Archival gold

Hang onto your hats; this one is huge.

The first tantalizing seed was planted at some point in 2009, during the research phase of my Guaraldi bio (a few years before I began crafting the actual text). One of San Francisco Chronicle music critic Ralph Gleason’s columns — on July 16, 1964 — briefly mentioned that Guaraldi and Bola Sete soon would record some short programs, known as “fills,” for National Educational Television (NET) member stations. That’s all I would know for more than a decade, despite extensive investigation.

 

In early 2011, I began what quickly became a warm and friendly email and phone correspondence with a fellow Guaraldi fan named Doug, who worked (still works) on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. His proximity to the Library of Congress — and his willingness to lend his investigative talents — proved quite helpful, on numerous occasions. In mid-June, I mentioned the NET fills, wondering whether there might be any reference to them in the Library of Congress (LoC), and/or whether any leads might point to former NET (now PBS) stations possessing additional information … or, better yet, copies of old tapes. During the next several years — to my grateful surprise, when he later detailed this effort — he exchanged more than 180 emails (!) with “various and sundry folks” while trying to confirm existence and contents. A few individuals provided encouragement and direction, although — alas — every potential lead went nowhere.

 

My Guaraldi bio was published in April 2012. The filmography (Appendix C) includes a listing for the NET fills, along with a frustrating final sentence noting that “no tapes have been found thus far.”

 

And that’s where the matter remained, for nearly a decade. I re-checked the LoC databases every year or so, to no avail.

 

Then, in early May 2020, I stumbled upon the LoC’s recently added NET Microfiche Special Collection … and the picture rapidly expanded. I learned that the Guaraldi/Sete fills had been made specifically to accompany an imported 13-episode Granada-TV anthology series titled Stories of Guy de Maupassant; I even was able to determine which episodes were attached to Guaraldi and/or Sete performances. (The full story of that discovery is detailed in this earlier blog post.)

Library duty

Professionals constantly are asked to provide their services at no cost, often by well-meaning (but clueless) friends and neighbors. Attorneys get phone calls from folks in desperate need of free legal advice; doctors get backed into corners, at parties, by total strangers who proceed to describe a jaw-dropping assortment of symptoms, followed by the traditional question ... "So, whaddya think, Doc?"

We writers are no different. People know that I can string words and sentences together with persuasive competence, and so I've often been asked for press releases, letters of recommendation, essays and even full-blown feature stories ... at no charge, of course. Depending on who's asking, I might say something along the lines of "You know, I do this for a living," hoping to elicit at least a trace of guilt; that usually gets me a smile and a reply such as "Oh, c'mon; you could dash this off in no time."

Well, yes ... and the reason I sometimes can "dash it off in no time" is attributable to my having worked at it for 40-plus years. Which should be worth something.

Granted, people only take advantage of us if we let them; I have no trouble declining. But I often say yes — much to my wife's vexation — particularly if the request seems worthwhile, or if the pitch is made in an appealing manner.

Sometimes the weight of the potential honor also carries the day.

I therefore was quite intrigued, back in the spring, to receive a cordial note from Cary O'Dell, who works in the National Recording Registry for the U.S. Library of Congress. They're the folks who select 25 recordings each year for preservation: recordings that have been deemed so vital to our country — aesthetically, culturally or historically — that they demand (and receive) permanent archiving in our nation's library.

I previously wrote about the National Recording Registry, a few years back, when Guaraldi's soundtrack for A Charlie Brown Christmas was one of the 25 recordings so honored in 2011 (although announcements didn't go out until 2012). That's a rare accolade for a jazz musician, and for a soundtrack, let alone the score for a half-hour television special. And yet I'm sure everybody reading these words would agree that Guaraldi's album easily deserves such a tribute.

Anyway, Cary explained that the Registry folks are attempting to augment their core web site with "scholarly essays" for each of the (currently) 400 titles within. Cary then asked if I'd be willing to supply such an essay for Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas.

Now, Cary didn't know this, but — to paraphrase a famous line from Jerry Maguire — they had me at "Library of Congress." Even so, I was particularly delighted by the following few lines in Cary's letter, which I'll reproduce verbatim:

Unfortunately, we are not able to pay you at this time. As a writer myself, I know of the nasty gumption and gall of asking writers to "give it away for free." So, all I can offer as an excuse is: "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you..."

Okay, you gotta love it.

As a further sweetener, I also was promised a byline and brief bio.

Heck, a byline on a document within the Library of Congress, attached to a recorded work that has been selected for permanent preservation? Meaning that, in all likelihood, my deathless prose also would stand the test of time? Goodness, isn't that what we all yearn for? Something significant that will outlive our mortal selves?

Where do I sign?

It was, indeed, that formal; I had to autograph an official release, and of course I also had to submit to format and editing requirements. Cary sent along a few sample essays and gave me a suggested length of 1,000 to 1,200 words.

Naturally, my finished essay came in at 2,025 words. After I trimmed it.

Twice as long as requested ... which also is pretty much what happened with the final draft of my Guaraldi bio. Happily, Cary was just as accommodating as my editor at McFarland, and I wasn't required to cut anything.

The results can be seen here, at its own page within the National Recording Registry site; it went live earlier today, and Cary kindly alerted me to same.

And I've been sporting a disgustingly self-satisfied grin ever since.

Because — let's face it — this is way-way-way-way-way cool.

Even if they didn't pay me.

How the Library of Congress selects its artifacts

Most folks merely speculate idly; others are emboldened to ask the right question at the right moment.

This blog's May 23 entry discussed that day's breaking news, when the Library of Congress announced that the newest batch of 25 "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant" recordings — slated for permanent preservation — would include Guaraldi's complete score for the 1965 TV special, A Charlie Brown Christmas.

The honor itself is a very, very big deal. But I never considered the implications of the logical follow-up question: What, precisely, would the Library of Congress be storing, in order to properly preserve Guaraldi's work in the state-of-the-art Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation, in Culpeper, Virginia? 

(As a droll sidebar, I'm sure I'm not alone in wondering whether such facilities resemble the wonderful final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark ... or perhaps the titular setting of the TV series Warehouse 13. And if the Packard Campus doesn't look like that, I'd rather not be told.)

Thomas G. Dennehy thought to investigate such matters. He asked the right question.

Best of all, he received an enthusiastic response that allowed him to make a simple yet historic gesture, which has given him an anecdote that, for the rest of his life, will allow him to dominate idle party conversations.

In Thomas' own rather clever words, his long-carefully-stored original vinyl copy of Guaraldi's album has become "the Charlie Browniest" Peanuts LP in history. You can read all about it — and even see the letter from Library of Congress spokesman Cary O'Dell — at Thomas' blog. It's a charming tale, and Thomas tells it quite well.

I can't help a tiny streak of envy, of course ... because, really, why the heck didn't I think to do that?

Like Charlie Brown, all I can do is sigh.

Immortality for 'A Charlie Brown Christmas'

Guaraldi fans already know that immortality is assured for his groundbreaking score for A Charlie Brown Christmas, first heard nationally when the CBS-TV special debuted on December 9, 1965. After all, the album hasn't ever been out of print, and it continues to sell impressively well each year. But it's always nice to get official recognition, and in this country, "official" doesn't get better than the Library of Congress.

Under the terms of the National Recording Preservation Act of 2000, the Librarian of Congress, with advice from the Library’s National Recording Preservation Board (NRPB), is tasked every year with selecting 25 recordings that are "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant," and are at least 10 years old.

The recordings are housed in the Library's state-of-the-art Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation in Culpeper, Virginia. Nominations are gathered through online submissions from the public and from the NRPB, which comprises leaders in the fields of music, recorded sound and preservation.

"America's recorded-sound heritage has in many ways transformed the soundscape of the modern world, resonating and flowing through our cultural memory," said Librarian of Congress James H. Billington. "Audio recordings have documented our lives and allowed us to share artistic expressions and entertainment. Songs, words and the natural sounds of the world that we live in have been captured on one of the most perishable of all of our art media. The salient question is not whether we should preserve these artifacts, but how best collectively to save this indispensable part of our history."

The selections for the 2011 registry — announced today — bring the total number of recordings to 350. This year's choices feature a diverse array of spoken-word and musical recordings, representing almost every musical category and spanning nearly a century, from 1888 to 1984. They cover a wide variety of sounds and music, ranging from CBS Radio newsman Edward R. Murrow's I Can Hear It Now, a curated collection of speech excerpts and news reports from 1933 to 1945; to the only known surviving recording of turn-of-the-20th century musical stage star Lillian Russell; to the 1943 New York Philharmonic debut of Leonard Bernstein and the innovative jazz of Stan Kenton.

And Vince Guaraldi's 1965 score for A Charlie Brown Christmas.

This is how the Library of Congress describes Guaraldi's album:

A Charlie Brown Christmas introduced jazz to millions of listeners. The television soundtrack album includes expanded themes from the animated “Peanuts” special of the same name, as well as jazz versions of both traditional and popular Christmas music, performed primarily by the Vince Guaraldi Trio. The original music is credited to pianist Guaraldi and television producer Lee Mendelson. Best remembered is the “Linus and Lucy” theme, originally composed by Guaraldi for an earlier “Peanuts” project, which remains beloved by fans of the popular television specials, those devoted to the daily newspaper comic strip, and music lovers alike.

Indeed. And how could I argue with that?

(Bonus points to the Library of Congress, as well, for recognizing that "Linus and Lucy" and some of the other themes used in A Charlie Brown Christmas first were composed for the never-aired 30-minute documentary, A Boy Named Charlie Brown.)

The entire list is fascinating, with a spread that jumps from Donna Summer, Prince and the Grateful Dead, to the Dixie Hummingbirds, Patsy Montana and Ruth Etting. By far the most fascinating item (sorry, Vince!) is an 1888 recording made by the short-lived Thomas Edison Company, speficially designed to be inserted into dolls, so that they would sing (!). This recording of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," on a tiny tin cylinder, is the earliest known commercial sound recording in existence. Due to its poor condition, the recording was considered unplayable until 2011, when its surface was scanned in three dimensions using digital mapping tools created at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, and developed in collaboration with the Library of Congress.

And it was considered time-consuming, back in the day, to press an LP from a master tape?

I have only one minor nit to pick. Each entry on the list is accompanied by an LP jacket (where appropriate) or some other suitable image. But the image used for A Charlie Brown Christmas comes from a much later CD cover, rather than the original Fantasy Records LP (reproduced above). 

A small detail, one might argue, but hey: It's important to get these things right!

******

Update on August 26, 2012:

Every wonder precisely what the Library of Congress physically archives, in such cases? Check Thomas G. Dennehy's blog to find out how his original LP copy of A Charlie Brown Christmas came to be selected for this honor.