MOST of the problems the Library faces are straightforward: space, of course, is one; staff for the care and cataloguing of the collections is another; and the acquisition of new books is a third. Every institution, however, has similar problems. The Houghton--with an annual budget of about $750,000--is in a good position today because of its tremendous accumulation under the leadership of Jackson and Hofer over the past 25 years.
The library goes on collection as fast as ever--building on its strengths and working on areas of weakness. In the late 1950's for example, the library began collecting Oriental manuscripts, of which it had only a few, "There were opportunities, the prices weren't high, and there wasn't much competition," Hofer says. "It goes like that. We use our money well."
Its high quality does not, of course, allow the Houghton to be complacent; but it does allow it breathing space in which to ponder a more serious question that confronts it: that of its role within the University and, implicitly, the community. Many people have recently proposed that Harvard make greater efforts to involve the people of Cambridge in its intellectual life and, specifically, that it make the resources of its libraries more accessible to the public.
"We find this logical for big city institutions," Hofer says, "but less logical for a university institution, and still less logical for a rare books library such as ours, where we primarily want to serve scholars. We are essentially here for scholarship work, and we allow the public in to the degree that it is scholarly. The real value of this library is that these are source materials for, the scholar who wants to get right down to the fundamentals: where did it all come from?"
Houghton, in other words, serves an international community. As many as half of the people who annually use the library have no connection with Harvard. To them, for a small charge, the Houghton readily makes its resources available.
"One of the functions of a university," Harvard President James B. Conant observed at the opening of the Houghton, "is to act as a guardian of the cultural riches of the past. Our libraries and museums serve only in part our own students and our staff. To a large measure they are of benefit to the much greater world of scholars.... We are the servants of a community that extends far beyond these academic walls -- our responsibilities transcend both the immediate aims of this institution of learning and the days in which we live."
Thomas Hoving, director of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, has been making a big splash recently with his call for greater involvement of the public in the affairs of th earth world. People at Harvard often talk of breaking down the barriers which have traditionally kept the university aloof from the life of the people of Cambridge. One must be careful, however, that in the process one does not dilute what Curator Bond has called "the raw material" of scholarship. One must be careful in building up a new community not to destroy another, equally important one.
The Houghton Library is a world of its own, and the people within it, like Hofer, have found a life style of their own. It is a life style which rejects the values of middle class conservatism and prudishness as forcefully as do today's revolutionaries. It is a life style which looks with some awe and some reverence at the history of men and in its own way, affirms the existence of beauty and love.
"I was in businesses during the years after my graduation, until 1930," Hofer recalls. "I graduated in 1921 and I worked for ten years and I hated it. I wanted always to get out as soon as I could. . . I was in a horrible thing called the coal business, and I also got into the security business. I never made anything out of the coal business, but I speculated and made a little out of the securities, and I got out. I wanted a way of life, a way of life rather than just to make money.
"This was particularly true of Bill Jackson. He loved books. I think it was compulsive. We loved books and wanted to be with books."
The world of books and scholarship, however, runs the risk of becoming a dead one if it does not in some way relate to the incredible sweep of change that is going on around it. Hofer is deeply sensitive to this problem, probably the overriding problem that the Houghton now faces.
"What we need to do is to intrigue young people, and I don't think we've done enough of that," Hofer says. The Houghton's single failure, and the task that now confronts it, may be as simple as that.
Hofer officially retired in July, but he maintains an office in the basement of the Houghton. In it is a cot, covered with a rug -- "late 17th or early 18th century Imperial rug" -- where he can rest. He has often slept nights there, where it is cool, when the weather outside has been hot. His office is cluttered with pieces of art, papers, photographs, small figures, and chest which he says are "all full of things."
From his desk, Hofer looked up, pointed across his office, and said, "That is my favorite thing here. it is a cast from the British Museum hear of Hypnos, which is Graeco-Roman, and underneath it is written in Greek what was over the Alexandrian Lirarv: 'A healing place for the soul.' That just gives me peace when I feel. . . well, wouldn't that give you peace?"
Somedav, if men find peace, they will turn back to their libraries and museums, to the books and manuscripts and letters that make up their cultural past. The challenge facing the Houghton Library--where the spirit of Emerson, Longfellow, Henry James, and thousands of others lives on--is to guide them.
"He loved books. I think it was compulsive. We loved books and wanted to be with books."