Welcome from the Editors: A Brief History of LCHS

History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it—attributed to Winston Churchill What better way to mark the first anniversary of Libraries: Culture, History, and Society (LCHS) than with a look back at how this journal came to be in your mailbox—or perhaps your inbox? We could take our cue from a certain esteemed British statesmen and historian and regale you with an epic tale of two plucky editors toiling against insurmountable odds to eventual triumph. However, a more accurate recounting reveals a cast of dozens, an all-too-human combination of naivety, enthusiasm, and persistence, and a story that is still unfolding. Had we known what we were getting into, we might have never started down this path. But the journey has proven well worth it.Like many modern origin stories, LCHS's begins with an email. In fall 2011 Tom Glynn, then chair of the American Library Association's Library History Round Table (LHRT), established an ad hoc committee to investigate the feasibility of launching a scholarly journal devoted to library history. A catalyst was the evolution of the journal Libraries and the Cultural Record (LCR), which was poised to become Information and Culture. Published independently by the University of Texas Press, the journal and LHRT had long enjoyed a positive relationship. LCR's editor had served on LHRT publications and awards committees and an LHRT representative was on the journal's advisory board. While these partnerships continued, the new name signaled a significant intellectual shift. History of libraries would remain a part of the renamed publication, but going forward the emphasis would be on meeting the needs of information historians.Clearly, library historians and information historians have much to learn from each other. There was concern, however, that the field of library history was losing a space where library historians could communicate their most recent discoveries and reach their intended audiences. Tom formed the ad hoc committee to address these concerns. Chaired by Joyce Latham and including Jim Carmichael, Christine Jenkins, Bernadette Lear, Sharon McQueen, and Christine Pawley, the committee had the relatively modest charge to “collect information” and “consider options.” At that point the journal you are now reading was far from a foregone conclusion. One substantial issue was finding an editor who could commit several years to the project. Another was whether to create an open-access publication (using a platform such as Open Journal Systems) or to partner with a commercial or university press. While open access was tremendously appealing, the committee did not feel that a small organization like LHRT was in a position to sustain a publication that relied on volunteer efforts to perform essential tasks. At the same time, the cost and financial risk of publishing a journal in the traditional way seemed quite daunting. Thus, after reviewing the ad hoc committee's report, LHRT's executive committee decided that a new publication was not feasible at the time.While never abandoned, the idea remained dormant for another two years until Bernadette Lear revived the conversation. Having served as LHRT's newsletter editor, and at that time serving her second term as LHRT chair, she had fielded a number of queries about publishing opportunities for LHRT members. While the LHRT newsletter was expanded to include brief articles, some members wished for an additional venue for more in-depth studies. Thus, in the spring of 2014 Bernadette designed and distributed a survey soliciting LHRT members' preferences as both library history authors and readers, to gauge their interest in a new library history publication. Thankfully, many LHRT members offered their insights and encouragement. They also sharpened our thinking and focus. Respondents strongly endorsed an LHRT-sponsored publication with an independent editorial team and rigorous peer review.So the end goal was clearly articulated in the survey responses—all that remained was to work out the details. How hard could that be? Left unresolved were “trivial” matters such as the exact relationship between LHRT and the new journal; who would edit it; what the scope would be; whether the journal would include related fields such as archives, book history, or museum studies; and whether to self-publish or to contract with a university or commercial press. To work through these matters, LHRT turned in fall 2014 to, you guessed it, … another committee, the LHRT Publishing Task Force. Appointed by Bernadette Lear, chaired by Dominique Daniel, and including Cheryl Gunselman, David Hovde, Eric Novotny, and Ellen Pozzi, the task force was charged with producing a plan for a new annual publication pertaining to library history. Sharp readers may have noticed that LCHS is not an “annual” publication. Plans change! Over the next twelve months, the task force interviewed publishers and editors and elicited considerable practical advice, from start-up costs to sample job descriptions for the editor and editorial board positions. We are grateful to the many experienced journal editors who generously shared lessons learned. While open access was tremendously appealing, the committee did not feel that a small organization like LHRT was in a position to sustain a publication that relied on volunteer efforts to perform essential tasks. After weighing the advantages and disadvantages of various publishing options, the committee recommended a university press partner, and we ultimately chose Penn State Press (PSP).From here our story accelerates. Within three months the task force report and recommendations were shared with the LHRT membership and endorsed by the LHRT executive committee, who authorized funds to support the endeavor. A call for volunteers for editor and members of the editorial board was issued in February 2015. We (Eric Novotny and Bernadette Lear) were the only two volunteers to throw our hats into the ring as editors, and this was only on the condition that we be appointed as co-editors. Given that the journal would have to proceed without administrative leave from our regular job duties, we believed that mutual support and sharing of responsibilities between two editors would be vital as we embarked on a crash course in creating a journal from scratch. We anticipated some tasks, such as recruiting a strong and diverse editorial board, creating a cover design and visual identity for the journal, establishing workflows for reviewing manuscripts, corresponding with potential authors, identifying qualified peer reviewers, and promoting the journal at every opportunity. We also had abundant expertise and resources available through PSP, our publishing partner. What we didn't fully appreciate in advance, however, were the thousands of more “mundane” decisions to be made in a matter of months, from choosing the text font for the journal pages, to hashing out contract details with ALA and the press, to determining style and citation guidelines for authors, to learning the ins and outs of editorial manager, our online peer review system.Fortunately, we continue to receive excellent support from the Penn State Press and from our colleagues who serve as authors and peer reviewers. Of special note is Brett Spencer, who serves as our book review editor and who, as editor of LHRT's blog, LHRT News and Notes, has connected us to emerging writers. Through Brett's and everyone else's efforts, volume 1 (2017), consisting of two issues, included eleven research articles and one book review, and was received with high praise from scholars throughout the library history community. We are very proud to have played a role in publishing the work of established scholars and new voices, and to delve into matters of race/ethnicity, gender, and other topics that do not appear as frequently in other LIS publications.So, without further ado, let's shift the spotlight to this issue's worthy contributions. We start with Michael Taylor's examination of the development and mixed legacy of a fascinating private collection. In the late nineteenth century, the extensive library of New Mexico lawyer, landowner, and US senator Thomas B. Catron (1840–1921) was hailed as the largest in the American West. Assembled well before New Mexico achieved statehood, his personal library was a symbol of culture and refinement for the fledgling territory. At the same time, Catron's legal tomes were employed to support the transfer of vast tracts of land from Hispanic farmers and ranchers to predominantly Anglo land barons. Catron's Latin American materials, featuring many of the earliest works printed in Mexico, simultaneously supported the “myth of Santa Fe,” a rosy picture of the city promoted to tourists, while also being used by some scholars to perpetuate negative images of Native Americans and Hispanics. Taylor sheds significant light on the complex ways private libraries are used and demonstrates how library history intersects with local and regional history.Considering Atlanta's prominence in American history, relatively little has been written about the city's immense public library system, the main branch of which was built by Andrew Carnegie. Dallas Hanbury ably addresses this gap, focusing on services to African Americans. While accounts of segregation and unequal resources may seem all too familiar to American historians, there is value in examining the unique circumstances of specific communities. Through persistent advocacy, African American activists were able to successfully leverage Atlanta's public image as “a city too busy to hate” to press for better treatment. Importantly, Hanbury continues his analysis beyond the civil rights era, demonstrating how the legacy of racial discrimination lingered for decades in battles over funding, political control, and staff assignments. Spanning over 100 years, this account establishes a solid foundation for further study of this important institution and adds Atlanta's story to the broader narrative of the battle to integrate American libraries.The dynamic life and career of Julia Carson Stockett (1889–1979) provides the backdrop for Lisa R. Lindell's engaging and important addition to library biography. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin library school and a protégé of Mary Emogene Hazeltine, Stockett was able to draw upon a network of professional women who mentored and supported each other's work. Her “restless” spirit and desire to reach underserved communities took Stockett to Idaho, South Dakota, the Mexican border, Iowa, Hawaii, and finally Vancouver—locations that are largely underrepresented in the library literature. Furthermore, Stockett worked with populations in military hospitals, orphanages, and prisons, all of which deserve more attention. Lindell's effort to tap primary sources in more than a half-dozen states is notable as well. We hope that her examination of Stockett's story will inspire research on the many lesser-known types of libraries and library users, and provide a model for those who wish to study librarians whose careers crossed state lines.Serving two million people, the Queens (NY) Library system is perhaps the largest and most diverse in the United States. Jeffrey A. Kroessler offers a compelling account of a critical and difficult period, the 1970s through the mid-1980s, when the city experienced a major fiscal crisis and library services were drastically cut. Archival and news accounts document the complex interplay of various actors from state, local, and federal government officials to library management, workers, and community members. The story exhibits the resilience of community activists who convinced municipalities of the dire need for libraries and library services. This case study also highlights the impact of local economic conditions, municipal politics, and community engagement, topics of more than just historical interest to our profession.Finally, this issue offers reflective reviews of three recent works of interest to library historians. Patrick Valentine commends a new critical edition of Thomas Hendrickson's Ancient Libraries and Renaissance Humanism: The De Bibliothecis of Justus Lipsius. Originally written in 1602, this classic early survey of ancient libraries is given a new translation with extensive commentaries added to the original text. Taking us into the twentieth century, Anthony Bernier praises Libraries of Light: British Public Library Design in the Long 1960s by Alistair Black as a successful reinterpretation of the much maligned “brutalist” library architecture of the 1960s, while Calista Williams finds What Middletown Read: Print Culture in an American Small City to be a fascinating and engaging exploration of the experience and meanings of reading.We hope you enjoyed accompanying us on a trip down memory lane as we documented the genesis of this publication and as we introduced this issue's contents. Please continue to help us shape LCHS's future. Our most important wish for LCHS is to foster and reflect global conversations on library history. We encourage those with an international focus to consider sharing their work in this venue. We look forward to many more stimulating conversations, more fascinating discoveries, and new challenges in the years to come!

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