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I’m New Here: Week Twenty-Six (aka, “She’s Still New Here – the first six months”)…
August 15, 2019 by GuyHeilenman · Leave a Comment
There has rarely (if ever) been someone who has walked through our archives of historic newspapers and not been overwhelmed by the history that courses through the premises, but what is uncommon is to have such an individual become a member of our staff. Unlike many things that initially overwhelm or amaze us but soon lose their wonderment, if you love history, there are enough hidden treasures buried deep within our stacks to create excitement and appreciation for a lifetime. It was with this unique opportunity in mind we decided to have Stephanie Williams, our new office manager, chronicle her “learning curve” through a series of ongoing posts titled, “I’m New Here…”. Now that she has eclipsed the six-month mark, we thought it might be nice to assemble the posts into one easy-to-access location. Please enjoy her initial 6-month trek.
I’m New Here…
Week 1, 2, 3, 4, 5-6, 7, 8, 9-10, 11, 12, 13, 14-15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20-21, 22-23, 24, and 25 (this being week 26)
(Also, Stephanie was on vacation so we thought it was a good time to create this chronology.)
I’m New Here: Week Twenty-Five…
August 9, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
I began this post with a completely different musing on the world of collecting. However, one hundred and twenty words into it I received a query concerning the content of an issue posted on one of the web market places. After my research concluded, I cleared my page to begin again.
We had a 1927 New York Times listed for sale, and the request was to verify whether or not a name was mentioned within the feature story. And so, for the first time ever, I read about the USS S-4, a submarine that was rammed by a Coast Guard ship off of Massachusetts on December 17th. Of the forty on board, six crew members survived long enough to signal their location. For three days the divers heard sounds of life; then the tapping ceased. One of the rescue team almost lost his life attempting to attach an air hose to the cavity in which the small group had huddled. His buddy eventually received a medal for saving him.
It is horrible to follow the words of hope and heroic blow-by-blow efforts as diver after diver took a dangerous shift in the turbulence, spurred by the Morse signals from the submarine, “Is there any hope?” Finally, reluctantly, the tragic designation was issued, “lost with all hands.”
If I read the historical bits correctly, it took three months to raise the sub, which (“who” to all those in the habit of employing the feminine pronoun for a ship) was utilized for another five years following the disaster. My contact today was looking for the name of his grandfather among the divers who battled weather and odds in the hours following the crash. And he is there. The name I was commissioned to seek is nestled within the sentence, “First diver to the scene was ______________” For a full column the radioed conversations from command to scene are reported word-by-word. These were clearly the exchanges of men determined to save their fellow men, at great cost and against reasonable hope. And my imagination had me within that family, hearing bits and pieces of this epic event through the years. Perhaps he never talked about it at all. Either way, the very words spoken as one diver worked through the obstacles are here on the pages within an issue that we will carefully package and ship out to his grandson.
For me, this personal narrative embedded within a national tragedy eclipsed every other treasure found in a week packed with collectors seeking titles spanning from Virginia Gazettes to Village Voices.
I just had to share.
I’m New Here: Week Twenty-Four…
August 2, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · 2 Comments
Today someone asked me to choose the nicer of two issues. Each had the same date, the same title, the same price, and so a collector (who was in that particular instance selecting a gift) wanted to know which I thought best.
As many of my interactions are, this was a phone conversation. I offered to send photographs, but he said, “You told me my previous selection was beautiful, so I trust you.”
While that is a very nice compliment to give to “the new girl”, to be quite frank it worried me. Guy’s philosophy, when it comes to describing the condition of an item, is to set expectations low, and let the collector be pleasantly surprised. And it makes sense. He makes sense. We are shipping things hundreds of years old to folks hundreds of miles away. How can we possibly use common evaluations to describe Rare and Early items?
See, the truth is that I am a bit entranced by these old papers. I’m learning to see the browning, the foxing, and even the tears in very peripheral ways. Instead, every part of the oldest papers feels stately and significant. The decorative mastheads are fancy, but the straightforward block type conveys dependability and balance; loveliness can be displayed in a broad range of styles.
This young upstart country has packed a lot of history into two hundred and forty-three years, and these pages tell of the innovation and the expansion. They report virtues and crimes.
It’s a little magical to me to stand and contemplate volumes stuffed with the details that brought us to where we are today. For better, as they say, or worse.
An expert knows the wear and tear that decreases value, and our catalog prices often reflect that aspect. So, I’m not really the one to ask when you want to ascertain condition. If the words of the stories are there, I will probably tell you something hyperbolic like, “It’s stunning.”
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I’m transfixed.
I’m New Here: Weeks Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three…
July 26, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
Time seems to be advancing at an ever-increasing pace. Each day is crammed with more tasks than can possibly be accomplished; I think this means I am beginning to get the hang of things. But Monday brought me up short a bit as I searched titles tracing a particular story which initially diverted to the Freedom Ride. As intriguing as the tone in those accumulating reports of bus rides through the South was, the heading on a neighboring column wrested my eyes and my thoughts. I had to know the reason that divorcees (such a fancy and outmoded term) spent a night in jail. At least that’s what I believed at the time. However, since it has been four days since I read the report and I am still ready to sound forth at a moment’s reflection, it might have been better if I stuck to the familiar angst over bus seats allocated by color of skin.
In case accompanying photographs do not tell enough story, women went to jail because deadbeat dads (such a crass and modern term) did not pay court-ordered child support. Just that. The year was 1963, and I suppose I am not meant to expect much else from the era — particularly that the freedom to assemble could possibly, legally, be constrained to a total of four persons.
Because, that was the crux of the charges — the reason for the headline: Night in Jail Makes Divorcees Contrite. “They promised that if they ever picket the County Building again to protest lagging support payments they will keep within the legal limit of four.” Fifty-six years ago a woman who was not receiving justice promised by the legal system had to promise to forego rights granted in 1791 by the First Amendment, even as she attempted to bring pressure to bear on the powers that be. Of course, I’m not foolish enough to think that this tiny fragment that sparks my ire is as important than any of the other Civil Rights /liberties that seem to have too limited of a citizenry to whom they are applied. And I am fiercely glad that the group of four swelled to an angry mob of twelve, bringing so much havoc upon the town that these single mothers had to be jailed in order to preserve the peace. Perhaps they were granddaughters of those who marched for Suffrage . It may be that they were inspired by other heroes that brought about change. Because things are not the same today. Here it helps me to take in the 1963 newspaper as a whole, reading again of the laws that were eventually impacted by two different groups. In 2019, wearied with seemingly insurmountable conflict, offense, discrimination and outright hatred, the neighboring headline, “11 Riders Quietly Leave for Mississippi Test Run” provides some perspective. Multiple barriers to equality remain, but many have been knocked down. Many barriers have been knocked down, but perhaps some have been worn away through the centuries by those whose stories are woven through old newspaper pages, those who find their own, quiet, persistent way to push back.
I’m New Here: Weeks Twenty & Twenty-One…
July 4, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
It’s hard to put into words all I learned last week, other than conclude (again) I work in an amazing place. Distinct events blurred together as we completed the regular tasks of a pre-catalog release week, simultaneous with the receipt of eleven pallets of a new title.
As I know the least, I am the least helpful in this bulk intake process. Everyone else has done it before – making space where none seems apparent. So I stayed out of the way, fielding phone, email and web orders to the best of my ability.
This week, however, marks the Fourth of the July, and I took the opportunity to look at some surrounding details of 1776 through the real time lens of reported news.
The Sons of Liberty met under the Liberty Tree. It’s not an American fable; I read the notice calling for attendance and providing an alternate location in case of overflowing turnout. People staked fortune and life to sign the Declaration of Independence, and Philadelphia papers published their names alongside that document. Paul Revere was a working man who bought advertisements in The Massachusetts Centinel to draw more customers into his silver shop. Somehow, the risk of this bid for colonial freedom becomes more meaningful as I consider the sacrificial participation required from everyday people who had plenty to occupy them in their own private lives. Regular folks became significant because they stepped up when there was every reason to keep their heads down.
Today I am thinking about the farmers and shopkeepers, the printers and the writers who looked beyond immediate concerns to take a stand for the implications on centuries to come. Surely these are some for whom the words resounded, “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary…” I won’t pontificate aloud, but there are so many contrasts to the perspective I readily adopt within my plush and easy American life.
Fresh perspective on the human story feeds the impulse: the more I find out, the more I want to know. But the disconcerting truth is that the more I search, the more versions I find. The best course of action just might be to head back into the annals and read it for myself…
I’m New Here: Week Nineteen…
June 21, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
What do Lizzie Borden and the Galveston Flood (Great Storm, Galveston Hurricane, and any other alternate title) have in common? Of all the things I could focus on this week, those are the two that stuck in my mind, and it wasn’t because of personal fascination. Collectors frequently look for things not readily available, and they request to be put on a “want” list. Sometimes we are waiting for a specific title and we contact them when one is in our possession. Other times they are looking for material related to a certain topic, which takes much more time. Ms. S will always buy things concerning South Carolina, and Mr. G is following threads of a story that spans our nation’s history. So, in every spare moment this week my desk was piled with huge volumes of pulpish papers from the year 1900. I was looking for the details as the story unfolded, and I read each in sequence in close to the way a contemporary of that disaster might have.
I didn’t know much, and neither did the newspaper subscribers of the time. They, too, were scouring pages for updates, and recoiling in disgust at some of the pictures and descriptions. I read at least five portions aloud to anyone who would listen, because it seemed such a thing should not be kept to one’s self.
I’m not going to describe the bodies piled, and martial law decreed and then finally lifted. I loved reading the notices for benefits that went on for at least a full month in cities as far away as New York. There was also the funniest story about a pair of children under the age of ten who developed a racket going around posing as bedraggled twin refugees from the city of Galveston. It seems many a kindhearted housewife bathed and fed them before realizing herself to be the victim of a scam.
And Lizzie Borden’s story is not much like the Alfred Hitchcock Presents version I was introduced to in midnight reruns during a childhood sleepover. Most people believed her innocent, according to news reports. The earliest police statements were adamant that there could not have been only one killer at work. There was also a credible confession of guilt by a male neighbor who turned himself in.
Often it is this way; complex pictures emerge as I pull reports to fill requests.
This week I learned to follow the sequence, uncovering a fuller story with each new dateline. There’s a moral in this aspect of things, if I can only pause long enough to ponder it…
I’m New Here: Week Eighteen…
June 14, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · 2 Comments
This week I learned to back up my data files with more diligence. I also learned that I shouldn’t boast of finishing a task early, as I am liable to then fall far behind (particularly if I don’t save my work).
Most importantly, I learned that we don’t know what we don’t know, and we can’t learn it until we know something.
As I was immersed in the newspaper coverage of significant dates in American History, I found that my vague idea of the Civil War as being somewhere around 1862 kept me from understanding the significance of Lincoln’s assassination within the timetable of the war of brother-against-brother. The great conflict was in the mopping-up stage; Grant had definitively beaten the Confederate troops. And President Abraham Lincoln, the man who took up the burden of holding together the Union, was shot in a theater where he was out for what was termed by one report as “an evening of respite”. It’s suddenly more tragic, and those long lines formed by a mourning populace seem so reasonable a response by a shocked nation.
Over the weekend, the relative of a Timothy Hughes Rare and Early Newspapers employee was touring the facility and paused over text running down the right margin of the cover of a small periodical from the 1920’s. “You know who that is,” she asserted. We didn’t. We thought it was an issue about the game of hockey, positing the question whether it would or would not last in the United States.
It turns out the featured author of the issue was one Rose Wilder Lane, the woman who penned the tales told by her mother of pioneering days in what eventually came to be called The Little House on the Prairie series. An accomplished writer and reporter, many of her short stories were published in Harper’s Bazaar and Saturday Evening Post. When Rose was in her seventies, she traveled to Vietnam in order to provide a female perspective on the war for the readership of Woman’s Day Magazine. And I learned all of this because someone who knew a bit, put together pieces and asked a question.
Juxtaposed with this whole journey following strands of the known into discovery of the unknown, was an overheard discussion about the lack of liberal arts education received by the up-and-coming generation. In an era of information available by voice command, almost everything that can be known is, theoretically, accessible. But how will any of us know the questions to ask if we don’t have a base of knowledge from which to begin? A narrow foundation must by its very nature constrict the breadth of potential growth.
Anyway, this is a great place for contemplation of deep things. And, since I lost my first draft, I have the opportunity to contemplate the same subject for the second time. 🙂
By the way, the Liberty Magazines are nifty compilations somewhat in the vein of the later Reader’s Digest, packed with advertisements and helpful hints right beside news of the day.
I’m New Here: Week Seventeen…
June 7, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
Despite the obvious gender bias inherent in the title, I like “The Gentleman’s Magazine“, as I suspect many non-gentlemen of the time did as well. This week I pulled an issue from April of 1775 – mainly because I enjoy the tone of superiority that saturates those months before what we now know of as the Revolutionary War (or whichever various title you prefer). “Colonial upstarts” were causing commotion and consternation to the rest of the world, but mainly to the ruling class in London.
The heading of the very front page of the one perched on my desk amidst the new catalog excitement is entitled, “Continuation in the House of Lords on the Address to his Majesty respecting the Situation of Affairs in America”. What follows is a labyrinthine balance between appeasing the vanity of the monarch, and an attempt to elucidate the different aspects of potential vulnerability to defeat. In particular, the French and Spanish ships continuing to trade with the colonists brought great consternation. “Does the noble Earl pretend to interpret this explanation [England would be “…at liberty to seize any of their ships trading with American subjects”] generally, so as to authorize our taking their vessels at sea? If he does not, what can such a vague deluding promise avail? If he does, then I will venture to assure his Lordship, that he is miserably deceived; and that the first attempt to prevent French or Spanish ships from navigating the American seas will furnish them with an opportunity of asserting their maritime freedom, of making reprisals, and of justifying their conduct to the other great states of Europe, who are known to be long jealous of what they are pleased to call our despotic claim to the sovereignty of the ocean.”
When I read this, I start to understand a little bit this American spirit, this classification under which our country has been perceived by the world, from the very earliest days. This mindset changed the world. And that is an immense, and not embarrassing, thought.
But, lest you think the GM’s are all politics, I would like to recommend any meteorology enthusiasts plug in the data compiled monthly and displayed on the inside cover page. The average prices of corn, wheat, rye, barley, oats and beans are delineated by county. Genealogists will enjoy the Births, Marriages, and Deaths alongside the list of Promotions and Bankrupts. There are book reviews and parish reports and a comprehensive section entitled “Historical Chronicle“, which gives an overview of multiple aspects of the state of the world.
Anyway, to delve into these accounts of the earliest days of this country is to see the tenacity that fueled an eventual nation – and perhaps nurture an admiration for what was once made, an inspiration for all that could be made again.
You can read more about Gentleman’s Magazines via previous posts at: Gentleman’s Magazines
I’m New Here: Week Sixteen…
May 31, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
Here in “our neck of the woods” Spring frequently brings tornado warnings. Yesterday, radios, smartphones, and computer displays all sounded the alarm. One of the part-time people working on the labels for Catalog 283 asked what I would choose for my last meal before the tornado hit. I parried with “what would you take into your safe space from the annals?” And my contribution, quickly and easily, was “The American Museum” issues — as many as I could grab from the shelf.
I have one collector who looks for these and he contacts me by email with a list of five or six dates. Every time I search, thinking “there is no way we have any from that month.” Each time I locate one or two, and he happily buys them. During that brief interaction studying dates and verifying the appropriate appendices I have come to find this publication ridiculously beautiful. If I were trapped in a tornado shelter, 18th Century American Magazines would suffice for amusement and instruction. In a single issue there are lexicons for four different Native American languages, methods for preparing dye, a treatise on the Biblical perspective of capital punishment, and political news from around the world. Stock prices are listed alongside poetry. In fact, the complete title enthralls me: “The American Museum: or Repository of Ancient and Modern Fugitive Pieces, &c. Prose and Poetical”.
Subscriber names, by state, are listed alphabetically over the first ten pages. The issue I randomly pulled has a touching inscription: “Henry Wayman Woods presented by his dear mother August 6, 1832. Wisdom is the principle thing, Henry.” The content feature is Lexington and Concord, but buried within one of the random sections is an article about the first reported African-American doctor and details of the “Virginia Calculator”, a slave from New Orleans who was described as a savant by Dr. Benjamin Rush (one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence).
There is so much to learn, packed within these octavo-sized (8” x 5”) papers. Knowledge was culled from every imaginable subject, in order to educate and enlighten. A well-informed public, it seems, was deemed critical for the development of the young country. In my opinion, that’s a lofty goal that would translate well to any civilization at any point in history.
Wisdom is, quite possibly, the principle thing.
I’m New Here: Weeks Fourteen & Fifteen…
May 24, 2019 by Stephanie Williams · Leave a Comment
Last week I didn’t post because I was involved in a local amateur production of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Consequently, I returned to work with many dramatic musical numbers dictating the soundtrack of my mind. Perhaps that influenced my interest in an assigned hunt for a title that reported on the death of the “Leather Man” in 1839.
I found it, and duly replied back to the collector. But I also took a little bit of a break to search out the meager story of this individual who was a vagabond for 32 years of his life. The inscription on his tombstone describes a man, “who regularly walked a 365-mile route through 
Westchester and Connecticut from the Connecticut River to the Hudson living in caves in the years 1858–1889.” Like clockwork, apparently, he completed his circuit every year and was greeted and given hospitality by many along the way who would normally reject any other vagrant. The internet provides an intriguing image of this leather patchworked fellow in his exile from the rhythms of normal life.
And, with the tortured song of the male lead sounding in my head, I wondered at the days preceding his arrival; what made him the man who came to be known this way?
Was he tormented and driven to trudge through the days, or was this a happy occupation for a human being – leaving behind the established cares of civilized life, content to cover so much ground in so many hours for the prescribed revolutions of the sun? Either way, or something in-between, he made it to the second page of The New York Times. For all the documentation housed here, how many millions of unread or even untold stories must there be?
Anyway, I am back at work, tracking down first, second and third day accounts of the original murder that inspired Capote’s “In Cold Blood” and pulling the obituary for a man who had no known name or history of origin. Next week I am determined to look at these territory papers that are so desirable, and maybe delve into the popular Gentleman’s Magazines with their coveted battle maps.
All of which remind me of one theory concerning the Leather Man: that he was an ex-French soldier. Perhaps that’s true, and all the years of marching over fields and sleeping rough became a way of life he ultimately could not break. Whatever compelled him, day after day, I’m fairly certain a tragic musical score is appropriate.