#localvoices

How has editing the series impacted your relationship with local writers and organizations?

Since my role as editor in the Keystone imprint is far more developmentally hands-on than it is for my scholarly list, I have spent months and sometimes years working closely with authors to bring their books to fruition. Many of my authors are local; some live in State College, and I have gotten to know them quite well through meetings and numerous visits to the office. Others live elsewhere, and our relationship is cultivated over the phone or via email. This work has also introduced a close and gratifying relationship with the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, with which we have worked (and continue to work) to produce high-quality books. One of my very favorite parts of the job is working closely with local writers to tell their stories.

What local story have you come across through the imprint that’s left the biggest impression on you?

There are many local stories that have left impressions on me in my years working as the editor for the Keystone imprint. One in particular, however, has left a strong impression. Out in Central Pennsylvania, which evolved out of the LGBT Center of Central PA History Project, began with a cold call to the author of an article I had read in Pennsylvania Heritage. When I was growing up in central Pennsylvania, I knew few gay people and knew even less about the LGBTQ history of our area. Working with the authors on this book and getting to know the story helped me appreciate the struggles of those who paved the way for modern rights and the depth of the rural activism that was born in this area. I’ve been fascinated by the unique connections they built and saddened by the horrific discrimination many faced. It is a history that has had local, state, and national implications, and I’m very proud to be a part of a book that is bringing this important story to the public consciousness.

Which Keystone book has most surprised you in terms of its impact, in Pennsylvania and beyond?

Probably Wood Hicks and Bark Peelers: A Visual History of Pennsylvania’s Railroad Lumbering Communities. This book of photographs by the itinerant photographer William T. Clarke is not only one of the most visually stunning books we’ve produced in my years of working with the imprint, but it also has a fascinating backstory. Dozens of glass-plate negatives sat in a barn for decades and were nearly lost because of the resulting damage, but they were recovered and are reproduced in the book, offering evocative and highly detailed scenes of life during the late nineteenth century. This could have been simply a niche regional topic, but the book has had a wide national reach. Once we created a book we were proud of, our design team and marketing team knocked it out of the park to make this book one that people wanted to own and to read. While I knew it was something very special from day one, its total impact has been a pleasant surprise.

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An excerpt from Wood Hicks and Bark Peelers:

Who were those people? What were they doing? Who was the photographer? Where were the photographs taken? When? How? And why are their pictures here, of all places? Lois Barden asked these questions more than forty years ago. This book is an effort to answer her questions.

Lois and her husband, Bob Barden, were browsing through a toolshed near Honeoye Lake, south of Rochester, New York, in 1974. Bob’s other relatives were sorting through household goods and antiques in the nearby cottage. In the dark shed, Lois spied two wooden crates on the dirt floor in a damp, gloomy corner. They were filled with glass windowpanes. Maybe they’d be useful on their farm. She lifted an eight-by-ten-inch plate from a box and saw something more than dirt on it. She brushed away some of the grime, held it to the light coming through the doorway, squinted at the smudge she’d uncovered, and was shocked. A ghostly face stared back at her, a sudden and unexpected glimpse from a shadowy world beyond the grave. This was not a common windowpane! Seconds after her startling discovery, Lois replaced the glass plate, lifted the heavy crates, and moved them outside. She plucked plate after plate from the boxes and realized they were loaded with photographic negatives of a type she’d never seen before. One thing for sure, she thought, these are no ordinary pictures. And they’re old.

She figured the negatives were made with one of those old-fashioned cameras on a tripod, where the photographer inserted the glass plate into the camera mechanism, huddled under a cloth that was draped over it to block out the light, and looked through the back of the camera to compose and focus the picture before asking the people in front of the lens, “Please remain as still as possible.” Fascinated, Lois hauled the crates to the cottage and asked the relatives if any of them knew anything about the mystery images. No one did. Well, then, did anyone want the plates? No. Sensing the importance of her find, she stored the crates at the family cattle farm near Candor, New York. And there the negatives remained, ignored and nearly forgotten.

Some thirty years later, in early March 2004, Lois was taking a digital photography course at Tompkins Cortland Community College in Dryden, New York. She mentioned the glass plates to Harry Littell, her instructor, figuring that because he had rephotographed scenes from historic photographs from a contemporary perspective and had helped author books dealing with regional historical photographs, he might be interested in her old negatives. And he was. In fact, when she brought a couple of the plates to the next class, he became excited, saying he thought she’d made an important discovery. Lois was thrilled.

Girls near a stream in the north-central Pennsylvania forest

Upon examination of the crates’ entire contents, they determined that the images depicted primarily forests, logging operations, and community life of long ago. They decided that the entire cache was remarkable and should be saved: the treasure trove consisted of 131 unique glimpses into the past.

Preserving the crates’ contents was arduous. For some plates they first had to remove dirt caked on the surface. Other plates had been exposed to water and the emulsion was nearly curled off the glass. Working carefully, they saved as much of the image as they could on each plate. Then they scanned the negatives, transforming them into digital format. Through the use of modern photographic technology, they rescued the surviving images from further breakage or damage. Harry then used digital tools to remove dust and scratches. Once the negatives were scanned and retouched, prints were made, necessitating further decisions and adjustments to create images that Harry felt would be faithful to the originals. The team decided that large areas of peeling and damaged emulsion at the margins of the images would not be altered. Subsequent prints based on this decision sometimes produced surrealistic effects, but the damaged photographs also reminded viewers that what they saw came from old, fragile negatives. During the restoration and preservation process, Lois and Harry found information scratched in the emulsion at the margins of several negatives. These clues helped them determine that the unknown photographer made the images in various transient logging camps and communities near Galeton and Port Allegany in north-central Pennsylvania during 1897 and 1898.

Lackawanna Lumber Company steam locomotive and tender, north-central Pennsylvania, 1898

For example, an image with the date 1898 scratched in the emulsion, showing a steam locomotive with the words “Lack’a [Lackawanna] Lumber Company” painted on the side of the tender, was helpful. The engineer and fireman were standing in the gangway and cab of Lackawanna Lumber Company rod locomotive No. 6, built in 1881 at the Brooks Locomotive Works, Dunkirk, New York. This locomotive and three other Lackawanna locomotives were kept busy in the 1890s, along with seventy log cars and three Barnhart log loaders. The Lackawanna Lumber Company logging railroad line operated primarily in northwestern Clinton County and extended into Potter County near Cross Fork in north-central Pennsylvania. “Lackies” transported enough logs for an estimated sawmill output of eighty thousand board feet of hemlock a day. Company headquarters were located at Cross Fork and Mina, operating from 1888 to 1903. And other images of gondola cars filled with logs and bark cars carried “Buffalo and Susquehanna Railroad” markings, providing a further lead.

At that point, Lois Barden and Harry Littell did not know why these time-consuming gelatin dry plate images were made at what must have been great expense and effort under primitive and trying conditions. Nor did Lois Barden know how or why her husband’s late relatives came into possession of the crates of negatives. Lois and Harry invited a third person, Ron Ostman, and, later, others to help with the historical research concerning the Pennsylvania logging industry at the end of the nineteenth century. An Internet search led the trio to the website of the Pennsylvania Lumber Museum, in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. A visit with Delores Buchsen, the museum’s director, and staff members and with Robert Currin, a curator and historian with the Potter County Historical Society in Coudersport, provided rich depositories of expert knowledge and stored information. The search was on.

Photographer William T. Clarke