be had in the skillful use of the tools of Information Science. Behold the meeting attendees who bring their Eyepads, Eyephones, and Eyelaptops! They have discovered a way to relieve the boredom of the meeting while appearing to “multitask” as they flip through email, shop on Amazon, or simply play a few rounds of Angry Birds. As much as one might wish to decry such surreptitious skirting of senseless sophistry, the sheer brilliance of using these electronic toys to “goof off” must be admired. But don’t you dare attempt it without such an electronic gizmo. Imagine your reception at the same meeting were you to pull out the day’s edition of the New York Times and begin working the crossword puzzle. There is no denying that print is discriminated against when it comes to digital dalliance at daily debriefings.

Of course we have not even touched upon the main advantage of using Information Science to avoid the relentless meetings of the minds in the workplace. At least ninety percent of these time-wasting tête-à-têtes could be eliminated with a simple exchange of emails. But that would require close reading, wouldn’t it? Recognizing that requirement is a sad admission that the one truly beneficial application of internet innovation will never be used to its full potential by the Twitter generation.

We would write more on this topic, but we are late for a meeting...

Soliciting for Obsolescence

Few things are as irritating as the constant solicitation for financial contributions from one’s alma mater. Is it not enough to force students to take on a mountain of debt for a profession that virtually guarantees lifelong penury? These schools actually expect gratitude in the form of a check from graduates who are likely surviving on ramen noodles and a vague hope of someday being able to afford an apartment that is above ground.

But a more insulting form of this systematic supplication comes from those schools whose administrators have changed the very name of the institution. Now calling themselves “Schools of Information Science,” they have the hubris to ask LIBRARIANS to kick in a few shekels to advance their biblioposer agenda. Here at True Archives we graduated from a library school, and if that appellation no longer exists for the place, we believe there is nowhere to send a properly addressed check.

Aside from justifying our tenacious tight-fisted tendencies, the issue of the name change strikes us as more serious than its impact on the college coffers. Since when did “library” become a dirty word to these people? It seems they have become afraid of the title for a once proud and honored profession and are asking the world to forget. We don’t forget, especially when that fund-raising phone call or colorful mailing arrives at True Archives headquarters. And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye Information Scientists!

When Books are Outlawed, Only Outlaws Will Have Books

Have you noticed how people of all political stripes bemoan the lack of intelligence of the American voter? Those who believe this are implying that if the average ballot caster was intelligent, their side would get the support. Related to this angst of voter stupidity is the railing against big money in political advertising, which also implies that stupid people can be swayed by the presentation of a clever commercial or radio spot. (Maybe not so much by yard signs or color advertising mailings that require people to read).

Here at True Archives, we also believe in a large representation of stupidity among the electorate, but perhaps the answer is not lessening the franchise but rather expanding it. Would universal mandatory voting (such as they have in some enlightened Western countries) help find the bell curve average intelligence score? Or would a simple literacy test, like only allowing those who do not have a "smart phone" to vote? Perhaps linking voter registration to the possession of a library card?

Ah, in years past that last proposition may have possibly had some merit, but it is painfully obvious now under the tyranny of Information Science that a library card is no longer an indication that the holder actually reads. The Biblioposers, who continue to eliminate print with frightening acceleration, have seen to that.

Taking the Long Way Around the Hog Barn

Suppose you had a well trained truffle hog that could find those delicious tubers without fail, and that this hog performed the task so easily that chefs simply follow him around to collect bushels of truffles. This system has worked so well that chefs have been buying truffles from you for decades, using them to create culinary masterpieces that fetch top dollar, pleasing the palate and the pocketbook.

Now suppose someone came along and told you they had a cat to sniff out truffles. The cat, a very special and expensive breed, takes an awful long time to train, but the results are similar; chefs are still getting their truffles, and they like finding the tubers because (lets face it) cats are so much cuter than hogs. But a problem arises. After a while you notice that you are not getting as many truffles. The cat takes longer to cover the same ground, and the training curve is so steep that you must spend months teaching it to distinguish between catnip and truffles. In fact, so many truffles are still left in the ground while your cat takes its own sweet time to find a handful that the backlog grows, and grows, and grows.

Archival collections are not truffles, but Encoded Archival Description (EAD) is a trained cat that has been foisted on to our profession that is leaving plenty of tubers rotting away on our back shelves. Where once our efficient composition of finding aids resulted in timely produced inventories discoverable through any search engine, we now take days to do what used to be performed in hours. The result is a mountain of paper that may never be addressed until it has dissolved into an acidic mass of lignin dust.

What is the reason for this knavery we call EAD? Is it a vast conspiracy on the part of the Information Scientists to send us down the road of obsolescence already filled with the plodding masses of librarians? Or is it a new method to insure domination by doges of digital dukedoms dedicated to dissimulation of documents and thereby establish a high priesthood of practitioners perpetuating their predominance? Either way, historians suffer, researchers remain unaware of unprocessed collections, and many are the unwritten scholarly volumes on a variety of historical subjects. Here at True Archives we think that is the real goal; the fewer books produced, the less hassle for the biblioposers charged to shelve them.