A Critical Review
I think this paper deserves a wider viewing than it's likely to get on the library listserves. If you have some time to read it, you may agree.
"Stuff is eaten by dogs, broken by family and friends, sanded down by the wind, frozen by the mountains, lost by the prairie, burnt off by the sun, washed away by the rain. So you are left with dogs, family, friends, sun, rain, wind, prairie and mountains. What more do you want?" Federico Calboli
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In one of my avatars, I existed as General Collections Coordinator in the library of a small university - distinguished by the fact of being the regional depository for the Federal Publications hard copies, and also because it held the archived collections of a well known sociological study began in the 1920s. It was part of my job description to assist in the "change over" from traditional cataloging to automation. A fortunate assignment in one regard, because I learned to love computers and the internet and have established some true friendships in the the course of that work.
I also presided over "general collections" during an era in which the then Dean of Libraries was intent on bringing the library forward into the land of "business model book storage." The business model resulted in the creation of a rigid "vertical chain of command" ... read that true bureauacracy ... and the chance to understand first hand how it is that government is able to function without recourse to human participation.
It also taught a good deal about the loss of the human element in the *art* of cataloging, and painted in grim colors what it means to lose that "little ole cataloger" toiling away in a dusty back office, hidden behind stacks of primary documents ... you know who I mean; the one who when asked for the most obscure of sources, thinks for a few minutes and says, "Ah yes! When I worked on the Hottentot Collection back in 1920, there was a letter from ....
You get the idea. Trade offs ... at least once we've automated the collective knowledge of mankind, we'll not realize what it was that we left behind.
Sort of like that tree falling in the forest, or the sound of one hand clapping.
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