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Kids say the darndest things

Friday, October 28th, 2011

A while back I attended a lecture by our fearless leader, the Collector in Chief, Archivist of the United States David Ferriero. Ferriero told an amusing anecdote about his first meeting with the head archivists of all the Presidential libraries. Unbeknownst to Ferriero, the Presidential archivists prepared for the meeting by digging through their collections for traces of the newly-appointed AOTUS—that day, Ferriero was surprised and delighted to be presented with facsimiles of three letters he had written as a youth to his idols, Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson. You can view these fan letters from an adoring schoolboy on Flickr .

Now, that’s a cute story. But if you asked me to rate the adorableness of kids’ letters in the archives on a scale of 1 to 10, I might give Ferriero a 4. For some seriously sweet correspondence, head over to Temple and ask to see the South Street Dance Company records. On a scale of 1 to 10, Marcus here gets a 12: this letter to the South Street Dance Co. is cavity-inducing.

Why is this letter in the archives? Ellen Forman, the founder of South Street Dance Company, was more than just a talented dancer and innovative choreographer: she was committed to using dance as an outreach tool. She developed dance-centric community programs for children as well as the elderly, encouraging inter-generational participation in the arts and community-building. The collection, therefore, is a fantastic resource not only for choreographers and dance historians, but also for anyone interested in creative community engagement programs. Because of the stacks of thank-you letters for kids who enjoyed her programs, this would probably also be a useful collection for someone attempting to come up with a systematic classification system for rating adorable-ness of children’s letters, but we’ll call that a secondary research value…

Unfortunately, the PACSCL-CLIR “Hidden Collections” project is drawing to a close, and the South Street Dance Company records was the last collection that Michael and I had the opportunity to process. I’m happy to say that it left a sweet taste in our mouths. Our sincerest thanks go out to the repositories that hosted us over the past eight months—the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, the National Archives and Records Administration (Mid-Atlantic Region), and Temple University. We would also like to thank YOU, dear reader, for your interest in the project and attention to our blog. Thank you for sharing this wonderful experience with us!

What was my favorite part of working on the “Hidden Collections” project? Well, I think Marcus said it best: “I liked when I danced on stage.”

Posted in All Posts, Celia Caust-Ellenbogen, Collection Processors, Institutions, Temple University Special Collections | No Responses »

M’Carty and Davis: 19th century booksellers

Friday, October 21st, 2011

Have you ever wondered how books were sold in the nineteenth century, long before the advent of Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com? Probably not. I certainly hadn’t—at least not until my processing partner Dan and I started working on the M’Carty and Davis collection at the Rosenbach Museum and Library.

As we learned while processing this collection, nineteenth-century book selling didn’t just happen in the context of a traditional, brick-and-mortar store—at least at M’Carty and Davis, a Philadelphia book-selling and -publishing firm launched by William McCarty and Thomas Davis in 1816. Although it maintained a shop in the City of Brotherly Love, M’Carty and Davis made much of its money through the endeavors of a corps of traveling salesmen who peddled company wares across western Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Virginia.

According to historian Rosalind Remer, author of Printers and Men of Capital: Philadelphia Book Publishers in the New Republic , M’Carty and Davis’ business model differed from that of other booksellers in early nineteenth century America. Their salesmen traveled widely, sold books on the spot, hooked subscribers for future publications, and exchanged inventory with other area sellers. These activities, along with the distribution of mail-order catalogs, linked urban M’Carty and Davis with rural Americans eager for reading material.

The sales journals of M’Carty and Davis’ salesmen are part of the collection now open for research at the Rosenbach Museum and Library.

Posted in All Posts, Collection Processors, Devin Manzullo-Thomas, Institutions, Rosenbach Museum and Library | No Responses »

Item Level Processing – For Realz?

Wednesday, October 19th, 2011

Christiana and I recently had the great pleasure of processing the Julien Levy Gallery records at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. This collection is so rad, we just can’t stop talking about it. Levy, a New York art gallery owner, introduced Surrealism to America in the 1930s and 40s. As a result, his papers are riddled with letters from Salvador Dali, Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, Frida Kahlo, and many more artists and philosophers of the Surrealist movement.

Now, I know you’re thinking – Jenna. Why are you blogging about processing styles when we could talk about the goings-on of drunken Surrealists? Answer: Because I’m still suffering from trauma induced by item-level processing, and I need to talk it out.

The Levy papers came to us with a certain level of previous processing. It’s actually a very impressive story – a secretary for the Levy family, with no previous archival experience, arranged Julien’s papers and created some really thorough, kick-ass excel spreadsheets in lieu of a finding aid. Our job was to re-folder the collection and reorganize the files into a new series list, then import the excel spreadsheets into Archivist Toolkit. Easy, right? WRONG.

Our challenge (or really, Holly and Courtney’s challenge) was thus: how do you take a well-described collection and then un-describe it through minimal processing? Why would you even do that? And what sort of finding aid would we be able to finagle for this truly awesome collection?

While the bosses pondered the tough questions, Christiana and I tackled the excel spreadsheets. We knew that the collection was very well described, and our goal was simply to make the folder titles as uniform and streamlined as possible. But unbeknownst to us, editing the excel spreadsheet would prove to me an emotional journey the likes of which we may never experience again.

From the very beginning, we came across folder titles like this:

Schawinsky, Xanti: To Julien Levy listing income and expenses with reference to the Bourjois drawings, congratulating Julien and Jean’s marriage, foreword to exhibition catalog written by Alexander Dorner, biographical information, greeting cards with photos by Schawinsky, exhibition catalog from Galleria la Colonna in Firenze;

And our personal favorite:

Antheil, George: To Julien and Jean, How are things in New York City?

Can you see what I mean about an emotional journey? First we laughed, then we panicked, and eventually, we just cried. We sat there for weeks, computer drones side-by-side, mouths slack as we inserted a colon here and a comma there. And then one day, Christiana said the thing that would change my life FOREVER.

“Well,” she said, sighing over a particularly long folder title. “That’s item level description for ya.”

My head whipped around. “What?”

She regarded me strangely. “Item-level processing? Here,” she turned back to the computer and typed in a few search words. When she found what she was looking for, she tilted the computer screen to face me. “Here’s the finding aid for a collection I item-level processed a few years ago. Took me forever.”

I stared with increasing horror at the folder titles describing, in minute detail, the topics covered in correspondence, who sent their regards to whom, and exactly how many pages of diaries contained writing. Now, I’m not a complete dummy. I know what item level processing is, at least in theory. But I’ve really only ever done minimal processing. Is THIS why every repository in the world has a backlog? Is this why time seems to slow down as soon as you hit the archives doors?

I’ve never had an opinion in the minimal vs. item level processing debate until now. As someone who comes from a history background, I usually approach archives from a researcher/use perspective. And I can still say that, in my opinion, item level processing is totally unnecessary. If someone can glean enough information from a finding aid to write a freaking book, then it shouldn’t be happening.

I sound like I’ve gone rogue, but seriously. It’s okay to let the researcher do a little work. More often than not, researchers really enjoy the discovery process. If we have the time or resources to do some extra collection description, then of course we should (maximal processing, anyone?) But until then, I think we should focus on getting the collections ready for use as quickly and efficiently as possible.

As for Christiana and I, we may be seeing excel spreadsheets in our dreams for many months to come.

Posted in All Posts, Institutions, Jenna Marrone, Minimal Processing, Philadelphia Museum of Art | No Responses »

Temple University: Haven for Pinko-Commies and Itinerant Archivists

Wednesday, October 5th, 2011

The academy is stereotypically seen as a haven for “pinko-commies” and other subversive intellectuals, so it seems fitting that the first collection Michael and I processed at Temple University was the records of the Socialist Review. Published from 1970-2006 under the various titles Socialist Revolution, Socialist Review, and Radical Society, this lefty periodical was an important forum for socialist discourses at the end of the twentieth century. SR, as it is often abbreviated, was not narrowly focused on socialism, however: its pages were filled with articles on American politics, labor, feminism, racial and sexual minorities, international relations and development, technology and the environment, and cultural and social theory. I even found a submission entitled “Latke vs. Hamentash: A Feminist Critique”!

Michael and I have had the opportunity to process some incredible collections during this project, but the Socialist Review collection is one of my favorites. It is a fantastic resource for anyone studying the intellectual history of late 20^th century American socialist ideology, or any number of new social movements (feminism, worker’s rights, environmentalism, etc.). Many prominent intellectuals were involved with the journal; I found myself star-struck when I stumbled across correspondence with some of my idols, including Noam Chomsky and Barbara Ehrenreich. There is also a lot of material in the collection that is just plain fun, because the editorial board had a sense of humor and joked around a lot. My absolute favorite item is a mock form letter for rejected submissions. Editors could simply check off the reason for rejecting a manuscript: “Stalinist / Workerist / Papist / Foolish,” or provide a more detailed critique: “Your succinct analysis and breezy style make this piece too accessible for readers of Socialist Review. Also you should be aware that a piece as relevant and contemporary as this is—in a word—too current for SR. With a lag time of 10-14 months…We’re primarily interested in material with strong library value—they’re our most important subscribers you know.”

Ever-selfless, we archivists usually say that we do minimal processing for the benefit of researchers, so that they can have access to more collections with less wait time. Of course that’s our primary motivation, but since starting on the Socialist Review collection, I recognize how I, as a processing archivist, am also benefiting from MPLP. The National Archives was supposed to be Michael’s and my last stop on our grand PACSCL-CLIR tour. However, through our efficient use of minimal processing practices, we were able finish ahead of schedule. That meant we had enough time to move on to Temple University, where the Socialist Review papers turned out to be one of my favorite collections. MPLP benefits processing archivists because it allows us to work on more different collections, and that means the opportunity to discover even more important, interesting, humorous, and beautiful materials hidden in the archives!

Stay tuned, because with two weeks left in the project, Michael and I are lucky to have one more collection waiting for us at Temple University…

Posted in All Posts, Celia Caust-Ellenbogen, Collection Processors, Institutions, Minimal Processing, Temple University Special Collections | No Responses »

“Meeting” Celebrities

Thursday, September 22nd, 2011

One thing I have enjoyed most about working for the Hidden Collections Project is the opportunity it has given me to meet famous historical figures. Of course when I say “meet” I mean it in the loosest sense of the word. I think that many people who have been in an archive would agree that when you work with a collection you often feel like you are “meeting” the individuals who created the materials in that collection. I think that this is not only true for a collection’s primary creators who you may get to know very well through their numerous diaries, correspondence and photographs. I think that this is also true for minor creators who may have only contributed a single letter to a collection.

During my time working for the project, I was amazed by how often I came across such letters that also had been written by famous figures. One collection in particular—the Rufus King family papers—truly made me feel like I was rubbing elbows with celebrities. The collection, which is housed at the Rosenbach Museum and Library, is largely comprised of materials that were created by Rufus King and his sons. These men occupied a central position in the political life of the early United States and the collection contains several letters written by figures straight out of a high school history textbook including George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, John Quincy Adams, John Jacob Astor, Dorthea Dix and Zachary Taylor.

Each time I came across one of these letters I felt as though I was being introduced to a celebrity without getting the opportunity to learn more about them. I found in the Rufus King family papers one letter written by each of the figures listed above without other materials that could have enriched the context of those letters. If I were to expand the metaphor of “meeting” historical figures, it was like attending a cocktail party where the King family quickly introduced me to some of their famous friends and allowed me to engage in some small talk with them before politely ushering me away to another group of friends.

Looking back on the short time I spent processing the Rufus King family papers I am grateful for the opportunity it gave me to handle documents written by famous historical figures, but I am more grateful for the lessons it taught me about archival collections. For example, the King family papers reminded me that fame and significance can be very subjective terms. When I came across letters written by “famous” historical figures, I expected that everyone around me would be as excited about my find as I was. However, after sharing these discoveries my excitement was sometimes met with a quizzical look and the question, “Who is that?” That response reminded me of a lesson I had learned in past history and archival courses—there are no universal standards for judging an individual’s historical significance or determining the value of a collection.

The experience also reminded me that it is a good thing that such standards do not exist. Although it was exciting to handle letters written by George Washington, Alexander Hamilton and the like, I discovered that many of these letters were quite brief and offered few insights. In fact, some of the more insightful letters in the collection seemed to have been written by less well-known figures. So, while some will likely value the Rufus King family papers because of the opportunities it gives them to “meet” historical celebrities, others will likely value it for a host of other anticipated and unanticipated reasons.

Posted in All Posts, Collection Processors, Dan Cavanaugh, Institutions, Rosenbach Museum and Library | No Responses »

Stella!

Wednesday, September 14th, 2011

Dr. Stella Kramrisch, the curator of the Indian Art Department at the Philadelphia Museum of Art from 1954 until her death in 1993, exerted a deep and lasting influence on the field of Indian Art scholarship and collecting. For those who are unfamiliar with her life and work, her obituary from the New York Times offers an overview of her life and accomplishments (and, of course, our finding aid includes a fabulous biographic note). She was a force to be reckoned with in the art museum world, a cat lover, and a one-time hyena owner. If you are ever in the PMA’s Indian and Himalayan Art galleries, take a moment to check the provenance of the objects on display. About 2/3 of them were either acquired by Stella Kramrisch while she was curator, bought with funds in her name, or were part of her personal collection, bequeathed to the museum after her death. Clearly, the PMA would not be the institution it is today without her.

Processing her papers presented unique challenges for an MPLP-based processing style:

It had previously gone through the hands of at least two people: an intern in the PMA’s Indian and Himalayan Art Department who had subject knowledge of Indian art and scholarship, and a project archivist at the PMA.
The materials dealt with by these two people were separated in to two distinct chunks (located on opposite sides of the processing room, even).
The project archivist and the intern described and arranged these parts of the collection to different degrees. The intern did not have archival training, but had enough subject area knowledge to write out very detailed folder titles (which were both helpful and problematic for MPLP!) and identify photographs. There was, however, no folder-level arrangement. The project archivist wrote an excellent inventory and arrangement suggestions, and labeled some of the sections of records with paper inserted into the record cartons. She left all materials in their original order, as they were when they were transferred from the Indian and Himalayan Art Department.
Due to the importance of Dr. Kramrisch to scholars from various fields, this collection had been accessed many times between its transference to the archives (piecemeal starting in the mid-1990’s) and our processing. Biographers had pulled materials from their original folders and relocated those documents into new folders to better suit their research and writing needs. And those are the alterations we know about.

My processing partner, Christiana, and I were a little apprehensive before we waded in, expecting that reconciling the contrasting arrangements of two chunks of Stella’s papers would be time consuming and frustrating. We feared that the existing organization created by the intern wouldn’t work for the collection as a whole, and that we would need to pull the contents of those boxes apart while doing some serious interfiling and hefting of record cartons. We found, however, that we could largely keep those series and that the materials from the Indian and Himalayan Art Department would either fit into those or could be put into new (small-ish) series of their own.

We did, however, keep these groupings of materials in separate subseries. For example, there were materials processed by the intern and art department materials that fit into a “Writings and research notes” series. But rather than interfile these records, we put them in two subseries to preserve the distinction between the kinds of processing they received. We thus saved ourselves an awful lot of time that would have been spent interfiling and (I think) made it clearer to researchers how much the materials two subseries had been interfered with, thus making it easier for them to know what to expect when they open a folder.

For me the most challenging aspect of this collection was dealing with folder titles written by someone with lots of subject knowledge, but no archival training. It was time consuming to reword someone else’s titles – which he had put hours of research into – and wrangle them into something that could be alphabetized in a subject file subseries. Titles like “Manuscripts and correspondence on a book on death that SK and Anindita Balsev were going to co-author” or (my favorite) “POPULAR WISDOM !?!” might contain useful information, but aren’t in a format that’s useful to archivists.

But the challenges combined with the opportunity to learn more about Stella Kramrisch made this collection incredibly rewarding to work with. The collection actually seems very similar to Stella herself: full of information, very valuable and obviously loved, but at times difficult to work with.

Posted in All Posts, Collection Processors, Institutions, Minimal Processing, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Sarah Newhouse | No Responses »

Steamy Records at the National Archives

Thursday, August 11th, 2011

Some might assume that the collection of records relating to the Army Corps of Engineers’ public works projects, located at the National Archives at Philadelphia, would be boring. But based on the number of boiler room reports we found in this collection, I’d have to say it’s pretty steamy.

I was excited when my coprocessor Michael and I found out we would be working at the National Archives (NARA), because it was an opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes look into the inner workings of our government’s records program. I was also looking forward to getting to know one of NARA’s first-class collections, so I was pleased to learn we would be processing “General correspondence relating to Civil Works projects originating under the Wilmington and Philadelphia Engineers.” The title isn’t pithy, but the collection is an important one. The Army Corps of Engineers has been under increased scrutiny in recent years because of some major controversies, notably the failure of New Orleans’s Army-designed levees during Hurricane Katrina. The records we processed at NARA provide context for current debates, documenting the failures and successes of the agency in the Philadelphia area during the first half of the 20^th century. Major projects at the Schuylkill River, the Delaware River, and the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, as well as numerous smaller projects, are well-represented in this collection. In addition to correspondence, bids, memoranda—and yes, boiler room reports—the collection is richly illustrated with photographs, blueprints, and maps.

Like everyone else, the National Archives is engaged in a constant battle against processing backlog. So, I’m pleased that Michael and I were able help them out by whipping through our collection in record time: just about 1.1 hours per linear foot! That’s less than 1/2 the average processing time for this project (2.8 hours per linear foot), and much faster than traditional processing techniques. We were able to move so quickly because, unlike some unruly family papers we’ve dealt with before (ahem, Belfield), the Army Corps of Engineers’ records were arranged with military precision. Not wanting to argue with the War Department’s filing system, we kept the existing order and focused on physical rehousing and writing an excellent finding aid.

Soon our finding aid will be posted to the PACSCL Finding Aids site, where researchers can peruse it along with finding aids from other member institutions. We encourage the maritime historians and “bridge nerds” who might already be on the PACSCL site viewing Independence Seaport Museum’s finding aids to also check out this collection. We think they’ll love the blueprints and specifications for bridges and dredging equipment. Marine ecologists already on the PACSCL site to see Academy of Natural Sciences finding aids might also enjoy this collection, which describes in detail changes that the Army Corps of Engineers enacted on nearby waterways. And of course, we hope that YOU, dear reader, will check out the Civil Works projects finding aid before browsing the other incredible finding aids on the PACSCL Finding Aids site.

Posted in All Posts, Celia Caust-Ellenbogen, Institutions, National Archives and Records Administration--Mid Atlantic Region | 1 Response »

What makes a collection “interesting?” Two processors, two opinions, one collection

Monday, August 8th, 2011

My partner, Sarah, and I just finished processing the “FOCUS: Philadelphia Focuses on Women in the Visual Arts” collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art Archives this week. FOCUS was a two-month long city-wide arts initiative in Philadelphia in 1974 that emphasized contemporary feminist art and was run by a group of volunteers comprised of artists, teachers, staff at the PMA, and other local art enthusiasts. This was a wonderful little collection of records (just three linear feet to start with!) that created an interesting dynamic for us as we wrapped up our processing. Part of the finishing touches we put on each collection includes determining and assigning a “research value” for the materials.

The value is calculated on a scale of 1 to 10, which combines a topical interest ranking value with a quality of documentation value. To help determine these values, we ask ourselves questions such as: How frequently have recent researchers sought materials on topics substantially documented in this particular collection? How rare is the collection’s documentation of a particular topic or topics? How extensive is that documentation and how deep or detailed is it? Is there anything missing from the documentation, such as certain important year spans or key figures?

This routine project activity receives neither much attention nor time compared to our other responsibilities, yet it remains one of my favorite tasks. It is a satisfying way to synthesize what I have learned about the collection after immersing myself in it. It also tends to generate enjoyable discussions or even friendly debates. FOCUS was one such collection about which Sarah and I differed slightly in how we wanted to evaluate it. We both could see the obvious value that the collection has and agreed on the quality of documentation value being “rich” or a 4 out of 5. This was because despite the relatively brief existence of the FOCUS initiative, the deliberate documentation of programs and events by internal committees makes this collection an especially comprehensive and robust representation of the group’s activities.

Sarah and I differed in opinion concerning the overall interest and appeal of the topics in the collection. I felt that the collection’s interest value should rate a 4 out of 5 (or “high”) for several reasons. The records most likely would entice individuals and researchers interested in feminist art movements, local Philadelphia history, grassroots community initiatives, non-profit collaborative activities, the grant writing and application process, and even censorship in art. (The collection documents a rather delicious scandal concerning the banning of Judith Bernstein from the Philadelphia Civic Center’s art show because of her “overly sexual” charcoal drawing entitled “Horizontal.”) Sarah thought that the specificity of the materials may alienate some users and information about the specific artists is probably duplicated elsewhere, so the collection’s appeal would not be quite as far-reaching or widespread outside of the Philadelphia community; as such, the value should only be “moderate,” or a 3 out of 5.

While neither Sarah nor I could convince the other that her opinion was best, we ultimately concluded over an amicable snack of tea and cookies (outside of the archives of course!) that it was perfectly fine to disagree. We simply documented in our worksheet that we each felt differently and explained our reasons why. Being able to work independently as well as collaborate with colleagues is one of the true benefits and strengths of this project. Maintaining a dialog with others who view the same work in a different ways helps me to further develop and explore my own opinions, as well as to better understand how other users may approach archival materials. In turn, being exposed to so many amazing collections with this project allows for examination of the on-going question: Why do we as archivists chose the materials we do to be included in the archives?

Posted in All Posts, Christiana Dobrzynski Grippe, Collection Processors, Institutions, Philadelphia Museum of Art | No Responses »

Birth dates and the British Empire

Tuesday, July 26th, 2011

I always feel a mild sense of archivist euphoria (or, perhaps, geek-phoria) when I encounter a document bearing my birth date: July 9. Certainly the oldest such document I’ve uncovered while working on the PACSCL project lives at the Rosenbach Museum and Library: a July 9, 1657, letter written to John Thurloe, British secretary of state under Oliver Cromwell, from one of his officials on the island of Jamaica. “Wow,” I thought, staring at the letter, “this was written 330 years to the date before I was born!”

Imagine my consternation, then, when I read a bit of the letter and discovered it was a sobering missive relating early British colonizers’ attempts to “subdue” the island’s indigenous population. The letter-writer—apparently a British soldier named William Brayne—requests that Thurloe dispatch to the island “bloodhounds” to assist soldiers in “finding and killing” Jamaica’s “wild negroes.” The letter continues: “I am Confident [that] if his Highness did but know how useful they [the bloodhounds] might be here he would cause some to be speedily sent” (Volume 3, p. 121).

The topic of the letter was enough to turn my stomach; the cold, detached, even clinical way in which Brayne discusses the topic made me even more ill. It’s not every day that you read a coolly written letter requesting the tools by which to subjugate an entire civilization.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been too surprised, given the years covered by the John Thurloe papers—1655 to 1660. By this time, the British Empire had established its dominion: in parts of the present-day United States, in many of the smaller Caribbean islands, and in Asia, Africa, and other regions. It had also, by this time, established and consolidated a number of trading companies, like the British East India Company, to administer the colonies and capitalize upon their economic possibilities. Furthermore, the Empire had just signed the Treaty of Westminster, ending the first conflicts in the Anglo-Dutch Wars, and was well-embroiled in the Anglo-Spanish War (1654-1660), which was sparked by commercial rivalry and resulted in the English takeover of Jamaica in 1655.

By the time the Protectorate collapsed and Thurloe lost his job in 1660, paving the way for the return of the monarchy and the further expansion of the British Empire, the “wild negroes” of Jamaica had been sold into slavery, exploited by British trade groups as free labor for the burgeoning sugar cane and coffee industries. (Enslaved Africans were also transported to the island.) A century later, those slaves—who by then well outnumbered their white masters—mounted Tacky’s Revolt, an attempt to overthrown the colonial government. More than two centuries of violence and political maneuvering would ensue before Jamaica could finally become an independent state on August 6, 1962—a mere twenty-five years before my birth, in 1987.

The Thurloe papers at Rosenbach are chock-a-block full of interesting insights into Protectorate-era England (at least for those who can decipher seventeenth-century script). Check out some of my images of the five-volume set below.

Posted in All Posts, Collection Processors, Devin Manzullo-Thomas, Institutions, Rosenbach Museum and Library | No Responses »

Picturing religion

Friday, July 22nd, 2011

Presbyterian Historical Society - RNS 12

What can a photograph tell us about an individual’s religious beliefs and practices? A lot, according to Colleen McDannell, author of Material Christianity: Religion and Popular Culture in America. In that book’s opening chapter, McDannell unpacks a single image—a snapshot of the living room of a home built by the Farm Security Administration—to reveal how wall hangings, knick-knacks, and furniture communicate valuable (and otherwise unobtainable) information about a family’s connection to the divine, the church, and other believers.

McDannell’s analysis came to mind as my partner, Dan, and I began processing the photographic collection of the Religious News Service at Presbyterian Historical Society. The photographs in the collection are nothing like the one McDannell uses in her analysis—most of the images are photojournalistic shots of denominational gatherings, public appearances, or other religion-related activities. Nevertheless, McDannell’s larger point—that a photographic image can tell us just as much or more than the written word—still applies to this fascinating collection.

Since its founding in 1934 by the National Conference of Christians and Jews, Religious News Service (RNS) has operated as a sort of religious Associated Press, sharing religious happenings and religious takes on current events with the broader reading public.

Presbyterian Historical Society - RNS 13

To say that RNS’s photographic records capture every U.S. religion-related event in the twentieth-century would be an overstatement—but not a major one. The photos depict typical national and international “current events”: political ceremonies, summits, and speeches; social events like rallies, protests, demonstrations; scenes from wars and other conflicts; and the like. But they also depict specifically religious events, trends, and observances, and introduce viewers to important contemporary figures in Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish communities.

Some researchers might value this collection for its visual chronicle of major events in twentieth-century American religious history. Indeed, the collection does substantially document the history of American Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish groups during the twentieth century. But for researchers who want to move beyond this narrative usage, the collection might prove useful in raising questions. Why do the photos often document meetings between politicians and religious figures? And why do they so frequently depict those whose religious beliefs and practices make them “different”—Amish, Orthodox Jews, Catholic nuns?

Presbyterian Historical Society - RNS 08

Questions like these point to the real utility of a collection like the RNS photos: scholars of American religious history can take the collection itself as a historical document and consider how its composition—its foci and its lacunae—reveals Americans’ thinking about religious matters during this era. Perhaps RNS focused on political-religious interactions because so many mid-century Americans were concerned about the “dividing wall” between church and state. And perhaps photographers pursued images of the Amish, Orthodox Jews, and Catholic nuns because Americans have had (and continue to have) an ongoing fascinating with the unknowable religious “other.”

Regardless of their value to researchers, the RNS photos—from the breathtaking to the bucolic, from the horrifying to the hilarious—have provided for interesting conversations between my processing partner and me over the last month-or-so. Check out the thumbnails below for some images from our processing work. Photographs may not be used without permission from the Presbyterian Historical Society.