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Faculty papers : appraisal for acquisition and selection Fournier, Frances Margaret 1990

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FACULTY PAPERS: APPRAISAL FOR ACQUISITION AND SELECTION By FRANCES MARGARET FOURNffiR A.B., The University of California at Los Angeles, 1965 M.L.S., The University of California at Los Angeles, 1966 Ph.D., The University of California at Los Angeles, 1969 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARCHIVAL STUDIES in THE FACULTY OF ARTS School of Library, Archival, and Information Studies We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA May 1990 Q Frances Margaret Fournier, 1990 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the head of my department or by his or her representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Department o f ^ A t ^ fa^i*l<J,*^J-The University of British Columbia Vancouver, Canada DE-6 (2/88) ABSTRACT In the past, little has been written about the systematic acquisition of faculty papers, which are important sources for documenting not only the faculty members themselves, but also universities and the academic disciplines. This thesis investigates the theoretical and practical issues involved in the appraisal for acquisition and selection of faculty papers. The work of the professor is analyzed in terms of the competences that he exercises in carrying out the functions of the university. Interviews with academics verify the functional analysis, confirm the existence of documents predicted by it, and alert the archivist to professors' attitudes that could affect the acquisition of the faculty papers. The account of the interviews is followed by a discussion of various questions concerning the ownership of faculty papers and the most appropriate repositories for them. To further resolve the problems identified, and to lay the groundwork for an acquisition plan, a report is made on interviews and correspondence with archivists from universities and subject discipline history centers and repositories. These sources illustrate current archival practices. It is concluded that most faculty papers belong in a university archives, although there is an important role for the subject discipline history center and repository. The latter institutions offer a different outlook than can be reached through a documentation plan that is focused on one university. To provide a framework for the acquisition of faculty papers, it is suggested that a university-wide records policy be drafted, as the necessary foundation on which to ii base an archival mandate, an acquisition policy, and a plan for the appraisal for acquisition of faculty papers. Finally, the appraisal for selection of faculty papers is analyzed and seen to be primarily a process of weeding rather than the elimination of whole series. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS v INTRODUCTION 1 CHAPTER ONE: THE WORK OF THE FACULTY MEMBER: A FUNCTIONAL ANALYSIS . . 14 CHAPTER TWO: FACULTY PAPERS 41 CHAPTER THREE: APPRAISAL FOR ACQUISITION 79 CHAPTER FOUR APPRAISAL FOR SELECTION 117 CONCLUSION 132 SOURCES 140 APPENDIX A 150 APPENDIX B 151 iv ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Many people were kind enough to participate in interviews and to discuss issues by correspondence during the production of this thesis. I extend my particular thanks to the eight faculty members of the University of British Columbia who took part in structured interviews. I am also grateful to two archivists, Helen Samuels and Kerry Bartels, who actively acquire faculty papers for their repositories, and who were willing to pass on their knowledge and enthusiasm. Terry Eastwood and Robert Will, on my advisory committee, were always ready to supply advice and assistance. My supervisor, Luciana Duranti, provided sound guidance and gave generously of her time and wisdom. My husband, John Fournier, the initial inspiration for the topic of this thesis, offered moral and intellectual support during the months of research and writing. This thesis was partly supported by the Margaret Burke Scholarship, and by a bursary from the University of British Columbia. v INTRODUCTION By his bed, He preferred having twenty books in red And black, of Aristotle's philosophy, To having fine clothes, fiddle, or psaltery... Whatever money from his friends he took He spent on learning or another book... His only care was study, and indeed He never spoke a word more than was need... The thought of moral virtue filled his speech And he would gladly learn, and gladly teach. Geoffrey Chaucer1 With these words, Geoffrey Chaucer sketched his memorable picture of the Oxford Cleric in The Prologue to Canterbury Tales. Although the Cleric was not a faculty member in today's sense of the word, his devotion to knowledge characterized an academic ideal~an ideal which more than a few people find lacking in today's university community. One theory of organization holds that many of today's institutions have become inimical to the goals for which they were originally founded-hospitals make people sicker, universities stifle learning. The professionals represented by these institutions have likewise been attacked. "The medical establishment has become a major threat to health," wrote one social philosopher,2 while a journalist (whose father was a professor) condemned faculty members as "overpaid, grotesquely underworked, and the architects of academia's vast empires of waste."3 The pseudonymous "Professor X" vilified the academic in the very title of his work, This Beats Working for a Living: 1 The Dark Secrets of a College Professor.* The utter damnation, in such polemics, of entire occupational groups-be they physicians or professors-seldom survives much scrutiny. The authors' underlying purpose, other than to further their financial goals, was probably to annoy and provoke discussion rather than establish absolutist and indefensible positions. Still, to focus solely on the faculty member, one cannot help but notice that today's media are far less likely to portray the humble scholar of popular imagination (if ever he5 really existed) than a new, savvy breed of intellectual entrepreneur~the professor as a bio-technocrat, for example. It may be perfectly legitimate, even laudable, to establish a business to pursue research and development that could not otherwise be accomplished. Some writers, however, have suggested that it is easy for an academic to go beyond the bounds of proprietary rectitude. If the desire to create life itself is held to be man's ultimate hubris, then it is not far behind for a professor to contemplate a patent on the human genotype, "the book of life itself."6 The presumed intellectual prowess of the academic has often made him a figure of awe, indeed of suspicion. Sherlock Holmes' archnemesis, Moriarty, the evil genius of London's underworld of crime, was conceived by Arthur Conan Doyle as a professor, indeed a professor of mathematics—that most arcane and mysterious of subject disciplines.7 Even within his own institution, let alone society at large, the professor's relationship with those around him has not always been an easy one. Laurence Veysey, in his seminal work on the intellectual development of the American 2 university, offered the following description of how some professors defended their territory against administrators: Not fully understood, yet known to be necessary, he could hope to achieve the kind of respect-tinged even with fear~which certain primitive societies accord their magicians. Shielded by his books or his test tubes, he could in effect tell strangers, regardless of their official position, "Don't press me too far," and he could often do this without having to open his lips.8 Despite this general apprehension, society as a whole has increasingly turned to academics to solve the complex problems of a complex world. Both in Canada and the United States, an academic as leader has tried to shape the nation according to his image. While Woodrow Wilson, former President of Princeton University, did not achieve his most prominent goals, Pierre Trudeau, a former law professor, did initiate fundamental changes in the constitutional foundation of Canada. In less prominent roles, faculty members have served and continue to serve their country, province, state or community with zeal, which is not to say, however, that the outcome has always been satisfactory. Expert advice can lead to disaster rather than deliverance. For instance, some believe that the intrusion of academics, "the best and the brightest," into the foreign policy of the United States led that country more deeply into the Vietnam War.9 For good or evil the faculty member has used his specialized knowledge to make an impact on Canadian and American life. Burton Clark's designation of the professoriate "as society's main carriers of the values of science and higher learning"10 is an apt observation, and yet, as he noted further: It follows that those who seek to understand modern society can hardly know too much about the academic profession; yet inquiry and insight have lagged. Relatively little is known about what goes on in the profession's many quarters. What is the quality of workaday life for its 3 varied members? How do they conceive of themselves and their lives? What, if anything, holds them together? How autonomous are these professional workers near the end of the twentieth century, and how much are they subject to bureaucratic dictate? What determines the profession's contemporary strengths and its more glaring weaknesses?11 Clark, as a social scientist, attempted to answer these questions through a survey of academics. Their responses gave a fuller and more accurate picture of faculty members than the hazy perceptions reflected in literature and the popular press. Surveys, however, are only one means of examining the academic profession. Another source of information, the professor's archives,12 has been relatively neglected as a source of study. Faculty members themselves have paid little heed to the documentary residue created by their work, and archivists have often aided and abetted the professorial delusion that "It's all published." Although some archivists have been mindful of the value of faculty papers, the systematic acquisition of faculty archives is not a widely-acknowledged component of archival practice. This is evident from interviews and correspondence with archivists and a review of archival literature. Even university archivists do not agree on whether faculty papers should be acquired at all, and, if they are acquired, how they should be appraised for acquisition and for selection.13 There are many reasons why archivists have neglected faculty archives. One important problem has been the nature of university archives, an obvious home for an academic's papers. The establishment and growth of these archives has not proceeded very steadily towards archival perfection. The haphazard historical underpinnings of 4 North American university archives were often manifest in a perplexity about the very nature of archives. Campus archives served as museums for memorabilia, or as warehouses for the overflow of overburdened offices. Seldom did these archives have a clear sense of mission. Often the writing of a university's history prompted the establishment of an archives, and in at least one instance, the university disbanded its archives after the history was completed.14 When a university's administration did envision a more permanent creation, the archives faced the same shortage of trained personnel as did other repositories in North America. Administrators often drew from the labor pool at hand, and drafted a hapless faculty member to fill the role of university archivist. Sometimes this draftee continued to teach as well as manage the archives. It is indeed ironic that even when such an archivist was a history professor, he did not take a more global view of the academic profession and initiate a systematic preservation of his colleagues' papers. Even today academic archives often lack direction and purpose as they are pulled hither and yon to fit a "Procrustean bed" of competing forces.13 The complexity of today's academic profession has also mitigated against its systematic documentation. The relative simplicity of the medieval faculties of law, medicine and theology has given way to what Clark refers to as an "alphabet of specialties." Variety is its name....And opaqueness is its style, for who can fathom an econometrician when he or she is in full stride, let alone a high-energy physicist, a molecular biologist, an ethnomethodologist newly tutored in semiotics, or an English professor determined to deconstruct literary texts?16 5 In particular, how can the archivist, schooled in one or perhaps two subject disciplines before undertaking archival work, fully fathom the intellectual complexities of such research? Even on a superficial basis how can the archivist deal with the potential variety of archival material created by the various academic disciplines? It is understandable that many archivists do not even wish to try. There are additional practical and theoretical questions regarding the preservation of faculty archives. For example, should the archivist solicit faculty papers or merely act as a passive recipient for faculty donors? If the archivist adopts the former philosophy, at what stage in a professor's career should the archivist solicit the academic's papers? Another difficulty arises from the peripatetic nature of academic life. The fact that many professors have taught at more than one institution can pose conundrums to the archivist seeking a rational theory of acquisition. A young scientist may do distinguished research at a lesser-known university which earns him an appointment to a more prestigious institution where his research efforts slow down. Nonetheless, he remains at his second university for a longer period of time. Or, suppose that a historian's most significant intellectual formation occurred at one university, while the public dissemination of that knowledge through articles and books occurred during his tenure at another institution. For all practical purposes, the faculty member is usually free to dispose of his archives as he chooses. He may even elect to donate them to a special subject repository. Yet this element of choice does not 6 negate the responsibility of the archivist to advise the faculty member on the basis of accepted archival appraisal principles. The purpose of this thesis is to elaborate those principles with regard to the archives of academics. It will be proposed that university archivists should acquire faculty papers and that there are effective ways of doing so. Chapter One is an examination of the work of the faculty member in terms of his competences and their potential archival residue. Chapter Two is based on interviews with a varied group of academics who were asked what documents they had created, received, and preserved in the course of their activities. Chapter One, therefore, offers a contextual basis for understanding the faculty papers described in Chapter Two. This description, in turn, tests the analysis found in Chapter One. Also in Chapter Two, faculty members' attitudes towards records management and archival institutions are discussed. Some of the problems posed earlier~for instance, multi-institutional affiliation--are raised, and possible solutions presented. Chapter Three focuses on appraisal for acquisition. The practices of some archivists in universities and subject-based history centers and repositories are examined for guidelines to determine which academics to approach for their papers and at which stage in their careers. The place of faculty papers in the documentation of the university as a whole is also examined. 7 Having received a group of faculty papers, the archivist must then decide what to keep. Chapter Four brings traditional archival appraisal theory to bear on the issue of appraisal for selection. This thesis as a whole draws on various sources. The analysis of the professor's activities in Chapter One is based on personal experiences and published and unpublished works. Some of these published sources used social science techniques such as surveys, interviews, and questionnaires to differentiate the role of the academic in various institutional settings. Other works offer more personal insights into the nature of academic life, either as academic treatises or as biographies. Unpublished sources include a forthcoming work on the documentation of the university by Bridget Blagbrough and Helen Samuels and several preUminary papers on the delineation of institutional functions by Kathleen Roe and Alden Monroe. Chapter Two is based on informal conversations with faculty members at the University of British Columbia, and more formal structured interviews with eight academics at this institution. Five of the eight academics were selected after preparatory interviews with administrators and professors who were asked to suggest faculty members whose papers might best document the functions of the university. They offered about fifty names, from which choices were made to represent various research areas including humanities (Margaret Prang—history), basic science (Michael Srnith--biochemistry), applied science (Norman Epstein-chemical engineering), a profession (Joost Blom—law), and the fine arts (Stephen Chatman—music). Three additional interviewees were picked by the author in consultation with her advisor, to 8 round out the varying activities and backgrounds of faculty members-Nathan Divinsky (a mathematician who also served as a Vancouver Alderman and Chairman of the School Board), Stefania Ciccone (a Professor of Italian, foreign-born and educated, who still maintains close research ties to Italy), and Samuel Rothstein (the first director of the School of Library Science, who was in the process of preparing his papers for the University Archives). Professor Rothstein was interviewed in October 1989. The other faculty interviews took place during January and February 1990 in the faculty member's office or home. The later chapters draw on interviews and correspondence with Canadian and American archivists, Canadian book dealers, and Canadian government officials. In addition, archival literature is used to supply information on university archives and appraisal. The thesis must make frequent reference to the men and women who teach in institutions of higher learning. The term "professor" has historically lacked a precise meaning. In the popular culture of the past, the word has been appropriated by hawkers of patent medicines, spurious musical teachers, or other individuals, often of dubious intellectual credentials, who sought the patina of learnedness that the tide could impart. "Professor" Harold Hill, the charismatic confidence man of Meredith Wilson's popular Broadway show and movie, Music Man, springs to mind. Even today, children or co-workers might teasingly refer to one of their more bookish colleagues as "the professor". "Confidence artists" still abound, in real life, as well as in fictional musicals. Sometimes "professors" are connected with "colleges" or 9 "universities" designated as such institutions "only by the grace of semantic generosity."17 In reference to the documents of individuals who teach at colleges and universities, the expression "professor's papers" has an appealing alliteration to it, and, despite its imprecision, the term "professor" will be used in this thesis, for the sake of variety, as a synonym for faculty member and academic. This term, when used without a qualifier such as "assistant" or "associate," will have a generic meaning without regard to rank. Similarly, the term "professoriate" will be used interchangeably with "academic profession." As for the institutional designation of college or university, this thesis will focus on the professoriate at the latter, defined as a research-oriented, doctorate-granting institution. The author's past educational experiences have made her familiar with an example of such an institution in the United States, and this thesis was written at a research-oriented university in Canada. The functional analysis of the professor in Chapter One and the interviews with faculty members summarized in Chapter Two have been particularly colored by this perspective. Henceforth in this thesis, the unqualified term "university" means a research university. Having thus described methodology and tenninology, it must be acknowledged that these elements are but research tools~the means rather than the end. Even the best tools serve little purpose if they are used for a construction of scant significance. In this introduction, the academic profession has been described in terms of its societal 10 imagery, but even more importantly in terms of the profession's fundamental role in the preservation and advancement of knowledge—that most wonderful of civilization's treasures and potentially its most dangerous. Those who would expand this knowledge have a deep responsibility indeed, as do those who would guard the archives of the professoriate. The tragedy of archival neglect of faculty papers is understandable, but it is now imperative to remedy that neglect. When universities expanded their enrolments in the 1960s, they also had to increase their instructional staff. Many faculty members hired during that era of unprecedented growth will soon be retiring in large numbers.18 Without an archival initiative, they may destroy or lose their professional archives as they relinquish their offices and gradually sever their institutional ties. What might be a deluge of riches will become a mere trickle instead. The prospect of a deluge may seem overwhelm-ing, but the alternative would be worse. 11 ENDNOTES 1. Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, trans. Nevill Coghill (London: Penguin, 1951), 27. 2. Ivan Illich, Medical Nemesis: The Expropriation of Health (London: Penguin, 1976), 11. 3. Charles J. Sykes, Profscam: Professors and the Demise of Higher Education, (Washington, D.C.: Regnery Gateway, 1988), 5 4. Professor X, This Beats Working for a Living: The Dark Secrets of a College Professor (New Rochelle, N.Y.: Arlington House, 1973). See also Martin Finkelstein, The American Academic Profession, A Synthesis of Social Scientific Inquiry Since World War II (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1984). Finkelstein lists other books in the muckraking tradition (p. 2) and also provides a lengthy bibliography of more scholarly studies of the academic profession (pp. 245ff). 5. For simplicity of expression, the words "he," "him," and "his," will be used throughout this thesis to refer to either gender. 6. Jon Palfreman, "Decoding the Book of Life," transcript, Nova television series, Show #1615 (broadcast October 31, 1989 on the Public Broadcasting System), 5-6. 7. Conan Doyle described Moriarty as "the Napoleon of crime..a genius, a philosopher, and an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order...He does little himself. He only plans...Is there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, we will say a house to be rifled, a man to be removed~the word is passed to the professor, the matter is organized and carried out." In all fairness to Moriarty's fictional university, Conan Doyle wrote that Moriarty had finally resigned his chair of mathematics to concentrate on his criminal activities. Nonetheless, Conan Doyle's description of Moriarty's mental prowess and the ease with which he turned his genius towards evil ends suggests society's unease with men or women who are perceived to have extraordinary mental powers. Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Final Problem," in The Complete Sherlock Holmes (Garden City, N.Y.: Garden City Books, 1930), 544. Laurence Veysey's comment below is in the same vein. For a tongue-in-cheek analysis, by a mathematician, of Moriarty's supposed mathematical endeavors, see John F. Bowers, "James Moriarty: A Forgotten Mathematician," New Scientist 124 (December 23-30, 1989): 17-19. This piece is in the best tradition of The Baker Street Irregulars, a literary society founded in the 1930s by Christopher Morley, to promote the mock-serious analysis of the Sherlock Holmes stories. 8. Laurence R. Veysey, The Emergence of the American University (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 355. 9. David Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest (New York: Random House, 1969). 12 10. Burton R. Clark, The Academic Life: Small Worlds, Different Worlds (Princeton: Carnegie Foundation, 1987), xxi. 11. Ibid., xxi-xxii. 12. For the time being, a professor's archives, a professor's fonds, or a professor's papers will be generally defined as those documents created or received by the professor during the course of his work. These documents may be in any medium, such as paper, a photographic print, a tape recording, or a machine-readable diskette. A more complete consideration of the constitutive elements defining the "professor's archives" will be offered in Chapter Two. 13. When an institutional archives receives the records of its own organization, the archivist conducts an appraisal for selection among those records. In other words, the archivist must decide what record series to keep. If that institutional repository also seeks to acquire papers that would not usually be subject to institutional claims of ownership, the archivist first conducts an appraisal for acquisition among archival fonds, and then an appraisal for selection within those fonds after they have been acquired. The ownership of faculty papers, which will be addressed more fully in Chapter Two, can be a thorny issue. For now, it will be assumed that the university archivist first conducts an appraisal for acquisition in order to detennine which academics to approach for their papers. Once the professor has donated his papers, the archivist then conducts an appraisal for selection. 14. Philip P. Mason, "College and University Archives," American Archivist 26 (1963): 164. 15. William J. Maher used this imaginative reference to classical mythology in his recent article on university archives. He suggested that they can be affected by a number of forces beyond their control such as the character, age and mission of the parent institution and the research and teaching interests of faculty members. See his article, "The Current State of Academic Archives, A Procrustean Bed for Archival Principles," American Archivist 52 (1989): 342-349. 16. Clark, xxi. 17. David Reisman, Constraint and Variety in American Education (Lincoln, Neb.: University of Nebraska Press, 1956), p. 49, quoted in Clark, 14. 18. University of British Columbia, Second to None, Service Through Excellence (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 1989), 30-31, hereafter referred to as U.B.C, Second to None. 13 CHAPTER ONE THE WORK OF THE FACULTY MEMBER: A FUNCTIONAL ANALYSIS However much the modern mind may in certain directions be reverting to the ideas and spirit of the old world, education, like so much else in the modern world, will always exhibit a vast and incalculable difference from the education of ancient Greece or ancient Rome just because the Middle Ages have intervened. Hastings Rashdall1 Our civilization honors the names of its great teachers of antiquity. In some cases, the only legacy beyond a name is a corpus of attributed writings and a shadowed memory allowing us to visualize a core of reality within popular legend. Medical historians are not certain what Hippocrates wrote, nor can they verify the traditional depiction of the "father of medicine" lecturing under a venerable fig tree on the Greek island of Cos. In other cases, the historical record provides more reliable information about the doctrines and methods of teachers such as Socrates. These teachers of the past represented no institution, however. Hippocrates awarded no diplomas, even in tradition; Socrates conferred no degrees. One great teacher does not a university make. The university, like the cathedral and parliament, was born in the Middle Ages. As groups of students and teachers gathered together in thirteenth-century Bologna or Paris, unwritten customs crystallized into statutes of organization. Whether the organization was primarily one to protect the masters (University of Paris) or the 14 students (University of Bologna), the routine was similar. Masters lectured; students listened, read, and studied for examinations. The centrality of the teaching function was evident, as was the function of the university to award degrees (the ius ubique docendi or the licentia docendi depending on the university's status) to students who successfully completed the required examinations.2 The teaching offered by the university served to preserve ancient learning that had escaped the intellectual devastation of the early Middle Ages. Finally, in order to sustain the university as an institution that was able to accomplish its main functions, medieval students and masters had to devise procedures and regulations, although the medieval university lacked the bureaucratic overlay of its modern descendant.3 The initial functions of the university grew and expanded into a range of activities beyond the most imaginative visions of any medieval mystic. By the end of the nineteenth century the university had acquired several other major functions. Since medieval times, some individual scholars may have pursued empirical investigations out of sheer curiosity,4 but the imposition of a research imperative upon the institution as a whole is usually traced back to nineteenth-century German universities. From there, travelling North American students brought their perception of the German system to this side of the Atlantic where the Humboldtian vision of the scholar-teacher took root and flourished in the local soils.3 On this continent scholarly research would be characterized in the university by its compartmentalization into departments, which provided an institutionalized expression of the branching of knowledge into various specialized subfields.6 15 To structure, disseminate and advance research in these branches, new subject discipline organizations arose and extant ones were refurbished so that between 1870 and 1900 "every subject in the academic curriculum" was covered.7 From an early date, many university administrators welcomed these learned organizations. They were seen as promoting the reputations of individual faculty members and thereby enhancing the status of the university. Furthermore, although university presidents would have eschewed the term "slave market," they also recognized the associations' value in promoting the visibility of new academic talent.8 To counteract societal suspicion that this new research institution was becoming a bastion of intellectual abstraction, the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century universities also acknowledged that the scholar should offer his expertise to the community at large.9 An important turning point in the United States was the Morrill Act of 1862, through which the federal government provided money to support state universities offering agricultural and mechanical instruction.10 Provincial universities in Canada would be modelled after these land-grant institutions. Some research thus became viewed as a public service that "originated in a client's need and ended in a client's satisfaction," be that client a farm, a business or an industry.11 This concept of service through economic utilitarianism was expanded to include the dimension of service by advising the government. The latter element, along with community education through extension classes, was often called the "Wisconsin Idea," but the spread of the extension movement through Canadian as well as American universities suggested the widespread nature of its appeal.12 Today, an even more fully entrenched 16 ethos of community service means that faculty members can, in good conscience, perform a host of roles from volunteer advisor to paid consultant. The historical functions of teaching and conferring degrees, and the role of the university in the preservation of knowledge and culture became embodied in the generally-accepted modern triad of university functions-teaching, research, and community service. The maintenance of the institutional infrastructure could be posited as a subsidiary but vital function.13 The complexity of these functions merits their examination at a greater level of specificity. For the university to carry out its functions, they must be attached to a juridical person such as the professor.14 In this context, the embodiment of a function in a person may be designated as a com-petence.15 Competences are carried out by means of activities, which are capable of generating a variety of documents. These elements—function, competence, activity-will form the conceptual framework for examining the documents created by the juridical person of the professor. Such a framework is helpful to explain why the documents were created, to place them in a suitable contextual setting, and ultimately to provide a foundation for the appraisal, arrangement, and description of the documents. It is appropriate for such an analysis to begin with the university's function of teaching.16 As the medieval cathedral was consecrated to God, the medieval university was consecrated to learning. The teaching function lay at its core. Even today, many universities will award pride of place to their idealized conceptualization of the faculty member as teacher. He must embody and convey not only the accumulated knowledge 17 of his subject discipline, but also develop in his students the capacity for creative and independent thought and judgment.17 Viewed in this way, the professor's teaching competence comprises another dimension beyond the mere conveyance of rote learning. The twentieth-century expression of the teaching competence subsumes a nineteenth-century vision of university education as sharpening the mind through "mental gymnastics," a glorious "elevation of mental faculties" besides which the accumulation of factual knowledge was but a subordinate aim.18 The professor may demonstrate both aspects of his teaching prowess in some of his other competences-for example, as a researcher, or as an advisor to his community. The professor serves as a teacher when he publishes the results of his research, acts as a consultant for an outside company, or gives a lecture to a neighborhood organization. In this thesis, a narrower definition of the teaching competence will be used, limiting its domain to endeavors within the walls of the university. In this setting, the faculty member teaches students through such means as lectures, laboratory sessions, seminars, and individual tutorials, and he shares his knowledge with colleagues through seminars and lectures. In graduate instruction, the teaching and research competences may become indistinguishable as the professor and his graduate students work together on the same project. In the course of his teaching activities, the professor may accumulate a variety of documents such as course syllabi, lecture notes, or lecture texts that were written out completely. Visual documents such as slides or photographs may form part of the material for the courses. The ready availability of duplicating processes may encourage 18 the faculty member to supplement his oral presentations with handouts such as reading lists, outlines, or other textual information. To provide background knowledge for his teaching sessions, the academic may have retained such sources as notebooks from university days, correspondence with academic colleagues, notes from other professors' courses, and copies of student papers. The faculty member, however, does more than just present subject content and demonstrate methodologies to encourage the development of his students' mental capabilities. His competence as a teacher requires evaluative activities that are of critical importance to both teacher and student. The former receives feedback on the effectiveness of his teaching; the latter learns how to alter study methods and discovers whether or not he possesses talent for further study in a particular discipline. For purposes of evaluation, the professor may require the student to complete short written assignments, term papers, tests, and final exams. Students get back from the professor much of this material after its evaluation. The faculty member, however, may keep some students' papers (the original or a copy) for his own use or to evaluate the student in the future. He may also file master copies of assignments, problem sets and grading keys. Many academics maintain a set of master copies of old tests as a reservoir from which to draw questions; they occasionally keep records of final course marks, and the students' final exams, if these are not preserved in an adniinistrative office. Faculty members frequently write letters of reference about students who seek employment or further education. Professors' files may contain copies of these letters, 19 since the same student often requests subsequent recommendations until his own career is established. In turn, the students may formally judge the faculty member at the end of a course. The faculty member may keep all of the evaluation sheets, those sheets with the most helpful comments, or simply the summary pages, for the sake of comparison over the years. Teaching produces an impressive array of documents, and universities acknowledge the fundamental competence of the academic as teacher, but this competence is also at the heart of a curious incongruity aptly described by Clark: The greatest paradox of academic work in modern America is that most professors teach most of the time, and large proportions of them teach all the time, but teaching is not the activity most rewarded by the academic profession nor most valued by the system at large.19 The most rewarded and valued "activity" is research—in truth a function of the university that comprises many activities. In order to discuss the research competence of the professor, the word "research" itself must first be examined. The commonality of its usage depreciates its worth and belies the fact that it often lacks precise meaning. For the purposes of this thesis, research will be defined solely in the university context. Research is that which researchers do, and for which they receive recognition from the university and from the broader academic and professional worlds of their subject disciplines. More specifically, the word research encompasses the activities undertaken in the generation, discovery, preservation and interpretation of knowledge and our cultural heritage. Such a definition acknowledges the contribution that faculty members in the visual and performing arts make to the academic profession and to society. 20 This specification of the professor's research competence posits a difference between research and what might be termed studious endeavor, i.e., the mastery of an extant body of knowledge within the field. Indeed, as suggested in the previous quotation, many professors neither publish nor perish, and must content themselves with the lesser rewards reserved for the expert pedagogue. That the system, however, rewards research demonstrates that an academic's intellectual identity is ultimately linked to his competence to promote the growth and renewal of his discipline. The knowledge discovered or generated by the faculty member must therefore be committed in final form to the full judgment of his peers. This "final form" usually refers to the traditional apparatus of scholarly publication. Knowledge thus socially shared may ultimately be socially validated and thereby enter into the knowledge base of a discipline.20 In this way it achieves the most lasting preservation. Publication enables the individual academic to support the university's pre-emptive role in the domain of knowledge—a role which rests on societal acquiescence that knowledge is ultimately worthy of acceptance only when "rigorously criticized and rationally analyzed."21 The presentation of research results can also occur in other forms~a concert, a painting, a piece of sculpture, or an architectural plan, for example. The patent process has also become an important means to transfer technological and scientific expertise that has potential commercial applications.22 For the majority of academics, however, publication remains the most significant form of knowledge dissemination, and research "counts" mainly when it is so presented to subject-discipline colleagues. The nineteenth-century physicist Michael Faraday expressed it succinctly: "There are three 21 necessary steps in useful research-the first to begin it, the second to end it, the third to publish it"23 At first glance it may seem foolhardy to outline a common documentary residue for the multiplicity of activities that comprise the research competence in the different disciplines. However, the norms of scholarship mandate some degree of commonality in both the activities and the resulting documents. Whatever the professor's discipline, each research project begins with a problem to be solved or a general topic to be investigated. Unless a pertinent letter, note or diary remains, the initial inspiration for a particular research undertaking may not be documented. Sometimes, however, another professor's work, such as a journal article, may have stimulated the project That article, as well as related material from a literature search, may well form part of the research file. Problem in hand, the faculty member may simply grab pencil and paper and begin to produce a series of rough research notes. If he needs to collect data to solve his problem, his research activities may include visits to libraries, archives, a laboratory, or the field. In some cases, he does not begin to collect his data until he has secured outside funding. To the extent that the North American is aware of grants, they are most commonly associated with the expenses of scientific laboratories, but scholars in the humanities and fine arts apply for assistance to support their research projects as well. In Canada, faculty members may receive funding from an assortment of government and private granting agencies, foreign as well as Canadian. The largest Canadian government agencies, the National Sciences and Engineering Council 22 (NSERC), the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRCC), and the Medical Research Council (MRC) generally contribute only to research expenses, including the salaries of research assistants, but not to the salary of the professor holding the grant. The granting process creates a large amount of documentation such as the original application, a notice of acceptance or rejection of the grant proposal, and perhaps some general correspondence relating to the grant. For successful applications, there will be financial documents such as receipts for equipment and supplies, as well as payroll records for research assistants or administrative personnel. There will likely be progress reports and a final report, as required by the grantor. Much of this documentation, in original or copy form, may be kept in departmental offices or a special university office devoted to grant administration. The faculty member may retain his own copies of many of these records. As the data are being collected or the ideas formulated, the faculty member will keep research notes in some form such as ordinary index cards, lab notebooks, tape cassettes, or photographs. He may confer with his departmental associates to seek their opinion or ask for assistance. Although most academics at times assume the role of the solitary scholar, the stimulation of congenial colleagues, both inside and outside of his home institution, is often of critical importance to a professor's intellectual development and his career. The profitable exchange in the departmental coffee room or at a conference luncheon may not leave a documentary trace,24 but correspondence with academics outside the university may remain in a research file. 23 The professor must finally synthesize and write down his research findings. He may produce and keep versions of his manuscript prior to the one he submits for publication, most commonly as a journal article or a book. In either case, the journal editor or book publisher will usually have the manuscript refereed by one or more academics with expertise in the subject area. In addition to routine letters of transmittal, acceptance or rejection, the faculty member may have saved more substantive correspondence, which could include excerpts of the referee's report suggesting changes or alerting the writer to additional information. After an article is published, the author may correspond with scholars who have read his finished piece. Those academics, in turn, may be motivated to begin their own research project, and thus the documentary cycle begins again. As a final note on the research competence of the professor, one other possibility should be noted. The faculty member may delay publication of his manuscript for a variety of reasons. In some cases, his research has commercial potential, and premature public disclosure could damage patent possibilities. At the University of British Columbia, for example, if a faculty or staff member wishes to patent or license an invention resulting from research done using university facilities or funds administered by the university, then the rights must be assigned to the university, which will share the profits with the inventor. Much of the documentation will therefore not originate with the professor, but rather in the university office whose competence is to handle patent and licensing arrangements. The faculty member may, however, have maintained a signed, witnessed, and dated bound notebook recording his 24 work, and he may have kept copies of relevant correspondence and the disclosure form on which he first reported his invention to the appropriate office. He would also have signed and received copies of the legal instruments relating to the filing and maintenance of the patents.25 The fulfillment of the research competence, along with that of teaching, will occupy the majority of the typical academic's working time. However, a third competence of the professor is generally recognized by universities, although it may be expressed with different words in different institutions. A good illustration of this competence is found in the University of British Columbia's Faculty Handbook: In accepting a university appointment, faculty members assume obligations to the University in addition to their duties as teachers and scholars. They have the responsibility to participate in the life of the University, in its governance and administration, through membership on committees and organizations at Board, Senate, Faculty and Department levels, provided that this participation is consistent with the discharge of their primary responsibilities and with their own abilities.26 Such a statement represents a present-day formulation of the individual faculty member's competence to participate in the university's aa'ministrative function of sustaining its intellectual identity~i.e., maintaining academic personnel and a program of instruction. The professor's competence in this area has shifted over the ages. The autonomous medieval community of scholars controlled the craft of teaching by electing its own members and officials, who together decided the subjects of instruction and examination.27 During the early development of the North American university, these administrative competences were in the hands of governing boards and administrators, but another shift was foretold by the emergence of the modern academic 25 profession from a more primitive sense of vocation.28 This emergence was marked by the academic's assumption of a research competence, and the concomitant development of the intellectual disciplines.29 Increasing disciplinary specialization led to a certain degree of self-determination, as nineteenth- and early twentieth-century professors learned to convert their expertise into a powerful force that worked from below. Talcott Parsons noted the logical extension of this determinant: not only couldn't governing boards or university administrators fathom complex academic specialties in their entirety, even academics were hard-pressed to understand each other's subjects beyond a certain level. The university, therefore, became a highly decentralized organization, functioning by a "collegial associationalism," which is antithetical to bureaucracy in many respects.30 The faculty member's competence in sustaining the university is accordingly described as discipline-based and organizationally rooted in the department "where disciplinarians nest in their institutional setting."31 At that level, the academic's participation in administrative matters centers on recruitment, retention, and advance-ment of faculty; curriculum; and selection of graduate students. The professor's competence in these areas is officially one of advice; the faculty member has a competence as an individual to participate in a group which has competence as a whole. For instance, in promotion or tenure cases, department members voice their collective judgment, which will not take effect unless confirmed at a higher level, such as the faculty, the presidential level, or both. Similar procedures occur in curriculum development, as individual faculty members may initiate a new course or program, which must then be approved by colleagues, and also by an academic body 26 at the faculty or university level. Many of these higher committees, however, are themselves composed of faculty members to whom an extra competence has been assigned for the duration of their committee service. The academic's competence in such extra-departmental bodies is related to a wider context, namely that of the faculty or university. The faculty member's competence in administrative matters can therefore take shape in a range of activities carried out at organizational levels from the department to the Senate and Board of Governors.32 The professor may create or receive many documents, whose variety can only be suggested in the present study. For example, at the departmental level, the professor may serve on a committee concerning hiring priorities. The departmental office may have a brief final report, but the individual faculty member may keep a file with any minutes, notes, memos and other documents that led up to the final report. Professors may also have in their files copies of confidential letters of recommendation concerning candidates for appointment, tenure, or promotion. Universities will vary in their policies on the preservation of such documents, but even if official policy requires their destruction after use, some professors may not comply.33 The activities of the faculty member in curriculum development may cause him to keep his own files of reports, minutes, memos, and correspondence. For example, if a professor were responsible for initiating a new course, he may well keep a file that reflects his interest in his academic "child." Similarly an academic may be sufficiently interested in curriculum revision to keep files concerning this matter. 27 At times, the professor assumes an administrative competence beyond the walls of his own institution in fulfillment of the university's function of service, both to the scholarly community and to the community at large. Because he is competent in his subject field, the faculty member may be awarded a competence by other universities to evaluate their faculty members for promotion or tenure, or to be part of a process for reviewing one of their departments or faculties. As well, government or private agencies may ask him to adjudicate grant requests. In both kinds of cases, the professor will probably keep copies of the confidential letters that he wrote in fulfillment of these requests. The academic's specialized knowledge may also be reflected in services that he performs for various subject-based organizations. These include large groups such as the American Association for the Advancement of Science which cover the entire spectrum of science and engineering; umbrella organizations such as the Modern Language Association or the American Chemical Society, which include a number of specialized associations; and groups which are limited to one discipline such as the Canadian Mathematical Association. Academics who also practice such professions as medicine and law will be members of the local and national organizations in these fields. Faculty members may belong not only to their own national subject-based organizations, but also to the corresponding associations of other countries and to international groups. 28 As suggested earlier, the development of these organizations marked an important step in the differentiation of the modern academic profession from a higher form of school teaching. Even so, although they served as powerful vehicles of professional status, they were characterized by an egalitarian nature from the start. John Franklin Jameson, a leading scholar of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries,34 recalled how he discouraged the British ambassador from founding an honorific body to control the future of the humanities. I told him that I did not believe such a plan was consistent with American ways, and that what such an Academy might accomplish was being achieved well enough by our various humanistic societies, with their broad membership, and the representative and elect quality of their guiding officers.33 The inclusive nature of the subject-discipline organization is likely to lead to some degree of participation from many faculty members. Some academics may simply receive a society's journal and attend its conferences. This behavior represents a passive relationship. On the other hand, the faculty member may participate in an organization as a committee representative or as a member of its executive, thereby exercising' a competence. In the area of publication, he may serve on the editorial board of one of its journals or as an editor. The professor most commonly exercises a competence for a subject-based organization when he referees a colleague's manuscript for a scholarly journal. This competence represents a critically important service to the academic community because it allows research results to be published on the basis of supposedly impartial evaluation of merit The ethos of science, as expressed by the Mertonian ideal of 29 universalism, thus informs all of academe.36 In theory, if not always in practice, all those who are worthy will have access to the trough regardless of their rank or institutional affiliation.37 The professor's membership or competence in these organizations may be reflected in some of his files. They can include correspondence, meeting agendas, minutes, membership lists, routine mailings, conference programs, and election material. If the professor served as a referee, he may have retained copies of his evaluations of papers. His service as an association officer or editor, however, may not be reflected in his papers if the office were a rotating one which passed between scholars. For example, the documentation of a journal which does not have a permanent location at one university would have to be shipped to the next editor at his home institution. An association officer may similarly have passed on all files, returned them to a central headquarters at the completion of his term of office, or, for his own information, he may have kept some supplemental files that were not needed for the continuity of the organization. Service to the professoriate has its origins in the faculty member's need to support the academic freedom that he views as essential to his teaching and research. This service may involve the professor in two roles~as a member of a general body of academics such as the Canadian Association of University Teachers (CAUT), and as a member of the local institutional equivalent, the Faculty Association. The CAUT was founded in 1951, and, like its American counterpart, the American Association of University Professors founded thirty-six years earlier, the CAUT acts to promote the 30 interests of its members in such areas as academic freedom, tenure, and university government.38 An example of a local Faculty Association is the one at the University of British Columbia. This Association generally serves as the faculty's representative body in bargaining with the administration. Criteria according to which the faculty are assessed and judged are specified in the Faculty Handbook, and changes in this Handbook must be agreed to by the Association and the Administration. As in the case of subject-discipline organizations, the academic could just be a passive member of the CAUT or his local faculty association, or he could exercise a competence through participation on committees or the executive. In the latter case, the faculty member's files may contain more than the associations's routine mailings, and could include administrative or operational documents that the organization did not ask to be returned. The university acknowledges that, besides service to the scholarly subject disciplines and academic profession in general, service to the community at large is also one of the university's functions. Sometimes, the university carries out this function through extension or continuing education classes in which regular faculty members may participate. In so. doing, they also exercise their competence as teachers, but to a wider audience than just students and colleagues. At other times, academics may be approached by members of the public. Many elements within the community see the university as a pool of expertise, representative of the diverse interests of a research-oriented faculty. Professionals in law or medicine often consult their academic brethren on specific cases; business or industry may seek advice from a faculty member about a management or production problem; a branch of government may 31 request an academic to prepare a report, testify before a hearing, or exercise his consultancy role on a more extended basis by serving on government boards or commissions. The electorate may award the professor a leadership role as a political official on a municipal, provincial or national basis. In all of these cases, the competence is awarded to the academic from a source outside the university, but the activities carried out in fulfillment of that competence also fulfil the university's function of community service. Some academics have questioned the nature of this function and stressed the obligation of the professor to be the critic of society rather than its servant. They decry the academy's loss of intellectual independence when its scholars merely validate contemporary values by serving the immediate needs of an industrial society.39 Nonetheless, the links between university and community appear firmly forged for the present, and an archivist who would document the professor and his institution must consider this larger environment. The range of activities involved in service to the broader community is even wider than the range of activities carried out in service to the university and to the scholarly disciplines. On a small scale, the documents created or received during public service activities can include such items as correspondence, reports, or drafts of speeches. When the nature of the consultancy involves a larger commitment of time and effort, the professor may create or receive any of the documents suggested for a research project. If the results of the project are published, the faculty member's 32 competence to publish (conferred on Mm by his university status) succeeds his competence to serve the outside interest that initiated the project. This concludes the functional analysis of the work of the faculty member. The discussion has provided a contextual foundation for studying professors' papers as preserved in their offices or in archival repositories. It is now time to shift from high generalization to specific reality, and look for examples of the record types discussed. Interviews with academics and observations of their papers will lay a groundwork for the appraisal of faculty papers. 33 ENDNOTES 1. Hastings Rashdall, The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, new ed., F.M. Powicke, and A.B. Emden, 3 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), 3:459-460. 2. Rashdall, 1:8-17. Also Charles Homer Haskins, The Rise of Universities (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1923), 11-14, and Richard Hofstadter and Walter P. Metzger, The Development of Academic Freedom in the United States (New York: Columbia University Press, 1955), 6. 3. Contrary to the notion that the medieval university was a humble consortium of quiet scholars and students, Hofstadter and Metzger described the relative militancy of this institution. The universities were powerful corporate entities which derived autonomy from the decentralized power structure of medieval society. If one town proved inhospitable, masters and their pupils might simply move to another. Hofstadter and Metzger, 5-10. 4. Stephen F. Mason, A History of the Sciences (New York: Collier, 1962), 114-117. 5. Matthew W. Finken, "On 'Institutional' Academic Freedom," Texas Law Review, 61 (1983): 822-823. Hofstadter and Metzger, 369-407. 6. Although the development of university departments can be traced back to Harvard and the University of Virginia in the 1820s, "the department" did not acquire its present sense of meaning until the 1890s. Hugh Hawkins, "University Identity: The Teaching and Research Functions," in The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1979), 293-294. For a further discussion of the reasons behind the formation of departments, see also Veysey, 324, and Fritz Machlup, Knowledge: Its Creation, Distribution, and Economic Significance, vol. 2, The Branches of Learning (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 151-156. 7. Walter P. Metzger, "The Academic Profession in the United States," in The Academic Profession: National, Disciplinary, and Institutional Settings ed. Burton R. Clark (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 136. For a general discussion of Canadian scientific and learned societies, see Peter J. Bowler, "The Early Development of Scientific Societies in Canada," in The Pursuit of Knowledge in the Early American Republic: American Scientific and Learned Societies from Colonial Times to the Civil War, ed. Alexandra Oleson and Sanborn C. Brown (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976), 326-339. Bowler noted that nationalism, rather than professional motivations first drew Canadian scientists together in 1882. "In a sense, Canadian scientists united behind the Royal Society because they recognized a nationalistic purpose diametrically opposed to their professional inclination to become absorbed into the body of American science." (Ibid., 328) 8. Hawkins, 298. 34 9. The first glimmerings of the community service tradition have been traced back to the medieval period. Hofstadter and Metzger noted that "...the faculties of the great institutions—Bologna, Paris, Oxford—were consulted again and again on vital questions of doctrine and law, and were expected to state their findings and intervene in ecclesiastical and social affairs." Hofstadter and Metzger, 7. 10. Veysey, 15. 11. Ibid., 382. 12. Veysey, 108; Robin S. Harris, A History of Higher Education in Canada: 1663-1960 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 254-257. In Canada, the early leader in continuing education was the University of Toronto, which sought to make a university education more accessible to a geographically dispersed clientele. 13. For another discussion of the functions of the present-day university, see the forthcoming book, Documenting Colleges and Universities, by Bridget Blagbrough and Helen Samuels. In the July 1988 manuscript of the book, Blagbrough and Samuels expand what they describe as the university's traditional mission-teaching, research, and community service—into seven functions, that is, sustaining itself, conferring credentials, socializing, conveying knowledge, advancing knowledge, maintaining culture, and providing community service. "Preface," p. 17. 14. A juridical person is a collection or a succession of persons. For a fuller understanding of this concept, it is helpful to consider the legal distinction between a natural and an artificial person. The latter is also referred to as a corporation, which can be "a single person and his successors, being the incumbents of a particular office, but ordinarily consisting of an association of numerous individuals. Such entity subsists as a body politic under a special denomination which is regarded in law as having a personality and existence distinct from that of its several members, and which is, by the same authority, vested with the capacity of continuous succession, irrespective of changes in its membership...and of acting as a unit or single individual in matters relating to the common purpose of the association, within the scope of the powers and authorities conferred upon such bodies by law." Henry Campbell Black, Black's Law Dictionary, 5th ed. (St. Paul, Minnesota: West Publishing Co., 1979), 307. 15. Archivists are demonstrating a growing interest in the role of function in archival theory and practice. For example, Kathleen Roe and Alden Monroe, during a 1988 Bentley fellowship, explored the history and uses of functional analysis. They have kindly supplied the author with a summary of their research as well as a chapter from a forthcoming book aimed at librarians and special librarians. In their attempt to define function, they have initially described it as "an area of responsibility in which an organization conducts activities in order to accomplish a purpose. "(Alden N. Monroe and Kathleen Roe, "The Role of Function in Archival Practice," unpublished manuscript, 1988, 11). They have, in fact, offered a definition of competence. A function (for example, conveying knowledge) comprises a group of activities, considered abstractly, which are necessary to accomplish one purpose. An intermediate 35 element is needed to link function with the activities creating the tangible documents with which the archivist deals. In other words, if a particular function is to be effected, it must be attached to one or more juridical persons. The attachment of a function to a juridical person is designated as that person's competence, i.e., the authority that person has been given to accomplish an act. Competence often coincides with responsibility, the obligation to answer for an act. However, at times one is competent to carry out an act, but not ultimately responsible. For example, a student participating in a professor's research project may be given the competence to perform an experiment, but should the student submit incorrect figures, the ultimate responsibility (in the judgment of the academic discipline) would lie with the professor who published research based on poor data. For a further discussion of competence and responsibility, see Luciana Duranti, "Diplomatics: New Uses for an Old Science. Part III," Archivaria 30 (Summer 1990): in press. 16. The analysis of the work of the professor was derived from a variety of sources. In addition to the other works listed in subsequent endnotes, the following works were of general value: James A. Perkins, ed. The University as an Organization (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1973); Howard R. Bowen and Jack H. Schuster, American Professors: A National Resource Imperiled (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986); Logan Wilson, American Academics : Then and Now (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), and Finkelstein. 17. U.B.C., Second to None, 9-11. 18. Veysey, 23-25. For another description of college education as a "discipline of the mind," see Matchlup's account of an early nineteenth-century statement by the faculty of Yale, which eloquently puts forth the case for a broad, classical education. Matchlup, 135. 19. Clark, 98-99. In other sections of his work, Clark touches on an often-raised question: Does a good researcher make a better university teacher or a more distracted one? Hermann von Helmholtz expressed the sentiment in favor of research most eloquently, "Whoever wants to give his students complete conviction about the accuracy of his statements must first of all know from his own experience how one wins conviction, and how one does not...this means that he must have worked on the boundaries of human knowledge and conquered new realms for it. A teacher who imparts convictions that are not his own is sufficient for students who are to be directed by authority as the source of their knowledge, but it is not for such as those who demand a foundation for their conviction down to the very last fundamentals." Hermann von Helmholtz, "Ueber die akademische Freiheit der deutschen Universitaten," in Vortrage und Reden (Braunschweig: n.p. 1884) 208-209, quoted in Hofstadter and Metzger, 389. 36 A thorough discussion of the teacher versus researcher debate is beyond the scope of this thesis, although this issue will appear in a somewhat different form in the discussion of appraisal for acquisition. 20. Robert Merton noted that "for science to be advanced, it is not enough that fruitful areas be originated or new experiments developed or new problems formulated or new methods instituted. The innovations must be effectively communicated, to others. That, after all, is what we mean by a contribution to science--something given to the common fund of knowledge." Robert Merton, "The Matthew Effect in Science," in The Sociology of Science, ed. Norman W. Storer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973), 450, hereafter referred to as Merton, "Matthew Effect." Edward Shils concurred that "the very structure of science absolutely requires publication. However stimulating oral and epistolary communication are and however much they have entered in recent years into the constitution of the scientific communications system, no scientific action is complete until it has been written and published." Edward Shils, "The Profession of Science," Advancement of Science 24 (June 1968): 473. 21. Edward Shils, "The Order of Learning in the United States: The Ascendancy of the University," in The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 46. 22. Joan Haas, Helen Samuels, and Barbara Simmons have studied and described the activities which comprise scientific and technological research, and which effect the dissemination of knowledge in these fields. They have provided a helpful listing of the documentation created during such activities. See Joan K. Haas, Helen Willa Samuels, and Barbara Trippel Simmons, Appraising the Records of Modern Science and Technology: A Guide (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1985). 23. Michael Faraday, quoted in Robin Harris, A History of Higher Education in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 78. Harris does not give the source of Faraday's quote. 24. Occasionally, one of the participants does recall a significant informal encounter thus verifying the existence of such exchanges. For example, see an account of the meeting of Francis Crick and the Cambridge mathematician John Griffith in the tea queue at Cambridge. Robert Olby, "Francis Crick, DNA, and the Central Dogma," in The Twentieth-Century Sciences: Studies in the Biography of Ideas, ed. Gerald Holton (New York: W.W. Norton, 1970), 245. We probably learn about such recalls most frequently in oral history interviews or in published personal memoirs, neither of which is the province of the archivist. 25. University of British Columbia, The Faculty Handbook (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 1985), E-17 to E-21, hereafter referred to as U.B.C, Faculty Handbook. 37 26. U.B.C., Faculty Handbook, G-ll. 27. Hofstadter and Metzger, 6. 28. Metzger went so far as to propose that the academic profession existed "for decades and perhaps for centuries-before the specialist professions came on the scene." However, he characterized the early occupation of academic teaching as a traditional rather than a modem profession. The former was a profession which had evolved to the "limits of its type." If one were to deny that status to early academics, one would also have to deem early clergymen, doctors and lawyers as non-professionals. Metzger, 164-166. 29. Clark, 101-102. Metzger, 185-186. 30. Talcott Parsons, "The Strange Case of Academic Organization," Journal of Higher Education 42 (June 1971): 489. Describing the further power shifts among the various constituencies of the university community would require a lengthy analysis. Suffice it to say that academics such as Murray G. Ross have expressed concern about the erosion of professorial power. He commented, "The rationale for self-government by masters was that they possessed the knowledge, experience, and expertise to govern. The reform movement of the sixties was based on a different philosophy. It assumed that students and employees of the university possessed a kind of "organizational citizenship" that entitled them to representation in decision making." He concluded with a question, "Can a university survive without a dominant role in it for its best professional teachers and researchers?" Murray G. Ross, The University: The Anatomy of Academe (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1976), 182, 186. See also Murray G. Ross, "The Dilution of Academic Power in Canada: The University of Toronto Act," Minerva 10 (1972): 242-258. 31. Clark, 96. Kenneth Ruscio's words of caution are also appropriate at this point He noted that any simple model of university governance was but a "heuristic device" that did not quite capture reality. With particular reference to the academic's authority role, Ruscio added "As higher education institutions require more and more manage-ment, the role of the faculty in governance evolves and adjusts to local conditions." Kenneth P. Ruscio, "Many Sectors, Many Professions," in The Academic Profession: National, Disciplinary and Institutional Settings, ed Burton R. Clark (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 349. The present study can only suggest the complexity of the individual professor's position in an ever-changing matrix of authority. 32. Canadian universities are traditionally governed by a two-tier system—a Board of Governors, composed primarily of non-academics with authority over administrative matters, and a Senate, composed primarily of faculty members with authority over academic affairs. The University of Toronto, which adopted a unicameral governing body in the early 1970s, is a notable exception to the pattern. 38 33. These policies may need to be re-examined one day. In the United States, the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission recently won a Supreme Court case which allowed the Commission to obtain confidential tenure evaluations. So far, these cases seem to involve institutional records rather than files kept by individual professors. Alan Andrews, "Academic Freedom & Tenure Column," CAUT Bulletin 37 (February 1990): 8-9. 34. In 1882, Jameson received the first Ph.D. in history ever awarded by Johns Hopkins University. His degree, one of the first doctorates granted in the entire United States, illustrated the new, Germanic, research-oriented trend of the American university. Jameson holds a place of honor among archivists for his pivotal role in establishing the National Archives of the United States. See Victor Gondos, Jr. J. Franklin Jameson and the Birth of the National Archives: 1906-1926 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981). 35. J.F. Jameson to Edward C. Armstrong, 21 July 1926, A.C.L.S. Correspondence, American Historical Association Archives, Division of Manuscripts, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C, quoted in John Higham, "The Matrix of Specialization," in The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 10. 36. The Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society laid the foundations for the refereed journals of today. As Robert Merton and Harriet Zuckerman noted, "the new scientific society and the new scientific journal persuaded men of science to replace their attachment to secrecy and limited forms of communication with a willingness to disclose their newly found knowledge." Robert Merton and Harriet Zuckerman, "Institutionalized Patterns of Evaluation in Science," in The Sociology of Science, ed. Norman W. Storer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973), 467. 37. This chapter must be limited to a generalized picture of the academic's activities. It is worth mentioning, however, that, particularly in the realm of science, the usual composite picture is a "somewhat incomplete and idealistic representation." William Broad and Nicholas Wade, Betrayers of the Truth (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982), 19. Even Merton acknowledged the presence of flaws in the system when he described the Matthew effect, a biblical allusion to the Gospel According to St. Matthew which stated that "For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath." Merton, "Matthew Effect," 445. Merton believed that a more prominent scientist would often receive credit at the expense of a lesser known one. He concluded that "When the Matthew effect is thus transformed into an idol of authority, it violates the norms of universalism embodied in the institution of science and curbs the advancement of knowledge. But next to nothing is known about the frequency with which these practices are adopted by the editors and referees of scientific journals and by other gatekeepers of science." Ibid., 457. 39 Merton wrote his article in 1968. Since then, various researchers have studied the referee process for journal articles and the peer review of grant applications. Their studies have produced equivocal results regarding the merits of these systems. An article by Merton and Zuckerman suggested that for the Physical Review, the refereeing system worked without a bias towards the better-known physicists. Merton and Zuckerman, 460-496. Another study indicated that a referee was more likely to recommend acceptance of a manuscript that coincided with the referee's perspective on a controversial issue in child psychology. Michael J. Mahoney, "Publication Prejudices: An Experimental Study of Confirmatory Bias in the Peer Review System," Cognitive Therapy and Research 1 (1977): 161-175. Regarding the peer review system of grant applications, Stephen and Jonathan Cole and Gary Simon found that "luck of the reviewer draw" affected the acceptance of applications. (Stephen Cole, Jonathan R. Cole, and Gary A. Simon "Chance and Consensus in Peer Review," Science 214 (1981): 881-886. Such evidence supports Broad and Wade's contention that "peer review and refereeing are at best coarse screens." (Broad and Wade, 106) 38. Ross, 206-209. 39. Peter Schrag, "The Dissenting Academy," Saturday Review 51 (February 17, 1968), 63. 40 CHAPTER TWO FACULTY PAPERS The academic world has a relatively high tolerance for idiosyncrasy in work habits. Kenneth Ruscio1 Some observers of the educational scene would say that Kenneth Ruscio is far too mild in describing one of the salient characteristics of university life. Faculty members, as individuals working on the frontiers of knowledge, are paid to think differently—from society and from one another. Nonetheless, Ruscio's remark is an appropriate quotation to mark the transition from an abstract discussion of the common competences of the professor to the presentation of the reality which a university archivist must confront in dealing with actual academics as individual record keepers. That reality will be represented by interviews which undertook to explore the validity of the functional analysis just proposed and to verify and illustrate the existence of documents predicted by the analysis. Furthermore, the interviews will serve to reveal faculty attitudes towards their papers and towards archives. An understanding of these attitudes could assist the university archivist to develop a more effective strategy for the acquisition of faculty papers, and, as well, create a more effective program for managing the administrative records of the institution. 41 The group of professors of the University of British Columbia (U.B.C.) who participated in either structured or less formal interviews2 about faculty papers included some academics who are currently on staff, and some who have retired. It would be a misnomer to term these categories "active" versus "retired," because, as a professor expressed it, ""We tend to think of retirement as being an event, but in fact, it is a process and you become more and more retired, ... but I have really kept quite busy."3 This style of retirement should be taken into account by the archivist who appraises faculty archives for acquisition. In order to provide a context for the findings of the interviews, it is appropriate to present some information about each faculty member interviewed formally. Samuel Rothstein was the Founding Director, in 1961, of the School of Librarianship (now the School of Library, Archival and Information Studies). After relinquishing the Directorship in 1970, he continued to serve the school as a Professor until his retirement in 1986. Rothstein is currendy sorting through his papers in preparation for donating them to the U.B.C. Archives. Joost Blom, a Professor in the Faculty of Law, specializes in contracts, private international law, and tax law. A member of the faculty since 1972, he has served as President of the Faculty Association and as an Associate Dean of the Law Faculty. Blom helps to provide continuing professional education for lawyers, and he counsels law students on post-graduate legal study. 42 Margaret Prang, a specialist in Canadian history, taught briefly at United College in Winnipeg before assuming her post at U.B.C. in 1957. Prang was elected President of the Canadian Historical Association, and she is one of the few women who served as a Department Head at U.B.C. Although now officially retired from the University, she is continuing her historical research and looks forward to completing a book on Caroline MacDonald, a Canadian missionary who promoted prison reform in early twentieth-century Japan. Stefania Ciccone is a Professor of Italian in the Department of Italian and Hispanic Studies. She earned a master's degree in physical chemistry before turning to the study of Italian literature and joining the U.B.C faculty in 1963. She currently teaches a range of courses from beginning Italian to advanced Italian literature. Active in her local ethnic community, Ciccone coordinated a cable television series, Personaggi e Vicende della nostra Terra, on the development of Italian culture. Nathan Divinsky, a Professor of Mathematics, came to U.B.C. in 1959. He has combined his university career with public service, first as a member (1974-1977), and then Chairman of the Vancouver School Board (1978-1979), and finally as a Vancouver Alderman (1980-1981). Known for his ability to teach large classes in undergraduate mathematics, Divinsky has played on Canada's Olympic Chess Team, and served as its captain. He is also a successful restaurateur. Norman Epstein's career on the faculty at U.B.C. began in 1951, when he joined the Department of Chemistry. In 1954, he became one of the founding 43 members of the Department of Chemical Engineering. Epstein served as President of the Canadian Society for Chemical Engineering and, although retired from U.B.C, he is currently editor of the Canadian Journal of Chemical Engineering. Stephen Chatman, a Professor in the School of Music, is a composer who also teaches orchestration and composition. On the U.B.C. faculty since 1976, Chatman has written choral compositions, instrumental and orchestral music, and pieces for musical instruction in schools. As Co-Director of the Contemporary Players Ensemble, a student musical organization at U.B.C, he helps to arrange the group's programs and performances. Michael Smith joined the U.B.C faculty in 1966, and became Director of the Biotechnology Laboratory there in 1987. He is also a Professor of Biochemistry. Smith was originally educated as a chemist, but his research interests led him into the study of nucleic acids, a field where he and his research teams are highly regarded. Recently named to head one of the Canadian government's "Centres of Excellence," he will work with twenty-one scientists from five centers across the country to develop processes and products for this country's biotechnology industry. These brief descriptions of eight individuals in the university setting suggest the variety of ways in which the competences of the professor find expression in the activities described in the previous chapter. The methodology of this thesis did not permit any one individual's papers to be thoroughly reviewed, as would happen during the process of arrangement and description in an archival repository. However, the 44 interviews and observations did bring to light some specific examples of the documentary residue resulting from the activities of these academics. These examples will be examined as a prelude to synthesizing general conclusions about the record-keeping practices and attitudes of faculty members. Preparing and delivering lectures are two activities within the teaching competence. A professor's lectures may draw on many sources, including, at first, the notes he took as a university student. It was interesting to observe that faculty members tend to save these notes long after their immediate usefulness must have passed. As Divinsky expresses it, "A lot of the stuff we learnt and talked about at the University [of Chicago] has never been published and it is the way I understood it and learnt it."4 Until last spring, Prang had kept the notes she took in courses taught by Arthur Lower, William Morton, Frank Underhill, and Donald Creighton.5 As for the lecture notes themselves, professorial styles vary. For example, in elementary classes of Italian or calculus, where the subject material is relatively stable, some faculty members do not prepare teaching notes at all. Even in a small advanced course, Ciccone feels that notes impede her from addressing the needs and preferences of individual class members.6 Other professors make ephemeral notes, just before class, as a memory aid to serve the immediate requirements of the next hour, and then destroy the notes afterwards. In at least one case, the instructor's concept of course content and methodology became expressed as a set of notes for students, which was duplicated and sold through the U.B.C. Bookstore. These notes later became a formal textbook, although by that time the exigencies of commercial publishing had mandated 45 additions and changes to the original manuscript. In the end, the textbook reflected a more generic version of the subject than the specific one which was taught at a particular time at U.B.C.7 When formal lecture materials are prepared, they could include completely written out texts, new outlines created each year, or one much-amended outline. One professor whose first language is not English, writes out complete essays in order to insure the correct expression of the ideas. The author of this thesis also wrote out complete lecture texts during her brief time as a faculty member because, as a first-time lecturer, she felt that a narrative form of expression on paper would most completely prepare her for an oral presentation. Epstein represents an experienced faculty member who used to keep fairly substantial lecture notes reflecting a core of information, such as formulae, which he wrote on the blackboard. He admits that the notes did not capture his verbal additions from year to year.8 Blom's preference, to capture the sometimes rapidly changing nature of the law, is to prepare an outline from scratch each year. As he notes, "Every year you have to revise very substantially, and every year I mess around with the sequence of subjects hoping one day to get the perfect sort of structure into the course."9 Blom keeps his old course outlines for many years back, while Smith, in another rapidly changing field, doesn't Instead, he follows the inspiration given him by his old chemistry teacher: 46 I asked him why are you a good teacher and he said, 'Well, one thing I do is I tear up my lecture notes every two years,' and I think he did it just as a matter of keeping himself fresh in his perception of it, because I think it is absolutely essential because of the way knowledge changes.10 Another way of reflecting course changes is expressed by Rothstein's "sherry principle," which found expression in one set of heavily amended notes. Rothstein notes that a cask of sherry represents "an amalgam of all the sherries that have preceded it."11 In the same way, rather than prepare a new set of notes for each year, Rothstein explains, I started either to scribble over last years notes or pull out a page or two or let this go...and what I have left is a kind of amalgam of bits and pieces derived from probably several years in the past. That's not always true. In the case of courses which I either discontinued teaching or in the case of ones altered radically, you might find something like one last finished set, but for the ones I kept on teaching, they would tend to be prepared on the sherry principle.12 Several academics suggest that, if over the years a professor became more sure of his knowledge and more adept at quickly synthesizing new trends into a coherent presentation, then he would no longer need to prepare as much carefully written material before a lecture. In such a case, the lecture notes may not be a very faithful representation of what was said in class. Indeed, one academic expresses concern that heavily corrected lecture notes extant at the end of a career might cause later scholars to imagine that the teaching was poor. A similar caveat on teaching notes is offered by Blom, who captures the academic's common sentiment, "The actual classroom experience that I have given my students is, of course, not there."13 47 Lecture notes, however, can be supplemented by additional information on classroom procedures provided by such documents as course outlines, handouts distributed to the students, and the professors' copies of midterm tests and final exams. In this study, it turned out that even professors who do not keep class notes tend to keep such additional items in case they ever have to teach the course again.14 A better gauge of students' learning experiences is provided through student papers that have been written for the course. In one graduate mathematics course, the professor has saved students' papers in which they had solved small problems that later became part of the course.15 Rothstein feels that some of his students' papers represent "a kind of contribution to knowledge and that they were worth preserving for that reason."16 He goes on to elaborate The students had done good work and found out things that I didn't know, and I used their material in preparation for the courses and sometimes for my articles and so on. In a number of instances, I encouraged them to publish theirs, and we used to have quite a number of student papers published.17 Rothstein now has only a small number of student papers left from a much larger collection.18 He also once kept final exams actually written by students, so that he could gauge their level of performance over the years.19 There seem to be no other such instances among this group of professors, possibly because of departmental policies rather than individual preferences. Students' efforts in music composition have some chance of being retained, because Chatman requires that his students' pieces be performed before the class. 48 Chatman has made tapes of many of these sessions, as well as tapes of concerts by the Contemporary Players, who also sometimes perform student works.20 Finally, the faculty members who were interviewed regularly write letters of reference for students, and to this end, they often keep individual files on graduate students,21 or at least records of undergraduate and graduate course marks, depending on their view of how easy it would be to extract this information from the registrar.22 Since letters of reference often have to be written more than once, copies of them are frequently retained. This professorial duty could continue well into retirement, and such a file would survive when many other papers have been discarded.23 Most of the research activities and their documentary residue were fairly well predicted by the functional analysis in Chapter One. Professors are quick to point out on their shelves their published books or articles, their intellectual offspring, which testify to the validity of their academic commitment. Most of the professors sampled have saved at least the last draft of each article, while Rothstein believes that he was probably more assiduous than the average academic in saving additional drafts.24 He suggests that in some cases, and certainly for his dissertation, the earlier drafts contain more information than the published form. Several other professors also make similar statements about earlier drafts that were not subject to the space restrictions imposed on the published article. Blom, the only professor interviewed to compose directly on a word processor, is usually left with only the final form. His extra information tends to remain as notes, which he keeps for further use.25 49 Some professors also keep raw material for possible future use, either by themselves, or if they believe that it could be used by others. For example, one academic is preserving the tapes and transcripts from the interviews for his Canadian Childhood History Project, and from extensive interviews with four now-deceased members of Premier Duff Pattullo's cabinet He plans to donate the latter set of transcripts to the British Columbia Archives and Records Service to join the Pattullo papers in that repository.26 Prang, on the other hand, believes that her research notes would be of little use to anyone else, and usually destroys them soon after the book or article is published.27 The scientists interviewed, Smith and Epstein, retain their laboratory notebooks. Smith also keeps a file containing the correspondence associated with each published article. A little bit depends on how extensive it was and how relevant it was to getting it published. Again, space becomes a problem and you suddenly find the file drawer is full up and you start going through the files and say, well, what is really the core of the information I need to keep?28 Scientists often work in teams that may include student assistants. Smith returns his students' laboratory notebooks to them29, while Epstein retains a duplicate notebook prepared by the student.30 The large reprint file (either of preprints, actual reprints, or photocopies), while still in existence, is no longer the universal concomitant of professorial life that it once 50 appeared to be. Blom used to order photocopies of any item he thought might be important, but then, as he explains, I realized that they just piled up and sat in files and all I really wanted was the reference in case I ever needed to know something about that So now the computer data base of references to the literature is what I 31 use. Smith has realized that he never has the time to look at most of the articles he has photocopied, although he admits that they seem to accumulate when he writes review articles.32 One reprint collection proved to be distinctive: Epstein went to considerable time and expense to obtain translations of many hard-to-obtain articles from Russian literature on chemical engineering. These articles played a significant role in one of his research projects.33 Those faculty members who were interviewed and who regularly receive outside funding do save documentation relating to their grants. For example, Ciccone received a large grant, from the Secretary of State for Multiculturalism, to finance the television programs on Italian culture. She has been careful to save all of the records pertaining to the grant and the production of the shows.3* Smith feels responsible for retaining a record of his laboratory's grant-related income and expenses.31 Legal documents such as contracts for book publication are pointed out as particularly valuable.36 There are some variations in the activities and documents arising from the research competence. For instance, Ciccone's major study of the Italian language is available as a machine-readable data base as well as in published form, and she has 51 saved all of the documentation from the project.37 Chatman has written a few articles, but his research competence is primarily expressed through his compositions. He first writes down his musical ideas in a preliminary sketch, which is often a condensed version of what he hears in his mind. He then prepares a final, complete composition and sends it to a music publisher for consideration. Unlike the system of refereed journals which prevails in much of the rest of academia, the music publisher himself or his editor decides if the work will be published and sold outright, or if the work will be published and the scores rented out. Like academic publishers, however, music publishers must maintain standards to insure their survival in the business. Chatman's composition may also be recorded, and if it is, there is the possibility of royalties accruing to the composer when the music is performed. Chatman must maintain correspondence and contracts, which document the legal nature of these arrangements. In addition, he has saved concert programs, and clippings and reviews about his work.38 Every faculty member in this group has participated in one form or another of university service, from departmental committees to the University Senate. However, academics differ in the extent to which they have preserved the documents created or received during that service. Smith expresses the common sentiment that faculty members keep committee files for a while and then discard them when the committee service is over. He comments, You do the work, and you send a report in and then you eventually think, why do I have this big bundle of paper? A file which might have been quite thin twenty years ago is now usually quite voluminous because people xerox stuff to the nth degree.39 52 It is different when the files relate to a matter of special ongoing interest-for instance, Blom's particular concern with curriculum development in the Law Faculty40--or when the files represent the successful culmination of a particular administrative goal~for example, Epstein's success in obtaining humanities courses for engineers.41 In both of these instances, faculty members consciously preserve files relating to administrative matters. In another case, however, an academic has not saved the records of his curricular triumph.42 Finally, Rothstein, still in the process of going through his papers, recounts his experiences on the committee which first brought a computer to campus, as well as his work on the committee which established a university archives. Records of these early committees may still be extant in his files.43 Similarly, all of the faculty members interviewed have been active participants as officers or committee members of their subject disciplinary organizations, the U.B.C. Faculty Association, or the CAUT. However, they vary in the extent to which they save the documentation relating to these activities. Among the retirees, Rothstein and Epstein still have office space and have thus far preserved many such files.44 On the other hand, Blom, who is still on the faculty, does not save much material from the Faculty Association, because he believes that this material is being kept in the Association's offices.45 Prang, now retired and working at her home, has discarded the documentation relating to her participation in the early years of the CAUT.46 In general, the academics interviewed have kept copies of reports they submitted as referees. Furthermore, Epstein, although retired, is currently serving as Editor of the 53 Canadian Journal of Chemical Engineering. Like many scholarly journals, it operates through a system of rotating editorships. Epstein has concluded arrangements for the Journal's editorial records to be deposited in McMaster University's Library on a regular basis.47 On the other hand, the two mathematicians who are Co-Editors-in-Chief of the Canadian Mathematical Bulletin, will, at the conclusion of their term, ship their editorial records on to the next editors.48 The community service activities of the interviewed faculty are represented by a variety of documents. For example, Blom keeps files which relate to his activities as a legal consultant to law firms. He comments, "I keep the notes I do simply because they often cover a point that I am later interested in writing about, or I remember that I found something when I was looking at this problem."49 Ciccone's area of commitment concerns the broader Italian community of Vancouver. She maintains files about the Dante Alighieri Society, which she helped to establish to promote the study of Italian culture, and which she served as President for many years. She also supported the development of the Italian Cultural Centre, about which she keeps a clipping file.50 Somewhat connected to community service is the relationship of one's profession to society. Epstein, in particular, believes that scientists have a special obligation to use their knowledge responsibly, and he has contributed letters to professional journals and newspapers expressing his opinions on various issues.51 54 At times, community activities are not as closely related to professional interests. Divinsky's participation in civic politics reflects a broader connotation of community service. Although he saved relatively few documents from his School Board duties, he has kept his aldermanic correspondence, including mcoming letters and copies of his replies. He has also kept files relating to his participation in the Chess Olympics.52 Further examples of faculty record keeping could be offered at this point, but it seems more appropriate now to present a few general observations on what might be termed the practical and philosophical factors that affect the retention and disposition of faculty archives. Indeed, some of the examples of faculty papers have already foreshadowed some possible answers to the question of why academics keep certain documents and throw out others. Interspersed in this discussion will be some brief impressions on professorial records management. Certain practical factors affect the ultimate preservation of faculty papers. First, academics often work on their writing chores at home. Homes are larger than offices and offer more nooks and crannies into which papers might eventually disappear. It may be that keeping documents at home mitigates against the mental connection of research notes and the university. Why donate to a university archives any papers which were never at the university in the first place? Also, a "table full" of documents at home53 removed from a crowded university office may never make its way back. 55 Second, professors may move from one office to another. Rothstein, interviewed in a small room in the Library basement, describes the progressive loss of files as he moved "from the Director's office to a much smaller one as Professor and subsequently down here."54 Blom, when asked if he has a system for closing files, remarks, "A system was kind of forced on me by the fact that I moved office every couple of years and so I took the opportunity to throw out what I had not looked at since the last move."55 Retirement, and the ultimate loss of all university office space is a critical time. As Divinsky notes, "I'm getting pretty ruthless as theoretically I have to retire in a year and empty this place out."56 Third, unless the professor is serving in an administrative role, he is generally responsible for managing his own records without secretarial help. Rothstein notes the difference in his files when organized by a secretary, and when organized by himself.57 Other academics may try to co-opt student assistants or spouses into setting up classification systems for them. In general, however, systematic management of records is simply not a priority for the average academic. Even the professorial pack-rat is more aptly characterized as a records keeper rather than a records organizer. Philosophically, professors are pragmatists when they consider the documents in their offices. Academics mostly retain what they need to go about their business of teaching, research, university or community service. Records are not seen as being important in themselves and, in particular, not for the sake of posterity. As Rothstein observes, "I kept the material for really the most obvious of reasons, because I continued to have need of it."58 Also, record-keeping is affected by how the professor 56 perceives that office staff are keeping the records he might need. Blom comments, "If you ask somebody to dig something out of storage, they look devastated by the suggestion. It's half a day's work, so that's why I keep all the sort of internal faculty stuff that I think I might find interesting sometime."59 In addition, the faculty record-keeping picture is colored by other factors: pride, nostalgia, whimsy, inertia, and personal temperament. Academics are proud of their finished products-their publications, including books, journals, and musical compositions~and maintain these with care. Pride in certain administrative accomplishments also causes them to keep particular files, but not always. Nostalgia, mixed with pride in his intellectual heritage, seems to play a role in the faculty member's retaining his own student notebooks. To discard such items is like cutting an academic umbilical cord. Nostalgia makes it difficult for a professor like Smith, who had already thrown away his own out-of-date lecture notes, to part with his undergraduate textbooks from his university days.60 Nostalgia or even whimsy may lie behind another academic's retention of such items as high school play programs.61 Some material seems to be kept purely because the faculty member has not yet got around to discarding it "I probably should throw those out," observes Divinsky when going through some of his university service files."62 Or, from Blom, "I have a lot of files which I should throw away, but until the drawer actually gets full, I don't."63 Inertia regarding document disposal seems related to the professor's individual nature, which tempers the entire record-keeping process. An academic may be proud of an accomplishment in curriculum, for example, but if he is not a keeper, he may 57 nonetheless discard the material which relates to this episode. These conscious discarders pride themselves on a "lean and mean" filing system. Their opposite number, the conscious keepers, appear equally content. "I have the habit of not throwing anything away,"64 "I've not thrown out a bound book yet,"65 and "I haven't yet thrown out a lecture note"66 are sentiments expressed by this type of academic. Between the conscious keepers and the conscious discarders, one could postulate a continuum of faculty members retaining a middling amount of material. Faculty record-keeping is also affected by an academic's notion of who owns his papers. There seems to be a general sense among faculty members, such as Smith, who currently holds an administrative position, and among those who have held similar positions in the past, such as Prang and Rothstein, that laboratory or department heads should leave their administrative office documents behind for their successors.67 This same notion does not hold for files which they keep as individuals on university committees, although Blom admits that the Faculty of Law may have a legal right to claim his files from the curriculum committee if it wants to do so.68 Academics most firmly express a notion of ownership when speaking of their own research documents. Prang states, I don't think that the university owns them because the professor decides what the character of the research is going to be, and it seems to me that this is a very important principle in universities...We talk a lot about independent research, and I think that one of the problems about the university now is that, as it becomes more of a vocational institute with business calling the shots...the idea that somebody else owns the research, if not the professor himself or herself, gains ground, and I think that is very dangerous for the university... Professors have always been 58 jealous guardians of their right to do research on what they think is important and to publish that research freely.69 The faculty member feels free to throw out whatever documents he thinks he owns. Disposal practices seem to follow no particular systematic scheme. "I throw out marks just whenever I get the feeling it is time."70 "I throw it away every time I get fed up looking at the file."71 "I've been trying to make a rule. Every time I put something in a file, I'll throw something else out."72 Many documents are disposed of at will because the faculty members in this study, whether from the arts or sciences, confirm the concept expressed earlier that "Publication is, I guess, the ultimate criteria because those are the things that are judged to be successful science because they go to refereed journals."73 Or "I personally think that my published things are probably the most significant."74 Or "The best stuff has really been published."73 Or "The published product is the only thing that counts."76 Regarding their unpublished papers, the faculty members in this study, with some exceptions, have little sense of their papers' possible use by others. In the elite world of the research-oriented academic, those who can, do research, those who cannot, either teach, or write the history or the sociology of the discipline. To a successful practitioner in a subject discipline, it is far less important to tell the history of the field than to do first-rate research in the field itself. The academic has made his judgment already; if it is valuable, it is published. 59 Faculty members tend to be relatively modest when asked what they would select to give to an archives. Smith's remark is typical—"I suspect I would say, well you take what you want, and I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't want anything.''77 Prang observes, "It's hard for me to imagine that anybody would really be very much interested in what is in there."78 Blom comments, "I'm not worthy of a biography. Few of us are famous or interesting."79 Finally, some faculty members share the general public's misconceptions about archival repositories, and the role of institutional archives as institutional memory. Society's frequent failure to acknowledge archives is illustrated by a recent segment of a well-respected television series, The Nature of Things. The episode, "Turning to Dust," dealt with the problems caused by the acidic nature of modern paper. The announcer's opening sentence proclaimed, "Books are where we store all of human knowledge."80 It is therefore not surprising to sense confusion in the minds of some academics who seem to use the words archives and libraries interchangeably or make comments such as, "There are buildings getting filled with mathematical publications, aren't these archives enough."81 Other professors offer very broad, general definitions of "archives": "A semi-organized place where you keep, in some semi-accessible way, records of any kind;82 or "A collection of materials that is considered important in some sense to someone, either to the general public or to someone who is specializing in a particular field;"83 or "Ideally, in an archives you would hope to find all the material, other than printed material, that would help us to understand where we've been, and how we got where we are, and that would cover almost anything."84 Other 60 faculty members are more specific. Smith concludes that archives are "any documentation...related to the activities of individuals or institutions,"85 while Rothstein correctly observes that Often, the distinction between archives and current files is forced upon you by space requirements or others and so you tend to call archives the infrequently used materials, but, in point of fact, if you are likely to draw on them for current practice, current activities, there really is no difference.86 To move the discussion from archives in general to institutional archives in particular, it became evident during the course of this study that although university archivists may regard their repositories as a self-evident good, this opinion is not shared by all professors. Moreover, even if they favor the existence of such archives, faculty members do not regard university archives as being automatically entitled to their papers. Despite the desire of university archivists to preserve professorial papers in their proper institutional context, the comments of some faculty members suggest that they could be seduced by the blandishments of a centralized, subject-based archives. One faculty member proposes that where the archival material is "related to the development of an might be better to keep this,... but I would send to the central repository material of more general interest such as courses, teaching approaches, associations, activities, and so on."87 This belief is supported by another academic, who admits that although such an approach may be expensive, "Ideally, it would be a good thing, and then you would have more historians writing books about historians."88 61 Additional points could be drawn from the faculty interviews, but at least five of the conclusions already suggested deserve restatement and, in some cases, further discussion. First, the competences of the professor can be documented through the thoughtful acquisition of faculty archives, which constitute an interesting and extensive documentary residue. In turn, the functions of the university itself can be partially documented through the papers of faculty members. Second, in the absence of a clear university policy claiming jurisdiction over the papers in their offices, faculty members react intuitively to the question of ownership. Much of this reaction may be grounded in their notion of academic freedom. Although this term has been variously defined by the several constituencies of the university in different locales and in different eras, the academics in this study would probably define academic freedom as the freedom to investigate what they please and the freedom to teach as they see fit. Support of this concept overrides any sense that the university pays the professor to teach and do research and therefore owns his papers. The faculty member is willing to concede that important administrative papers (for instance, those created during a headship) do not belong to him personally, but lesser administrative documents are not similarly categorized. How can notions of ownership be reconciled with a sound definition of the "archives" or the "fonds" of a faculty member? The archives of the professor includes all of the documents created or received by him in fulfillment of the competences assigned to him by virtue of his appointment, and so delineated in the faculty handbook. In fact, it must be pointed out that the 62 expression "archives of..." embodies a relation of paternity, not a legal relation of ownership. Regarding ownership, a faculty archives could belong to the university and be part of its larger fonds. As noted above, however, this argument runs counter to the cherished principle of academic freedom, and is therefore not a viable concept ideologically and certainly not practically. The underlying flaw is the lack of a records policy that has been drawn up in concert with the values of academic freedom, and that is known and understood by the members of the university community. At its most basic level, such a policy would define what belongs to the professor and what belongs to the university. The ideal consequence of this policy would be a university-wide records classification system with a records schedule outlining the ultimate disposition of all documents. If a series lies within such a scheme, it belongs to the university; if not, it belongs to the professor. To be sure, there would be many problems in enforcing this ideal. For instance, a departmental chairman may inadvertently take home an obvious and distinct section of departmental records, which are found among his papers after his death. The archivist would add these files to the departmental records already in the archives, and note their custodial history in the finding aid for the department. In the finding aid for the professor's papers, the archivist would mention the files' removal and present location. In other cases, departmental records may be so intertwined with the papers of a faculty member, chairman or not, that their removal would seriously damage the integrity of the faculty member's personal archives. 63 If a university were to require departments and ultimately professors to adhere to a records management scheme, that university should provide a records center to support the application of a schedule. It would not be fair to expect a faculty member to retain a perpetually expanding set of files in his office which policy forbade him to destroy. As he shipped his administrative files to the records center to join the appropriate series, the university would gain better control of its administrative records, but at the cost of not documenting the professor as a whole. In archival terms, provenance takes precedence over original order. These difficult issues will surface again in the next chapter when the discussion will focus on institutional practices rather than ort the individual records creator. Suffice it to say that if university records were designated and recognized as such, were regularly separated by their faculty creators from personal documents, and periodically designated for transfer to a records center, then university archivists might be less concerned about a subject discipline repository seeking faculty papers. The latter type of repository, however, could still present difficulties both in theory and in practice. These statements preface the third conclusion drawn from the faculty interviews: some academics would prefer to deposit their papers in a centralized subject repository rather than a university archives. Thematic repositories usually center on types of record-creators, such as the members of a minority group; on broad topical areas, such as the labor movement or women's studies; or, on more tracutionally-defined subjects, particularly in the sciences, such as physics or mathematics.89 These science-oriented repositories are sometimes designated as subject discipline history centers in 64 consideration of the wide range of their work, which is not limited to the acquisition of archival material.90 They will be discussed in more detail in Chapter Three, and some examples will be given of their role as a repository of last resort for archival fonds without an obvious home. For now, some general issues will be raised. The preference for centralized repositories expressed by some faculty members validates the concept put forth in Chapter One that many faculty members feel more closely allied with their subject discipline than with the university. They believe that other people specializing in the same discipline can better understand and appreciate the nature of their research. In support of this contention, it can be said that the typical university archivist cannot hope to match the subject expertise of a specialist archivist, perhaps with undergraduate science credentials, who then devotes his professional life to the documentation of a particular field. In addition, a university archivist has a myriad of duties to perform beyond the preservation of faculty papers. Of theoretical importance is the archival notion of complementarity or relatedness. Victoria Blinkhorn writes: "The principle of complementarity dictates for a repository to acquire only those organic groups of records for which the repository itself or other institutions in the area have supporting sources, primary or secondary."91 On the one hand, a subject repository such as an archives of mathematics or of physics, which acquires faculty papers, does not violate the conceptual underpinnings of this notion. The research papers of faculty members probably have a closer affinity to those of others in the same subset of the discipline, regardless of institutional affiliation, than they do to those of other faculty members in the same department, 65 much less the same university. Scientists speak of the invisible college, or network of private communication, which cuts across campus boundaries, and which shapes the members' research. Through this network, most research results are made known and criticized long before they appear in print. Even in subjects such as the humanities, the bond between a master historian and his disciples will be much closer than the bond between disciple and the departmental colleague who, by chance, occupies the office next door. Blinkhorn speaks of the relationship of the fonds of artists who belong to the same school.92 In the same sense, scholars enjoy proud academic traditions and intellectual lineages which can influence them when choosing a repository.93 On the other hand, professors do work in institutional surroundings. Institutional attitudes and practices may affect research priorities, and curricula developed at the departmental level will have a bearing on what the professor teaches. In this sense, a centralized subject archives would therefore represent a loss in complementarity as well as a gain.94 Also, where do records relating to community service belong? If a consultation with a local business stimulated a particular line of research, then the relevant consultancy files belong with the professor's research papers in the subject archives. The consultation, however, may have stemmed from a community problem, and the academic's papers are best understood in their local surroundings. How would faculty donors and archivists resolve these dilemmas if subject repositories were to enter in full competition for faculty papers? 66 The individual faculty member may face another difficulty in considering subject-based archives for faculty papers. What is the subject? Would Smith's papers belong in an Archives of Genetics, of Biochemistry, of Chemistry, or perhaps even one of Medicine because his work in genetic engineering will ultimately benefit the practice of medicine?95 How about an Archives of Applied Biomedical Technology? What happens as new fields arise? Would an Archives of Chemistry then disgorge part of its holdings into a nascent Archives of Biochemistry? Which fonds? For what time period? Many subject based repositories are well funded and supported by large, well-established organizations. Others may not be as well endowed or as wisely managed. Several professors suggested splitting faculty papers in various ways. In one proposal, university-related material would go to a university archives, and subject-related material to a centralized subject archives. Such a division could obscure the relationships that exist between archival documents. The organic archival bond arises out of a natural accumulation of documents, rather than an artificial sorting and regrouping of them, however seductive it may be for the professor or archivist to play the transcendant postal clerk, pigeonholing papers as so many discrete, subject-based entities. Once this process is begun, where does it end, particularly in the case of faculty members whose research has involved diverse fields? Michael Bliss, for example, has written highly regarded works on the history of business and the history of medicine, as well as numerous articles on free trade and other topics. The separation by subject of his papers, or those of any other academic, may be the most dangerous expression of complementarity. Much of the research 67 potential of those papers could be severely damaged by such handling. Fortunately, Bliss has been closely associated with one institution, the University of Toronto, for all of his academic life. He has already made several deposits of his papers to that university's archives.96 Therefore, his fonds is not going to be dispersed. It would be different if a faculty member had been deeply involved with several institutions. As with so many archival matters, careful analysis and common sense rather than inflexible rules should be the determinants in deciding the appropriate location for an academic's papers. The underlying question is whether the material was created as one fonds or several. At each new institution, did the professor close the door (and close the fonds) on his old research projects, teaching activities and community service, and begin again to fulfill his competences as directed by the priorities of his new university? Or did he use some documents from his old institution as the nucleus for a new set of files to reflect his current activities? If that faculty member has pursued one subject field, and all of his documents become interrelated in this fashion, a special subject repository may be the best choice. Complementarity within the fonds, that is, the principle of respect des fonds, would take priority over complementarity of institutional holdings obtained by entrusting each institution with the custody of the material created by the professor during his affiliation with it. Even if a professor has been primarily associated with one line of research at one institution, he may take time out from that research to pursue a project with academics from several other universities.97 The records of such a venture could be 68 separated from the rest of his papers and placed, along with the papers of his co-workers, at an archives representing the subject discipline. In this case, the fonds would be represented by the project, its creator being the entire team of academics, not its single component members.98 Consider, for instance, Canada's Centres of Excellence program, funded by the Ministry of State for Science and Technology. Each project is the product of the coordinated work of teams of researchers in various fields and from various institutions in the public and private sectors. A single university archives may not have the resources necessary for the effective preservation of the documentary residue of such a project. By contrast, a subject-discipline history center would be more likely to have staff that is knowledgeable about multi-institutional collaboration.99 If the documentation of a particular project is separated from a faculty member's papers, the procedure would be the same that was recommended for the removal from his fonds of administrative material belonging to the university. A note should be made in the finding aid for the professor's papers describing the rationale behind the removal, and the location of the separated material. What happens when an archivist approaches a faculty member well before retirement, and that person donates part of his papers to the archives, but then accepts an appointment to another institution? Ideally the professor has only parted with the documents of those projects that he has already concluded, and in that sense these files represent a closed fonds that can be retained in the first university without damaging the integrity of the professor's subsequent personal archives. The archival bond is thus respected and the documentation of the institution's functions is maintained. 69 The possibility of such an occurrence should therefore not mitigate against the fourth conclusion~the archivist should approach academics before retirement. Many faculty members will have the greatest quantity of papers at the culrnination of their career and perhaps for a short time afterwards, and then they begin to wind down their activities and think of retirement Up to a certain point, a professor takes in more papers than he throws out. He is building a career, writing and receiving letters, participating in organizations, and accumulating files full of research notes and publications. As he passes his peak, however, the situation changes. Perhaps with an increased sense of his own mortality, the faculty member finally has time to take a long look at his files. He may ask himself why he is still keeping his notes from university days. He doesn't need as extensive an outline for teaching. He no longer reviews as many grant proposals. He may, in fact, now be throwing out more papers than he receives, and he may be experiencing a detachment from the papers he still retains. Unfortunately for the university archivist, there is no fool-proof formula for identifying this stage in the faculty member's life. The professor may not even be consciously aware of it himself. However, the fundamental message is clear: maximum record retention usually occurs at some point before retirement. A fifth and final conclusion to this chapter should be drawn. The identification of potentially valuable archival fonds is only the prelude to an educational effort that a university archivist must be prepared to initiate within his university community. The next step in this thesis is to consider the nature of that educational process, which must occur within the context of other mechanisms designed to promote the successful 70 acquisition of faculty archives. To delineate those mechanisms, guidance will be sought from the policies and practices of selected university archives in Canada and the United States. 71 ENDNOTES 1. Ruscio, 338. 2. The introduction describes how eight professors were selected for formal, structured interviews. In addition, further information was obtained through less formal interviews with faculty members, and through an examination of faculty papers and/or finding aids in archives in Vancouver and Seattle. The structured interviews were tape-recorded, and the interviews were transcribed. To simplify the citations for the formal interviews, the endnotes read as follows: last name of the professor, date of the interview (noted only for the first citation for each professor), page number of the transcript. For the informal interviews, the endnotes read as follows: full name of the professor, department or school, university, date of the interview. An original set of questions (Appendix A) used for Professor Rothstein, was superseded by a second set of questions (Appendix B) used for the other subjects Because of time limitations, it was not possible to ask every question of every subject. 3. Rothstein, October 12, 1989, 30. 4. Divinsky, January 24, 1990, 15. 5. Prang, January 22, 1990, 2-3. 6. Ciccone, January 30, 1990, 7. 7. Robert Adams, Department of Mathematics, U.B.C, March 14, 1990. 8. Epstein, January 30, 1990, 5-6. 9. Blom, January 23, 1990, 8-9. 10. Smith, February 28, 1990, 4. 11. Rothstein, 18. 12. Ibid., 17-18. 13. Blom, 42. 14. Divinsky, 8. Smith (5), however, preferred to let the departmental office save old exams. 15. Maurice Sion, Department of Mathematics, U.B.C, August 30, 1989. 72 16. Rothstein, 21. 17. Ibid. 18. Rothstein, 21-22. Ciccone (8-9) has also kept some student papers. 19. Rothstein, 23. 20. Chatman, February 28, 1990, 6-8. 21. Smith, 14. 22. For example, Prang (10) kept mark sheets while Divinsky (12) would extract older marks from the registrar when needed. 23. Prang, 9-10. 24. Rothstein, 56. 25. Blom, 14. 26. Neil Sutherland, Department of Social and Educational Studies, U.B.C, November 1, 1989. 27. Prang, 13. 28. Smith, 8 29. Smith, 7. 30. Epstein, 13. 31. Blom, 18. 32. Smith, 10, 31-32. 33. Epstein, 22. 34. Ciccone, 32. 35. Smith, 12,27. 36. Adams, March 14, 1990. 37. Ciccone, 4-5. 38. Chatman, 9-10, 17-19, 28. 39. Smith, 18. 73 40. Blom, 4 41. Epstein, 28. 42. Although Mathematics Professor Maurice Sion said that his proudest accomplish-ment was his role in reforming the undergraduate mathematics curriculum, his papers at the time of his retirement contained no files which related to this matter. Sion, August 21, 1989. 43. Rothstein, 12,40. 44. Rothstein, 36-38. Epstein, 23-25. 45. Blom, 22. 46. Prang, 38. 47. Epstein, Preparatory Interview, November 22, 1989. 48. John Fournier, Department of Mathematics, U.B.C, March 18, 1990. 49. Blom, 14-15. 50. Ciccone, 27-29. 51. Epstein, 37-40. 52. Divinsky, Second Interview, January 31, 1990. 53. Epstein, 52. 54. Rothstein, 21. 55. Blom, 33. 56. Divinsky, 21. 57. Rothstein, 33. 58. Rothstein, 30. 59. Blom, 5. 60. Smith, 6. 61. Divinsky, 27. 62. Divinsky, 46. 74 63. Blom, 33. 64. Ciccone, 6. 65. Epstein, 15. 66. Ibid., 34. 67. Smith, 29; Prang, 1; Rothstein, 56. However, Prang (50) raised the interesting question-Does the department own its own records or does some larger entity such as the University own them? 68. Blom, 39. 69. Prang, 44-46. 70. Divinsky, 10. 71. Blom, 33. 72. Epstein, 16. 73. Smith, 25. 74. Ciccone, 46. 75. Epstein, 62. 76. Divinsky, 48. 77. Smith, 34. 78. Prang, 34. 79. Blom 44-45. 80. Amanda McConnell, "Turning to Dust," The Nature of Things television series (broadcast March 14, 1990 on the Canadian Broadcasting System). 81. Divinsky, 47. 82. Blom, 52. 83. Chatman, 38. 84. Prang, 68. 85. Smith, 37-38. 75 86. Rothstein, 47. 87. Rothstein, 52-52. 88. Prang, 62. 89. For a general discussion of special subject repositories, see Jane Wolff, "Faculty Papers and Special-Subject Repositories," American Archivist, 44 (Fall 1981): 346-351. 90. It is interesting to speculate on why these subject discipline history centers occur more often in the sciences than in the humanities. Perhaps scientists realize that a special effort is needed to document what is so often a group activity rather than the activity of a single researcher. Also, some scholars have described the knowledge base of science as more stable than that of the humanities and the professions. There seems to be more agreement on what constitutes "good science" than on what constitutes "good history," for example. By the time a science project comes to fruition and its results are publishable, that project has probably had to go through a granting process to obtain the necessary funds. A paper submitted to a typical scientific journal faces less of a chance of rejection than a paper submitted to a history journal, for instance. If there is greater agreement as to what constitutes "good science," then there is greater likelihood of historically-minded scientists agreeing on what to document than their fellow scholars agreeing on what to document in the humanities. See Robert Merton and Harriet Zuckerman, "Institutionalized Patterns of Evaluation in Science," in The Sociology of Science: Theoretical and Empirical Investigations, ed. Norman W. Storer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), 470-474. See also Sydney J. Pierce, "Characteristics of Professional Knowledge Structures: Some Theoretical Implications of Citation Studies," Library and Information Science Research 9 (1987): 143-171. 91. Victoria Louise Blinkhorn, "The Records of Visual Artists: Appraising for Acquisition and Selection" (Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1988), 116. 92. Ibid., 117. 93. An example of the role of intellectual lineage in influencing donations is evident in the Archives of American Mathematics described in the next chapter. 94. Joan Nelson Warnow comments that the importance of keeping a scientist's papers at his home institution, besides the value to that institution, is that it reflects the way science is done. "Physicists typically work with colleagues, they report to department chairmen or perhaps to the head of their institution, they participate in the budget process, and serve on institutional committees. The best way to understand the career of one physicist is to use his papers in conjunction with those of his colleagues and with the records of institutional offices and groups." Joan Nelson Warnow, "Preserving Documentary Materials for the History of 20th Century Physics" (Paper presented at the 5th Congresso Nazionale di Storia della Fisica, Roma, 29 Ottobre/1 Novembre 1984),9. Warnow also recognizes that the multi-institutional nature of much current 76 research in physics involves many documentation problems, which are currently under study. See the final endnote in this chapter. 95. In all fairness to Professor Smith, it must be noted that his immediate reaction was not supportive of centralized subject repositories. 96. Telephone conversation, Harold Averill, Assistant Archivist, University of Toronto, April 20, 1990. 97. An interesting historical example of an academic who took "time out" to pursue a special project with other academics is that of J. B. Collip, a classic case of the peripatetic professor. He was on sabbatical leave from the University of Alberta when he conducted his research on insulin with Frederick Banting and Charles Best at the University of Toronto. He later enjoyed a distinguished twenty-year research career at McGill as an endocrinologist, and concluded his academic life at the University of Western Ontario as Dean of the Medical School and Director of the Medical Research Laboratories. Where should Collip's papers have been placed? Alberta, his first professional intellectual home? Toronto, where his papers would join those of Banting and Best to document Canada's only Nobel Prize in medicine? McGill, where his research career was long and distinguished? Western, where he reached his highest administrative post? Or the National Archives of Canada, because by any yardstick, his work was truly of national significance? Matters are further complicated because the notes for his greatest discovery, insulin, were sketchy to say the least. At one point, Collip even lost the secret of isolating the pancreatic secretion, because of his sloppy note taking techniques. In the end, as so often happens, the faculty member's papers ended up at the last stop on his academic career train, in this case, Western. Probably, Collip would never have left his papers to the University of Toronto since he was thoroughly disenchanted by his treatment at that institution. For a good account of Collip's role in the discovery of insulin, see Michael Bliss, The Discovery of Insulin (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1982). 98. See Warnow's reference to a multi-institutional project as a "mini-institution" in the following endnote. 99. Documenting the multi-institutional scientific collaboration presents many difficulties which are only currently being studied. Warnow writes, "Little is known about how to document these transitory "mini-institutions" and, to our knowledge, no meaningful record of any such team research has yet been secured." She goes on to detail many of the issues involved in the preservation of such documentation. "If one institution is chosen to hold all the team records, how does this affect the traditional archival mission of an institutional archives? If, on the other hand, records of individual team members are to be retained at each of their home institutions, other problems arise—for example, the need to develop coordinated and cooperative approaches to appraisal efforts, elimination of duplicate materials, and shared catalogs." Joan N. Warnow, "Unsolicited Proposal Submitted to Department of Energy by American Institute of Physics," (New York: American Institute of Physics, 1988), 9, 18. See also Warnow-Blewett, "First Steps in AIP Study of Collaborations in High-77 energy Physics." AIP History Newsletter 21 (Fall 1989): 1-2. This articles notes that the AIP's study of multi-institutional collaboration is now underway. 78 CHAPTER THREE APPRAISAL FOR ACQUISITION I am convinced that the papers of faculty represent an absolutely integral component of the documentary record of any university community. As such, they ought to be acquired by any academic archives worth its salt. Patrick M. Quinn1 Patrick M. Quinn, the Archivist of Northwestern University, very actively solicits the papers of retiring Northwestern academics. His practice is in concert with the proposition of this thesis, that, if a university archivist wishes to fully document his institution, then he should examine the professor's competences and resultant activities, and preserve their documentary residue as found in the papers of individual academics. Not all university archivists have been able or even willing to adopt the attitude of Quinn. Although it may seem difficult to characterize the widely varying policies and practices at different institutions, a fuller understanding of this diversity is a necessary prelude to proposing a methodology for appraising faculty papers for acquisition. Such a proposal also warrants an examination of two other factors which may impinge on the acquisition of this material: the existence of subject discipline history centers or repositories, and financial considerations. Although these centers were discussed in general terms in the last chapter, their importance justifies a specific illustration of their development and practices, and some reference to the Canadian 79 scene. The possible monetary value of faculty papers, while not a significant factor for most academics, is still worthy of mention. Canadian archivists should be aware of the impact of the tax laws and the role of the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board in the acquisition of private papers. Furthermore, a university policy statement on records management should consider the ownership of documents which could be involved in a sale or an application for tax credit. A. Appraisal for Acquisition of Faculty Papers-Some Current Practices Information on some of the current procedures of university archivists was obtained through correspondence and conversation with selected archivists in Canada and the United States2 as well as through published articles. One might hope that much of the desired data about the preservation of faculty papers could be gleaned through perusing official statements of archival mandate and studying detailed acquisition policies. Unfortunately, not all university archives have such formal statements or policies, even though they may actively acquire faculty papers.3 Sometimes, an institution's governing board has approved some general resolution regarding university records, but faculty papers are not mentioned.4 Sometimes, too, even when formal statements mention faculty papers, a personal conversation or letter is still necessary to elucidate the true state of affairs. One thus encounters an array of formal and informal statements, written procedures and actual practices from which to extract a few general conclusions and examples. This diverse body of elements is reflective of a variety of opinions on the 80 benefits of acquiring faculty papers. Those archivists who do not value professorial archives do not solicit them at all, although they might accept an offer of such papers from a faculty member. The archivists who are more favorably inclined towards faculty papers disagree on whom to approach. Some prefer to periodically contact all faculty or all faculty of a certain rank; others consider it better to approach all retiring faculty of whatever rank; still others use a set of criteria to approach academics selectively for their papers. Archivists also differ in the level of intensity with which they pursue their acquisition activities. To illustrate these variations, the practices of several university archives will be described on the following pages. The Archivist of the University of Calgary does not solicit faculty papers because she does not wish to deflect her limited archival resources from the more pressing needs of managing institutional records. Her personal reservations about the worth of faculty papers echo the comments of some academics quoted in the last chapter. She believes that the long-term value of scholarly research lies in the publication itself, that teaching prowess is difficult to capture through a professor's documentary residue, and that faculty correspondence proves generally disappointing. She does not, however, categorically refuse to accept faculty papers.5 Similarly, the Director of the William Ready Division of Archives and Research Collections of the McMaster University Library, does not solicit professors' papers, although she would accept them as donations. She stated that the Division is not an "established university archives," and currently has neither the space nor the staff to initiate an active program for the acquisition of academics' papers.6 81 At the other end of the archival spectrum, Harvard University has long solicited the papers of all of its tenured faculty. Although faculty papers are not mentioned in any official archival mandate, the Curator sends a general letter to all tenured faculty members every few years, and writes individually to retiring faculty members. The institution believes that, even if the tenured faculty member is not "the leader" in his field, he is very close to the top.7 The Archivist of the University of Regina similarly has an all-inclusive policy of soliciting faculty papers. Although she would approach academics doing "exciting research" early in their careers, her primary focus is to solicit the papers of every retiring faculty member-at present, two or three retirees a year. Her rationale is that by soliciting papers from all faculty, the Archives will not miss any valuable material. More importantly, increasing "archival consciousness" among faculty members has worked to the Archives benefit-notably in getting major policy decisions passed, including one to establish a records-management program. As this archivist noted, "The Archives is in a strong position within the university because people on this campus feel they have a personal part in it."8 A now-retired archivist, who established the Archives at the University of British Columbia, began by actively soliciting the papers of professors who had already retired when she started her program. After that initial period, she preferred to send occasional letters to all faculty members advising them of the Archives' willingness to accept their papers. Although she sometimes called upon professors directly, her basic 82 policy was one of allowing self-selection by interested faculty members. Those who participated usually approached the Archives at the time of their retirement.9 Some archivists have more specific criteria for approaching academics. The Head of the Department of Archives and Special Collections at the University of Manitoba, describes the focus of his archives as prairie literature and prairie agriculture. He only solicits faculty papers within these areas of specialization for fear that the Archives would otherwise lose its identity and become "a mere collector of faculty papers" rather than a research center, which supports one of the missions of the university.10 Other archivists prefer a different set of standards when soliciting faculty papers. For instance, the Director of the Michigan State University Archives, describes his collecting efforts as "somewhat active." He reports that although he is often contacted by faculty with regard to their papers, he solicits their archives on a "very selective basis"11 according to three criteria: "national or international reputation in one's respective field...record of service with the institution and a contribution to its growth and development...[and] an active role in the community."12 Furthermore, he discovered through a survey sent to fifty college and university archives, that other archivists also consistently cited these same criteria.13 In the same article, this archivist also discusses the advantages and disadvantages of approaching academics before retirement, but he does not specify the practice at his own institution.14 83 The former Archivist of the University of Toronto describes the Archives during his tenure as "moderately active" in the pursuit of faculty papers, by which he means that the Archives contacted academics or spouses when they heard that a well-known faculty member was retiring, moving or had died. He estimates that these contacts were made two or three times a year. Paralleling the experience of the archivist at Michigan State, this Canadian archivist reports that more faculty members tended to approach the Archives than vice-versa. Once a professor did so and learned about the tax legislation, he would sometimes come back with further donations in later years. Faculty papers in general, however, were given a lower priority than gaining control of the University's administrative records.15 Sometimes, whatever criteria an archivist espouses in principle, or however intensely the archivist may wish to pursue his acquisitions, other imperatives such as lack of space and personnel intervene. The Archivist at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign has been one of the most eloquent advocates of the value of faculty papers as a means of "documenting the formation of American intellectual life."16 He wrote in 1971, In a broad sense, the faculty is the university. The personal papers of faculty form a very useful segment of the university's archives. They reveal professional interests and opinions that frequently clarify matters mentioned in official files of the president, deans, or departments.17 In a more recent letter, this archivist notes that his policy has thus far netted 875 collections of personal papers, over which he has maintained "strong descriptive control." He adds that he has had to become somewhat less aggressive in more recent 84 years because of a space shortage,18 a restraint that is also mentioned by the Assistant Archivist at Queen's University. He, like his Illinois colleague, notes that the Archives' program of "vigourous solicitation" of papers has to be curtailed until a new storage area is completed. The Archives looks for faculty members who have made a "well-rounded" contribution both to Queens and the larger community in terms of research or other activities. Most academics are approached at the time of their retirement.19 An archivist from McGill University also suggests that his Archives is running out of room. He writes that faculty papers have been solicited with "medium intensity" from 1970 to 1985, but the Archives has recently been less active in this area because of a space shortage. Faculty have been approached on a "fairly random" basis, and some academics have also approached the Archives. In the future, the Archives hopes to institute a more systematic method of contacting retiring faculty members.20 One expression of a systematic methodology is offered by the Chief Archivist of the University of Alberta. He writes that he is in the process of implementing a comprehensive approach in which the President of the University would send letters to prominent retiring faculty members. These academics would later be contacted by the Archivist. At present, archival staff members seek advice from deans and also make their own judgments as to which faculty members to approach, taking into account the faculty member's teaching, research, and contributions to the University.21 The Archivist of the University of Victoria is considering a similar approach. Until now, 85 because of space limitations, he has not approached faculty members, but he wishes to become more active. He proposes that the Deans annually review the names of faculty who are going to retire within the year and pass on to the President the names of those professors whose papers belong in the Archives. The President would then send out letters to the selected retirees.22 On the other hand, Northwestern University's Archivist, whose statement opened this chapter, writes that he rarely consults with deans, administrators, or departmental chairs in order to locate academics who meet his standards for solicitation of their papers. He believes that a university archivist should be sufficiently knowledgeable about the achievements of professors to make "appropriate subjective judgments," although he values the assistance provided by such organizations as the American Institute of Physics. He writes that he "very actively" solicits papers from retiring faculty members based on criteria similar to those of the Michigan State archivist.23 Two of the most active and interesting programs for the acquisition of faculty papers occur on opposite coasts of the United States—one at the University of Washington and one at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (M.I.T.). The Archivist of the University of Washington usually first contacts faculty members around the time they turn sixty, which is a few years before retirement.24 He has two main criteria for deciding which professors to approach—long service at the university, at least twenty years, and a national and international reputation in their subject disciplines. To help him determine the latter, he has an extensive, campus-wide network of contacts including department chairmen and faculty members. He also 86 consults with subject specialist librarians, who are knowledgeable about their fields, and who deal directly with professors. In addition, secretaries alert him to academics who are about to dispose of records. As an experiment several years ago, he put together an informal, small committee made up of university personnel, including former administrators who were each well-informed about a different group of subject disciplines. He contacted the committee members on an individual basis, showed each one a list of faculty members over a certain age, and asked them to rank the professors who should be approached by the archivist. The archivist was pleased to find that twenty-four names appeared on everyone's list. After that, he was able to take the remaining names to specific faculty contacts in certain areas, and refine his list even further. He estimates that in 1990, he will receive around eighty accessions of faculty papers, half of which represent new accessions rather than accruals. He is currently keeping track of about 200 other faculty members who will be approached in the future. The M.I.T. Archivist also believes that faculty members should be approached before retirement. She thinks that the archival community's common practice of soliciting faculty papers at retirement often confirms society's view that this event marks the conclusion of one's useful life. If the archivist informs prospective faculty donors of the archives' services through brief visits or letters at an earlier stage in their careers, donating their papers to the archives becomes associated with "preserving their accomplishments and not with retirement and death."25 Of more importance, though, is her fundamental question about faculty papers~"What documentation do you seek that justifies your decision to want to collect faculty papers?"26 Faculty papers, rather 87 than being viewed as discrete, individual units to be added to the archives, can become part of an overall institutional documentation plan that focuses on individual academic or administrative departments. To document these units, she proposes that the archivist draft a brief administrative history for each department, describing how that department expresses the functions of the university. Departmental representatives would then review the draft history. The archivist would then propose documentary goals for the department, and analyze the material that already exists in curatorial hands to see how it contributes to those goals. Gaps in documentation would become evident, and a plan could be drawn up to fill in the holes. At that point, it may be clear to the archivist that the papers of certain faculty members should be solicited in fulfillment of that plan, for example, to document a particularly notable research strength of the department. Samuels' proposals are currendy being tested at M.I.T.27 This overview of institutional practices illustrates the wide menu of choices from which one could devise an approach to the appraisal for acquisition of faculty papers. Such a proposal, however, should also consider the role of subject discipline history centers, since these organizations can provide a comprehensive view of a field that may be lacking in a purely institutional focus. B. Subject Discipline History Centers Sometimes there is no obvious repository for a professor's papers.28 To help resolve the placement problems regarding this archival material, and to generally promote the history of the academic disciplines, a number of history centers have been 88 founded for various subject specialties. These centers may carry on such activities as oral history and bibliography, but most importantly for university archivists, they usually encourage the deposit of faculty papers in their appropriate institutional homes. In most cases, these centers serve only as repositories of last resort. The oldest such organization is the Center for History of Physics of the American Institute of Physics (AIP). Its example sets a valuable precedent for assisting archivists to acquire faculty fonds which are outside the area of the archivist's expertise. The forerunner of the Center was an AIP history committee, set up in 1959, which confirmed the disturbing fact that many important physicists were destroying their archival materials in the belief that their publications constituted a sufficient record of their contributions. The Center for History of Physics, established in 1965, adopted the strategy of trying to identify the most productive American physicists, contacting them about their archives, and attempting to find the most suitable repository for them.29 This would ideally be the local archives of the institution where the scientist had done most of his work.30 Since its early years, the Center has generally aimed not to acquire for itself the papers of famous American physicists, but rather has tried to "argue, cajole or shame" university archives into saving the papers of these people.31 Moreover, the archivists at the Center will even return papers they have already acquired if the appropriate institution begins an archival program.32 The Archives of American Mathematics (AAM) is an example of a subject-based archives that acquires faculty papers. The AAM began with the preservation of the papers of two prominent Texas mathematicians, Robert Lee Moore and 89 H.S. Vandiver. One of Moore's doctoral students, R.L. Wilder, although mainly associated with the University of Michigan during his own career, believed that Moore's papers could form the basis for a broader collection, and not only donated his own papers to the AAM, but encouraged other students of Moore to do the same. The Archives became the official repository of the Mathematical Association of America in 1978, and in 1984, the AAM became the responsibility of the University Archives of the University of Texas at Austin.33 The present Archivist of the AAM advocates an ethical policy similar to that espoused by the Center for History of Physics. If he learns that a prominent mathematician has died or is retiring, he first notifies that faculty member's institutional archives. Only if that archives does not want the papers will he then approach the department chairman, spouse or other contact.34 It can be argued that the AAM is a reasonable place for mathematicians' papers that have no obvious archival home. One such example is the case of Max Dehn, a prominent German mathematician, who did his most notable work at the University of Frankfurt, but was forced to emigrate. He arrived in the United States in 1940, where he was most closely associated with Black Mountain College in North Carolina. For Dehn's papers, the AAM seems a suitable repository.35 On the other hand, the AAM also houses the papers of a prominent Berkeley mathematical analyst, a Princeton topologist, and a noted Johns Hopkins expert in rational mechanics.36 One can only speculate whether these instances simply express the donors' preference for a subject-based over an institutionally-based complementarity, or whether other personal factors were involved. Sometimes, however, it is easier to trace the lines of subject-based complementarity, 90 which, in two instances, have resulted in the anomaly of an archives in Texas housing some records of the Mathematics Departments of the Universities of Michigan and North Carolina. In these examples, the two mathematicians, R.L. Wilder and William Whyburn, who made the donations were students of Texas-based scholars.37 A faculty member, however, rarely thinks in archival terms of complementarity, although this concept may underlie his actions. Rather he thinks in terms of his predominant image of himself-as a subject specialist or as a member of the university. If he favors the former view, he will find validation for it from several sources. Archivists from two history centers leaned towards the centralization by subject as hypothetically proposed in Chapter Two, and as supported by some of the faculty members the author interviewed. The Director of the Archives of the History of American Psychology believes that those professors who see themselves as psychologists first, rather than institutional employees, would find "knowledgeable treatment" in his archives.38 The Director of the American Institute of the History of Pharmacy likewise writes that he would accept donations of papers from pharmacists of "exceptional importance," although pharmacists of lesser renown would be advised to apply to their local university repository.39 Furthermore, the initial reaction to this question by two officers of major mathematical organizations in the United States was to recommend that mathematicians deposit their papers in an archives of mathematics.40 The university archivist who has a different point of view must be prepared to make his case to faculty members. 91 Canadian archivists so far have had little contact with subject discipline history centers, although correspondence with several of their archivists suggests that they are ready to aid their Canadian colleagues in the acquisition of faculty papers.41 In particular, Joan Warnow-Blewett of the Center for History of Physics notes that she currently contacts Canadian archivists about one or two times a year, although they do not always answer her letters. She adds that Canadians are included in the Center's lists of distinguished scientists, and that she has been occasionally approached by Canadian scientists for advice. In these cases, she recommends that whenever possible they deposit their papers at their home institutions.42 In conclusion, most faculty papers belong in a local university archives. A theoretical discussion of complementarity necessitates consideration of centralized subject repositories, and for the papers of certain professors, or for certain projects, such archives may be the most suitable solution. However, for the majority of cases the gain in complementarity of subject is offset by the loss in complementarity of institutional context. Furthermore, most history centers do not wish to compete with local universities for the papers of faculty members. Such a measure would ultimately result in a less broadly-based documentation of the subject with concomitant intellectual and physical hazards. Moreover such competition may become an end in itself and deflect archivists from what should be a common goal of documentation rather than a winner-take-all contest. 92 C. Financial Considerations For the majority of faculty members in Canada, financial considerations only enter into the picture when the professor seeks a monetary evaluation in order to obtain a tax credit. Faculty papers, even the non-literary variety that may have no real market value, can be assigned a value for income tax purposes.43 This can lead to a situation where an academic is willing to give his papers to an archives in order to receive credit for a charitable donation. If the value of the papers is under $1000, Revenue Canada will accept an appraisal done by a qualified in-house staff member. For a donation above that amount, an independent appraiser, who is connected neither with the donor nor with the institution, must be consulted.44 Usually, "donations eligible for credit in a given year are subject to a 20% of net income limitation with a five-year carry over."45 However, when those same papers are certified as cultural property and the recipient is a designated institution, the 20% limitation is removed and any capital gain is exempt.46 Faculty papers have qualified for such certification in the past. The Cultural Property Export and Import Act (1974-75-76, c. 50) was proclaimed in September 1977 to prevent the export of Canada's cultural heritage to foreign individuals and institutions. Since the Act's passage, it has mostly been applied to the export of works of art. Two parts of the Act, however, have relevance to faculty papers. Since faculty members qualify as living creators, they are permitted to sell their papers to a foreign individual or institution, and the professor's heirs can 93 also do so as long as the archival material is not over fifty years old.47 The Act more often affects faculty papers when the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board acts as an agency to certify cultural property for income tax purposes. The donor and the recipient institution assert that the material is of such outstanding significance and national importance that its loss would dirninish the national heritage. The institution submits an application on its own or jointly with the donor. Under the Board's appraisal rules, which are even more stringent than those of Revenue Canada for donations of gifts in kind, a monetary evaluation must be submitted with the application.48 The Board will decide whether the faculty papers meet the Board's criteria, and, in the past, it merely commented on the appraisal figure submitted since the ultimate determination of this value was left to Revenue Canada. As of February 20, 1990, the Board has been given the legislative authority to determine the value of certified cultural property.49 Over the past five years, approximately five professors' fonds per year, with estimated values between $3000 and $10000, have been certified by the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board, and have qualified for tax benefits. No application for the certification of faculty papers has been rejected.50 In practice, then, the certification of faculty papers as cultural property has not involved great numbers of people or large amounts of money, although, as with any government program, there is disagreement as to its merits. Whatever an archivist's opinion of the legislation, however, he must be knowledgeable about it, particularly if an archives other than his own is expressing an interest in a particular set of faculty papers, and is offering a tax credit as a lure. The archivist also has an ethical obligation to inform donors of the 94 existence of tax legislation relating to gifts in kind and of the role of the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board, although he need not encourage donors to pursue the tax credit.51 More serious problems can arise when faculty papers, particularly "literary papers," are bought and sold. Anne Maclean, although acknowledging that consideration must be made for the financial welfare of authors, has pointed out how pernicious the practice of buying and selling archival material can become.52 More prosperous, or simply more aggressive off-campus archivists have approached academics for their literary papers, which may well be better situated in the institutional context of the university where the faculty member taught. Money, rather than rationality, can determine placement. At times, the waters have become even muddier. Is the faculty member an independent intellectual entrepreneur or an employee of the university whose creativity was purchased along with his teaching services? In 1977, the thought-provoking case of Robin Skelton raised the whole question of the ownership of faculty papers. Skelton, a Professor of Creative Writing at the University of Victoria, had already sold sections of his literary papers to the University of Victoria Library (which includes the University Archives), and was expecting a check for another installment. University President Howard Petch cancelled the sale the day before Skelton was to receive the cheque. Petch stated that a university should not buy "archival material" from its faculty.53 In other words, the papers were already owned by the University because Skelton had created them in the employ of the institution. As Petch explained, "We 95 pay Robin to be a scholar, we pay him to be an editor [of the Malahat Review, the University of Victoria's literary journal], and we pay him to be a poet." Skelton responded that he was paid to teach classes and edit the Malahat Review. He added, "Did I write all this on university time? The answer is there's no human way anyone could do it."54 The entire imbroglio was reported in the local press, while Petch set up an ad hoc committee to establish a policy regarding the purchase of personal papers. That policy, however, never addressed the fundamental question of what constituted "personal papers."55 Although Skelton and others raised the possibility of sending his papers elsewhere, eventually Skelton donated them to the University Archives for a tax credit.56 In archival terms, the case ended happily because Skelton's archives remained together, but the entire affair illustrates the dangers mentioned by Maclean, and the problems that can arise without an institutional policy defining a university document. D. Appraisal for Acquisition of Faculty Papers~A Proposal This thesis has approached the subject of faculty papers through several avenues. The existence of documents predicted by the analysis of the professor's competences was confirmed through interviews, which also revealed some academics' attitudes towards archives. The inquiry then broadened its area to include an examination of how archivists, both in university archives and in subject-discipline history centers and repositories, dealt with faculty papers and their creators. Since such dealings could involve an outright sale or a donation for tax credit, it was also necessary to briefly describe the financial factors which could impinge on purely 96 archival considerations. It is now time to use this information to present a concrete proposal on how university archivists can most effectively appraise faculty papers for acquisition. This proposal involves the University as a whole, the University Archives, and the strategy for approaching individual faculty members. The papers in a professor's office do not exist in isolation, but have a relationship to the overall documentation produced by the university. Therefore, the ideal prerequisite for the acquisition of faculty papers within this context would be the creation of a university-wide records policy. It is best for such a policy to be drawn up by a committee representing all of the parties producing, maintaining, and using university records. The policy should also be written following legal, financial and administrative counsel. Ultimately the policy should be presented to the governing body of the university for approval.57 A written records policy begins by identifying and defining for its own purposes the terms and concepts on which the policy is based. For a university, these terms and concepts might include specifications of such items as document, record, and archives, both in general and as related to the functioning of the institution. For example, the policy would address the definition of a university record. The rest of the policy typically contains a description of three elements-structure, regulations, and a program. Within the structure, the program is executed according to the regulations. For a university policy, the identification of structure would include an organizational chart of the record-creating bodies, and the 97 specification of the hierarchical position of the university archives. Furthermore, the authorities and responsibilities of all university personnel with regard to records need to be delineated. For instance, the policy may state that only the university archivist has the authority to destroy university records. Regulations in a records policy would, address such matters as document ownership, retention requirements, tax legislation, and access. The question of ownership is a particularly important one as far as faculty papers are concerned. Not all competences of the professor have equal consequences regarding ownership of their documentary residue. For instance, teaching material such as lecture notes,58 and documents created or received during research are best considered as belonging to the professor. These documents would generally be the ones not included in a university-wide classification and records schedule. Exceptions should be specified and provisions made, or guidelines indicated, for complex cases. For instance, who owns what documentation when the professor and the university are jointly involved in a commercially valuable, patentable process or invention? Who owns the documentation when the university internally funds a particular project which results in the creation of a large data base?59 Any statement involving the ownership of faculty papers should be presented for approval to the faculty association, to obtain the full cooperation of its members, and to publicize the policy's existence. Finally a university records policy might also address the ownership of student-created material that winds up in faculty files. What rights, besides copyright, do students have with regard to this material? 98 In many cases, university archives have acquired faculty papers without such clear statements of ownership. Most academics would probably be happy to ignore the whole issue as they generally ignore most records management matters. Indeed the Canadian Association of University Teachers (CAUT) does not have an official policy statement dealing with the ownership of faculty papers.60 The potential danger of such indifference is evident, however, from the Skelton case. Even if a dispute does not become a local cause celebre, the uncertainty still matters when papers are being considered for monetary appraisal. The professor should be granted a tax credit for that which he owns rather than that which the university owns, but what exactly does he own?61 Also, a definitive ownership statement would make it easier for an archivist to discuss access. Should archivist and donor disagree, the donor can only propose access policy on the material which he owns~not on university records which may have migrated into his files. The regulations in the records policy could also specify the archivist's obligation to inform prospective donors of the existence of tax legislation regarding gifts in kind. The provision of such information should be considered an ethical act rather than an encouragement for faculty members to take advantage of the tax credit. The decision to seek a tax benefit should be made by the donor and his financial advisor rather than by the donor and an archivist. The university regulations could further state how monetary appraisals are to be conducted so that they are in concert with tax legislation and the requirements of the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board. 99 The program elements of the university records policy would include the archives' mandate and the archives' acquisition policy. The mandate defines the essential role of the university archives by vesting in it the authority of administering the documentation of the university. Such authority may be strictly limited to gaining control over inactive official records, or it may include the responsibility for the creation and maintenance of a records management program. However, the policy could also consider the archives as a body sharing the larger mission of the university to serve a broader societal constituency. The latter alternative would enlarge the scope of the archivist's responsibility to include the documentation of the university in its entirety-that is, the preservation of a record of the totality of its functions including all of the competences exercised by the juridical persons within its purview. The archivist would therefore be laying a foundation not only for current and future administrative requirements, but for answering whatever questions a future society may need to ask of the present university. With this mission in mind, the archivist will seek to acquire faculty papers in the fullest possible form to provide the widest complement of uses.62 An archival acquisition policy should draw upon both the mandate and the institutional regulations to identify the kinds of materials that the university archives will acquire, and the methods of acquisition, such as transfer according to a schedule, donation or bequest. In the case of faculty papers, the acquisition policy should also address the criteria according to which faculty papers will be sought. These criteria may vary according to the college or university. If an institution is not noted for its research accomplishments, and if its faculty members have little share in its collegial 100 governance, then academics will exercise few activities in these areas, and the corresponding documentary residue will be small. The archivist at such a place might wish to concentrate on acquiring the papers of academics considered outstanding for their teaching or community service. It may seem that an archivist should not consider outstanding teaching as an indicator of the academics to approach. The dynamic between student and teacher seems to be an intangible element that does not leave a trail of paper. However, a recent pamphlet for junior faculty members prepared by the CAUT suggests that good teaching may leave behind some documents if a faculty member expends the time to keep track of his achievements.63 For example, in consideration of the fact that student performance is persuasive evidence of good instruction, the CAUT envisioned the formation by each teacher of a Teaching Dossier including examples of student essays, creative work, or fieldwork projects. Also, letters from employers or a post-graduation employment survey would demonstrate the effects of courses on students' careers, and so forth. In total, the pamphlet lists forty-nine categories of documentation that could be part of the Teaching Dossier, and it provides a description, rationale and examples for each group. There are reasons for doubting that such a dossier will often constitute a significant part of an academic's fonds. Because of its length and complexity, few faculty members would follow the proposal to the letter. Also, such a dossier represents an artificial creation produced for self-promotion, rather than being a file whose contents are created or received naturally in the course of exercising a competence. However, it has an archival nature if it is not created for posterity, but for administrative purposes such as to obtain tenure, promotion, or to be called to 101 speak before community organizations. Besides, the CAUT pamphlet itself indicates that there is a wide spectrum of interesting documentation which may occur among the papers of "good teachers," and this type of faculty should not be dismissed out of hand by the archivist, even in a research-oriented university. Li such an institution, however, the more obvious criteria for soliciting faculty members will be significant contributions to their academic disciplines, to university administration, or to community service. An acquisition policy, however complete, is not a strategy for action. The policy does not describe the steps the archivist should take to implement its goals, even when acquisition methods are named, and appraisal criteria are specified for such material as faculty papers. Mandate and acquisition policy should only lead to procedures, which will be expressed in a distinct document, an acquisition plan. Within an acquisition plan, separate consideration should be given to procedures leading to the acquisition of faculty papers. The types of procedures the archivist may choose to adopt are varied, but some are undoubtedly more likely to give positive results than others. Most university archivists probably lack the desire or the resources to contact all tenured or all retiring faculty members. A program of widespread mailings and self-selection is one option, but the passive nature of this method can result in a distorted record of a university's scholarly and community achievements.64 Many faculty members simply will not respond to a general appeal because they do not understand the role of a university archives, or the value of faculty papers. Academics often discard or ignore routine notices. (In one U.B.C. professor's office, 102 the form letter from the Archives was inadvertently posted on a bulletin board above the waste basket into which the faculty member had discarded some of his papers). Meanwhile, a personal appeal from an archivist at another repository may cause an academic to consider an archives outside his home institution. The successful appraisal of faculty papers for acquisition therefore begins with the university archivist as activist The questions then arise of whom to approach and how. At the University of Washington, Kerry Bartels' rule of contacting any professor with twenty years of service to the university seems one reasonable way to insure the preservation of valuable administrative material that may remain in the files of these faculty members. Quinn at Northwestern does well to suggest that the archivist should not be afraid to use his own knowledge of the university to make appraisal judgments. No matter how an archivist appraises faculty papers for acquisition, an element of judgement will always remain, and the archivist must ultimately accept responsibility for his appraisal decisions. It is probably more prudent, however, for an archivist to develop a network of sources similar to that in place at the University of Washington. A consultative committee, as described by Bartels, may also be a good way to get started.65 From the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Helen Samuels' proposal for appraising faculty papers within the context of a departmental administrative history has much to recommend it. Indeed, if an archives can afford the time and personnel, it is the most logical approach to the acquisition of this material. Taking an interest in the subject field as a whole would help to convince faculty members of the archivist's 103 good intentions and sincerity. Also, and more importantly, departmental approbation would promote the cooperation of the faculty member who does not regard his papers as a stand-alone treasure, and would find it easier to view them as a worthwhile component of an integrated documentary effort. Some Canadian archivists mentioned the use of a tax benefit as a means of encouraging faculty to donate papers. However, for many academics, a faculty member's loyalty to his department and discipline may be more likely to induce cooperation than the prospect of a relatively small tax credit, or an attempt to convince a skeptical professor that the loss of his papers would seriously damage his country's national heritage. Most faculty members already believe that their papers have little value. Samuels' departmental approach suggests that the archivist analyze existing archival holdings from a particular department. If a records management program is already in place, gaps in the archives' holdings might come to light. If there is no records management program, the production of a departmental administrative history might uncover missing pieces in the story that would convince academics of the value of good record-keeping practices. A university archivist would have to determine which departments to contact first. These could be, for example, those departments which represent the institution's greatest research strengths as determined by the archivist's own knowledge or through consultation with administrators. It would also be appropriate to approach departments which are celebrating an anniversary (such as the establishment of the department or 104 the establishment of the subject-based organization), or departments whose members' research reflects a rapidly changing discipline. The departmental approach may be a valid procedure for the systematic acquisition of faculty papers even if it presents some problems. Will an institutional mindset preclude the local archivist from recognizing that another repository may have a legitimate claim to a faculty member's papers? A faculty donor may look to an archivist for advice in case there is a possibility of depositing his papers in more than one archives. Could not University Archivist "A" have the courtesy to inform University Archivist "B" that he wishes to approach a faculty member on "B"'s campus? Could not two archivists discuss what would constitute the most suitable archival home, taking into account considerations of complementarity, and make a unified recommendation? Perhaps such a prescription is too idealistic, but it would be unfortunate if the advantages of institutional acquisition plans were overcome by unnecessary competition. Moreover, the departmental approach, if used as a general procedure for all types of acquisition activities by the university archives could represent a very narrow focus. Where does the independent scholar without any institutional affiliation fit into such a scheme? What happens to the documentation of the subject organizations and their journals? What about the companies that are formed to exploit technology developed from basic university research? Does such a plan take general cognizance of the ties between industry, other private organizations, and academia? To summarize, 105 by concentrating on individual trees—that is, departments and professors—do archivists loose sight of a more holistic vision of the groves of academe? Several solutions are possible to these problems. First, at the level of archival mandate, a goal for the archives could be to document the relations of the institution with society at large, including examples of community and industrial liaisons. At the level of an acquisition policy, this could be expressed, for example, as a willingness to acquire the records of faculty-initiated technology companies that were unable or unwilling to support their own business archives, or the records of those companies that cease operation. Second, even a university archivist with a detailed acquisition plan could recognize, support, and cooperate with the academic discipline history centers. These organizations offer an overall view of academic subjects that is beyond the range of even the most conscientious individual institutional archivist. The university archivist could consider advice from these centers, provide advice to them in return, and even ask for their help, in recognition that all archivists work towards a common goal of assuring the preservation of our societal documentary heritage. These centers may be the best place to retain the records of academic journals and subject-based societies, which often sponsor the centers anyway. However, in fields where such centers do not exist, individual universities might wish to volunteer, as McMaster has done, to provide archival homes for society or journal archives which cannot be maintained in the headquarters of the organization. This practice would obviate any objection that a 106 Canadian society or journal might have to sending its records to a subject discipline center in another country. E. Approaching the Faculty Member Whether faculty members are solicited for their papers within or outside the context of a departmental administrative history, the archivist's approach should be a personal one that combines education about archives and psychological support. From the faculty interviews, and correspondence and conversation with university archivists, it became apparent that an archivist soliciting faculty papers should be prepared to explain at least four things: what constitutes archives and how archives differ from libraries; the nature of the organic archival bond and why it is not desirable to split an archival fonds; the desirability of keeping faculty papers within the institutional context where most of them were created; and the uses of faculty papers as a valuable complement to published material for documenting the discipline, the department, the university, and academic life in general. The archivist must also be prepared to give psychological support to a potential donor of personal papers. In that sense, an impersonal letter from a university president does not have the same effect as an initial approach from a sympathetic party who is sincerely interested in the faculty member's work and its documentation. One academic, when asked how he would respond to a letter from the university president about his papers, quipped that he would rather burn them than agree to the request 107 This remark recalls that many a true word is said in jest, and the archivist's neutrality, as a separate entity distinct from the administration, may stand him in good stead. Bartels, at the University of Washington, expresses the archivist's position very well when he says that an archivist seeking a faculty member's personal papers is asking for a part of that professor's life. It is therefore important for the archivist to acknowledge his responsibility to the faculty member to care for the papers physically, to provide proper intellectual access, and to work with the professor to insure that any sensitive material mentioning colleagues or students will be closed for a sufficient period of time or otherwise protected. This latter step is necessary even though many academics' first reaction was that they had no files which needed to be closed. It seems best to approach faculty members well before the trauma of retirement looms on the horizon. An early visit by the archivist allows more time for archivist and academic to build a bond of trust through the measures of education and psychological support described above. Should that faculty member move to a new office, he may think of the archives first rather than the waste basket. Although there is some slight danger of tempting faculty members to tamper with the historical record, the interviews suggest that faculty members, unlike politicians, make little connection between their personal records and their reputations for posterity. They view their publications as their most important legacy. Shelley Sweeney, the Archivist of the University of Regina, is correct in mentioning the tremendous internal public relations value of acquiring faculty papers. 108 Comments by many of the academics who were interviewed suggest,that they have little notion of the existence of a university archives, let alone its mission. Direct contact by the archivist with faculty members on a project of mutual interest-the preparation of departmental histories, the acquisition of faculty papers, or both-could do much to create a general understanding of archival work and thereby strengthen the archival presence on campus. The appraisal for acquisition of faculty papers should indeed be part of the mission of any university archives worth its salt. Once those papers are acquired, or while acquiring them, the archivist must perform another type of appraisal-this time for selection within the papers of each faculty member. What is worth keeping and why will be the topics of the next chapter. 109 ENDNOTES 1. Letter to the author from Patrick M. Quinn, September 15, 1989. All letters cited in the endnotes were written to the author. To simplify the citation, the endnote will state "Letter (or Interview, or Telephone Conversation), Name of Author (or Interviewee), Date." The full title of the author of each letter or of each interviewee is recorded in the text and in the bibliography. 2. Canadian archivists were selected through consultation with the members of the thesis committee. The American archivists contacted were those who had written articles specifically about faculty papers, or more general articles or books in which faculty papers had been mentioned. The University df Washington Archives in Seattle was initially approached because of its proximity to Vancouver. When it was determined that the University had a vigorous archival and records management program, the author requested and was granted an interview with the archivist. 3. For example, Quinn describes his policy as an "informal" one, rather than a formal policy which is approved by higher university authorities. Letter, Quinn, September 15, 1989. 4. The Harvard University Archives does not have a document termed an "acquisition policy," but functions under a short statement, approved by the Harvard Corporation in 1939, regarding the preservation of official records. Although faculty papers are not mentioned, Curator Harley P. Holden states that the Archives have acquired over "800 collections" in the past fifty years. Letter, Harley P. Holden, October 5, 1989. 5. Letter, Jean Tener, October 25, 1989. Tener adds, however, that her experience is limited to faculty in the social sciences and humanities and may not be applicable to academics in the sciences. 6. The Division does, however, acquire material from the Canadian Journal of Chemical Engineering. Those documents include copies of all papers submitted to the editor, reviewers' comments, and some correspondence relating to each paper. The Division began acquiring these papers in 1975, when the editor of the Journal was a faculty member at McMaster. Written approval of the current editor is necessary for access. Letter, Charlotte A. Stewart, January 19, 1990. 7. Letter, Harley P. Holden, October 5, 1989. Holden has also written an article on "The Collecting of Faculty Papers," Harvard Library Bulletin 19 (1971): 187-193. 8. Letter, Shelley Sweeney, September 13, 1989. 9. Interview, Laurenda Daniels, September 27, 1989. 10. Letter, Richard E. Bennett, October 5, 1989. 11. Letter, Frederick L. Honhart, September 15, 1989. 110 12. Frederick L. Honhart, "The Solicitation, Appraisal, and Acquisition of Faculty Papers," College and Research Libraries 19 (May 1983): 237-238. 13. Ibid., 237. 14. Ibid., 239. 15. Letter, Kent M. Haworth, January 18, 1990. Haworth is now Public Records Archivist at the Provincial Archives of Nova Scotia. A letter from Harold Averill, Assistant University Archivist, January 15, 1990 confirms that faculty papers are still acquired by the University Archives, which is also interested in the papers of staff, students, and student organizations. 16. Maynard Brichford, "University Archives: Relationships with Faculty," American Archivist 34 (April 1971): 176. Brichford has described the development of his own university's archives in "The Illiarch," Illinois Libraries 52 (February 1970): 182-204. 17. Brichford, "University Archives," 178. 18. Letter, Maynard Brichford, September 19, 1989. 19. Letters, Paul Banfield, October 18, 1989; February 5, 1990. 20. Letter, Robert Michel, September 19, 1989. 21. Letter, Bryan Corbett, September 20, 1989. 22. Interview, Chris Petter, September 11, 1989. 23. Letters, Quinn, September 15, 1989; October 12, 1989. Quinn has also written two articles on university archives: "Profile in Purple: The Northwestern University Archives," Illinois Libraries 57 (March 1975): 220-223; and "Academic Archives and their Current Practice: Some Modest Suggestions," Georgia Archives 10 (Fall 1982): 14-24. 24. Interviews, Kerry Bartels, September 25, 1989; April 4, 1990. Battels points out that he would like to approach faculty members at an even earlier age, but that so many of them are now approaching retirement, he cannot get to them any sooner. 25. Letter, Helen Samuels, September 15, 1989. 26. Ibid. 27. Letter, Samuels, January 20, 1990. 28. The reader's attention is redirected to the Collip case and other examples in Chapter Two for illustrations of faculty papers whose proper location is not immediate-ly obvious. Ill 29. Joan Warnow-Blewett, "Towards Adequacy of Archival Documentation: A Case Study. The American Institute of Physics and the Process of Documenting Modern Physics." (Talk presented at the dedication ceremony of the Niels Bohr Library of the American Institute of Physics, September 26, 1962), 4-9. Also Warnow, "Preserving Documentary Materials," 7-10. 30. The Center for History of Physics has written a brochure for scientists entitled, "Scientific Source Materials: A Note on Their Preservation." The brochure states, "Usually it is best for a scientist's papers to be saved at the institution with which he or she is most closely associated, if it has a suitable archives. It is here that scholars will seek the papers, and here that they will find the administrative records of the institution, papers of colleagues, and related materials which will provide a well-rounded view of the scientist's work and the atmosphere in which it was effected." (New York: American Institute of Physics, n.d.) 31. Warnow, "Preserving Documentary Materials," 10. 32. Warnow-Blewett, "Towards Adequacy," 15. 33. "Archives of American Mathematics," (Austin, Texas: Archives of American Mathematics, 1987); Frederic F. Burchsted, "Sources for the History of Mathematics in the Archives of American Mathematics," in A Century of Mathematics in America, Part III (Providence, Rhode Island: American Mathematical Society, 1988), 667-674; and Burchsted, "Archives of American Mathematics," Historia Mathematica 14 (1987): 366-374. 34. Letter, Frederic F. Burchsted, February 7, 1990. 35. Burchsted, "Archives," 367. The case is not an open-and-shut one. Perhaps Dehn's presence had a very profound effect on the life of the College. In that event, assuming that this institution did have an archives, the local archivist would have wanted Dehn's papers, although they would then exist in intellectual isolation from the rest of the discipline. 36. Burchsted, "Archives," 370-372. 37. Burchsted, "Sources," 673. 38. Letter, John A. Popplestone, November 13, 1989. In an unpublished article, Popplestone noted that he and Marion McPherson were inspired to start the Archives because a mutual friend had recently helped to establish the Archives of American Art in Detroit. John A. Popplestone and Marion White McPherson, "The Archives of the History of American Psychology: 1965-1989," unpublished mss., June 1989. The author of this thesis was only able to find one Canadian subject-based organization, the Canadian Psychological Association, which had set up an archival program. In 1985, that organization appointed an archivist, Mary L. Wright, who conducted a survey in 1986 to study "The Preservation of Documents of Historical 112 Value to Psychology in Canada." Concerning the "private papers of individual psychologists," 15 of 41 Canadian universities were prepared to accept such papers although not all had done so~in fact, only the papers of* 15 psychologists had been acquired by university archives at the time of a recent letter from Wright. (Letter, Mary L. Wright, March 28, 1990). In Wright's survey letter to university presidents, she expressed concern that the papers of Canadian psychologists were sought by the Archives of the American Psychological Association, and some faculty fonds may have "already been lost to this country." Such concerns are understandable, and the thrust of this thesis—generally favoring institutional over subject-based repositories—is in accord with Wright's preferences. Academic disciplines, however, cross national boundaries. In the absence of a suitable archives at a scholar's home university, the principle of subject complementarity may be a better determinant of a suitable repository than feelings of nationalism. 39. Letter, Gregory J. Higby, November 14, 1989. 40. Interview, Kenneth A. Ross, Associate Secretary of the Mathematical Association of America, April 1990. Letter, Everett Pitcher, former Associate Secretary of the American Mathematical Society, January 1990. 41. Letter, Helen E.A. Zilinskas, Archives Committee, Center for the History of Microbiology, March 26, 1990; Letter, Joyce E. Bedi, Curator, Center for the History of Electrical Engineering, March 9, 1990. 42. Letter, Joan Warnow-Blewett, March 2, 1990. 43. Our American archival brethren face a very different tax situation. At one time, persons could donate papers they had created to repositories and obtain a tax deduction. American legislators forced changes in the tax law because political figures, particularly U.S. Presidents, had taken advantage of the law to receive large deductions. However, as Gary and Trudy Peterson noted, the Tax Reform Act of 1969, was "written broadly and caught in its sweep all those persons whose personal papers are also their official business (authors, songwriters, poets, and so forth)." The creators of personal papers can now only take deductions for the cost of the paper and ink, for example, but not the "autograph value or intellectual content of the items." Furthermore, a 1979 court decision affirmed that the donor also could not receive a tax deduction for items such as letters he had received from third parties (such as constituents). As the Petersons concluded, "This judicial decision affirms the archival view that the papers of a person are a unitary entity, including both the documents created and the documents received, and are to be treated as an indivisible whole." Gary M. Peterson and Trudy Huskamp Peterson, Archives and Manuscripts: Law (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1985), 35-36. 44. Revenue Canada Taxation, Gifts in Kind (Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services, 1987), 5. Some archivists prefer not to do in-house monetary appraisals, and in fact, think that archivists should leave all such evaluations to qualified dealers. 113 Booksellers such as William Hoffer and Stephen Lunsford make a good case for this point of view. 45. Robert Turner, "Tax Aspects of the Disposition of Collections," (Reprinted by the Friends of the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto, from The Halcyon, No. 2, 1988). 46. Ibid. 47. Cultural Property Export and Import Act (1974-75-76), c. 50, s.4. 48. No in-house appraisal is acceptable for any value. One appraisal is required when the value of the donation is less than $5000. For donations whose value is over $5000, two independent appraisals are required. Only one appraisal is needed if it is provided by the National Archival Appraisal Board. Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board, "Applications for Certification of Cultural Property for Income Tax Purposes: Guidelines & Information," (Ottawa: Movable Cultural Property, Department of Communications, 1989), 9-13. 49. Michael H. Wilson, "Notice of Ways and Means Motion to Amend the Income Tax Act," in The Budget (Ottawa: House of Commons, 1990), 161. 50. Telephone conversation, the Secretariat, Movable Cultural Property, Department of Communications, February 5, 1990. 51. In all cases, an archivist could advise a donor to consult with his accountant on the matter. According to Bookseller Stephen Lunsford, accountants often tell prospective donors that their donation would need to receive such a high evaluation to make the tax credit worth while, that it is pointless to pursue the matter. An archivist could also point out the expense to the archives of obtaining a monetary appraisal. The faculty members interviewed suggested that they placed little monetary value on their papers and would not be likely to pursue the matter. 52. Maclean writes," The open-market approach is deleterious to archival principles because it so often involves splitting up the author's papers and destroying their integrity....An open-market system treats archival records as if they were artificial collections, to be broken up and sold at auctions in individual lots." Anne M. Maclean, "The Acquisition of Literary Papers in Canada," (Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1987), 119. 53. Robin Skelton, The Memoirs of a Literary Blockhead (Toronto: Macmillan, 1988), 229-231. 54. Tony Gregson and David Climenhaga, "UVic President Blocks Sale of Skelton Papers," Monday Magazine, May 2-8, 1977. 55. University of Victoria, "Policy and Procedures Guide No. 14: Acquisition of Personal Material from University Employees," 1979. 114 56. Skelton, 231. 57. Within the scope of this thesis, it is impossible to fully cover all aspects of university archival practice. This thesis concentrates on those issues which bear upon faculty papers. Also, it is difficult to propose a model university records policy since many factors may have to be taken into consideration. In the United States, for example, the records policies of state universities may have to conform to state freedom-of-information legislation. Wright's survey (see Endnote 38) is also of interest here. Of the forty-one universities responding to her survey of forty-seven institutions, she found that only 53% had clear acquisition policies and records management procedures. Half of those institutions without a clear-cut policy appeared to have none at all. Letter, Wright, March 28, 1990. 58. Reports of grades and final exams would belong to the university. 59. An incident at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education (OISE) prompted this question. The scholar was allowed to take copies of his project files and materials rather than the originals. OISE policy was that "all OISE project materials or direct project outcomes" belong to OISE. In theory, then, all articles and books deriving from such research might need the Institute's approval for publication. Letter, Ian Winchester, February 27, 1990. 60. The CAUT, however, has prepared policy statements and model clauses on copyright and patents. Letter, Howard Snow, (Professional Officer, CAUT) March 12, 1990. 61. Canadian archivists Tener and Banfield touched on this matter in their letters to the author. 62. The university archives in some cases is also viewed as a manuscript repository or a municipal archives as well as a traditional institutional archives. In the case of the University of Manitoba, its archival policy of acquiring manuscripts on prairie literature and prairie agriculture has worked to the exclusion of faculty papers. In the case of Queens University, its Archives is able to function in many roles—as a repository for literary manuscripts, as a repository for the community of Kingston, and as a repository for faculty papers. 63. Bruce M. Shore, and others, "The Teaching Dossier: A Guide to Its Preparation and Use," (Ottawa: Canadian Association of University Teachers, 1986). 64. For example, a review of U.B.C. faculty papers acquired so far by the University Archives seems to suggest an over-representation of academics in education and agriculture. 115 65. One faculty member recommended that the archivist should simply approach those living faculty members for whom the university had named a building. Although offered as a tongue-in-cheek proposal, the suggestion is not without merit. 116 CHAPTER FOUR APPRAISAL FOR SELECTION My main thing about my archives is that if someone looked at them they would find them rather sterile and scanty and skeletal with a few bones missing or quite a few bones missing. Like Lucy's lower left side of her jaw and that's it. Michael Smith1 Professor Michael Smith's reference to paleoanthropologist Donald Johanson's book, Lucy: The Beginnings of Humankind,2 illustrates the dilemma of the archivist who seeks to appraise faculty papers for selection. How can that archivist preserve the most usable body of documents possible, so that the researcher of the future will not have to base a large construct of information on the sparse remnants left behind through the legacy of chance. Such a construct, although interesting for its creativity, may not provide a true picture of how the entity under study, prehistoric man or professor, actually functioned at a given period in time. This thesis started with the premise that an archivist must first understand the competences of the record creator and his activities to understand the records he creates. In the case of the records of an organization, records fall into series~a series being constituted by all records which result from the exercise of a given function or activity within a function, have the same form, or relate to the same subject. The series is thus a natural grouping of relationships arising from the records themselves. Armed with this understanding, an institutional archivist dealing with the records 117 created by his organization can then make wise choices as to which record series must be retained for legal, financial or administrative reasons, and which ones should be kept because of evidential or informational value. A person does not keep records in the same way as an organization does. He seldom arranges them within an established classification scheme, for example. However, with the faculty members who were interviewed, it was observed that correspondence, for instance, was distributed in files according to the competence to which it was related. It was organized in a systematic manner which respected the relationship between the records and the activities creating them, and ultimately the relationship between the records and their creators. If an archivist therefore received unarranged the papers of a faculty member, the most logical method of organizing them would be to group them in series according to the specific competences exercised by that individual. One series would correspond to one competence. In so doing, the archivist would be recreating the view of the records that probably existed in the mind of the faculty member, and this is the view that the archivist should reflect rather than impose an artificial order of his own creation. Four competences of faculty members were identified—teaching, research, service to the university, and service to the community. The professor, therefore, has the potential to create four series, and a fifth series can be hypothesized—those documents which reflect the academic as a private societal entity with hobbies, business interests, and other concerns, which may have only a distant bearing on his subject discipline 118 and his competences as a faculty member. An example of documents in this series might be Divinsky's files that relate to his accomplishments in chess. The difference between appraising for selection the papers of a private person and those of an organization is that, when the archivist appraises the latter, he usually does it series by series. In the former case, because one series corresponds to one entire competence, to eliminate any one series would be to eliminate most traces of that competence as fulfilled by the individual. Not only would a false picture be created of the person as a whole, but even those series which were left could no longer be viewed in their fullest context because the competences of the academic are particularly intertwined. It might be tempting for an archivist, particularly when appraising faculty papers for selection within the context of a departmental administrative history, to only retain evidence of those competences which attracted his attention in the first place. Perhaps a particular faculty member was approached for his papers mainly because of his excellence in research. In fact, he devoted so much of his time to research that he had participated relatively little in university or community service, nor was he one of the department's outstanding teachers. To merely retain his research notes, however, would seriously undermine not only a clear understanding of his work, but the overall archival purpose of providing a documentary heritage as impartial as possible. Although the initial motivation for soliciting a particular professor's papers may have been fairly narrow, the preservation of a whole fonds would offer not only the best context for 119 documenting the exercise of a specific competence, but also the most usable source for many other research purposes. Charles Rosenberg, a noted social historian of science, once made a series of prescriptive comments to scholars of intellectual history.3 Although they appear in a book about the organization of knowledge in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, his statements are probably equally applicable to the scholarship which focuses on a later period. They can be used to make a cogent case for the retention of faculty papers as whole units in order to fully exploit the societal and institutional context that may be revealed therein. Rosenberg noted, for example, that the historian of philosophy or chemistry must not only understand the underlying knowledge base of these subjects but also the complexities of peer evaluation within the discipline and networks of personal and institutional relationships.4 Furthermore, a historian who wishes to study a particular scientist or scholar would do well to understand how his subject became initiated into the discipline of his choice. The historian should read the textbooks his subjects used and recreate the atmosphere of the seminars he attended; he must understand the institutional pressures he experienced, be they for specific kinds of teaching or particular emphases in research.5 In more general terms, Rosenberg asked historians to consider the role accorded by society to those who exhibited mastery of a particular body of knowledge. His conclusion is worth quoting in full: 120 We have become increasingly aware that even the internal logic of formal thought can be shaped by social needs and assumptions; the domain of seemingly value-free inquiry grows even smaller. We have become aware as well that specific institutional structures mediate the relationship between men of learning and the society that supports them. In sum, we have become conscious of the need to integrate knowledge into a more general understanding of organizational and attitudinal trends.6 All too often in the past, an unfortunate dichotomy has prevailed. Historians of medicine, for example, were often physicians writing about other physicians, and these writers frequently overlooked the social and institutional context which surrounded the ideas they studied. On the other hand, institutional and social historians often lacked sufficient subject depth to successfully relate the "intellectual and institutional."7 It is not the place of the archivist to attempt to direct or encourage historians to fill in neglected areas, or to play peacemaker between the internalist and externalist camps in the history of science. However, the acquisition of faculty papers as whole fonds within the context of their original university milieu would be the best way to serve future historians, sociologists, or other scholars of whatever stripe or persuasion. Rosenberg's reasons for the retention of faculty fonds in as complete a form as possible are confirmed by the number of uses suggested for faculty papers on Appraisal Reports written by the National Archival Appraisal Board (NAAB).8 When read as a group, these forms suggest that it would be hard for one archivist looleing at one set of faculty papers to arbitrarily eliminate series which might well be of value to others. 121 Faculty papers were described as valuable for institutional histories, and the emergence, evolution, and current state of scholarship within various intellectual disciplines. For various literary scholars, it was noted that manuscripts showed the evolution of thought processes and style. Scientists' papers were observed to contain data with untapped research potential, and an historian's papers were described as containing data and information on sources that did not appear in the academic's published writings. Correspondence was considered as depicting not only a faculty member's research, but the personal relationships that developed with other academics during the course of many projects. The correspondence of another scholar was characterized as illustrating the relationship of an academic to the Canadian government and to the international world of scholarship. Files of one academic illustrated the case of a university professor in conflict with his institution, while files of another professor depicted the attitudes of his local community towards medical research. A personal diary was said to provide glimpses of the pleasures and problems of being a professor. Faculty papers were also cited for providing insights into family relationships and the academic's connection with his church. Finally, as if in summary of all of the above points, one academic's extensive papers were said to illustrate the role of the academic in modern society and the intellectual spirit of the times. The NAAB Reports lend credence to the view that a relatively complete fonds is more valuable both intellectually and monetarily. This last statement, however, is not meant to suggest that archivists should keep everything which may be sent to them by a faculty member. It is true that a professor generally performs his own appraisal for selection throughout much of his academic 122 career. Blinkhorn found a similar phenomenon in her study of the records of visual artists.9 Academics, as well as artists, retain a core of material for their future legal and financial well-being. These essential documents might include contracts or records of grant expenditures. As well, professors save papers that they perceive necessary for their immediate and future needs in teaching, research and university service. Finally, they may keep a few files for nostalgia or in memory of particular administrative triumphs. Confronted with an assortment of faculty papers, the archivist should not view his project as one of discarding superfluous material to arrive at an essential core. A more appropriate frame of mind is to view appraisal as the positive selection of material to illustrate as many competences of the professor as possible. In the process of arranging this material, files or items which contribute little towards this goal can be weeded or culled.10 The most frequently cited items for disposal are ephemera and duplicates. Examples of the former are readily apparent—conference memorabilia such as a list of "Favorite Fast Food Outlets" wrapped around a souvenir sprig of heather from Glasgow, or housekeeping material such as a bundle of key receipts or an envelope of parking chits from a local downtown lot. "Duplicates" as a category can include several types of items such as five identical copies of the typescript of a professor's published article, or individual documents which the faculty member copied and put in more than one location. Individual items or files may also be designated as duplicate by the academic because he believes that the "official" files are kept elsewhere by a 123 department or other administrative unit. Given all of these possible forms of duplication, one cannot make a simple rule to discard all duplicates. (Indeed, appraisal seldom permits hard and fast rules of any sort,) In the first example, most archivists would retain at least one copy of the typescript of every published article on the grounds that if the faculty member were of sufficient importance to be solicited for his papers, it is worthwhile to preserve a record of his finished work even if such material is available in published form. However, it is difficult to agree with those archivists who solicit a copy of every publication from every professor on campus. Although a professor may feel flattered by this request, surely this policy denies the fundamental difference between archives and libraries, and ultimately confuses the missions of these two cultural institutions. There can be no easy rule about material which may have been photocopied and therefore appears more than once in a faculty member's papers. Such material appears in a different context each time, and the archivist would have to exercise careful judgment before discarding duplicate material and destroying the archival bond established in the file. It is also questionable whether an archivist should spend the time to appraise an entire collection of faculty papers at the item level. With documents which may be retained by another individual, by the department or elsewhere in the university, or by an outside organization, the archivist cannot automatically endorse the faculty member's common belief that "someone is keeping this stuff, aren't they?" Academic departments and organizations are not always scrupulous about records management, and the documents could easily have 124 been discarded. Even if "Someone" is indeed keeping the material, he may be keeping it in a different context, with different surrounding documents or with different annotations. Also, a faculty member's files, such as grant documentation, may present the material in a more concentrated and complete form than is available in another location. Except in very obvious cases, such as a complete set of unannotated departmental minutes that is known to be carefully preserved elsewhere, it is best to be cautious about disposal of this type of duplicate. Keeping substantive material should not be confused with the preservation of routine documents. The archivist seeks to document the competences of a professor, not his mere existence. For instance, a professor's membership in an organization is part of his curriculum vitae and may be mentioned in his biography which precedes the inventory of his papers. There would be no need to keep copies of such items as membership receipts and general mailings. However, a professor may have files which reflect an active involvement in the organization as an officer or a committee member. As in the case of many departmental matters, some of the lower level committee work may not be duplicated in the official files of an organization, which may keep only the most basic documents required to carry on with its business. The executive of an organization delegates matters to committees in the first place to have its members deal with the details. The committee file in the hand of the professor shows how he and his colleagues approached the task. It complements the official organizational files which may just yield a report or a record of the ultimate decision, but not how it was reached. 125 Faculty papers present other appraisal questions that merit some discussion, although not all of them can be fully examined within the scope of this thesis. One such problem is the large reprint file. It was not common among the academics interviewed for this thesis, but such files do exist. They are usually not worth keeping. In our age of relative bibliographic efficiency, most scholars have access to a common pool of published information, in both the sciences and the humanities. The archivist or future researcher does not know which reprints were solicited by the scholar, which were unsolicited reprints received in the mail, or even which reprints the faculty member read. A reprint is not even archival unless it is heavily annotated by the professor or closely linked with correspondence which demonstrates how he used it in his studies. In particular cases, however, a reprint collection may be unusual and worth saving. Joan Haas and her co-authors cite the case of a Massachusetts Institute of Technology faculty member who had an extensive reprint collection with a high informational value that would be difficult to duplicate. It was on a topic of particular interest to the host institution, M.I.T. The archivist properly offered this collection to the library after noting its existence and new location in the description of the professor's papers.11 Privacy concerns must also be considered in the appraisal of faculty papers, which can contain evaluations of students or colleagues. Although an archivist may wish to discard such material because it is "too hot to handle," such an action may destroy a valuable part of the professor's and the institution's documentation. Sensitive material can usually be handled in other ways such as closing the file for a period of time, or establishing a committee to consider research requests on an individual basis.12 126 Personal letters about fellow subject specialists are particularly valuable. Such reports provide "rarely available contemporary evaluations of scientists' and engineer's work."13 Also, even one letter of recommendation gives information about the writer as well as about the subject. Indeed it is sometimes said that such a document reveals more about the former than about the latter. An entire body of such letters would provide an even greater insight into the professor who wrote them. They indicate not only the writer's personal character, but more importantly they show what he perceived to be important in his discipline. Even the very pattern of requests for evaluations could be significant. As the professor's academic reputation declined or improved, this fact could be reflected in the quantity of the requests and the prestige of the institutions which made them. Such material could be duplicated in the files of other universities, or in the offices of various journals, if one knew with which universities and journals the professor had corresponded. However, these records would not be present in the same degree of concentration or in the same context as in the faculty member's files. General factors that apply to all cases of appraisal also apply to academic's papers. As Warnow expressed it, "Records written in inscrutable handwriting, magnetic tapes lacking program documentation, and unidentifiable films are examples of records that deserve destruction."14 This advice should be weighed against the significance of the professor. An archivist would preserve Einstein's lecture notes no matter how difficult they might be to decipher at first glance. The problem of preserving machine-readable material is one that extends beyond faculty papers, and one which the archival community is only beginning to tackle. 127 Neither Bartels nor Samuels takes floppy disks, for example, and instead they encourage professors to print out important letters. Electronic mail (E-Mail), which may or may not have been saved as a printed transcript, is regarded by many users as more private than hardcopy letters. As this form of communication becomes more common, it may present a dilemma with faculty members who regard E-Mail files and printouts to be like telephone conversations—too personal for permanent preservation. The faculty members in this study represented a transitional group who, for the most part, were performing their duties without computers. University archivists will not always be able to avoid machine-readable records so easily. In summary, the appraisal for selection of faculty papers is primarily a process of classical culling, yet it is a very necessary process. An archivist with imagination can hypothesize a future value for just about any document or file, or for other items such as books which should be transferred to the library. Certainly it might be of interest to cultural historians to learn what were considered acceptable dining places for visiting faculty members in Glasgow; it might provide some psychological insight to know that a faculty member had a predilection for accumulating reprints; and, on a more serious note, a faculty member's personal library would reveal some notion about what he thought important enough to keep on his own shelves.15 However, archivists cannot ignore the imperative of appraisal which mandates that a selection must be made from an otherwise potentially overwhelming amount of material. For an archivist to do otherwise would be to negate the responsibility bestowed upon him by society in general. More particularly, it would break the implicit promise he makes to the academic whose papers he solicits-the promise that the professor's papers will be so 128 treated as to make their inherent value clearly visible to a future time. 129 ENDNOTES 1. Smith, 37. 2. Donald Johanson and Maitland Edey, Lucy: The Beginnings of Humankind (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1981). 3. Charles Rosenberg, "Toward an Ecology of Knowledge: On Discipline, Context, and History," in The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 440-455. 4. Ibid., 447. 5. Ibid., 448. 6. Ibid., 441. 7. Ibid. 8. National Archival Appraisal Board, Reports, 1980-1985. 9. Blinkhorn, 121. 10. For another view of appraisal for selection of faculty papers, see Mary E. Janzen, "Pruning the Groves of Academe: Appraisal, Arrangement and Description of Faculty Papers," Georgia Archives 9 (Fall 1981): 31-41. 11. Haas, Samuels, and Simmons, 43. 12. This solution was suggested by Glen Isaac in his thesis, which presents a thoughtful and extensive examination of the problems associated with student records. In the case of confidential material contained in faculty papers, a committee would have to evaluate not only the person requesting access, and his project, but also judge the sensitivity of the papers and the extent of measurable injury which could result from their misuse. In light of these considerations, it may be appropriate to have the researcher sign some sort of document promising his academic good behavior, and an indemnity to the archives if legal action results. These types of measures offer a more reasonable way to control access to university records and the papers of its constituent members than the automatic application of extremely restrictive policies. For further discussion, see Glen E. Isaac, "University Student Records: Privacy and Research Access," Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1986. 13. Haas, Samuels, and Simmons, 17. 130 14. Joan Nelson Warnow, "Chapter 4: Unique Documentation of Science and Technology," in Understanding Progress as Process: Documentation of the History of Post-War Science and Technology in the United States, ed. Clark A. Elliott (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1983), 35. 15. Many archivists would list the contents of a faculty member's personal library. 131 CONCLUSION All things flow, nothing abides. Into the same river one cannot step twice. Heraclitus of Ephesus.1 The nature of the university, like Heraclitus' stream, is ever changing and evolving. If the university archivist of today does not appraise for preservation that which exists at present, much of the documentary heritage of an important societal institution will be lost forever. Faculty members will soon be retiring in great numbers, and there is a critical danger that many valuable papers will not survive. The overall purpose of this thesis was to investigate a difficult area of university archival practice—the appraisal of faculty papers for acquisition and selection. Because so little was firmly established in theory or in practice about this topic, some basic questions needed to be addressed through an exploratory, qualitative study: what constitutes faculty papers, what are some of problems they present, and how do faculty members and archivists currently deal with those problems? The findings of this study could then form the basis for proposing a rational model for the appraisal of faculty papers. The thesis first introduced the record creator himself: the faculty member. Examples from popular literature demonstrated that much writing about professors 132 could be polemic in nature, or at best present a stereotypical image that failed to impart the reality of academic life. This reality could be better conveyed by faculty members' papers, but they have often been neglected by archivists. Some reasons, such as the generally haphazard development of university archives, immediately came to mind. However, a closer examination of both record creator and current archival practice seemed warranted to uncover more specific problems and possible solutions. A preliminary study of the faculty member's work was undertaken primarily through an examination of scholarly literature about universities. The results of this study were introduced with a brief historical exposition of university functions, which in turn led to the specification of a competence as the embodiment of a function in a juridical person. The professor in the university context was shown to have four competences-teaching, research, service to the university and service to the community. These competences were carried out by means of activities, which caused a variety of documents to be created or received by the faculty member. Those documents constitute the archives of the professor. With this contextual foundation, eight faculty members were formally interviewed in order to verify the preceding functional analysis, and to obtain examples of the documents predicted by it. In addition, the attitudes of academics towards archives were ascertained in an effort to develop a more effective strategy for the acquisition of faculty papers. Informal conversations with other faculty members illustrated additional points. These interviews and conversations revealed that academics are essentially pragmatists when it comes to record keeping, although 133 personal temperament colors the picture. Faculty members do not consider their archives important in themselves, and believe that publications, not their personal papers, will determine their place in posterity. Five additional conclusions were drawn, although sometimes the conclusions themselves raised additional questions. First, faculty papers do document professorial competences, and therefore contribute to the documentation of the university. Second, in the absence of a university records policy, faculty members tend to believe that they own the papers that they create, and are free to dispose of them as they choose. While laboratory or department heads feel some obligation to leave their papers behind for their successors, academics have no general sense that the university owns material such as the files they keep as individuals on committees. Third, some faculty members, if given a choice, would prefer to deposit their papers in a centralized subject repository rather than the university archives. Fourth, faculty members tend to have the maximum amount of papers at the apex of their careers. Fifth, faculty members' uncertainties about the value of their papers and the general nature of archives suggest that university archivists should be prepared to educate faculty members about both of these elements. To cast more light on some of the problems implicit in these conclusions, and to lay the foundation for an acquisition plan, it was necessary to consider the experience of other archivists. University archivists hold varied opinions on whether faculty papers should be acquired at all and, if they are to be appraised for acquisition, which faculty members should be approached, at what stage in their careers, and by 134 what method. Subject discipline history centers and subject-based repositories also acquire faculty papers. Most of these institutions encourage the deposition of faculty papers in their appropriate university homes, and prefer to remain as repositories of last resort. However, a few repositories and two officials of national scholarly organizations agree with those faculty members who see themselves as more closely aligned to their subjects than to their university. The logical extension of this viewpoint is that faculty papers are better placed with others from the same subject discipline in a centralized repository. Such a belief has some credence if one considers the archival notion of complementarity or relatedness. For the majority of cases, however, the gain in complementarity of subject is probably offset by the loss in complementarity of institutional or community context. Furthermore, if subject discipline history centers openly compete with university archives for faculty papers, this could deflect archivists from what should be a common goal of preserving a societal documentary heritage as comprehensive as possible. The buying and selling of archives can also be harmful to rational acquisition policies, but most professors' papers are not sold on the open market. In Canada, a faculty member can claim a tax credit for a donation of personal papers. Archivists should inform prospective donors of the existence of this tax legislation and the role of the Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board, although they need not encourage donors to apply for a tax credit or the Board's certification. 135 The splitting of faculty papers was also considered. This practice is unacceptable when it would destroy the organic unity of an archival fonds. However, it was established that there are occasions when faculty papers may be legitimately divided. Finally, a plan for the acquisition of faculty papers was proposed. Ideally such a plan would be backed by an institutional records policy clearly stating what documents belong to the university and what documents belong to the professor. This policy could be further defined by a records classification scheme and a retention and disposal schedule. The records series within the classification and schedule would belong to the institution. An archival mandate would delineate the overall purpose of the archives and identify its authority in the acquisition of institutional records. An acquisition policy would include a specification of the archives' interest in the fonds of faculty members, and state the criteria according to which faculty members would be approached such as excellence in research, teaching, university service, and community service. An acquisition plan would detail the general procedures and the specific steps necessary to execute the acquisition policy. Helen Samuels' suggestion for acquiring faculty papers within the context of a departmental administrative history is to be commended for its logical, contextual approach to appraisal for acquisition. Whether or not faculty members are approached within the scope of such a plan, academics should be personally contacted by the archivist well before retirement. The archivist must be willing to provide education about the value of archives and the value of 136 faculty papers, as well as offer psychological support to a prospective donor who will effectively be placing part of his life in the repository. Appraisal for selection involves recognition of the correspondence between the competences of the faculty member and the series in which his papers are grouped, either physically or intellectually. To discard an entire series would therefore distort the picture of the record creator, and so the appraisal for selection of faculty papers is primarily a process of weeding such items as ephemera, certain duplicates, and housekeeping material. This culling must nonetheless be done with care and thought Sensitive material should not be automatically discarded but could be closed for a period of time, or referred to a committee for deciding access. Faculty papers are not only problematic in nature, but they are easily ignored in pursuit of the chimera of "getting control over official records." Particularly if an archivist is concerned about support from administrators, a focus on university records may seem to offer a more immediate payoff. The archivist who takes a broader view of his role, however, sees faculty papers as an integral part of the documentation of the university. As well, in the words of Laurence Veysey: We should be less concerned with techniques than with the basic point that it is the worth of the archives for intellectual history, primarily for the history of the various academic disciplines, which is going to be the most permanent worth of any university archive. ..there appears to be no doubt that the faculty as a group will be far more interesting than academic administrators as a group, when both are glimpsed in retrospect a hundred years from now.2 137 This study was not meant to be an inclusive one, but rather to offer a point of departure for future investigations on the nature and value of faculty papers. Further research might elucidate more fully the differences between papers kept by professors in the humanities versus those kept by academics in the sciences, the impact of electronic data processing on faculty record-keeping, the acquisition of faculty papers by universities in Quebec, and many other matters which could not be completely explored in this thesis. The prospect, indeed the necessity of future studies, should not deflect archivists from recognizing the need to take some action now. Father Henry Browne, in one of the first significant articles on university archival practice, once described a university's archives as its official memory.3 That phrase succinctly captures the essence of a university archives' mission, in which is understood the wisdom that derives from memory. Lest future generations accuse that memory of being afflicted with a serious case of amnesia and accordingly being bereft of wisdom, today's university archivists must initiate active programs to appraise faculty papers for acquisition and selection. 138 ENDNOTES 1. Albert E. Avey, Handbook in the History of Philosophy: 3500 B.C. to the Present (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1961), 13. 2. Laurence R. Veysey, "A Scholar's View of University Archives," in College and University Archives: Selected Readings (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1979), 150. Reprinted from Rolland Stevens, ed., University Archives, Allerton Park Institute No. 11 (Urbana: University of Illinois Graduate School of Library Science, 1965). 3. Henry J. Browne, "An Appeal for Archives in Institutions of Higher learning," American Archivist, 16 (1953): 216. 139 SOURCES Books, Articles, Pamphlets, and Unpublished Manuscripts American Institute of Physics. "Scientific Source Materials: A Note on Their Preservation." (New York: American Institute of Physics, n.d.) "Archives of American Mathematics." (Austin, Texas: Archives of American Mathematics, 1987). Andrews, Alan. "Academic Freedom & Tenure Column." CAUT Bulletin 37 (February 1990): 8-9. Black, Henry Campbell. Black's Law Dictionary. 5th ed. St. Paul: West Publishing Company, 1979. Blinkhorn, Victoria Louise. "The Records of Visual Artists: Appraising for Acquisition and Selection." Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1988. Bliss, Michael. The Discovery of Insulin. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1982. Bowen, Howard R., and Jack H. Schuster. American Professors: A National Resource Imperiled. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986. Bowers, John F. "James Moriarty: A Forgotten Mathematician." New Scientist 124 (December 23-30, 1989): 17-19. Bowler, Peter J. "The Early Development of Scientific Societies in Canada." In The Pursuit of Knowledge in the Early American Republic: American Scientific and Learned Societies from Colonial Times to the Civil War, ed. Alexandra Oleson and Sanborn C. Brown, 326-339. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976. Brichford, Maynard. "The Illiarch." Illinois Libraries 52 (February 1970): 182-204. . "University Archives: Relationships With Faculty." American Archivist 34 (April 1971): 173-181. Broad, William, and Nicholas Wade. Betrayers of the Truth. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982. Browne, Henry J. "An Appeal for Archives in Institutions of Higher Learning." American Archivist 16 (1953): 213-226. 140 Burchsted, Frederic F. "Sources for the History of Mathematics in the Archives of American Mathematics." In A Century of Mathematics in America, Part III. Providence, Rhode Island: American Mathematical Society, 1988. . "Archives of American Mathematics." Historia Mathematica 14 (1987): 366-374. Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board. "Applications for Certification of Cultural Property for Income Tax Purposes: Guidelines & Information." Ottawa: Movable Cultural Property, Department of Communications, 1989. Clark, Burton R. The Academic Life: Small Worlds, Different Worlds. Princeton: Carnegie Foundation, 1987. Cole, Stephen, Jonathan R. Cole, and Gary A. Simon. "Chance and Consensus in Peer Review." Science 214 (1981): 881-886. Cultural Property Export and Import Act. (1974-75-76), c. 50. Doyle, Arthur Conan. "The Final Problem." In The Complete Sherlock Holmes, 542-555. Garden City, New York: Garden City Books, 1930. Duranti, Luciana. "Diplomatics: New Uses for an Old Science. Part III." Archivaria 30 (Summer 1990): in press. Finkelstein, Martin. The American Academic Profession: A Synthesis of Social Scientific Inquiry Since World War II. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1984. Finken, Matthew W. "On 'Institutional' Academic Freedom." Texas Law Review, 61 (1983): 817-857. Gondos, Victor. J. Franklin Jameson and the Birth of the National Archives: 1906-1926. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981. Gregson, Tony, and David Climenhaga. "UVic President Blocks Sale of Skelton Papers." Monday Magazine, May 2-8, 1977. Haas, Joan K., Helen Samuels, and Barbara Trippel Simmons. Appraising the Records of Modern Science and Technology: A Guide. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1985. Halberstam, David. The Best and the Brightest. New York: Random House, 1969. Harris, Robin S. A History of Higher Education in Canada: 1663-1960. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976. 141 Haskins, Charles Homer. The Rise of Universities. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1923. Hawkins, Hugh. "University Identity: The Teaching and Research Functions." In The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss, 285-312. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979. Higham, John. "The Matrix of Specialization." In The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss, 3-18. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979. Hofstadter, Richard and Walter P. Metzger. The Development of Academic Freedom in the United States. New York: Columbia University Press, 1955. Holden, Harley P. "The Collecting of Faculty Papers." Harvard Library Bulletin 19 (1971): 187-193. Honhart, Frederick L. "The Solicitation, Appraisal, and Acquisition of Faculty Papers." College and Research Libraries 19 (May 1983): 236-241. Illich, Ivan. Medical Nemesis: The Expropriation of Health. London: Penguin, 1976. Isaac, Glen E. "University Student Records: Privacy and Research Access." Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1986. Janzen, Mary E. "Pruning the Groves of Academe: Appraisal, Arrangement, and Description of Faculty Papers." Georgia Archives 9 (Fall 1981): 31-41. Machlup, Fritz. Knowledge: Its Creation, Distribution, and Economic Significance. Volume 2, The Branches of Learning. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982. Maclean, Anne M. "The Acquisition of Literary Papers in Canada." Master of Archival Studies Thesis, University of British Columbia, 1987. Maher, William J. "The Current State of Academic Archives: A Procrustean Bed for Archival Principles." American Archivist 52 (1989): 342-349. Mahoney, Michael J. "Publication Prejudices: An Experimental Study of Confirmatory Bias in the Peer Review System." Cognitive Therapy and Research 1 (1977): 161-175. Mason, Philip R. "College and University Archives." American Archivist 26 (1963): 161-165. 142 Mason, Stephen F. A History of the Sciences. New York: Collier, 1962. Merton, Robert. "The Matthew Effect in Science." In The Sociology of Science, ed. Norman W. Storer, 439-459. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973. Merton, Robert, and Harriet Zuckerman. "Institutionalized Patterns of Evaluation in Science." In The Sociology of Science: Theoretical and Empirical Investigations, ed. Norman W. Storer, 460-496. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971. Metzger, Walter P. "The Academic Profession in the United States." In The Academic Profession: National, Disciplinary, and Institutional Settings, ed. Burton R. Clark, 123-208. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987. Monroe, Alden N., and Kathleen Roe. "The Role of Function in Archival Practice." Unpublished manuscript, 1988. Olby, Robert. "Francis Crick, DNA, and the Central Dogma." In Twentieth-Century Sciences: Studies in the Biography of Ideas, ed. Gerald Holton, 227-280. New York: W.W. Norton, 1970. Palfreman, Jon. "Decoding the Book of Life," transcript, Nova television series, Show #1615 (broadcast October 31, 1989 on the Public Broadcasting System), 5-6. Parsons, Talcott. "The Strange Case of Academic Organization." Journal of Higher Education 42 (June 1971): 486-495. Perkins, James A., ed. The University as an Organization. New York: Mc-Graw Hill, 1973. Peterson, Gary M., and Trudy Huskamp Peterson. Archives and Manuscripts: Law. Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1985. Pierce, Sydney J. "Characteristics of Professional Knowledge Structures: Some Theoretical Implications of Citation Studies." Library and Information Science Research 9 (1987): 143-171. Popplestone, John A., and Marion White McPherson. "The Archives of the History of American Psychology." Unpublished manuscript, June 1989. Professor X. This Beats Working For a Living: The Dark Secrets of a College Professor. New Rochelle: Arlington House, 1973. Quinn, Patrick M. "Academic Archivists and Their Current Practice: Some Modest Suggestions." Georgia Archives 10 (Fall 1982): 14-24. 143 . "Profile in Purple: The Northwestern University Archives." Illinois Libraries 57 (March 1975): 220-223. Rashdall, Hastings. The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages. New ed. F.M. Powicke and A.B. Emden. 3 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936. Revenue Canada Taxation. Gifts in Kind. Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services, 1987. Rosenberg, Charles. "Toward an Ecology of Knowledge: On Discipline, Context, and History." In The Organization of Knowledge in Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss, 440-455. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979. Ross, Murray G. "The Dilution of Academic Power in Canada: The University of Toronto." Minerva 10 (1972): 242-258. . The University: The Anatomy of Academe. New York: McGraw Hill, 1976. Ruscio, Kenneth P. "Many Sectors, Many Professions." In The Academic Profession: National, Disciplinary, and Institutional Settings, ed. Burton R. Clark, 331-368. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987. Samuels, Helen, and Bridget Blagbrough. Documenting Colleges and Universities. Unpublished manuscript, July 1988. Scrag, Peter. "The Dissenting Academy." Saturday Review 51 (February 17, 1963): 63. Shils, Edward. "The Order of Learning in the United States: The Ascendancy of the University." In The Organization of Knowledge in the Modern America, 1860-1920, ed. Alexandra Oleson and John Voss, 19-47. Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979. . "The Profession of Science." Advancement of Science 24 (June 1968): 469-480. Shore, Bruce M. and others. "The Teaching Dossier: A Guide to Its Preparation and Use." Ottawa: Canadian Association of University Teachers, 1986. Skelton, Robin. The Memoirs of a Literary Blockhead. Toronto: Macmillan, 1988. Sykes, Charles J. Profscam: Professors and the Demise of Higher Education. Washington, D.C.: Regnery Gateway, 1988. Turner, Robert. "Tax Aspects of the Disposition of Collections." Reprinted by the Friends of the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto, from The Halycon, No. 2, 1988. 144 University of British Columbia. The Faculty Handbook. Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 1985. # Second to None: Service Through Excellence. Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 1989. University of Victoria. "Policy and Procedures Guide No. 14: Acquisition of Personal Material from University Employees." Victoria: University of Victoria, 1979. Veysey, Laurence R. The Emergence of the American University. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965. "A Scholar's View of University Archives." In College and University Archives: Selected Readings (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1979), 145-154. Reprinted from Rolland Stevens, ed., University Archives, Allerton Park Institute No. 11. Urbana: University of Illinois Graduate School of Library Science, 1965. Warnow, Joan Nelson. "Unique Documentation of Science and Technology." In Understanding Progress as Process: Documentation of the History of Post-war Science and Technology in the United States, ed. Clark A. Elliott, 31-41. Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1983. . "Preserving Documentary Materials for the History of 20th Century Physics." Paper presented at the 5th Congresso Nazionale de Storia della Fisica, Roma, 29 Ottobre/1 Novembre 1984. "Unsoiicited Proposal Submitted to Department of Energy by American Institute of Physics." New York: American Institute of Physics, 1988. Warnow-Blewett, Joan. "Towards Adequacy of Archival Documentation: A Case Study. The American Institute of Physics and the Process of Documenting Modern Physics." Talk presented at the dedication ceremony of the Niels Bohr Library of the American Institute of Physics, September 26, 1962. "First Steps in AIP Study of Collaborations in High-energy Physics." AIP History Newsletter 21 (Fall 1989): 1-2. Wilson, Logan. American Academics: Then and Now. New York: Oxford University Press, 1979. Wilson, Michael H. "Notice of Ways and Means Motion to Amend the Income Tax Act." In The Budget. Ottawa: House of Commons, 1990. Wolff, Jane. "Faculty Papers and Special-Subject Repositories." American Archivist 44 (Fall 1981): 346-351. 145 Preparatory Interviews with Administrators and Faculty Members, University of British Columbia General Note: All interviews were conducted in Vancouver, British Columbia, by the author of this thesis. All correspondence was between the author of this thesis and the writer of the letter. The correspondence and interviews took place between September 1989 and April 1990. William Benjamin, Professor and Director, School of Music Izak Benbasat, Professor of Commerce and Business Administration Harold Copp, Professor Emeritus of Physiology David Dolphin, Acting Dean of Science Norman Epstein, Professor Emeritus of Chemical Engineering DeLloyd Guth, Visiting Associate Professor of Law Sidney Friedman, Professor Emeritus of Anatomy William New, Professor of English Geoffrey Parkinson, Professor of Mechanical Engineering James Richards, Dean of Agricultural Sciences Herbert Rosengarten, Professor and Head, Department of English Neil Sutherland, Professor of Social and Educational Studies Structured Interviews with Faculty Members, University of British Columbia Joost Blom, Professor of Law Stephen Chatman, Professor of Music Stefania Ciccone, Professor of Italian Nathan Divinsky, Professor of Mathematics 146 Norman Epstein, Professor Emeritus of Chemical Engineering Margaret Prang, Professor Emerita of History Samuel Rothstein, Professor Emeritus of Librarianship Michael Smith, Professor of Biochemistry and Director, Biotechnology Laboratory Other Interviews and/or Correspondence with Faculty Members Robert Adams, Professor of Mathematics, University of British Columbia John Fournier, Professor of Mathematics, University of British Columbia Everett Pitcher, former Associate Secretary, American Mathematical Society; Professor of Mathematics, Lehigh University, Kenneth Ross, Associate Secretary, Mathematical Association of America; Professor of Mathematics, University of Oregon Maurice Sion, Professor of Mathematics, University of British Columbia Interviews and/or Correspondence with Archivists or Librarians Harold Averill, Assistant University Archivist, University of Toronto Donald Baird, University Archivist, Simon Fraser University Paul Banfield, Assistant Archivist, Queens University Archives Sue Baptie, City Archivist, City of Vancouver Archives Kerry Bartels, University Archivist, University of Washington Joyce E. Bedi, Curator, Center for the History of Electrical Engineering, New York, New York Susan Saunders Bellingham, Special Collections Librarian, University of Waterloo Richard E. Bennett, Head, Department of Archives and Special Collections, University of Manitoba 147 Bruce H. Bruemmer, Archivist, Charles Babbage Institute, Center for the History of Information Processing, University of Minnesota Frederic F. Burchsted, Archivist, Archives of American Mathematics, University of Texas at Austin Beth Carroll-Horrocks, Manuscripts Librarian, American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Bryan Corbett, Chief Archivist, University of Alberta Laurenda Daniels, University Archivist Emerita, University of British Columbia Kent Haworth, formerly University Archivist, University of Toronto Gregory J. Higby, Director, American Institute of the History of Pharmacy, University of Wisconsin Chris Hives, University Archivist, University of British Columbia Harley P. Holden, Curator, Harvard University Archives Frederick L. Honhart, Director, Michigan State University Archives Anita L. Karg, Archivist, Hunt Institute for Botanical Documentation, Carnegie Mellon University Anne Maclean, Project Archivist, University of Victoria Louise H. Marshall, Neuroscience History Program, Brain Research Institute, University of California at Los Angeles Robert Michel, Archivist, McGill University Stephanie Morris, Assistant Director, Documentation Strategy, National Foundation for History of Chemistry, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Chris Petter, University Archivist, University of Victoria John A. Popplestone, Director, Archives of the History of American Psychology, University of Akron Patrick M. Quinn, University Archivist, Northwestern University Kathleen Roe, Associate Archivist, New York State Archives 148 Jim Ross, Records Manager, Simon Fraser University Charles W. Rutschky, Archivist, Center for the History of Entomology, Pennsylvania State University Helen Samuels, Institute Archivist, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Charlotte A. Stewart, Director, Archives and Research Collections, McMaster University Shelley Sweeney, University Archivist, University of Regina Jean Tener, University Archivist, University of Calgary Joan Warnow-Blewett, Associate Director, Center for History of Physics, New York, New York Thomas M. Whitehead, Head, Special Collections and Program Department, Temple University Libraries Mary L. Wright, Professor Emerita and Archivist, Canadian Psychological Association, University of Western Ontario Helen E. A. Zilinskas, Archives Committee, Center for the History of Microbiology, University of Maryland Other Interviews and/or Correspondence William Hoffer, Bookseller, Vancouver, B.C. Stephen Lunsford, Bookseller, Vancouver, B.C. Howard Snow, Professional Officer, Canadian Association of University Teachers Mary-Lou Simac, Assistant Secretary, Canadian Cultural Property Export Review Board N. Lynn Morris, Administrator, National Archival Appraisal Board 149 APPENDIX A 1. Please describe your career and field of research. Of the papers that you keep, which ones reflect your teaching responsibilities? Research activities? University adrninistrative responsibilities? Activities on behalf of the subject-discipline—for instance, referee reports, etc.? What achievements are you most proud of, and how do you think that they are reflected in your papers? 2. What is your definition of "archives?" Have you ever considered giving your papers to an archives? Why or why not? If so, which one? 3. What is your opinion about having an archives related to your particular discipline? For example, there is an archives for the American Mathematical Society which accepts the papers of mathematicians. If you looked at your department and your subject discipline, how would you suggest that archivists could best document each of these two entities? 150 APPENDIX B There are two parts to the interview: 1. questions about your papers, i.e., the manuscript material, records, and other documents that you keep as opposed to published items, and 2. questions about archives in general. Your Papers 1. Please describe briefly your career and field of research. 2. In general, what types of papers do you have? What is your overall plan of arrangement? 3. Turning to the specific functions of a faculty member, which types of documents reflect your teaching activities? (e.g., lecture notes, student's papers, old exams, etc.) How are they organized? 4. Research or other creative activities? (e.g., manuscripts with annotations or corrections, research notes, grant files, unpublished papers) Do you have a collection of reprints or clippings? How are these items organized? 5. University administrative activities? (e.g., committee minutes) Do you think duplicate copies of these papers are kept elsewhere in the university? If so, why are you keeping copies? How are they organized? 6. Activities on behalf of your subject discipline? (e.g., referee's reports, membership activities in subject-based organizations) How are they organized? 7. Outside interests? These could include a. papers that reflect your decision to speak out on important issues b. business interests related to your academic career c. other outside community activities 8. Personal career? (curriculum vita, diaries, scrapbooks, your old class notes, etc.) How are the above items organized? 151 9. a. Which types of papers do you keep with more care than others? b. Do you keep any sort of register for your papers? c. What do you do with correspondence? Do you keep it separately, or mixed in with the other types of documents? d. How easy is it for you to find a particular document among the different types of papers you keep? e. Do you have any system for closing files after a certain period of time? f. Do you separate your active and inactive files? Do you re-order your files once they become inactive? 10. Do you have non-paper materials such as tapes, photos, etc. 11. How has the computer affected the papers and records you keep? 12. Do you keep any material at home which relates to your university work? How do you decide where to keep what? 13. Does the university share in the ownership of your papers? How would you answer critics who say that the university pays the professor to do research, and therefore the university owns a professor's research papers? 14. What achievements are you most proud of, and how well do you think that they are reflected in the papers that you keep? (E.g., you may be proud of your role in curriculum reform, but you kept no relevant documents.) 152 Archives 1. Have you ever considered giving your papers to an archives? If so, which archives? 2. Have you taught at more than one institution? Are there reasons why you think your papers should go to more than one archives, or would you prefer that your papers be kept all together at one institution? 3. Do you think that the papers of faculty members have commercial value or purely cultural value? Should faculty papers be bought and sold? 4. If you had to choose your most significant papers to give to an archives, which papers would you choose? 5. Or would you take out your most significant material and keep it yourself? 6. What other papers might you be tempted to remove from your collection either for reasons of triviality, confidentiality, or because you believe that they are duplicated elsewhere? 7. Or would you prefer an archivist to go over your papers and make these choices? On his/her own? With your advice? 8. What is your opinion about having an archives related to your particular discipline? E.g., The Mathematical Association of America has an archives in Texas. It solicits the papers of mathematicians from all over North America. 9. If you looked at your department and your subject discipline, how would you suggest that archivists could best document each of these two entities? 10. What is your definition of "Archives?" 11. Does your subject discipline use the term "archival journal?" If so, what does that term mean to you? 153 


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