Exploring Melbourne

Melbourne is a wonderful city, filled with an interesting mix of old and new architecture, lovely parks and green spaces, and a transit system that is initially confusing yet curiously effective. We got up this morning and rode the train from the suburb of Kooyoung, where we are staying, into the Flinders Street station and began a long walk east to the Fitzroy Gardens, a park that was established in the 1860s.

It was spotless, with lots of busy caretakers to make sure it stayed that way. Among the sites along its shady lanes were a pavillion green house filled with the most beautiful array of flowers, the reconstructed cottage of Captain Cook’s parents brought over from England, and a “fairy tree” which has long since died but still bears the intricate carvings created in the 1930s of little people, koalas, and kangaroos.

Exiting the park we embarked on a fruitless quest for some second hand stores a guidebook had told us would be in an adjacent neighborhood of the same name. It was not an entirely wasted trip because we saw some pretty old buildings along the way that are reminiscent of the architectural style you would see in the French Quarter of New Orleans and a giant, somewhat grim looking St. Patrick’s Cathedral which rivaled many we saw in Paris.

Turning back to the core of the city, we made our way first to the Melbourne Museum, but we decided against going in to view the eclectic mixture of natural history and human history exhibits. The Royal Exhibition building in front of the museum was impressive, with a giant dome and a polished wooden floor that we admired from the doorway. Both are situated in another lovely park that a sign proclaimed had been designated as a world heritage site. It was not entirely without fault, however, since the flies were particularly nettlesome along this stretch that required us to continually employ the “Australian Wave” to keep them at bay. (I can see why the popular image of the old-time swagman with corks dangling from his hat brim came to be.)

At last we found ourselves at the State Library of Victoria, and we quickly made our way to the fifth floor to view the treasures they had on display. An incredible collection of documents, photographs, and artifacts told the story of Melbourne and Victoria’s

history from aboriginal times, to the first white contact, and finally to the modern date. We saw a portion of the flag flown by the rebelling miners at Ballarat’s Eureka Stockade, a diary of an active young woman from the 1890s who detailed her daily life in the city, and of course, Ned Kelly’s armor! As impressive as that display may have been, I was completely aghast to see Ned’s Jeriderie manifesto on display as well, done in his own hand (well, done in Joe Byrne’s hand, but at least Ned dictated it). I really liked the text from page they chose to highlight in the display case. Ned was certainly no Shakespeare:

...is my brothers and sisters and my mother not to be pitied also who was has no alternative only to put up with the brutal and cowardly conduct of a parcel of big ugly fat necked wombat headed big bellied magpie legged narrow hipped splawfooted sons of Irish bailiffs or English landlords which is better known as Officers of Justice or Victorian Police...

While we were looking at the Kelly display the library’s manuscript curators came to do some maintenance and we had a nice chat, international colleague to colleague. We also viewed the library’s main reading room from the balcony, which allowed us to see people deeply engaged in reading and study with nary a house computer in sight. Such is life.

Such Is Life

In one of the more significant events of my adolescence in Tucson, Arizona, I stumbled across a phonograph album in an El Con Mall department store. The album was the soundtrack to a film by Tony Richardson and starring Mick Jagger: Ned Kelly. Kris Kristopherson and Waylon Jennings were featured on the album and the interior notes of the cardboard cover gave the most sketchy details

of Australia’s “Iron Outlaw.” I bought the album, waited breathlessly for the film to show up in Tucson (which it did, eventually, as the second feature at a local drive in movie and even then only for a week) and I have been interested in Ned ever since. I have read quite a bit about him, and find his myth to be a compelling sort of Australian Jesse James figure, notwithstanding the recent comparison by Robert Utley of Ned to Billy the Kid.

I remark on this because today, during our 11 hour train journey from Sydney to Melbourne, we passed through the heart of “Kelly Country,” including Glenrowan, the site of his last stand against the police that had come to track him down, and Euroa, the site of his gang’s first successful bank robbery. I was beside myself with awe, even though my dear wife continues to refer to Ned as “Stupid Head” and spent most of her time reading as we passed through these historic sites.

Now we are comfortably settled into a pool side cottage that is nothing short of palatial compared to our other lodgings during this trip. After the lengthy train trip, and a short jaunt in a sweaty cab across downtown Melbourne, we were welcomed by our host who

had thought of everything. In addition to the well stocked larder for our evening meal and detailed instructions on how to use the train to get from the suburb of Kooyong to downtown, she even offered us bicycles to ride and showed us the bike paths. Unlike Sydney, it appears you can ride a bike here without taking your life in your hands.

Our final day in Sydney was somewhat of a disappointment. We went to Paddy’s Market where I bought a Ned Kelly t-shirt, as I always do when we visit, but when we tried to go to a restaurant in nearby Chinatown I picked the very worst one. To make a long story short, after plunking down sixty seven dollars I was presented with some shrimp and rice served in glop of unspiced cream sauce which

covered the squash it was cooked in. I doubt I have had a worse meal on this continent, and I have eaten some pretty sketchy meat pies, believe me! Our apartment in Sydney, although located convenient to the conference I attended, left much to be desired as well. We are glad enough to now be here in Melbourne, and tomorrow we will explore more. After all, the Victoria National Library here has Ned Kelly’s armor on permanent display...

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Conference Wrap Up

Years ago I used to do a stand up comedy routine at the annual meetings of the Society of Southwest Archivists. For weeks prior to the event, I would pour over tired old jokes to see if I could somehow flip them to direct the humor at librarians and archivists, and eventually I would come up with enough to fill up a couple of small notecards with reminder cues that allowed me to keep up the patter for about a twenty minute presentation. It was very nerve wracking because I knew once I had to begin drawing tickets for door prizes (ostensibly the reason they kept asking me to do it) I would have to ad lib, and horrid were the tremors of “flop sweat” that I endured. I needn’t have worried. Every act for a decade turned out OK and the audience enjoyed regardless if they won a prize or not.

This meeting of the Art Library Society of Australia and New Zealand was different. Other than my nervousness about doing a Power Point presentation, I felt no pressure at all from these lovely people and was perfectly relaxed. This was especially true yesterday when, as part of a panel discussion that ended the conference, I was able to respond to questions with a clear head and a easy stomach. It also

helped that every presentation prior to the panel discussion was worth listening to. One of my favorites was presented by Michael Proud of the National Library of Australia regarding their handling of a massive photographic collection backlog. It warmed the cockles of my archival heart to hear them say they realized early on how ridiculous it would be to attempt item level description for these images and opted for arrangement and description practices of archivists to gather the photographs into large, relevant subject series. Still taking the time to individually number the items, the practice allows for the future addition of item level cataloging data at leisure or demand. If only all library managers were so enlightened! We work so hard to create searching platforms that are merely online collection advertisements designed to give the uninformed the illusion they are actually doing research.

I had so many people come up to me and say they agreed with my True Archives web blog and its vicious anti-Information Science rhetoric, too. That was worth coming to the far side of the globe to hear all in itself, but of course we have more things to look at before Jayne and I return to our benighted homeland. Today is the first day I have had to myself after two days of conference activity and Jayne has been a bit of a homebody during that time. Sticking close to this gulag of an apartment (the television does not work, the carpet is old and stained, the kitchen supports wildlife, and there is no artwork on the walls except for a collage of old greeting cards) Jayne has been bored out of her mind. While I was out at the conference banquet last night, and had the pleasure of seeing Russell Crowe walk by my table with his son, she was stuck here watching YouTube videos on this dinky, slow-loading laptop. I have to get her out into downtown Sydney during our last day before heading to Melbourne on the train tomorrow.

I am a Stranger Here Myself

I appeared before an international conference yesterday. (It was “international” because I was one of two American presenters, we were welcomed to country by a fellow of Aboriginal ancestry, and there were a couple of New Zealanders on the program as well.) In all a most intimate gathering since there were only about sixty five to seventy registrants gathered in the lecture hall of the Art Gallery of New South Wales.

The conference began with one of the most delightful talks I have ever heard in any gathering of information professionals. Benjamin Law, an Australian writer of Chinese-Malaysian descent, spoke about his family history in Australia with humor, grace, and touching detail. Benjamin is a gay man whose parents were divorced at a crucial time in his life, and anyone would reasonably expect a fellow with his background and experiences would have endured an adolescence of feeling like an “other” to the world around him. However, this young man flourished in Australia, became a successful magazine essayist, and his memoirs on his childhood, The Family Law, has been republished in numerous editions around the world and served as the basis for a smash hit Australian television series of the same name. He was an absolutely stunning speaker and he paid tribute to the archives and libraries where he did his research for the book. I told him after the talk that I sincerely hoped our American public television network would pick up the option on the show. (It would certainly be an improvement to their somewhat tired current lineup of British comedies.) Benjamin’s next book is an examination of the LGBT communities in various locations in China, Malaysia, and India which he has titled Gaysia. I hope our library will purchase his books if it has not already done so.

Those who know me well can testify that I have never really been intimidated by public speaking, but this time was different. Not only was my subject controversial, I also had the horror of a session timekeeper with a bicycle horn to give notice to windbags hogging the stage. I began by apologizing to the audience by identifying myself as an American and naming three disadvantages I was working under: I have a tendency to speak slowly, I have never given a Power Point lecture in my life (although I did show a video once), and last but not least, I had nothing to do with electing the current idiot that is slated to take the Presidential oath of office next January. With that said I

launched into my illustrated tirade which, on the surface, would seem to be insulting to each and every one of my listeners. I decried the contemporary librarian obsession with all things digital, damned the practice of destroying collections to make room for maker spaces and other such irrelevancies, and insisted that those whose work does not focus exclusively on curating the codex should cease referring themselves by the honored title of “librarian.” Along the way, I used some of my most provocative artwork to illustrate my points and got more than a few polite laughs. The real payoff began when after the talk so many of these Australian professionals came to be privately to confirm they felt the same way, and that they were glad SOMEONE was finally saying it out loud. I would hate to build a reputation as being the Don Rickles of library presenters, but this was most gratifying to hear from an audience I had mildly insulted and who had enjoyed it.

Meanwhile, back in our rented apartment Jayne suffered through another day of no television reception by proacively visiting a nearby electronic shop and purchasing a cable to connect our laptop to a giant screen monitor that dominates the living room of this hovel. As a result, we are now able to watch YouTube videos to keep her amused during the day while I attend the next sessions tomorrow and appear in a panel discussion on (you guessed it) the “future of the library.” Should I see any rotten tomatoes among the participants swag bag contents I will excuse myself.

A Seafaring (or Fearing) Man

The closest I have ever come to a sea cruise (oooo-eeee, baby!) is the half hour ride from Manly to Circular Quay on the ferry that traverses Sydney Harbor. Our friend Ronald tried to get us one from Narooma to Montague Island last week, but high swells prevented the prudently cautious captain from taking out his boat. Today there were no such problems with the Manly Ferry, and lest one think that harbor waters are generally still and peaceful the boat does have to face a bit of open water as it rounds the North and South Heads that guard the entranceway to this seaport. We have taken it in the past when it seemed the boat bobbed like a cork, but today’s run was very smooth.

Once we arrived in the Big Smoke, we had to get a taxi to our current lodgings. It was only a matter of a few blocks, but the burdensome load of our luggage suggested it was better handled with a cab ride. I am glad it was only a few blocks, because the driver, whose native tongue was clearly not English, promptly got lost and wasted our time and money going around a block that was roughly the size of Rhode Island. The promised discount in fare was not forthcoming.

The new apartment is a short distance from the conference venue at the Art Gallery of New South Wales and for the opening cocktail reception that happened this evening at the “O” bar on the 47th floor of the Australia Square building. It was quite an impressive view looking out over the Harbor Bridge and the Opera House, and off on the distant horizon one could see between the buildings the familiar outline of North Head. More surprises were to follow. As I chatted up Barbara, my host for this conference and met about five other librarians all of whom were named “Elizabeth,” I placed my hand on the outer wall of the widowed circumference of the room only to have the weird sensation that I was about to fall down. (Never fear, your prudent correspondent had not consumed that much beer.) The sudden onset of sea legs was caused simply by the restaurant itself which moves in a very slow clockwise direction, allowing a view of the entire city to unfold from all compass points. I have never been in such a building before and was thoroughly impressed, if not a bit sea sick.

The conference is quite small according to Barbara, perhaps about sixty or seventy people. I met one other American academic who will speak tomorrow, and a very nice archivist from New Zealand who told me tales about collecting Maori documents.It was amazing how much we had in common besides the ubiquitous Elizabeth handle. As I spoke to people I found a sincere love of reading, and an equal despair at its decline. I was also heartened to confirm that none of them blamed me personally for our country's recent decision to elect a tantrum-throwing haystack seated atop a Cheeto as our President. They seemed more than ready to hear my curmudgeonly take on digital library issues tomorrow, and I must cruise through this night while boarded on the ferry of Morpheus to prepare for the speech. I do not anticipate rough waters.

When Animals Go Horribly Wrong

I do not think the birds of Australia like me. First there was the unprovoked duck attack at the Murramurang Resort last week, and yesterday, here in North Manly, a small brownish bird that I cannot identify swooped at my head as I walked to the store. The bird, smaller than a “honey eater” but similarly colored, had already given the chap walking a dozen yards ahead the “what for,” so I was somewhat prepared. Perhaps protecting her nest, this little bird was a daredevil attacker, and later in the day as Jayne and I waited for a bus across the street we watched as it swooped over to our side occasionally and then back across to disappear in the same bushes.

Another animal encounter last night was just as exciting when I went to the bathroom and discovered a roach about the size of a small dog. There I was, unarmed, and helpless to destroy the creature as it scurried across the floor and into the main chamber of this little rental house. No doubt caused by the encounter, I had an uneasy sleep until Jayne awoke with a midnight mission to the restroom herself. I told her of the monster bug and, true to her nature, she was undeterred. Sizing up the situation, she quickly grabbed my rubber flip-flop sandal and dispatched another large one in the bathroom in less time than it takes me to type this line. Brave girl!

We move into the central business district of Sydney tomorrow to be in proximity of the conference, but in spite of the aforementioned midnight safari I do not wish to leave my few readers with the impression that our present headquarters is anything but charming. It is a lovely little cabin in a private backyard, and regardless of the visitation of any eight legged fauna it has to be one of the better places we have ever stayed. If only a little shop or something was nearer than a kilometer it would be perfect. That and perhaps a club for night time bathroom visits.

Cold Fury

I have been laid low by a vicious head cold on our return from the south coast. It became worse during our final day at Murramurang and during the drive back to the northern beaches my sinuses had become so impacted that I have had trouble sleeping. I hope to be back in trim by the time I am scheduled to speak at the conference on Thursday.

We have relocated to a really cute little backyard cabin in North Manly which is conveniently located near nothing. All of the commercial development of Manly lays far to the south of us and the closest grocery store, which only sells fruit, veg, seafood, and meat is nearly a full kilometer away. Even though I awoke groggy and stuffy this morning I braved that walk to get us something to eat for a continental breakfast. For the remainder of the day I intend to rest and try to beat this wretched virus.

The ride back yesterday was uneventful except for the fact that it took all day in traffic conditions that would have tried the patience of the Buddha. Ironic, since that is exactly why it took all day to get back here; we stopped at the Buddhist temple at Wollongong for lunch.

What a beautiful, spiritual place, and what a reasonably priced and delicious vegetarian lunch. We did a quick look around, during which I attempted a prayer at whatever Deity might be listening, and then resumed our battle with a line of slow moving cars that would maddeningly space out a times before bunching up again. My sincere admiration to both Ronald and Jane for their skill in dueling with this mechanized mess cannot be adequately expressed.