By Henry J. Carr, Librarian Scranton (Pa.) Public Library.
In your presence, and in addressing you to-night as presiding officer, I feel to a far greater extent than I can express in words the high honor that has been conferred in each instance upon all who from time to time have been chosen to serve as a president of this particular association.
There is in this present age, to be sure, no lack of those popular and peculiar entities termed associations—associations of many kinds, and for almost every conceivable purpose. Throughout the entire continent there exist few, perhaps none, whose history, objects, and work, have warranted a more justifiable pride in being a member thereof, than is found in being a member of the American Library Association.
It may here be said that conditions and circumstances have been favorable to the success of the A. L. A.; not the least of which has been the faithful loyalty of its individual members. We realize, too, that even time has dealt leniently with it, upon noting that of the 64 members who attended its first meeting, held at Philadelphia twenty-five years ago, but 18 have died, and that 20 persons are yet included in its membership list out of the 69 who joined the association in 1876, that initial year. Some of that original number, much to our gratification, are present with us at this 23d general meeting.
Considering its purely voluntary nature, the migratory holding of its successive meetings in different parts of the land, and the notable avoidance of fads, or any tendency towards selfish ends that might otherwise mark its united efforts, it becomes almost a matter of surprise that so many persons have unfalteringly kept up their allegiance from year to year ever since the time of their joining the association. But, as a matter of fact, the A. L. A. has at no time fallen off in its total membership; and at this date it numbers nearly one thousand contributing members paying dues for the current year.
The American Library Association has now attained a period of twenty-five years in its history—a quarter of a century. During that time, in the addresses given at its general meetings, as well as in the multiplicity of noteworthy and valuable papers contributed to its Proceedings, and the sundry publications devoted to library interests, it would appear as if there must have been presented almost every conceivable phase of library thought and sentiment. Can anything new be said, or old ideas placed in a new light, so as to be worthy of hearing and attention at this time? I fear not, except as some lessons may be drawn from the experience of one's past work, perhaps, that shall serve to aid yet others who are to tread like paths in life.
I beg, therefore, that you will bear with me for a short space of time while I give expression to some thoughts drawn from the experience of myself and others while Being a Librarian.
Without now restricting their application to particular phases of librarianship, let us at the outset consider them as relating to any and all conditions of it as a vocation. "Why did you take up library work?" is a question not infrequently asked. To that query various answer may be given, according to the individual views of the persons replying. Perhaps one general reason, that in a certain way has had its unconscious influence upon many of us, is best stated in the following characteristic passage from the "Book-hunter:"
"To every man of our Saxon race endowed with full health and strength, there is committed the custody of a restless demon, for which he is doomed to find ceaseless excitement, either in honest work, or some less profitable or more mischievous occupation. Countless have been the projects of man to open up for this fiend fields of exertion great enough for the absorption of its tireless energies, and none of them is more hopeful than the great world of books, if the demon is docile enough to be coaxed into it."
Since Burton's day the "great world of books" has taken on many phases of which he never dreamed. And we, as librarians, may reasonably believe that if not entirely a part and parcel of it, we are nevertheless called upon to deal with that "world" in almost every form, and are ourselves more or less important factors in it. We may not be called upon to adopt the "strenuous life," or seek to impart it to the conduct and activities of others. But necessarily we are and must be accustomed to "doing things"; and, by that very doing, will in some degree, each in our own field, inspire and influence others also.