The audiovisual collection of The Library of Congress is one of our greatest national treasures. Consisting of more than 6 million items, this ever–growing collection will now be catalogued, preserved, restored, and converted to digital formats in the new National Audiovisual Conservation Center (NAVCC) located outside of Culpeper, Virginia. Until now this collection has been scattered among a number of locations around the country, but thanks to a $155 million grant from the Packard Humanities Institute (headed by Dr. David W. Packard) and $82 million in funding from the U.S. Congress, this new facility will be able to safely house the entire collection in one state–of–the–art location.
One day in October 2007, overcome by a nagging wanderlust, my assistant and I decided to visit the new campus of the NAVCC. Their website implied that the recently completed Library of Congress Packard Campus in Culpeper, where the NAVCC was located, was up and running. Although we hadn't received a reply to our written request for information, we felt that if we went we would be able to see where the NAVCC was, take a few photos, and perhaps obtain a brochure. If we were really lucky, we thought, we might even be able to take a tour of the facility. After all, my website draws many people who are interested in preserving our motion picture heritage, and I knew that some of them would like to see what the new NAVCC looked like.
We drove the 550 miles to Culpeper and arrived at the National Audiovisual Conservation Center on October 4, 2007. Although the NAVCC's campus is largely underground, the imposing three–story, semicircular Conservation Building nestled into the west face of Mount Pony is clearly visible from Highway 522. Surrounded by farmland and within view of Culpeper, the base of Mount Pony is surrounded by a tall, rusty chain–link fence that seemed to enclose all 45 acres of the facility. The secluded road that lead through the fence to the NAVCC had a sign that proclaimed "For Official Business Only", and the small parking area next to the Conservation Building contained only a few cars. There was no apparent activity around the building, none of the hustle and bustle we had expected, and though thousands of four–foot high plastic tubes rose from the earth all around the complex protecting saplings that had been planted at measured intervals, the grounds were clearly a work–in–progress.
As we left our car and headed for the main entrance to the building (on what we considered "official business"), the pungent odor of fresh manure wafted over us from a nearby farm. Thinking back on it now, I suspect Dr. David Packard, a classicist and former professor of Greek and Latin, would have been disappointed that I didn't immediately recognize and heed this acrid warning from the gods.
Passing through the glass doors at the entrance to the NAVCC's 175,000 square foot Conservation Building housing administrative offices, preservation laboratories, and a theater, we entered the sunlit, three–story high grand lobby and reception area. In the middle of the lobby was a circular counter behind which sat a rather stern–looking security guard. Asking if there was someone we could see who might provide us with some information, I was told that the facility was "not open to the public".
As luck would have it, next to us at the counter were two gentlemen going over some blueprints. One of them looked up and introduced himself to us as the Facility Manager. He explained that the NAVCC was indeed "not open to the public", and that in fact it had a number of areas that were still under construction. He was cordial, charming and friendly, and when I asked a few questions about the complex he was gracious and informative. I inquired if I might take a few photos of the entrance to the theater that was next to the lobby, and he said he didn't see any reason why I couldn't. When I asked if I might also take some photos of the exterior of the building he not only said "certainly" but even suggested where I could go to get the best shots.
 After retrieving the camera from my car, I returned and snapped a few photos of the entrance to the theater. When this was done (it only took a moment or two) I walked back to the Facility Manager to thank him for his courtesy. When he asked if I had liked the theater I admitted that it was stunning and I couldn't wait until it was open. He then began to enthusiastically tell us about the gift from the Packard Humanities Institute, how exciting it was to have the whole audiovisual collection in one place, and what work the NAVCC would be doing in the future. His exuberance and zeal were contagious, and I knew that what he did was not only a job but also a Labor of Love.
While we were chatting a woman entered the lobby, saw me, and made a gesture for the Facility Manager to join her. As they talked I walked over to the far side of the lobby to take a last photo. Before I could activate my camera, however, the woman turned and walked over to me with what I can only describe as "bureaucratic resolve". It was clear that she was in charge and that she had spent a great deal of her professional career telling people like me what I was not allowed to do and where I was not allowed to go. Were those the opening bars of Richard Strauss' "Thus Spake Zarathustra" I suddenly heard as she approached? It certainly wasn't Aaron Copland's "Fanfare for the Common Man"!
"This facility is not open to the public," she said with the kind of smile Dolores Umbridge must have given Harry Potter when she told him to come to her office after class. "You must leave at once."
"I just want to take a picture of the lobby," I said with what I hoped was an affable but obeisant grin. "He said it would be OK." I pointed toward the Facility Manager.
"You are not allowed to take photographs inside the building," she replied with growing irritation and matter–of–fact authority. "He's new here and doesn't know."
"Can I shoot some pictures of the outside of the building?" As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I shouldn't have asked the question.
"You are not allowed to take any photographs of the outside of the building, either. I will pass your business card on to someone who can give you further information." She then added, I think as an afterthought, "Is that alright?"
I knew her question was rhetorical so I just mumbled, "Sure." Since numerous photos of the building, both exterior and interior shots, are posted on a number of public websites, I concluded that what she was telling me could not possibly be an official policy. But there didn't appear to be any room for negotiation so, as I glanced toward the security guard with a bit of trepidation, I mustered what was left of my dignity and walked toward the distant doors with my assistant. We had been in the NAVCC for less than 10 minutes.
On our way out we passed a small group of librarians who were obviously visitors like ourselves, albeit probably invited visitors. I considered warning them about taking photographs, but then realized the "policy" wouldn't apply to them. After all, they were there on "official business". At the door I turned and looked over toward the Facility Manager who was deep in conversation with the other man, and wished that our great national treasures were entrusted to more like him. His unbridled excitement in this new complex and the work of the NAVCC was both electrifying and inspiring, and his "people skills" were as engaging as they were natural.
To be fair, I feel certain the woman who spoke to us was bearing an enormous weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She appeared to be, after all, one of the administrators in charge, and if things went wrong she would be held accountable. She probably would have been charming, informative, and possibly even witty if I had been "someone" but, alas, I was just Joe Public and I had arrived uninvited. I was a potential ink blot on her perfect résumé, and she handled the situation with the decisiveness that had undoubtedly gotten her to where she was. When I had mentioned that it will be very nice when the theater is open to the public on a regular basis (something that has been alluded to in press releases from The Library of Congress), she informed me that such a program was still under discussion and that quite possibly the theater would be open to the public only for special events. The tone of her voice made it clear that if she had anything to do with it the public would only be allowed in the building on the rarest of occasions. The NAVCC is, after all, "not open to the public".
I don't wish to imply that we should have been received with open arms when we paid our unannounced visit to the NAVCC. No, I would be the first to agree that there is a compelling need for the most rigorous security in a facility that contains such fragile, important, valuable, and, in the case of nitrate film, potentially dangerous assets. But in certain situations, even in a government institution, perhaps common sense should prevail. If the public is absolutely forbidden to be in the building, wouldn't it be a good idea to note that fact clearly on the NAVCC's website? And if the only theatrical access to this audiovisual collection, that is supposedly owned by the people of the United States, is going to be through facilities located in Washington, DC, and selected universities, why build a beautiful theater next to the lobby and announce that public programs will be available? Does Dr. David Packard know that the theater he helped design is going to be available to the public on only a very limited basis, if at all? Will only politicians, government officials, and large donors be allowed to attend programs in this extraordinary venue? [NOTE: Gregory Lukow, Chief of the Motion Picture, Broadcasting & Recorded Sound Division of the Library of Congress, has stated that public tours of the NAVCC would begin sometime in 2008.]
As we drove away from the NAVCC, I couldn't help but think of my grandchildren. If the Library of Congress' audiovisual preservation process, and the facility in which it's done, is so secret and restricted that merely taking a photograph in the lobby is forbidden, would my grandchildren and others in their generation also experience the disheartening intimidation I now felt if they wanted to learn about the importance of preserving our audiovisual heritage? Would they be discouraged from embracing the endlessly fascinating history of America's recorded sound and images by some bureaucratic fiat? I hoped not, and I hoped that in the future everyone interested in our great audiovisual history, even if it is just a love of old movies, might learn that their interest is considered by the NAVCC to be "official business".
Epilogue:
A month after this report was posted on the Internet, I received a gracious letter from The Library of Congress offering to provide me with a guided tour of the NAVCC at my convenience. The letter also stated that they, "have taken corrective steps to make sure that subsequent visitors have a welcoming experience at the Packard Campus . . . "
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