What to do with the professor’s books
President Theodore Roosevelt often described himself as a book lover. In this regard, Roosevelt had much in common with most of the English professors I have known during my thirty-six years as a member of UNC Charlotte’s Department of English.
When I walk into a colleague’s office, I often see shelves packed with books, and they are not just any books. These books usually relate to the professor’s research interests and areas of academic specialty. The books often took years to assemble. Some of them are by the professor’s friends and colleagues. Some of them are heavily underlined. Some of them are barely holding together because they are so frequently taken off the shelf and consulted. All of them say something significant about the professor who acquired the books and read the books and organized them on the shelves.
Unfortunately, when a professor dies or is forced to move into an assisted-care facility, the professor’s books face an uncertain future. Over the course of my nearly eight years as the Chair of our English Department, I had to deal with several instances of professors dying or moving to an assisted-living facility. On four separate occasions, the family members of these professors contacted me about the professors’ books. They understood the value of these books, and they wanted the books to find new homes and new readers.
In response to these requests, I provided opportunities for other professors, as well as students, to select some of these books for their own book collections. I am one of these professors, and I have found that by adding these books to my personal library, I feel connected to my former colleagues. When I consult one of these books, I have a sense that I am in a conversation with the book’s former owner.
For the family members, donating these books to departmental colleagues and students helps them honor and perpetuate their loved one’s life work. I remember what one of the daughters of a former colleague said when she gave me several of her mother’s picture books by Maurice Sendak. “Our mother knew how much you like Sendak,” she said, “and she would want you to have these books.” I know that it means something to my former colleague’s daughters that these books are still in the English Department.
Of course, English professors are not the only people who value old-fashioned, printed books. President Roosevelt was not an English Professor, but he treasured his books. On several occasions, I toured his home, called Sagamore Hill, in Oyster Bay, New York. I marveled at the thousands of books that are still on the shelves where he put them so many years ago. Because his personal library has been preserved, visitors to Sagamore Hill come away with a sense of Roosevelt’s intellect and varied passions.
In our current age of electronic publishing, physical books are not as pervasive as they once were. I can appreciate the convenience of an electronic book, but at least for me, it is not the same as a printed book. As an object, a printed book takes on meaning that transcends its text. For me, whether a book was once owned by an English professor or a former president, the associations with its previous owner or owners adds to its value.
As a book lover, I am pleased that many of my colleagues’ former books have found new homes with our department’s current faculty and students. In a sense, these books have their own stories, and I am pleased that their stories continue.