The questionable character and unsavory reputation was Reverand George F. Nason, of Franklin, Kentucky. He made himself known to the H. Parmelee Library Company by asking to become one of their agents, but the company declined his services.[2] Afterwards, Nason established his own traveling library company while helping himself to ALA’s name and lifting content from H. Parmelee Library Company’s own publications.[3] Worried about the poor quality of the materials Nason sold to communities and the potential damage to the reputation of traveling library companies as a whole, Kilbourn brought the matter to ALA’s attention.
ALA Secretary Henry Carr reached out to Nason about the infringement of using ALA’s name for his company. Carr noted that ALA was generally well known and that “therefore it seems hardly possible that any one [sic] would undertake to assume our name unless intending to mislead, or to carry on something not legitimate.”[4] Nason immediately pled ignorance about the existence of another American Library Association. He tried to reassure Carr that he was operating a legitimate business and that he had no desire to “sail under false colors.” He then proposed to change his company’s name to the “National Library Association.” [5]
Carr wrote back, expressing that he didn’t want to question Nason’s good faith in saying that he didn’t know about ALA, but found it difficult to understand considering that ALA had been established for over twenty years and their work with the public. Still, Carr said that the ALA Executive Board didn’t object to his business, but they did take umbrage of the use “Library Association” in the proposed company name. Carr rightfully pointed out that Nason’s business was not a library association and as a commercial company, could not be one.[6]
In a letter to H. Parmelee dated the same day as his letter to Nason, Carr further expressed his doubts about Nason. He wrote, “This plea it seems to us rather hard to take much stock in, but his good faith will be shown by what he may do in the immediate future. If he is inclined to ‘see the error of his ways,’ and cease to use the Association name, we shall have to be content, I presume.”[7]
Nason did not take Carr’s response kindly:
We think you adopt a rather “high and might” style in both of your letters to us. This last letter seems to be full of insinuations and inuendos [sic] for which you have absolutely no ground. It has more for a style of a judge reprimanding and passing sentence on a criminal than that of a business letter from one party to another.[8]
He nonetheless recognized ALA’s right to its name and said that his company’s name was changed to the “American Library Company,” saying that “There can be no sane challenge to our right to this name.”[9] In his closing remarks, he wrote that if Carr wished for any further correspondence, which he did not, that Carr should “kindly enclose stamp for reply.” In the header of Nason’s letter, one can see The American Library Association with the Association blotted out and a stamped Company above it.[10]
Carr merely acknowledged his response and trusted this was the end of the matter. He did not seem to enclose a stamp for Nason’s reply.[11]
Thwaites found humor in the situation, writing to Carr, “Your Kentucky correspondence is truly delightful. For imprudence, and downright mendacity, he is monumental; he is an artist in his line, as witnesseth his closing sentence in letter of Nov. 17, in which he waves you off in the manner of Micawber spurning the contact of a creditor.”[12]
Thus ended the curious case of the two American Library Associations.
All letters found in record series 2/4/20, Henry J. Carr Papers, 1889, 1898-1904, 1906, Box 3, Folder: Thwaites, 1898-1900, American Library Association Archives.
[1] Robert Kilbourn to Reuben Thwaites, August 25, 1899.
[2] Robert Kilbourn to Henry Carr, October 3, 1899.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Henry Carr to George Nason, October 10, 1899.
[5] George Nason to Henry Carr, October 13, 1899.
[6] Henry Carr to George Nason, November 14, 1899.
[7] Henry Carr to H. Parmelee, November 14, 1899.
[8] George Nason to Henry Carr, November 17, 1899.
[9] Ibid.
[10] Ibid.
[11] Henry Carr to George Nason, November 20, 1899.
[12] Reuben Thwaites to Henry Carr, December 5, 1899.
]]>That is what American Libraries editor, Arthur Plotnik, asked Professor Wayne Wiegand after receiving Wiegend’s unsolicited manuscript about disgraced and forgotten ALA President, Klas August Linderfelt.[1]
It was not a hoax. Wiegand became interested in Linderfelt’s story while researching his book, The Politics of an Emerging Profession: The American Library Association, 1876-1917.[2] Prior research on Linderfelt’s story was thin and incomplete, so Wiegand wrote a more vigorously investigated article. “The Wayward Bookman” ran in two parts in the March and April 1977 issues of American Libraries and remains one of the most complete histories of Linderfelt’s downfall.[3]
The article caught the attention of Milwaukee Public Library (MLP) staff, who came across Linderfelt’s name as they prepared to celebrate the library’s centennial. Henry E. Bates, Jr., City Librarian for the MLP, wrote to ALA Executive Director Robert Wedgeworth, asking how to restore Linderfelt’s name to the presidential listing. Citing Wiegand’s article, Bates wrote, “I believe he did all of his bad things only here, and probably didn’t rip off ALA. Right?”[4]
Bates was invited to speak at the ALA Executive Board meeting during the 1978 Annual Conference and on June 25, Bates presented Linderfelt’s history to the Executive Board. He emphasized again that Linderfelt’s crimes were against the MLP, “I don’t think he did anything wrong at ALA, he certainly did at Milwaukee,” and noted that despite his embezzlement, MLP still recognized him as one of their librarians. Bates urged that there be at least a footnote in the presidential listing noting Linderfelt’s presidency.[5]
Bates and the Executive Board, and in prior consultation with a library historian, believed that adding a footnote to the presidential listing would both be consistent with the original intent of the 1892 Executive Committee of removing Linderfelt’s name. At the same time the note would acknowledge that Linderfelt “in some way served the association.”[6] The decision and footnote was documented in the Board minutes:
Mr. Fletcher served as President 1891-1892 since on May 21, 1892 the Executive Committee accepted the resignation of K. August Linderfelt, who was elected October, 1891, with the stipulation that his name would be expunged from the presidential rolls.[7]
Starting in 1978, Linderfelt became a footnote to Fletcher’s fleeting presidency. Later, Wiegand would comment “[Linderfelt’s] name still sported an asterisk—kind of a permanent (and probably justified) mark against his place in ALA history.”[8] The note appeared in the ALA presidential listing printed in the ALA Membership Directory. At some point, presidential listing was transferred to the Handbook of Organization, where Linderfelt’s note remained. That is until ALA stopped printing the Handbook after 2008 and fully transferred its information to the association’s website.
Then, in a twist of fate that the 1978 Executive Board could not have anticipated, Linderfelt’s footnote was completely left behind in the Handbook’s jump from print to digital, likely by clerical error.
Ironically, just as Linderfelt fell from ALA’s official record once more, the Wisconsin Library Association (WLA), who had also shunned him, furthered its embrace of Linderfelt’s legacy. During its centennial celebration in 1991, the WLA officially forgave him, with past presidents starting a ritual of passing on an urn used to represent Linderfelt in absentia. In 2009, the WLA honored Linderfelt by inducting him into the Wisconsin Library Hall of Fame, right after ALA stopped printing its Handbook.[9]
For nearly 15 years, Linderfelt was left forgotten for a second time. Then in 2023, Linderfelt’s name came up in a reference inquiry at the ALA Archives. A researcher was searching for a photograph of Linderfelt. Unfamiliar with Linderfelt’s story, research led the ALA Archivist to Wiegand’s article and records within the archives relating to Linderfelt’s partial restoration. The archivist then realized that Linderfelt was missing from the current presidential listings.
The archivist contacted the ALA Library and related the story to the staff, requesting, “would it be possible to add Linderfelt to ALA’s presidents list? Or at least the note about his term and resignation?”[10] ALA staff, who were also in the dark about Linderfelt’s story, responded positively. The shame felt by the 1892 Executive Committee was long gone and like the 1978 Executive Board, ALA staff were highly amused by the odd history.
By the start of 2024, Linderfelt was restored to the ALA presidential listing and for the first time his name was listed amongst the ALA past presidents and not as only a footnote.[11] There is currently an asterisk next to both Linderfelt and Fletcher’s names and subtle change to the footnote written in 1978:
* Mr. Fletcher is listed as serving as President 1891-92 since on May 21, 1892, the Executive Committee accepted the resignation of K. August Linderfelt who was elected in October 1891, with the stipulation that his name would be expunged from the presidential rolls. Please see Executive Board minutes cumulated index, volume 47, or reach out to the ALA Archives.
Over 130 years after his resignation, Linderfelt has finally taken his place in ALA’s official record as a past president.
[1] Wayne Wiegand, “This Month, 109 Years Ago,” American Libraries 32, no. 5 (May 2001): 94.
[2] Wayne Wiegand to Cara Bertram, email, July 9, 2024.
[3] Wayne Wiegand, “The Wayward Bookman,” American Libraries 8, no. 3 (March 1977) and American Libraries 8, no. 4 (April 1977).
[4] Henry Bates, Jr. to Robert Wedgeworth, May 19, 1978, Library Vertical File, record series 18/1/56, Box 7, Folder: Linderfelt, K. A., ALA Archives.
[5] “Tape 4,” (Annual Conference 1978), Executive Board Tapes, record series 2/1/61, Box 1, ALA Archives.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Meeting of the Executive Board, June 25, 1978, record series 2/1/1, v 47 (Annual Conference/Fall Meeting, 1978): 200.
[8] Wiegand, “This Month, 109 Years Ago,” 94.
[9] Larry T. Nix, “Klas August Linderfelt (1847-1900),” Wisconsin Library Heritage Center, October 5, 2009: https://heritage.wisconsinlibraries.org/entry/klas-august-linderfelt-1847-1900/
[10] Cara Bertram to Colleen Barbus and Hannah Weinberg, email, May 24, 2023.
[11] “ALA’s Past Presidents,” American Library Association: https://www.ala.org/aboutala/history/past.
]]>Linderfelt’s arrest came as a shock to the library profession. Not only was he the head of the MLP, but he was also the president of both the American Library Association (ALA) and the Wisconsin Library Association (WLA). A longtime and active member of ALA, Linderfelt was well liked by his colleagues, leaving them reeling at his arrest. The news spread quickly in both the local and national press, with newspapers as far away as California, proclaiming, “Linderfelt in a Cell. The Public Librarian of Milwaukee Uses the City’s Cash.”[1]
Letters between ALA leaders reveal that Linderfelt’s resignation as ALA President was immediately on their mind. Newberry librarian, William F. Poole, an intimate friend of Linderfelt, wrote to Melvil Dewey on May 1, “I hope that Mr L[inderfelt] will send his resignation in the asso. before the 16th. That it will be quietly accepted and Mr. Fletcher be made full President.”[2] Dewey agreed with the idea and noted that it would be for the best if the topic of the “dreadful episode” was avoided at the ALA conference just weeks away.[3]
The ALA Executive Committee moved quickly on the matter and by May 2, convening at the house of the ALA Secretary, Frank P. Hill. There they would discuss “Mr. Linderfelt’s trouble.”[4] Weeks later, on May 22, Hill reported that he had received Linderfelt’s resignation and that it would “take effect from the time of election.” W. I. Fletcher, the librarian of Amherst College and an ALA vice-president, was then recorded as ALA President for the entire term 1891-1892 term, thus erasing Linderfelt’s presidency. Professor Wayne Wiegand observed that, “The matter was handled so expeditiously that it was apparent the committee had already decided on a course of action at its ‘unofficial’ May 2 meeting at Hill’s house.”[5] The consequences of these actions was that Linderfelt would not be documented as a past president and his name was stricken from ALA’s official records.
Linderfelt and his arrest were not brought up in the proceedings for the 1892 annual conference, an event he would have presided over. Though Fletcher, his replacement, alluded to the incident in his presidential address, “The peculiar circumstances under which I assume this position will, I am sure, be sufficient to excuse the desultoriness of the few remarks which, on so short notice, I have been able to throw together for your consideration this evening.”[6] In his address, he mentioned a couple times that he had only a few days to assume the duties as president, but otherwise did not bring up his predecessor. While ALA had washed their hands of Linderfelt, outside of association business, his librarian friends had not given up on him. Leaders in the profession wrote letters on his behalf that would later be used in his defense, and he was offered a position at Library Bureau, a company founded by Dewey, in Boston, if he was cleared of his charges.[7]
ALA wasn’t the only library association impacted by Linderfelt’s disgrace. He also left the WLA leaderless only a year into its founding and caused the WLA to skip holding annual conferences in 1892 and 1893, putting the association in crisis.[8]
That July, Linderfelt appeared in court for his embezzlement. However, despite his confession, he would see no prison time for stealing what ended up being over $9,000 (over $326,000 in 2026), over double what was previously estimated.[9] Instead, the judge gave him a suspended sentence and Linderfelt walked out of the courthouse as a free man. There was immediate outrage in Milwaukee over the lack of punishment and the District Attorney quickly moved to file new charges against Linderfelt.[10]
On July 16, Linderfelt was in Boston to take the job offered to him at Library Bureau.[11] A couple of days later, the order for his arrest was issued in Boston, but the librarian was nowhere to be found. By July 20, The Boston Globe was asking “Where is Linderfelt? Visited Public Library Saturday and Has Since Disappeared.”[12] Somehow, Linderfelt discovered the orders for his arrest and this time decided to flee the country to Europe.
With his flight from justice, Linderfelt disappeared from the lives of his librarian friends and, with his name stricken from the record, he also disappeared from the memory of the profession. Almost.
To be continued.
For a more detailed and the most rigorously researched account of Linderfelt’s trouble, read Wayne Wiegand’s “The Wayward Bookman” in American Libraries volume 8, issues 3 and 4 (March and April 1977).
[1] “Linderfelt in a Cell,” The San Francisco Examiner (San Francisco, California), April 29, 1892, p. 1.
[2] William F. Poole to Melvil Dewey, May 1, 1892, W.L. Williamson – William F. Poole Research Papers, Midwest-MS-Williamson, Box 5, Folder: 1892 Correspondence, The Newberry Library – Modern Manuscripts and Archives Repository.
[3] Melvil Dewey to William F. Poole, May 5, 1892, NL Archives 03/01/01/01, Box: 7, Folder: 414 – Dewey, Melvil. Newberry Library Archives, NL-Archives. The Newberry Library – Modern Manuscripts and Archives.
[4] Frank P. Hill to George W. Cole, April 30, 1892, George W. Cole Papers, series 2/3/20, Box 1, Folder: Correspondence, 1891-1893, American Library Association Archives.
[5] Wayne Wiegand, “The Wayward Bookman,” American Libraries 8, no. 3 (March 1977): 137.
[6] W. I. Fletcher, “President’s Address,” Papers and Proceedings of the Fourteenth General Meeting of the American Library Association (Boston: 1892): 1.
[7] Wayne Wiegand, “The Wayward Bookman, Part II,” American Libraries 8, no. 4 (April 1977): 198
[8] Larry T. Nix, “Disaster Strikes the News Created Wisconsin Library Association,” Wisconsin Library Heritage Center, March 24, 2016: https://heritage.wisconsinlibraries.org/entry/disaster-strikes-the-newly-created-wisconsin-library-association/
[9] Wiegand, 197.
[10] Ibid, 197-198.
[11] “May Come to Boston,” The Boston Globe, July 14, 1892, p. 4.
[12] “Where is Linderfelt?” The Boston Globe, July 20, 1892, p. 5.
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Later that year, Knowles was hired as a librarian on a temporary contract at the William Jeanes Memorial Library outside of Philadelphia while the permanent librarian was in recovery for an injury. When she was asked to take the Pennsylvania Loyalty Oath, Knowles refused and responded with a letter explaining her stance:
“On the Matter of loyalty to the United States, I believe it is one of the responsibilities of a mature citizen to be actively aware of and engaged in the demonstration of loyalty at all times. I think the imposition of a loyalty oath robs a citizen of such responsibility, and weakens the need for active participation on the part of the individual.”[3]
In 1954, after the injured librarian retired, Knowles accepted a permanent position at the library. Despite her refusal to take a loyalty oath and the strife her hiring caused in local government meetings and amongst local residents, the library’s governing committee chose to stand behind their decision to employ Mary Knowles based on her qualifications as a librarian.[4]
Soon after, an organization known as the Fund for the Republic awarded the library committee $5,000 for “courageous and effective defense of democratic principles.”[5] The Fund for the Republic was later under investigation by a subcommittee of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), where the award given to the library committee was specifically called into question. Chairman Francis E. Walter stated: “The committee wishes to know more about the factors which prompted the Fund for the Republic to consider the retention of a Communist a defense of ‘democratic principles’ worth $5,000 of its tax-exempt money.”[6]
Mary Knowles was once more called to Washington in 1955 to testify before the SISS, where she once again refused to answer questions about the Samuel Adams School for Social Studies. She did not invoke her fifth amendment right this time, however, stating that “since any association that I had with an organization on the Attorney General’s list was so far in the past, that I would no longer be privileged to claim the fifth amendment, I have not done so.”[7] Because she did not invoke her Fifth Amendment right when she declined to answer the subcommittee’s questions, she was cited with 58 counts of Contempt of Congress, each count representing a separate refusal to answer a question. She was convicted on 52 of these counts in 1957, with each count incurring a fine of $500 and 120 days in jail. The conviction was overturned by the US Court of Appeals in 1960 after much of the McCarthyism hysteria had subsided.[8]
The library committee stood behind Knowles throughout this entire ordeal, going so far as to publicize her conduct: “Even under the greatest stress she has gone quietly about her own affairs and has managed to do a highly credible job as a librarian. She has stood firmly by her stated principles; she has acted without recrimination.”[9] Her example of professional defiance during the Red Scare endures as a lesson in speaking truth to power when civil liberties are suppressed. Knowles served patrons as librarian and eventually as director of the William Jeanes Memorial Library until her retirement in 1979.[10]
Mary Knowles is featured as part of a recently installed exhibit in concert with this year’s Gryphon Lecture where Wayne A. Wiegand, the F. William Summers Professor of Library and Information Studies Emeritus at Florida State University, spoke on missing stories in American library history. This exhibit utilizes materials from the research done by Professor Wiegand at the ALA Archives for his book In Silence or Indifference: Racism and Jim Crow Segregated Public School Libraries, and will be available for viewing at The Center for Children’s Books until the end of the Spring 2026 semester.
[1] “Plymouth Meeting Librarian Refuses to Testify,” Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom 4, no. 2, January 1956, 3.
[2] “$5,000 Award for Library’s Courage,” Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom 4, no. 1, September 1955, 1.
[3] Civil Liberties Committee of the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends, The Plymouth Meeting Controversy, by George Willoughby, Emerson L. Darnell, Robert C. Folwell, Paul A. Lacey, Olcutt Sanders, Harry E. Sprogell (Philadelphia, 1957), 8. https://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015031054029
[4] Ibid., 9.
[5] Ibid., 15.
[6] Ibid., 18.
[7] Ibid., 23.
[8] Everett T. Moore, “The Plymouth Meeting Controversy,” ALA Bulletin 54, no. 8, September 1960, 648.
[9] Civil Liberties Committee of the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends, The Plymouth Meeting Controversy, 3.
[10] “Retirements,” American Libraries 10, no. 11, December 1979, 674.
Carrie Coleman Robinson was born in Mississippi in 1906 and began her career as a librarian serving Black schools in South Carolina, Georgia, and Louisiana before settling in Alabama.[1] In 1946, she decided to continue her professional education. Unable to be admitted to the University of Alabama library school due to her race, Robinson enrolled in the University of Illinois master’s degree program in 1948. She returned to Illinois in 1953 to obtain a doctorate, but family issues and an advisor insisting she write her dissertation on a white school program in de facto segregated Indianapolis forced her back to Alabama.[2]
In 1962, Robinson was hired as Negro School Library Supervisor in Alabama’s Department of Education. In 1966, while serving in this position, federal funds became available to improve secondary school libraries across the nation. Alabama’s Department of Education list of viable candidates for a supervisor position excluded Carrie Robinson, despite her high qualifications, and the position went to an underqualified white person. It was later found that department officials routinely failed to advertise and recruit for applications from Black people compared to similarly situated white people.[3]
On May 14, 1969, she filed a complaint in the US District Court, alleging that she had been denied equal protection as a department employee because of her race. On December 23rd of that year, the National Education Association (NEA) and the Alabama State Teachers Association filed a class action suit against the department on Robinson’s behalf. It was the first time the NEA filed a racial discrimination suit against a state department of education, and the only time it supported a school librarian.[4]
At the January 1970 ALA Midwinter Meeting, a resolution commending NEA for its support of Robinson was introduced, and a notice of this resolution was sent to various library publications.[5] Neither the ALA nor the American Association of School Librarians (AASL) offered any further support, despite the urging of membership. On October 6, 1970, both parties in the Robinson case reached an agreement: Robinson was promoted to a higher-ranking role and received a salary increase, while the state agreed to pay all her legal fees.
In 1969, Robinson was faced with another challenge, this time from AASL. The state of Alabama had received ESEA (Elementary and Secondary Education Act) funding and was planning on hosting a program about a Library Learning Center project at Jacksonville schools. AASL president, John Rowell, suggested the program instead occur at AASL’s annual conference. Three months into planning, AASL executive secretary, Lu Ouida Vinson, contacted Robinson asking her to serve on the, then all white, committee. Despite having regular contact with and being more qualified to speak on the issue than other committee members, this was the first she had heard of the program. Robinson refused the invitation and stated, “there is no school library development in Alabama that merits national recognition.” Due to her objections, AASL did not continue plans to host the program.[6]
Robinson also made waves in the library world through her support of free speech and social justice issues. She was one of the founding trustees of the Freedom to Read Foundation, a founder of the Alabama Association of School Librarians which supported Black school librarians during segregation, and served as a member of the ALA Council and the AASL Board of Directors. Despite this, Robinson has remained an obscured figure in library history. Robinson retired in 1975 and passed away in 2008, at age 102.[7]
To see more materials about Carrie Robinson or other school librarians who faced racism and challenges to intellectual freedom, visit our exhibit at the Center for Children’s Books in the School of Information Sciences, on view from March 2 to the end of the Spring 2026 semester, and visit the ALA Archives to see the full collection.
[1] [1] Wayne A. Wiegand, “Separate—and Unequal: Carrie C. Robinson’s Story of Challenging Racism Still Resonates,” American Libraries, October 6, 2020. https://americanlibrariesmagazine.org/2020/10/06/separate-and-unequal-carrie-c-robinson-librarian-challenging-racism/
[2] [2] Wayne A. Wiegand, In Silence or Indifference: Racism and Jim Crow Segregated Public School Libraries, University Press of Mississippi, 2024, 176.
[3] Wiegand, In Silence or Indifference, 178.
[4] Ibid.
[5] “AASL Supports Carrie Robinson,” 1969, series 20/2/6, Box 4, Folder: Robinson, Mrs. Carrie, 1969-70, American Library Association Archives.
[6] “Carrie Robinson to Lu Ouida Vinson,”, October 22, 1969, series 20/2/6, Box 19, Folder: Joint Alabama-AASL Program at Detroit (cancelled), 1970, American Library Association Archives.
[7] Weigand, “Separate—and Unequal,” American Libraries, October 6, 2020.
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Herb and Mary met in Indiana and Herb said that he pursued Mary and after “[making] myself impossible, she agreed to marry me.” Herb and Mary, an interracial couple, had to get married in Illinois as Indiana still had anti-miscegenation laws at the time and could not marry in Mary’s home state. Not long afterwards, the couple moved to Chicago.[1]
While in Chicago, Herb started teaching grade school and when a school librarian position opened, and went unfilled, he took the role. This was the start of Herb’s career in librarianship, and he would later work at the John Crerar Library and the Illinois Institute of Technology, before becoming director of the Long Island Library Resources Council (LILRC) for 35 years.[2] Mary worked as the Head Librarian of the University of Chicago Laboratory School from 1970-1998. When Herb took the job with LILRC, located in New York, he said that he thought he and Mary were in agreement, but he realized that Mary was not going to leave her job at the University of Chicago. He said for 17 years they had a “commuting marriage” until Mary retired in 1998.[3]
In an American Libraries article, Mary said that she started her membership in ALA the 1970s and in midst of The Speaker controversy. The film, produced by the Intellectual Freedom Committee and promoting the freedom of speech by protecting controversial topics, left members accusing ALA of racism. Mary, a Black librarian, in reflection of the event in 2014, stated that, “This is what got me started and I haven’t stopped since.”[4] Within the Social Responsibilities Round Table (SRRT), Mary served on the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday Task Force, which brought about the Sunrise Celebration, previously a fixture of the ALA Midwinter Meeting. She also served on the Coretta Scott King Book Award Task Force (now its own Round Table), celebrating and honoring Black authors and illustrators in children’s literature. She was active in the American Association of School Librarians, the Intellectual Freedom Round Table, and the Black Caucus of the American Library Association, along with other library groups and associations. One of Mary’s most enduring legacies is her work on ALA Council, serving 42 consecutive years.
In an interview, Herb said that his first ALA Conference was in Atlantic City (1969). He claimed that there were so many veterans who had come into the profession and were making demands of ALA that the association was not used to, that the following year ALA hired its first parliamentarian.[5] He would become inspired by upcoming progressive leaders within the profession. In 1978, Herb would submit the SRRT’s Affirmative Action Resolution, seconded by E. J. Josey, urging ALA Council to reaffirm its position on affirmative action.[6] He would also protest apartheid in South Africa, citing it as a motivator for his involvement in the International Federation of Library Associations.[7] From 1980-1984, Herb served as the ALA Treasurer.
While Mary and Herb lived apart for 17 years, their work within ALA brought them together. Both Mary and Herb were active members of SRRT, becoming members in the round table’s early years. They served together on ALA Council, and Herb noted that at one point, he, Mary, and their daughter, Lisa, had all served on Council at the same time. Together, they worked towards bringing social justice and addressing controversial issues within ALA.
Herb passed on March 30, 2018, shortly after his retirement. In Council’s memorial resolution, his work in social justice was acknowledged and that “engaged in struggles for workers and civil rights, against apartheid in South Africa, and in many other US and international causes through his engagement” in ALA and IFLA.[8] In 2020, Mary was honored by ALA in a tribute resolution, recognizing her decades of outstanding service, her advocacy for school libraries, and acknowledging her as a “mentor and inspiration for countless councilors and all library workers.”[9]
A tribute to Herb can be found in the Library History Round Table’s digital memorial, Librarians We Have Lost, in the ALA Institutional Repository: https://hdl.handle.net/11213/23951.
[1] Herb Biblo, “Episode 37 – An Evening with Herb Biblo of LILRC,” March 16, 2018, The Library Pros: https://www.thelibrarypros.com/episode-37-an-evening-with-herb-biblo-of-lilrc/. This interview is also preserved in the ALA Archives as Herbert Biblo Interview, March 16, 2018, record series 97/1/78.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
[4] “Resurrecting the Speaker,” American Libraries, July 1, 2014: https://americanlibrariesmagazine.org/blogs/the-scoop/resurrecting-the-speaker/
[5] Biblo, The Library Pros.
[6] Social Responsibilities Round Table, “Affirmative Action Resolution,” 1978: https://hdl.handle.net/11213/23260
[7] Ibid.
[8] Mary W. Ghikas, “Memorial Resolution for Herbert Biblo (1924-2018),” adopted by ALA Council, June 16, 2018.
[9] ALA Council, “A Tribute Resolution Recognizing Mary Biblo for 42 Years of Service as an ALA Councilor-At-Large and 49 Years of Service as an ALA Member,” June 8, 2020.
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In 1923 and 1924, ALA investigated getting the insignia registered in the patent office.[3] However, it seems that nothing came of that venture and by 1926, ALA’s fiftieth anniversary, a new seal was created for the association. Reminiscent of its WWI origins, the new logo featured the same open book motif, but this time with the “A.L.A” above it instead of within. It was also encircled with the words “American Library Association 1876.” Unfortunately, the original drawings for the logo were unsigned and it is unknown who designed the seal. A 1934 letter from the ALA Editor of Publications speculates that “it must have been ordered through some printing house.”[4]
A special logo was designed for ALA’s centennial celebrations in 1976. The ALA Centennial Committee held a contest and in 1973, Sandra J. Beeson of Catholic University of America was declared the winner with her design selected. Beeson was awarded an expense-paid trip to that year’s annual conference in Las Vegas for the official unveiling of the logo. The logo was used widely in the branding for the celebration and featured prominently on the conference program for the centennial conference in Chicago.
Besides the centennial logo, the 1926 seal remained in continuous use, though in 1980, a stylized “ALA” logo started to appear in publications and letterhead. However, the 1926 seal would still appear on official ALA letterhead and items up into the 1990s. By 1990, a simplified version of the 1926 logo came into circulation, appearing in the 1990-1991 Handbook of Organization and Member Directory. It still contained the open book motif used back during WWI, but it dropped the “A.L.A.” above the open book.
In the late 1990s, the bolded ALA followed by “American Library Association” text logo started appearing within Handbooks of Organization and Member Directories. By 2010, the enduring seal logo was officially phased out, and the text logo has been in use ever since.[5]
[1] Herbert Putnam, March 16, 1918, War Service Correspondence, 1917-1923, Record Series 89/1/5.
[2] George Utley, November 20, 1918, War Service Correspondence, 1917-1923, Record Series 89/1/5.
[3] Meeting of the Executive Board, December 31, 1923 and Meeting of the Executive Board, June 29, 1924, Transcripts of Proceedings, 1909-46, 1951-2002, Record Series 2/1/1, Box 1, Volume 2, page 378 and 440.
[4] Emily V. D. Miller to Miriam Roe, October 29, 1934, Executive Director Subject File, 1904-2017, Record Series 2/4/6, Box 2, Folder: American Library Association – Miscellaneous, 1920-1936.
[5] American Library Association, “Flashback Friday,” Instagram photo, January 16, 2026, https://www.instagram.com/p/DTlqYcxjGDl/.
]]>In the December 1955 issue of the Legion News published by the John Jacob Fisher Post, Legion member Pete Wehrle wrote an editorial attacking ALA as a communist front. The editorial questioned if the American Legion Post would stand for the library board to “tie up with a Red Front organization” such as the ALA, to which it said no. The editorial used combative language against the library board, saying: “In short folks we are going to do a job on this matter. We will pick the field and the time and place of the fray. We will also pick the method – these things are always the prerogative of the assult (sic) force.”[1]
The letter written to the borough council removed much of the aggressive language but still accused ALA of being a communist organization and of the library holding communist materials. “We are not in accord with their policy of permitting Communist slanted literature on their shelves nor are we in accord with their adoption of the Library Bill of Rights … We have reason to believe that the ALA is not in accord with what we judge to be the best interests of our American way of life.”[2]
Mildred Harlan, librarian at the Punxsutawney Free Library, wrote to the Intellectual Freedom Committee to bring the issue to ALA’s attention. She forwarded the letter to be read to the borough council and asked for an official statement from ALA against the charges of communism, as she said the Legion was not inclined to believe her. She noted that, “It seems that the situation is going to become more serious that (sic) we had expected.”[3]
Paul Bixler, secretary of the ALA Intellectual Freedom Committee, was rather incredulous in his response to Harlan over the accusation, noting “the gross misrepresentation” of ALA by the American Legion Post. Bixler brought up the appointment of L. Quincy Mumford as the Librarian of Congress less than two years before. Mumford was a former ALA President and then member of the ALA’s Executive Board, and Senator Joseph McCarthy had served on the committee that considered Mumford’s nomination. In his response to Harlan, Bixler posed the question, “Do the Legionnaires of Punxsutawney believe that Senator McCarthy … would have allowed a librarian who was President of the American Library Association to become Librarian of Congress if there was any suspicion that the American Library Association was a Communist front?”[4]
The Legion later walked back the editorial after the library board protested the “scurrilous attacks” on its members and being exposed to a legal liability. The Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom, a publication of the Intellectual Freedom Committee, announced the apology, writing that “The legal dangers of Editor Wehrle’s attack having been pointed out to the Post’s members, they not only issued a letter of apology to the Board for the editor’s remarks, but recalled a letter sent to the Borough Council asking changes in the Board’s membership.”[5]
Blog post adapted from: Cara Bertram, “The Freedom to Read: Stories of the Fight Against Library Censorship in the 1950s.” Caxtonian 33, no. 5 (September/October 2025): 6-9.
[1] “Legionnaire ‘Assults’ Public Library,” Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom 4, no. 2, January 1956, p. 4.
[2] Donald White to Punxsutawney City Council, January 3, 1956. Correspondence File, Record Series 69/1/5, Box 2, Folder: HA-HZ Correspondence, 1952-1956, American Library Association Archives.
[3] Mildred Harlan to Paul Bixler, January 7, 1956. Correspondence File, Record Series 69/1/5, Box 2, Folder: HA-HZ Correspondence, 1952-1956, American Library Association Archives.
[4] Paul Bixler to Mildred Harlan, January 10, 1956. Correspondence File, Record Series 69/1/5, Box 2, Folder: HA-HZ Correspondence, 1952-1956, American Library Association Archives.
[5] “Legion Post Apologizes,” Newsletter on Intellectual Freedom 4, no. 3 (April 1956): 1.
]]>In February 1948, the ALA International Relations Office (IRO) sent out a questionnaire to librarians on its Foreign Library Service Roster. The last question asked, “Would you be willing to attend, at your own expense, a ‘guinea pig’ session, devoted to the international aspects of library work …?”[1] 100 librarians affirmed their unreserved interest in the “guinea pig” session, while others noted their interested dependent upon funding.[2] With a strong response to the question, Helen Wessells, associate director of IRO, started planning.
The intent for the “guinea pig” session was to utilize seminar methods to discuss the advantages and disadvantages of working abroad and how to prepare librarians to work overseas. Along with interested librarians, a group of resource people would attend to speak and help facilitate discussion, composed of government representatives, librarians with international experience, and area and subject specialists. The outline of the program focused on four areas: library work from an international viewpoint, area studies, interpreting the United States, and diplomatic relationships.[3]
Pulling together the ambitious event was not an easy task. With hopes of hosting the session after the ALA Annual Conference in Atlantic City that June, Wessells only had a few months to plan. At the start of March, Wessells had no venue, funding, nor approval from the ALA Executive Board. However, everything started to come together by the following month. Williams College librarian, Wyllis E. Wright, confirmed the college’s ability to host the event, lodging was secured at the Williams Inn, and the Executive Board gave its approval, telling Wessells to write a proposal to the Carnegie Corperation for funding. While the grant wasn’t confirmed until May, the Carnegie Corporation quickly signaled its interest by deeming the session “a project deserving further, and probably favorable, consideration.”[4]
Wessells desired a relatively small group of attendees to facilitate free discussions, so perspective participants had to submit a letter of interest to the IRO to be selected to attend. Those who did participate were provided with thorough information to prepare themselves. The IRO gave out train and flight schedules, room rates at the maximum of $4 a night (for the privilege of a semi-private bathroom), and the warning that the food at the inn was “excellent, but you can prepare to put on some weight.”[5]
What came together was a weeklong conference from June 21 to June 28 with over fifty librarians, ALA staff, specialists, educators, and government representatives in attendance. The schedule was packed with sessions on language and culture, book selection, impacts on communities and people, and services to children and youth, along with documentaries and talks that extended into the evening. The round table was so productive that it had its own daily bulletin for attendees, recapping the day’s discussions, events, announcements, and even a “Social Note” with notices for a garden party with Wyllis Wright and a cocktail party hosted by the Williams College president.
The last day of the conference was reserved for self-reflection of the program. What came out of the discussion was the intent to form an ALA round table with the purpose “to discuss all aspect of library service abroad.”[6] In this session, the participants also informally elected three officers for the proposed round table, Wessells as chair, Marie Hurley as vice-chair, and Katharine Shorey as secretary-treasurer.[7] These officers were also charged with starting the process of formalizing the round table in ALA.
The Williamstown Conference was well received. Enthusiastic feedback, letters, reports, and writeups were produced about the success of the program, its collegial atmosphere, and Wessells’ leadership. One attendee called it the “most memorable weeks of my life.” Wessells was surprised by the overwhelming response, writing that, “It is surprising how the fame of Williamstown marches on. People … have heard about it and have been more than vocal in expressing their interest …”[8]
A report on the conference noted that, “The Williamstown Round Table is over but there is little doubt that the reverberations will echo for some time.”[9] With over seventy-five years of hindsight, we can safely assess this as an apt evaluation. Through the leadership of Helen Wessells and participation of enthusiastic and internationally minded librarians, came the start of the International Relations Round Table.
Blog post adapted from “IRRT@75 in the Archives,” International Leads 38, no. 1 (March 2024): 10-14. https://hdl.handle.net/11213/23538
[1] International Relations Office questionnaire, February 16, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table – Orientation Program, 1948, American Library Association Archives.
[2] Helen Wessells to Robert Lester, April 13, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table – Orientation Program, 1948.
[3] “International Relations Round Table on Library Service Abroad,” May 6, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table – Orientation Program, 1948.
[4] Robert Lester to Wessells, April 26, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table – Orientation Program, 1948.
[5] Wessells, “International Relations Round Table on Library Service Abroad,” May 24, 1948, series 45/1/6, Box 6, Folder: International Relations Round Table on Library Service Abroad, 1948.
[6] Daily Bulletin, June 28, 1948, series 45/1/6, Box 6, Folder: International Relations Round Table on Library Service Abroad, 1948.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Wessells to Andy G. Wilkison, July 30, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table, 1948.
[9] Wessells, “Informal Report to the International Relations Board on the International Relations Round Table on Library Service Abroad,” July 12, 1948, series 7/1/6, Box 7, Folder: Foreign Library Service Round Table, 1948.
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The scrapbook remained with ALA Headquarters and served as key historical source for the beginnings of ALA. Professor Edward G. Holley, librarian and library historian, was tipped off to the existence of the scrapbook by William L. Williamson, who used it for his biography of librarian William F. Poole. Apparently, Williamson had told Holley that “access to the room where [the scrapbook] was kept was through the men’s room in the old Cyrus McCormick mansion, then the A.L.A. headquarters.” Though Holley noted that the scrapbook was in an exhibit case when he visited headquarters to use it in the 1960s and in a 1968 memo, ALA staff placed the scrapbook in a safe within the accounting department.[3] Holley borrowed the scrapbook from Headquarters, taking it to him to Texas, and transcribed many of the letters, including shorthand notes, in his 1967 book, Raking the Historic Coals: The ALA Scrapbook of 1876.
After Holley returned the scrapbook, it remained at ALA Headquarters until 2013, when it was transferred to the ALA Archives at the University of Illinois. This piece of ALA history has largely been inaccessible due to the deteriorating condition of the object with pages becoming detached from its binding and past repairs failing. A former archives assistant observed the condition of the item and the various conservation interventions it had gone through:
[The scrapbook] provides tangible evidence of the history of preservation/conservation in library science. When the letters were first glued into a bound volume in 1926 that represented the best practice in preservation/conservation at the time, and there are many instances of attempting to repair the papers with scotch tape, showing even experts didn’t know the damage it would do; and when the book was microfilmed that represented the best method of preserving information at that time.[4]
The ALA Library and Archives attempted to outsource the scrapbook for conservation treatment, but the cost was prohibitive, and the project never got off ground.
In 2023, the ALA Archives and the Conservation Unit at the University of Illinois Library initiated discussions about getting the scrapbook treated. The conservation staff decided to take up the challenge of treating the nearly 150-year-old scrapbook. In the summer of 2024, a conservation treatment plan was agreed upon, and work could start on the scrapbook. The project was led by conservator Jody Waitzman and over 26 hours of labor was spent cleaning, mending, encapsulating, and rebinding the scrapbook pages.[5] While the contents of the scrapbook could not remain in the 1926 binding, both the original binding and slipcover were retained as separate objects for research purposes.
Once the conservation treatment for the scrapbook was completed in the spring of 2025, it was transferred to the University Library’s Digitization Services, where digital imaging specialist Rachael Johns took the lead in digitizing the scrapbook. With the pages now in a detachable binding, the documents could be safely photographed without further damaging them.
The result of all this effort is a scrapbook that can be safely handled and a high-quality digital copy available to the public in time for ALA’s 150th anniversary. Holley’s book, Raking the Historic Coals, remains an important resource in putting the materials in their historic context and transcribing some very intimidating looking shorthand writing.
The ALA Archives staff are grateful for the hard work of the University Library’s Conservation Unit and Digitization Services, particularly Jody Waitzman and Rachael Johns. Without their skills and expertise, the original documents would have remained inaccessible.
The scrapbook is available online in the University Library’s Digital Library: https://digital.library.illinois.edu/items/15563460-4881-013e-321b-02d0d7bfd6e4-e
[1] Edward G. Holley, Raking the Historic Coals: The ALA Scrapbook of 1876, (Beta Phi Mu, 1967), x.
[2] Ibid, x-xi
[3] Ibid, xi and Ruth M. White to David Clift, January 24, 1968, found in Subject File, 1928-2018, RS 18/1/5, Box 2, Folder: ALA Archives, Reports Concerning, 1948-1971, American Library Association Archives.
[4] Denise Rayman to Karen Muller, email, July 11, 2014.
[5] “Treatment Report – Librarians Conference Scrapbook, May-October 1876,” April 2025, University of Illinois Library, Conservation Unit.
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