Monthly Archives: August 2014

Exchange of information and sharing of concerns

Posted on August 26, 2014 | 1 comment

Connections online can be great but meeting in person some of the people who inspire you is wonderful! The experience can be exhilarating, exciting, humbling. Most of all, it can be revitalizing. I wrote in my last post about the joy I felt during the Society of American Archivists conference when I finally got to meet Ashley Stevens of the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA). I first got to know her through Twitter, then through her personal blog.

Ashley’s poster session at SAA, “La Historia de Mi Familia: Connecting Hispanic Students to History through Primary Source Document,” highlighted her team’s work in Philadelphia with Esperanza Academy Charter School students.

NARA works closely with the students and teachers to help 9th graders learn how to use records to trace family and local history. As do many people in NARA field locations, Ashley works on various assignments in Philadelphia. (Until recently, her work location was in center city Philadelphia. Budget constraints led NARA to close that location this year and move its archives operations to the existing Philadelphia records facility on Townsend Road.) I follow NARA Philadelphia on Facebook and was happy to see Ashley’s colleague, education specialist Ang Reidell, receive the Archivist’s Award for Inclusion and Diversity this spring.

Ashley has shared thoughtful glimpses at her personal blog into her work in reference and on education projects with Esperanza and on the Chinese Storytelling Project. In a recent post, she provided an engaging look at her work on Social Media as a NARA employee. I love the honesty with which she observed,

“Sometimes, the thing you don’t expect to like or love to do becomes the thing you like or love to do. In order to discover the things you like/love to do you have to be open to them…even if they terrify you. The first time I put up our now, famous Top Ten lists I was terrified. How would people respond? Would people like it? You know what happened people liked it. Sometimes, there has been content put up that didn’t go over so well. By so well, I mean didn’t garner a lot of interest or attention from followers. Stuff like that happens and its okay. IT’S. OKAY.

The world doesn’t end because you don’t deliver pure awesomeness every day. Sometimes, you have an off day or an off idea. That’s when you shrug it off and keep it moving.

I enjoy what I do so much that I’m exploring other social media platforms to push our content. Even if it ultimately won’t work for us, content-wise, I’m excited about learning. It’s fun as a post-graduate student to learn stuff again (okay, my nerdiness is starting to show). Don’t be afraid to try new things, kiddos. You never know what you’ll end up loving. (Except processing…still don’t enjoy that bit, haha.)”

Her blog and Twitter feed give glimpses into the life of someone who is professional and personable. Both help me keep going in Washington!

As Humanities Librarian at MIT, David Ferriero, now the Big Dude, aka AOTUS, offered good advice on professional community in 1982 in a thoughtful article about burnout:

“Attend and participate in workshops, conferences, etc. It is important for the staff to have time away from the library to meet other people and to ‘recharge their batteries.’ These sessions away from the work unit allow for the exchange of information and ideas and the sharing of concerns. It is comforting to learn that other public service librarians have similar problems. You may even pick up on some ideas which are appropriate to try in your own situation. Remember that the meeting serves at least two purposes: the advertised intention and the serendipitous experience–fertile minds coming together at random.”

The virtual world offers some of the same benefits, including comfort and fertile minds coming together. (I love Twitter for this.) I’m not being totally Pollyanna about online gathering places. You definitely learn whom to avoid, as well! What you see may not always be what you get. But how someone engages often provides clues as to that ineffable combination of knowledge, values, and personality that different people use in various ways for inclusion and exclusion in professional and personal circles.

After an implosion in January on the Archives & Archivists Listserv, one which contributed to newly approved Terms of Participation during the SAA conference, I wrote about color and fine brushstrokes.

“If you see us at conferences, remember that many of us are Introverts. (I project Extraversion but actually am quite shy as well as Introvert). But that as Ashley Stevens puts it so well, many of us view ourselves as I do–a “people-friendly introvert.” We cherish meaningful connections. And many of us love the archival mission.

….As I’ve written here about Fedland, “some things we face alone (and this especially is true at the senior levels). And we just don’t share.” But we can share more about our journeys than you’ll ever see in a news article or in most online discussions. And we’d like to hear about yours! Because you don’t share everything online either. And there is so much to be learned from each other, if we can find safe spaces to open up and share.

There is a rich array of colors in the palettes we hold in our hands. Let’s try to find trust zones and safe havens, offline if not online, to paint the vivid word pictures with them that the fascinating world of archives and records deserves!”

Nothing beats the ability to be with others! And to talk over issues candidly, more so than online, in some cases. To share ideas, and pick up tips. The sense of community from the sharing of knowledge, and the much more complicated, hence most valued, sharing of concerns, truly can be comforting.

Unlike with the Mid-Atlantic Regional Archives Conference in 2011, where I only was able to parachute in to hear Randall Jimerson’s keynote, I was able to immerse myself in all things archives and records. Rand and I had a delightful chat during a break in SAA conference sessions.

I love that I had a chance to reconnect with some of the people who inspired me to start blogging, such as Kate Theimer (@archivesnext) Maureen Callahan (@meau), and Rebecca Goldman (@derangedescribe). I don’t mind confessing that I had tears in my eyes as I watched Kate receive the SAA Spotlight Award on August 15 for her work on Spontaneous Scholarships. And Maureen’s group blog, Chaos->Order, is a must read for me. You see me with Maureen at the SAA all-attendees reception, held this year in the Great Hall of the Library of Congress!

I loved chatting with friends such as Anne Musella in that beautiful setting. And my NARA Nixon Project colleague and longtime friend, Janet Kennelly. And seeing the super cool Arian Ravanbakhsh (@adravan), pictured with Rachel Donahue (@sheepeh)! Arian and his colleagues in NARA’s Chief Records Officer (CRO) unit have gained my respect for the visionary way they are handling federal electronic records issues. I’m glad I had a chance to express my support and appreciation for that to CRO Paul Wester during the SAA conference, as well.

Some of the conversations I had occurred due to serendipity. Sam Winn and I sat together on the bus ride from the hotel to the reception. I was impressed by her thoughtful presentation on Thursday at a session on archival education. That she navigated the tricky issues with such insight and skill made it easy for me to be open to learning. Chatting during the bus ride on Friday was a great opportunity to get to know better someone I already admire!

And when we lined up to pass through security at the Library of Congress, Jackie Dooley, whom I had hoped to meet, walked up behind us. Woohoo! Added bonus, Peter Hirtle was there, as well. Delightful! Even before I got in the building, I had fun.

Hirtle, along with Bruce Montgomery, was one of the most thoughtful, knowledgeable people to post on the A&A Listserv when I first subscribed to it. I’m so glad I had a chance to talk to him in person!

So what about the panels and sessions? Not surprisingly, the people side was a factor there, as well. The ones I most enjoyed and learned from were the ones featuring speakers who conveyed a sense that they would be good colleagues with whom to work through complicated issues. Session 504, with National Archives experts talking about holdings protection, was informative and engaging in a low key, let’s figure out best practices, way. I picked up on the same vibe as David Ferriero conveyed in a blog post about collections security. Hey, this stuff is in our care, let’s protect it as best we can, while also providing access to as many people as possible!

Smiling while learning, deciding to walk up to the table to talk to the presenters after the session. Not captured in formal evaluations. But signs that speakers at a session connected with you! Works the same way online as in person, come to think of it!

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“It’s a roll of the dice. Go with your gut.”

Posted on August 19, 2014 | Leave a comment

I expected to be revitalized after a week of following the Society of American Archivists (SAA) conference, first virtually during pre-conference workshops, and then physically at a hotel in Washington. For the most part, I was. I met many wonderful people, most of whom I’ve been interacting with on Social Media, and reconnected with others.

And I attended sessions with fascinating discussions of issues such as archival education, as the one with Samantha Winn, Cecilia Salvatore, Michelle Light, and Peter Wosh, pictured below. (More on the fabulous Sam Winn, with whom I had a long talk on the ride to the reception on Friday, in a subsequent post.) And the Reagan White House email PROFS case (Tom Blanton, Miriam Nisbet, Scott Armstrong, Anne Weismann, and Gary Stern). And Anne Musella giving a good overview of the Citizen Archivist Project at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

My most inspiring moment was when I met Ashley Stevens (@K_Bubbs), who works in the National Archives’ Philadelphia location. We sometimes joke on Twitter that we are sisters because we often share the same vibe. I’ve featured her at my blog several times. Earlier this year I explained why Ashley inspires me.

On August 16, 2014, incoming SAA president Kathleen D. Roe challenged all of us in the room to “a year of living dangerously” in advocacy. She stated that archivists don’t like to live dangerously.

That isn’t entirely true for all of us. We work in an incredibly wide range of situations and work environments. Some information professionals face daily adversity but come to work each day with quiet courage. Others, such as Kate Theimer of Archivesnext, long have inspired me through her gutsy, bold, visionary leadership.

The “archives transcendence” I write about here isn’t just about joy. It’s also about grit and determination and toughness and bravery. And sometimes, as in my case, it’s about relief and happiness after undergoing a difficult journey professionally. The choices people make can have a profound impact on others.

My joy in reconnecting with the National Archives, thanks to the Big Dude, aka AOTUS David S. Ferriero, shows in the picture of me with Ashley last week. I unwittingly replicated the pose in the photo of me in 1988 at NARA with my boss, Fred Graboske! I cherish the fact that for me now, NARA is a source of shelter, strength and inspiration in Washington. Despite 41 challenging years in federal service, I also cherish the archival mission and admire those, at NARA and other archival institutions, who are willing to undertake it.

I’ve been trying to sort out my reaction to what happened at the end of the SAA conference. I posted a query about the incoming president’s remarks on the Archives & Archivists Listserv (#thatdarnlist). Some records professionals and their allies already live dangerously, others do not and perhaps never will. Actions are as individual as human beings and their choices.

I pointed to a post about honor in which I had written, “There is much we cannot control in Washington, as I learned when I became a target of assault in 1992 for my work at NARA with the Nixon White House tapes. Being assaulted made me protective of the agency and my successors.” And I explained why I admire the National Archives and David Ferriero, who now has the agency in his care:

“NARA is a cultural heritage institution that in its strongest components embraces rather than fears learning and honest engagement. By contrast, the values of the outside world can lead some (not all) with which it deals to pick up “Washington” tools.

….I’ve always admired the “hidden epic” that characterizes the narrative written by those who face each day with quiet courage at NARA. And in other archival institutions. And I always will. Because honor is something we–we ourselves, alone–define and choose to embrace. We hold honor in our own hands, always.”

I sought from Listserv subscribers examples of two categories of courage by information professionals (archivists, librarians, records managers):

(1) standing up for those whose ability to defend themselves publicly is limited; and

(2) calling out unwarranted attacks on archivists and librarians by the advocates of the political party you yourself support.

I’ve gotten on and off list responses on the first. None on the second, so far, perhaps because it is so very rare.

Kathleen Roe responded with a gracious comment on the Listserv, saying she will provide more information at “Off the Record” and the SAA website. I deeply appreciate her comments about those–she included me–who have shown “an amazing commitment to the historical record.” I observed in reply that

“I think it is essential that we take [a] nuanced retrospective as well as prospective view of internal and external acts of advocacy. Very often, where we are now in our workplaces has been shaped by the past. The forces may shift but some elements remain the same.”

Bruce Montgomery posted an insightful comment in response to my observation. We need to hear from more people willing to say what he did:

“It’s nice to talk about advocacy, but those who stick their necks out because they have integrity and a sense of justice, often get their heads cut off. Whistle blowers or those who act with integrity in certain troubling situations rarely make it through unscathed, even though they do a great service. There is the ideal, which people may romanticize, and then there is the harsh reality of reality.

Those who have been in these situations understand the consequences and the necessity that you will have to fight long and hard to protect yourself, your family, your reputation, your integrity, your sense of self. You may not fully realize the ramifications of your actions, you may lose your job, you may be threatened, they may read your email, they may try to charge you with wrongdoing, others may believe what is said about you, you may not have much left when all is said and done.

But on the other hand, you emerge with your sense of integrity and self intact. There are victories, but they are hard won. It’s a roll of the dice. Go with your gut. Good luck.”

He’s right. I’ve been there and so have some other people I respect and admire.

During the PROFS case panel I tweeted, “Scott Armstrong: archivists are the last line of defense ‘against manipulation of American history’ PROFS #s204 #saa14.” A noble view of our profession from someone outside, an openness advocate who benefits from what we do. But as Bruce points out, information professionals (and yes, this includes records managers, too, in whose realm sensitive or controversial records sometimes are born and live on or die prematurely) may face great challenges in preserving historical information that shows what happened and why.

We need to look out for each other. We need to think in terms of contextual sophistication and with situational awareness. To speak up when records related issues are skewed in reporting and in commentaries by demagogues–even demagogues on the side we support politically. Yes, easy for me to say, I’m an Independent. I belong to no political party. But it shouldn’t be as hard to discuss records issues objectively and fairly and to call out abusive behaviors, no matter the source, as it seemingly is.

The second question I posted to the Listserv hasn’t drawn a flurry of good examples. I’m hard pressed to think of any myself beyond the one from John H. Taylor that I included in my original message:

“The former director of the Nixon Foundation recently linked to my blog post about my visit to NARA for The Nixon Tapes book event on August 8, 2014. He observed of author Luke Nichter’s comments about me and my colleagues, “Last week in Washington, he graciously acknowledged the NARA archivists who faithfully cared for and processed the Nixon records while absorbing undeserved, politically inspired criticism, including from those of us on the Nixon side.”

That such admissions are rare, from the principals or outside observers in records forums, is part of why hanging tough in the situations Bruce describes is difficult. I don’t know why such behavior is uncommon.

Not all workplaces reward rather than shoot the messenger. And dealing with the powerful can be challenging. As Richard Nixon’s White House chief of staff H. R. Haldeman observed in an oral history interview we at NARA did with him, sometimes you compromise in order to stay in the top person’s good graces. Not all chiefs require sycophancy and extreme subordination (I admire ones who don’t) but some do. Professional acculturation is challenging to unravel. And politics can can be huge in defining how people see themselves and, at times, creating barriers for them.

Information professionals never will all roll the dice the same way. But we can reward publicly the behaviors we admire, including taking the hard and dangerous rather than the easy and safe path. Our colleagues and the public are counting on us.

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Posted in archival issues, U.S. History

“Most fascinating and important recordings of our time”

Posted on August 13, 2014 | Leave a comment

I smiled in my seat at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) on August 8, 2014, as I heard how journalist Steve Roberts started a panel discussion with historians Luke Nichter and Douglas Brinkley. Roberts asked what leads a person to listen to the Nixon tapes for ten years. Luke Nichter spent about a decade studying and transcribing conversations on Nixon tapes released by NARA since 1996.

Ten years is about as long as I worked as a National Archives’ employee with what the Big Dude, aka AOTUS David S. Ferriero, described during his opening remarks Friday as “some of the most fascinating and important recordings of our time – the secret tapes made between 1971 and 1973 in the Oval Office during the Nixon Presidency.” Listening to the tapes was my job as a federal employee.

I was the National Archives team leader in charge of disclosure review of the Nixon tapes during the 1980s. I trained staff archivists in how to determine while listening to the tapes what could be released to the public and what required restriction for privacy, national security, and other legal reasons for withholding.

The implementing regulations for the Presidential Recordings and Materials Preservation Act also required us to distinguish when Richard Nixon was speaking as President and when in his private capacity, including solely as leader of his political party. If we determined he was not speaking in his official capacity, we edited out the segment for return to Nixon, later his estate. Those segments were deeded back to NARA some 30 years after I joined its staff.

My boss was Fred Graboske, the supervisory archivist in charge of the tapes unit in NARA’s Nixon Presidential Materials Project. You see Fred with Mark Fischer and me in 1988 and on Friday at NARA with others who worked on the Nixon records. I was in my usual seat in the McGowan Theater: second row, right hand aisle.

As NARA noted in the press release for the Friday event,

“President Nixon’s voice-activated taping system captured every word spoken in the Oval Office, Cabinet Room, and other key locations in the White House, and at Camp David — 3,700 hours of recordings between 1971 and 1973. Yet less than 5 percent of those conversations have ever been transcribed and published. Now, thanks to professor Luke Nichter’s massive effort to digitize and transcribe the tapes, the world can finally read an unprecedented account of one of the most important and controversial presidencies in U.S. history.

The Nixon Tapes offers a selection of fascinating scenes from the year Nixon opened relations with China, negotiated the SALT I arms agreement with the Soviet Union, and won a landslide reelection victory. All the while, the growing shadow of Watergate and Nixon’s political downfall crept ever closer.The Nixon Tapes provides a never-before-seen glimpse into a flawed president’s hubris, paranoia, and political genius.”

During the panel discussion Nichter and Brinkley offered thoughtful insights into Richard Nixon and key events during the presidency. Luke said–and I agree–that often people try to put historical figures into a box. But that you can’t put Richard Nixon into a box. As some who worked with him, such as William Safire, have observed, Nixon was a multi-faceted person. Doug Brinkley noted that sometimes Nixon used certain perceptions of himself in diplomacy and foreign relations, as in what is called the (don’t mess with him) “mad man theory.”

The White House tapes show that in private, Nixon presented various sides of himself to different people. Other tapes show the retrospective take of the former president and his aides on the events of Nixon presidency. We at the National Archives did some oral histories with former Nixon associates during the late 1980s. (You can find transcripts for our interviews with H. R. Haldeman, Charles W. Colson and others here.) A later, more comprehensive series by NARA also is available online in multiple formats at its Nixon Presidential Library’s website.

To mark the 40th anniversary of Nixon’s resignation last week, the National Archives and the Richard Nixon Presidential Foundation released video tape interviews of Nixon by a former aide, Frank Gannon. He filmed some 30 hours of interviews with the former president in 1983.

Gannon came out to the National Archives’ Nixon Presidential Materials Project in Alexandria, Virginia as he was gearing up for the interview project in the early 1980s. My friend and National Archives’ colleague, Dick McNeill, the audio-visual supervisor, and I had an enjoyable lunch with Gannon at Victoria Station. The restaurant stood on the corner of S. Pickett and Van Dorn Street in the industrial park area where we worked in space leased by the National Archives.

As I’ve observed at Nixonara, presidents operate at the nexus of two worlds, the policy making and the political. And they display different temperaments and styles of leadership in this complicated setting. It wasn’t always easy for the at-will aides who worked for Nixon to tell (if they chose to differentiate!) which comments were orders to be followed and which represented venting. Luke used the analogy of King Henry II and Thomas Becket. In answer to a question from the audience, he explained that aides had to use a filter with the President.

At times Nixon would issue what sounded like a directive, only to reverse course. As an aide, you sometimes had to figure out whether the go or the no-go reflected his actual intent and, more complicated, which was the better course for the president. When we at NARA interviewed them in 1987 and 1988, both H. R. Haldeman and Charles W. Colson touched in individual interviews on this process in talking to us about the Nixon White House as a workplace.

As Haldeman observed, you didn’t want to so anger the president that he froze you out, leaving you unable to affect future actions–to the extent one deems feasible as a subordinate. Deciding to slow walk a president’s directive can put an aide in a precarious position. In my view, how to handle such situations in the Nixon White House reflected complex calculations by some Nixon associates, including assessments of fluctuating professional capital.

The annotated volume of Nixon tapes written by Nichter and Brinkley covers the period from 1971 through 1972. The Watergate break-in occurred in June 1972. Nixon discusses Watergate at the time of the botched “burglary” and as 1972 draws to a close but it becomes an all consuming topic for him the next year, 1973.

In his opening remarks on Friday, David Ferriero said,

“It is particularly fitting that Brinkley and Nichter grace our stage today for as they cite in their acknowledgements ‘This book…benefited greatly from the help of many helpful archivists…first at what was known at the Nixon Presidential Materials Project, then the Nixon Presidential Library.’

Singled out are many of the people in the room today so thank you on behalf of the authors.

And thank you also from the Archivist of the United States for the work that you have done to make these tapes available.”

Luke Nichter offered kind comments at the start of the panel, saying “the real heroes are the archivists.” He then thanked by name a few of the archivists present who had worked on disclosure review of the Nixon tapes at NARA: “Maarja Krusten, Fred Graboske, and Cary McStay.” You see Doug and Luke with Fred Graboske, Cary McStay and me at the book signing which followed the panel.

As Doug Brinkley mentioned during the program, his children were present at NARA. I love the streak of blue in his daughter’s hair. Hmm, I would, wouldn’t I? And I appreciate the very kind words Doug and Luke inscribed in my copy of The Nixon Tapes!

As the event in the Theater ended, I spoke briefly to David Ferriero, who was very gracious, as always. I then headed up to the bookstore. After the book signing, I walked up to the Rotunda level of the National Archives museum (No, I didn’t feel like a scullery maid, Andrew Ferguson’s take on the visitor’s experience notwithstanding.)

At the top of the stairs that lead from the Archives Shop, I looked at the copy of Richard Nixon’s resignation letter on display in the East Rotunda Gallery. And then I walked over and looked at the Constitution in the Rotunda.

I so respect all who have worked so well and diligently “on Constitution Avenue” to make available to researchers the Nixon records held by NARA. And I cherish the fact that I live in a nation where historians can study those records and share their perspectives on national issues.

Friday was a very beautiful day in Washington.

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Posted in NARA, Richard M. Nixon

Constitution Avenue

Posted on August 7, 2014 | Leave a comment

In Washington, DC, the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) building stands between 7th and 9th Streets, NW, and Pennsylvania Avenue and Constitution Avenue.

Among the records in NARA’s care are approximately 3,700 hours of Nixon White House tapes. Revelation of the secret taping system occurred in 1973 during investigations into “abuses of governmental power” commonly known as Watergate. A recent press release by NARA explains

“During the night of June 17, 1972, five burglars broke into the offices of the Democratic National Committee at the Watergate office complex in Washington, DC. Investigation into the break-in exposed a trail of abuses that led to the highest levels of the Nixon administration and ultimately to the President himself. President Nixon resigned from office under threat of impeachment on August 9, 1974, and on September 8, 1974, the new President, Gerald Ford, issued a full pardon to the former President for any offenses he “has committed or may have committed.”

The resignation and pardon mark the conclusion of the events we know as ‘Watergate.’ For two years, public revelations of wrongdoing inside the White House had convulsed the nation in a series of confrontations that pitted the President against the media, executive agencies, the Congress, and the Supreme Court. The Watergate affair was a national trauma—a constitutional crisis that tested and affirmed the rule of law.”

When I wrote a letter to President Richard Nixon on May 23, 1974, I was a recent college graduate who in March visited the White House with a group of Young Republicans. I self-identified as a Republican in my youth. In the late 1980s, I became the Independent I now have been for decades.

When I wrote to Nixon, I had recently started a permanent job with the federal government. That requires taking an oath of office to uphold the Constitution, which I did in 1973. At the end of 1976, I interviewed for and accepted a job with the Office of Presidential Libraries at the National Archives. For most of my career at the National Archives, I worked as a team leader in charge of disclosure review of the Nixon tapes.

The Office of Presidential Libraries recruited a number of new employees, most with graduate degrees in history, in 1976-1977. It staffed up in anticipation of the Supreme Court decision upholding the Presidential Recordings and Materials Preservation Act, 1974. After the Court upheld the Act in June 1977, establishing government ownership of the records, my National Archives colleagues and I took the Nixon tapes and documents into our care.

The code of ethics in place in 1958, when Nixon served as Vice President, began with the advice that

“Any person in Government service should: (1) Put loyalty to the highest moral principals and to country above loyalty to Government persons, party, or department; (2) Uphold the Constitution, laws, and legal regulations of the United States and of all governments therein and never be a party to their evasion.”

The code concluded with the reminder, “Uphold these principles, ever conscious that public office is a public trust.”

The 1977 majority opinion of the court affirming the Nixon records statute reached back to 1841 in addressing legal title to the material:

“It has been accepted at least since Mr. Justice Story’s opinion in Folsom v. Marsh, 9 F.Cas. 342, 347 (No. 4,901) (CC Mass. 1841), that, regardless of where legal title lies, from the nature of the public service, or the character of the documents, embracing historical, military, or diplomatic information, it may be the right, and even the duty, of the government, to give them publicity, even against the will of the writers.”

The duty of the government.

From the time we moved the Nixon records out of the White House in 1977, we held them in the public trust. We moved some to the Washington National Records Center. We held the most sensitive materials (including the tapes) in the National Archives’ headquarters building in Washington.

I am very proud of many of the good people who undertook and have undertaken the challenges of carrying out a broad range of records related duties as officials of the National Archives. And I am very grateful that I once had the opportunity to work on Constitution Avenue with a diverse group of friends and colleagues to carry out those duties.

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Posted in NARA, Richard M. Nixon, U.S. History

Climbing the steps, working the steps

Posted on August 2, 2014 | Leave a comment

On a cold but fair day during the winter of 1977-1978, I stood on the steps on the Constitution Avenue side of the National Archives and Records Service, as it then was known. My archivist training class cohort posed for a photograph with instructors Trudy H. Peterson and James E. O’Neill. Trudy, then an official with the National Archives’ Office of Presidential Libraries, would go on to head the Office of the National Archives and to serve as Acting Archivist of the United States (1993-1995). O’Neill held various senior positions in the agency, including Deputy Archivist, during the 1970s and 1980s.

The National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) is a different place now then it was 38 years ago when Trudy Peterson interviewed me that autumn for the job that I started December 6, 1976. Crowds gather on those same Constitution Avenue steps to celebrate Independence Day, as earlier this year at the July 4th private and public events I attended.

Being at the top of the steps again now is part of my experience in re-connecting with the National Archives, thanks to a wonderful, spontaneous gesture in 2011 by the Big Dude, aka AOTUS David S. Ferriero. I mentioned to David then that I might come join the crowd. He graciously added me on the spur of the moment to the guest list for a VIP breakfast reception!

Watching the Independence Day ceremony from the steps is a great way to mark the special day. But access to the Museum side of the National Archives now is easier and more equitable throughout the year than when I first started work at the agency. Or so it seems to me.

Andrew Ferguson, a senior editor for a conservative publication, The Weekly Standard, offers a diferent view in “Archivally Correct: Another Washington Institution Diminished,” writing,

“It wasn’t so long ago that visitors to the National Archives, in Washington, D.C., were expected to ascend. A trip to see the nation’s founding documents was an uplifting experience, literally. A broad flight of stone steps drew visitors up from the summer glare and clamor of Constitution Avenue to a porch high above, and from there through great bronze doors into the cool and quiet of a vast rotunda. Once inside, another rise of stairs brought them in line of sight of the Declaration of Independence, set upright in a bronze display case, and a final group of stairs placed them face to face with the Declaration itself, faded behind glass and washed in a yellow light. The Constitution was there, too, and the first page of the Bill of Rights. A fitting payoff for all that climbing.

The Archives is still one of the premier attractions for tourists in Washington, but visitors no longer make such a grand ascent. They’re not allowed to. As at the Capitol building and the Supreme Court, unauthorized citizens can no long-er climb the broad staircase outside to enter through the bronze doorways. Instead, as at the Capitol and the Supreme Court, they gain access around the back of the building, on the bottom floor, and then once admitted they get to the ceremonial spaces by the backstairs, like a scullery maid.”

How these things look depends on where you sit, or stand, or walk. Or don’t walk because you can’t.

When I first started work at the National Archives, visitors who were able to climb the steps on the Constitution Avenue side entered the Museum by doing so. But those in wheelchairs or otherwise unable to walk up the steps had to enter through a separate door, the one on the Pennsylvania Avenue side where there are no steps. Their access to the exhibit space on the Constitution Avenue side depended on asking for assistance. They had to wait on the availability of a guard who provided on-request access through the M Level on the researcher side of the building.

The big bronze doors now are opened twice a year, during Independence Day and during a joint NARA and Foundation for the National Archives event held in the Rotunda each autumn. Visitors who come to see displays on weekdays and on the weekend no longer are separated depending on whether they can climb steps. Now all museum-goers enter together, as equals, on the ground level of the National Archives. And that can be a beautiful place to be.

On December 31, 2012, I stood in line with visitors for 90 minutes on Constitution Avenue to gain entry to the building to see the Emancipation Proclamation on special display for its 150th anniversary. As a member of the Foundation for the National Archives, I could have skipped the public line and entered through a separate door. But I wanted to share with others the joyful experience of being able to see the precious document on display. I cherished the opportunity to chat with people lined up with me on that cold–yet oh so warm!–December evening.

Ferguson writes, “Visitors to the Archives will see something new this year, after they pass through a ground-level, hard-to-find, low-ceilinged entryway bristling with cops and metal detectors.” (Security and safety may look different to outside observers than to those of us in federal service who are responsible for exhibits, archival collections–and people!) He then critiques from multiple angles the permanent “Records of Rights” exhibit that opened in the David M. Rubenstein Gallery in December.

“The exhibits readily acknowledge that the Founders and other powerful white men talked a good game. But the curators are here to make us wake up and smell the coffee, with the goal of “perfecting democracy,” as the press release said. The juxtaposition of artifacts makes the point clear. The curators take care that any glimmer of American idealism—say, the deed to the Statue of Liberty, included in the immigrant exhibit—is quickly snuffed out with a companion artifact: in this case, the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. The original 19th Amendment is shown, recognizing women’s right to vote. A grand achievement, yes? Look right next to it: the Equal Rights Amendment, “introduced in Congress as a way to end discrimination against women.” America rejected it. Pfffft. “

I attended the ribbon cutting ceremony for Records of Rights and the opening of the Rubenstein Gallery last year. (Ferguson does not mention that NARA already had other galleries beyond the Rotunda, such as the Public Vaults and the Lawrence O’Brien Gallery.) I described in “Rights and passionate advocacy” and illustrated with my iPhone photo how David Ferriero joined David Rubenstein, National Archives Foundation president A’Lelia Bundles, and Leader Nancy Pelosi in cutting the ribbon.

As the child of displaced persons who fled totalitarian rule as war refugees and enabled me to grow up in freedom here in the United States, I found the ribbon cutting ceremony and exhibit profoundly moving. And as someone with deep ties to the National Archives, I enjoyed telling friends, such as Darlene McClurkin (below), who had worked on the exhibit how proud I am of their accomplishment in telling the richly vibrant story of the evolution of rights in the United States.

To me, “working the steps” in national life, as in personal life, requires looking not just at what works well for some, but also at what doesn’t for others. I looked at why in my rebuttal to Edward Rothstein’s criticism of Records of Rights last year (“I disagree“) and also in “Whose story?”

Ferguson grumbles:

“In keeping with today’s curatorial fashion, the Archives museum is pitched to the intelligence and attentiveness of a slightly unruly 12-year-old boy. Wide aisles and open spaces accommodate running, skipping, and scampering, and the muted, pinpoint lighting offers many shadows from which to pounce on unsuspecting classmates. The exhibits are ruthlessly “interactive”—although not “immersive,” which is now the ideal of museum designers. “Interactive” is a close second, though. At every point our impatient little prepubescent is confronted with stage-prop doors and touchscreens and passageways and optical illusions and shifting soundscapes and moving images and hand tools and levers on the theory that, because children like to tap, slam, poke, jiggle, open, shut, hit, throttle, bump, and slide, they should always and everywhere be encouraged to do so, even on those occasions when they might be expected to just sit still and shut up. But of course there’s nowhere to sit.”

My experiences in the National Archives’ Museum are very different from his. When I came to the Tweet Up for Records of Rights in December, I spent my time between that and the next event walking around the public spaces. As I wrote in a joy filled account of the day:

“I wandered upstairs to the Public Vaults to take a closer look at the older exhibit which had opened in 2004. (I rarely came to NARA back then, my joyful reconnection with the agency, thanks to David Ferriero, would not occur until 2011.) A visiting mother and daughter showed me with pride the customized Great Seal of the United States that the little girl had just created on one of the touch screens in the Public Vaults [by selecting elements she thought best represented our nation].

I had tried out the same touch screen myself minutes before the mother and daughter walked in to the room. How wonderful that they turned to me and showed what the girl had just done. Sweet moment. I was so glad to witness the joy the child shared.”

Ferguson concludes his essay by writing

“At last visitors do get to ascend, though without grandeur. Off to the side of the exhibit, opposite the gift shop, a marble staircase leads to the rotunda where the nation’s charters are displayed. Earlier generations of curators and archivists referred to this room as “the shrine.” Now the word is used ironically if at all. After the bludgeoning administered by “Records of Rights,” the chance to see the Declaration and the Constitution seems less a patriotic mission than an afterthought. You enter through an unassuming side door. The little steps that used to raise you to eye level with the Declaration are gone, along with the imposing bronze showcase that set it above and apart. Now the founding documents are encased hip high, so you can look down on them.

What an attraction for tourists! I’ve been to the Archives a few times lately, and I can’t measure the reaction of the Americans who have come from all over. Are they surprised to learn that the caretakers of the country’s patrimony are so contemptuous of it? Or is it old news by now?”

Yet the lower exhibit cases, now reachable without going up a few steps, enable those in wheelchairs to view the Charters of Freedom with greater ease. You see the Charters before and after the renovation of the Rotunda in these National Archives’ photos.

As I read Ferguson’s criticism, I thought about the mother and her little girl who showed me the Great Seal the child designed on the interactive screen in the Public Vaults–based on her interpretation of national values. And I thought about what it was like to sit in the Rotunda in December 2011 and to watch David Ferriero speak and Judge Royce Lamberth administer the oath of citizenship to immigrants from many different nations. People such as my parents after World War II. I’ve stood in front of the Charters of Freedom more than once during the last few years and felt a tear of joy in my eye. I cherish the ongoing narrative of the records of our rights.

And those security guards, in the lobby, in the Rotunda? I’ve made so many friends among them! A smile, a handshake, a thank you to those doing often thankless (and hardly richly compensated financially) jobs as I enter and leave the beautiful new visitors’ lobby can go a long way. Such acknowledgments cost nothing except a moment of time and attention to those on duty.

In “The gorgeous, the brutalist,” I wrote about an essay by Martha Beck in which she wrote, “Your life follows your attention. Wherever you look, you end up going.”

Andrew Ferguson and I have walked through some of the same spaces. But our attention and vision clearly are different. We have ended up going to very different places. And I cherish the light I see, by day, by night, at the National Archives.