Money Comes First

Two weeks ago the library sent me a beautiful gift folder. When I saw its embossed Harvard College Library seal and supple paper, my first reaction was to wash my hands, carefully place it back in the envelope and store it in a safe place for 50 years, when my grandkids are ready to apply to Harvard. My next idea was to wonder why the Library sent one of those hefty folders to every single undergraduate student in what was easily a $50,000-plus project. Without even beginning to address alternative uses for that kind of money, I must ask what was really communicated last week with the library's folders.

Examining the small font under the very last photograph in the folder, I noticed the name "Cipriani Kremer Design," an elite Boston advertising firm. Undoubtedly a fancy copy-writing firm supplied the text, which is predictably self-aggrandizing. From my experience working in the Internet design industry, I can estimate that the professional design, photography and copy-writing services for a project of this size would cost tens of thousands of dollars. Add the time library administrators spent on the project, and the costs of printing, delivering, and stuffing each of the 6,000-plus folders with 17 separate pamphlets and cases, and the project cost could creep toward $100,000. A "Compliments of Harvard College Library" card, the kind that comes with corporate fruit baskets, adorns the top of each folder.

Much of the text in the brochure sounds like standard College viewbook material: "The Harvard College Library's Collections are as diverse as humankind itself, and used by an equally diverse population of scholars." How wonderfully...diverse. Also included, as if by afterthought, are a few randomly selected library policies. On laptop use: "Power hook-ups [for laptops] are available throughout the various facilities. It is advisable to check with each library regarding availability of service." After spending all that money to glorify this monolith of knowledge, the library tells me to call first. In truth, the sumptuous guide, with critical information either missing or strewn across 14 different pamphlets, is nearly useless as a reference.

While its colors and photographs are gorgeous, the guide is flimsy and would not last a week in my backpack. What students actually need is a one-piece poster with a simple map and a table of all the hours, phone numbers, collections, and lending policies of the libraries. On the reverse side, it could include a map of Widener, or a brief summary of important HOLLIS commands. If it were made of good laminated cardboard stock, students could fold it up and put it in their backpacks or tape it on their wall next to the Harvard Shuttle schedule. That concise approach was lost on the creators of the folder. A map is included but it isn't built to last, and doesn't convey enough information.

What was really communicated when the library sent undergraduates the Rolls Royce of library guides? That when Harvard has something to say to undergraduates, it hires an advertising firm to do it. Either the library has completely missed the point about what students need, or we have been caught up in the larger politics of fundraising. In the former case, the library need only approach its many student librarians with a few well designed questions, and next time students might receive a guide of real value (for a tenth of the project cost).

However, as was my initial suspicion, and supported last week by a brief article in The Crimson's FM magazine, it appears that students' interest was not the first priority in this project; rather, the folders were originally created for a fundraising project (targeting alumni, our parents, Harvard budget-makers). You can see it in the tinsel-text, in the matte photographs, in the half-hearted attempt at a user's guide and especially in the crisp little compliments card.

Getting students to fully release the amazing library resources steps from our houses and first-year dorms is a great goal. It is not achieved with carpet-bombed public relations packages that look like gifts, but end up in the trash or under stacks of paper that will later become trash. Because the Library failed to consider its audience, the package came off as awkward at best. To many, it was a sign (as if another were needed) that at Harvard, money comes first, followed later by a vague idea of the existence of undergraduates.

Paul H. Freedman '99-'00 is a computer science concentrator affiliated with Dudley House.