Last week the media reported that Encyclopedia Britannica, at least the multiple bound editions, has reached its demise, brought to its literary knees by the same contrivance that I am using both to research and type this précis – I don’t really write anymore: rather like most of my fellow humans, I use a computer linked to the world-wide-web.
The Encyclopedia Britannica self-abashedly proclaimed that it represented “the Sum of All Human Knowledge”. And now, after 244 years and more than 7 million sets sold, it's going out of print.
I looked up what a 1955 version was worth today. The answer was quick and on-point: “Not much. The world is full of old, outdated encyclopedias. You will be lucky to find someone to take it off your hands for free!”
Persevering, I found a complete 1955, 24 volume Britannica Set, available on E-Bay: Item condition: Good. The asking price was $495.00. It noted that the set was dedicated to Dwight Eisenhower & Queen Elizabeth II. At that point there were no bidders.
Maybe the first answer was correct.
Why my interest? I knew someone who had that very set a half century ago, an actual person, not a library or school but a friend. We were classmates at Holy Child School in Richmond Hill, a very middle-class part of Queens, itself the archetypal middle-class borough of New York City in the 50’s. Per se, it was hardly the place you would expect to find what was most often positioned in the “you cannot check this out” reference section of the local library if you could find it at all.
Oh, there was an encyclopedia in my home; supermarkets would sell them, with a new volume available every week. The first volume was priced very low and my mother bought me Volume 1 (Aardvark-Army) of the Golden Book Encyclopedia for 49 cents, and proceeded faithfully to buy the rest of the set until I had all 16. I think it was at Bohack’s complete with Green Stamps or maybe A&P and their Plaid Stamps. Whatever it was, it surely was not Britannica. Only Joe had that.
You would guess that my friend, Joe probably had a big house with a room called “the library” wherein the leather bound volumes would be proudly displayed. Not so. There was no house much less a library.
There was the “El”, a term that is only known by people who lived where the so-called subway ran above ground, and in this case literally a few feet from his family’s second floor flat.
His bedroom was in such close proximity to the passing trains that conversations automatically stopped every few minutes. Nevertheless, here in this unique environment rested the prized-source of knowledge in its own angled case perched on an all-purpose table / desk.
I remember the room; the guitar case in the corner and the model of an aircraft carrier on the same desk. My memory told me it was the USS Wasp but “research” determined it was the plastic Revel model of the aircraft carrier USS Franklin D Roosevelt, CV-42.
That enquiry took moments on the Web and maybe I could have found it in print as well but only if I knew where to look. Surely this is the information age but sadly that of itself is one of the reasons for the demise of Britannica. The number of entries in Wikipedia vs. Britannica (print) is not even worth repeating. Beyond that is the equally harsh fact that every year sees less actually printed material; Kindles and I-Pads are seeing to that. But that argument is for another day.
I don’t think I ever told Joe much less the priest in the confessional that I had violated the Xth of the X Commandments, the one that has to do with coveting goods, in this case the Britannica and its wondrous breadth of knowledge. Then again, I had a large set of electric trains and though this bears no comparison, Joe did seem to enjoy them but doubtlessly not to the covet stage. Plus, they only came out for Christmas; Britannica was for all seasons.
Joe and I continued our studies with the Jesuits at Brooklyn Prep and then parted for our university experiences: far-away Tulane for him and relatively local Fordham for me. Our friendship has endured over these 50 plus years often as happens with many old friends with a venue of Christmas cards and an occasional phone chat. We shared the loss of parents and classmates. We traded stories about our children and now their children.
And now we have the internet and a form of communication that makes the oft intoned “stay in touch” nonsensically comfortable. It allows Joe to countenance me to “keep your head down” and lets me know he means it. It allows us tell a friend in Manila to get well and to place one-on-one single dollar wagers on sporting events. It even allows me to download a picture of 109-02 Jamaica Ave within seconds.
Britannica could not do that and so the very medium that today has given us opportunities for research and communication has correspondingly put an end to something that was in its own way and in its own time just as extraordinary, an instrument of learning that endured for two and a half centuries.
I would wager (the standard $1) that if we could look into that same bedroom next to the El tracks right now there would not be a Britannica but there would be an internet connection.
Unlike Joe’s Britannica, no one would marvel at its presence.
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