Holiday Greetings!

For your viewing pleasure, here are a couple of fantastic finds from the Magruder Family Papers*, which are currently being arranged and described.

Christmas postcard (Image by Petrina Jackson)

Christmas postcard, 1925. (Image by Petrina Jackson)

New Years postcard (Image by Petrina Jackson)

New Years postcard, 1914. (Image by Petrina Jackson)

See you in the New Year!

*Edward May Magruder was a Charlottesville doctor who established a private sanitarium in 1899 at his house on W. Jefferson St. Along with 6 other local doctors, he was one of the founders of Martha Jefferson Hospital in 1902. Magruder’s daughter, Evalina, was the first woman to graduate from the University of Virginia School of Architecture. The Magruder family papers were donated to the University of Virginia by Eleanor Magruder Harris in 2001 when the Magruder house was purchased by Christ Church for use as offices.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This Thanksgiving Day blog post is written by our very own Heather Riser, Head of Reference and Research Services.

We recently discovered this Thanksgiving gem among the Magruder Family Papers*, a large collection that is currently being sorted, arranged, and described in our processing area in Special Collections.

(Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

“Place Cards for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Turkey Dinners/Conundrums” was published by P.F. Volland & Co. of Chicago, a publisher of children’s books and novelty items from 1908 to 1933. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

“Place Cards for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Turkey Dinners/Conundrums” contains twelve turkey-related riddles and an answer key.  Can you guess any of the turkey riddles?

Featured are questions number . The envelope contains 12 cards in total. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Featured are questions number four, six, ten, and eleven. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Answer key (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Answer key (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Whether or not your Thanksgiving dinner requires fancy place cards, we hope you have a happy Thanksgiving!
*Edward May Magruder was a Charlottesville doctor who established a private sanitarium in 1899 at his house on W. Jefferson St. Along with 6 other local doctors, he was one of the founders of Martha Jefferson Hospital in 1902. Magruder’s daughter, Evalina, was the first woman to graduate from the University of Virginia School of Architecture. The Magruder family papers were donated to the University of Virginia by Eleanor Magruder Harris in 2001 when the Magruder house was purchased by Christ Church for use as offices.

 

Preserving Fraternity and Sorority Records: The Legacy of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.

Recently, I had the pleasure of facilitating a workshop on preserving historical records at the 2013 Fall State Meeting of Virginia – Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc (DST).  The sorority, which was founded at Howard University, celebrates its centenary this year.

Each chapter is charged with collecting and maintaining its historical records: its charter, photographs, programs, news clippings, etc.  The purpose of my presentation was to give them direction in doing just that, but moreover to share with them the importance of working with local libraries or archives who specialize in keeping such rich historical materials secure, safe, and accessible for the long run.

Preserving the Legacy workshop attendees, October 2013.  The workshop was held at the Jefferson School City Center in Charlottesville. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Some of the attendees at the Preserving the Legacy workshop, October 2013. The workshop was held at the Jefferson School City Center in Charlottesville. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

At the University of Virginia, we are committed to collecting personal and organizational records of African Americans.  We do not have a DST collection, but we do have materials in other collections that feature the sorority.  For instance, the Records of the Office of the Dean of Students document the relationship among fraternities, sororities, and the University.  It is in these records that you find correspondence from sorority presidents, event documentation, disciplinary records and more.  Sometimes, you find real treasures.

(RG-Image by Petrina Jackson)

Letter from Linwood Jacobs to Sheila Hardy, congratulating her on the founding of Kappa Rho Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta at the University of Virginia, 19 October 1973. (RG-18/2. Image by Petrina Jackson)

The U.Va. yearbook, Corks and Curls, which ran from 1888 to 2008, also provides a window into fraternity and sorority life.

Photograph of U.Va.'s Deltas from the 1975 Corks and Curls (LD. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

U.Va.’s Deltas from the 1975 Corks and Curls (LD5687 .C7. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Another place to look for sorority information is in the personal papers of its members, such as Alice Jackson Stuart.  Jackson Stuart was a Delta from Richmond who was initiated in 1934 at Virginia State College (now University), the oldest Delta chapter in the state.  She was a student at Virginia Union University, which did not yet have a Delta chapter.

Alice Jackson Stuart has the distinction of being the first known African American to apply to the University of Virginia or any white Virginia college for a professional or graduate degree, which she did in 1935.  U.Va. denied her entry, and she questioned this judgement.  The University’s response was that they denied her because of her race and “other good and sufficient reasons.” After her rejection, the state of Virginia passed laws that funded the tuition for African American students to study outside of the state instead of having them desegregate colleges and universities within Virginia.  Jackson Stuart graduated from Columbia University with a Master of Arts degree in 1939.  Almost seventy years after her rejection by the University of Virginia, her son, Judge Julian Towns Houston of Brookline, Massachusetts, gave her papers to the Special Collections Library in 2003.  She finally “entered” the University.

(Image by Petrina Jackson)

Alice Jackson Stuart’s Delta Sigma Theta Sorority certificate, 1934. (MSS 12512. Gift of Julian T. Houston. Image by Petrina Jackson)

(Image by Petrina Jackson)

Alice Jackson Stuart’s sorority memory book, ca. 1934. (MSS12512. Gift of Julian T. Houston. Image by Petrina Jackson).

Although there is a lot to learn from items across our collections related to Delta Sigma Theta and other African American fraternal organizations, we hope to acquire records of  local chapters and individual alumni, ensuring the preservation of their legacy for generations to come.

I would like to give a special thanks to Schwanzetta Aikens, Heritage & Archives Committee Chair of the South Atlantic Region of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. and Charnette Singleton, South Carolina Chair of the South Atlantic Region of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc., who were such warm and outstanding hostesses.  I had a wonderful time!

Curating Yoko Ono

Anyone who has ever curated or installed an exhibition of books and manuscripts knows that these materials are inherently impossible to exhibit effectively. While paintings and sculpture are created with the intention of exhibition, most of the artifacts we hold are not. Visitors can only see one page of any multipage document, and artifacts that were made to be held in one’s hands and experienced intimately are relatively far away, usually behind glass. Curators are always looking for ways to transcend these difficulties. We hem and haw over writing lengthy descriptions in labels. If we have funds, we create high-quality facsimiles of hidden pages or even a “page-turner” digital facsimile of the complete artifact.

Who knew effective display could involve smashing china cups to smithereens?

Here is the curator, hard at work.

Here is the curator, hard at work. (Photo by Alicia Dietrich)

I have just finished installing our latest exhibition, “Magazines Unbound: Periodicals as Art 1942-1983.” This project reveals an unexpected strength in our collections: magazines conceived of as formal artistic experiments in and of themselves. Most of the magazines displayed are gatherings of paper or even objects into folders, envelopes, and boxes, rather than bound as books. This makes them, in some ways, ideal for exhibition.

The 1950s west-coast Beat magazine Semina displays beautifully, since most of its contents are loose sheets. (

The 1950s west-coast Beat magazine Semina displays beautifully, since most of its contents are loose sheets. Shown are most of the contents of Semina 8 being prepared for exhibition (PS 580 .S45, Marvin Tatum Collection of Contemporary Literature. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

But two of the magazines–Aspen and S.M.S.–were venues for conceptual artists in the 1960s, who had a penchant for works of art that remain incomplete without the participation of the reader or viewer. Among the objects included are records and audio and video tapes that need to be played, instructions for writing a poem, templates for boxes that need to be glued together, and a paper doll and candy-wrapper that need to be cut out. What’s a curator to do?

I chose to let all the works stand incomplete with one exception: Yoko Ono’s “Mend Piece for John,” shown below.

Yoko Ono's *****. From S.M.S. 5 (October 1968).

Yoko Ono’s “Mend Piece for John,”. From S.M.S. 5 (October 1968). (N1 .S15, University of Virginia Library Associates Fund. Image by Molly Schwartzburg)

A tube of glue is wrapped with a poem, and attached to a plastic bag with a satin ribbon. Inside the bag is a set of typed instructions:

Take your favorite cup.

Break it in many pieces with a hammer.

Repair it with this glue and this poem.

The poem wrapped around the tube of glue in Ono's piece.

This poem comes wrapped around the tube of glue in Ono’s piece with a rubber band. After unwrapping it to be sure I knew what it included, I took a quick snapshot for reference purposes before carefully rewrapping it. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

How could I resist? A friend was visiting from out of town, so we went out to The Factory, my favorite antique mall out in the Shenandoah Valley, where we selected two cheap but visually appealing teacups. “But wait,” you say. “Didn’t the instructions specify that it be ‘your favorite cup’?” Well…let’s just say I wasn’t ready to make that kind of sacrifice for work. It was still a pretty profound experience.

We prepared to destroy the teacups in my front yard.

We prepared to destroy the teacups in my front yard. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

No tortillas were harmed in the making of this artwork. But it only took one try to shatter each cup. This was the fun part.

No tortillas were harmed in the making of this artwork. It only took one blow to shatter each cup. This was the easy part. (Photo by Alicia Dietrich)

 

The glueing was fun at first, and then we realized how long it was going to take. We had to sit very still holding each piece for at least 15 or 20 minutes before we could safely let it go. So we sat, talked, glued, talked, and mended. It was wonderful.

The glueing was fun at first, and then we realized how long it was going to take. We had to sit very still holding each piece for at least 15 or 20 minutes before we could safely let it go. So we sat, talked, glued, talked, and mended. It was wonderful. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Here's the final view of the item in the exhibition, with all the other materials in S,M.S. 5.

Here’s the final view of the item in the exhibition, with all the other materials in S.M.S. 5. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

I can’t say that visitors to the exhibit will understand the piece fully just because they can view its final result in the cases. But my friend and I discovered that the process itself, even modified, was wonderfully meditative. There is something about mending a cup, slowly and deliberately, that is itself healing, we discovered. Even if the cup is no longer usable. I’ll look forward to taking these results back home after the exhibition comes down.

You can view Ono’s piece in the exhibition “Magazines Unbound: Periodicals as Art 1942-1983” in the First Floor Gallery until January 5, 2014.

Revealing the Mountain Communities of the Blue Ridge: Emmanuel Episcopal Church provides significant Digitization Grant

This week we feature a guest post from Special Collections staff member in Public Services, Margaret Hrabe:

The Small Special Collections Library is proud to announce our successful application for a seed grant to begin to scan our holdings of the periodical Our Mountain Work in the Diocese of Virginia. Published from 1909 to 1954 by the Board of Missions of the Diocese of Virginia, this periodical documents the founding of Episcopal mission churches and schools in the Ragged and Blue Ridge Mountains of Central Virginia by Frederick Neve, Archdeacon of the Blue Ridge. Our Mountain Work is a uniquely rich resource for the study of communities that were little documented at the time. The periodical’s writers had intimate contact with individuals and families who were otherwise extremely isolated. Many of the magazine’s issues predate the establishment of the Shenandoah National Park in 1933, an act that displaced hundreds of families and eradicated many small mountain communities.

Our Mountain Work, v. 1, no. 1 (BV2575 .O813. Image by Petrina)

Our Mountain Work, v. 1, no. 1 (March 1901). (BV2575 .O813. Image by Petrina Jackson)

The grant of $3000 comes from the Endowment Fund of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Greenwood, Virginia. The Emmanuel Endowment Fund Board annually administers grants in “furtherance of exclusively religious, charitable or educational purposes.”  We are grateful to the Board for its support and look forward to having this unique resource made available beyond the underground walls of Special Collections.

Emmanuel Church today. Photograph  by Margaret Hrabe)

Emmanuel Church, 2013. (Photograph by Margaret Hrabe)

U.Va.’s holdings of Our Mountain Work in Special Collections total 370 issues of the over 400 that were published and comprise the largest single collection available to researchers. Smaller collections reside at the Virginia Theological Seminary’s Bishop Payne Library and the Virginia Historical Society. Special Collections will begin the scanning project in early Fall of 2013. The images will be placed in the University of Virginia Library’s digital repository accessible through the online catalog VIRGO.

Frederick William Neve

Frederick William Neve, born in the county of Kent, England, was educated at Merton College, Oxford, and ordained a deacon in 1880 at the abbey church of St. Albans. In 1888, the vestries of St. Paul’s (Ivy, Va.) and Emmanuel (Greenwood, Va.) Churches asked Neve to come to Virginia to serve the needs of their congregations, and he accepted. Neve served as the rector of Emmanuel Church from 1888 to 1905  In 1890, Neve built his first mission church in the Ragged Mountains, St. John the Baptist. Ten years later, he began supporting a teacher at Simmon’s Gap, an isolated community in the Blue Ridge Mountains. This was the beginning of his work with the mountain inhabitants that eventually embraced seven Virginia counties and became the Archdeaconry of the Blue Ridge. As editor of Our Mountain Work, Neve made possible this window in time to the history of Central Virginia during the first half of the twentieth century.

Frederick William Neve, undated (MSS 791. Image by PetrinaJackson)

Frederick William Neve, undated (MSS 791. Image by PetrinaJackson)

Digitization as Preservation

Over the years, U.Va.’s holdings of Our Mountain Work have been accessed by researchers both local and distant for their religious, social, educational, and genealogical significance.  Recently a researcher from Northern Virginia requested photocopies of over 800 pages from the periodical—a request which Special Collections had to decline due to preservation concerns. Many of the original issues have small tears and nearly all were initially folded; consequently, there are crease marks and separations at the folds on a large number of issues.  These preservation issues prompted Special Collections to apply to the Emmanuel Endowment Board for funds to scan the paper issues, so that all interested researchers will have access to these documents without producing further damage to the delicate originals.

This image reveals some of the conservation problems inherent in these ephemeral issues of the magazine. _Our Mountain Work_ 1.3 (November 1911) (BV2575 . 082. Photograph by Petrina Jackson).

This image reveals some of the conservation problems inherent in these ephemeral artifacts. _Our Mountain Work_ 1.3 (November 1911). (BV2575 . 082. Photograph by Petrina Jackson).

Beyond Our Mountain Work

Emmanuel Church and Frederick Neve are well-represented in the holdings of Special Collections beyond Our Mountain Work.  The Papers of Emmanuel Church (MSS 10731, etc.) were initially deposited in Special Collections in 1987 and contain parish registers, 1885-1983; vestry books, 1909-1977; Woman’s Auxiliary minutes, 1871-1972; and financial statements, 1976-1977; written and oral histories. With these are also parish and church service registers of Holy Cross Mission, 1912-1942, a mission church established by Neve near Batesville, Va. Three collections of Neve’s personal papers (MSS 9115, MSS 9970,-a-b, and MSS 10505) give an even more in-depth view of the outreach mission work done by this extraordinary individual.

Observations on the Seventeen-Year Cicada: A Citizen Scientist Reports from 1824

For the last two weeks, I have been, well, geeking out as cicadas have begun appearing in my heavily wooded neighborhood in Charlottesville. I’ve seen two waves of the little beasties emerge from beneath the shrubs outside my cottage, and each time, have immediately documented my sightings online. Social-networking and online-news sources this spring alerted me to two websites that are calling on “Citizen Scientists” to document the emergence, one hosted by Radio Lab and the other by National Geographic.

One of the first cicadas to emerge in my neighborhood in Charlottesville, May 15, 2013.

One of the first cicadas to emerge in my neighborhood in Charlottesville, May 15, 2013. It rests on the branch of an Abelia shrub, under which may be seen numerous circular holes from which this and other cicadas emerged. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Why the big deal? Brood II cicadas (Magicicada septendecim) spend seventeen years living underground before emerging to sing loudly, lay eggs, and then die within about a month. Because of this unusually lengthy life cycle, Brood II cicadas are relatively mysterious to scientists, and a lot of basic questions about their activities remain unanswered. So scientists have been taking advantage of crowdsourcing opportunities to gather information; emergences are spotty (some people will see no cicadas in their yards) and range across hundreds of miles. Projects like the ones I’m participating in will perhaps provide enough data to keep the lab rats busy for, oh, maybe another seventeen years.

I wondered how earlier Virginians experienced cicada emergences, and was thrilled to discover that Special Collections holds a remarkable 200-year-old personal account of a fellow magicicada enthusiast, who wrote his own history of “locusts,” as they were commonly termed in that period. “J. S.” (who felt uncomfortable giving his/her full name to “such a rough draft”) tracked what are now known as Brood II and Brood X, which also emerges every 17 years, and will emerge next in 2021. J. S. explains how careful observation led him to determine that the cicadas feed off the roots of trees while underground (correct!). He also describes with great detail the workings of the female’s “perforator” (now called the “ovipositor”), the mechanism with which she lays her eggs.

J. S.’s  4-page long description of emergences in 1766, 1783, 1800, and 1809 is reproduced here in full, each page first in transcription (with paragraph breaks added and some spelling and punctuation modified for ease of reading), followed by an image of the page. Enjoy!

A short history of the locusts of North America

Several years past some conversation took place between an intimate acquaintance and my self, respecting the locusts. For his information I will throw my Ideas on paper. In the spring of 1766 they made their appearance in Frederick County Virginia and in 1783 the appeared again. Previous to their coming up at this time, I observed the Hoggs were very busy rooting under the Apple trees in the orchard. In a few days the locusts were seen in abundance crawling from the avenues of their subterenious dwellings. A short time after they appeared they were observed to be busily employed in geting released from a covering they had no use for in their present abode. As they appeared to come onely a small distance from the apple trees or the trees of the forrest, I was at a loss for a reason why it was so, and was induced to think that when the eggs they deposited in the small branches of of the trees, were hatched, that the young ones droped down and made their way into the earth, that they remained there a certain number of years. I had heared of several spaces of time mentioned, but there appeared no standard to calculation as to the length of time they remained in the earth, or the depth they decended. All appeared uncertain.

So it passed on untill they came in 1800. The first discovery I then made of their coming was the earth rooted up by the hoggs as heretofore. At this time finding it to be 17 years since their last appearance, it claimed my further attention, and I undertook a more minute investigation of the case. I had an orchard near the house where the trees were planted too close together and some of them had been cut down two or three years before. In conversation with a friend of mine on the subject of the locusts, which appeared in great abundance, we walked into the orchard, and made a prety full examination of their coming out of the earth, and discovered that there was no holes in the ground near the stumps of the trees that had been removed some years previous to that time. This led me to investigate the case further in respect to the means of sustenance & I was now led to believe that they drew their support from the live roots of the trees So I left it until they came the next time.
I was now living In the State of Ohio in the year 1809. In the spring of this year I

First page of A Short History of the Locusts of North America (MSS 9727). (Digitized by Molly Schwartzburg)

First page of A Short History of the Locusts of North America (MSS 9727). (Digitized by Molly Schwartzburg)

I was fencing a garden. I observed in diging the post holes at one corner of the garden, we found many locusts near the Surface, but in the other part we did not discover any. Here the former observation took place. There was the green roots of a shade tree that we had removed, and the locusts were not found further than the roots had spread. This was several years before the time that I expected they would again shew themselves, according to my former calculations, yet I judged we should have another locust year before the time in course. I now made enquiry of some of the former setler that had lived near me, when the locusts had made their appearance last, but none of them appared clear as to the time. And recuring back to the time that I discovered that they did not come up round the dead appletree Stumps, it struck me that it was similar to our not finding any locusts in the holes we dug for the post holes of our garden fence.

This spring the locust came in great abundance. A further examination took place. I took a walk in order to satisfy my curiosity, and after advancing some distance and passing several stumps of trees that had been cut not more than two or three years, and could not find one hole where the locusts had come up, and proceeding on a little further, I discovered one hole, and then another, and casting my eye a little further on, I observed several holes the locusts had made nearly in a straight line. In order to gratify my curiosity a little more, I got a spade and dug till I found the root of an elm tree that was now exactly under the row of holes, the locusts had made, and searching further about the roots of the elm, I discovered there was small open spaces round the roots, where I thought it was at least probable, the locusts had lain and sucked the sap out of the roots. Here they could not have decended more than four or five feet , as the leavel of the creek was not more than that distance.

The knowledge I thought I had gained of their history led me to pry minutely into the manner of their increas. I found that they hatched in a short time after the eggs were deposited in the small branches of the trees, and that they were

Page two.

Page two.

to be found in little clusters on the small lims. In a short time they shed a little coat or shell something similar to that they shed soon after they came out of their [subterenious caverns?.] They shed several of these coverings when they are small of a colour between white and brown. To take hold of them is difficult. They will slip off more like what is calld a flee than any other insect that I know of. They continue on the tender branches of the tree, untill they are something more than half an inch long, and have the resemblance of the locust.

The perforator (as I do not know any name more proper to call it) appears to be perfectly formed at this time for driling the holes in the small branches of the trees where She deposits their eggs. This instrument is about half an inch long and about the thickness of a smallish needle. It is hollow and a seam along the lower part, a little resembling a steel pen, the outer end is shaped a little like the bowl of a spoon with the concave side down, the curved part is brought to a sharp point and both edges are set with sharp teeth so fine that the naked eye can hardly discern them, but when magnifyed appear something like [sickle?] teeth. The motion made with this almost curious instrument in driling the holes is nearly a semicircle and with the little teeth cuting both ways they soon make the hole as deep as the want it.

The egg now appears opening and swelling the tube untill it gets in the concave part, then the egg is deposited and another hole is commenced. So they go on untill they have a douzen or more of eggs in regular order. One end of the first one is [elevated?] about forty degrees, and the next egg is laid part on the first so that they lay in a regular streight line. So beautifully are they aranged that the nicest [illegible?] cant exceed it, and the perforator cant be exceeded by human art. The locust when prepared to decend into the earth as above described, is near three fourths of an inch long, is covered along its back from the hindermost part of the wings to the front of the head, with a hard horny substance perhaps as hard as a cows horn,

Page 3.

Page 3.

and on the foremost part it appears to be formed for diging or penetrating into the earth, (all the work of the great architect) . I think it is likely they ware this armour untill they are nearly ready to leave their house of clay, and about to ascend into the pure and sublime regions of the air. Here their existence is not long in duration. Soon after they arise they shed a coat or covering. It appears to burst on the back and they crawl out, and soon begin their ravages on the tender branches of the fruit and other trees, by piercing them with their small bits and sucking the sap, which appears to be their onely sustenance. I have seen them when about to leave the branch where they have been feeding on, the flow of sap hath been so strong that after the locust leaves the place where he has been feeding the tender juice will run and stand on the branch quite transparent.

There is one more remark that I want to make respecting the locusts. I have found the young locusts more numerous on the branches of the locust trees than any other tree. Whether the locusts took their name from this tree, or the tree from the locusts, I must leave.

It is left now to inform that what is wrote is the result of my own observation which begun with the year 1766—1783—1800—1817 were locust years in Frederick and Loudon, Counties, in Virginia. I once related this circumstance to a friend of mine in whom I could place the greatest confidence and he then informed me, that in the year 1749 his Father removed with his famely from Pensylvania to Loudon County Virginia, and it was a locust year. In the year 1817 the locusts onely reached to the crossings in the Aleghany mountain and in 1809 when we had them in Jefferson Ohio they did not reach Pittsburgh until several years after that time, so it is I believe they have 17 years as a stated period of appearance. What changes may take place hereafter we do not know. I onely state what has been the result of my my enquiry

Thy friend
J. S

My name in full is too much to put to such a rough draft as this 3rd mo 16th 1824

Page 4.

Page 4.

Walter Whitman, before Leaves of Grass

This week, we feature a guest post from Special Collections staff member George Riser:

When Walt Whitman released his ‘idiomatic book of my land’ in 1855, he was thirty-six years old. Leaves of Grass, then twelve untitled poems in free style verse, was fully the work of an author who financed the printing, assisted in the typesetting, designed the extravagant cover, and acted as publisher and salesman. Though praised by Ralph Waldo Emerson in a private letter–“I greet you at the beginning of a great career”–the poems initially bewildered or shocked most early readers, not only in their lack of conventional rhyme and meter, but also in their use “of language and subject matter so coarse and crude as to be not fit for a mixed audience” (Charles Eliot Norton, Putnam’s Monthly: A Magazine of Literature, Science, and Arts, 6 September 1855).  Not all of the critics were so kind. Rufus Griswold in his review in Criterion in November 1855 wrote, “as to the volume itself…it is impossible to imagine how any man’s fancy could have conceived such a mass of stupid filth unless he were possessed of the soul of a sentimental donkey that had died of disappointed love” (Oddly, one of our Library’s copies of the first printings is a presentation to Rufus Griswold). Charles A. Dana, writing in the July issue of The New York Daily Tribune, notes “the poems certainly original in their external form, have been shaped on no pre-existent model out of the author’s own brain. Indeed, his independence often becomes coarse and defiant. His language is too frequently reckless and indecent.”

Can a work of art as original as Leaves of Grass spring out of “no pre-existent model,” simply from “the author’s own brain?” Our library holds twenty-five items that pre-date the first printing of Leaves of Grass in 1855. A look at this publication history can give, in many cases, insight into the genesis of the wild, innovative poems that formed the then revolutionary book of poems.

Whitman’s first published piece, “Death in the School-Room” appeared in The Democratic Review in August 1841. Written when Whitman was 21, the story drew on his experience as an itinerant teacher and was an indictment of what he called “the old-fashioned school-masters with their reliance on discipline and corporal punishment.”

Front cover of The United States Magazine and Democratic Review, (December 1841), which featured Whitman’s story “Bervance: or, Father and Son.” (PS3222 .B47 1841, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

An early poem, “Death of the Nature-Lover,” appearing in Brother Jonathan in March 1843, and attributed to Walter Whitman, uses a strict meter and rhyme, though it employs Whitmanesque themes:

Not in a gorgeous hall of pride

Where tears fall thick, and loved ones sigh,

Wished he, when the dark hour approached

To drop his veil of flesh and die.

The title page from Brother Jonathan, (New York, N.Y.: March 11, 1843) featuring Whitman’s poem, “Death of the Nature-Lover.” (PS3222 .D45 1843, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

Whitman worked for many of the serial publications that printed his early work, usually as compositor, pressman, or editor, including a stint with John Neal, publisher of Brother Jonathan. Neal, a popular novelist of the time, wrote in his 1823 novel, Randolph, “I do, in my heart, believe we shall live to see poetry done away with–the poetry of form I mean–of rhyme, measure, and cadence.…poetry will disencumber itself of rhyme and measure and talk in prose–with a sort of rhythm, I admit,” lines that Whitman seemingly took to heart.

Whitman’s “Death of the Nature-Lover” as it appeared in Brother Jonathan, above. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

Ralph Waldo Emerson contributed to many of the same publications as Whitman, and called upon American writers to “strike an original relation with the universe.’”Whitman took heed, writing, ‘”I was simmering, simmering, simmering; Emerson brought me to a boil.”

Whitman also worked for and contributed to The Broadway Journal at the time it was owned and edited by Edgar Allan Poe. The 29 November 1845 issue features a piece by Whitman, “Art-singing and Heart-singing,” that gives credit to a popular, though low, American singing style. In the November 20 issue of the same year, Poe responding to criticisms of a recent poetry reading, takes issue with a number of critics (to one: “we advise her to get drunk, too, and as soon as possible—for when sober she is a disgrace to her sex—on account of being so awfully stupid”), and ends with “a note to correspondents – ‘Many thanks to W.W.’”  Whitman may have learned a lesson in withstanding critical condemnation from Poe, who spent his editorial career inviting invective.

The opening lines of Whitman’s essay, “Art-Singing and Heart-Singing,” printed in The Broadway Journal, (November 29, 1845). This issue was edited by Edgar Allen Poe. (PS3222 .A7 1845, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photo  by Molly Schwartzburg.)

Poe thanks correspondents for their assistance in his “Editorial Miscellany,’ for The Broadway Journal issue, (November 22, 1845), including ‘W.W.,’ purportedly Walt Whitman. (PS3222 .A7 1845, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

 

Poe and Whitman were linked more than once in professional publications. In this image, we see editor Thomas Dunn English thank collaborators, including Edgar A. Poe and Walter Whitman, in the opening pages of the March 1845 issue of The Aristidean. (A 1846 .A75, Tracy W. McGregor Library of American History. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

In 1942, Whitman published his only full length novel, Franklin Evans or The Inebriate: A Tale of the Times in Park Benjamin’s paper, The New World. Franklin Evans was a novel of temperance that was an embarrassment to Whitman in his old age, but reflected an early concern for alcoholism, which may have affected his father and his brother-in-law. It is also a theme that appears in later editions of Leaves of Grass, though lacking the sensationalist style popular at that time.

The front cover of The New World (New York, N.Y.: 1842) featuring the first printing of Walt Whitman’s Franklin Evans; or, The Inebriate. A Tale of the Times. (PS3222 .F7 1842, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photo by Molly Schwartzburg.)

These are but a few examples of Whitman’s early writings that can give insight into the origins of the remarkable book of poems, Leaves of Grass.

In closing, we include a passage from that volume’s first edition, and one last contemporary commentary:

Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a kosmos, disorderly, fleshly, and sensual, no sentimentalist, no stander above men or women or apart from them, no more modest than immodest…

–Leaves of Grass

Walt Whitman is a printer by trade, whose punctuation is as loose as his morality, and who no more minds his ems than his p’s and q’s.

–Anonymous from The Washington Daily National Intelligencer, (18 February 1856)

 

The Taxman: What a Founder, a Poet, and a Fascist Have in Common

Tax records are probably the last thing you would think that Special Collections libraries possess. However, along with our many books, photographs, letters, drawings, and more, the Albert and Shirley Small Special Collections Library has financial records, such as tax materials, in its many collections documenting the life and work of people and their businesses.  These records document how citizens pay the government for services and benefits, and as such reveal much about those citizens’ work, but they also serve a secondary use: for instance, a tax form close at hand might become the surface for a draft of a literary work.  This post shows both utilities of these most ubiquitous records through their use by the famous–and infamous.

Imagining Thomas Jefferson’s Debt and Wealth Through Sheriff Ledgers

In colonial Albemarle County, Virginia, as in some other Virginia counties, the sheriff collected taxes.  Thomas Jefferson, as a major plantation and slave owner, was, of course, not exempt from these taxes.

Image of Thomas Jefferson, engraved by T. Johnson from the painting by Gilbert Stuart. (MSS 5845. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

During the American Revolutionary War, Nicholas Hamner was the Sheriff of Albemarle County.  As a duty of his office, he kept a ledger of all of the citizens who owed and paid taxes in the county.  We hold one of those ledgers, dated from 1782-1783, the last two years of the Revolutionary War.  Shown here is the tax assessment for Thomas Jefferson.  Jefferson was taxed on his land and moveable property, including his slaves and cattle.  He also had to pay a parish levy, which covers ministers’ salaries, church upkeep, and aid to the poor and orphans:

Nicholas Hamner’s Sheriff’s Ledger for the assessment of taxes in Albemarle County, Va. for the year 1782, opened to the page spread numbered 49. The last entry on the spread is Thomas Jefferson. On the verso (left) is the list of debts/taxes he has to pay, while on the recto (right) is the list of tax credits/payments he has made. (MSS 3455. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Detail of Jefferson’s debt or taxes owed for the year 1782.  The taxes were all assessed in British Pounds. Here you can see that Jefferson has to pay a land tax, a poll tax for two white males, a property tax on 129 slaves, 23 horses and six wheels.  He also has to pay parish levies, which defrays the cost of ministers, upkeep of the churches, and aid to the poor and orphans.  Further research might explain how or why he was assessed for the named people on the list, such as Mary Moore. (MSS 3455. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Detail of Jefferson’s credits or payment of his taxes for  1782.  On September 18, 1782, 12 days after the death of his wife Martha, Jefferson paid part of his taxes by cash.  He also paid by way of George Nicolson and W. Nicolson; a tax historian might be able to explain this detail.  Jefferson has a zero balance by April of the following year 1783.

Seeing the Evolution of Walt Whitman’s Poetry Through His Chosen Surface: Tax Forms

Poet Walt Whitman lived, worked as a journalist, and wrote poetry in New York during the 1840s and 1850s.  It is here that he composed his poems for the third edition of Leaves of Grass.  He wrote his poems on scraps of paper. Some of the paper were melon-colored, while others were plain, and still more were actual tax forms from the city of Williamsburgh (Brooklyn).  Whitman worked in a print shop as well as at the Brooklyn Times, so it is likely the paper was produced as part of a job printing at one of his places of employment.  The Special Collections Library holds a number of handwritten poetry drafts on these particular tax forms, as part of the massive fragmentary draft for the third edition of Leaves of Grass, one of the cornerstones of the Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature.  Fredson Bowers, bibliographer and professor of English at the University of Virginia from 1938 to 1975, used all manner of physical evidence available to him in these artifacts to reconstruct the manuscript’s likely original order.

Engraving of Walt Whitman from the frontispiece of the third edition, first issue of Leaves of Grass (PS 3201. 1860 copy 4, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Whitman drafted his poems on all different scraps of paper, including the backs of tax forms from the City of Williamsburgh [Brooklyn, NY].  During the 1850s, Whitman worked at a printing shop and the Brooklyn Times newspaper, where it is likely that they did many job printings, including these tax forms.  This featured manuscript copy of a poem, written on the back of the tax form, would later become part of the third edition of Leaves of Grass. (MSS 3829, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Detail of tax form on which Whitman wrote some of his poems for the third edition of Leaves of Grass. (MSS 3829, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Reading Hitler’s Rise Through His Falling Taxes

Oron Hale was an historian, University of Virginia professor, U.S. Army Major with the Intelligence Division of the War Department during World War II, and Commissioner for Bavaria with the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany. During his government service in Germany, he witnessed first-hand the rise of Hitler and National Socialism in Europe; after the war he took part in a special mission of the U.S. War Department’s Historical (Shuster) Commission in Germany, interrogating the surviving defeated leaders of the Third Reich, including Hermann Göring, Wilhelm Keitel, Karl Dönitz, and Joachim von Ribbentrop among others.

The Oron Hale Papers at the Special Collections Library include his personal and office correspondence, manuscripts of his published writings, records relating to his academic activities and government service in Germany, and declassified intelligence reports.  One unexpected, and fascinating component of the collection is the set of contemporary photostats of Adolf Hitler’s tax returns from 1925 through 1935, which were among the documents seized by the Allies during the war.

Photograph of Oron J. Hale, ca. 1942.  At the time of this photograph, Hale was a U.S. Major, serving with the Intelligence Division of the War Department General Staff in Washington. (MSS 12800-a. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Hitler’s taxes show his metamorphosis from struggling writer to powerful–and financially well-off–dictator in a relatively short amount of time.

First page of Hitler’s completed 1925 tax forms. Here you can see his signature and the statement of his profession as writer (Schriftsteller) from Munich (München). He owns no real estate property. (MSS 12800-a. Photograph by Petrina Jackson.)

On page 3 of Hitler’s 1925 tax form, Hitler’s property tax declaration is limited to one writing desk and two bookshelves with books. The combined cost of those items was 1000 Reichsmark. (MSS 12800-a. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Signed, final page of Hitler’s 1925 tax forms. (MSS 12800-a. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Here are some other points of interest in his tax files found in notes, translated by Hale, from Hitler’s tax files:

In 1925, Hitler buys a motor-car II A 6699 in February 1925 for 20.000 Reichsmark (RM), but must explain to the tax office where he got the money for this purchase. He responds that he borrows it from a bank.  In this year he also asks for an extension to pay his taxes by installments.

In 1933, the Minister of Finance makes a decision that Hitler is not to pay any income tax on his fees as Reichskanzler (chancellor of the empire).

In 1934, The Reichsminister of Finance decides that Hitler may deduct 50% of his income as propaganda costs.

The final translated note is from Dr. Lizius (senior finance government official and manager of finances for Munich-West), and it reads:  “On Febr. 25, 1935 President Mirre called me by telephone and said, that Staatssekretär Reinhardt had informed the Führer of the apprehension concerning his exemption from taxation as Head of the State and that the Führer dealt the opinion of Herr Mirre and Reinhardt.  The order, that the Führer should be tax-free, thereby would be final.  Upon that I withdrew all records of the Führer from the ordinary business performance and put them under lock.”

These documents–and those of Thomas Jefferson and Walt Whitman–are a very particular kind of historical evidence, and our collections are replete with other fascinating examples. Who knew tax records weren’t just mundane frustrations we are happy to file away as quickly as possible each year? And who knows what stories our own tax forms might tell someday?

***

I would like to extend a special thanks to Chad Wellmon, assistant professor of Germanic languages and literatures for helping me by translating into English the German tax documents.

I would also like to give a special thanks to my colleagues Heather Riser, Special Collections’ head of reference and research services, and Donna Stapley, Assistant to the Special Collections director, for their research help with interpreting the 1782 Sheriff’s ledger.

 

The Great and Powerful Baum and Denslow

Before the 1902 Broadway stage production, the 1939 MGM movie, the 1974 African-American retelling The Wiz, the 1995 parallel novel of the witches’ stories, Wicked, and Disney’s Oz the Great and Powerful (which, by the way, is bringing in profits worthy of all of the riches of the Emerald City) there was the children’s novel, The Wonderful Wizard of OzThe Wonderful Wizard of Oz was written by L. Frank Baum, illustrated by W. W. Denslow, and published by the George M. Hill Company in 1900.

Special Collections houses a number of remarkable Oz-related items, including several copies of the first edition of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, of which two are presentation copies from the author: one with sweet notes to his son and one to a colleague’s child.

Featured is a first edition, first issue of the book with its original light green cloth cover, stamped in dark green and red. The newest film invents a backstory for the cowardly lion. (PS3503.A9228 W6 1900, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Baum inscribed a special message to a young reader on the endpaper of this first edition of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The boy was likely the son of the illustrator Frank VerBeck, who illustrated Baum’s book, The Magical Monarch of Mo. To VerBeck, he writes, “The author presents his compliments to his young friend, Frank VerBeck, Jr., and assures him there are plenty of Wizards like Oz in the world, who may be easily ‘discovered’ if one keeps his eyes open. L. Frank Baum. Chicago Aug 15-1900.” (PS3503.A9228 W6 1900, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

 

Page 63 of this first edition is inscribed “To ‘Earle’ With my most sincere regards From M.G.M’s cowardly Lion Bert Lahr.” (PS3503.A9228 W6 1900, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

L. Frank Baum wrote eighteen books and short stories about the world of Oz.  Special Collections has several first and early editions of sixteen of the Oz series books, and many of them have the bookplate of Roland Baughman, who was a collector of L. Frank Baum first edition books, manuscripts, correspondence, and original drawings of “Oz” illustrators.  Columbia University’s Special Collections holds the Roland Orvil Baughman Collection about L. Frank Baum, 1871-1961.  Baughman served as the head of Columbia University’s Special Collections Department from 1946 until his death in 1967.

Here is a sampling of the dozens of first and early editions of L. Frank Baum’s “Oz” books in our stacks. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Our Oz materials are not limited to first-edition books: also to be found are the screenplay from the 1939 MGM movie, items related to the “Oz” stories, and books and drawings of its first illustrator, W. W. Denslow.

Our Baum holdings also include movie magic! A horizontal view of the stacks shows the screenplays of the 1939 movie, The Wizard of Oz, and MGM’s copies of the early Broadway production, for which the musical was based. (Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

The Map of the Marvelous Land of Oz is the first printed map of Oz and appeared as the endpapers of Baum’s 8th Oz book, Tik-Tok of Oz ,1914. Note where Dorothy’s house fell in Munchkin Country, aka Munchkinland. Special Collections owns an unusual loose copy of the map. Viewers of the most recent Oz film will recognize Quadling Country, since the Quadlings play an important role in the new film’s plot. (PS3503.A9228 T3821, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

W. W. Denslow’s Pictures from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. (PS3503.A9228 W66, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Denslow collaborated with Baum on four books, including the first of the Oz series, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Father Goose, His BookFather Goose was a true collaboration between the author and the illustrator and resulted in a bestselling children’s book of nonsensical poetry and stylized characters.  The same company that produced The Wonderful Wizard of Oz published Father Goose in 1899.  Its success helped to make the Wizard of Oz possible.

Perhaps the most important Oz-related materials in Special Collections have nothing to do with Oz itself, but with Father Goose, for which original Denslow drawings reveal the book’s design:

This is the original painting by W. W. Denslow of the cover art of L. Frank Baum’s Father Goose, His Book. With its pudgy characters, it appears that the drawing was made for a book with a “landscape” orientation. (MSS 10064, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Here we see that the characters on the cover of Father Goose, His Book have evolved from Denslow’s original painting. The characters are much more elongated, and the book was published in “portrait” format. The copy shown is the second edition, published in 1899. (PS3503.A9228 F3 1899, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

Also in Special Collections is the original pen and ink drawing of the back cover of Father Goose, His Book, accompanied by the marvelous Father Goose figure that appears on the endpaper. (MSS 10064, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

We end with the end of the book, its cover at least! (PS3503.A9228 F3 1899, Clifton Waller Barrett Library of American Literature. Photograph by Petrina Jackson)

In this age of sophisticated digital special effects, we hope you have enjoyed this trip back to the not-so-distant, but definitely magical, land of Baum and Denslow.

How to make miniature book mounts with everyday library supplies: An Amateur’s Guide

When you apply for a job as a Special Collections curator, the required skills do not include “arts and crafts.” But an ability to work with your hands comes in handy, so to speak, especially when it comes to putting on small exhibitions on short notice. One of my favorite parts of the job is learning new and unexpected skills that help me to share our collections–especially when it means I get to play around with paper.

London Almanack for the Year of Christ 1791 ([London]: Printed for the Company of Stationers, [1790]. (Lindemann 04137, Photo by Molly Schwartzburg).

This week, I was thrilled to receive a quick and dirty lesson on how to make these simple but effective display cradles, courtesy of our book conservator, Eliza Gilligan. After some mumbled curses and false starts, I had soon produced half a dozen mounts that I believe would make her proud. If you’d like to display your own miniature books, take my lead and follow Eliza’s instructions, which are straightforward and allow you to leave your book safe on the shelf for almost the entire process.

Step One: Gather Supplies

Photo by Molly Schwartzburg

Gather your supplies: rulers, bone folder, scissors, 20-point acid-free board (the weight used to make most collection housings), thin poly strap, narrow double-sided tape, and scissors. You’ll also need a photocopy machine. To get a nice clean cut when you slice your board, I recommend using a board shear, but scissors and a ruler will work in a pinch. Oh, you’ll also need a little book. Please note that these instructions apply only to miniature books, and may not succeed with larger books.

Step Two: Make your Template

Consult with your conservator to determine a safe and healthy opening angle for your book. Hold the book open at this angle, standing upright in your photocopier, so the angle is visible to the camera. Place a straight-edge where the base of the item will be, and photocopy the book. I also included the call tag in my images, since I was photocopying several books at once and didn’t want to get them mixed up.

You’ll end up with an image that looks something like this:

Photo by Molly Schwartzburg

Step Three: Prep your board

Cut a generous strip of board to the exact height of your miniature book. It must be the exact height so you do not place stress on the book’s edge when you strap it to the cradle later in the process. Don’t skimp on length until you know what you’re doing. The shortest of these pieces is plenty long.

Lots of minis, ready to go.  (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Step Four: Make Your Six Folds

OK, now for the fun part. Put your miniature book somewhere safe (the little devils are easy to lose track of!) and clear your workspace. You will now use your photocopy as a template to determine the placement first for the binding to rest, and then for each of the six folds you will create.

Start by marking on either side of the spine–that is, whatever you do not want to rest on an angled surface. Then, use your ruler to mark a line that comes down at a 90-degree angle from just inside the edge of the book’s angled cover. If you line it up with the cover of the book exactly, your cradle will stick out and disrupt the view. Also be sure to keep your lines square with the top and bottom edge of the board. If you do not keep it square at all times, your cradle will be cocked.

Yes, those wavy lines were made with a ruler. I’m a bit embarrassed, but honesty is the best policy. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Fold up. I recommend using a heavy metal ruler for a nice solid edge. The board is stiff, so you’ll have to fudge with your lines to get the fold to rest exactly where you want it to (if this doesn’t make sense to you, try it and I think you’ll see what I mean). Folding is not an exact science. Did you remember to keep it squared up?

Don’t let that pesky cork get in the way of an accurate fold! Turn your ruler upside down for the best result. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Use your bone folder sharpen the edge of your fold.

I don’t know which paper tool I love more: the board shear or the bone folder. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

After you make your first fold, place it over the template to mark the next one, then flatten your paper and mark a fold line, and fold again. Be sure to mark on the inside of your board, since all your marks will fold inward. If this is too difficult, you can mark on the outside and then transfer the mark to the inside.

Be sure that this first fold is at a 90-degree angle when you make your mark for the next fold. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

You will make three folds on each side. Return to the first image in the blog post if you need a reminder of your final goal. Don’t try to keep the first or second fold in place as you go–just turn the whole strip of paper around the template image as you work. You will need to trim excess paper off as you prepare to make your final fold. Be careful not to cut off too much–you’ll want a generous piece to tape to the base. Here’s what you’ll end up with.

Photo by Molly Schwartzburg

Step Five: Adhere Double-sided Tape

Place a line of tape on each of your final sections, on the outer side of your cradle. Fold in and adhere, being sure that your final fold lines up with your spine markers.

Double-sided tape before final placement. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

The next picture shows what your cradle will look like. Actually, it should look a lot better, as this was my first effort. Overall, this cradle is correctly assembled, but you can see the signs of my inexperience. On the right hand side, I did not achieve a right angle in my first fold, probably because I marked my folds inaccurately. The right side was not adhered squarely either; you can see that the folded section of board is not lined up with the edge of the base. As a result, the entire cradle is slightly cocked. I was less than consistent in my use of the bone folder, so the right-angle fold on the left is not solid. Finally, I made a marking error for my final fold on the left, resulting in an extra fold that had to be flattened out. You should expect to make all these errors and more your first time out!

So did I keep this first try for posterity? No way. Into the recycling bin it went. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Step Six: Strap Your Book

Place your miniature book in its cozy new cradle and strap it in, adhering the strap to the cradle. Most regular books require multiple straps to remain safely in a cradle without putting pressure on the text block, but many miniature books are very lightweight and only require one piece of thin strapping on each side. Use your judgment.

Double-sided tape adheres the strapping to your cradle. If you work in a shared space, be prepared to muffle your curses as you try to make this final step, as your fingers will seem too big and the spaces too small to ever get it all in place. Patience, grasshopper. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Step Seven: Admire Your Final Product!

This elegant little almanac is ready to go into the exhibition case, accompanied by its original matching carrying sleeve. Squee! (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

Warning: miniature cradle-making is addictive. (Photo by Molly Schwartzburg)

I hope this little tutorial is useful to you. Please let us know in the comments if you decide to use it for your own projects. Many thanks to Eliza Gilligan for her expert guidance. Now, go forth and fold!