Wingtips. Photo provided by our anonymous Oxford shenaniganner.

Our anonymous Oxford alum sends us a second excellent shenanigan:

I’d nearly put this out of memory, but during the same period Doctor Quinn resolved to quiet the library (he’d have been aghast at the Half Naked Half Hour), and considerable effort was expended in the making of signs and in the consecration of so-called “Whisper Zones,” with (small) fines imposed upon those intent upon disregarding them.  This coincided with the discovery of a Pet Supplier in nearby Faringdon, who kept on hand a vast selection of very small “squeaky toys” intended to be clipped to the cages of Budgies, for the amusement of the birds and the vexation of their owners.

The wing-tip was the choice of the day for young gentlemen (and remains so in some circles to this day), and new stiff leather wing-tips will, before being fully “broken in” oftimes issue forth a squeaking sound, as the fresh, smooth leather rubs with each step – a sound not at all unlike that produced by a small squeaky toy placed beneath the instep, and muffled by one’s argyles.

We The vile perpetrators made a concord to speak not a word within the confines of the library, but instead to walk about as much as possible, usually in brief shifts, sometimes as many as a dozen at once.  The explanation, “new shoes” sufficed only a short time, and by the third day, new signs had appeared reading, “squeaking shoes must be removed when using the library.”  Thereafter, rows of wing-tips with paper ownership labels tucked in lined the entry hall; “squeakers” were placed beneath the sock, and the campaign continued unabated.

On the fourth day (or perhaps the fifth day – memory is unclear these many years now removed) new signs proclaimed “Students must be barefooted to access library materials.”  Undaunted, barefooted assemblages sat in mock misery, pocket squares at hand, blowing their noses with great fervour, each having taken a chill because of the draughts in the old building.  The following day, the library, devoid of all signs, recaptured its previous hum of muffled voices, and the matter was considered closed by both factions.

An anonymous shenaniniganner writes:

In the mid-nineteen seventies, at Finals, one of Oxford’s finest pranks (which truly means something, given past traditions) was perpetrated.  At the time, Vincent Quinn was Master of the Balliol Library, and his pride and joy was an original sky blue Morris Mini drophead with split folding windscreens.  The car was never seen in less than impeccable situation, and enjoyed a berth of expansive width in the park facing Broad Street to protect it from the evils of those who might park too close.

Not to be outdone by the parading of goats through Seny Hall, nor the wearing of Cat-In-The-Hat hats at the Snell Dinner, a group of Balliol’s finest and most intrepid – with the aid of a crane hire establishment – removed Doctor Quinn’s revered conveyance during the Finals Dinner to a new and glorious parking place, atop the Balliol Library, its front wheels perched upon the stone rail which surrounds the central tower above the fourth floor.

Christopher Hill, then Master of the College, made no inroads into any discovery of the masked perpetrators during the inquest which followed, as the crane hire had been paid for in cash, and the invoice signed, “Vincent Quinn.”

I hope it’s true! Thanks, anonymous shenaniganner. It’s too bad there’s no photographic evidence like that of a similar shenanigan at Cambridge in 1958. We must also bemoan the lack of documentation for Oxford’s “half-naked half-hour.”

I like that these lesbrarians made a Venn diagram. But then, I am partial to Venn diagrams that show poetic/absurd things, as you can tell. But did they really have to be making the shushing gesture? Oh, I suppose they did, and I know it’s all for shenaniganny fun. Thanks, Kathleen Kirk and Wipe Out Homophobia!

The “Let’s CC the World” Tumblr feed has a couple of funny visual aids for library annoyances:

When People Use the Library as a Place to Socialize (featuring a panda!)

and

When You Suddenly Lose Service in the Library (featuring Doctor Who!).

It’s nice to know that some students have the same crazy love for the library as we librarians do! Thanks, Dina Wood, for pointing these out to me.

KRCC’s Noel Black gave our endpapers a little love in A Big Something today (May 17, 2012).

The Little Free Library project aims to get little one-shelf libraries all over the U.S.. The birdhouse-like structures are endearing and the project seems delightful. (The librarian in me, though, fears that these sweet little birdhouse structures will end up becoming dumping grounds for junky books that nobody wants. Hush, librarian in me!) Thanks, BoingBoing!

This summer (June 2012), the Seattle Public Library’s summer reading program for teens includes a scavenger hunt for a thousand books hidden all over the city. Finders are supposed to re-hide the books. That is cool. Thanks, BoingBoing!

New library superhero? Thanks, whoever it was who told me about this, which now I can’t remember (not very credible hulkish of me).

The Internet Archive, home of the Wayback Machine and an enormous public-domain digital book collection, is housed in an old church in San Francisco. The pews of the church sanctuary are filled with papier-mâché representations of the employees! I haven’t been able to find out who made these or how it all came together or whether it’s a temporary thing — if you know anything about it, please comment. Thanks, Carol Dickerson!

60-second stop motion film starring Yale University’s card catalog (Sterling Memorial Library). Thanks, Emily Lloyd!

For card catalog aficionados: here’s the abstract of Nicholson Baker’s 1996 article in the New Yorker (subscribers can login and read the whole thing), later reprinted in his essay collection The Size of Thoughts. And you could make pilgrimage to the Library Company of Philadelphia, founded 1731: ask to see the card catalog in the basement — it contains handwritten cards!