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Pamela D. Arceneaux
Senior Librarian/Rare Books Curator, Hired 1981
From my early years working in the three-person library (where the orientation center is today), to the excitement and anxiety surrounding the opening of the Williams Research Center in 1996, to sharing an office and becoming good friends with John Magill, I have many fond memories here. The thrill of seeing my name in the acknowledgments of an author’s book absolutely never gets old.
On the afternoon of my very first day at THNOC (September 1, 1981), we closed early to enjoy a birthday party for staff member Maria Ybor. Impromptu afternoon staff parties were not unusual in those early days under late director Stanton “Buddy” Frazar; we even had a party to celebrate that the plaster had finally dried in the curatorial area. At one such gathering, manuscripts curator Susan Cole, who had been working with the newly acquired Nicholson Family Papers, made a discovery that she wished to share with her colleagues. Standing atop a chair in the Counting House, she read the poem “Only a Dog,” by Eliza Jane Nicholson (1843-1896), the first female publisher of a major US newspaper and an admired poet. Then, with a flourish at the finish, she held up the desiccated paw of Nicholson’s dog, Mat, the lamented subject of Nicholson’s poem. To further commemorate her beloved pet, Nicholson had had his paw set into a brooch (81-93-L.l).
A 1970s advertising slogan for THNOC was “The Collection. More Than You Know.” That still holds true for me, because after all these years,
I discover new things about our old things every day. What a joy!
Pamela D. Arceneaux, 1983
Dog’s paw memorial brooch
ca. 1885
gift of Elizabeth Nicholson Fischer and Eleanor Nicholson Corbin, 81-93-L.1
Warren J. Woods
Exhibitions Coordinator, Hired 1983
I will never forget what happened 22 years ago when I was working in The Shop as the assistant manager/bookkeeper. It was the beginning of December 1993 and The Collection had a tradition at the time of doing a Kris Kringle, or Secret Santa, gift exchange at the staff Christmas party. During the three weeks leading up to the big party, many Kris Kringles would leave clues or riddles for the person they picked. If the puzzle was solved correctly, there was usually lagniappe to be found: candy, a snack, or something silly and festive.
During that December, a very close friend of mine was in Charity Hospital, and the diagnosis was not good. I had been to a few funerals already that fall, but as Christmas is my favorite time of the year, I joined in as a Kris Kringle to keep my spirits up. The first week went by routinely, with a few small clues and gifts. During the second and third weeks, though, I was getting Kris Kringle notes two or three times a day, and the riddles and clues became more elaborate. One had me taking the elevator to the second floor and pulling the stop button to reveal a Bart Simpson keychain tacked to the unfinished wall. While all of this kept my mind occupied, the news from the hospital was not encouraging. On the day of the Christmas party, I couldn’t wait to thank that someone for all of the good cheer. What came next is still as vivid in my mind as the day
t ;rr
it happened. When it was my turn to open my gift, I unwrapped a framed original drawing of a Christmas wreath with ornaments. Looking closer, I saw that each ornament was signed by a coworker; they all had become my Kris Kringle!
I could write that I didn’t cry that day, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I realized that I now had a second family, a family that can
keep busy running The Collection with incredibly high standards of professionalism and yet still share in the personal lives of the staff.
The wreath still hangs prominently in my house, and I feel blessed whenever I see it.
Christmas wreath drawn and signed byTHNOC's Kris Kringles, 1993
Spring 2016	13