| |
The
Library
When
I first came to America, I took graduate courses at Harvard University.
I was so occupied with language difficulties and the other rites
of passage immigrant scholars undergo that I had no time to consider
what was happening to American under-graduates there. Years after
leaving Harvard, I read that one initiatory task for a Harvard undergraduate
was to have sex in the vast and complex stack system of Widener
Library. Although I spent a considerable amount of time reading
in Harvard libraries, particularly the Tozzer in the Peabody Museum,
I never came across anyone involved in this activity. I did, however,
encounter people who experienced another kind of obvious pleasure
in the stacks: chance discovery of an obscure book that changed
the course of their research. I know it is not the most efficient
way to conduct research, but I often roamed the stacks reading from
books adjacent to the one I needed. Chance discoveries of relevant
volumes provided a distinct thrill, perhaps not so intense as that
experienced by the Harvard undergraduates referred to above, but
certainly longer lasting.
What started me thinking about the sensual nature of books and libraries
was a remark by Vartan Gregorian. “I loved the smell of textbooks,
and for me, from childhood, the library occupied a major role in
my life.” It might seem natural that a man who loved the smell
of textbooks would end up working in a large library. But in his
autobiography, The Road to Home: My Life and Times (2003),
the road Vartan Gregorian traveled is anything but straightforward.
His childhood was one of poverty and deprivation in the Armenian
quarter of Tabriz, Iran. His mother died when he was seven years
old and shortly after that, his father left to fight in World War
Two, so young Vartan was raised by his grandmother. From the age
of eleven until he left Tabriz, he was a part-time page at the local
library. This position did not pay a wage, but it did give him access
to new worlds through the works available in translation in the
stacks. When his father returned and remarried, household relations
became strained, so at age fifteen Vartan left home with $50 in
his pocket to study at the College Armenien in Beirut. Although
various opportunities opened for him, he decided to attend Stanford
University, earning a bachelor’s degree in history in 1958.
In 1964 he completed a Ph.D. at Stanford, then taught history at
San Francisco State, UCLA, and the University of Pennsylvania where
he became the first dean of the faculty of Arts and Sciences.
A career reading and writing scholarly books might have been enough
for most of us, but not for Vartan Gregorian, who began a campaign
to defend books. From 1981 to 1989, he returned to the world of
the library at a time when libraries were endangered. Gregorian
took on the roles of president and CEO of the New York Public Library,
then a network of four research libraries and eighty-three circulating
libraries. Cuts in public funds during the seventies usually struck
hard at libraries. Libraries had no political clout and no constituency
except scholars, children, and ordinary citizens who liked to read.
Politicians took it for granted that libraries were not important
and that their budgets could be slashed. Schools lost funding for
new acquisitions, sometimes losing libraries entirely. Hours of
service at public libraries were cut and librarians were laid off.
Branch libraries were closed or had their hours drastically reduced.
Gregorian started with the premise that support for libraries was
“not negotiable.” For eight years, he reminded New Yorkers
(and readers of his autobiography) that they were dealing with an
institution that was as old as civilization: “From the clay
tablets of Babylon to the computers of a modern library stretch
more than five thousand years of man’s and woman’s insatiable
desire to establish written immortality and to insure the continuity
of culture and civilization, to share their memories, their wisdom,
their strivings, their fantasies, their longings, and their experiences
with mankind and with future generations” (page 283). But
moral arguments about the abstract value of libraries were insufficient
to secure funding for even the most basic costs of maintaining a
library. The stacks of the central New York library, for example,
contained eighty-eight miles of bookshelves that had not been dusted
for seventy-five years. The cost of cleaning them was $1 million.
Through what he calls “a confluence of forces,” Gregorian
succeeded in rescuing the New York City Public Library and reestablishing
its central educational, civic, and cultural preeminence in New
York. Along the way he changed the national attitude toward public
libraries and raised $400 million to restore their status throughout
the country.
Gregorian became president of Brown University in 1989. In 1997,
he was selected to head the large non-profit Carnegie Corporation
of New York, with its mantra, “The free library is the cradle
of democracy.” It is, therefore, altogether appropriate that
we have chosen Vartan Gregorian to serve as keynote speaker for
The Center for the Humanities’ annual celebration of Washington
University authors—Celebrating Our Books. At a time
when the undergraduate library at the University of Texas, Austin,
removes a huge collection of books to install a coffee shop, computer
terminals, and lounge chairs for students—many of whom come
from nearly book-free homes—it is good to have someone remind
us that books are not irrelevant and that great public libraries
are not optional for the populace of a democratic nation. It is
a great pleasure to have someone who knows and loves the smell of
books help us celebrate our authors.
Jian Leng, Associate Director
The Center for the Humanities
|