by Jan Hardy, Library Specialist
I may not be the oldest library employee in years, but I am in years served. 41 years ago, I applied for a job at CMU Libraries. This was before the Internet, so I answered a Help Wanted newspaper ad. Human Resources required a typing test, and I think I impressed them with my 80 words-per-minute, accurate typing - especially when I showed them my right hand. I’d accidentally and painfully closed my thumb in a car door a week before. It was past the point of hurting, but my blue thumbnail still looked ugly enough that the interviewer recoiled in disgust and respect.
HR called me back for an interview with the head of Tech Services and head of Acquisitions. I knew enough from working at Carnegie Public Library to sound acceptable, and got the call to begin working at Hunt Library in January 1983, “when people come back from break.” My coworkers told me later that I was the first female to wear pants to an interview.
On my first day, I filed cards in the card catalog - “above the rod,” as we used to say. The rod ran along the bottom of the drawer, and after a librarian checked my work, she slid the rod out and then back in to drop the cards in place. (Being able to file “below the rod” was a sign of trust.) The head of Tech Services approved my work, and I went home to rest my tired feet and legs.
The next day my supervisor trained me on our ordering system, an enormous keyboard-printer combination where I typed in book titles, authors, publishers and prices. This was a major improvement from standing and crouching all day at the card catalog! When I finished typing all the orders, I hit a key so the printer could rattle out a long string of 3x5” multicolored, carbon-printed order slips. We would tear apart the slips, filing pink ones for office use, and mailing (yes, snail-mailing) blue and gold slips to the vendor. They’d send the book with a gold slip so we could track our original order. Once in a while, these slips still turn up; I’m probably the only one who knows what they are.
That first week is a blur now, but some things stand out. Eating lunch in the empty staff lounge, I witnessed one librarian (since retired) whooshing between the cafe-style tables, arms out, making airplane noises. She didn’t acknowledge me, and I didn’t say anything to her. That same day, two women in our department had an angry, loud disagreement in Chinese. The rest of us froze in place, wide-eyed. I guess the two resolved their argument, but I’ll never know.
Library workers can tell you, libraries are a haven for - shall we say - characters. I remember fondly the librarian who wore two different shoes to work one day, and unevenly hobbled through the day. This same woman came in another day with greasy, flattened hair, explaining that she’d grabbed a can of PAM cooking spray instead of hair spray. Driving on campus during Spring Carnival, she argued with the Campus Police who were blocking off Frew Street, and turned onto the campus, driving across the Cut to Forbes Avenue. I had to admire her for that.
Then there was the librarian whose picture appeared in the newspaper as one of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted. He had been working under an assumed name, on the run from a scheme to bomb Leavenworth Prison. He and his cohorts apparently bought explosives from an undercover FBI agent. Naturally, we were shocked. He had been a pretty good librarian and one of those “nice, quiet types who kept to themselves,” as the detective shows always say. For the full story, see: Mike Bucsko and Diana Nelson Jones, Post-Gazette Staff Writers. (December 8, 1994, Thursday,). ARRESTS A RADICAL SHOCK TO FRIENDS; Neighbors describe 2 radical fugitives as helpful and kind. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Pennsylvania).
But my job was mostly subdued and routine. Over the years, I moved from ordering books, to processing them with stamps, labels and pockets, to cataloging. My desk was in various spots in the department, with different views out of all our different windows. I remember watching Michael Douglas come out of Baker Hall, over and over again, as they re-shot a scene for “Wonder Boys,” with the same background actors repeating the same motions - and the scene was never used. I remember the managers, department heads, coworkers and librarians who have come and gone. I remember odd things, like people being able to smoke by the Hunt Library elevators and in the staff lounge. I remember the buildings demolished and built, and I’m sure many more will spring up in years to come.
My responsibilities changed enough, and I learned enough to be interested in my job every day. I’m thankful that my schedule was flexible enough to earn a master’s degree at Pitt, work a part-time job at Phipps Conservatory, and care for both my aging parents and my mother-in-law during the last months of their lives. And I’m grateful for the support of my coworkers through it all.
Most importantly, I remember at first not feeling safe enough to tell anyone about “my private life,” then coming out to a few trusted coworkers, then claiming my now-wife as my domestic partner, and finally being able to legally marry. Now I’m encouraged to speak out about LGBTQ issues and advocate for our rights, a change I never would have foreseen back in the day. I’m encouraged to see students and co-workers learn about diversity and inclusion, to bring identities that were once hidden into the light. I feel like I’m leaving the future of the Libraries in good hands.
*with apologies to Allan Gurganus, author of "Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All"