Lessons learned

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I recently finished a years-long work project.  The details about the genesis of the project are available in a case study I wrote for SAA’s Government Records Section; for these purposes, suffice it to say that I was tasked with overhauling the mechanism of scheduling records for state agencies in North Carolina.  The decision was to embrace the principles of functional schedules, and here’s a representation of the results:

This project provided many opportunities for interactions with records custodians and other interested parties as well as for reflection on the process of generating records retention and disposition schedules.  Here are some initial thoughts — things I wish I’d known when I began this process.

  1. No one likes records management (RM).  Sure, those of us in the biz can extol the virtues of defensible destruction and costs savings, but with rare exceptions, it is not a priority for our constituents.  Needless to say, this means getting participation and buy-in are challenging.

    Jackie Esposito, Penn State University Archivist, recently published the result of her survey of records management within the institutions of the Big Ten.  She provided this overview:

    “These services and the expectations built therein are often subject to a ‘struggle to fit’ within a myriad of administrative offices in their effort to undertake compliance, retention, disposition, permanence, and disposal of business records. Among the challenges of institutional placement are issues such as failure to thrive, inability to enforce compliance, risk aversion, slow responsiveness to crisis/breach situations, failure to create a cohesive environment and culture, and communication collapse” (5).

    One of her conclusions about university RM could also have some interesting applications in other entities:

    “Institutional placement/administration of Records Management programs SHOULD be coordinated and partnered with other institutional compliance efforts such as Risk Management, Privacy, Internal Audit, and IT Security.  This may require moving RM programs out of academic units such as Libraries to strengthen the compliance oversight needs within an RM program” (8).

    In my experience, RM directives that originate from the office of the General Counsel, for example, are met with much more acceptance and quicker responses than those coming from administrative assistants.

  2. It’s hard to write a retention schedule on a blank canvas.  Understanding the work required of the entities whose records you’re scheduling along with the records created and received in that process is essential.  Best case scenario, you can work from a relatively up-to-date records inventory to inform your schedule.  Or maybe we need to figure out a way to have RM ride alongs to ensure records analysts have a good grasp of how records are used by their custodians.
  3. It’s hard to effect change.  Those involved in institutional change recognize the extremes of the early adopters versus those who’ll push back against change until they’re left with no options.  In the context of revamping how agency records are scheduled, this means those cutting their teeth in the RM game are likely more easily convinced of the benefits of a new system because they aren’t entrenched in the old system, while those who’ve become acclimated to the old way of managing records will be a harder sell.  In the words of Thomas Jefferson, “mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.”
  4. Try to anticipate the questions people will have about the new system and address them ahead of time — but also understand that some hand-holding will still be necessary and appropriate once it’s in place.
  5. There are a lot of legal aspects to RM, so make sure you have a good grasp of who’s generating records-related regulations at the state and federal levels and/or make sure you have a legal buddy who can help interpret inconsistencies and ambiguities.



Christmas carol context

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I have a Christmas album that makes reference to the 1942 Rose Bowl that was played in Durham because of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor less than a month earlier.  (See this article by the former Duke University archivist for more information on this game.)

Together with this week’s anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack, I became curious about the Christmas songs that were written during World War Two.  (You’ll forgive my misappropriation of the term carol on my title for the purpose of alliteration!)

Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” was first played on the radio on Christmas Day 1941.  The following year, it was popularized in the film Holiday Inn with Bing Crosby and won an Academy Award.  Berlin originally wrote this song for a Broadway musical revue about American holidays, but the show was never produced.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten
And children listen

To hear sleigh bells in the snow

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

Berlin was a Russian Jewish immigrant to the U.S., and his daughter suggested her father saw Christmas as an American cultural holiday more so than a religious one.  An author of a book on Berlin related the melancholy nature of this song to the tragedy Berlin endured on Christmas Day in 1928 when his 3-week-old son died.

Unfortunately, the original recording of this song has been lost.  According to a 2015 story by KUOW,

“The radio premiere of the song on Kraft Music Hall was lost or taped over.  Crosby’s original 1942 master recording – the version heard by troops overseas – wore out from overuse.  The most familiar version is from 1947, when Crosby re-recorded the song hoping to recapture the original magic.”

In 1943, Crosby recorded “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” which also became an award-winning song.  According to a Library of Congress article, this became the most requested song at Christmas U.S.O. shows in both Europe and the Pacific during World War II.  This song was written by Walter Kent (music) and James “Kim” Gannon (words).

I’ll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

I’ll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

Archival weeding

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As I’ve commented before, most people don’t understand the term archival, so it stands to reason they also have no knowledge of the archival practice of weeding.  Looking up this term in the SAA Glossary of Archival and Records Terminology results in five related terms.  There are two terms that are applied at the item-level:

  • weeding: The process of identifying and removing unwanted materials from a larger body of materials
  • culling: The process of pulling and disposing of unwanted materials

Although the definitions vary little, three additional terms indicate removal of materials at the folder level or higher:

  • purging: The process of pulling and disposing of unwanted materials
  • stripping: The process of pulling and disposing of unwanted materials in a series
  • screening: The process of reviewing materials in a collection for classified, confidential, or private information that should be restricted

I think many donor agreements have language that indicates what should happen with any items that are weeded from a donation.  But I wonder about the understanding of records creators who transfer records to the archives according to a retention and disposition schedule rather than by donor agreement.  None of the five terms listed above includes any citations in the SAA Glossary, so I’m left to believe this topic is not frequently addressed in the archival literature.  Perhaps I can dig into some processing manuals on another day to discover if there is any required or recommended communication when this sort of weeding occurs.

Jesse Helms’ 1972 concession speech

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A few weeks ago, news spread that an aide for Jesse Helms’ first campaign for a U.S. Senate seat in North Carolina kept a copy of the concession speech that was written before the election returns came in.  Last year, he donated it to the Jesse Helms Center in Wingate, North Carolina, and the Center released it to commemorate the 45th anniversary of Helms’ election.  Both speeches can be viewed online.

Archivists involved in appraisal can lose sleep worrying about what might have been overlooked or was never deemed important enough to darken the doors of a repository.  Frank Boles provided some relevant commentary in his book Selecting and Appraising Archives and Manuscripts:

“Two final points about selection should be kept in mind.  First, archivists should be bold when selecting records for the archives.  Timidity and caution will quickly fill the archives’ shelves.  The desire never to be caught in a mistake must be weighed against the absolute reality that only so many things can be held in the archives.  Second, archivists should not lose sleep over the results of their boldness” (119-20).

JFK Assassination Records Collection

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The President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act was passed by Congress in 1992.  It had two purposes:

  1. “to provide for the creation of the President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection at the National Archives and
    Records Administration; and
  2. “to require the expeditious public transmission to the Archivist and public disclosure of such records.”

It required all assassination records to be publicly disclosed within 25 years after this act, unless the President certified:

  1. “continued postponement is made necessary by an identifiable harm to the military defense, intelligence operations, law enforcement, or conduct of foreign relations; and
  2. “the identifiable harm is of such gravity that it outweighs the public interest in disclosure.”

In keeping with this requirement, the National Archives has released five batches of documents this year:

  • July 24: 3,810 records
  • October 26: 2,891 records
  • November 3: 676 records
  • November 9: 13,213 records
  • November 17: 10,744 records

By all means, I’m in favor of transparency.  But what fascinates me about this legislation in the first place is that Congress took it upon itself to tell archivists how to do our job.  This act required the creation of an artificial collection that pulls records from all of these entities:

  • (A) the Commission to Investigate the Assassination of President John F. Kennedy (the “Warren Commission”);
  • (B) the Commission on Central Intelligence Agency Activities Within the United States (the “Rockefeller Commission”);
  • (C) the Senate Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities (the “Church Committee”);
  • (D) the Select Committee on Intelligence (the “Pike Committee”) of the House of Representatives;
  • (E) the Select Committee on Assassinations (the “House Assassinations Committee”) of the House of Representatives;
  • (F) the Library of Congress;
  • (G) the National Archives and Records Administration;
  • (H) any Presidential library;
  • (I) any Executive agency;
  • (J) any independent agency;
  • (K) any other office of the Federal Government; and
  • (L) any State or local law enforcement office that provided support or assistance or performed work in connection with a Federal inquiry into the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, but does not include the autopsy records donated by the Kennedy family to the National Archives pursuant to a deed of gift regulating access to those records, or copies and reproductions made from such records.

So much for original order!  I’m not sure how long it took to gather these documents, but the only finding aid I see on NARA’s site indicates records were compiled from 1992-1998 (although it also acknowledges the collection will grow as more materials are transferred to NARA).

The Correspondence Conundrum

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I like letters as much as the next person.  I write to family and friends, and I’ve saved hundreds of letters sent to me over the years.  When I was in Jackson for a workshop, I skipped lunch one day because that was the only opportunity I’d have to go to the Mississippi Department of Archives and History and see Eudora Welty’s letters.  There was something almost magical about holding the letter written to Welty by William Faulkner.

But as an archivist, I have to remind myself of several things:

  1. We’re not all award-winning writers.
  2. Personal correspondence often has a very different flavor than professional correspondence.
  3. For every inspiring letter that gets collected in a volume, there are thousands more that reveal no insights nor provide any words to live by.

When the prevailing mechanism for correspondence for so many has become email, archivists find ourselves in the unenviable position of trying to maintain the epistolary tradition — for the purposes of research and history and enlightenment — before all of the effects of this medium of exchange have been measured.  Just as the printing press created a lasting impact on writing, email has changed correspondence:

  • It is delivered almost instantaneously, which leads us to expect prompt replies.  With letters that would need to be delivered, time had to be allowed and back-and-forth decision-making was difficult, so letters tended to be composed in more complete thoughts.  Emails take on a more conversational tone, more prone to question-and-answer formats than insightful prose.
  • Emails make it very easy to send the same document to many people simultaneously.  Carbon paper served a similar purpose, but its quality was inferior and there were limits to how many pieces of carbon paper could be typed at once.  So where paper forced us to choose more carefully the recipients of our letters, there is no such compunction for emails — instead, email clients provide for the creation of distribution lists that facilitate our wide dispersals of emails to willing and unwilling recipients alike.
  • Letters — even those that are hundreds of years old — are still easily read so long as they have been protected from vermin, fire, and water.  In 25 years of using email for professional purposes, I’ve lost access to more emails than I could possibly count.  Sometimes our email client changed, and there was no practical way to migrate older messages forward.  Sometimes I changed jobs and had no way of exporting messages from a proprietary system.  This is not to say that I think my emails were worthy of being permanently archived, but it does raise some questions about the completeness of the correspondence record that may be available to archives.

In the professional realm, I see email being used in an increasingly transactional manner, such as firming up details for a presentation.  In the pre-email world — one in which most executives had dedicated secretaries on staff — I think most of these arrangements were carried out by telephone.  While one can argue there’s more convenience to being able to handle this work by email, it also creates a new type of correspondence that has little secondary value for researchers.  Email has also taken over the role that used to be filled by the fax machine, as the cover sheet for an attached document that is distributed either for review or for information purposes.  These sorts of emails many times do not require a response by the receiver but most certainly do create all sorts of technical issues for the archivist who has to be concerned about the digital footprint of the email account being appraised as well as the rendering and copyright issues that may be posed by attachments.

I confess that I have come across little correspondence that fulfills Pinkett‘s goals of explaining government actions and gathering public feedback.  So I’ve begun to wonder it the archival world is approaching this problem from the wrong perspective.  I posed two possibilities last week that may deserve some attention:

  • look to other allied professions for mechanisms to gauge the research value of email
  • adjust our targets for where we expect to locate the substance of decision-making activities and public reactions to government

Here’s what I mean by the first idea.  Perhaps instead of thinking of email as correspondence, we need to look at it as big data.  The digital humanities field has developed numerous tools for visualizing data that could be interesting to apply to email.  Maybe instead of focusing on individual messages, we can take the big picture view and analyze recipients — e.g., did this executive spend more time communicating with subordinates or with external stakeholders?  The work begun at Stanford on ePADD gives us a foundation for this type of processing.

As for decision-making, I’m increasingly convinced this is primarily captured through official channels such as governing board minutes and agency policies.  I’m not sure there is a mechanism for seeing how the sausage is made, so accessioning correspondence records with this goal in mind may leave us empty-handed.

Finally, if we’re seeking public reactions to government actions, I think many of those reactions are now being provided through alternative media.  There is certainly a long history of Americans corresponding with elected officials — for instance, the FDR Presidential Library has hundreds of letters written to FDR as well as to Eleanor Roosevelt during the height of the Great Depression, including everything from support for legislation to plaintive requests for coats.  But today it seems a lot of this dialogue is instead occurring on social media.  While there are certainly tools that can help archives maintain and provide access to such records, it becomes quite complicated to determine which platforms deserve permanent preservation and whether people’s posts can be captured by an archival institution without the expressed permission of the writer.  And where authenticity has been a cornerstone of the archival profession, social media creates a quagmire of anonymous users and bot posters.

There are certainly no easy answers to the correspondence conundrum.  But I believe the sooner we let go of the notion that we are still living in the halcyon days of meaningful correspondence, the sooner we can begin fashioning some useful tools for and approaches to dealing with the traces of decision-making and public reaction that are actually available today.

Not Your Grandmother’s Correspondence

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Last week, I reviewed a 1967 article about handling general correspondence.  Pinkett noted little value in the correspondence that accompanies case files, so I’ll focus on his commentary about general correspondence to see if I can find any relevant applications to the world of email.

Before I get too far, I want to consider the definition for correspondence.  The Glossary of Archival and Records Terminology defines it in two ways:

  1. Written communication, especially those sent by courier or post; letters.
  2. The process of communicating in writing.

I believe if you ask most people on the street, they would define correspondence as the former.  Once when I was lamenting with an archival colleague the difficulty of appraising correspondence, he exclaimed, “I correspond with my grandmother.  I don’t correspond for work.”

But yet it seems like many archivists prefer the all-encompassing second definition.  In my professional experience, I have certainly found numerous correspondence files that includes not only letters sent and received but also internal memoranda, reports, and other written records lacking in much substance — yet qualifying as correspondence because they are written communications.

I wonder if this is a situation where government archivists have tried to embrace the priorities of manuscript archivists in some attempt to create unity — but without recognizing the distinct uses of correspondence for government employees versus that for authors, for instance.  Pinkett identified numerous values in correspondence, including the ability to understand decision-making and to gauge public reaction to government actions.  While these attributes were probably at some point embodied in government correspondence, the correspondence I’ve scanned from recent decades is much more transactional than it is revelatory.  I was much more likely to find a thank you for conference logistics than an overview of how a new agency policy was developed and implemented.

Explaining the declining value of government correspondence is probably a bigger topic than I can tackle here, but I remember a conversation I had during a consultation with a government agency when we were reviewing their records inventory, and they announced, “We don’t have any correspondence.  We do everything by email now.”  Though it may seem overly simplistic, perhaps this is the best explanation — with the change in our mechanism for communication, we’ve witnessed a change in the substance of our communication.  (There’s also the more nefarious post-Watergate notion that government officials are wary of creating records that could be used against them, but this isn’t the place for that psychological analysis.)

Let’s face it — with our virtually instantaneous communication today, we evidence little forethought or revision because we assume any confusion engendered by the words transmitted can be addressed in a follow-up email.  No longer do we need to buy a stamp and wait for delivery — actions that perhaps caused us to attach more gravity to the words we chose when using snail mail.

But what this means for archivists is that mountains of electronic records are being generated, including not only email but also social media — and the diamonds in the rough are few and far between.  Two of Pinkett’s suggestions could help to eliminate some email bulk by retaining emails only from the “action office” rather than capturing everyone’s reference copies and by ignoring correspondence unrelated to the major functions of the agency.  Yet I’m still not sure we will find that rare specimen that explains decision-making and captures public opinion.

Archivists have been adept at embracing some change in the realm of electronic records — perhaps we now need to consider two new possibilities:

  • look to other allied professions for mechanisms to gauge the research value of email
  • adjust our targets for where we expect to locate the substance of decision-making activities and public reactions to government

If these suggestions sound intriguing, return next week to read my elaboration on these thoughts.

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