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...those in less public positions...are
also vital contributors to a nationally recognized institution. All
history is, you see, local history." |
by Leslie H. Fishel, Jr.
Former Director of the Wisconsin Historical Society.
EDITOR'S NOTE: The Wisconsin Public Television/Wisconsin
Historical Society presentation of the Wisconsin Stories episode "Big
Ideas" featuring the Society assumes a certain knowledge about the
organization. In brief, the Society was founded in 1846 and has become
a major library and archives in American history used by scholars and
genealogists all over the world. This essay recognizes some individuals
who have served the research arm of the Society down to the 1950s who
might otherwise have escaped deserved notice. It makes no claim to be
all-inclusive and leaves out museum and historic preservation areas that
flourished later.
"All history is local history," the late and fabled Bill Hesseltine
would bark at graduate students and historians who looked down their scholarly
noses at a small-screen approach to historical research. He matched his
words with books, moving easily from the Civil War to a biography of Lyman
C. Draper, the first secretary (that is, director) of the Wisconsin Historical
Society.
Draper was nationally known in historical circles as an avid and persistent
collector. That Hesseltine should have chosen to write about Draper was
not surprising, because he was a Society activist as a scholar, a member
of the governing Board of Curators and, just before his death, president
of that board. Draper was, said Hesseltine in his preface to the book,
"a pioneer to history," and the biography, "a footnote
to the intellectual history of America."
The Society has had its own biographers. Clifford L. Lord and Carl Ubbelohde
have documented the Society's years from 1846 to 1954, in an admirable
study, "Clio's Servant" (1967). This, too, is local history,
a somewhat larger footnote to America's intellectual history. These studies,
and others of shorter length, capture Hesseltine's dictum, but they are
forced to skim over some of the important individuals who helped to make
the Society significant. The deservedly well-known directors like Draper,
Reuben Gold Thwaites and Lord are compelling leaders and require detailed
accounts that leave little room for those in less public positions who
are also vital contributors to a nationally recognized institution. All
history is, you see, local history.
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Librarian Daniel Steele
Durrie's reserved and factual nature helped keep the Society
on a steady course from the 1850's to 1892.
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Daniel Steele Durrie was a contemporary of Draper's and held the post
of librarian from the mid-1850s until his death in 1892. He was Draper's
ballast, holding the Society on a steady course, while Draper traveled,
begged, explained and tried to write. Was the Legislature up in arms about
Draper? Durrie's location in the then state Capitol enabled him to forewarn
Draper about legislative whims. Was Draper incommunicado at home working
on his research material? Durrie would entertain the visiting Bostonian,
Francis Parkman. Did Draper shovel books, newspapers, pamphlets and related
materials into the Society? Durrie did his share of shoveling and then
kept track of everything that came in. He was not dramatic or particularly
outgoing, but he was the rock that Draper needed for his and the Society's
success.
Durrie was followed in the library by a man who had been his second assistant
since the mid-1870s, Isaac Bradley. When Thwaites — dynamic, personable
and visionary — succeeded Draper in 1887, he needed help back at
the ranch. Bradley was one of those who kept the day-to-day work moving
smoothly. He was commonly recognized as the Society's second-in-command.
When the Legislature established a building commission to plan and oversee
the Society's new building (which was to house the university's library
too), Bradley was made secretary of the commission. With Thwaites, he
visited more than 20 libraries, and the two men submitted to the commission
a long report on their findings. After the new building opened, the library's
staff expanded to 15 under Bradley's direction. In his 25th year, his
salary was increased from the $2,000 he had been receiving as head librarian
to $2,400. He generally went with Thwaites to the annual meetings of the
American Library Association and was a founding member of the Wisconsin
Library Association. Bradley died in 1912. Lord and Ubbelohde describe
him as "genial and popular;" but he could also be described
as a quintessential figure in the Society's development.
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...a glass wall...essentially barred
women from faculty and senior administrative positions in colleges
and universities...But the earlier barrier was the Society's bonanza,
because talented women like Nunns found outlets for their competence
in historical societies, libraries and related institutions." |
Within the Society building's walls, Bradley was an impressive figure,
but he never matched the power that Annie Nunns eventually assumed in
her 52 years at the Society. Hired in 1889 as a part-time assistant in
the library reading room, she rose to be assistant director (her actual
title was "assistant superintendent" since the title of "director"
did not appear until later in the 20th century), a position she held for
over a quarter century.
Within 10 years, Nunns was the director's secretary and in charge of
ordering books. Early in the new century, she handled proofreading the
Society's books before publication. When the young and inexperienced Milo
Quaife succeeded Thwaites in 1914, he promoted Annie Nunns to assistant
superintendent. Three years later, the United States was at war, and the
Society lost many of its male staff members and graduate student users.
Headed by Annie Nunns, the women staff members practically ran the Society.
Harry Miller, the Society's reference archivist, reminded me that this
brief wartime experience points up a damaging tradition — a glass
wall that essentially barred women from faculty and senior administrative
positions in colleges and universities. As that began to change after
World War II, their progress was too often obstructed by a glass ceiling.
But the earlier barrier was the Society's bonanza, because talented women
like Nunns found outlets for their competence in historical societies,
libraries and related institutions. Because women staff members at the
Society were not accorded a man's rank and pay, their power stemmed more
from their abilities than their positions, but they did not shrink from
expressing themselves.
In the eyes of the Society's women staff members, Quaife, though an able
scholar, was a novice administrator who fell far short of the Thwaites
model. Nunns and her coterie became, in Lord and Ubbelohde's phrase, "almost
contemptuous." When Quaife eventually left, Annie Nunns was the Society's
operational head. "An astute woman of great charm, an able administrator
and an iron taskmaster," she easily manipulated Quaife's successor,
Joseph Schafer, a man devoted to scholarship and largely devoid of administrative
skills. She died in 1942 confident that, in appointing Edward Alexander,
the Society had finally located a man worthy of Thwaites's mantle.
Two decades later, when I came to the Society, Annie Nunns was the legendary
martinet who had inspired fear in the hearts of staff members and visitors
alike. Along with her tough reputation, she should be remembered as an
influential leader who enriched the library's collections, strengthened
the Society's obligation to the entire state and successfully managed
the Society under two directors whose interests and talents lay elsewhere.
The new century saw the appointment as editorial assistant Louise Phelps
Kellogg, a brilliant young scholar whose doctoral thesis had just won
national honors. Beginning in 1903, her association with the Society lasted
41 years. Three decades later, new director Joseph Schafer recognized
in her a kindred scholar-soul, and they became good friends, to the consternation
and irritation of Annie Nunns. The coolness between those two women, largely
because of their attitude toward Schafer and his attitude toward them,
however disruptive, was recurrent proof that the Society was more than
stacks of books and manuscripts. It was, and remains, a very human institution.
While the Society's first half-century prepared the way with acquisitions
and the publication of annual reports and volumes of the "Collections,"
the early 20th century was marked by the Society's immersion in publications.
Kellogg was a major player in that activity. She was identified by Thwaites
as the "principal research colleague and annotator" of the 32-volume
"Early Western Travels," and she edited the first three volumes
of the Draper manuscripts. Her contributions as editor and author brought
her the new title of chief of research and earned wide recognition for
the Society.
She regularly contributed articles to the "Wisconsin Magazine of
History" (which began in 1917 with Quaife as editor); one of her
responsibilities was a column called "Society and the State."
Her major projects were more significant: "compiling and editing,"
"Lord and Ubbelohde report," "the Indian treaties pertaining
to the Old Northwest," preparing a history of Wisconsin before statehood,
and slowly organizing what was to be her finest book, "The French
Regime in Wisconsin and the Northwest" (1925). After that, she turned
to a study of the British in Wisconsin and the Northwest, but it would
be 10 years before that was published.
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In a word, Louise Phelps Kellogg was
a giant who realized that local history was an integral part of all
history." |
A major idea behind the publications was to highlight the Society's resources
for the scholarly world and the general public. Quaife and Schafer were
key players, helping to select materials and subjects, and raising money
for publication. Publishing was not the only way to do promote the Society,
and Kellogg took her obligations seriously. She spoke at local historical
society conferences and meetings, did research for historical markers
when that program began in 1933 and co-authored a pageant to help celebrate
the tercentenary of Jean Nicolet's landing near what is now Green Bay.
In a word, Louise Phelps Kellogg was a giant who realized that local
history was an integral part of all history. The words she wrote about
her friend and mentor Joseph Schafer aptly fit her: History, she said,
will never be "dry-as-dust" so long historians account for its
"social and human side" and in that way "develop the historical
basis for present living and future life."
Kellogg was succeeded by Alice E. Smith, whose quiet ways masked a powerful
dedication to history, a keen intellect and close attention to detail.
Her productive life at the Society spanned four decades of research and
writing, capped by the publication of her masterful first volume of the
Society's six-volume "History of Wisconsin." There are others
in the mid-century years who, like Smith, deserve more attention for their
tireless contributions to the Society, but the length of the list defies
adequate acknowledgment.
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...he was the person who knew where
everything was, how long it had been there and what might be done
with it. More than that, Jacques was a congenial, irrepressible colleague
to staff members at all levels." |
Among them was Barbara J. Kaiser, who inherited the mantle of the infant
Mass Communications History Center and managed it with skill and aplomb.
She worked successfully with a host of temperamental media stars, like
the Center's founder, H. V. Kaltenborn, and gradually built up an imposing
mass communications collection. A contemporary of Kaiser's who merits
notice is John C. Jacques. After World War II with an earned UW doctorate,
he became a key administrator, an irreplaceable nuts and bolts man. Promoted
to assistant director and put in charge of nonprofessional personnel,
he was the person who knew where everything was, how long it had been
there and what might be done with it. More than that, Jacques was a congenial,
irrepressible colleague to staff members at all levels.
One staff member in the mid-1950s added substantially to the Society's
success. Donald R. McNeil was a Hesseltine student who joined the Society
staff to initiate a project with the State Medical Society collecting
medical history materials. He was also responsible for Field Services,
which at that time meant combing the state for historical materials. Highly
successful, he built up a circle of like-minded friends around the state
whose support for the Society was crucial.
In 1956 he became associate director and handled the Society's day-to-day
operation. He was so well appreciated that when the position of director
opened up, board members urged him to accept it, but he had other plans.
His career after the Society was noteworthy and included a term as chancellor
of the University's Extension division. Although he served for less than
a decade, he put a warm, human face on the Society, expanded the Society's
research resources, extended the breadth and depth of its statewide recognition,
and encouraged a reawakened scholarly publishing effort.
All history is indeed local and, obviously, history begins with people.
While historians mine the lodes to write about people in history, they
should give more time to those who identify and care for the lodes themselves.
The Society has done this for more than 150 years, and the many staff
members who have served in that time warrant public notice. This essay
is a small step in that direction.
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