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Library history almost as old as the city

Knox County's first well-recorded library effort came in 1817, when the Knoxville Library Company started a fee-based reading room. Its board included 47 of Knoxville's most prominent men, including future U.S. senator and presidential candidate Hugh Lawson White—and, remarkable for that day, one woman, the widow Margaret Humes. Together they composed a noble manifesto: "Whereas public libraries have ever been found eminently beneficial to a community in greatly promoting the diffusion of knowledge...in removing prejudices, and in creating a taste in the public mind for literary pursuits...it has been proposed...to establish, perpetuate and increase a public library."

As the city's first librarian they hired a Yale grad, the Rev. Davis Sherman. But it didn't work out; the experiment fizzled after Knoxville lost its state-capital status.

An intellectual flourishing in the early 1830s, which witnessed the publishing of several literary works in Knoxville, also saw several attempts to re-start a library. An idealistic group called the Knoxville Lyceum sponsored a "Reading Room" in 1832; later on, the vigorous Young Men's Literary Society backed a local library beginning in 1842. Its treasurer was seminal American humorist George Washington Harris.

It was only after the dust of Civil War had settled that a more sustained effort began. In 1873, "public-spirited citizens" led by Mayor William Rule met to establish a Library and Reading Room at the old Franklin House—a hotel and saloon at Main and Gay. Their first librarian was a Miss E.T. Morgan, a New Yorker.

But there followed "five years of vicissitude and discouragement," as backers attempted to make the struggling private project a truly public library. Presiding over their meeting on April 1, 1879, was prominent attorney and historian Oliver Perry Temple. Those attending the meeting were an impressive group of Knoxville's most accomplished scholars and philanthropists. One of its leaders was Prof. Eben Alexander, the classics scholar who would later, as ambassador to Greece, help found the modern Olympic Games.

The library had 166 members by 1880, which wasn't enough for Temple. "We support 21 licensed drinking saloons," he said. "It remains to be seen whether we can support a library."

In 1882, things were looking up, as a phalanx of local philanthropists donated thousands to establish a permanent library. But they still didn't have a permanent building.

In 1885, industrialist Charles McClung McGhee stepped up and offered to build a library building at Gay and Vine. McGhee was mourning his daughter, Lawson McGhee Williams, who had died in childbirth. He named the library for her.

The handsome, three-story brick building would not only house the library, on the second floor, but sustain it; rents from the building's tenants were dedicated to funding the library.

In 1892, the Knoxville Library made a step unusual for a Southern city. As chief librarian they hired Mary Louise Davis, who was trained at the only library college in the nation: the New York State Library School. It was subscription-based until 1897, when the Legislature authorized communities of over 20,000 to pay for libraries via taxes.

By 1901, a writer claimed that "Knoxville has had, if we except two or three large cities, the best public library in the South."

—J.N.

The struggle for control of the Knox County Library

by Jack Neely

The Knox County Public Library System is one of the South's older public libraries. It offers nearly a million books, videos, and other materials; its holdings are far greater than those of the systems of Asheville, Lexington, or Chattanooga. Its annual circulation is more than two million.

Our library offers the region's largest selection of videotapes, more titles than any video store. It keeps a thorough collection of back issues of 1,500 magazines and a near-complete collection of 120 years of newspapers on microfilm. With 124 terminals for use by the public, it offers computer access to a wide variety of information. It provides several public services: free classes in how to use computers; storytelling for the kids; art exhibits; a provocative lecture series. All of those are available in the main downtown library—known for 117 years as Lawson McGhee; some of those services are also available in the 18 branch libraries in the county. One of those branches is the Calvin McClung Historical Collection, easily the best repository of general historical and geneological resources in this region.

And it does all this without costing a whole lot. Its annual budget is over $8 million, most of which is paid for through county taxes. But the per-capita expense to Knox County residents is much less than the cost of libraries in Charlotte or Atlanta, and less than one-fourth of the per-capita cost of Cleveland, Ohio's library. It has been a well-run organization.

All of that has a lot to do with why this year has been a shock to many people. Library staff, patrons, and benefactors protest that the new director's position has been and perhaps is still being handled in a way that is, at best, lazy and haphazard; and at worst, ominous.

The Knox County Library is arguably more popular than UT football. A lot more Knox Countians hold library cards than season tickets. And last year, the library logged more than 1.3 million visits: more than twice as many as attended UT Vols football games. People use the library system—for leisure reading, for kids' homework, for professional research, for self improvement—and they like it. An independent survey conducted one year ago showed that library users are overwhelmingly satisfied with the system. It may be the most popular government-supported service in the county.

This fall, for the first time in 17 years, the library has a new interim director, to served during an interim that may last as much as eight more months. But an apparent majority of the library's librarians, many of them veteran professionals with graduate degrees, don't trust Charles Davenport. Moreover, they resent how he got the job: "the whole way he's gone about it, it's very disturbing," as one prominent librarian says. And they have suspicions about what it means for their future.

Last week, Knox County's department of human resources indicated that the county will insist on a permanent director with several years of administrative experience in a public library. That's a minimum qualification that Davenport, a former school librarian, clearly does not have—and the county's new requirement makes the prospect of a permanent directorship for Davenport sound unlikely. But many librarians say morale has never been lower. One longtime librarian in a managerial position describes it as "horrible."

Wags have dismissed the flap over the library director a matter of the Old Boys' Club versus the Old Girls' Club. It's true that the division has sometimes fallen along gender lines, and among the many negative rumors about Charles Davenport are some disproveable exaggerations. But there's more to this than a petty squabble.

The quagmire has gotten the Knox County Library System into the national press; in the last month, professional publications like Library Journal and American Libraries printed prominent news stories about the dispute, suggesting that the "political favoritism" shown in Knox County this year is of a degree unusual in the public-library business. It's hard to deny that it's a pretty strange story.

It all started innocently enough, when Patricia Watson, the much-beloved director of the Knox County Library System for 17 years, announced to the library's board of directors that she'd be retiring, effective Sept. 1. It was a notice of a good six months, which is usually adequate to install a new head librarian.

It was after that that the board took a series of steps which are, at least, peculiar.

Charles Davenport, longtime president of the library board of trustees, took his time—four months, by some accounts, though he insists it was only three—to launch a search for a new director. "I would have expected an immediate announcement," says Elizabeth Aversa, director of UT's School of Information Sciences, the school that granted both Watson and Davenport their MLS degrees; in her 35 years of involvement in several library systems, she has come to expect some urgency about such matters. Davenport is vague about why he waited so long. "As president of the board, I needed to know where we need to go, because I want to be a leader," he says.

The second odd thing was that Davenport and the board advertised the position only locally, with an ad in the News-Sentinel. To some, that may have seemed an ordinary thing; that may be how most jobs get filled around here, and in several cases in the past, the best candidates turned out to be local people. But 2002 may have marked the first year since the 19th century that the city's top library position was advertised only locally. In 1892, in fact, the library distinguished itself by being one of the nation's first systems to hire a college-trained librarian, a recruit from New York State Library School. Later, Mary Utopia Rothrock, perhaps the library's most influential director, was recruited from Memphis in 1916. In recent decades, it has been typical to hire a director only after a nationwide search. But to Davenport and the board, this time seemed different. "The strong feeling of the board was that the director should be local," he says.

The third peculiarity was the rapid-fire selection process. The position was finally announced in June; the deadline for applications was July 19. The board was supposed to select a winner by August 5. Four local librarians applied for the post; thanks to a frantic Internet posting conducted without the consent of the board, 12 others applied from elsewhere.

The fourth unusual aspect of the search, and the most controversial, was that Davenport himself emerged as a contender for the position. Davenport didn't apply for the permanent director position, and has not to this day, but by July he was openly discussing his qualifications, acknowledging that "several people" had encouraged him to apply.

One odd thing is that Davenport is not, by any conventional standard, qualified for the job. The Knox County Library employs 236, with a multi-million-dollar budget. A survey of library-director openings across the country shows that even those libraries that are a fraction of the size of Knox County's require, as an absolute minimum standard, some years of administrative, supervisory experience in a public library. However, almost all comparable director openings call for a good deal more than that. Jackson, Mississippi,which is smaller than Knoxville, is looking for a new director, too. They require "eight years of progressively responsible public-library experience, at least three of which have been as either director or deputy director...successful record in budgetary planning...knowledge of current library technology...expertise in strategic planning..." etc. Springfield, Ohio, which serves a population less than half the size of Knox County, requires "eight years of progressive supervisory, management, and financial experience...." The Champaign (Illinois) Public Library, which serves only one fifth the population that the Knox County system does, advertised for a director. The qualifications, besides an MLS, include "at least five years of professional-level administrative/management experience."

Davenport's career has been, by most accounts, an honorable one. He was a schoolteacher, and some former students recall him as an inspiration. He has served as librarian in a series of rural elementary and middle schools. He has a wide reputation as a nice man. His resume attests that he has served as "Donor" to worthy causes. He has served the community more than many 58-year-old men have. Even some of his critics think he's nice. "He's a nice guy, chairman of a board that helped us do all this great stuff," says one longtime librarian, who, like most of Davenport's employees, were afraid for Metro Pulse to use their names in this story. "He's been so nice to so many people for so many years that they're afraid to tell him nay."

But he has never had a staff; he has never been an administrator. And he has never had a full-time job with any public library, which Aversa and others say is a far more complicated proposition than a school library. His only experience with a real public library was four years as a part-time desk clerk at Lawson McGhee: a position from which he was laid off during budget cuts 20 years ago.

True, he was on the board of trustees for the last 17 years. But this experience, which Davenport himself cites as his chief qualification for the job, looks like a disqualification to several library professionals.

Library experts outside of Knox County say it's extremely unusual, and perhaps dangerous, for a trustee to be a candidate for the director position. "I've never heard of it," says Edwin Gleaves, the Tennessee State Librarian and archivist in Nashville. "And I've been in this business a long, long time." A trusteeship is often a political plum, with mainly political and fundraising duties. A director is the full-time administrator who makes the whole thing work.

Though she declined to speak on the record for this article, former director Patricia Watson is quoted in the American Libraries article as saying, "I think it's unethical, though not illegal, to put yourself in a position where you are going to benefit financially from a situation like this."

Aversa cites the American Library Association's "Ethics Statement for Public Library Trustees," which declares that "Trustees must avoid situations in which personal interests might be served or financial benefits gained..." A search committee that Davenport had appointed gave him the interim post he now holds. As determined by the board of trustees, the interim director's salary is $76,000—almost 70 percent more than Davenport's previous salary.

It's well known that Davenport has had an eye on the director's position for a long time. Back in 1985, he applied for it. He was then a new member of the library's board of trustees, appointed by his two county commissioners. Without administrative experience, he might not have seemed a credible contender. Still, he garnered backing from several commissioners. When there were rumors that politicians were using the role as a political plum and that a Davenport "fix was in," the staff association objected that Davenport lacked basic qualifications for the position.

The job finally went to Watson, who then had 14 years of experience as a librarian, four of it as assistant to previous director Lucile Deaderick and six of them as director of the system's busy West Knoxville branch. She became, by all accounts, a popular and effective director.

In the 17 years since the public airing of his lack of qualifications for the directorship, Davenport made no obvious moves to acquire them. Davenport's full-time career has remained on a respectable flat line, as school librarian. He hasn't earned any promotions. He has earned what is sometimes more important: the friendship of local politicians.

During Davenport's tenure, the library's board of trustees had been changing in subtle ways. Since the city, facing World's Fair-related debt 20 years ago, got out of the library business, Knox County government has been responsible for its funding and for appointing all the members of its board; each of its nine members is appointed by county commissioners from each district. Critics contend that it's often a political honor given without particular regard to the nominee's interest in the library.

Originally, there were only seven board members for the nine districts, creating a sort of dynamic imbalance; the rolling replacements forced term limits. In the early 1990s, however, the board was expanded to nine members, one for each district, and unlimited in tenure. Some board members sponsored a resolution to give themselves term limits. It passed by a majority, but not the supermajority required in the charter. Davenport was one of the minority who stymied it. A former board member, who asked for anonymity, claims that the governing board of the public library mostly isn't made up of people who demonstrate any interest in or knowledge of library functions; that several members typically came to meetings unprepared; that some board members aren't even public-library users.

The board did accomplish, or at least approve, a good deal during that period. The library built or rebuilt eight branches, and approved construction of an $18 million addition to the East Tennessee Historical Center, including a large expansion of the library's McClung Collection. Some credit Davenport's help in gaining funds from county government.

One of Davenport's political friendships came into question in 1994, when, during discussion of future branch-library projects, the architecture firm of McCarty Holsapple McCarty charged that Davenport and his hand-picked selection committee, ignoring the recommendations of the county architect, showed favoritism toward another firm, Barber & McMurry. As a result of the flap, Barber & McMurry withdrew from further consideration on the library's branch projects. However, of particular interest in news reports eight years ago was Davenport's friendship with one particular representative of that firm, Barber & McMurry Vice President Mike Ragsdale, who was also, at the time, a county commissioner.

Late this summer, Davenport and Ragsdale rose to power within days of each other; Davenport as the library's interim director, and Ragsdale as the new County Executive, who is ultimately responsible for the library as a whole. Unchallenged in his race, Ragsdale's accession was a fait accompli at the time when Davenport was hesitating to launch a search. The coincidence has given the rumor mill an extra turn, though Ragsdale's recent dismissal of the Universe Knoxville proposal from Worsham Watkins, the development firm with which he had previously been cosy, might cast doubt on any perceived tendency to show favoritism toward old chums.

Last summer, as Watson presided over her final weeks as director, some expected the board, having advertised the position only locally, to tap Chairman Davenport for the position. Several members of the Friends of the Library, the advocacy group whose programs raise about $40,000 for the library annually, spoke out about the issue. Though the Friends remains officially neutral on the issue, the Public Library Advocates Network, an ad-hoc group of library patrons, called for reopening the search. Member Wayne Pritchard, a local businessman, calls the group "a grassroots effort of people who are outraged by the actions of the board of trustees," who they believe mishandled the situation. In response to constituents' concerns, County Commissioner John Schmid called for a new nationwide search. The proposal received enthusiastic support from commissioners Wanda Moody and David Collins.

Meanwhile, as Watson's announced retirement loomed, the library board found itself faced with finding an interim director to fill in until a new permanent one could begin. Watson recommended members of her own staff for the position; when board members seemed to be leaning toward Davenport, Watson offered to stay on.

Even interim directors usually qualify by the same standards as permanent directors. Chattanooga's library system, which has been advertising for a director with 10-15 years of public-library experience, currently has an interim director who qualifies for the position.

The board's vote on the interim-director position, taken before a roomful of librarians and library supporters, was the most dramatic moment of the complicated drama; they voted 4-3 to elevate their former president, Davenport, to the position. "New Knoxville Interim Director Greeted With Boos," trumpeted the article in the October issue of American Libraries.

Davenport doesn't register any obvious emotion when discussing that evening. "I was surprised," he says. He accounts for the reaction by the fact that "People don't like to lose. But we can't dwell on that. We've got to move on to the bright future of the library."

"People are afraid of change," he says. "I was supposed to have a list of people I was going to fire. I don't." He says he has gotten along very well with the staff; he says he's surprised to hear that there's still resentment of his role.

One prominent librarian, staff development coordinator Libby Pollard, who was one of four local candidates for the directorship last summer, had tendered her resignation. "I was sorry to hear about that," Davenport says. When she told him, he recalls that he responded, "Did you do this just to see me cry?" He says she told him she was quitting for family reasons.

Pollard declined an interview for this article. Asked if her departure had something to do with Davenport's accession, she responds, "no comment."

Ragsdale appointed a new search committee of seven: Four library board members (insisting that a maximum of two be members who had previously voted for Davenport) and three citizens from the community at large.

Of the board members on the new search committee, two have already demonstrated a willingness to support Davenport; a third, a new member who missed the August imbroglio, is Davenport's replacement on the board, hails from his district, and was nominated by one of the two commissioners who originally nominated Davenport.

Of the remaining three citizen appointees, one is, like Davenport, a public-school librarian. None are public-library librarians. The library's staff association had asked Ragsdale to include at least two experienced public librarians on the committee, but he declined to appoint any. Asked about why there are no librarians or Friends of the Library members on the committee, Ragsdale spokesman Mike Cohen responds, "We felt that the library was well-represented by four members of the board of trustees."

Ragsdale himself, who's said to be fatigued about the issue, declined to be interviewed. Cohen says they're content to let the system, as revised, run the show. "We're not really involved in it," Cohen says. Citing various professional and social ties among the newly appointed non-board members, critics have already charted a pro-Davenport majority on Ragsdale's new search committee. Cohen adamantly denies bias on the committee.

Pritchard, of PLAN, calls the Ragsdale plan "a step in the right direction," but questions the unexpectedly long (nine-month) process that has been allotted for the search. "There's no reason for this to go on until June," one librarian says. Cohen says the deadline was a conservative estimate from the human-resources department, based on the possibility of advertising the position in quarterly publications with long lead times. If the board confirms a new candidate before then, he or she could be installed ahead of time, Cohen says.

Several librarians, skeptical of what they've heard of the search process, wonder if that tenure will be long enough for Davenport allies on the board to claim that their friend will, by virtue of his interim-director post, finally have the "administrative experience" that eluded him for so long. Davenport himself says he hasn't decided whether he'll even apply for it.

In any case, the Davenport issue may now be moot. In spite of the librarians' suspicions, unless something changes radically, Davenport cannot be the next permanent director.

Knox County's Human Resources department, under outgoing manager Phyllis Severance, has been comparing library-director qualifications elsewhere in the nation. Severance has spent recent weeks working with the department's new manager, Frances Fogerson, to describe the qualifications for library director. They have compared ads for comparable systems, and consulted with Aversa. Aversa gave her a detailed response; among her minimum qualifications for director of a system like Knox County's, she says, are "eight or more years of progressively responsible experience in a public library. The idea that somebody should have grown during those eight years is pretty important." She adds that experience with budgets, supervision of a staff, and communications skills are also necessary.

They haven't released their final description for publication—Severance said they'll post it on the American Library Association's website (though not necessarily the ALA Journal), as well as advertise it in the News-Sentinel.

Severance, who says she's not acquainted with Davenport or his qualifications, says the job will definitely require at least six years of progressive administrative public-library experience, which Davenport doesn't have. She presented the findings to the search committee this past Wednesday; their reactions weren't available by press time, but Severance says the board is obliged to abide by Human Resources' requirements. They won't even get to consider candidates except seven already screened by her department.

"There are some really good people out there who I think would be interested in that job," says Gleaves, the state librarian. "Sometimes you have to shake the bushes to find them." However, several observers acknowledge that there are several worthy candidates within the Knox County Library system.

Charles Davenport doesn't seem like much of a demon. He doesn't seem like the center of any controversy. The formal, mild-mannered man carries himself with slow, perfect-postured dignity. He speaks from the back of his throat; his conversational voice might remind you of the ranger who used to narrate Disney nature films. Sitting quietly with his hands folded before him on a table, he seems to be a profoundly comfortable man, but he trembles a little when he gestures.

Davenport grew up in East Knoxville, got to know the library through the Burlington branch, went to old East High. "Unfortunately, I grew up poor and had to work. Earning a bachelor's in education at UT, he worked at the library of the College of Education. Upon graduation, he got a job as a teacher at Brickey Elementary and befriended school superintendent Mildred Doyle.

"Knox County was small," he says. "Not like it is now. People knew each other." (It might be overreaching to hear pathos in that statement.) One of his classmates was Patricia Watson. Before graduation, he earned a job as a school librarian at Halls Elementary. In 1977, he also moonlighted as a part-time clerk in the audiovisual (then Fine Arts) department at Lawson McGhee. Until recently at least, it was the busiest time of his life. Colleagues remember him as easy to get along with.

He left Halls Elementary in 1995. "I decided God had blessed me with a good mind, and I was not content to be there and let it atrophy, no matter how comfortable it was." He moved to Carter Middle, where he has served as a part-time school librarian. He says Carter Middle was "more challenging" than Halls Elementary "because I had moved out of my comfort zone." He also did some library work at tiny Gap Creek Elementary.

After a month on the job, he says a library director is "almost not a librarian, but almost a business person. That bothers me," he says. "I miss that hands-on." Asked about his direction, as interim director, "There's not much that I would change," he says. "If I felt that it needed changing, I would have done it."

"We give an awful lot of service to the people of Knox County with a minimum amount of staff," Davenport says. "Staff is stretched so thin that when someone calls in sick, it's an emergency."

Today, the main library is clearly overcrowded, a situation Watson recognized and proposed to address. The library's computer classes are held in the second-floor reading room, among books and readers. Researchers know that sometimes it's hard to find a place to sit down. Books and studies are sometimes moved into storage while they're still relevant. Davenport acknowledges that some sort of expansion is "desperately needed. However, I do not know that the political will is here yet for it. It is crowded. It must be established within the next five years, certainly the next 10." He mentions the possibility of moving offices and classrooms into the nearby Walnut Building.

McCarty's original, ca. 1970 designs anticipated that the main library would outgrow its quarters before long; their plans for the three-story building called for the addition of a fourth floor when it was needed. "The talk is there," Davenport says. "A study was done. But the feasibility is not as great as when the building was built. The codes have changed."

Downstairs, librarians work quietly, but, if you ask, speak frankly—though almost always off the record. Of the dozen we spoke to, no librarian we found was happy to have Davenport as their system's director. After his first month on the job, several already have complaints: that he has been cavalier about okaying equipment that's not in the budget; that he short-circuits the library's hierarchy, making seemingly whimsical alterations in librarians' duties without consulting with supervisory staff; that in the next year he plans to close the library system for an extra in-service day: apparently to acquaint librarians with the Nazi Holocaust. But most say they don't see him much.

There's no shortage of insinuations about Davenport and his fitness for a high office. Some are contradictory or disproveable. But in the end he may be less relevant to the library's predicament than the system itself, beginning with the composition of the board. Emphasizing trustees' political role, Aversa says, "they may be very loyal to the library, but they may not understand the ramifications of the decisions they make."

Among professional librarians, some believe the library's board of trustees is made up of well-meaning Gomers who don't know what they're doing. Some believe the board to be corrupt and politically influenced. Other theories to account for the board's actions and inactions in 2002 are hard to come by.

The board strikes most critics as the trouble spot, but County Commissioner John Schmid puts the blame on Commission, himself included. Commission, he says, has not historically taken library board appointments very seriously. A post on the library board often serves as a "thank you," he says. "You really don't think the library board's going to cause you a lot of heartburn, politically." He implies that maybe it should.

He'd like to reform the system, beginning with term limits for all the county's boards. "This is a perfect example of why you need term limits," he says. He's also like to see the full Commission vote on each nominee for the board.

He'd like to see future appointees be younger and more actively involved with the library. But at the moment, he hopes the worst is over. Schmid trusts the county's Human-Resources department to help the board find the best candidate.

In the meantime, the staff of the Knox County Library System continues to operate day to day, without a permanent director or any idea what direction that person might take their organization. Many informed observers, such as Aversa, emphasize the importance of the new director for the library's future. She says Knox County's system is a "good" one, but notes that library technology is changing fast. Watson led the effort to computerize the library's card-catalogue system, and oversaw the institution of the library's internet-based information-retrieval systems. The next library's director will have to be adept enough to accommodate major transitions.

"This is a growing library system with a tremendous amount of potential," she says, adding that it has only begun to reflect the character of what is—given the presence of a huge university, Oak Ridge, TVA, and numerous high-tech research and communications businesses—a relatively sophisticated community. "We need an excellent visionary," she says, "a forward-looking librarian."

"I think this is really unfortunate, what's happening in Knoxville," says Edwin Gleaves, the courtly State Librarian in Nashville. "And I hope they take the high road out of it."
 

October 24, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 43
© 2002 Metro Pulse