Some words on the Little Paper Family

Ah, spring is here to stay! It's been a warm, sunny week and that just makes me extra happy to have a long weekend.

Adding to the so-called "happy," of course, is reading How to be Inappropriate by Daniel Nester. Truthfully, I'd have been happy with this book based solely on its cover. Go to the linked Discovery record and take a look at the Google Books-linked cover image, down there on the right. Lord knows plenty of other folks on the Metro during my morning commute did, and I got to enjoy an abundance of raised eyebrows and disgusted glares.

Of course, being the kind of person I am (I always seem to find unusual books), How to be Inappropriate turns out to be less irreverent than it sounds. Granted, it devotes an astounding number of pages to a cultural analysis of mooning and the author goes out of his way to chronicle every single inappropriate thing he has done or said, but it's actually a bait-and-switch job. See, you're kind of tooling along through the book, which is easy enough to do (it's full of things like conversations with Gene Simmons of KISS that switch Gene's side of the conversation with a chatbot), and then you hit something unexpectedly literary, like an in-depth analysis of the history of farting in poetry. It turns out a lot of classical poets had a finger pulled here and there and didn't mind including it in their work.

It's not so much the subject matter as Nester's approach to it; it turns out you're actually reading a book written by someone who's spent over a decade as a poet, and who's studied language and literature all his life. Although a good deal of the book is screamingly funny -- as in his misadventures while learning how to tan in his pale, doughy late 40s -- there are also sections where he gets his point across in subtler ways, as in the part where he lists every comment he writes in his students' papers as an example of what he encounters daily as a college professor. It's never mean-spirited or woebegone, though -- it's just funny.

This week, we've seen a lot of students coming in to do research on the Little Paper Family, which I thought would make a decent discussion here, starting with an explanation of what the Little Paper Family (or LPF) actually is and ending with how to do Research to it.

First, the LPF's name isn't nearly as self-explanatory as one would hope. When I first heard the term, I thought it was some kind of project where people cut out families from paper and put them together into a collage or something. Maybe I'm just weird like that.

The LPF actually refers to a group of deaf residential schools' newspapers and magazines that were published and traded among those schools for over a century. This lasted until the 1970s, when most of the LPF died out for various reasons; the rest persists today in some form. The publications included information on recent events at the school, student standouts, and other important events in deaf culture and history. They represent a tremendously valuable resource for understanding deaf history and the origins of what we see today.

For some more detailed information, including a listing of most known LPF publications, check out our Web page on the LPF. A surprisingly decent amount of LPF material's been preserved in one form or another and is available for research, particularly here at the Gallaudet University Library.

The only thing is that it's all been mostly preserved on microfilm, which is an obsolete medium by any standard. It requires a big old machine to read what's on it, and most of our students have little or no frame of reference for it.

It's okay. It happens. That's what we librarians are here for.

In any case, nearly all of our LPF stuff is kept in a bright-orange microfilm cabinet on the first floor, at the end of the Deaf Periodicals, behind the atlases. There's a sign on it that says "DEAF Microfilm." Although most of the cabinet is dedicated to deaf-related theses and dissertations, the LPF takes up a corner of its own, and is alphabetized by the name of the publication, not the name of the publishing school (which throws some people off). Each reel of microfilm can contain a few years' worth of issues, depending on the school's publishing schedule.

So that's fairly simple, until you hit the machine. I'm not going to explain how to string the reel on the thing because it's fairly picayune. Suffice it to say that when you pull on the handle that moves the glass tray toward you, you should notice a horizontal spindle pointing right at you on the left-hand side, where the reel goes. Above that spindle, you'll see a cute little diagram that tells you everything you need to know, if you follow it exactly. Then gently slide the glass tray back under the lens, turn the machine on, and press the obvious buttons to rewind or advance the film. It's also possible to print directly from microfilm, which is incredibly useful if you need to have specific pages to refer to later; it's 10 cents a page and requires the same copy card you use for our photocopiers.

On a less professional note, the sheer novelty of the experience for people who've never used microfilm before is pretty fun to watch. Of course, they get tired of it quickly and wish it were easier to sift through the thousands of pages each reel contains. When I get complaints or rueful "suggestions" on how to improve the way microfilm works, all I can do is let them know that it's called "old-school research," and they go back to their computers, grateful for our databases.

But I digress. In general, the LPF is an incredibly valuable thing to have, and we're proud to have it here and make it available to everyone (format notwithstanding)!

It's a short post this week because it's been a rather short week. Next week, I'll discuss research itself and what's really involved -- most people think you just enter a keyword and bam: You've got Research. Not true, and I'll explain why. Tune in next Friday!

---

Question of the Week
I checked out a DVD from the Library a few days ago, and just realized that I can find the disc, but not the case. What do I do?
First, tell a staff member at the service desk (or contact us) so we can give you another few days to look. Then look for it. It's usually in your room, your friend's room, your bag, or your friend's bag. Those are the four most common places these things usually wind up. Then check your dresser, behind your bed, in your freezer (you'd be surprised), and under your cat. If you come up empty-handed after performing due diligence, let us know. We'll take the video off your record (though any fines you might have accrued as a result of not returning the video on time before we renewed it for you will have to be paid) and add a $10 charge to replace the case.

Don't worry, we can replace the case. We have mysterious librarian ways. No need to buy a whole new film if we have at least the disc, but the cost of the new case, reprocessing, and adding the appropriate liner needs to be addressed. We do strongly encourage that you at least look as hard as you can to make sure the original case is well and truly lost.