Where We Begin.

Spring appears to have finally arrived in Gramercy Park. The birds are back; kicking up a chorus in the still drab square below my office window. But it’s a sign of a new beginning, which as I write this, seems altogether fitting.

A new beginning, indeed.

The home office hired me nearly ten years ago to manage the catalogs and archives of their history. But it was only recently, in our age of uncertainty and the questioning of what is fact, that the decision was made -  from on high it seems - to relate this information in to the public. To control our narrative “should we suddenly depart this world too soon and any sense of our existence be expunged or redacted from the civil record.” A daunting task to say the least.

Where does one start? 1867? 1931? 2005? Benchmarks in the history of this archive for sure, and of course points which I do hope to extrapolate on at length. But on this inaugural day, the day we reboot, restart, step back and assess the whole of what the Blacksytes and their associates may have accomplished. Or not accomplished for that matter. It’s a bit insurmountable to presume that any one date, place, or instance is the right kicking off point.

I’m looking at a great old quilt searching for the primary thread woven through that holds it all together. I’m finding that perhaps there maybe more than one.

But suddenly, as I sit here in my office on the 3rd floor of this townhouse on Gramercy Park, I’m struck with just such a thread. A kicking off point to the greater whole.

I’ve made myself a cup of tea, Earl Gray - Twinnings.  It’s obligatory that we keep three full boxes of PG Tips on hand, we are an English firm after all, but I sometimes find it hard to swallow the stuff. Especially on mornings like this. The mug, adorned with a dachshund, is still steaming on my desk as I punch away at the keys writing this. But the tea alone doesn’t set the mood or settle the soul. No, I’ve music for that.

One of the interesting fixtures of this room I call my office, is an old turntable and receiver - Techonics and Pioneer - if I’m reading the labels correctly from my desk. Two large cabinet speakers, wrapped in wood finishing, flank the sideboard the equipment sits upon. A velvet saxophone is muting from these speakers. Paul Desmond. Accompanied by a rhythmic piano syncopation. Dave Brubeck.  

Jazz is a passion of mine. And it appears it was someone else's as well. For this system of electronics emitting one of my favorite 1950's cool jazz ensembles, doesn’t belong to me. No, it was here when I arrived in 2009. It has a history, like many of the things in this building. A history to tell a story.

It once belonged to Captain Blacksyte. George likely bought it in London in the early 80’s. I can picture him floating passed the shops in Chelsea, freshly minted in his career with the Royal Marines, taking in the sights and scenes of a city in transition. Happening upon the HiFi shop where this beauty stands in the window, likely demoing the latest pop or rock hit. I’d like to think it was The Wall or The Wailers cranking out “Could You Be Love”. But it was more than likely ABBA or The Police. George buys this whole kit on sight. He’s got a flat to furnish in Turk’s Row.

But stop. Hold on. Is this the story the archive wants to tell? Perhaps. But as I sit here pondering, my tea getting cold, I’m struck with a question. One that requires a great deal of digging and research to answer.

This HiFi system, still in good condition as I look at it and listen to the sound it’s kicking out, mind you. Bought and paid for in a shop in London. Set up for the first time in a small one-room flat in Turk’s Row, Chelsea. How does this thing and a collection of records, a good eclectic collection of records, mind you, make it all the way from London to this four-storied monolith of red brick in Manhattan? A world and a lifetime away.

Now that’s something to consider, the thread I might be looking for. And from what I know about my modest employers, I think the tale of how a HiFi system crossed the Atlantic is just the start we may need.

I decide that’s where the archive should begin.

But now the tea is useless, it’s gone cold. I’ll boil some more water, refresh it, and come back to this. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week.

• The Archivist. M.