Category: Curiosities

8 mm film, 8 track tapes, 8 inch floppy disks, all once promising media storage formats are for the most part gone from our daily use and even popular memory. Replaced by modern day equivalents of WAV files, MP3s, and cloud computing, our common media storage and delivery has moved from the tangible to intangible.

What is an archivist to do?

The time has come where archives and libraries are better equipped and staffed to manage the latter rather than the former. Maintaining AV rooms filled with half-working equipment for playback is a no win situation. Institutional repositories and internet based applications are better able to store, playback and preserve digitally created information than ever before.

A recent discovery of a box full of 8 inch floppies all marked as correspondence from the office of the Vice President for Health Sciences demonstrates the conundrum in the collection of historical documents. On the one hand, the content of the disks are absolutely central to the collecting focus for the History Project, yet on the other, the media is so obsolete and likely degraded to the point of being unable to retrieve any information.

The 8 inch floppy, like its successors the 5 in., 3.5in., Jaz and Zip disks, were tied to specific hardware operating systems. Yet, it often had multiple formats, disk densities, transfer rates, and spinning heads that made them even in their prime incompatible with other 8 inch disk drives. The ability to rescue data off any 8 inch diskette today would be beyond most IT skill sets and, due to the low data capacity they actually held, not worth the expense.

1980s computing taught us in the 1990s to fear the question of "how will I be able to save, read, open, edit this after the media, format, software, hardware changes?" However, in the last ten years the migration of electronic records has become easier to understand and to accomplish with only minor cautionary steps.

Changes in storage media will always challenge our preservation techniques and cause a few gaps in recorded history. This is to be expected and for the most part accepted as progress to better record keeping. I'm sure the first few recipes for baked clay tablets didn't quite turn out as expected, yet I've never heard anyone mention cuneiform tablets as an unstable media.

So with this in mind I will look at my box of 8 inch floppies, and the information they might contain, and realize that this gap of documentation is an example of the jumps made from one media system to the next that is likely lost to history.

From time to time, when sorting though boxes and folders of personal papers and office records, certain things will jump out at you as being out of place or not part of the original intention of the creator. Often times this addition to a collection is an unwanted biological guest like bugs or spiders (sometimes living but mostly dead), mold or mildew (usually dormant but sometimes active), and once I even saw the skeletal remains of a mouse (definitely an unintentional addition).

However, working with collections that focus on the health sciences, stumbling across a biological specimen is usually no accident at all. I've found random, unlabeled paraffin wax pathology samples as well as a wax cast of the inner ear (harvested post-mortem).

Today was a new anatomical sample in the archives. Inside this miniature cigar box were nearly two dozen envelopes containing extracted adult human teeth from the 1950s.

Most had their full roots and represented all types of molars, bicuspids, and incisors.

It was as if some contemptuous tooth fairy had stashed them away.

So where do you keep your Iron Lung?

A common question among archivists and museum curators in the health sciences, the answer usually involves an off site location that can handle the nearly half-ton piece of equipment. This model belongs to the University of Minnesota and sits idle in warehouse off campus.

I haven't been able to determine its date of manufacture. The Emerson Co. ceased production in 1970. Its model no. is R, serial no. W. A repair tag indicates the last service date was in 1978.

This model is likely from the 1950s. The early Emerson Iron Lungs from the 1930s were a baby blue color. The Smithsonian has the first Emerson model. The Minnesota Historical Society reportedly has a baby-blue Emerson in storage. J. H. Emerson became synonymous with the respirator after his less expensive model usurped the market from the Drinker Respirator developed at Harvard in 1929.

For most of us, looking at an Iron Lung stirs up a sense of claustrophobic restlessness. For those whose lives were saved by the device, a much more complicated set of feelings must be invoked. As of 2004, an estimated 40 people still relied on the respirators to survive.

The people who benefited from the Iron Lung did so with the help of others. They were not just placed inside and parked. The respirator was designed to be as portable as possible despite its weight and reliance on electricity.

A 1953 article in the Minnesotan, a publication for faculty & staff, details the behind the scenes work with the respirators at the University Hospitals. The article describes the care and upkeep of the machines, the planning and process to always have enough on hand at the height of polio outbreaks, and the ways in which patients and their respirators were moved and transported including the use of 50 foot extension cords to go from electrical outlet to outlet and police escorts. Learn more in the article below.

Archivists can spend a lot of time thinking about what goes into a box. Whatever document, report, letter, memo, etc. placed inside immediately earns an institutional commitment to its long-term preservation. Who knew going into a box was such a privileged position?

At other times, archivists hear the perennial call to think outside the box, which is an ironic metaphor for a profession that cannot stop thinking about the inside of the box.

One recent visitor to the archives dryly noted that even our boxes come in boxes. And, as if to add insult to injury, for five years this archivist lived next door to a traveling box salesman. It seems we cannot escape the box.

And then there are those rare moments when we must think of the box, not as a storage device, but as part of our history.

Such is the case with this copper container that was once the time capsule located inside Jackson Hall. Sealed and placed in the cornerstone of the new anatomy building on September 5, 1911, this box contained local newspapers, University of Minnesota photos, reports, Masonic publications, Cass Gilbert plans for south of Washington Avenue as well as a letter written by Dr. Thomas Lee, then Director of Anatomy, which accompanied the items. Opened in January 2005 to much fanfare, this box and its contents continue to attract attention and commemoration.

The most recent box variation presenting itself in the archives is a drawing of a box that is stored safely inside an archival box. This is an architect's design of the copper time capsule placed inside the walls of Basic Sciences, now Hasselmo Hall. Once opened, perhaps this copper box and its contents can join its architectural rendering in the archives for their long-term preservation. Time and time again, the commitment to the archival box seems to outlast the guarantee of brick and mortar.

What did the Center for Spirituality and Healing's Meditation Room used to be? It is a trick question. The answer is: a meditation room.

The Meditation Room located in the courtyard of the Mayo Memorial served as a gathering place for families and individuals needing a quiet place to think and reflect for more than 20 years. After the construction of the new hospital in 1986, the space then sat quietly, not in reflection, but idle for over a decade. In 2000 the room was assigned to the Center for Spirituality and Healing and used as a laboratory for research on Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR).

In 1965 the Meditation Room opened as a place for "people of all faiths to commune, to give thanks and to renew their spirits." The room was an addition to the Mayo Memorial Building provided by a single anonymous donor to the tune of approximately $175,000.

Although the room and building have many symbolic Judeo-Christian elements (Gothic arches, sculpture of the burning bush, etc.), it is often incorrectly referred to as the chapel. The original intention for the space was simply to provide a quiet place for reflection and renewal.

The stained glass for the room was designed and installed by William Saltzman in accordance with the wish of the donor.

The brochure below discusses the details regarding the building’s design and themes.

The halls of the Mayo Memorial Building seem to have little bits of history scattered throughout. There is a plaque here, a picture there, and even the occasional bronze bust.

The other day I walked by a plaque and series of pictures that seem to be lost in a moment of time. The plaque honors those who were selected and served as Chief of Medical Staff. The full text reads:

University Hospitals herewith recognizes and extends its appreciation to each of those who has served the hospitals as Chief of Staff and Chairman of the Medical Staff - Hospital Council.

Chosen by his colleagues to receive this honor, each has represented the Medical Staff and has participated in the development of policies and programs of the Hospitals.

The names inscribed on the plate are

Dr. Harold O. Peterson, 1966-1968
Dr. Lyle A. French, 1968-1970
Dr. John Najarian, 1970-1972
Dr. Donald Hastings, 1972-1974
Dr. Paul Winchell, 1974-1979
Dr. Paul Quie, 1979-1984
Dr. James Moller, 1984-1989
Dr. Robert Maxwell, 1989-

And there the list ends. Somewhere in the middle of Dr. Maxwell's term with plenty of room left on the brass plate.

Did the administrative offices connected with the plaque move shortly after the 1989 addition of Dr. Maxwell and then leave it behind? Did Dr. Maxwell serve until the transfer of the hospitals to Fairview in 1996? Did Dr. Maxwell finish his tenure but never replaced? Questions I have yet to answer.

Erwin's molar.

That is how some referred to the Health Science Unit A shortly after it was completed in 1971, now officially named the Moos Health Sciences Tower. The reference was to the then dean of the School of Dentistry, Erwin Schaffer. The school and dental clinics are one of the primary occupants of the structure.

I have heard others refer to the building as ugly, dark, oppressive, and Orwellian. But the most apt derogatory term would be brutal.

Moos Tower, Weaver-Densford Hall and the Phillips-Wangensteen Building, which comprise the majority of the health sciences complex expansion during the 1970s, are all examples of Brutalism in architecture.

The designation of Brutalism is actually derived from the French term for the style "breton brut," or literally raw concrete. The style, common from the post-WWII period until the 1970s, is usually marked by rough concrete or stone exteriors with protruding sections that underscore the functionality of the interior spaces over the aesthetics of the facade.

A recent story on NPR highlighted the love/hate people have for the brutal style and discussed the move toward designating many structures, to the dismay of the occupants, as historic landmarks.

Boston's City Hall, which has a strong resemblance to the U of M's health sciences complex, is one such building on its way to receive a landmark designation.

See also Brutalist Architecture on Flickr.

This month a new internet search engine was released – Cuil (pronounced "cool"). It is a new endeavor by former Google employees meant to change the way we think about search results. Some highlights include 2 or 3 column listings instead of a single column in an attempt to emulate online newspaper layouts. It attempts to attach an image to each result from the web site in order to provide a visual cue on what to expect and finally, it touts a privacy policy that does not collect personally identifiable information.

Organization, access and privacy – the triumvirate of the information professional.

But now, let's see how it works.

The search for Academic Health Center University of Minnesota (without quotes) sometimes brings up the AHC home page as the first result (as it should) and at other times, it isn't even listed. A common variation on this search uses quotes to ensure inclusion so let's try "Academic Health Center University of Minnesota." No results were found. That seems a bit drastic. A different variation using "Academic Health Center" "University of Minnesota" does produce results, including the AHC home page, but occassionally the first result presented is the AHC's dreaded 404 file not found page.

For comparison, the above three searches on Google consistently provides the AHC home page as the first result each and every time.

Let's give it one last try with the simple search AHC History Project (without quotes). No direct results on the first page. In Google, this blog is number one.

As for the images associated with the search results, some are obvious, others are not even found on the page that is returned, meaning Cuil is just grabbing anything out of an image folder on the server.

Consistency during Cuil's first week seems to be its biggest deficit. Search engines do get better over time and I may eventually be won over, but for now, Cuil, is not so cool.

Most people do not walk through Fairview’s Environmental Services in the "B" corridor on the first floor of the Mayo Memorial Building. Even if they do, they may not realize that this corridor was the former home to Station 12 of the old University Hospital. They also may not realize that this section of the "B" corridor was originally the Elliot Memorial Hospital which opened in 1911.

A passerby will also not know that at one time an artist, who was also a patient, painted a scene of this corridor and that it hung behind the desk at Station 12. The painting depicted the patient's view of the hallway while suffering from a detached retina. The upper left portion of the picture is shadowed from the loss of vision. I ran across a copy of this painting in a former newsletter published by the University Hospitals; however, I do not know where the original is located. It no longer seems to be hanging on the wall at the former Station 12.

Yesterday, Peter Brantley of the Digital Library Federation was on campus to discuss areas of focus for future initiatives. One of those areas was the use of moving images as a source of information.

Without quoting him directly, Peter discussed how YouTube has demonstrated the online use of video to communicate complicated stories through moving images. These videos are compelling and promote the passing of first hand experiences and knowledge onto an audience.

A quick search of YouTube for related University of Minnesota health sciences content produced the following video that is an example of Peter's discussion. It features prominent U of M medical researchers, Dr. Richard Bianco, Director of Experimental Surgical Services and Dr. Doris Taylor, Director of the Center for Cardiovascular Repair.

Of course, not all University of Minnesota health sciences content on YouTube was of the same caliber, as is seen in this medical student film documenting student housing by mimicking the popular MTV show Cribs.

Are you an Excel guru? Or, does the sight of that little green X make you shudder? Either way, I thought you might like to take a look at a few examples of how it was done not so long ago when computing power equaled an adding machine and the flare of a graph was limited only by a straight ruler and your selection of colored pencils.

A reader sent in the following photograph in an effort to help identify unique and obscure locations within the Academic Health Center.

The scale is an 850 kg capacity flat scale (also known as a platform scale) located in the A (north) wing on the fourth floor of the Mayo Memorial Building. It was manufactured by the Toledo Scale Company with its motto, "No Springs, Honest Weight," printed on the back of the lollipop scale. The scale's design used a pendulum weight rather than a spring for measurement. The model number indicates it might have been manufactured in 1921, thirty-three years before the dedication of the Mayo Building.

At the time of the Mayo's opening, the fourth floor was designated as the Department of Surgery including space for operating rooms, recovery rooms, and patient rooms. This type of flat scale is used to record weights of patients (minus the bed or wheelchair) in intensive care or surgical recovery. The scale's platform was built into the floor and offered a seamless surface in order to role a wheelchair or gurney onto the scale.

The scale is no longer operational. The platform is fixed in place. A few unanswered questions remain: Why was a possibly thirty year old scale installed in a new facility and was the scale in use in the University Hospitals prior to its placement in Mayo? Did the scale serve some other purpose over the years before being disabled?

If you witnessed the use of the scale or used the scale yourself your input would be appreciated in the comments below.

After all, history is a matter of weighing perceived facts counter balanced by interpretation and local knowledge.

As institutions grow in size and new buildings are added, older facilities are often remodeled (or not) and used for some other purpose other than originally intended. This often leads to the silent wondering of "What was this place?" by the present day occupants.

My own office space acts as a perfect example. Situated in the former (albeit the building still bears the name) Children's Rehabilitation Center, my door opens up to an abandoned station that once greeted visitors and patients as they stepped off the elevators.

Many other spaces within the buildings that physically comprise the AHC are only shadows of their former self. The map below provides more examples. It depicts the third floor of the former Mayo Memorial University Hospital circa 1970. Today, the Office of the Dean for the School of Public Health is situated in the former space of Neurology Psychiatry. Station 32 along the southern wing (once the original Elliot Hospital) now serves as office space for many hospital social workers who now work out of old patient rooms. And although the coffee shop north of the main entrance is no longer there, a small snack counter is open for service at the former information desk.

The University of Minnesota Hospitals was established for the welfare of the state – and thus for your welfare.

So begins the introductory remarks of the patient pocket guidebook "For Your Health" given to each one of the estimated 13,000 annual patients treated at the University Hospitals in the late 1950s. The pocket guide gives information on hospital meal times and local area restaurants, visiting hours, billing and insurance, and what to expect when discharged.

The guide also explains the roles of individual staff members including doctors, medical students, nurses, dietitians, medical technologists, occupational and physical therapists, and social workers as well as what services to expect during a stay ranging from TV rentals to appointments with a visiting barber.

The language and illustrations of the pocket guide differ from today's approach to educate visitors about the hospitals and clinics. Even the media has changed to online virtual tours to educate patients and families about what to expect.

Browse through the pocket guide "For Your Health" below.

William Henry Eustis, born in 1845 in New York State, was a prominent philanthropist, entrepreneur, and politician in Minnesota. After graduating from Columbia University's law school, Eustis practiced in New York City and in Minneapolis, moving to Minnesota in 1881. Eustis served a single term as mayor of Minneapolis from 1893-1895. In addition to his law practice, Eustis built a fortune in real estate acquisition and development in partnership with his brother Gardner T. Eustis, also of Minneapolis. Eustis never married. He died on Thanksgiving Day 1928 at the age of 83.

Modeling himself after Andrew Carnegie, Eustis believed his wealth should be passed along to those in need. After suffering a debilitating accident at the age of fifteen, Eustis focused his gift giving to institutions that provided benefits to disabled children. During his life, Eustis gave large portions of his estate to the Dowling School in Minneapolis and provided the funds to establish the Minnesota Hospital and Home for Crippled Children. Construction began at the University in 1928 and the hospital included an outpatient department, two floors for hospitalized children with a space for an on site school, and an amphitheater for teaching purposes. In total, Eustis gave over $1 million dollars to the University, primarily for health care services. Eustis agreed to the University’s request to name the hospital and facilities after him in recognition of his generosity only after first refusing their overture.

Eustis saw the city of Minneapolis as a secularized manifestation of the proverbial City on the Hill, albeit with a river running through it. In a 1926 letter to the Board of Regents accompanying his gift of his final interest in the Flour and Corn Exchange Building, Eustis predicted,

The time is ripe under your guidance to establish here one of the great medical centers of the World. The helpful generosity of the Rockefeller Foundation, the genius of the University, and the old time spirit of Minneapolis united and working in the closest accord, bearing aloft the banner of Excelsior would establish here a beacon light of medical science and research that shall for all ages redound to the glory of man's genius and the highest welfare of his being.

Only yesterday the barbers were our surgeons and the pharmacists our physicians. The time is short and the distance long between the barber's pole and the Mayo clinic…The tide is at its flood. The golden opportunity is here, and I cannot believe that the heroic, civic spirit that once dominated Minneapolis will now be weighed in the balance and found wanting.

By the early 1930s, the Eustis Children's Hospital and the Elliot Memorial Hospital with its newly expanded Christian and Todd wings provided inpatient care with outpatient and rehabilitation services at the University of Minnesota.

Elliot Hospital (center) and Eustis Hospital under construction (right), circa 1929.

In 1954 the Mayo Memorial Building opened as a consolidated health care delivery and education facility. The construction process of Mayo incorporated the Elliot and Eustis Hospitals as wings of the new health sciences center. Some services and operations that previously took place in Eustis Hospital were moved to other locations within Mayo. However, the Eustis Wing of Mayo still had an active hospital station (Station #35), audiology and dental clinics, and medical educational rooms including the Eustis Amphitheater.

In the course of collecting materials, it seems inevitable that those charged with maintaining records become part of the historical documentation.

I recently stumbled across two items that document the changes in managing medical records and the role their keepers play in the larger health care delivery system. The first document is a typed page summarizing key points regarding the use of medical records in court. The text is taken from the 1941 Manual for Medical Records Librarians by Edna K. Huffman. It notes that "the position of the medical records librarian is one of especial trust" and "it is her duty to ascertain that the record is properly completed." The responsibility of the medical record librarian is to protect the "chief value of a medical record… an unbiased statement inasmuch as the doctors, interns, nurses, and others concerned in making the record at the time of the patient’s hospitalization have no interest in any subsequent litigation."

Almost forty years later, the medical records librarian has been replaced by the medical records manager. In a 1980 article from the UMHC Monitor (a former publication of the University of Minnesota Hospital and Clinics) the activities of the medical records department are highlighted to introduce others to their important function within the health delivery system. The director at the time, John Dennis, explained "Management of information is the business we’re in. We deal with the whole life-cycle of recorded information, from the creation of the information to distribution and maintenance." Accredited record technicians (ARTs) and Registered Record Administrators (RRAs) "ensure that all record components are accounted for" including the coding and abstracting of records for electronic storage. The message of the article concludes with stating "record and information management goes beyond the basic 'record' and deals with their generation and use. It is a powerful institutional tool contributing to quality patient care and increased revenue." Indeed.

The recent issue of Scientific American looks at some of the questions related to the rise of obesity in a world still plagued by famine.

A related article in the issue focuses on nutrition and diet as part of the obesity discussion. The author details an ideal diet and then notes that this advice hasn’t changed much since first put forth by University of Minnesota physiologist Dr. Ancel Keys and Margaret Keys in their 1959 book Eat Well and Stay Well the Mediterranean Way.

Question: Upon groundbreaking in 1950, how many stories tall was the Mayo Memorial Building to be?

Answer: Twenty-two stories. Unfortunately, due to increased costs for building materials during the Korean War and the lack of additional state funding, the building plans went under several revisions during construction. The final result was the fourteen-story building dedicated on October 21 & 22, 1954. See the architectural rendition of the proposed building below.

What does your yearbook say about you? A former University of Minnesota yearbook The Gopher approached the sentimentality surrounding graduation and the passing on of traditions in a less than serious manner.

For example, below are a few selections describing students in the School of Dentistry from 1908.

Name: Colie
Occupation: Answering roll call
Drink: Hops

Name: Mitt
Occupation: Collecting matches
Drink: Hoods Sarsaparilla

Name: Sandy
Occupation: Forgetting
Drink: Hot Scotch

The College of Pharmacy students graduating that same year did not fare much better.

Dretchko, A. L. So little is known concerning him that perhaps the less said about him the better.

Earl, Fred, W. Fred cares about as much for Botany as bacteria for a dead clam.

Erchenbrack, Earl S. His September modesty is now a thing of the past. Why, he even learned how to smoke!

Similar remarks (and more) are available on today’s students’ Facebook or MySpace pages. The difference is today’s employers are more likely to stumble across the comments via Google.

Building trivia: After which Academy Award-winning actor was research laboratory space named in the Phillips-Wangensteen Building?

Answer: Jimmy Stewart

On April 3, 1981, the 13th and 14th floors of the Phillips-Wangensteen Building were dedicated as the "Jimmy Stewart Research Laboratories" as part of a gift provided by the Variety Club. The space was designed to be used for the departments of pediatrics and internal medicine.

The gift was a result of a $100,000 grant made by the Sears, Roebuck and Co. to honor a theatrical personality involved with promoting the work of the Variety Club. The total cost for completing the laboratory space was an estimated 6.2 million dollars. The Phillips-Wangensteen Building was dedicated two years earlier in June 1979. At the time nearly one-third of the usable space in PWB was unfinished. The Variety Club gift assisted in completing some of the open space.

These photographs were located in a recent acquisition from the Office of Communications. These five men show that history isn’t as serious as it sometimes seems, especially in the area of medical education. The original photographs are not dated and list the last names of the individuals pictured: Culver, Haynes, Miles, Gaines, and Termant(?). Any additional information that can be provided will be appreciated. Please use the comment feature to share your perspectives with other visitors.

Two familiar faces re-entered my office this afternoon. The portraits of the Mayo brothers are still in need of a little restoration, although most of the damage is to one of the frames. Their disposition seems to be back in my court. Further investigation is needed.

The two portraits of William and Charles Mayo that were placed in my custody a month ago have moved on to another home. The AHC Office of Communications took the portraits to investigate what level of restoration the paintings might require and what it might cost. It is still not clear where they will ultimately hang, perhaps they might even find their way back to my office. I have still not been able to determine when they came to the University, but it seems the best guess is the early 1980s. If the portraits cross my path again, I will update on their condition.

Construction workers put up a tree in a precarious place during the construction of the on campus hospital, circa 1983. The photograph is part of the University Hospitals Board of Governors records at the University Archives.

Addendum

Thanks to several comments (see below), a more accurate description of the image is that of "topping out" the frame of the hospital. Although the photograph was taken between November and January, the tree is much more likely a representation of a long time tradition in building construction.

Update

The photograph was taken on December 13, 1983.

I have been able to track down more information regarding the two portraits of the Mayo brothers, Charles (left) and William (right), which were removed from the Mayo Memorial Auditorium during its renovation. The artist is Minerva Lyons Eisenberg who was born in Newcastle-on-the-Tyne, England and was married to Martin Eisenberg. At the time the paintings were done they lived in Minneapolis. Mr. Eisenberg either owned or operated Billy & Marty's Tobacconists in downtown Minneapolis. My early assumption that the artist might be related to the Mayo Clinic benefactor George M. Eisenberg seems to be unfounded.

The two paintings were part of a larger exhibit of forty-seven world leaders the artist put together. The exhibit was shown at the Southdale Center, Edina MN during a Brotherhood Week celebration during the 1970s. Minerva Eisenberg wrote to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN to inquire if there was an interest in purchasing the two portraits. The Mayo declined in 1979.

As yet, I have not been able to determine when the portraits came to the University and whether or not the portraits were donated or purchased. There is no record of the paintings in a listing of public art on campus. There is also no other information on the artist. The Getty’s union list of artists and AskArt.com do not reference her.

Hopefully this will not be the final word on the portraits. I am still optimistic that I can find some documentation on their acquisition by the University. I would also like to thank the individuals at Mayo Historical Archives, Weisman Art Museum, and the Minneapolis Institute of Arts who have been so helpful in tracking down what little information there is.

When I came back from lunch today, these two portraits were sitting in my office. They are of Dr. Charles and Dr. William Mayo (respectively). Their portraits have graced the entry into the Mayo Memorial Auditorium for years, but now due to its ongoing renovation they have been removed. Little is known about the portraits, the artist, or their donation (purchase?) to/by the University.

The artist’s signature reads: Minerva Lyons Eisenberg.

I look forward to learning more about my new office mates. I’ll update with what I find.