Friday, October 31, 2014

Archives: Archives and Education part 2

In response to this week’s readings about outreach, and the prompt on the syllabus, I took a look at the lesson plans from NARA’s Teachingwith Documents. The homepage is written for teachers and the material is separated into sections that easily align with chronological American history teaching sections. I clicked on ‘Expansionand Reform (1801-1868)’ and because I have recently spent time at APS, was drawn into 'The Lewis and Clark Expedition' lesson plan.

The main page of the lesson plan includes a short narrative of the Lewis and Clark Expedition followed by links to documents from the archives. On a sidebar are links to more resources, including the National History Standards that the lesson correlates to and more distinct teaching activities. The lesson plan emphasizes the Louisiana Purchase and Manifest Destiny. The website does not specify target ages, but this one seems to be most appropriate for high schools.

That the documents only include items from the National Archives highlights one of the limitations of this type of lesson plan. The Lewis and Clark journals, along with much of the expedition’s documentation are at the APS. This absence has little affect on the lesson plan, and to its credit it does list the printed copy of the journals as an additional resource. In terms of teaching students how to do research, it could be beneficial that the National Archives only has a limited selection of relevant documents because students can learn that finding an answer to a question involves looking in multiple places.

In terms of outreach, the lesson plans are effective. Making the lesson plans involve consulting with high school teachers, who wrote the narratives introducing the topics. Linking the plans with school standards also follow Rettig’s suggestion of capitalizing on what the target public already uses and needs. Now having looked at two different education sites, and visited a few more (DocsTeach from the National Archives may be a later post), I am only beginning to understand the scale and possibilities of this type of outreach.

Monday, October 27, 2014

Local History and the Tempest Powder Horn

The Tempest Powder Horn is engraved with the names of five Tempests: Robert Tempest, Robert Tempest II, Robert Tempest III, James R. Tempest, and Robert Tempest IV. In terms of physical location there are two places that stand out as being important to the Tempest’s story. The first is the land on the northwest corner of Fifth and Walnut. Currently this land is the park ground behind Independence Hall, formerly, the State House Yard. Before then it was the residence of Robert Tempest and family. The second important location is the Slate Roof House, or William Penn’s Mansion. When Robert Tempest IV donated the Tempest Powder Horn to the city he donated it along with the wainscoting from the Slate Roof House. The Slate Roof House was Robert Tempest III’s workplace for over fifty years. Both of these locations were demolished within the Tempest family's lifetime.

I went to both of these locations, initially to sketch them there, but being rained out, I ended up taking pictures. The pictures I printed on plain copy paper and transferred to velum drawing paper. I then drew ghost images of the buildings that have since disappeared. 

The first location I visited was the corner of Fifth and Walnut. 
Tempest House Ghost, northwest corner of Fifth and Walnut, park behind Independence Hall, mixed media

In April of 1743 Robert Tempest was a plush-weaver in Philadelphia who had recently moved his business to Strawberry Alley. A few months after moving shop, Robert Tempest married Rachel Hinds at Christ Church. Rachel’s father, Robert Hinds, worked as a bricklayer on the State House and later acquired two lots on the corner of Fifth and Walnut that backed up to the State House Wall. In 1746 Robert Hinds gifted these two lots, and the three houses he built on them, to his daughter and her husband. Rachel gave birth to their son, Robert Tempest II on Christmas day that year.[1]



In 1760 the Pennsylvania Assembly began the process of acquiring the lots that extended to Walnut Street and on the 10th of September 1762, the Assembly trustees purchased the Tempest’s land for £1400. The Tempests continued to live at Fifth and Walnut, paying rent to the Assembly through 1764, the first date that appears on the horn and the year the year I suspect Robert Tempest passed away. By the 1770s the Pennsylvania assembly cleared the square around the State House, leaving no trace of the Tempest’s home.[2]




Close up view of the square around the State House (later Independence Square). The map on the left is from 1762. This map depicts buildings in the shaded regions. L is the State House, the thin line to the below of L is the State House Wall and the building on the corner of Fifth and Walnut (lower right of the square) is the Tempest’s home. Map created by Nicholas Scull. Source:  Philadelphia GeoHistory Network, http://www.philageohistory.org/rdic-images/view-image.cfm/FF-Maps_1762. The map on the right is from 1796 and depicts the square around the State House clear. Map created by John Hills. Source: Philadelphia GeoHistory Network, http://www.philageohistory.org/rdic-images/view-image.cfm/237-MP-019

Visiting this location today, the square looks as if it has always been an open park space. For the building that I drew I looked at a variety of colonial prints of Philadelphia. I chose simple, standard architectural features. I am guessing that the house is a double by deduction, but really I do not know what the building looked like. I do know that this location was the first home of the powder horn.


The second location I visited is the Welcome Park, formerly the site of the Slate Roof House.
Slate Roof House Ghost, currently Welcome Park, corner of 2nd and Sansom (formerly Norris Alley), mixed media

Robert Tempest III was the grandson of Robert Tempest. At 25 Robert Tempest III went into business as a jeweler and silversmith with Joseph Marshall. Marshal and Tempest set up shop in the Norris Alley wing of the Slate Roof House in 1813. They remained there until approximately 1865, when the house was no longer usable. It was demolished in 1867.[3]




Steroeview titled Slate roof house, 2nd &Sansom, photographed by John Moran in 1864. The bottom is a close up of the stereoview that shows a very faint sign for “Marshall and Tempest” above the doorway on the left wing of the building.Source: Free Library of Philadelphia Historic Images of Philadelphia Collection, libwww.freelibrary.org/hip/ecw.cfm?ItemID=pdc100025


In addition to being a craftsman Robert Tempest III was an active volunteer with the Hibernia Fire Engine Company, eventually becoming President of that organization in 1851, and was a Director of the Union Burial Ground Society in Southwark. Both Robert Tempest III and the first Robert Tempest were craftsmen who also dedicated their time to the city, one as a constable, and the other as a fireman. For Robert Tempest III, the powder horn that his family owned since colonial times was an important link to the past and to his grandfather. I believe that Robert Tempest III was responsible for engraving the names of his father and grandfather along with their death dates, the newer silver and brass modifications to the horn, and for continuing the tradition by engraving it for his son, James. The yearning to hold tightly to a vision of Philadelphia that was quickly fading could have been the catalyst for Robert Tempest III to modify the horn and directly connect himself to a colonial past. That Robert Tempest III’s business occupied the former residence of William Penn further displays the desire to connect with the past.[4]

The Welcome Park today is a quiet, lonely feeling open square. There is a historical narrative along the south wall of the park relaying William Penn's story, but very little afterward. For my ghost house I used later images of the house after different additions had been made in the nineteenth century instead of the model version in the middle of the park. My main reference image was from 1854, courtesy of the Library Company found here.



Though the destruction of both of these places destroyed important pieces of the Tempest's family history, neither was premature. The first Robert Tempest had passed away before the assembly cleared his home. Robert Tempest III was 78 and no longer working at the time the Slate Roof House was demolished. Once Robert Tempest III modified the horn, he established a precedent for succeeding generation to do the same. Robert Tempest IV inherited the horn after his father James Tempest passed away suddenly.  In 1899, Robert Tempest IV broke the precedent and gifted the horn to the city. By 1907 he had left Philadelphia altogether. Why Robert Tempest IV left the city, breaking the family’s connection to local history is another chapter in the story of the Tempest Powder Horn.


Notes:

[1] For Robert Tempest's occupation and location see The Pennsylvania Gazette, April 21, 1743, page 4; For marriage documents see Pennsylvania Archives, Series 2, Volume VIII, Marriage Record of Christ Church, Philadelphia.1709-1806, 133; for information about their home at Fifth and Walnut see Charles H. Browning, “The State House Yard, and Who Owned it First after William Penn,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 40, no. 1 (1916): 85-103.

[2] For purchase of land see Browning, 101; For rent documents see Pennsylvania Archives, Series 8, Volume VII, Votes of Assembly 1767, 6047; also see Charlene Mires, Independence Hall in American Memory (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 10.

[3] Westcott, Thompson, The Historic Mansions and Buildings of Philadelphia: With Some Notice of Their Owners and Occupants (Philadelphia: Porter & Coates, 1877) for Slate Roof House see 37-55, for Tempest see 55. http://books.google.com/books?id=PTUWAAAAYAAJ&pg

[4] For involvement in Union Burial Ground Society see Public Ledger, December 8, 1842, page 2. For involvement with Hibernia Fire Engine Company see “City Items,” North American, February 24, 1851, page 1.



Reading Response: Independence Hall

Charlene Mires’ Independence Hall in American Memory tells a holistic history of Independence Hall. Mires stated, “If we organize history around buildings, the past we perceive may be limited by the boundaries that we establish.” (Mires, 55) The current historical interpretation of Independence Hall is specific to the American Revolution and Revolutionary ideology represented in documents such as the Declaration of Independence. Mires argues that Independence Hall’s whole history has shaped out memory of it and determined the things that we have forgotten.

The first third of the book was a little slow for me. Mires uses a lot of space pointing out ironies and contradictions between the popular vision of American Revolutionary ideals and the history. As a reader, I do not react well to an author telling me that something is surprising when the surprise is based on an assumption that I only believe in the most simplified, glorious version of the American Revolution. I would rather the author just tell me the history and let my surprise come naturally. Thankfully, Mires did this once she got beyond the revolution and delved more into the memory and interpretation of Independence Hall. Mires told this part of the story in such a way as to place the current popular interpretation of Independence Hall within context. Studying memory, it may have been easier and more natural for Mires to write the story after the Revolution, the prime focus of memory around the site, than to write about the earlier history.

One of the most effective aspects Mires’ story begins with Chapter 4, “Shrine: Slavery, Nativism, and the Forgotten History of the Nineteenth Century.” In this chapter, Mires begins the story of how Philadelphians used Independence Hall (and later mostly the liberty bell) as a place to support their personal view of freedom and liberty. The people that used Independence Hall included nationalists, labor workers, European immigrants, and African Americans. Late in the nineteenth century, after the centennial, the vision of Independence Hall became dominated by idealist interpretations of the Revolution and nation’s founding. This transition, that shows active changes in interpretations, adds the depth to the story that Mires set about to tell.

The other part of the book that caught my interest, and is relevant to our class project, is Mires’ account of the development of the museum at Independence Hall. Robert Tempest IV gave the Tempest Powder Horn to Independence Hall at this time. The background to the collection the Mires gives is very useful for putting Tempest IV’s gift in context.  
All in all, despite the rocky beginning, this book contains a lot of thought provoking history. For our upcoming visit to Independence Hall, the variety of activity that has gone into thinking about the meaning of this building since Lafayette’s visit in 1826 will put the current interpretation into a wider perspective.


Reading

Mires, Charlene. Independence Hall in American Memory. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Archives: Copyright Complications

Copyright is this week’s issue. Dharma Akmon’s “Only With Your Permission” wrangles with the practical challenges for archives trying to get permission from copyright owners to use their stuff, primarily for digitization. Akmon defends her study because of its financial benefit. Since archives projects are often dependent on grants, knowing just how much time and money it takes to get permission to digitize material is essential to the process. 

I also looked over Cornell’s handy chart of copyright terms and was reminded of the copyright extension legislation debates that were in the news a few years ago (and will undoubtedly be back in the future). Most of the debated revolved around whether corporations like Disney should be allowed to lobby congress ensuring that their early material will not become public domain. While sources like The Washington Post lament the creative loss of not having Mickey Mouse in the public domain, other sources like Animation Anomaly are clearer about the distinction between copyrights and trademarks.

One aspect of copyright terms is that they typically point to the time of creation and the death of the author as being the most important factors in determining expiration. For most materials in archives this seems reasonable. I would argue that the copyright extensions Disney (to be fair, other too) lobbied for are a result of the way that the production of creative, cultural materials changed during the twentieth century. The way that film studios and comic publishers create characters and actively build upon them, franchise them, and profit from them, is something that copyright law has difficulty accounting for.


Historical pondering aside, this case displays how archives that collect material from living institutions face a host of challenges. How to make the material they collect accessible to the public if opposed by the creators is another challenge. In combination with the cost of it all, and opposed to the part of me that is all about access, I can sympathize with archives deciding against projects that require obtaining permissions.


Reading

Dharma Akmon,"Only with Your Permission: How Rights Holders Respond (or Don't Respond) to Requests to Display Archival Materials Online." Archival Science 10 (2010): 45-64.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Archives: The Stereotypical Images Teaching Collection

This week I looked at the recently released Stereotypical Images Teaching Collection accessible from the Temple Libraries website. The collection appears to primarily derive from the Blockson Collection, but also incorporates some Special Collections materials, particularly the Temple Sheet Music collection. My interest in graphic materials, and longstanding interest in old cartoons, drew me to think about the pros and cons of organizing a collection based on graphic stereotypes.

One aspect of digital collections that could help or hinder researchers is the ability to easily remove materials from their original order. The Stereotypical Images Collection imposes organization based on the content of the image, not its context. The person in charge of putting the collection together decided what is and is not a stereotypical depiction. Stereotypes are tricky things. From a historical perspective, taking the stereotype out of its context can make it more difficult to understand. right now, the content is solely African American, but once other groups are included the separation of sub-groups within the collection could potentially enforce categorical stereotypes.  

Nevertheless, I can image that an undergraduate course could easily access the material. The classes using the material would have additional context provided in class. As a teaching collection, there is a lot of potential. For an independent researcher or graduate student the collection would be useful for finding material to supplement ideas and for finding jumping off points to study particular subjects.

I know this collection is still in development, there are a few things I would like to see. In addition to the list of courses that use the collection, I would like a guide that suggests how this can be a teaching resource. I would also like to see some type of reflective writing about what it means to include an image in this collection. Both of these things would involve inquiries into what a stereotype is and provide some additional context to the collection.



A completely unrelated note: I was watching Supernatural a few days ago (something from Season 9) and was both surprised and little proud that even though the artifact the characters fawned over in the forefront lived in a mysterious, wooden box that would never hold any type of historic material, they did have legit, plain grey archival boxes as props in the background. Archives on TV!

Monday, October 13, 2014

Readings Response: Imagined Histories and Spaces

This weeks reading grappled with social constructions. Upton and Weyeneth looked at race, Belk and Wallendorf, gender. Ulrich provides necessary insight by using a particular myth about colonial New England as her inspiration to tell history.

Dell Upton’s “White and Black Landscapes in Eighteenth-Century Virginia,” analyzed the ways the planter class and the slave class acquired different perceptions, perspectives, and uses of the landscape. Upton views the landscape and an assemblage of realities that combine formal architecture, such as the placement of planter houses in juxtaposition to slave quarters, and daily activities, such as churchgoing and farming. The only parts of Upton’s article where I raised my eyebrows wanting more were when he tried to equivocate the poor white landscape with that of slaves. Despite his broad treatment of race, Upton’s piece was about slave societies that exist on large plantations and I would have preferred that he embraced this specificity.

Robert Weyeneth takes landscape analysis forward and looked at the different ways that people used architectural spaces to enforce and imagine segregation. Weyeneth’s ideas about temporal separation and malleable partitions provide a fascinating set of challenges to the study of landscapes. The idea that certain physical spaces are shared confronts the more conventional stereotypes of segregated schools and bathrooms. For a public historian interpreting a streetcar, it can be difficult to describe what happens in the middle of the bus. However, that interpretation has far more potential to spark visitors’ imaginations about what it must have been like to live in a segregated society than simply knowing that blacks were at the back and whites were in the front.

Belk and Wallendorf’s “Of Mice and Men” looked to gender instead of race. They ask if collecting and collections are gendered. I was intrigued by their ideas, but I am not certain I buy them. The authors showed that individuals are likely to reflect their gender identity in the things that they collect, an important consideration for looking at collections from individuals. I am curious about how mission-based collecting at museums compares with idiosyncratic collections. Something about this use of gender in history does not sit well with me. I preferred how Ulrich adopted an imagined conception of the past, and used gender when it was relevant.

I absolutely loved The Age of Homespun! Ulrich’s writing contains enough storytelling to get lost in her characters, but enough history to produce reflection. Beginning with the 1851 sermon by Horace Bushnell that coined the term “age of homespun” and painted an idyllic vision of colonial New England, Ulrich moved her narrative backwards to the eighteenth century and searches for the roots of the myth. In “Willy-Nilly, Niddy-Noddy,” Ulrich looked at cross reels, or niddy-noddys. This tool, used to create a skein and measure the amount of yarn produced, is an important part of homespun production. Ulrich looked at the important of homespun in reference to the non-importation movement, but also went further and interpreted niddy-noddys as meaningful for women who claimed rights to their own labor.

Ulrich’s “A Bed Rug and a Silk Embroidery,” compares the textile work and diaries of two women, one from a patriot family, and one from a royalist. Despite their politics, the most important aspects of the stories are personal, how these women dealt with their daily struggles. Ulrich highlighted the shifting roles of women and women’s place in the wage economy through telling these two stories. All of these readings use history to confront social constructions. Looking at race and gender often involves articulating our current understandings of these ideas and trying to figure out how they have changed. Part of why I liked the Ulrich reading so much was that she began with the myth then strove to understand it and challenge it, all the while acknowledging that the myth of rural New England is ingrained into American culture.


Here is a video on how to use a niddy-noddy to make a skein:







Readings

Belk, Russell W. and Melanie Wallendorf, “Of Mice and Men: Gender Identity and Collecting” in K. Martinez and K. Ames, eds. The Material Culture of Gender, the Gender of Material Culture (Winterthur: Henry Francis du Pont Winterthur Museum , 1997): 7-26.

Ulrich,Laurel Thatcher. “Introduction: The Age of Homespun,” “Willy-Nilly, Niddy-Noddy,” “A Bed Rug and a Silk Embroidery,” and “Afterward” in The Age of Homespun: Objects and Stories in the Creation of an American Myth. New York: Vintage Books, 2001.

Upton, Dell. “White and Black Landscapes in Eighteenth-Century Virginia,” in Robert Blair St. George, ed., Material Life in America, 1600-1860. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1988.

Weyeneth, Robert. “The Architecture of Racial Segregation: The Challenges of Preserving the Problematical Past,” The Public Historian 27 (Fall 2005): 11-44.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Archives: Paper History and Balzac

After this week’s discussion I began to develop a new perspective on a book that I have been reading intermittently for the past few months, Honoré de Balzac’s Lost Illusions. This book tells the dual stories of David Séchard in his attempts to manufacture cheap paper and David’s brother-in-law Lucien who dives into the world of journalism. For archivists, especially those concerned with preservation, historic paper types and manufacturing is often a technical discussion. Alternatively, Lost Illusions illuminates the social context of the technical development of paper production and the social implications of abundant and cheap, albeit poor quality, paper.

 In Lost Illusions David gives a detailed description of history of printing and paper making, giving particular attention to the transition from linen to cotton paper. Lamenting the fragility of cotton paper that easily falls apart, David acknowledges that the expense, and literal weight, of linen makes it impractical to printers publishing newspapers and pamphlets in massive quantities. David’s interest is to decrease the cost of production and increase productivity. Lucien, on the other hand, depends on the fast paced newspaper market where paper, and the accompanying writing, is digested, gossiped, and disposed on a daily basis. For the newspaper printers, the quality and longevity that David desires are not important.

Throughout the book Balzac created a parallel between the poor quality of paper and the poor quality of journalism. The materiality of paper became grounds for harsh social criticism. Currently, archivists take special precautions to take care of the types of mass printed newspapers that Balzac detests. Analogously, people today quickly complain about the abundance of digital material that will somehow, in some way, be a part of the archival record of the future. Though Lost Illusions is a work of fiction the themes within the book are relevant to archives, and provide food for thought for historians working in archives.


Reading

Balzac, Honoré. Lost Illusions. Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 2007. Originally published between 1837 and 1843. (There are a few sections of the book that directly discuss papermaking, commercial printers, and the histories of paper. In this edition, pages 97-101, 336-338, and 452-453 are particularly useful.)



Monday, October 6, 2014

Readings Response: Emotions and Things

Things often resonate with people is different ways. The material that people interact with throughout their lives can trigger emotions and memories, and can provide a point of access to share those emotions and memories with others.

Kay Healy’s “Lost and Found” was a wall instillation at the Free Library of Philadelphia that featured rooms with objects that the artist made from people’s recollections of things that they once possessed but are now lost. The people selected all have emotional stories that connect the thing they have lost to their life and draw out larger lessons about concepts of family and home. On one hand, asking people to talk about a lost thing they wish they could still have is a set-up that required respondents to feel an emotional attachment to their objects as a prerequisite for participation. On the other hand, the lost and found motif is extraordinarily relatable and prompts listeners to think about their things and what they would say if asked the same question.

This American Life’s “House on Loon Lake” tells the story of a young boy who broke into an abandoned home and became enthralled in the mystery of the family that once lived there. Where Healy told the stories of object that people longed for, this story was about one that people consciously abandoned. The conclusions of this story, though sad, offered perspective on how and why people sometimes choose to leave the past in the past, whereas others, like the narrator or any of Healy’s interviewees desired to hold onto it.

The Radio Lab episode “Things” more directly contemplates the emotional connections people form with things. At one point in the episode, the presenters discuss whether a 3D print of a sugar egg that resonates with childhood memories means the same as the original. In the end, the process of making a new egg with a child turned out to be more meaningful than a 3D print could have been. Talking about the difference between things that have a physical connection to people led to a discussion of what one presenter called the “unbridgeable gulf” between people and the things that people make with technology. This conversation highlighted the role of human imagination in making things powerful. The ability to touch something and think about how someone made it, what they did with it, and what it meant to them may be the most important part of studying material culture.

Sam Roberts’ “Object Lessons in History” speculates about the popular surge of object-based histories that the three previous works arguably feed into. Acknowledging that material culture is a great way to lure people into history, the article points to correlations between more recent object histories and contemporary reality television. This link that Roberts makes between momentary popular trends and object histories makes me think about whether the relationships that people currently have with material things are the same relationships that people in the past had with material things. How would Kay Healy’s project be different if it revolved around people 500 years ago, or 50 years from now?

Powder Horn Reflections: The works covered this week largely had to do with how people look back upon things and how they use things to look back. The powder horn, passed down through generations, could have been handled as a vehicle for some story about the past that the family relayed to every succeeding generation. Its owners could have looked at it in the same way Radio Lab’s presenter looked at the Neil Armstrong letter and asked many of the same questions. Thinking about that letter, the presenters wondered whether the letter being typed instead of handwritten affected its meaning, if the emotional connection to the letter would be the same even if Neil Armstrong never actually touched the thing. For my powder horn, this is an integral question because I have no proof yet that the horn ever belonged to General Braddock, nevertheless the care of the horn implies that it was important to the family.


Works Cited:



Friday, October 3, 2014

Archives: Crowdsourcing

This week’s Paul Conway, Oya Rieger, and James O’Toole readings grapple with the evolution of archives in the digital age. Digital archives have many advantages such as enabling use from far off locations and protecting originals from handling. Nevertheless, the digitization process involves time and resources that can be overlooked. Rieger and Conway spoke specifically of how digitization can have unforeseen consequences such as prompting the disposal of original materials and poor quality standards. Thinking about how archives can best handle large digitization projects led me to consider the benefits and costs of crowdsourcing. Archives are implementing a variety of crowdsourcing techniques, most of which revolve around user transcription and metadata.  

From an idealist standpoint, crowdsourcing is a great idea. It creates a reciprocal relationship between user and archive. In order for the archive to make large amounts of information available to everyone, everyone can put in a little help. In “Crowdsourcing: How and Why Should Libraries Do It?” Rose Holley articulates the relationship between crowdsourcing and social engagement. The reality of getting people to give their time, how to monitor them, and how to thank them are other issues.

Crowdsourcing could be a way to solve some of the problems that large scale digitization brings about for archives, but it is a solution that comes with its own costs. I have begun looking at the variety of projects that use crowdsourcing. While I am a huge fan of many of these projects, I am interested in how they force people and archives to create new relationships. Many of these projects exist outside of finding aides and mainstream scholarly work. Often the materials used revolve around popular topics that archives can get people excited to help out with such as old menus and war diaries. 

Some projects that have or are currently using crowdsourcing:

(Being one of the Internet’s largest crowdsourcing projects, it is only fitting that I got most of these from Wikipedia’s “List of crowdsourcing projects” page.)

            OperationWar Diary 


Readings

Conway, Paul. "Archival Quality and Long-Term Preservation: A Research Framework for Validating the Usefulness of Digital Surrogates." Archival Science 11, no. 3-4 (2011): 293-309.


O'Toole, James M. "On the Idea of Permanence." American Archivist 52, no. 1 (1989): 10-25.

Rieger, Oya Y. "Preservation in the Age of Large-Scale Digitization: A White Paper.” Council on Library and Information Resources. Washington D.C. (2008).