By Michael Gorman
From his earliest interpreting thoughts in wartime Britain via 5 a long time of librarianship, eminent librarian and previous ALA President Michael Gorman deals insights from his striking profession during this new memoir. Gorman relates his own trip in prose that's via turns fascinating, opinioned, and revealing. He made might be his most important contribution to librarianship as editor of the 1978 Anglo- American Cataloguing ideas, an important improvement that gets specified consciousness right here. The debates and arguments that will form expert perform for future years are dramatically offered, with a bright solid of characters together with best librarians from continents. Broken Pieces, Gorman s account of being at the entrance traces of the various most crucial judgements made in librarianship in the course of his profession, is a well timed and unique learn.
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Extra resources for Broken Pieces: A Library Life, 1941-1978
I was, even at that age and like many a schoolboy then and since, fascinated by the Lady’s taut, shiny, bare body. Last, the Franks were very hospitable. They lived in a small flat in a house at the end of a long road that led to the tube station. The flat was overfurnished, replete with lace doilies, stuffed chairs, bibelots, and framed pictures. Mr. Frank was a tall, silver-haired, well-dressed man with bright blue eyes and a strong German accent. Mrs. Frank was also very German and always, at least on Saturday morning, wore a floral pinafore over her frock.
Radio, in those pre-television days, was as good a way of escape as reading. Above all, I loved the dramas and serials provided by the BBC, but also looked forward to the regular comedies and music request programs. We had a large wooden Marconi radio with a dark mesh behind the fluted art deco front and dark brown Bakelite knobs. Behind and strictly forbidden, the Mullard valves glowed amid the wires until they broke and the radio was silenced—a fairly frequent occurrence. I remember building a “crystal set” with the help of a fellow pupil called Damian Murphy (his help must have been substantial as I was then and am now almost completely manually inept) and lying in the dark fiddling with the “cat’s whisker” to pull in the scratchy, patchy reception of the BBC Home Service.
I do remember two incidents that impressed me deeply and are with me today after many decades. At some point in my teens, I believe after I started work in 1957, I went with my friend Vincent Smith to stay with my uncle Jack’s family in Hans Hill Farm for a week. One evening, Vincent and I walked to a local pub that served Flowers beer (then a highly prized local brew). ). It was a transcendent moment of silence and light. 1 9 5 2 – 1 9 5 7 â•… •â•…37 In the early 1960s, I set off in the spring with my school friend, Bryan “Mac” McEnroe, to walk the Roman Road between Salisbury and Dorchester.