As the college archivist at Baruch College, I am always looking for Baruch/C.C.N.Y. related memorabilia that will help shed light on the history of our institution. The Institute of Public Administration archival collection does not disappoint. Hidden away for decades in a dusty carton was a 1917 letter with remarks by Mr. A.S. Root, principal of the New York Public Library School, concerning the “possible cooperation of the library school of the New York Public Library with the library of C.C.N.Y.” The letter was highly critical of the Deputy Librarian of C.C.N.Y. Henry E. Bliss, and there is no evidence that this joint venture ever materialized.

Some of Mr. Root’s criticisms included:

“It does not seem to me always that the changes which he has introduced do make for real economy”

“The library***seems to me to fail to give the kind of service which a modern college library oght [sic] to be giving”

“Mr. Bliss, upon the upper floor of the library, is in an office out of sight and busily engaged upon tasks such as the checking of periodicals, the checking of bills, and the like, which constantly occupy his time.****the student** do not know that his service is available because he is out of sight.”

Disapproval of the ideas of Henry E. Bliss (1870-1955) was not unusual, since he had developed a controversial library classification system, that was not favorably received by the library community. As the librarian at C.C.N.Y. he reclassified the 60,000 books in the C.C.N.Y library using a system based on the “subject approach to knowledge.”

Even though in the early part of the 20th century his innovative cataloging was often rejected in favor of the established Dewey Decimal System and the Library of Congress classification system, he remained at C.C.N.Y. from 1891 until 1940. Henry Evelyn Bliss remains a towering figure in the Baruch/C.C.N.Y Hall of Librarians, and was named one of the 100 most influential leaders in the 20th century in library and information science in December 1999.

Processing an archival collection can be like a trip to the attic of a relative. As each carton is opened and explored, there is a moment of anticipation–what has been hidden away, waiting for a curious eye?

The IPA collection is proving to be a perfect example of this process of discovery, and as the Head of the Archives, I have been observing the thrill of the archivists who are uncovering pieces of history each day.

Luther Gulick seems to have corresponded with everyone, and letters have emerged, signed by such notables as Franklin D. Roosevelt, Herbert Hoover, Albert Einstein, and even our own Bernard M. Baruch, among others.

However, the collection reveals more than just the origins of public administration, and the politics of the day. We see hints of the everyday life of the principal player. Sales receipts, passports, and other memorabilia tell their own, more personal story.

What will be found in the next box to be opened? I’m certain there will be a knock on my door to let me know.