By HELEN DALRYMPLE
The reopening of the Jefferson Building after more than 12 years of restoration is an occasion for some of us "old-timers" to reminisce about life in the "Main Building" -- it wasn't named the Thomas Jefferson Building until 1980 -- before the Madison Building was completed and occupied that same year.
In January 1967, when I joined the staff of the Legislative Reference Service (LRS), the Library occupied only two buildings on Capitol Hill: the Main Building and the Annex (now the John Adams Building). I was hired to do research on American government in the Government and General Research Division (GGR), now called simply the Government Division, which was located in the east corridor of the first floor of the Main Building -- now occupied by offices of the Asian Division and, in the new colonnade, staff of the Humanities and Social Sciences Division.
During the next 13 years, before its final move to the third floor of the Madison Building, the division moved twice: first to the south corridor of the second floor (now the new home of the European Division) and then across the street to the south reading room area on the fifth floor of the Annex (now called the John Adams Building).
Other divisions of LRS -- later CRS, Congressional Research Service -- moved and shifted during this period of time as well. The moves were necessitated by the expansion of CRS that was authorized by the 1970 Legislative Reorganization Act. CRS and its staff grew from 243 in 1966 to almost 750 in 1980. This put enormous pressure on space in both buildings, but the Main (Jefferson) Building bore the brunt of it. The director and his staff occupied partitioned office spaces in the old House Reading Room (now the Members' Room), and other CRS units were housed in rabbit warrens of temporary partitioned offices in the northwest and southwest curtains and pavilions, the upper level of the Great Hall, and around the upper galleries of the Main Reading Room. Eventually, some of them moved up to the attic spaces above the book-stack decks. With dropped ceilings, temporary light fixtures and gray partitions, it was hard to imagine what those glorious spaces were supposed to look like.
The completion of the Madison Building in 1980 reduced the pressure on the Jefferson Building and finally permitted the Library and the Architect of the Capitol to begin to restore it to its former glory. The results are now evident for everyone to see.
The following stories recount the experiences of some staffers in the "Main Building."
John C. Broderick
1964-1988, retired as assistant librarian
for Research Services
After 15 years in the Manuscript Division, then located in the "Annex," I moved to the Jefferson Building in January 1979 to assume the newly created position of assistant librarian for research services. At first, Research Services offices were located in the first floor Northwest Curtain. However, when the Librarian, Deputy Librarian and others relocated to the sixth floor of the Madison Building, Research Services was assigned the Northwest Curtain and Pavilion [on the first floor], also known as "Mahogany Row." I took the space that had most recently been the Deputy Librarian's office and before that, the Librarian's reception room. It was furnished with, among other things, former Librarian (1899-1939) Herbert Putnam's desk and umbrella stand. (I put the desk to good hard use but left the umbrella stand in its pristine condition.)
For the next several years, until my retirement in April 1988, I believe I had the most desirable office in the most beautiful building in Washington. I don't recall feeling too puffed up about it at the time, but my memory is not what it used to be. Just beyond the south wall of my office lay the majestic Great Hall. Just outside my office door, the ornamental Northwest Corridor, with its imaginative depiction of the Muses. Diagonally across the corridor was the "old" Librarian's office, central to the history of the Library.
The splendid Northwest and Southwest corridors on the first floor, though functional, were no mere passageways. Works of art, they cast their spells upon first-time visitors to the Library. Nor were their charms lost through familiarity. In June 1981 I was interviewed for a television program called ''You Asked for It!" The subject was the contents of Abraham Lincoln's pockets at the time of his assassination (now on view in the "American Treasures" exhibition). These objects had been brought to widespread public attention by Daniel J. Boorstin shortly after he became Librarian of Congress in 1975 and found them in the Librarian's office safe. My interview took place in the Wilson Room (now the Rosenwald Room), just across the hall from the Rare Book and Special Collections Division, where the objects were then housed. Following my interview about the significance of the items, the producer wanted footage of me bringing the objects to the interview room. Nothing would please him but shots of me walking through the Southwest Corridor, across the Great Hall, and through the Northwest Corridor. Viewers were apparently expected to believe that the route was the normal transit of rare materials in the Library of Congress.
Not least among the attractions of "Mahogany Row" was its proximity to the Main Reading Room and its comprehensive reference collection, the Library of Congress collections in miniature. A few steps past "the Bibles," where a group of tourists might be clustered around the cases containing the Gutenberg Bible and Bible of Mainz, would bring me to the Reading Room, scene of muted intellectual activity, and into one of the alcoves or up an iron stairway to a balcony where the answers to most questions resided. Verification of a name, a date, a questioned fact could be accomplished in minutes, and I was frequently back in my office before the staff knew I was gone.
In one respect, however, my office was too well located. When an event in the Great Hall was attended by the president or vice president, my office became a communications center for men with rosettes in their lapels and plugs in their ears. On these rare occasions I was obliged to vacate my office earlier than usual in the interest of security.
Now it is time to rejoice that the Library can be the Library again in the fullest sense, and new, appropriate uses have been found for a refurbished Mahogany Row. (I am especially pleased that there will be a Ralph Ellison presence in that space, since I had initiated the Library's discussions with Mr. Ellison about the disposition of his personal papers as far back as 1964.)
I wonder what ever happened to Herbert Putnam's umbrella stand.
Morton Rosenberg, specialist
American Law Division, CRS
My seven-year residency in the glorious space of the second floor of the Jefferson Building (1973 to 1980) has left me with an abundance of fond and happy memories. Even through the accumulated soot and grime of 80 years, the grandeur of that cavern was evident and inspiring and surely contributed to the unusual sense of collegiality, camaraderie and conviviality that was a hallmark of the division during that period. Three memories stand out:
My daughter, then 6, visited my first office on the balcony in 1975. It was relatively small, but cozy, windowless and dominated by the pedestal that once actually held the Declaration of Independence (now at the National Archives). Honoring the memory of that great document, I inserted a parchment copy. My daughter was taken by it. She stood on my desk chair and stared at it for a while after I had explained its history and significance. Several years later, after we had moved to the Madison Building and the balcony had been cleared, I took my family for a tour of the Jefferson Building, led by a marvelously articulate and knowledgeable guide. When we reached the now-empty pedestal and were about to pass it without comment, my daughter piped up, eyes gleaming with pride, "This was my father's office where he took care of the Declaration of Independence." A warm recollection for me as well.
The balcony area fostered an aura of warmth, comfort and camaraderie. Foremost in my memory were the almost daily informal gatherings in the office. It was a corner office that was big enough to accommodate as much as a dozen of us in the early morning hour before the phones began to ring. We would bring our coffee and doughnuts (no bagels in those days) and newspapers, sit and sip and read until, inevitably, someone would comment on some outrage or occurrence in the worlds of politics or sports or law, which would in turn provoke an incredulous (if it was that civil) response that would lead to a wide-ranging exchange of views and vituperations. I remember those gatherings not as casual, time-killing sessions, but as informal, high-level learning experiences with respected and often revered colleagues. It made us all better professionals. And I am certain the setting inspired them.
Edward Knight
specialist in industrial organization
and corporate finance, Economics Division, CRS
I had the pleasure of spending the first 19 years of my Library career in the Jefferson Building. Despite having to go through many moves during this period and having office space that was somewhat cramped, at times I always found it to be an awe-inspiring place to do my work as an analyst for the Legislative Reference Service (LRS), subsequently renamed the Congressional Reference Service (CRS) in 1970.
I was there during a major refurbishing of the building, including the installation of air conditioning, during the late 1960s and early 1970s. The Economics Division was temporarily relocated to the mezzanine level of the Great Hall. This was indeed a beautiful spot, but distractions were many, and the noise level could be deafening at times when hordes of tourists visited the lower level of the hall.
Every time I went to the Main Reading Room, I always felt a great sense of inspiration -- it was such a majestic place. I remember the many nuns in their traditional garments who were always there in great numbers, quietly doing their research tasks. Moreover, during the 1960s at least, coat and tie was the preferred form of dress for men, including both researchers and staff. Women were also encouraged to look their best. Overall, a respectful atmosphere of formality prevailed. The Main Reading Room was indeed a special place for staff and researchers.
When space became a major problem in the late 1960s, the Economics Division was relocated to Decks 37 and 38 in the stack area of the Jefferson Building. It was an unusual place to work but the views from our office windows on the front of the building were spectacular. I had a magnificent panoramic view of Washington -- from National Airport on the Virginia side of the Potomac, past the Mall on the West, to the area just south of Union Station to the north.
Wayne Riddle, specialist in eduction finance
Education and Public Welfare Division, CRS
When I arrived in 1972, my CRS division -- Education and Public Welfare -- was smaller, younger and rapidly growing.
We were located on Deck 37, identifiable as the green-roofed shed on the Supreme Court side of the dome of the "Main Building." Our quarters had a number of advantages in comparison to those in the Madison Building: everyone had an individual office with a window (that could be opened) and a great view (the best was from the men's room on the Capitol side); nonstandardized office furniture made of wood, even Windsor chairs if one were fortunate (see Helen Miller story, below) and peace without special security precautions because no unauthorized visitor could possibly find us in our very out-of-the-way corner of the Library.
The disadvantages were technological: The conduct of research was much more tedious without today's computers. A computer was something you accessed via a terminal lacking even a video screen -- you discovered your programming errors after walking across the street a day later to retrieve the printout.
I realize that one of the major accomplishments of the Jefferson's refurbishment is the revelation and restoration of spaces once hidden by "temporary" walls and other space dividers to accommodate offices for many CRS and other Library staff. These wonderful spaces should never again be hidden from public view.
Helen Miller, analyst in education
CRS, 1949-1979
Shortly after coming to the Library, I and the rest of the division moved from the first floor of the Main Building to the Southwest Pavilion. Because the building was not air-conditioned until the mid-1960s, the large windows in the pavilion were open in the summer to allow a cross breeze -- which sometimes became a little too vigorous. On one occasion, a confidential report for one of the committees of Congress was blown out of the window onto the grass below when a sudden gust of wind came along. I dashed out onto the balcony to keep an eye on the precious documents down below to make sure that no one touched them, while another staff member ran out into the Great Hall and down through the door to collect the errant sheets of paper. Confidentiality for Congress was as important then as it is now.
On another occasion, another staff member saw some attractive Windsor chairs on the loading platform behind the building. She thought they would go very nicely with the big round oak table that sat in the middle of the pavilion. When she learned they were headed for the trash, she claimed them for her division, and the whole staff applauded her initiative.
Kathy Swendiman, attorney
American Law Division, CRS
An attorney recalls an amusing incident involving the windows along the Great Hall, which had no screens and which were opened occasionally for ventilation. We were also all very familiar with the pigeons outside the windows, who roosted on the ledges and nested there in the spring.
While the American Law Division was housed in and around the Great Hall, no less than four romances blossomed into marriages among staff. Perhaps the ambience in the Great Hall was a catalyst for these matches, or maybe Cupid resided on some fresco and worked his charm.
Of course, many staffers mentioned the undeniable beauty of the Great Hall as a fond memory of our time working there and the spectacular view through our windows of the U.S. Capitol across the street. At Christmas time we had front-row "seats" for the celebration in the Hall with the Christmas tree and caroling.
Tourists were very much a part of our life in the Great Hall. For those of us who resided in the middle office along the balcony, an added attraction was the "shrine" where the Declaration of Independence had once been displayed. Someone placed a facsimile in the case, and on more occasions than I can recall, a tourist would wander up to our line of offices, peer into ours and exclaim, "There it is!", then take a picture. We always dutifully redirected these tourists to the National Archives, but some were hard to convince.
Clyde Mark, analyst
Europe/Middle East/Africa Section
Foreign Affairs and National Defense Division, CRS
Space in the Jefferson building became an increasingly more precious commodity in the days before the Madison Building. The Foreign Affairs and National Defense Division of CRS moved to the gallery above the Main Reading Room in November 1966, where our analysts shared seven of the eight bays or galleries with the statues of the famous. The bays were boxed in with temporary wooden partitions that kept us out of view of the reading room patrons below or the Visitors' Gallery across the way (although occasionally we delighted in standing on our chairs to wave at tourists).
Because the likes of Herodotus, Gibbon, Bacon, St. Paul and Plato were kind enough to share their digs, we thought it only neighborly to include them in all our doings. (Along the balustrade of the reading room are 16 bronze statues of men representing categories of knowledge and activity such as Philosophy (Bacon and Plato), History (Herodotus and Gibbon), Religion (St. Paul and Moses), Poetry (Shakespeare and Homer) and Art (Beethoven and Michelangelo).) Posted outside one door were the names of the analysts for Africa, the Middle East, Asia and "Mike L. Angelo, Analyst in Renaissance Affairs." Another bay had the names of Latin American and European analysts and "William Shakespeare, Specialist in Literature." At least one note folded into a paper airplane went over the side carrying the message "Help! I'm a prisoner on the Gallery" signed by Solon (one of two statutes representing Law; the other is Kent).
On Dec. 16 someone hung a sign, complete with flowers, butterflies and musical notations, around the neck of the Beethoven statue that said "Happy Birthday Ludwig." Visitors often were given instructions that included "Turn left at Homer" or "I'm to the right of Columbus (who, with Fulton, represents Commerce), physically not politically."
The presence of the Foreign Affairs Division three floors above the Main Reading Room was not appreciated by reading room staff or readers. Readers below complained that our telephones, typewriters and conversations interrupted their concentration. Reading room staff occasionally called the gallery (thereby adding another telephone ring to the din) to ask that we lower the decibels.
But after we moved to Deck A in the bookstacks in 1970, we missed the rotunda and the inspiration derived from the sources of "human understanding" that ringed the dome. (The dome, at 160 feet, is the highest point in the building. It is ringed with a mural by Edwin Blashfield that features 12 seated figures: Egypt (its contribution: written records), Judea (religion), Greece (philosophy), Rome (administration), Islam (physics), the Middle Ages (modern languages), Italy (fine arts), Germany (art of painting), Spain (discovery), England (literature), France (emancipation) and America (science).)
The intellectual examples offered by our friends who remain posed around the balustrade and dome were gone.
Helen Dalrymple, who compiled these reports, is Senior Public Affairs Specialist.