Professionalizing library education, the California connection: James Gillis, Everett Perry, and Joseph Daniels.

ABSTRACT

This article explores the debates among library science educators in the decade prior to the publication of the Williamson Report in 1923. It explores the lives and work of three prominent California library administrators and educational pioneers: Everett Perry at the Los Angeles Public Library, Joseph Daniels at the Riverside Public Library, and James Gillis, California State Librarian. Perry, Daniels, and Gillis developed innovative and distinctive library training programs at their respective institutions, and in the process they engaged in vigorous, often contentious, correspondence over their educational philosophies and goals and how library education should develop in the future. Their debates reflected current issues in the emerging profession, while their actions prefigured many of the recommendations of the Williamson Report, most notably the transferal of library training to the university. While none of these pioneering library science programs in California have survived, they represent a critical stage in the professionalization and legitimization of library science as an academic discipline.

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Between 1914 and 1920,Joseph Daniels corresponded with the Carnegie Corporation to seek funding for his popular, yet impoverished, training program at the Riverside Public Library (RPL). Each time, Carnegie officials adamantly refused Daniels's entreaties, explaining that the corporation "is putting up Library Buildings--not schools and museums" (Unpublished letter from James Bertram to Joseph Daniels, August 19, 1915, RPL). (1) By 1919 the refusals were less pointed, as changes in Carnegie funding initiatives were impending, though Carnegie Corporation executive secretary James Bertram did advise Daniels that the corporation was "not likely to consider the case of any individual school until it has first investigated the subject of library schools throughout the country." However, added Bertram, the corporation currently "has in view such an inquiry" (Unpublished letter from Bertram to Daniels, January 17, 1919, RPL). This inquiry, of course, became the comprehensive evaluation of American library schools by Charles C. Williamson conducted for the Carnegie Corporation between 1919 and 1921, now generally referred to as the "Williamson Report."

In compiling his data, Williamson had very carefully scrutinized RPL's school. As he noted in his report Training for Library Work (1921/1971), since Daniels was already seeking a Carnegie endowment, "a special effort [was made] ... to understand the significance of the Riverside School well enough to make recommendations" (p. 207). Williamson not only personally interviewed trustees, faculty, townspeople, and alumni, he also consulted with prominent California librarians and educators nationwide. Tragically, on September 16, 1921, while Williamson was readying his report for submission, Daniels died of a stroke. Upon hearing of Daniels's unexpected death, Williamson rewrote his recommendations, devoting an entire chapter to library education in California.

Initially, admitted Williamson, he had considered a temporary endowment for the Riverside Library Service School: "I visited Riverside and, in common with everyone else who crosses Mr. Daniels' threshold, I was captivated by his genius and struck with admiration for the large place he had made for himself and his library in the community and in the affection of a host of friends in Riverside" (1921/1971, pp. 207-208). On the other hand, Williamson had little positive to say about the library school, dismissing it as "not much more than apprentice, or a 'learn by doing' method." Nevertheless, declared Williamson, "I left Riverside feeling that a year spent in that environment, no matter what the character of the formal instruction, would be excellent preparation for service in small town and rural libraries" (p. 208).

Williamson allowed that he had been mindful that his recommendation of a temporary Carnegie endowment for RPL would be controversial and also feared that it would have "sharpened the antagonism within the state and done little to promote the best interests of the library movement in California or elsewhere" (p. 211). And yet, confessed Williamson, Daniels's "inspiration and genius" had caused him to deviate from "what I consider the proper principles to be followed for all library schools" (p. 207). Daniels's death had obviously permitted Williamson to see the situation in an enlarged and more prudent perspective. "Mr. Daniels," reflected Williamson,

   was an insurgent, always spectacular and always flouting every,
   suggestion of professional or educational standards. To most
   forward-looking librarians an endowment for Mr. Daniels' school
   would have seemed like approval of his attacks on certification of
   librarians and his studied disregard of the aims and purposes of the
   Association of American Library Schools.... With Mr. Daniels removed
   from the Riverside situation I can see no reason whatever for even
   the temporary subsidy. No one can take his place. (1921/1971,
   pp. 211-212)

Having made this revision, Williamson's 1921 report made two key recommendations with regard to California library education. First, it advised the Carnegie Corporation to support the fledgling Library Science Department at the University of California, Berkeley, which had subsumed the California State Library School in 1920. Second, it suggested that Los Angeles Public Library's school also be subsidized, providing it be relocated to the new University of California campus in Los Angeles (p. 214).

Quite apart from its funding recommendations, the chapter on California in the 1921 Williamson Report brilliantly captured the vibrant, competitive atmosphere of library education in the state. Boasting of a library training program in Los Angeles as early as 1891, by 1914 the state supported three fully operational library science programs competing for students, notable instructors, and national recognition. This article will explore the origins and development of these pioneering California schools, focusing on the contributions of their architects: James Gillis of the California State Library; Everett Perry of the Los Angeles Public Library; and Joseph Daniels at the Riverside Public Library. In developing their educational programs, Gillis, Perry, and Daniels engaged in vigorous, often contentious, correspondence over their educational philosophies and goals and how library training should progress in the future. Their dialog reflected current issues in professional education, while their actions prefigured many of the recommendations of the Williamson Report. Well before Williamson articulated his vision for library education, these men were debating the qualifications of faculty and students, curricular standards, and the value of a university education. Yet their contributions to emerging professional standards have been eclipsed by more famous library educators in the East. This article seeks to bring Gillis, Perry, and Daniels out of obscurity and to add California to the history of the professionalization of library science.

JAMES GILLIS AND THE CALIFORNIA STATE LIBRARY SCHOOL

James Louis Gillis was an unlikely champion of librarianship, yet during his two decades as California State Librarian he was among the profession's foremost advocates. Born October 3, 1857, in Richmond, Iowa, Gillis experienced a rootless childhood as his family drifted to California. His father, Charles, pursued a series of occupations during the odyssey: in 1861 he was a hotelier in Empire, Nevada; 1863 found Charles teaming in Carson City. The Gillises next moved to California, where Charles tried farming in Sacramento, Saratoga, and San Jose, before finally settling in Sacramento in 1871. There James enrolled in a private Lutheran school, dropping out at fourteen to be a messenger boy for the Sacramento Valley Railroad Company, a Southern Pacific subsidiary. He remained with the railroad for the next twenty-two years, rising to the rank of assistant superintendent. Ill health that one biographer attributed to the bitter Pullman railroad strike of 1894 precipitated Gillis's "retirement" the next year when he was only thirty-seven years old (James Gillis Bio File, n.d., CSL). (2)

By the time he left the railroad, Gillis had become active and well-known in Republican party circles. His political connections paid off in 1895 when he was made archivist for the Office of the Secretary of State. Over the next few years Gillis held several political appointments, including clerk of the Ways and Means Committee and deputy California state librarian. In 1899 Gillis was appointed California State Librarian.

On the surface, Gillis's interest in the State Library is curious. According to librarian Anne Margrave:

   His sense of humor made him joke a little at himself as State
   Librarian, considering his limited education and his previous
   experience, which had had little indeed to do with libraries. He had
   laughed heartily, he said, when someone first suggested that he seek
   the appointment [as State Librarian]. But as he thought it over, he
   began to think it would be rather a good job to bring order out of
   chaos, which was the condition then of the California State Library.
   (James Gillis Bio File, August 1, 1957, CSL)

Gillis had other, more compelling reasons for seeking the post of State Librarian. He knew firsthand the lack of books and libraries in remote regions of the state, and he felt that the State Library should provide service to all Californians, not just government officials in the capital. Very much a Californian in perspective, Gillis also wanted a state library system that reflected California's exceptional history and character. So while he came to increasingly respect eastern professional standards and practices, he always firmly believed that California libraries must respond to the state's Hispanic roots, shifting populations, and unique sociopolitical conditions.

If Gillis had a clear vision of what he wanted to accomplish as California State Librarian, he also had a genius for getting things done. In designing a statewide library program he was experimental, flexible, and not tied into the status quo. Carma Zimmerman, California State Librarian between 1951 and 1972, commented that Gillis's administration "had a restless, experimental spirit" (quoted in Murray, 1957, p. 639), and this spirit freed his librarians to attempt new and ambitious projects. Gillis was just as willing to drop a program or policy when it outlived its usefulness or proved ineffective.

Gillis was not a charismatic leader, but his political experience and connections enabled him to maneuver skillfully within the state's political machine. Moreover, his confidence, creative energy, and personal warmth attracted people to his ideas and made them want to become a part of his plans. Colleagues often commented on Gillis's "innate kindness," "easy friendliness," and great sense of fun (James L. Gillis Recalled, 1957, p. 702). As the Assistant State Librarian Milton Ferguson warmly portrayed his superior:

   J. L. Gillis died a few months before he reached his sixtieth year,
   but he never grew old, he never was set and rigid in his way of
   thinking. He looked out upon life with all the enthusiasm and
   interest of a young crusader. Disappointments and setbacks in the
   realization of his plans never soured him, never made him cynical,
   never rendered him less hopeful that in the end right things would
   prevail and flourish.... There was something magical in the way he
   shook your hand: a firm grip gave you a message of hopefulness, of
   buoyancy, of determination. (1917b, p. 444)

Gillis transformed the State Library during his lengthy administration, refashioning it from an exclusive, underused gentlemen's club since its inception in 1850 into a thriving legislative research agency. He instituted many innovative statewide programs, including services to the blind, traveling libraries, and a California union catalog to support interlibrary loan. He started the California history resource center and devised a plan to collect and disseminate state documents. Gillis also served nine terms as president of the California Library Association (1906-9;1911-15), energizing the small regional group into a united political force. His crowning achievement, however, was the county library system, which brought books and librarians to thirty-six counties throughout the state (Conmy, 1961; Brewitt, 1953).

In one of the many tributes to Gillis's achievements, Grace Murray commented that he "took the State Library out of politics" (1957, p. 638). Although a political appointee himself, Gillis believed that libraries needed trained professionals managing their services and collections. Therefore, his county library-enabling legislation stipulated that only "certified librarians" would be hired, the first such requirement in the United States. Certification was loosely based on education, library experience, knowledge of California, executive ability, and general personality. More "specific requirements" would be determined later (Gillis, 1911, p. 150). Gillis soon found that the supply of "certifiable" librarians could not meet the needs of his burgeoning county library system. He also concluded that county librarians required more than on-the-job experience. They needed technical training and an in-depth knowledge of California history, demographics, and politics. His solution was to train the librarians himself.

Gillis planned to create the State Library School, similar to the influential program in New York, as part of the county library legislation. Failing in this objective, he lobbied the University of California at Berkeley to expand their summer school into a full-fledged academic program in library science (Kunkle, 1972, p. 233). Again unsuccessful, Gillis determined that the State Library would start a training program without legislative endorsement or financing. On September 4, 1913, the California State Library Board of Trustees unanimously adopted his plan, resolving that classes would be begin the following January (California State Library, 1903-1921, Book D, p. 287).

Gillis tackled his library school in characteristic fashion. He had the vision; details would be worked out later. In the school's prospectus, Gillis indicated that the curriculum would be along the lines of a regular library school and include cataloging, classification, and library administration. The remaining courses were less defined, except that they would cover the "broader educational and literary side of the work." Students would gain practical experience working in different State Library departments as well as in nearby libraries of various types (Preliminary Announcement, 1913, p. 448).

At this formative stage Gillis was more concerned with the qualifications and potential of the new school's students than its academic program. He had already established a solid track record in raising standards in his own library by imposing civil service control over hiring and increasing staff salaries by 20 percent to nearly 50 percent. As he pointed out to Los Angeles public librarian Everett Perry, "It seems necessary to try and put upon a higher plane [sic] salaries of librarians, if we are to have the best material for the work" (Unpublished letter from Gillis to Perry, June 5, 1916, CSL). Gillis showed the same concern in recruiting students. The proposed school accepted men and women between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five. Older individuals were "strongly advised against undertaking this work" (California State Library School, 1914, p. 402). While academic prerequisites were not imposed, applicants were given a rigorous written exam covering current events, history, and literature. Each candidate was also interviewed to assess "fitness for the library profession" (California State Library School Circular, 1915, pp. 3-4).

Once admitted, students paid no tuition and their books and supplies were provided by the state. As Gillis's assistant Milton Ferguson explained, "It frequently happens that the best students are young women who must immediately find means of earning a living wholly or in part. They have made their way through college and can not look to kinsfolk for financial assistance" (1917a, p. 355). Once classes began, Gillis convinced the library trustees to pay students 50 cents per hour for additional time worked in the library. In July 1914, he asked the trustees to pay students a $60 monthly stipend, effective retroactive to July 1. Clearly, Gillis wanted students with talent and potential rather than political connections and financial means.

Twenty-seven individuals took the first California State Library School entrance exam, and fifteen were accepted. Classes started January 12, 1914, and during this first year the curriculum began to coalesce. Students heard lectures in the mornings and devoted afternoons to working in different library departments. Library staff handled the core classes, while other librarians gave short lectures on special topics. Well-known scholars taught courses relating to California history, geography, government, art, and literature. Gillis himself created courses on California library law and the county library system. Rounding out this regional emphasis, students prepared oral presentations on various California topics and spent 50 hours indexing California periodicals and 175 hours compiling a bibliography on some aspect of the state. Two final requirements were unique to this program: a class in public speaking and a class in Spanish.

In addition to these curricular developments, Gillis made administrative adjustments. He switched the school to a regular academic year so that the next session began in September and ended in June. He reduced the number of lectures because, as he explained to one instructor, "At the close of the first course of the library school I discovered that they had had so many lectures that there had been no time for practical work" (Unpublished letter from Gillis to Mrs. J.B. Hughes, August 4, 1914, CSA). (3) The school had opened under the management of Sarah Oddie, head of the California State Library's cataloging department. Gillis replaced her the following year with Beulah Mumm, a graduate of the University of Wisconsin Library School. In June 1917 Gillis urged his trustees to make Mumm's teaching appointment full-time and to hire a second instructor. These changes would "give the California State Library School as good a standing as possible before the library people of the United States" (California State Library, 1903-1921, Book D, p. 404). Gillis aimed at having his school become a member of the American Association of Library Schools.

Perhaps the most significant change in the California State Library School occurred in its admissions policy. In 1915 Gillis announced that the school would accept only college graduates. He also became much more precise as to "personal traits" looked for in applicants. They had to be between twenty and thirty years old and possess "a good general educational foundation, executive ability, tact, judgment, energy, and an open, receptive mind in order to grasp the needs of the people" (California State Library School Circular, 1915, p. 3). By raising admissions standards, Gillis sought an exceptional corps of workers to carry out his vision for the state's libraries. He took care to instill in them a sense of the importance of their work as well as their good fortune to be among the elect. As he wrote to Mrs. J.B. Hughes in February 1914, "I think the students should geel [feel] highly honored because they are having opportunities that nobody else in the library ever had, and if they do not amount to something when it is all over, I will be very greatly disappointed" (Unpublished letter from Gillis to Hughes, February 6, 1914, CSA). Outsiders referred to these students as the "Gillis Girls"; however, he lovingly called them his "cohorts."

The cohorts embraced Gillis's exuberant confidence in them, feeling, as one student explained it, "that they shared something with him that was unique and precious" (Dedication of James L. Gillis Hall, 1932, p. 10), Lenala Martin, a 1914 alumna, described how Gillis had inspired the students "with the determination to succeed--which, of course, they did." She added that the young women always felt free to "go to him at any time for help, advice and encouragement, which at that time was so very much needed" (James L. Gillis Recalled, 1957, p. 708). Another graduate, Edna Yelland, recounted Gillis's omnipresence in the school and his paternal administrative hand. "Mr. Gillis was a figure of wisdom and kindness to a young student in the library school. On the occasions of his visits a mellow atmosphere flowed over the classroom in the old state Capitol overlooking the park.... As Mr. Gillis spoke with simplicity and conviction, the dismal business of Cutter and Dewey fell into proper place as prelude to something splendid" (James L. Gillis Recalled, 1957, p. 705). Cohort Susan Smith concurred. Gillis "radiated confidence that was hard to resist. His influence changed the lives of many young women, one--myself who, up to the time of meeting him, had not taken her work very seriously" (James L. Gillis Recalled, 1957, pp. 711-712).

When news came of James Gillis's fatal heart attack on July 27, 1917, a pall was cast over the school and the entire state's library community. The Sacramento Bee reported that "many a tear was shed in the library yesterday, as Gillis was greatly beloved by the attaches for his unfailing consideration and his kindly disposition" (Organization of County Libraries, 1917, p. 12). Speaking for librarians throughout California, Everett Perry lamented the "harshness" of Gillis's death and memorialized him as "a treasure not easily or soon exhausted" (1918, p. 598). Assistant State Librarian Mihon Ferguson succeeded Gillis. A graduate of the New York State Library School at Albany, Ferguson sustained the library school over the next few years. It was a blow, however, when in July 1918--despite Gillis's efforts and perhaps because of his death--the Association of American Library Schools (AALS) denied the Sacramento school admission. That the University of California was instituting a new Department of Library Science also played into AALS's denial. For the first time California now had a university-based library school.

With schools then operating in Los Angeles, Berkeley, and Riverside, interest in the State Library program declined. Ferguson ended the practice of allowing students to work for pay, making it even more difficult to move to Sacramento for professional training. Eight students were in the class of 1918 and a mere six attended in 1919. In early 1920 the State Library/Board of Trustees voted "that upon graduation of the 1920 class the California State Library School be discontinued" and that the state's support be transferred to the University of California at Berkeley's new Library Science Department (California State Library, 1903-1921, Book E, p. 105).

State Librarian Ferguson reflected on the school's accomplishments in his announcement of its closure. In an article that appeared in both the News Notes of California Libraries and Library Journal, he wrote, "The California State Library School was a success; on that point there can be no doubt.... Seven classes have been graduated, with a total of 76 students, who occupy all sorts of positions--assistants and heads of libraries, special librarians, housewives.... In the language of the country press, the graduates have 'made exceedingly good'" (Ferguson, 1920, p. 287).

EVERETT PERRY AND THE LIBRARY SCHOOL AT THE LOS ANGELES PUBLIC LIBRARY

In contrast to James Gillis, Everett Robbins Perry was a career librarian. Born October 5, 1876, in Worcester, Massachusetts, Perry had a superior eastern education and worked with some of the nation's premier librarians. A Harvard man, Perry also attended the prestigious New York State Library School at Albany. Graduating in June 1903, he spent the summer traveling in Europe. Upon his return, he accepted a position at the St. Louis Public Library, serving under eminent librarian Arthur Bostwick. In 1906 Perry became the personal assistant to John Shaw Billings, the highly respected director of the New York Public Library (NYPL) and rose to head NYPL's information department.

Perry's overriding ambition was to someday run a large public library. His chance came in 1911 when he attended the American Library Association Conference in Pasadena, California, and interviewed successfully at the nearby Los Angeles Public Library (LAPL) in downtown Los Angeles as a candidate for its advertised directorship. In September 1911 the thirty-five-year-old librarian moved his young family to California, and he assumed what would be a lifelong appointment as the Los Angeles Public Library director.

Perry faced an institution in serious disarray and mired in divisive controversy. The LAPL Board of Directors had fired three of the last four city librarians; moreover, the only one not discharged left after a few months in office. Inconveniently located on the upper floor of a department store, the library's budget, services, and collections were deteriorating. Its staff was confused and discontented and also suffered, to quote one critic, from an "impaired staff spirit, due to several years of shifting directorship and incomplete authority" (Haverland, 1936, p. 90).

Perry's professional experience and commanding presence stabilized the library and restored its reputation. When he arrived in 1911 the library had a staff of 98 and fewer than 200,000 books distributed among 12 branches. At his death in 1933, the LAPL boasted of having 1.5 million books, 48 branches, 74 deposit stations, and 600 employees. Perry also succeeded where his predecessors had failed: he oversaw the construction of a grand central library for the City of Los Angeles, a facility that is still admired today and heavily used.

By sheer force of his austere New England demeanor and rock-confident professional judgment, Perry stabilized the library's staff. Whereas Gillis managed through personal relationships verging on devotion, Perry was authoritarian. He had, Helen Haines recalled, "no genius for friendship." People "existed either to advance or impede the work of the Los Angeles Public Library" (1933, p. 998). Moreover, in contrast to Gillis's open and experimental style, Perry was rigidly conservative. "The granite of old New England was in his foundations," observed Haines, "imagination and the creative spirit were not in his make-up" (p. 998). When dealing with his employees, Perry's iron rule was tempered by his integrity, fairness, and "unconscious courtesy" (Haines, 1933, p. 998; Friends Mourn City Librarian, 1933, p. II-1). He was committed to protecting the library's staff from "political interference" (Haverland, 1936, p. 91) and also raising their salaries and status within the city's bureaucracy. For all of these reasons, staff members commonly referred to him as "Father."

Perry was particularly interested in developing the library's training school. The LAPL had operated a program since 1891, taking the "crude, untrained local supply" of young women and transforming them through education and experience into library professionals (Los Angeles Public Library Training-Class, 1892, p. 234). One of the earliest programs of its kind, the LAPL school required students to be Los Angeles residents, over seventeen, and in good health. Applicants took an entrance exam that covered general knowledge as well as specific details relating to LAPL. The school followed the apprenticeship model, whereby students rotated through the various departments, working three hours a day for six months. Graduates were placed on a substitute list and waited to apply for LAPL positions that came open. This basic format remained largely unchanged for the next two decades, and until 1914 only persons preparing for work at LAPL were formally admitted as students.

Perry quickly took charge of the training program, as he was resolute in his plan to bring it in line with established library schools in the East. In 1912 he extended the course to seven hours a day for seven months and increased lecture hours. Perry now required his approval for admission in addition to an applicant's performance on a stringent examination. Males were encouraged to apply, and a maximum age was set at thirty. Although LAPL never required a college degree, Perry "urged" applicants to have some college coursework, and he gave preference to those with academic experience. Typing skill and a speaking knowledge of a second language were among the other prerequisites Perry demanded of entrants. Tuition was free for Los Angeles residents, but nonresidents and/or those who did not intend to work at LAPL were assessed a $25 tuition fee.

Within a year of his tenure as director, Perry hired Helen T. Kennedy, a graduate of the University of Illinois's library school and an instructor in the University of Wisconsin's program, to manage LAPL's school (LAPL Aunual Report, 1912, p. 10). When the library board put Kennedy in charge of LAPL's branches as well, Perry used his annual report to vent his frustration. The change in Kennedy's assignment, while possibly necessary, was "much to be deplored." Running a library school was a "task that must have the entire time and thought of a trained and experienced librarian." Thereupon Perry announced his plan to transform the training program into a full-fledged library school: "Having been the pioneer and leader in training library attendants for itself and other libraries," LAPL was embarking on a more ambitious professional program that would have the "dignity and stability and reputation worthy of the first library school on the Pacific Coast" (LAPL Annual Report, 1913, p. 37). Perry's timing was clear and his motives transparent. In March 1912 the Riverside Public Library Board approved the creation of a training program, while the California State Library School was starting its first class the following January. Competition in California's library schools was heating up.

In fall 1914 LAPL's library school opened its doors to any individual interested in professional education. Tuition was imposed on all students; Los Angeles residents paid $25, while all others were charged $40. Whereas Gillis emphasized the uniqueness of California libraries, Perry stressed that his was a "regular library school" fully equivalent to those in the East. Two interrelated themes ran though Perry's curricular philosophy and goals: library science standards and comparative methods.

To meet his first goal, Perry increased the school's regular faculty, improved facilities, and expanded the curriculum. In 1913 he appointed Theodora Brewitt--on a full-time basis--as the school's executive administrator, and the following year he secured her a full-time assistant. Perry soon afterward moved the school to spacious and exclusive new quarters in a downtown office building, which permitted a substantial increase in the school's enrollment. Perry lengthened the program from seven to eleven months so as to include "practically all the subjects covered in a one-year library school course" (LAPL Annual Report, 1915, p. 42). He also gradually reduced traditional "practice hours" to bring LAPL's lecture/internship hours in conformity with "the proportion maintained by the regular Library schools" (LAPL Annual Report, 1914, p. 36). Eventually, Pen3, replaced practice hours with a formal internship completed within the term's final month.

Perry believed that library education was not simply a course of study for imparting "technical methods" but also a platform for inculcating "high professional ideals and a broad conception of the possibilities of library development in California" (LAPL Annual Report, 1917, p. 39). Accordingly, LAPL's curriculum emphasized "comparative methods," which examined library practice throughout the country and not solely as conducted at LAPL. "A knowledge of comparative methods," Perry promoted, "tends to make students broader, more adaptable and intelligent in their work, and is desirable for those who take positions here, as well as those who go to other libraries" (LAPL Annual Report, 1916, p. 35). Perry also brought in library luminaries who gave "inspiring talks" to LAPL students about the profession outside Los Angeles. In addition, students visited ah assortment of southern California libraries to broaden their appreciation of work in diverse types of institutions. Perry's diligence in reshaping LAPL's program along eastern models was rewarded in 1918 by its admittance to the Association of American Library Schools. Now renamed as the Library School at the Los Angeles Public Library, it promoted itself as California's only accredited program.

Before and after its name change, the school developed in important new directions. In April 1916 Perry experimented with continuing education by allowing employed librarians to attend classes. The goal here was twofold. These so-called "open courses" enabled working professionals "to supplement their knowledge of certain subject [s] ," while at the same time regular students benefited from interacting with seasoned professionals (LAPL Announcement of Open Courses, 1916, p. 1, RPL). This new program proved "unexpectedly" successful (Brewitt, 1916, p. 421). The first year forty librarians from throughout southern California enrolled, as well as forty-five librarians from within LAPL. By 1920 librarians from as far away as Massachusetts and New York sat in on children's services, library administration, special libraries, and art reference courses.

In another departure, Perry moved to distinguish professional from paraprofessional work. In 1918 he created a "junior attendants" course for high school graduates interested in libraries. As LAPL administrator Marion Horton explained, "This is a new grade of service, planned to relieve the senior attendants of some of the clerical work. Stress has been laid on efficiency and professional ideals, especially in relation to the circulation and registration departments." The junior course taught typing and filing but also included coursework in books and reading "so that these assistants would have a broad view of the work of the library as a whole, altho working in clerical positions" (Horton, 1918, p. 678). This program was extremely popular, and over the next decade more than two hundred girls became library assistants.

Perry's regular, postgraduate, and paraprofessional programs prospered throughout the 1920s. "Contrary to the experience of other library schools," the LAPL Board of Directors boasted, enrollments increased steadily (LAPL Annual Report, 1920, p. 38). LAPL established a joint program with Occidental College, whereby students could earn a year's credit toward their bachelor's degree by attending LAPL's training program. In 1926 the school, with a record number thirty-six full-time students, moved into expansive, airy quarters within the library's imposing new building. That same year, the American Library Association (ALA) accorded LAPL program status as a 'Junior undergraduate library school."

The Williamson Report had credited Los Angeles as having California's strongest library program. Yet C. C. Williamson (1921/1971) warned them that "even the state of California, with its remarkable interest in libraries, does not require three schools" (p. 210). Accordingly, it was his recommendation, as earlier noted, that LAPL's program be absorbed by the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA). Indeed, Williamson thought that UCLA's program could be the western equivalent of the high-powered school he envisaged being built at Columbia University. Perry apparently shared this cosmopolitan vision, for according to Williamson, "The Los Angeles Public Library would probably be glad to turn over its school to the university, if its proper support and administration were assured" (1921/1971, p. 213).

Pressure from the Carnegie Corporation and the ALA, combined with the downward economic spiral of the early 1930s, further convinced Perry to relocate his school to a nearby university. In fact, Ellen Shaffer recalled Perry telling a California Library Association audience that running the school had evolved into an "onerous responsibility" and he "begged either the University of California at Los Angeles or the University of Southern California to relieve him" (1941, p. 7). Public sector jobs disappeared as the Great Depression deepened, institutional support for the school waned, and faculty and student morale plummeted. As one student in the early 1930s recalled, Los Angeles's program was "dying on its feet" (Ainsworth, 1941, p. 9).

In February 1932 the Los Angeles Public Library directors announced that, "with profound regret," it would at the end of the current term discontinue the library school. "Economy," Perry explained in the News Notes of California Libraries "was the first and foremost reason for the decision to discontinue the school." But he also allowed that a "university is the logical place for such training" and expressed his hope that the University of Southern California would reestablish the school in the near future (1932, p. 140).

Everett Perry did not live to see his library school reopen at the University of Southern California (USC), which it did in 1936. In the months following the school's closure in 1932, Perry was struck down with heart disease and thereafter suffered ill health. The next year, on October 21, 1933, Perry slipped into a coma and ten days later died at age fifty-seven. In the 1934 alumni association directory, LAPL graduates paid tribute to their school in light of its closing and Perry's death:

   When in June 1932 the Library School of the Los Angeles Public
   Library was discontinued, a distinguished record of forty-one years
   of library training was brought to a close. During twenty-three
   years as a training class and eighteen years as a standard one-year
   library school, 633 students were graduated. Of this number 343 are
   in varied fields of library service today, many holding positions
   of distinction.... Though the school has closed its doors, its
   professional standards and ideals live on through the influence of
   the alumni in their many fields of professional service. (LAPL,
   1934, p. 2)

JOSEPH DANIELS AND THE RIVERSIDE PUBLIC LIBRARY SERVICE SCHOOL

Whereas Everett Perry brought system, standards, and professional credibility to library education in California, Joseph Francis Daniels defied the eastern establishment in the design and implementation of his school at the Riverside Public Library. Daniels believed library education must focus on people not books, on service rather than established theory and method. Daniels's disregard of professional authorities offended Perry, and their philosophical disagreements quickly deteriorated into bitter feuding. State Librarian James Gillis often adjudicated, though he was not above pitting Daniels against Perry to further his own ambitions.

Interestingly, Daniels and Perry had more in common with each other than with most librarians in the state. A Massachusetts native like Perry, Daniels was born in Cambridge on April 4, 1865. The son of a mechanic for the Lowell and Boston Railroad, Daniels attended public schools in Somerville, not far from Perry's Worcester hometown. He then apprenticed with a Boston architectural firm during which time he became intrigued by the company's books and journals. Cataloging the collection, Daniels familiarized himself with library practice, even studying Dewey's classification work in nearby Amherst (Haverland, 1935, p. 55). In the process, Daniels found his calling. In 1893 Daniels secured his first library job in Greeley, Colorado. Two years later he became the librarian at nearby Colorado State Normal School and there created a "library handicraft" course for teachers. Daniels moved to Fort Collins in 1901, where, as librarian for the Colorado State Agriculture College, he designed a new library and built its collection into the "best scientific library in the West" (Unpublished letter from L. M. Taylor to Daniels, February 1, 1910, RPL).

In 1910 Daniels pursued a position at the Riverside Public Library. While his motives are not known, Daniels's friendship with regional author Charles Lummis, then librarian at the Los Angeles Public Library, may have attracted him to southern California. RPL historian Ronald Baker (1988) surmises that Daniels also came as a health seeker hoping to benefit from Riverside's wonderful climate (p. 18). Given that his two daughters died of tuberculosis, this theory makes sense. Despite Daniels's impressive qualifications, however, the Riverside Public Library Board of Directors hesitated, concerned about "nasty and vindictive" rumors of Daniels's "periods of dissipation." The board's president, prominent lawyer H. L. Carnahan, assured his colleagues that he "personally, would take care of him," and the board approved Daniels's appointment (Unpublished letter from Carnahan to Charles Woods, September 14, 1933, RPL).

Quickly dispelling the board's concerns, Daniels immersed himself in his job and the civic life of his adopted California home. He joined local civic organizations and served as president of Riverside's Chamber of Commerce. He also revitalized and modernized the public library, giving the city "Southern California's largest book collection, most sophisticated reference service, and best trained library staff outside of Los Angeles" (Baker, 1988, p. 20). At his death in 1921, Daniels was considered locally "as much an institution as is the Mission Inn" (Hill, 1921, p. 802).

When Everett Perry became LAPL librarian in 1911, he and Daniels immediately established a cordial, even jocular friendship. Their relationship solidified during 1912 and 1913, as the librarians struggled against what Daniels termed a "tremendous political machine"--James Gillis and the State Library (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, April 5, 1913, RPL). Specifically, Daniels and Perry suspected Gillis of trying to subsume municipal libraries within the expanding county library system, and they battled mightily to preserve their administrative independence. As a united force Perry and Daniels successfully defeated Assembly Bill 490, which threatened the dreaded merger.

The political alliance of Daniels and Perry, however, did not extend to their respective library schools. Daniels had begun writing about library education as early as 1908. Complaining that library schools focused too exclusively on "the book and its house," Daniels advocated in Library Journal that professional training should "develop the heart as well as the intellect" (1908, p. 175; 1909, p. 5). A community needs "libraries not so much as literary collections," he argued, "but as moral forces" (1909, p. 7). As soon as he was settled in Riverside, Daniels was prodding his board of directors to establish a training program to do just that.

In March 1911 Daniels officially approached his board about establishing a training program at RPL. "I can do it," he declared, "and it ought to be done" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Board of Directors, March 18, 1911, p. 4, RPL). At the same time Daniels contacted James Gillis to secure the State Library's support. "I am just about to start a Library Training School," he notified Gillis, "but before I do anything beyond going over the details with the Board, I am writing you to ask a little concerning the situation." After presenting his credentials and stating his interest in training county librarians, Daniels expounded:

   It has annoyed me a long time to see our young people go east for
   training when it seemed unnecessary and expensive. They may get
   something good for them in and out of school in the east, but I am
   afraid that they get some things that are not always good for
   library progress. You see I have lived this side of the river, and
   you probably know that Colorado is as far from the Atlantic, to all
   intents and purposes, as California. (Unpublished letter from
   Daniels to Gillis, March 16, 1911, CSA)

Daniels next advertised in the local press his intention to open a school. He proposed three possible scenarios: a two-year school similar to those in the East; a short course for individuals with library experience; and a library training program for teachers. He encouraged interested parties to contact him directly; he would offer whichever course drew the most response. By the end of summer, Daniels determined that the short course for working librarians had the most promise, and he announced that classes would soon begin. Although the curriculum was not yet formed, Daniels indicated that students would learn library handicraft, record work, reference work, and children's services. The course would start September 11 at 9 a.m. and "will continue for two weeks at least." The fee was $5 (RPL Bulletin No. 17, 1911, n.p.).

In time Daniels's curriculum would become more concrete, but this flexible, on-demand approach to library training became the hallmark of Riverside's program. Daniels's school emphasized people over books, practical work over abstract theory and method. Contending that training must be conducted in a library, Daniels's school did not have established classrooms, regular instruction, or assigned texts. Instead of listening to lectures and taking notes, students worked in groups of two of three, undertaking assignments in the library's different departments to learn the routine. Students did not take exams but rather presented oral reports on their work at weekly meetings (Daniels, 1913, pp. 18-19). Daniels saw this method as a "more modern program of education," one that cultivated a student's executive ability and sense of responsibility (Daniels, 1919, p. 334; Bowker, 1921, p. 894). Thus, while other library school graduates were preoccupied with rules and red tape, his proteges were "full of red blood, vigor and lasting enthusiasm ... [to] carry the library profession really upward" (Unpublished letter from Louise Krause to C. C. Williamson, September 30, 1921, RPL).

Daniels had particularly strong feelings about library science faculty. Formal instruction was rare, and Riverside hired no permanent faculty to administer the program. Daniels believed that full-time faculty lost touch with current professional practice and that over time their courses became "predigested" and "fixed" by "standardization" (cited in Unpublished letter from Krause to Williamson, September 30, 1921, RPL; Bowker, 1921, p. 893). Daniels preferred to bring in noted specialists who presented a series of lectures and then returned to their regular work. In this way, Daniels reasoned, an instructor remains "as fresh as ever and with a stronger personality and much more of the information we want" (cited in Bowker, 1921, p. 895). So in place of regular faculty, Daniels would bring in leading authorities to lecture on their areas of expertise. To Daniels's credit he was able to secure the services of some of the nation's leading experts in cataloging (Margaret Mann), administration (Arthur Bostwick), and government documents (Adelaide Hasse).

Daniels was just as unconventional when it came to selecting students. While Riverside's entrance requirements varied depending on the course the respective candidate pursued, Daniels generally looked for good health, adaptability to public work, prior library experience, and a "fitness of manners and morals that is not easily explained, but is very easy to detect and is an essential" (RPL Bulletin No. 101, 1914, p. 9). Repudiating the increasingly stringent admissions standards adopted by other programs, he believed that "there should be a chance for any physically fit candidate, without age limit or 'educational test'" (Daniels, 1913, p. 19). Daniels's program was therefore designed for what he called the "lesser library workers," women in charge of small libraries without the benefit of higher education or formal training. As he explained to Carnegie Corporation's James Bertram, these women "cannot submit to us a college course and cannot take eleven months training" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Bertram, May 22, 1920, RPL). Yet Daniels was convinced that they, too, could become accomplished librarians.

Curriculum is the most difficult aspect of the Riverside School to measure. Unlike the Los Angeles and Sacramento programs, which trained women for specific types of libraries and positions, Riverside's coursework varied according to the student's individual needs and interests. By 1914 RPL was advertising three separate tracks: an eleven-month "long course"; a six-week summer school; and an eight-week winter course. The long course was intended as a regular library science program. Students in this track were either full-time students with at least two years of college, or "special students" lacking academic credentials of library experience but who showed sufficient promise to be admitted anyway. Since there were few organized classes, students could begin the long course at any time by attaching themselves to a work group. These students also sat in on lectures given during the summer and winter short courses. Since long-course students did not complete classes per se, their transcripts recorded how many hours had been devoted to various topics such as cataloging, bibliography, book selection, and serials. A typical transcript would record between 1,500 and 1,700 hours of work.

The winter and summer courses were offered to individuals with previous library experience. Students were expected to be familiar with professional practice, so their coursework was designed to teach them theory and new techniques. Lecture/study topics changed each year, depending on the visiting faculty Daniels could attract. Moreover, because this was a library service school, RPL offered many patron-oriented topics such as "reference problems," "the foreigner in the library," "the psychology of book selection for children," "administrative discretion," and "the library militant." Later Daniels added other topics and specializations to these short courses, including school libraries, business libraries, and camp libraries for men exempt from the World War I draft. In 1918 RPL developed an advanced short course for individuals having completed the beginning curriculum. Short-course students could attend as many lectures as they desired, and tuition was based on the number of "classes" taken. At the end of the term students received a certificate indicating topics studied and hours worked.

Visiting faculty and students alike appreciated this unorthodox, often unwieldy program. Accepting Daniels's invitation to lecture, Frank Hill knew that Daniels "was not always in accord with the customs prevailing in the library world," and he worried about the "topsy-turvy manner in which the school was run." Yet, Hill admitted, "When I left Riverside it was with the feeling that Mr. Daniels had established the right kind of school" (1921, p. 802). Well-known lecturer Arthur Bostwick described the educational program as being like a medieval university in which "the brightest minds of the profession" were summoned by Daniels "for a season's service." While Bostwick observed that not all students succeeded in this environment, he believed that Daniels was an "intellectual pioneer" (Bostwick, 1921, p. 801). RPL student Ellen Shaffer (a 1930s alumna) had similar fond memories, recalling the "spirit of comradeship between students and faculty which I took for granted then, but which I now realize was rare and precious" (1941, p. 8).

When C. C. Williamson visited Riverside in 1921, he, too, came away with positive feelings about what Daniels was trying to achieve. Yet when he interviewed California's library establishment he was distressed by the widespread animosity toward RPL's program.

   Personal dislike of Mr. Daniels I found everywhere, from Los
   Angeles to Seattle. Many were willing to grant his ability and
   genius, his gift of publicity and his local success in Riverside,
   but everywhere he was bitterly condemned for his antagonistic
   attitude toward every progressive measure the state library
   association sought to promote. In the East, also, I was surprised
   to find how many people regarded him with dislike or derision.
   (1921/1971, p. 208)

Harold Leupp, University of California at Berkeley's head librarian and library school director, informed Williamson that he and his colleagues did not feel that RPL had "a strong staff, nor did they think it gets a good class of students or does thorough work" (Williamson, 1921/1971, p. 209). Although Leupp conceded to Williamson that "Riverside might do good work in training a certain class of students for service in small libraries" (p. 209), privately Berkeley's librarian informed Daniels that he had "reached the conclusion long ago that a great many perfectly good scrub women were spoiled by attempting to become librarians" (Unpublished letter from Leupp to Daniels, April 26, 1917, RPL). Milton Ferguson, now in charge of the State Library, also told Williamson that Riverside was not "a complete library school," but consisted of "two short courses with a long period of apprentice work between." As such, Ferguson did not consider it the "proper agency for training county Librarians" (Williamson, 1921/1971, p. 209). Interestingly, Everett Perry was more circumspect in his criticism of Daniels. "In Los Angeles I found my library friends non-committal," Williamson noted in obvious reference to Perry, "unwilling, apparently, to express any opinion because they could not speak favorably" (p. 208). In reality, Perry was Daniels's chief adversary, and he was determined to see that RPL's school was closed down.

Perry adamantly disapproved of Daniels's idea of running a series of short courses during the summer and winter. Within the profession, it was understood that summer school provided short-term continuing education for working librarians. Winter programs were synonymous with one- or two-year library schools providing complete professional training. An apprentice class, on the other hand, referred to onsite training for a particular library (Unpublished letter from Josephine Rathbone to Daniels, February 2, 1914, RPL). That Daniels called his winter short course a "winter library school" raised Perry's hackles. "I am in receipt of the second announcement of your 'Library School in Winter,'" Perry archly wrote Daniels. "Perhaps you can make a success of it. We should not dare attempt such a thing in Los Angeles as to train our students in divisions, but I know that Riverside does not accept as final the opinions of Los Angeles" (Unpublished letter from Perry to Daniels, October 25, 1913, RPL). Several months later Perry reiterated his concerns:

   I sincerely hope that before the time comes for starting a school
   next summer, you will have had new light on the subject, or, if you
   decide to have a school, that you will concede enough to the
   opinions of those of us who have graduated from a library school
   not to give this summer to a six weeks' course. (Unpublished letter
   from Perry to Daniels, February 2, 1914, RPL)

Daniels dismissed these criticisms as "simply a difference of opinion over a few words" and accused Perry of "bravely defending the sacred possessions of your Alma Mater or some other kind of educational junk very much like it." Daniels felt that Perry and other professional pundits thought that they owned the word school and attempted to keep others from using it. In the end Daniels accused Perry of indulging in politics and cutthroat competition: "Of course, I know that what you object to is having any kind of instruction ... here no matter what we call it, and that objection is based on the idea that such instruction belongs in Los Angeles" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, February 3, 1914, RPL).

Perry and his colleagues also voiced consternation over RPL students not receiving formal training in classification and cataloging, which they considered fundamental to any library science program. Daniels rationalized that classification is "the most difficult, complex and abstruse subject within ... the human ken" and impossible to teach in a standard five-week course. Daniels also considered classification tangential to common professional practice:

   I have visited a great many libraries and I have seldom seen
   classification done by the rank and file of book servants.... The
   biggest thing in a library is epople [sic]; books are merely tools
   or containers. The biggest thing in the training of a young woman,
   and the thing especially needed in library work, is the womanliness
   of the young woman. Give me a woman with good health, sound morals
   and the right attitude towards public service and with sufficient
   education for such business and I shall always consider her
   technical training as half done, before she is able to tell me the
   meaning of 822.33 or to invent a table of expansions for that
   delightful region. (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Josephine
   Rathbone, December 20, 1913, RPL)

Perry next raised the problem of differentiating between students completing Riverside's various courses. How could a hiring institution know what type of coursework or training students with a Riverside certificate actually received? To dramatize this point, Perry contacted Daniels about a young woman who claimed to be a Riverside graduate. "I asked [her] a number of questions about what she could do, and found that she was unable to catalogue and that she has no particular knowledge of some other subjects taught in our training course. I would like to inquire how long she was in the Riverside Public Library and just what instruction she had been given" (Unpublished letter from Perry to Daniels, February 2, 1914, RPL). In his defense, Daniels claimed that the graduates' certificates clearly listed what courses they had mastered. In this instance, the girl had not completed any special training and was only passing herself off as a trained librarian. Her father had died recently, Daniels explained, which perhaps accounted for her falsification of the educational record (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, February 3, 1914, RPL).

Despite Perry's attacks, Daniels tried to negotiate an accord between the two schools. He proposed, for example, that they share visiting faculty and suggested that they keep each other informed of rejected applicants. Daniels even asked Perry to attend the school's commencement ceremony. "We can go on scrapping if you want to," he appealed, "but let's be neighbors and let's be happy occasionally over our neighborliness" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, December 22, 1916, RPL). Perry, then president of the California Library Association (CLA), replied on CLA letterhead:

   Whether or not it should be so, the acceptance of your invitation
   would be interpreted by the librarians of the state as an
   endorsement of what you are working for. Unfortunately, I find it
   impossible to give such an endorsement, and I therefore think I had
   better not attend on January 22nd. Heaven knows that I would be
   only too glad to sink any personal differences and co-operate with
   you, but the fact is, I do not believe in some of your ways of
   doing things, nor in some things which you are trying to attain. I
   say this without any anger toward you personally, but merely as a
   statement of facts that cannot be overlooked. At the same time I
   freely concede your right to go about your business in your own
   way. (Unpublished letter from Perry to Daniels, December
   27, 1916, RPL)

Daniels, however, felt that Perry was not letting him "go about his business" but marshalling professional forces to ruin his school. For example, Daniels suspected that Perry was using his position on California's Board of Library Examiners to discriminate against RPL graduates when certifying county librarians. In December 1914 Daniels questioned Perry about the certification of Essae Culver who, according to Daniels, had "no experience whatever in county library work." At issue was not Miss Culver's qualifications specifically, for Daniels felt "she deserves the best you can give her" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, December 23, 1914, RPL). Rather, Daniels claimed that previously the board had emphasized practical experience in their grading of county library applicants. Perry responded huffily: "I was quite surprised to receive an inquiry about Miss Culver as I hardly thought that you would expect me to write you about such a matter. Would you, if you were on the Examining Board?" (Unpublished letter from Perry to Daniels, December 26, 1914, RPL). Daniels wrote back that he had not intended to "offend" Perry's "proprieties" nor to "approach" an official examiner (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, December 28, 1914, RPL). But as an educator, he felt he must be apprised of "the nature of the examinations to which I shall have to expose so many of our young women again and again" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Perry, December 31, 1914, RPL). Perry ended this debate over certification by accusing Daniels of having "some ulterior object in view." If Daniels had any further concerns he was advised to take them up with Gillis (Unpublished letter from Perry to Daniels, January 2, 1915, RPL).

Daniels did, in fact, contact Gillis on several matters regarding Perry. Gillis was usually placating, ever complimenting Daniels for the good work he was doing in Riverside. For instance, Daniels contacted Gillis about Perry's denigration of Riverside's school and refusal to attend one of Riverside's events. Perry "expressed complete dissatisfaction, not to say open hostility" toward the RPL program, Daniels confided to the State Librarian. "If you feel as Mr. Perry with regard to this school I should in all fairness to you release you from the promise to attend as much as I wish to have you" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Gillis, January 16, 1914, RPL). As usual, Gillis tried to soothe Daniels's ruffled feathers: "I do not understand why he [Perry] is so worked up over the matter. However, that has nothing to do with my visit to Riverside.... I have told you before that I believe you are doing a good work with your School and I see no reason to change that view of the matter" (Unpublished letter from Gillis to Daniels, January 19, 1914, RPL). Even when Daniels accused Gillis of willfully omitting information about RPL's school in News Notes of California Libraries, Gillis patiently reminded Daniels that he had requested him to submit to him some text: "I have never heard from you in regard to the matter." Gillis promised to publish whatever advertisement Daniels desired (Unpublished letter from Gillis to Daniels, April 4, 1917, CSA).

Gillis and Perry maintained a separate correspondence over professional and educational issues. Sympathizing with Perry's complaints about the Riverside School, Gillis elucidated:

   I am not opposed to short course schools, and I know all about what
   is being done in that regard throughout the United States.... My
   objection to them has been that those who take a six weeks course
   are placed upon the same foundation throughout the library world,
   as trained librarians, the same as those who have taken a years
   course, which is not fair to the library or to those who are
   employing what are supposed to be trained librarians. (Unpublished
   letter from Gillis to Perry, May 16, 1916, CSL)

On other occasions their exchanges were more heated. For instance, in 1916 Gillis rebuked Perry for paying LAPL graduates such low wages (Unpublished letter from Perry to Gillis, June 8, 1916, CSL). Perry, on the other hand, criticized Gillis for "not being cordial to eastern librarians" and thus "giving California a bad reputation" (James L. Gillis Recalled, 1957, p. 697).

Gillis's death in July 1917 transformed the internal dynamics and power relations among California's library educators. The new state librarian, Milton Ferguson, had graduated from the New York State Library School in 1902, just a year ahead of Perry. Harold Leupp, at University of California at Berkeley, had graduated as well from the New York school at about the same time. With their common educational background and shared professional vision, Perry, Ferguson, and Leupp easily defeated Daniels in the battle for California's library schools.

After Gillis's death Daniels's conspiracy theories became more persistent and wide ranging. For example, in spring 1919 he accused Perry of secretly drafting a new library certification bill (AB 192) expanding the power of the Board of Library Examiners. "Of course we all know that this was Mr. Perry's bill, and in my opinion it was aimed directly at us," he fulminated to RPL lecturer Theresa Hitchler of the Brooklyn Public Library. "We all believe in certification of some sort but I don't believe in certification by Mr. Perry" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Hitchler, March 17, 1919, RPL).

Daniels had an equally tempestuous relationship with Leupp at Berkeley. In 1917, Daniels attempted to convince Leupp to give university credit to students completing the Riverside course. Leupp refused to raise the matter among his faculty lest it proved "embarrassing later" (Unpublished letter from Leupp to Daniels, March 12, 1917, RPL). Another time, Daniels accused Leupp of "poaching" his lecturers. Scoffing at what he dismissed as Daniels's "orpheum circuit methods," Leupp let it be known that he would not consider hiring Riverside faculty to teach at Berkeley (Unpublished letter from Leupp to Daniels, October 15, 1920, RPL).

Daniels also believed that certain professional authorities sought to blacklist his program by failing to post his advertisements and omitting Riverside from official lists of library schools. In March 1921, for example, Daniels penned an angry missive to C. C. Williamson about Riverside's school being excluded from the ALA Handbook. "It is not difficult to understand who is responsible and why the Riverside school is excluded ... but I think it is wrong for the American Library Association to assume an unwarranted attitude in such a publication" (Unpublished letter from Daniels to Williamson, March 7, 1921, RPL).

By the end of the decade, however, Daniels was retreating from his hard-line stance against academic conventions and structures. In a 1919 memorandum, Daniels outlined what had to be done if Riverside's program was to survive. The school needed a large endowment to shore up its financial foundation. He also asked for two full-time faculty "to conform to existing methods of supervision." Finally, he indicated that he must have "adequate and exclusive floor space for all the school activities" (Riverside Library Service School, 1919, RPL). Daniels had not abandoned his education philosophy, but he instead had been forced to take action just to survive. "It is all a matter of certification, standardization and the system of accredited schools well known in education and now being applied to library schools by legislation and institutions of higher education," he conceded. "People who go to school want 'units' and 'credits'. Library boards, schools boards, and other employers demand it.... Next year will be too late; we shall become taboo" (News release, n.d., RPL).

This must have been a bitter time for Daniels, compounded by the heart-wrenching deaths of both his daughters in 1921. Dorothy, who had become a librarian and worked alongside her father, died of tuberculosis in January. Her younger sister Esther died of the same disease on September 6. The bereft Daniels suffered a stroke several days later and died on September 16 (Baker, 1988, p. 34). Although the Riverside Library School continued to operate under Daniels's successor Charles Woods, it never received ALA accreditation and closed permanently during World War II.

CONCLUSION

In the decade prior to the Williamson Report, California was in the forefront of educating librarians. The major figures in this movement--James Gillis, Everett Perry, and Joseph Daniels--drew from their unique backgrounds and institutional perspectives to design training programs that would meet the demands of the state's burgeoning library infrastructure. Gillis saw subject/regional expertise as paramount in California's professional practice, while Perry promoted the ideal of a standardized library science theory and method. Focusing on service rather than practice, Daniels sought to develop the character and executive ability of his Riverside graduates. While none of these pioneering California library schools survived, their founders' passionate debates over students, faculty, and curriculum helped reformulate professional education and redefine who and what a librarian would be.

Sarah Vann, in her 1971 monograph on the Williamson Reports, suggests that "had Daniels lived, the history of library school development on the west coast might have been quite different" (p. 126). Yet, in retrospect it was Gillis's not Daniels's passing that marked the turning point in the history of California's library education. Despite Williamson's momentary infatuation with Daniels's school and his promise of a temporary endowment, this type of nonacademic program was already doomed. The first generation of library school graduates like Perry, Leupp, and Ferguson were taking control of professional education, and they would soon refashion it in their own image.

NOTES

(1.) RPL refers to the Riverside City and County Public Library Archives. Record Group II. Joseph Daniels Papers. Riverside, California.

(2.) CSL refers to the California State Library, California Section, Sacramento, California.

(3.) CSA refers to the California State Archives, Department of Education--State Library Records, F3616, Sacramento, California.

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Debra Gold Hansen, P.O. Box 4150, Pollak Library, California State University, Fullerton, Fullerton, CA 92834-4150