This is the story of the merger of the Chamber of Commerce

Collections come to archivists in a variety of conditions and a wide range of sizes. Sometimes you are lucky--you find yourself facing a well organized, color coded filing system, complete with labels, guides, and dates. (Ok, I think you would have to be really lucky for that scenario to occur!) But more often than not, you find yourself staring down row upon row of disorganized chaos--spineless books, torn and folded papers, illegible handwriting, crumbling newspaper clippings, and the sticky residue of labels that have long since peeled away and disappeared. This is especially daunting if your collection's inventory, like ours, can best be described as "bare bones."

And so begins one of the core elements of an archivist's job--research. There are a seemingly endless amount of questions to be answered as an archivist attempts to make sense of the vast sea of records before her--everything from basic background research into an organization's history and significance to what makes up the duties of the Executive Committee to quarantine stations in New York in the 1800s to the regulation of usury laws. Since no definitive, in-depth histories of the NYCC have been written yet (which makes it especially compelling to researchers), Katie and I have had to do a lot of legwork trying to discern the story of the Chamber. Our biggest hurdle in conducting our research would have to have been figuring why we seemed to have the records of not only the NYCC but also the Merchants Association and the Commerce and Industry Association. Since the organizations were obviously similar in motive and ambition, we assumed it was only natural that each would have the publications and notices of the other; we were more confused by the fact that the NYCC collection contained so much material from the other two organizations, material that we imagined that those organizations should have wanted to keep themselves. Our confusion continued until we began coming across materials labeled, "MERGER."

And then of course, it all made sense.

It took us a while, but we were finally able to piece together a timeline for the evolution of the NYCC, up until it ceased to exist in 2002. I came up with this handy chart to explain the timeline for our presentation in November:



Mergers between the Chamber and other commercial organizations were under consideration as far back as the 1920s when the Chamber began losing members and influence. Our records indicate talk of a merger with the Commerce and Industry Association began sometime in the 1950s and continued throughout the 1960s, resulting in several extensive studies conducted by both organizations to assess the pros and cons.


Because we ended up with the records of both the NYCC and the CIA, we have documentation of the process from both sides, which I'm sure some enthusiastic research will have a fantastic time comparing.

By the time the NYCC officially merged with the New York City Partnership (a philanthropic organization formed by NYCC member David Rockefeller) to form the Partnership for New York City, the offices had long since moved out of its building on 65 Liberty Street, and its membership and administration had severely dwindled. The organization lived out its twilight years functioning more like a typical civic organization; long gone were the days of the Chamber's power and prestige.

This is the story of the merger of the Chamber of Commerce

Secret Transmissions

Katie, who is assisting me on this project, is still stuck in the mire of arbitration correspondence from the 1920s. She is always finding all sorts of weird communications--sarcastic replies, indignant feedback, or the occasional advertisement for curing baldness. Correspondence is really such a great way to get a feel for the spirit of an organization or a person, or to get a peek into how people really feel about things. But, yes, I know--a lot of it can be pretty boring, too. Anyway, Katie recently came across this Western Union telegram (or cablegram, I guess):



It's easy to discern that "Bernheimer" is the addressee and that "Tulloch" is the sender, but it's that line above "Tulloch" that catches the eye. What does that garbled message mean, you wonder? Well, just consult the code key:



The translated code is confirmed in the letter that follows:



One can only assume that the message was coded because it is related to a private legal matter; I guess it's similar to encryption methods used today. It makes me wonder though, how often was this coding method employed and how it was translated? Who came up with the code? Was a new one used for every case or incident? How does the receiver find out the key to the code? I like the idea of law firms and businesses sending out secret decoder rings to clients and associates,



or secretaries poring over confidential memos that lay out the key.



Any code experts out there, if you have some insight in to this, please feel free to let me know.

Secret Transmissions

"A Wonderful Adventure"

I just finished reading The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham. The novel is set in the United States and Europe in the early 1900's, and traces the lives of Americans as they faced the First World War, the market crash of 1929, and the aftermath of those events. One of its central characters, Larry Darrell, is a young man who at the beginning of the book has just returned from the war and is clearly scarred by his experiences. His childhood sweetheart wants to marry and his and her family and friends want him to either go to college or go into business, but he refuses, deciding instead to "loaf," which translates into traveling around the world, working odd jobs, meeting some sages and scholars, and reading lots of books--clearly Larry made the right decision here. But before he takes off to Paris, his girlfriend tries to convince him to stay by saying to him,

"Henry Maturin was saying only the other day that we were beginning an era that would make the achievements of the past look like two bits. He said he could see no limit to our progress and he's convinced that by 1930 we shall be the richest and greatest country in the world . . . There's never been such a chance for a young man. I should have thought you'd be proud to take part in the work that lies before us. It's such a wonderful adventure."

Larry replies with a laugh, which is exactly how I felt when I read that. I like the idea of young 1920s men looking at their future in business as "a wonderful adventure."

Katie and I are definitely seeing traces of that optimism and excitement in the correspondence and publications we've come across so far. What I am especially keen on finding though is documentation of the 1929 market crash. So far, the only indication of it is a skip in the meeting minutes of the Executive Committee of the Merchants Association of New York from September 1929 to January 1930. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to find--tear stained business letters, emergency meeting memos, frantic telegrams--who knows. We haven't really gotten to 1929 correspondence or records yet anyway, but I hope we find it soon. Meanwhile, Katie is diligently working away at processing the Chairman's and Secretary's correspondence from the early part of that decade. Apparently, neither of these men placed much importance on keeping an organized and tidy filing system--I guess neither of them anticipated that their records were going to be processed and archived 90 years later. Who ever does, though? So, we forgive you Charles Bernheimer and Charles Gwynne. I'm sure that at the time, keeping six copies of every day correspondence seemed like a good idea.

"A Wonderful Adventure"

Unexpected Finds in Business Correspondence

I've been processing the New York Chamber of Commerce records for about two and a half months now, not including the two days spent in a warehouse in New Jersey (an explanation of those two days deserves its own--forthcoming--post). In an attempt to start organizing what I'm guessing is going to be the biggest series in this collection, I've spent quite a bit of time looking at documents related to the Committee on Arbitration. When the assistant project archivist began work on the collection, I set her up to continue processing the series so I could take a much needed break from the arbitration committee and begin looking at all the "miscellaneous" boxes that had amassed unexpectedly. Of course, "miscellaneous" turned out to be mostly arbitration committee related. Specifically, it is correspondence from the 1910s and 1920s between Charles Bernheimer, then Chairman of the Committee on Arbitration, and various businesses, organizations, and manufacturers in and out of New York City.

I'll be the first to admit that I am not a history buff. Nor have I ever been much interested in business and industry. When my dad encouraged me to take business courses in college, I instead signed up for a course on 20th century European drama (Ibsen to Churchill) and one on women and Japanese fiction (the Tale of the Genji to Banana Yoshimoto). Needless to say, although excited about the challenges of this project from the beginning, I wasn't too sure that the content was going to be of much interest to me. Looking through Bernheimer's correspondence, I came across several letters from all sorts of companies and organizations that caught my eye, namely because they had some amazing stationery. Although stationery of today seems to rely mostly on abstract graphics, seals, or company logos, these letterheads were much more graphically interesting, usually advertising the business's products. The images below are examples of some of my favorites:

I'm sure that the majority of the researchers who use this collection will be business historians, New York City historians, and others with similar interests, but I thought I would point out that archival collections are often rich in graphically interesting materials, sometimes in places you wouldn't think to look. Letterheads, stylized posters, pamphlets, and drawings of all kinds . . . one of my favorite things to come across in a sheaf of administrative records are the doodles and cartoons of a bored note taker. In the age of CAD and digital cameras and Photoshop, it's nice to come across a really lovely hand drawing of an elevator shaft, isn't it? Anyway, even if you aren't interested in looking at architectural drawings or business pamphlets, a quick scan through letterheads of certain decades can turn up some nice finds. (By the way, that pin in the corner of the last letterhead is not part of the illustration, its one of the many fasteners used before paper clips and staples were the norm.)

Unexpected Finds in Business Correspondence