Will Unwound

The latest management fad is to discuss the relative merits of being an introvert or an extrovert when it comes to being a good manager or a good worker bee.

The conventional wisdom has always been that extroverts make the best managers because they are better communicators, and that introverts are better worker bees because they process information better.

In the library world the introvert/extrovert issue has a clear line of demarcation: introverts are herded into cataloging and tech services like quiet little sheep, and extroverts flow into management and reference like the sparkling waters of a babbling brook.

We all know the old joke about the cataloger who died at his desk: “Fred is dead.”

“How do you know?”

“We can’t find a pulse.”

“What else is new?”

But then if Fred is really dead, the joke continues: “A dead Fred can be just as useful as a live Fred. Let’s see.  He can’t curate metadata anymore but he’ll make a passable security guard.  We’ll put a uniform on him and have him sleep at the front door guard station just like our current guard does.  Great way to save money.”

All of that is now passé.  Some management gurus are beginning to make the case that extroverts have mucked up the world (after all most politicians are extroverts) for too long.  The excessive need of extroverts to be adored and loved leads them down the sticky path of saying anything in order to be popular even at the risk of making them appear to be lying fools: “It is true that you have not had a raise in five years, but if I had the money I would give you all double digit raises.”  In isolation this pronouncement would be nothing more than smarmy, but when  it spoken on the heels of spending a half a million dollars on a consultant to write a report on which branches to close because of a revenue shortfall, it seems a tad bit evil.  Do all extroverts think that everyone else in the world is stupid?

So…the conclusion is that maybe we’ve been typecasting everyone the wrong way.  The new conventional wisdom is that we should try new typecasting: introverts because they are thoughtful, choose their words carefully, and process information thoroughly are actually the ones who make better managers.  What to do with extroverts?  Stick them in jobs that require a high bullshit quotient: marketing, public relations, sales, and advertising.  Let the introverts have the corner office for awhile until every gets sick of their passive aggressive ways. Then we can write new books and change back to the good old days when everything worked when extroverts were in charge.

Know what I think?  It’s all one more Briggs/Meyer scam.  Let’s subdivide human beings into categories,.  stereotype the categories, and tell people in each category what they can and cannot do.

Who wins?

The management gurus.

The party line and the phone booth are two symbols of the past that still have meaning for today.

Party lines were pretty common up until the mid to late 1950s.  If you could afford it you got a private line.  A party line was a telephone service in which you shared the same local service loop with other people. You got a distinguishing ring pattern for your house but that did not prevent others from quietly picking up their phones and listening in to your conversation.  Privacy was a function of mutual respect, a respect that eavesdroppers and gossips did not always observe.

A sign of economic upward mobility occurred when your family could afford a private line. Everyone wanted a private line not just for the prestige but for the privacy.

It occurs to me that against all odds party lines are back and have become quite popular.  Oh, they do have a new name – Twitter – but the concept is the same.  You share the same digital loop with a whole bunch of folks (basically the entire world) so that others can find out how you’re feeling, what you’re eating, and what you’re thinking.  Twitter even has a feature called “view conversation” in which you can look at the dialog going on between two specific people.

Back in the days when we complained endlessly about the lack of privacy on party lines, I never ever thought I’d see the day when people not only enthusiastically surrendered their privacy, but also encouraged others to eavesdrop on their conversations.  We live in weird times.

It is no wonder, therefore, that the phone booth has disappeared.  The phone booth used to be a refuge of privacy, a place where you could go to get away from your party line in order to ensure that an important conversation could not be listened to by third parties.

Now everyone walks around holding their most intimate conversations in public….”last night my partner left me!”

Why do people do this?  I’m convinced that there is this emerging view that the whole world has become an Oprah show in which you can share the innermost details of your life with others to get their empathy, advice, and support.

Is that a good thing?  I’m not sure anymore.

Maybe.

Bet you don’t know the names of President Obama’s two daughters.

I just looked them up: Sasha and Malia.

Bet you don’t know who Mrs. Robinson is. She may be the most important person in the White House.

She is the grandmother of Sasha and Malia.

That’s all I know, but from these bare facts I do know one more thing: Mrs. Robinson is doing a heck of a job.  If we look to the First Lady  to be the role model for the modern woman (and I personally think Michelle is one of the best we’ve ever had in this role), we should also look to Mrs. Robinson as a role model for the modern grandparent.

How do I know she is doing a heck of a good job? Because I do not know the names of the Obama children. Mrs. Robinson has done a miraculous job of sheltering those children from the press and giving them as normal a life as possible in the most famous household in the land.  Think of how the Carters and and the Clintons used their young daughters, Amy and Chelsea, as political props.  We all knew Amy and Chelsea, and as a result they were often the targets of misguided late night television humor.  Think of how Sara Palin has marketed her family.

That has not happened with the Obamas and I credit them for making Mrs. Robinson the first live-in grandma in the White House.  A lot is talked about in the political arena about the importance of family values, but actions speak louder than words.

There’s a lesson here for the growing population of grandparents in America.  I see you everyday….at preschool graduations, at the morning bell at school, at pick up time at school, at noon in the cafeteria and in the afternoon in the school library.  Yes, it’s important to run a kiddie taxi service and to be a kiddie service volunteer, but how about the larger issue of reclaiming childhood for children?

That would mean carving out time for time for free, unstructured, unsupervised play.  That would mean pulling the kids away from cable television and omnipresent ithingies.  That would mean teaching these kids how to play the street games that have all but disappeared from American streets: hopscotch, mother may I, red rover, kick the can, and jump rope.

And, yes, that would mean letting the children roam free in the library and driving the librarians nuts without the structure of a story time, summer reading program, or crafts project.

The right epitaph for my tombstone?

Let’s try: Fond of the 50′s.

I was born at the tail end of the 1940s, which meant that I grew up in the 50′s.  I almost feel guilty to say that my childhood was idyllic.  Unlike the increasing parade of people who go on t.v. talk shows and spill their guts about abusive fathers, alcoholic mothers, and molesting uncles, I had a very happy boyhood.

My universe was a small town in the pretty truck farming region of South Jersey.  I lived in a neighborhood filled with boys my own age.  One block to the east was a school yard where we played football, basketball, and baseball and two blocks to the west was a pond where we fished in the summer and played ice hockey in the winter.  At night we played games in the street under the streetlights: kick the can, mother may I, red rover, and dodgeball,  and we chose up sides by putting our feet in a circle and counting out various rhymes such as “my mother and your mother were out hanging clothes, my mother punched your mother right in the nose…what color was the blood?”  We rode our bikes all over town delivering newspapers.  Out of school and out of the house, we were masters of our universe.  Grownups knew enough not to meddle or mingle. That was our world. Think of the comic strip Peanuts…no grownups allowed.

Today, of course, everything is organized, structured, pre-packaged, and hand delivered for kids.  It’s a different world.  There are bicycle helmet laws and car booster seat laws (up to the age of 8!).  Everything that can be done to make the world safer for children is done, but, ironically, it’s a far more dangerous world out there for kids than in my day.

That’s why adults have taken over childhood – to make things safer.  Bike riding has diminished, paper routes have disappeared, and the SUV has become the transportation vehicle of choice for children as they are shuttled from science camp to  rock climbing lessons to tee ball league to preschool graduation.

Yes, preschool graduation!  Yesterday I attended two…granddaughter Sophia’s was at 9 AM and granddaughter Audrey’s was at 10 AM.  In my day preschool was kindergarten.  Today preschool is a growth industry.  Obviously I have mixed feelings about the adult usurpation of childhood but I grudgingly do admit that the world has changed and will never go back to the days of Tom Sawyer and Will Manley.

Having said all that I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed the day.  What I loved best was the gathering of extended families to celebrate the occasion.  To this small town boy of the ’50s, the diversity of colors, ethnicities, races, and religions was the real cause for celebration.

50 years ago, this would have been completely unthinkable and even undesirable.  We’ve come a long way to a better world.

Happy Memorial Day, America.

Note from Will: Talk about a unique issue…I received this request for advice a couple of days ago.  Very interesting to say the least.  Before you  read it you need to know what a Tijuana Bible is.  Please click on Tijuana Bible to find out.

Dear Will and the Unwinders,

Library Retiree I

This classification of library professional will be expected to perform but not be limited to the following duties, tasks, responsibilities:

• Meet at downtown donut shop with other retirees to discuss weight and health issues while eating two glazed jelly filled donuts and 3 cups of coffee with cream and sugar.
• Use 1 of these phrases at least once a day with grandchildren: a) back in my day…, b) Call me old fashioned but…, c) Now a radio with a twisty knob – that was something!, d) Don’t tell Grandma about this …it will be our little secret, e) Aw Grandma we were just having a little fun, f) You’re sprouting up like a weed, g) we didn’t have video games so we read books, h) when I was your age a candy bar cost a nickel and you got more for your money, i) I got up before dawn to deliver newspapers.
• Play golf with Harold the Chiropractor, Phil the Smoker, Dick the Cheater, and Al the Whiskey Sipper. Blame bad shots on poor condition of the golf course.  Compare and contrast prostate narratives.
• Check obituaries for golf partners who have been missing for awhile.
• Spend at least 30 minutes hunting for reading glasses.  Check top of head first.
• Spend 25 minutes on exercise bike listening to opera.  Pedaling the bike is optional.
• Set up Dewey Decimal System to keep track of 8 family pill prescriptions (4 for wife; 4 for self).
• Read favorite librarian blogs (Annoyed Librarian, Bring Your Noise, Librarian by Day, Library Society of the World) to remind self of need to stay retired: ebooks, metadata, transliteracy, Open Access, RDF, FRBR, digital branch managers, discovery layers, open link data, and user experience. Are you kidding me?
• Hold staff meeting with crows to discuss backyard noise issues.  Cite city noise ordinance (quiet after 10PM).
• Go to internet to research latest dental issues.  Tooth implant…who’d a thunk it?
• Call branch bank asst. manager to strategize financing plan for implant.
• Compute O.D.D. (Optimal Day of Death…the day that your 401 K will be exhausted).
• Continue retrospective conversion of personal library from Dewey to LC.
• Other duties as required.

REQUIRED SKILLS, ABILITIES, TALENTS, AND CERTIFICATIONS

• Diaper Changing dexterity.
• Thumb Twiddling
• Day Dreaming
• Woolgathering
• Sentimentalizing the Past.
• Afternoon Napping
• Killing time.
• Shooting the breeze.
• Chewing the fat.
• Chit Chatting.
• Doing nothing creatively.
• Wearing sweat suits fashionably.
• Registered cannabis card holder.

Note from Will – Our tavern mailbox has been surprisingly empty for a month or so.  Yesterday afternoon, however, in response to yesterday’s post about finding a Dear John letter in a library book, an email appeared with a most unique ethical dilemma, one that I had never had to deal with in my long library career.  Please give it your usual conscientious attention and remarks.  Thanks.

Dear Will and Drinkers at the Unwinders Tavern,

I have lurked on this site for a year now but never commented.  I never felt I had anything to say that I knew one of you wouldn’t eventually say.  But I am breaking my silence today and asking for your help on a dilemma I have kept inside of me for the past 5 years.  I guess you could say that I have a guilty conscience.

Yesterday when I read the blog post about the letter Will found in a library book, I noted that a number of you commented on finding a wide diversity of items in library books including a last will and testament, a condom, toilet tissue, bookmarks, credit card statements, bills, photographs, etc.  My question is this: to whom do these things belong?

More specifically I have a problem.  Five years ago I was given the task in my academic library of weeding through the back periodicals collection.  Some of you may remember that American Heritage was once a unique periodical that came out in hard back form.  While I was sifting through several years of this periodical from the 1960′s, I found a handwritten note by the then Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson.  The note was written on official Vice Presidential stationery and it was basically a thank you note to a Democratic donor who had shown L.B.J. some special hospitality by holding an in home cocktail party/fundraiser for the upcoming election.  It was dated exactly 3 months prior to the assassination of President Kennedy.

I took the letter, placed it in my personal notebook and took it home.  It remains at home in my personal files.  I have not sold it but I am considering selling it. With each year it gains in value.  It is in pristine condition with the envelope in which it was sent.

Unfortunately I have a guilty conscience about this because a part of me says that it really belongs to the library.  What do you think?  Does it matter that the periodical in which I found it has been weeded out of the collection?

One other thing that may or may not be relevant to you.  I have not gotten a pay raise for the past four years and I have twice as much work to do now because of layoffs.  There is a part of me that says I deserve the money from selling this document.

Thank you for your time and honest consideration.

Sincerely,

Torn in Two

Dearest Al,

The last five months have included some of the most wonderful days of my entire life.  Our funny little sleeping bag experience in Yosemite, our wine and cheese picnic on the beach at Morro Bay, our Alaskan cruise, and our RV tour of British Columbia are memories that I shall never forget.  You have been a dear, a perfect gentleman in every way, and I will never ever forget you.

I suppose by now you have figured out that this letter is my way of saying it was fun while it lasted or in the words of  Cole Porter, “it was just one of those things; just one of those crazy flings; one of those bells that now and then rings.”  That  is one of the things I will always be thankful about our time together. You, you dear, dear man, introduced me to Cole Porter.  You pulled me out of my humdrum life and showed me  a more elegant world.  Every time I hear a Cole Porter song I will think of you and shed a tear or two.

I could lie and say the classic break up words of “It’s not about you; it’s about me.”  But that really isn’t true. You see it is about you (and, well, yes, it is also about me).  I could also lie and say that I could never live up to Alex.  Al and Alex what a wonderful couple you must have been.  If for a few months I made you forget about Alex and her sad death, that makes me happy .

No, it’s not really about filling Alex’s shoes.  It’s what we both deep down inside knew was the elephant in the room – our age difference.  Yes, you have everything I’ve always wanted in a lover.  You have given me quality time, attention, wonderful travel experiences, boxes of Godiva chocolates (yum!)and lovely soft kisses.  You have put me on cloud nine for these past five months but even during our most joyful and romantic times the age factor was always in the back of my mind.  I just couldn’t let go of it.

I hate to seem insensitive to you but I must move on with my life.  Please don’t be mad at me.  I know this is hard news to bear, but I must find someone closer to my age. Please don’t be mad.  I couldn’t bear you being mad at me.  Please, please, please don’t be mad.

I will always remember you with fondness, and you will always be my very own “world’s most interesting man” (you look just like him, you really do!).

“So goodbye dear and amen; here’s hoping we meet now and then; it was great fun but it was just one of those things.”

Love (yes, Love!!!),

(Name withheld for dignity’s sake)

I found this letter in a library book at my public library yesterday.  The book? Cole Porter: A Biography

Son Stephen: “Dad, I need a really big favor.  I know you’re probably ready to head to the golf course, but I’m stuck in traffic and I was supposed to take Connor to his 5:00 hair appointment.  Can you cover for me?”

Me: Hair appointment?  We’re talking about a 6 year old kid.  Since when did 6 year olds get hair appointments?

S: Dad, times have changed.  Can you do this?

Me: In my day you rode your bike to Joe’s Barber Shop on the corner of Broadway and Columbia and waited till it was your turn.  You learned a lot by sitting and waiting and listening in a barber shop.  It’s where I learned the facts of life.

S: Dad, that was the 50′s.  Times have changed.  Can you do this?

Me: Yes. You know I want to be a good grandpa for Connor.  I’d do anything for him.

S: Good.  This place is on 4th Street.  It’s called Little Tots or Wee Folks or something like that.  You’ll find it.  It’s a combined toy store and kids salon.

Me: Kids salon…good grief!

****************************************************************************

Hair Stylist: Is this Connor?

Me: Yes, this is Connor.  He’s here for his <cough> 5:00 hair appointment.

HS: Connor, how would you like your hair done today?

C: Dunno.

HS: Well, here’s a picture book showing you all the different styles I can do.

C: Wow.  This one is really cool.  I want this one.

Me: No, Connor, that would make you look like a punker from the wrong side of London.  Your classmates will call you Spike.

C: Grandpa, that’s the one I want!

Me: Let’s look at some other pictures.

C: No, I want this one.  It’s very cool.

Me: No.  I can’t take you home to your parents looking like that.

C: I want this one.

Me: No.

C: I thought you wanted to be a cool Grandpa.

Me:  Well, yes, but I want what’s best for you, Connor.

C:  You’re not being a cool Grandpa.

Me: You really want this?

C: Yes.

Me: Okay.

C: Grandpa, you are really cool. You are the greatest.  No one has a Grandpa like you.

*****************************************************************************

Son Stephen: Dad, don’t you think Connor looks a little, ahem, spiky?

Me: Get with the times, Stephen.  The world has changed since you were a little boy.

Life on it’s most basic level is tragic.  You are born into a universe you never asked to enter.  You struggle to master the most basic skills –  eating and drinking without slurping or spilling, walking upright without teetering and tottering, peeing and pooping without leaking or lumping, and mastering a large vocabulary of words.  Then there is the torture of school – at least 13 years of controlled confinement.  This is followed by the heartbreak (especially if you are a librarian) of finding a job in a jobless economy.  After about 40 years of labor you get to retire to a life of medical problems and procedures.

Oh, and then you die. I define death as the cessation of pain and torture.  It’s God’s mercy rule.  In certain youth baseball leagues they invoke what’s called the mercy rule.  If your team gets behind by ten runs the game is over.  Death is God’s mercy rule.  Enough already.  It’s over.

There is one saving grace.  God, the cosmic jokester (Aquinas claimed he created the universe while at play) has hard wired us with a sense of humor – the ability to laugh at almost anything – a misplaced word, a slip on the ice, a pie in the face, a poorly dressed corpse in a coffin, …even an outrageously clueless memorandum at work.  I had some of my heartiest laughs after undergoing a serious prostate operation. Click on The Humor Index. and Frankenstein Arrives for the gory details.

The point is laughing is a survival skill. Without laughter life is completely unbearable.  That’s why I have always felt that humorists and comedians are among the most important people around.  They keep us on an even keel.  It’s a sign of the times, however, that so much of the humor we experience now is on cable television and it is edgy to the point of being cruel and off color to the point of being disgusting.   Erma Bombeck, Mark Twain, O. Henry, Will Rogers, James Thurber, and Charlie Brown….where are you?

For librarians humor can be a serious issue.  It is one of the world’s great misconceptions that librarians don’t have a sense of humor.  And an even greater misconception within the library profession is that catalogers don’t have a sense of humor.  My experience is that catalogers have a very heightened if dry sense of the absurd.

Jeanette Smith, has written a book that really fills a void in the black hole that is library literature.  It is now available, and is entitled The Laughing Librarian.  I would review it for you but I have a definite conflict of interest.  Suffice it for me to say that if you buy one library science book this year, it should be The Laughing Librarian. 

Now here is a “preview” of the book from an objective, 3rd party blogger: The Laughing Librarian.

REVISED NOTE FROM WILL: IF YOU GO TO THE AMAZON REVIEW OF THE BOOK AND CLICK ON “SEARCH ME INSIDE” YOU CAN READ BOTH MY FORWARD AND THE CHAPTER ABOUT ME ENTITLED: “THE BAD BOY: WILL MANLEY.”