Walt at Random

Well, for a few days at least.

My big speaking cavalcade for 2007 begins Wednesday: That is, one (shared) keynote, at the Washington Library Association in Kennewick, WA, on Thursday, April 19. The cavalcade proceeds from there to…well, that’s it, actually.

As usual (when feasible), I’m going to the whole conference. As always, I’m traveling without technology. OK, I might take along my cheapo portable CD player, or I might not, but that’s as far as it goes: No cell phone, no notebook computer, no PDA, no pager, no Blackberry.

I wouldn’t even bother to mention that I won’t be blogging for four days: That’s pretty much par for the course on this sketchy site. But I’m blessed with a fair number of comments–high by liblog standards, if low by “A-list” or political-blog standards.

Unfortunately, a couple of spamments have been sneaking through Spam Karma 2 and WordPress’ native methodologies. Nothing terribly serious or obscene (cross fingers), and I delete them as soon as I spot them, but I’d rather not have them stick around for several days.

So, assuming that the change works (the interactions between Spam Karma 2 and WordPress’ moderating systems are a little mysterious), I’m turning on moderation for all comments tomorrow afternoon (April 17) and will leave it on until I return and have a chance to catch up (probably Sunday, April 22; possibly Monday, April 23).

Feel free to comment on posts (including any of the 16 stub posts for Balanced Libraries) but don’t be surprised when your post doesn’t show up until I get back.

Sorry about that. Of course, it’s equally possible that nobody would add any comments between Tuesday evening and Sunday, in which case this is a waste of typing. Fortunately, I’m a fast typist.

I’m trying to avoid uncritical me-tooism (and I’m really trying to stick to my resolve to “Take the high road”), but I do feel the need to link to very recent posts from two libloggers who I respect, frequently disagree with, and have never felt any desire to steamroll or slag. They’re semi-related posts.

Dorothea Salo talks about ‘Infinite Success’ here. I’ll particularly call attention to this paragraph (following some discussion of people who seem to feel the need to be King or Queen of the Hill, which of course means that others have to be less successful):

But what if success is—at least potentially—infinite? The entire equation changes. You have to decide which flavors of the limitless abundance you care for, and you have to sort out for yourself how much is enough. At that point, you can happily and without the least whisper of personal loss lend a hand to others who are doing the same.

While admitting that the “C” in “Walter C. Crawford” (the only time I’m likely to use my driver’s license/passport name in this blog!) does not stand for “Consistency,” I certainly agree with and try to live by this as a general rule. And I will claim that I’ve done my part to “lend a hand” at least by quoting and pointing out newish voices who have interesting things to say–even when I’m disagreeing with them. I do that mostly in Cites & Insights, to be sure, but I try to do it elsewhere as well.

It feels good. It particularly feels good when a “discovery” turns out to be a gem. And since I’ve probably had more than my share of traditional high-profile gigs (particularly for a pseudo-librarian in the library field), I’m only too happy to see (real example) Meredith F. getting a column in a magazine that dumped my own column [there's absolutely no connection], (not real example as far as I know) Joshua Neff or Steve Lawson or Sarah Houghton-Jan or Sandra Stewart or… getting a keynote at an association I’d love to speak to, or, well, you name it.

Caveat: I do not claim that I’ve ever had any role to play in making any of those named more visible or getting such gigs–well, with one exception, where I submitted a list of three outstanding people in the field for a possible keynote. They all happened to be women, the first one on the list accepted, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

I’ve never been a formal mentor and probably never will be: The whole contract and formal agreement thing doesn’t work for me. I don’t believe I’ve ever been a formal “mentee.” But I’ve certainly been on both sides of informal help.

The first I-believe-publishable study that I ever did was, at the time, taken over by the head of the department as something that had to appear under that person’s name; it never reached the light of day. The second possibly-publishable piece that I did was while working for Sue (Susan K.) Martin (Ph.D.) in the UC Berkeley Library Systems Office; she nudged me to make it happen and suggested the place for it, and Sue would never, ever try to claim credit for someone else’s work. It did appear; it’s one of very few peer-reviewed articles I’ve ever done, and I believe the only post-college publication bearing the fuller form of my name. At other key stages, I’ve been nudged by people to take a chance on some activity–sometimes by people who could easily have done it themselves.

With web publishing, outlets for professional activity really are effectively “infinite.” Even without it, though, we benefit from a broader range of voices and ideas. I’ve probably seen 50 articles and 5 books in the last decade where I have two reactions: “I could have done a great job on that” and “Didn’t they do a great job on that!” When the author is a relative unknown, the second reaction is particularly pleasant. (OK, once in a while there’s a “They did an awful job on that,” and sometimes I’ll try to do a better one. Because I’m inconsistent, human, occasionally mean-spirited and all that I might even take a public swipe–ideally but not always at what they did, not at who they are.)

The second post, also from yesterday, is Charitable Reading by Meredith Farkas. She quotes (with permission) email from Joshua “Goblin” Neff, which I’m in turn going to quote as fair use:

Having spent years on web forums where people got in the pissiest, snarkiest arguments I’ve ever seen (and sometimes been a part of), I’ve picked up on one thing that I think is crucial for any kind of internet discussion: charitable reading. Read what I’ve written assuming that I mean the best possible thing, not the worst.

This is great advice. It’s also damnably difficult at times–particularly when you’re being fisked or, shall we say it, uncharitably read. Or slagged. I make no claims at all to sainthood on this account. I will cheerfully read a post or comment within the context of the writer’s past posts and comments, and for that matter their print publishing record and, if I know them, their persona. Such reading-within-context is sometimes less charitable than Neff’s optimal (but hardly inevitable) suggestion.

But it doesn’t hurt to try. Farkas’ discussion is excellent. I’ll quote one more paragraph (this one by Meredith Farkas, not a requote from Joshua Neff):

How would you like to see people? We have a choice in the way we view and react to things. I don’t think we should constantly worry about being polite and agreeing with what everyone else says by any stretch of the imagination. What’s so great about the blogosphere is the dialogue; not a monologue. But when has someone changed their mind after being attacked? Who has said “well, now that you’ve jumped down my throat, I really see your point and agree”? They may feel intimidated (especially if the blogger is a major A-lister or a well-known librarian) and raise the white flag, but chances are, you won’t change their mind. What will change their mind is a persuasive argument… a smart criticism. Jumping down someone’s throat has little benefit other than to let you vent your spleen. Is it really worth it?

And I’ll try to remember to reread this post from time to time. Maybe I’ll even use it as the springboard for a Bibs & Blather. (I’m already using some related material for a chapter in the probably-gonna-be-a-book I’m working on…)

[A total non sequitur here, gleaned from the comments on MF's post: I somehow missed this April 1 item, one of the most cleverly/fiendishly planned ones I've seen. Of course, it did create another dozen ghosts in the blogosphere, but what's a few more out of perhaps 100 million + ghost blogs?]

So there we are. For those who haven’t followed various threads, I should point out that Dorothea, Joshua, Meredith and I hardly form a mutual admiration society or echo chamber. I believe that all three of them have disagreed with things I’ve written publicly and forcefully, and I’m pretty sure I’ve done the same for all three of them. If I haven’t yet, I imagine the time will come. The Venn diagram with our four sets of professional interests and beliefs would show some overlap, to be sure, but not all that much [what is it with me and Venn diagrams lately?]. But I think I’ve been consistent in respecting the three people involved as thoughtful, literate, interesting, innovative forces within the field. If I’ve ever attacked one of them as opposed to disagreeing with what they’ve said, I apologize.

So there it is: A Friday lunchtime post that isn’t a quiz or a meme or a movie review.

Two more things:

1. Lemonade? Well, life among libloggers has been tossing up enough lemons around lately…and if you don’t know the old saying, you can probably look it up. (My wife and I give away dozens of Meyer lemons almost every week during the season, and we’re hoping the current weather doesn’t end this year’s crop–and I’d guess Meyer lemons would make lemonade requiring very little sugar. Yes, they’re pesticide-free. No, they’re not for mailing; sorry.)
2. A note to MFFX–Meredith Farkas’ Friend X: Come on in. Most of the time, the water’s fine.

That’s not fair, of course: There are doubtless wonderful hotels in Manhattan that carry the “boutique” label. But I thought a quick post might not be out of order after returning from a quick speaking trip.

I’m not naming the organization I was speaking to, because they’re not really to blame for the hotel problem and absolutely not to blame for the other problem (see below). They offered three possible hotels that were reasonably priced and not too far away from the conference venue and suggested reserving very early. I failed to reserve very early, and the other two hotels were unavailable.

First, the other situation: Be wary of SuperShuttle in Manhattan. I use it in other cities, almost always with very good success. This time, with a prepaid voucher (thanks to Orbitz’ recommendation), I arrived at the pickup point at 4:35 p.m. (SuperShuttle doesn’t actually have airport stations, at least not in JFK Terminal 9). I arrived at my hotel at…7:25 p.m. Yes, part of that was Manhattan’s grotesque rush hour; a lot more, though, was loading up the van with people going to six different places–and, as I didn’t realize until my return to the airport, almost perversely bad choices as to routing. (Going by the same buildings in the same direction two or three times didn’t give me a lot of confidence either.) When I asked at the hotel how early I should book a SuperShuttle return on Saturday (I had a prepaid voucher for that as well), in order to be sure of reaching the airport by 7. a.m., they said “4 a.m.–if they show up.” I booked a sedan, which took 25 minutes to get to JFK from the hotel. Sure, it was $50 instead of $17–but my time’s worth something.

Now, as to the hotel (and I use the term loosely): That one I will name–the Union Square Inn.

Here’s the description on their website:

Welcome to Union Square Inn, the finest affordable boutique hotel in Manhattan, New York City. Great rates, great location and great service make us the best New York boutique hotel choice.

Not merely a boutique hotel, but the “finest” and “best” New York boutique hotel!

I suppose “European-style” and “cozy” elsewhere on the site might be warning signs. Despite the claim of rooms as low as $99, the rate wasn’t that wonderful: $357 for two nights (including tax), for a room with one double bed. The rest of the site talks about first-class amenities, “modern, comfortable rooms” with private bathrooms, and even has a menu for their hip Cafe Samantha.

Here’s the reality. Cafe Samantha doesn’t exist–well, the teeny-tiny space does, but it’s only used for a “continental breakfast” (apparently coffee and one variety of sweet roll, maybe two). Maybe the Cafe did exist as a breakfast-lunch place at some point, but it doesn’t now. No big deal. There was a decent 24-hour restaurant two blocks away.
My room was on the fifth floor. There is no elevator. Not a broken elevator–no elevator. Funny how the website doesn’t mention anything that might suggest that. (Maybe “European-style”?) The room was large enough for the double bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a chair–”cozy” is probably the right term. Modern? Well, the paint was in good shape and there were electric lights.

No closet. Only a short hanging rod (half of it over one of the bedside lamps). Yes, there was a bathroom–but if I’d been two inches taller, it would have been very difficult to use the toilet without banging my knees on the opposite wall.

As for first-class amenities–those did not include either a radio or an alarm clock (or room service, or anything indicating phone charges, or…). So, down those five flights of stairs again, ask at the front desk, they say they’ll be happy to program in a wakeup call. Which I asked for. And, the next morning, called to cancel since it hadn’t happened, at least by five or ten minutes after the hour. It was critical that I get the 5 a.m. wakeup call on Saturday, so I’d get my transportation to the airport, but they assured me that I’d get that wakeup call. Fortunately, my sleep was sufficiently affect by premonitions that I woke up before…there was no wakeup call. (Are alarm clocks that expensive, that at $180 a night they can’t afford to have them? The TV, such as it was, was hospital-style, locked to a wall mount up in the corner, so maybe that’s the case.)

I suppose the first-class amenities meant that there was soap and shampoo in the bathroom. That’s true. (No handtowels the first night, but that’s being picky.)

Again, I don’t blame the conference organizers. They probably checked the same first-level reviews that I did. Only one of those reviews mentioned the lack of elevator (and even then didn’t mention five stories). Since I know from reading user-submitted reviews elsewhere that some very negative reviews have to be discounted. (I remember sailing on Crystal Cruises once, a magnificent line with superb service, and hearing one couple starting to complain about this and that even before the ship had left the dock–I think that mostly boiled down to their Not Being Recognized as Very Important People and being treated as well as the rest of us…) If I’d read more assiduously, I would then have had a problem: there were no other available choices that suited the group’s apparently tight budget, or at least none they’d suggested.

My “speaking page” on my website includes among my requirements “lodging at the conference hotel (if there is one) or a business-class [or better] hotel,” After this trip, I may do a little rewriting to clarify what I mean by business-class (think Hilton, Marriott, Embassy Suites, Westin, Sheraton…). It’s fair to say that I assume a business-class hotel will have elevators if it’s more than two or three stories tall and will have radios or alarm clocks, maybe even closets. Heck, it’s fair to say I’d assume the same of a Motel 6. But, of course, there are no Motel 6s in Manhattan.

Would I go back to Manhattan? For the right arrangements, sure–but those arrangements would absolutely include a name-brand business-class (or better) hotel. And taxi, not shuttle, fare to and from the airport. (Which the inviting group’s paying: Again, this isn’t aimed at them.)

The Liminal Librarian has posted the results of her “speaking survey.” Interesting stuff for those of us who do or did give speeches from time to time.

I come away from the survey more willing to state an expected fee if the requesting group doesn’t make an offer up front (and if the event isn’t considered part of my job, which changes the landscape considerably)–and probably more willing to question some offers. (It’s been a quiet period, but that could always change.)

Now if “Liminal” (Rachel Singer Gordon) wanted to do a little more work, what I’d love to see are banded results: That is, for a given type of presentation, the top 25% charged between X and Y with a median (not mean) of Z, and so on. Given 90 responses, and that the number who asked for any honorarium ranges from 16 to 42, I can’t imagine taking the analysis further than quartiles, and even that may be too fine.

Hey, Rachel: If you can anonymize the results, I’d be happy to do that breakdown. But it’s asking a lot for you to do more than you’ve already done.

Thanks for doing the survey. It may make the whole bargaining-to-speak process a little more transparent.

I’ve never known how to answer the question, “How much do you charge?”–one that came up when I was more in demand as a speaker. And I’ve always been too shy to ask other people what they charge (with one or two exceptions).

Rachel Singer Gordin, the Liminal Librarian, is trying to do something about this situation. She’s doing an online survey.

I’ll be very interested in the results. So will lots of others, I suspect.

This excellent post at CavLec frames earlier discussions that I stayed away from, the nasty little article that I commented on here, and some other stuff in one long, articulate, and convincing discussion. (And throws in a recommendation for one of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels as well; you won’t see me objecting to that or to the notion that Pratchett hides real issues within his hilarious books.)

What I realized in reading Dorothea Salo’s comments is that I was never really a “guy.” I grew up wrong (my parents never taught me that women were a separate and inferior species), I didn’t have a bunch of buds who exchanged dirty jokes, and in college I was in a coop with a bunch of engineers–who, actually, weren’t very strong on either dirty jokes or misogyny, at least not the ones I was acquainted with. I’m not a real social person and don’t go out with drinking buddies…and yes, I’ve been known to object to sexist humor, which hasn’t made me any more popular.

Salo (I’m trying to avoid first-naming, although I feel I know Dorothea fairly well by now) cuts men some slack by using “insidious” rather than “subtle.” Are there men in libraries who really are overgrown guys and would knowingly put women down? I think so. I’ve known some in the past, although I’d like to think I don’t know any now. Insecurity has lots of ways of coming out, and one way is always to find a whole group of people you can pretend to be superior to.

I should also point you to this post by Meredith Farkas, who finds that she has or had become less assertive as she grew up and wonders why. She raises lots of other issues; go read the post.

Then I was thinking about what I should or could do about all this. By and large, I think the answer is probably “Nothing, unless some sasquatch expresses misogyny in your presence.” But then…

Nothing may come of this, but I was approached to do a split keynote for a state library association, half of a point-counterpoint on an issue of some interest. (I’m deliberately keeping this as blind as possible because of the “nothing may come of this.”) After noting that I wasn’t as much of a “counterpoint” on this issue as might be desired, I said I’d be interested. The “point” person turned out not to be available. The person trying to organize the keynote asked whether I had other suggestions. I provided one obvious one…

…and then, an hour or so later, sent another three suggestions of people who would (I believe) all do excellent jobs as the other half of the keynote. All of them articulate, intelligent, knowledgeable on the issues (probably more so than I am). And, oh, by the way, all of them women. The topic is, to be sure, in the realm of library technology.

We’ll see what happens. And if a similar situation arises in the future, I do believe I’ll see what I can do…when and where it’s appropriate.

Dr. Kilgour, founder of OCLC (among other things), died yesterday. The obituary is here (that page also has a link to a forum where people can leave their own observations).

I was barely acquainted with Dr. Kilgour (and certainly never knew him nearly well enough to dream of calling him “Fred”). I’m part of the second generation of library automation; Dr. Kilgour was part of the first generation. (I was also nowhere near at the level of importance where I’d be rubbing elbows with Dr. Kilgour under normal circumstances!)

The only significant in-person memory I have is of the LITA President’s Program at the 1993 ALA Annual Conference. I’m sure it was 1993, because I was LITA President at the time, and the program celebrated LITA’s 25th anniversary by having three former LITA presidents speak–well, actually, they were all ISAD presidents (Information Science and Automation Division), because the name change to LITA didn’t happen that far back.

The speakers:

• Steve Salmon, the very first president, 1966-67. [Sticklers will note that this means the 25th Anniversary program was a year late. Sticklers will be correct. These things happen.]
• Barbara E. Markuson, 1979-1980.
• Frederick Kilgour, 1973-1975, the only LITA / ISAD president ever to serve a two-year term (as I remember, this was because the person who would have been president when Dr. Kilgour was Vice President / President-elect became the division’s Executive Director instead).

In a poignant note, the VP when Kilgour was president, and president in 1975-76, was Henriette Avram, whose death shortly before this year’s ALA Annual Conference sparked tributes at the LITA 40th Anniversary Past President’s Breakfast.

I certainly met Dr. Kilgour at that point; I’m not sure whether I’d ever met him before. Meeting him was a pleasure and an honor.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember much about the speech. Due to medical and scheduling issues, the agreement was that speakers would only come up to the podium as they were speaking–but I was sitting on the podium, the lone occupant at a table, paying attention throughout the three speeches. And, of course, not taking notes. I do remember that Dr. Kilgour was warmly received (as were all three speakers).

The field will miss him.

I didn’t attend the ACRL debate on information literacy. Several of those who did have had snarky things to say about it, apparently well deserved. Here’s a follow-up to an earlier post about the session at A Wandering Eyre–not to pick on Jane, but because she writes well and garnered some interesting comments. (The debate’s been debated elsewhere…)

I did go to the LITA debate on the future of search. And left after 15 minutes…

And then recalled that I’ve turned down more than one speaking invitation for a debate format, after accepting one such invitation (one of only three speeches I’ve done that I regard as failures).

I’m less hard-nosed than some. I’ll be on a panel, as long as it’s not a cry-and-response panel, and I’ve been the speaker being responded to by a panel (and don’t much care for it, not because I don’t like disagreement but because I don’t like being required to write a speech in advance and stick with what I wrote…but that requirement is almost essential for responders to work effectively).

The more I think about it, the more I think I just don’t care for debates as content programs. As carnivals/sideshows, sure; bring on the powdered wigs and gongs to cut off the speakers at the 3-minute mark. Cheer, boo, throw vegetables: Just don’t think you’re communicating meaning or changing anyone’s mind.

Actually, for me, this should come as no surprise. I was never a football player (as anyone who’s seen me could guess), but I spent four years in the NFL–the National Forensic League, that is. That’s the high school public speaking association, a good place for geeks like me to spend weekends. I “topped out” point eligibility in debate, impromptu, and extemp, which means I did a lot of debating. And what struck me as the years went on was that NFL debate is a great way to train value-neutral lawyers: That is, you’re required to be equally effective in arguing for and against a set proposition. Crucial to doing that is not believing either side. (One year, I used the same very effective anecdote on both sides of the same issue. That was the year I realized that treating debate as anything other than a stunt was demeaning my personal ethical sense.)

Maybe it’s just me, but maybe not. Disagreement can be good. Serious discussion can, rarely, change minds: I’ve changed my mind thanks to informed discussion. But debates? I think they’re artificial, tend to force extreme positions, and are valuable only as entertainment, not when there’s something serious to be said. At least that’s been my recent experience.

[Not that anyone was planning to in any case, but I guess this serves as a warning that you shouldn't invite me to participate in a debate. I'll turn you down.]

So two minutes after I post a link to the press release saying RLG and OCLC are combining, a colleague sends a link to this.

“This” being that the first major speech I ever gave, more than 13 years ago, is today’s Library Link of the Day. In case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t touch a word of that speech when I loaded it to my personal website in 1999–and haven’t edited it since.

If you’re inclined to read “The death of print…” (it’s a long title), you might also want to read this piece, which I wrote in 1999 at the same time that I added the 1992 Arizona Library Association speech to my personal web site (then on AT&T Worldnet, since disappeared because I moved to SBC Yahoo!, which of course is now AT&T Yahoo!, but…)

For that matter, you might also want to read this–the lengthy handout that accompanied the Arizona speech and was entirely additional material. I also haven’t changed a word of that since 1992.

Anyway, thanks, Library Link of the Day. This was a good day for a surprise blast from/to the past.

Just about a week ago, I opted out of the fight discussion brawl that was kicked off by Jenny Levine’s perfectly reasonable misgivings about being invited to speak [invited, not "having her proposal accepted"] at the 2006 PLA National Conference–and told that, if she was an ALA/PLA member at the time, she’d have to pay at least that day’s conference registration in addition to covering all her own expenses.

I had posted a comment on Levine’s post, noting ALA policy regarding speeches at ALA Annual by ALA members. I also said a lot more in the “opting out” post than really makes sense for a non-post, mostly to provide background.

And, of course, I couldn’t stay entirely away from the discussion–partly because it’s no longer just a discussion about how professional associations should treat members as speakers. It’s gotten much broader than that, including a subtheme of “ALA [hunh!] What is it good for?”

So let’s toss a few more opinions into the ongoing melee set of discussions–although, once again, I’m not going to come down on one side or the other of whether ALA’s policy for its Annual Conference is a reasonable one. (As to whether Ms. Levine’s decision, to hold off on joining ALA and PLA until after the conference because it was silly to be penalized for being a member, was reasonable: Absolutely, in my opinion! But that’s really not a big part of the ongoing discussion.)

• First an admission of error: My comment about policy refers to ALA Annual Conference and speeches within the conference proper. As someone else has pointed out, that policy is not binding on divisions and their events outside ALA Annual, nor is it binding on preconferences. When I was invited to do something I was unwilling to do at a LITA National Forum, it was clear that I would not have to pay registration if I agreed–and I recall fairly strongly receiving expenses and, I believe, an honorarium for keynoting a LITA preconference many years ago. (That may be an erroneous recollection, but I have no doubt that some divisions cover registration at some conferences and that some speakers are at least partially paid or reimbursed for preconferences, just as they are for workshops and other paid events.) So my comment on policy, while correct, was inapplicable: PLA may have chosen to extend that policy but was not, I believe, required to by the parent organization.
• The many motives and arrangements for speaking: I believe Jenny Levine and Steven Cohen have both told us more than they were really obliged to about how they handle speaking situations, just as Jessamyn West has been unusually open about her arrangements. This is all fascinating stuff (although I’m happy that actual dollar amounts don’t get mentioned), but in some ways none of our business. My other post goes into some of those details for me as well, but then, my personal website has always included pretty specific notes about my expectations–because I got tired of the series of messages back and forth needed to clarify things in the past.

Some library people need speaking engagements for promotion or their vita. These are the ones most likely to submit speaking proposals, or get involved in program arrangements and see to it that they are on panels. In general, I don’t believe such speakers expect reimbursement or freebies; their reward is being able to list the presentation.

Similarly, some library people want speaking engagements to establish themselves as experts in a field, or because they have something to say that they desperately feel needs to be heard, or just for egoboo. Nothing necessarily wrong with any of these motives, but here again, these people have strong motivations to speak. If they’re proposing speeches at professional conferences, I wouldn’t be inclined to believe they deserve payment or reimbursement. Once they’ve achieved guru status and are being invited, they may (or may not) fall into another category. (This one’s really tricky…)

Then there are the cases where a speaker’s invited. In general, I think it’s hard to justify inviting someone and then not at least covering their expenses, and almost impossible to justify inviting someone and charging them for the privilege. But even within this second category, people fall into various groups:

Some have solid travel and paid-leave support from their employers as a matter of professional support. Great for them, and great for conference organizers: They can get speakers on the cheap. I would hope that this status never influences organizers’ decisions as to who gets invited, but I’m not quite naive enough to believe that as a general principle.

Some have travel and time support because their employers want them to be out there; see remarks in previous paragraphs.

As for others… some do get time off to speak but feel (properly, I believe) that they should be paid for their efforts. Some get limited or no time off and no travel support; for them, unless they’re independently wealthy or otherwise unusual, expense reimbursement and speaking fees are likely to make or break the situation.

I don’t believe anybody’s getting rich off library conference speaking–at least not from state, regional, and national association conferences. I continue to be stunned by the frequency with which some people speak, although I assume they don’t actually write a new speech for each occasion–but still, travel is wearing and time for yourself can be precious. I’ve never been in the “speaking circuit” category and am happy with that fact. I don’t envy those who are. And I certainly don’t begrudge them the fame–or the payments.

All of which is more than enough about “should speakers get paid?” There are lots of ways to “give back.” Speaking actually isn’t the most efficient way to reach lots of people, although it may reach them in a different manner than writing–but, you know, one of these blog entries probably reaches as many people as any single one of my speeches, and each issue of C&I reaches at least three to five times as many people. Expecting people to speak on their own dime Because They’re Professionals is, well, self-defeating. And if it comes from one of the librarians who does make a six-figure income (yes, there are some of those), it’s perhaps just a little hypocritical as well.

The other thread here is more troubling–in part because I find myself torn. That thread is, as noted above, “ALA, (hunh!), What is it good for?”

I’m truly in an odd position on this one because, for the first 20-25 years of my pseudoprofessional involvement (after all, if it was the American Librarians Association I wouldn’t be eligible for membership, lacking the MLS and all that), I only joined ALA because it was the only way I could belong to ISAD, which became LITA.

That’s changed–to the extent that I thought long and hard before renewing both ALA and LITA memberships. I’m still pretty perturbed by LITA getting to the highest divisional dues without asking for a membership vote, and I’m still not at all certain that I’m getting anything close to $60 worth of benefits from LITA membership. Frankly, if I wasn’t a “previous president,” I might have dropped out–after all, I don’t have to be a LITA member to attend any of the IGs or programs. (And if ALA does increase its dues, I’ll really think long and hard next December…who knows? Maybe I belong in ACRL instead. Or in no division at all.) I know I’ve done my “giving back”–serving nine years as LITA Newsletter editor and declining the expenses support that came with that editorship for 8 of the 9 years, if nothing else.

But what about ALA itself? For me, the justifications for membership may boil down to these:

• I like American Libraries quite a lot, even if they did dump my column; I’d probably pay some significant fraction of the ALA membership fee to keep getting it.
• I regard ALA Washington Office and ALA’s lobbying and legal activities as vitally important and generally productive. ALA is known as an effective lobbyist, and ALA’s efforts in a number of areas have been important–perhaps not personally, but for the things I believe in.
• ALA Annual and Midwinter are, for me, the best occasions to stay in real-world touch with at least several hundred of the few thousand people I’ve become acquainted with in the library field, several hundred of whom I’d call friends. I’m a shy guy and don’t maintain those relationships very well between conferences, but at least I get a chance to get back in touch twice a year. I also value the exhibits, some of the discussion groups, and–once in a while–a program. I’m not ready to substitute “virtual conferences” for the real thing. At least not yet.

Now, if I was in Texas or New York or Wisconsin or Minnesota or Colorado or Alaska or Washington or… I might find that my state library association served that third purpose, and served it better, albeit on a smaller scale. I haven’t gotten along very well with my state association, and I don’t know whose fault that is. But I do think that the national mix has its values.

I think this is more than enough to say. I still don’t hold a firm position on whether ALA’s policy still makes sense. If ALA is becoming irrelevant to GenWhatever, that’s a problem, and it’s not one I can solve. (After all, I’m not willing to serve on ALA Council, although I suspect I could get elected pretty easily…and that’s pure selfishness on my part.)

I think ALA’s good for a number of things. Do those things justify its overall structure and budget? I’m not sure. Is Annual really too big to work very well? Probably…but I’m not sure I much care for the alternatives.

I do know I’m looking forward to Midwinter–not just because it’s in the ideal Midwinter city, but because it’s Midwinter.