In Celebration of American Archives Month

It’s almost the end of October, so that means it’s almost the end of American Archives Month. In honor of the meaningful work being done at archives throughout this land, I want to reintroduce a conversation I had with Jim Baggett, chief archivist at the Birmingham Public Library.

My grandmother – and Bob Dylan – used to say “I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know.” I’m not sure if that’s true of Dylan, but I believed my grandmother, a life-long student who died days shy of her 92nd birthday.

If James L. Baggett, head of the Department of Archives and Manuscripts at the Birmingham Public Library, told me that, I’d believe him, too. How could I not? He has worked more than 20 years among more than 30,500,000 documents, photographs and drawings, and other artifacts. And if you’d ever been blessed to attend one of his walking tours, then you know he could rattle off a timeline on Birmingham history in his sleep.

I spoke with Baggett in his basement office at the Central Library. You can join the conversation below.

Are you from Birmingham?

James L. Baggett: Yes, I was born here.

Where did you attend college?

UAB and Alabama. I received my bachelor’s and master’s in history at UAB, and at Alabama I did a Master of Library Science.

How did you become interested in what you are doing now, in archival work?

Sort of by accident. I was a history major at UAB and when I entered the master’s program, I thought I was going to do a straight history master’s, but they offered a public history program, which is about archives, museum management, historic site management. So I did the public history master’s and interned down here with Marvin Whiting who was my predecessor. And then I entered the Ph.D. program at Ole Miss. I thought I wanted to be a history professor, and I found I didn’t like it. I didn’t enjoy teaching. I had really enjoyed archives so I came back. I was lucky enough to get a job here and I did the library master’s. I never regretted it.

Did you like Oxford at all?

I liked Oxford a lot. I really liked living there. I liked Ole Miss and I’m glad I went. I finished the classwork; I learned a lot. I just realized the academic world just wasn’t where I wanted to be.

Does it get pretty lonely as an archivist?

Not really. Well, it depends. It doesn’t here. You know there are a lot of archivists who are known as lone arrangers, and they are “one-person shops.” That might get kind of lonely. Down here we have a full-time staff of five. We always have interns, volunteers. So at a given time we’ll have anywhere from six to 10 people working down here. And we serve 150-200 researchers a month so it’s a pretty heavily used collection.

A number of authors have given your department “a shout out” because of your assistance.

There are now more than 300 books that have been published out of this collection. That includes five winners of the Pulitzer Prize. And the last time I counted, there have been over 50 documentaries and film productions researched here, and that includes one winner of the Academy Award, Emmy Award winners, and Peabody winners. There have been at least 30 museum exhibitions researched here. But then you know, we also serve local college students and people researching a house or a building so it’s a broadly used collection.

So, what does the collection consist of, what do you house down here?

We have a variety of things. We focus on the Birmingham area, but within that, it’s a pretty broad collection. We’re the archives for the city so we house city records of historic value. We have papers of the mayors from George Ward to Richard Arrington. We serve as the archives for a lot of local organizations like OMB and the Chamber of Commerce, the YMCA, YWCA, the League of Women Voters, a lot of local clubs. We have company records, family papers. We have the largest collection in existence on the civil rights movement in Birmingham. We have the largest collection on women’s history in Birmingham. We have something in the neighborhood of 30,000,000 documents and half a million photographs.

Of course, you know, when we talk about archives, we’re talking about letters, diaries, notebooks, maps, blueprints, office files, church registers – pretty much anything you can think of, you can use to record information.

What’s the most unusual thing you’ve come across in the collection?

Probably fragments from the second Bethel Baptist Church bomb.

That’s my church, actually.

The second bomb, you know the one Will Hall [one of the men who voluntarily guarded the church] picked up and carried out into the streets, we found its fragments in the Birmingham police files. We found metal fragments of the bucket the bomb was placed inside of and pieces of shrapnel from that bomb. Some of those are now on display at City Hall.

How do you keep everything catalogued?

We inventory things at a file level. We can’t inventory all the documents. There’s tens of millions, there’s just no way to do that. So we create finding aids. It’s a guide to a collection that will list each file and tell you what’s there. We try to give a researcher a good general idea of what’s in a collection so they can know which files they might need to look into and which files they could pass over.

What’s your favorite thing about your work?

I guess there are several. Working with researchers is one. People come in with really interesting ideas, really interesting projects, and we find out how we can use our collections in ways that have never been thought of. It’s always fun to start with the research in the beginning, and when it’s done, they produce a book or an article or a Ph.D. dissertation. And finding new collections is fun.

If you could categorize the focus of the researchers, what would it be?

The biggest would be local architecture and historic buildings, and in that you would include land use. In a normal month, we’d have about 100 people come in doing either land use or historic building research. Civil rights is probably the second, especially right now with the 2013 anniversary coming up. We are getting a number of requests.

One thing I try to do when I talk to students is interest them in the other subject areas that are down here. We have lots of material here that’s just not used. With students, I ask do we need another paper on the Black Barons or the Father Coyle murder or would you like to do something new and different.

Have you ever thought about writing a book [Baggett is the author of five books] on one of those unrecognized subjects?

I’ve been working for 10 years on a biography of Bull Connor so I don’t know if unrecognized is the word – barely understood would be a better term. As much as Connor’s been written about, he hasn’t been written about in any complexity. I’m looking at him as a political figure, not just his civil rights study. I’m trying to understand him in a way no one has done.

Are you trying to show him in a more compassionate light?

It’s to try and help the reader understand him. They’re still not going to like him, and they are not necessarily going to be sympathetic to him, but I hope when I finish this, readers will come away with a better understanding. What you find when you start looking at figures like Connor, is how like us they are. Connor loved his family and he took his grandson on vacations. He was a complete person, which is what has never been explored with him before.

We want people like Connor to be totally different from us. We want to keep our distance. I find people get very uncomfortable when I talk about him and they often think I’m defending him when I’m not. I’m just trying to understand him.

Regarding Louise Wooster [Birmingham’s most famous madam, whom Baggett has written a book about], did she and John Wilkes Booth actually have a love affair?

It’s possible. Clearly, Lou embellished the story over the years. It is possible that they could have met and had some sort of relationship. Booth was in Montgomery in 1860 for six weeks, performing. And Lou was working in a brothel in Montgomery at that time. And Booth is known to have frequented brothels, so they both were in the right place at the right time. There could have been an encounter or a brief relationship. She would have been in her late teens at that time, and Booth was a huge star. It would be like having an affair with Brad Pitt now. Now the stories Lou tells later are clearly made up because she turns it into some great love affair. It simply didn’t happen.

Baggett also loves the kids. Photo courtesy of the Birmingham Public Library.

Baggett also loves the kids. Photo courtesy of the Birmingham Public Library.

Remembering the Holocaust

Robert May was seven years old when Adolf Hitler gained power in Germany in 1933.   Things were uneventful at first: People still shopped at his father’s dry goods store, he continued to play with the community’s children, their neighbors still acted neighborly.  But things changed in 1935 when several anti-Semitic laws (known as the Nuremburg Laws) were passed.  Discrimination became commonplace. Propaganda flowed throughout their hometown of Camberg.   A main vehicle of the propaganda was the Nazi Party’s weekly paper Der Stürmer.  The tabloid seemed to be everywhere.  Each week the latest issue was plastered on a bulletin board located near his father’s store.  Nazi Storm Troopers staged regular boycotts in front of the Mays’ business, and the family was banned from the neighborhood grocery store, a place where they had shopped for years.  His oldest brother moved to France, while another left for Switzerland. An uncle moved to Holland.

May told stories of survival and loss during Wednesday’s Brown Bag Lunch Series talk at the Birmingham Public Library.

He remembers being taunted at school.  The teachers were never mean, but the children were another story. “I remember two boys would throw rocks after school and call me a dirty Jew. I called them dirty Nazis. My parents, though, told me we did not do that,” he says.  In 1936, when school became unbearable, May moved to Frankfort with an aunt to attend a Jewish school there.  There, Mays encountered a challenging academic environment; his English teacher held a Ph.D. “I went from a small town to a sophisticated school.”  He remained at the school until Krystallnacht, which is also called the Night of Broken Glass.  On November 9 and 10 in 1938, Storm Troopers along with non-Jewish residents raided Jewish homes, businesses, and synagogues, breaking windows and glass, and destroying furniture. Thousands of Jews were rounded up.   May and his aunt had been warned and were able to seek shelter. His parents were also warned in Camberg and sought safety in Camberg’s Jewish cemetery. After the terrifying event, May’s parents returned to the town and were placed in protective custody at the jail; however, they were released several days later and learned that their house and store had been demolished.  In Frankfort, May’s apartment was destroyed, his school and synagogue burned down.  May explains that the Nazis used the assassination of an ambassador by a Jew as a pretext for the violence.

Safety for May came in the form of the Kindertransport.  After Kristallnacht, the English Parliament passed a bill that would allow Jewish children under 18 from several European countries, including Germany, to enter England to attend boarding schools or live in English homes or farms.  One catch though: The children had to come alone.  In January 1939, May was sent to a Jewish boarding school in Brighton. His uncle in Holland funded his education.  His parents joined him in England in September.  A year later, on the eve of the start of World War II, May and his parents sailed for the U.S.  He remembers other ships being torpedoed by German U-boats.   However, they made it to Cuba, and then New Orleans.  Mays attended Tulane at 16 in 1942, and started LSU Medical School in 1944. By 1954, May was a practicing OB-GYN in Birmingham.

Not every member of May’s family was able to escape. His aunt who accompanied him to Frankfort was eventually captured and placed in a concentration camp where she died.  His uncle who moved to Holland died at Auschwitz.  His older brothers did make it safely to the U.S.

May says his experiences have taught him three things.

  1. Only in the US can a boy from Camberg become successful and have a family.
  2. Education helped save his life.
  3. Never again should anything like the Holocaust occur.

The library, in conjunction with the Birmingham Holocaust Education Center, will present two additional talks on the Holocaust. Next Wednesday, March 19, Max Herzel will speak of his experiences in Belgium.  On March 28 a film, “The Path to Nazi Genocide,” will be shown. Each free event starts at noon.

Dr. Robert May

Dr. Robert May

Dr. May chats with Billy Christie, a man he delivered in 1968.

Dr. May chats with Billy Christie, a man he delivered in 1968.

Robert Chambliss and the Tale of Two Nieces

The Archives department of the Birmingham Public Library is making Robert Edward Chambliss’s jailhouse correspondence available to the public today, the 35th anniversary of the start of Chambliss’s trial.  The papers were given to the library by the FBI. In 1977 Chambliss was convicted to a life sentence for the murder of Carol Denise McNair, 11. McNair, along with Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley, all 14, was killed in the 1963 bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church.

Yesterday, I had an opportunity to review the letters, which were written on yellow legal paper and in cursive.  Chambliss wasn’t concerned with modern grammatical conventions as he disregarded many commas and periods and capitalized words at random.  Given the age of the letters, I was surprised to find that the ink had not faded.

Many of the letters are written to his niece Willie Mae Walker.  Chambliss addresses the envelopes with “To My Best Niece Mrs. Willie Mae Walker.” Within the letters, he would make numerous requests of Walker from sending him money for cigarettes to contacting “Good White” lawyers who could help get him released from prison either for good behavior or medical reasons. 

In one letter, Chambliss asked Walker to contact the local newspapers and place the following ad:

Who Will Help an 80 year old innocent convict to get out of Prison.

His Doctors Say He Will Never Be Well Again.  He is Being Held a Political Prisoner

Who needs to Be Free Before He Dies. Please Write R. E. Chambliss, 119771

St. Clair Prison Hospital P.O. Box 280 Odenville Alabama 35120

Sure enough, Walker sent a typed letter to the Birmingham News’s advertising director Harris Emmerson to find out ad rates for a two-week run. 

Chambliss also asked Walker to track down another niece, Elizabeth Cobbs or Libby Ann as Chambliss called her.  Many observers of Chambliss’s trial say it was Cobbs’s testimony that sealed his conviction.  Cobbs, a Methodist minister, was the prosecution’s star witness.  In Spike Lee’s 1997 seminal documentary, Four Little Girls, Howell Raines, the former executive director of the New York Times and Birmingham native, said “The old man [Chambliss] looked over his shoulder and sees this woman walking in and he turns around. His attorneys lean over to him and ask him ‘Who is that?’ And it’s clear they’re totally unprepared for this witness.” 

Cobbs testified that while watching news reports of the bombing, her uncle said, “It wasn’t meant to hurt anybody. It didn’t go off when it was supposed to.”

Chambliss wanted Walker to find Cobbs so she could “repent” of her testimony.  Chambliss blamed Cobbs for his conviction.   In one letter dated December 18, 1983, Chambliss wrote, “…She Swore Lies on Her Uncle and got Him Charged with 4 Murders and got Him a Life Sentence.”  He thought the Methodist church may have known of Cobbs’s whereabouts; he told his niece to contact them.  Chambliss never mentioned he knew that Cobbs underwent a sex change in 1981 and changed his name to Petric Smith. In 1994, Smith wrote Long Time Coming, in which he recollects about growing up with violent segregationists and how he felt during the trial. Chambliss died a prisoner on October 29, 1985.  Smith died in Birmingham in 1998 from lung cancer. He was 57.  

Historians and journalists have given no treatment to Walker.  I want to know more about her, this best niece. Did she believe in her uncle’s innocence? Did she feel a sense of relief after his death? Is she still alive?  As with any important find, we are left to discover answers through additional digging. If you were able to ask Walker one question, what would it be?

The Archives department is located in the Linn-Henley Research Building and is open from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., Monday – Friday.  

One of the letters Chambliss wrote from prison

Envelope addressed to niece Willie Mae Walker