Composing Sticks and Mortar Boards [Reprint 2022 ed.] 9781978811997

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Composing Sticks & Mortar Boards

Composing Sticks & Mortar Boards &0eee0eeeeee0^

By Earl Schenck Miers, Manager of the Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, with an Introduction by P. J. Conkwright of Princeton University Press, Princeton. Printed by The Haddon Craftsmen for Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, N. J.

1941

Copyright IQ41

by Earl Schenck

Miers

Printed in the United States of America by The Haddon Craftsmen, Inc., Camden, Mew Jersey Limited Edition for Private Distribution: May, 1941 First Trade Edition, September, 194.1

TO

THIS

BOOK

THE

MEMORY

IS

DEDICATED OF MY

FATHER

WILLIAM S C H E N C K M I E R S WHO

POSSESSED AND

BOTH

A GIFT WHO

FOR

LOVED

AS A CRAFTSMAN

GRACIOUS

LIVING

HARMONY AND

AS A

FRIEND

Acknowledgements T H I S small volume, conceived one day in a quiet tavern, is the offspring of a printer who loves his craft and of a small group of men who find joy in the labors of a university campus. It is a statement offaith

and of purpose. In the

writing of these few remarks many persons have given encouragement to the author through their blunt criticisms and unwavering enthusiasms, and to this group of men must go credit for

such merit as the volume may contain, and

certainly none of the blame for any of its shortcomings. Special acknowledgement is due P. J. Conkwright of the Princeton University Press, who has seen fit to write an introduction for it, and who has made many a wise suggestion in the revision of the text; Richard Ellis, who brought the charm of laughter into every discussion, and who designed the format;

and Donald F. Cameron, who is both a kindred

spirit and a fellow conspirator, and who teaches because the love of that craft has seeped into the marrow of his bones. E. S. M.

Introduction T H E American college catalog is an academic publicity agent which has been active since Colonial days. It has seldom been flashily dressed. On the contrary, it too often has appeared publicly in quite shabby dress. And if for no other reason than for its long and serviceable life, I think it deserves a new suit of clothes—at least the old garments should be brushed, cleaned and refitted. In this little book about college printing, Mr. Miers has outlined a useful set of instructions as to what the well-dressed catalog, and related publications, will and will not wear. In the United States there are more than a thousand colleges, and I think every one of them publishes an annual catalog. The catalog customarily includes a register of students for the preceding year; the names and academic degrees of the faculty, listed in the order of their respective rank; the announcement of courses, which often includes description of considerable imagination; equipment of laboratories and libraries; a short history of the college; a statement of expenses for tuition, room, board, and incidentals; and a list of prizes and other awards. Many catalogs include more than these general items, but most catalogs contain at least this much. The order of arrangement of this material has varied considerably during the last hundred years, and the quantity has increased greatly. In 1840, for instance, the arrangement was commonly in this order: The Register of Trustees, Faculty, and Students, after which there was

included an Appendix, which stated terms for admission (terms in those days was not fifteen high school units, but consisted chiefly of a passing proficiency in Caesar, Sallust, Virgil, Cicero, and Latin and Greek grammar). These items were followed by the course of instruction for four years, which was standard diet — every course being required — and consisted of great quantities of Greek and Latin, with some Mathematics and Logic. Then, in single paragraphs, there usually appeared statements concerning Libraries, Vacations, Apparatus, E x penses, and Recent Improvements. In 1840 a catalog of forty-eight pages was a large one; today some are twenty times that size. In appearance the catalog of 1840 was not distinguished. It reflected the typography of a period which was declining toward the era of elegant embellishment, but as yet was just passably adequate. A t an earlier period in its history, during the middle and last half of the eighteenth century, the college catalog had been extremely interesting to look at. During this time it was usually set in Caslon type; often it was decorated with a wood engraving, and probably a row or two of metal ornaments. Although the presswork was never too well done, the black ink on dampened hand made paper rarely left a thoroughly mean impression. And at the foot of all these catalogs the printer's name and location was not immodestly printed in Latin. The middle eighteenth century catalogs usually appeared as one-page broadsides, with columns of instructors, scholars, and their attainments neatly displayed to best advantage. But during the last quarter of the century

the one-page catalog quite generally gave way to small pamphlets, with a little less charm than their handsome predecessors, but still with considerable graciousness. With the beginning of the nineteenth century the general tone of American printing became bolder and blacker, and the trend among catalogs followed the general pattern. T h e style which emphasized bolder stems, thinner cross-strokes, and condensation of type faces had been growing for some time. In fact, germs of the growth could have been traced to Granjean, who lived over a century before. Impetus was given to the trend by Baskerville, and most forcefully by Bodoni and the Didots. Typefounders in America and abroad took up the Bodoni and Didot expressions and improved on them by adding weight and more weight, each addition being for good measure. As a consequence, the former neat columns of collegiate printing gave way to heavy masses of scholastic information, difficult to read, but extremely modern. After the first exuberant use of fat letters, back-tilted letters, and Barnum ball terminals, the average college catalog for about fifty years quieted down to a sober, but rather dull looking booklet. Then, during the era following the Civil War, it blossomed with vines and tendrils. And poor paper and kiss impression. In the 1890's the messianic voice of William Morris was apparently not heard in academic halls beyond Boston. And for thirty years thereafter in only isolated instances did the honest and intelligent work of D. B. Updike, Bruce Rogers, and a growing group of followers, influence university printing. Since about 1925 a few universities have become increasingly aware of the possi-

bilities of improving the appearance and effectiveness of their bulletins. But the number is too few. Except for a small group in the east, a smaller group in the far west, and a thin sprinkle in the great central areas, educational institutions of all descriptions are apparently content with the poorest sort of printing. Perhaps they aren't content; perhaps they are dependent on printing plants whose ideals of good printing have been stunted in competitive price-cutting. Perhaps they have no voice in the matter of who shall do their printing; in many state schools this detail is politically arranged. Although operating conditions may be difficult there is still a great deal that college officials can do to improve the quality of their printing. Printers can be taught their own craft by conscientious officials who are interested in catalogs of taste. Mr. Miers has provided a manual of instruction which every such official should make his own. P. J. Conkwright

Upon Julia's Clothes Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then {me thinks) how sweetly fiowes That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free; 0 how that glittering taketh me! ROBERT HERRICK, 1648

Composing Sticks & Mortar Boards SOP, who was sometimes troubled with gout but more often afflicted with a conscience, believed that every man carries two wallets, one before and one behind, and both full of faults. The one behind, said iEsop, is full of a man's own defects; the one before, of his neighbor's; and thus it is that men are blind to their own shortcomings while never losing sight of those of their neighbor. To anyone associated with a college campus—especially to any person who, on a scorching June afternoon, has listened to a commencement oration in which all of mankind's peccadillos have been examined, sorted and set to order in forty-five minutes to the tick—it will be encouraging to learn that the paragraphs which follow are concerned in large measure with the faults in my own wallet, and any resemblance to persons or conditions on any other campus is, I assure you, entirely intentional. A dignified appearance is an essential part of every educational institution's stock in trade. A happy illustration of this fact in practice is any college's commencement festivities when in an effort to make a pleasant and lasting impression the seniors are dressed in cap and gown, the faculty colorfully arrayed in academic hoods, the college band placed at the head of the procession, and the speaker's platform garlanded with palms and flowers (thus bringing to a close weeks of preparation during which the C3 3

buildings and the campus have been barbered with the greatest care). In like manner, the millions of tons of grass seed which have been sown on college lawns and the thousands of miles of ivy which have been spread across college buildings have been placed there because an attractive appearance is considered a valuable asset. It would be thought a dangerous precedent for any institution if its president appeared in chapel one morning attired in striped trousers and a cutaway, but wearing a sweat shirt which, absent-mindedly, he had neglected to remove after a pre-breakfast set of tennis. It is equally unfortunate, I think, that despite the considerable slice of income which is going into ivy and grass seed and commencement pageantry, there come moments practically every day when many of our educational institutions are greeting the public with their sweat shirts unremoved. The growth of culture and of education resulted from the union of two arts—teaching and printing. Until the perfection of printing from movable type there could be no great universities, and for this reason Gutenberg has become one of the sainted ancestors of modern education. However, learning to use an art carries an obligation of knowing how not to abuse it, and in this respect our institutions of learning have seemed at times to be more than a little remiss. One might expect that in every piece of printing which came from a university campus there would be a mark of distinction, something which would make evident the close kinship between education and printing. One might expect that throughout the country there would be institutions which by their example and their standards had become the Palladium of graphic arts C40

in America. One might expect that on every campus there would be men gifted in these arts, men dedicated to the dual task of safeguarding them from indifference and of spreading among others an appreciation of their magnificent tradition. There are such men on some campuses, but their number must be pathetically small, for the catalogs, the bulletins and the announcements, the periodicals and the books which are coming from our universities and colleges too often are the reflection of hacks instead of artists. There is need for many awakenings. First, there is need of an awakening to what this failing means to an institution in the forfeit of an opportunity to gain prestige, since the failing can only signify an ignorance of the facilities for creative expression which are made available through the graphic arts. Secondly, there is need of an awakening to what is being done at other institutions to escape this mediocrity; and, finally, there is need of an awakening to fundamentals, to a realization that what is needed is not always more money in the printing budget, but greater understanding behind the supervision, the planning, and the concept of what the printing of an institution can mean to the world at large. At this point the reader may make one of two decisions. He may decide, in keeping with an old Chinese proverb, that of all the twenty-seven alternatives running away is best, in which case I hope his flight will be troubled. Or he may decide to review the whole problem of this union of composing sticks and mortar boards from which so much good has stemmed, and in whose mating there yet remains great promise. To this second group the remaining remarks are intended to serve as a primer. C O

Mr. Rollins Conducts a Crusade IN ANY SUMMARY of what American institutions have achieved in upholding the highest standards of craftsmanship in printing, first mention must be given to Carl Purington Rollins and Yale University. Mr. Rollins came to the New Haven campus with a distinguished reputation, won in large part at a small printing office which he had operated in an old mill at Montague, Massachusetts (the Dyke Mill), and where for a time he had been associated with Bruce Rogers. As a printer and as a designer of books, Mr. Rollins was recognized as a craftsman whose period typography was authentic and expertly executed, and whose work gave evidence of a certain and discriminating taste. The novice may wonder why he came to Yale and accepted the duty of overseeing the routine of printing of a university—catalogs, bulletins, an occasional broadside for a lecture, an office form employed in intramural communication—but the answer was simply that in each new problem he saw a challenge to his skill as a printer. The publications which have come out of Yale University under the supervision of Mr. Rollins have been like soldiers in a crusade. Each has proclaimed that there is no need for stodginess and mediocrity in institutional printing. Each has demonstrated that vitality, distinction, and freshness of interpretation can be achieved by the man who directs institutional printing if he will but realize the opportunity which has been placed in his hands. In short, the college world should beat a path to Mr. Rollins's door, for the better mousetrap about which Mr. C O

Emerson of Harvard wrote so vigorously seems, in this instance at least, to have skipped over to Yale.1 There have been other institutions which have maintained commendable standards, and their work also should be studied by all persons interested in raising the level of printing in their own bailiwick. Princeton University deserves mention in this connection, especially during the period when the influence of Frederic Warde was manifest on the campus, and more recently with the appearance of P. J . Conkwright, who formerly was associated with the University of Oklahoma. In the south special notice is due much of the work which has come out of Chapel Hill; in the mid-west the University of Minnesota and University of Chicago have assumed a real leadership; and in the far west impressive results have been achieved by Samuel T. Farquhar and the Book Arts Club of the University of California in Berkeley. In addition to these purely representative examples of institutions which have set a high standard in everything they publish, notice must be given to another type of institutional leadership—namely, the instruction in the graphic arts made available through the recently created Department of Printing and the Graphic Arts at Harvard University, and through courses in printing, typography, and bookmaking offered by New York University, Columbia University, and the Carnegie Institute of Technology, to mention but three. The awareness on the part of these institutions to the obligation imposed upon education to preserve and to perpetuate the graphic arts in America 1

On the other hand, Cambridge folk may point out that Mr. Rollins is a graduate of Harvard.

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is an indication that here exists a movement which should be, and will be, more generally embraced, for where else could such a movement be so at home as on a university or college campus? The men and women who have won recognition in institutional printing are engaged in an exhilarating enterprise. They have plunged into a world of deep and multiplying fascinations. Jobs which could have been humdrum and enervating have been fired with imagination and challenge. True, for every heart throb there are a dozen aches—some of their own making, some not. Certainly they deserve sympathy when they must contend with persons who are indifferent to this world which has engrossed them, and they can only rely on their enthusiasm and determination to carry them through these moments of discouragement. They deserve sympathy, too, when they contend with another misguided group who can be best described as the "Lord, deliver me from thou" coterie. Just as it is true that many persons believe they could dash off a corking good novel if they could but find time to start it, so do many persons believe that without more than a casual wink at the problem they can design distinctive printing. The cold, bitter truth is that there are few pixies in printing. Hard work, attention to detail, a sound schooling in fundamentals are essentials which must be applied if competent results are to be achieved. I can state this bluntly, but the first task which faces the man who wishes to raise printing standards in his institution is to cultivate tactfulness. He will have to deal with the care-nots, and the know-not-that-they-know-nots, but he will have to thread his way through their delicate feelC83

ings as though he were walking on eggshells. He will deserve a medal for diplomacy—but it will be worth the struggle.

The Thin Line DANIEL BERKELEY UPDIKE has become almost a legendary figure in American printing, and The Merrymount Press, which he operates, has produced many pieces which belong to the truly great accomplishments of the graphic arts in America. Speaking of the hardships which confronted him when The Merrymount Press was established in 1893, Updike has said: "The Press started with a simple but difficult programme: to do common work well— better, in fact, than has been generally thought worth while." Is it possible to state more succinctly the basic problem which confronts every person charged with the supervision of institutional printing? " T o do common work well"—in those five words rests the difference between the craftsman and the muddler, for between mediocrity and distinction in printing there is only a thin line. On the one side there is indifference and disorder, on the other reason and harmony. Fine printing does not call for an exorbitant expenditure of money, though the conscientious craftsman is more worthy of his hire than the slip-shod worker. Basically, fine printing calls first and always for intelligent planning. The challenge to one's imagination, to one's spirit of adventure, and to one's competitive instinct is to take materials which are available to everyone—paper, type and ink—and to endeavor to use them better than they ever have been used before. With the application of simple, C O

reasonable fundamentals, with the selection of a printer who can follow instructions (and perhaps, virtue to be revered, at times offer a helpful suggestion!), and with perseverance in demanding and getting good quality for the money spent, institutional printing can be raised to a level of competence without throwing the purchasing agent into more than a gentle perspiration. Perhaps at first thought the task of pushing an institution's printing from one side to the other of the thin line may seem discouraging and pregnant with long suffering, but it need not be. It will prove a cumulative process, much like the snowball rolling downhill. While the average person does not protest vigorously when faced with bad printing, he can recognize, and is pleased to recognize, good work. With one success the task is a hundredfold easier; then, with plugging, good humor, and thoughtful direction the entire institution can be awakened to the crusade. From obscure nooks on the campus will come well-wishers and sympathetic co-workers, for in printing, as in many fields of endeavor, nothing succeeds like success. It would seem pertinent to remark that many persons in charge of institutional printing possess far too little technical knowledge. In the discussion which follows, an effort has been made to suggest such basic information as may be necessary, and the reader who knows well the mechanics of the craft will understand that his agreement on all of the details is not of any particular importance as long as the neophyte has been directed into the proper channels of inquiry. He will understand also that sugar coating and nothing more would be a sad excuse for this labor of authorship, since what is most sorely lacking in

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many examples of institutional printing is a clarification of fundamental problems and a starting point from which the technical ramifications of these problems may be approached (the glossary, appearing on pages 79 through 89, inclusive, is intended as an aid in identifying technical terms). If the following discussion serves this purpose, the author will feel well compensated for his toil. T h e biggest part of the job is making a start, and the key to the riddle, I suspect, is the college catalog.

The Catalog: Heart of the Riddle IN MANY RESPECTS the catalog is the most important publication a college or university issues, if only for the fact that it constitutes a public contract. The prospective student has a right to assume that any statement printed in its pages is reliable and official, and he has a right to assume also that should he enroll he can pursue any of the announced courses of study as long as he meets the requirements for admission. Since the catalog's function primarily is one of reference, it is the opinion of such qualified groups as the Carnegie Foundation that no advertising, including appeals for students or endowments, has a place in this publication. Likewise, the history of the institution, and views of campus buildings and athletic events are subjects which should be treated in bulletins apart from the catalog. So in planning the catalog—and this is a principle which is true of all printing—the first consideration should be given to adapting the format to the purpose for which the publication is intended. Since the catalog stands as

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the official organ of an institution, it should reflect the institution's dignity and cultural attainment. Since it is to be a work of reference it should fit comfortably on a book shelf, and since it will be carried to conferences and other meetings it should not be too bulky for ready handling. Finally, since no one reads a catalog from cover to cover, the arrangement of material should be such that particular items are emphasized without detracting from the appearance of the catalog as a whole. Simplicity and neatness are inescapable mandates in planning a catalog. Each element of manufacture—type and paper selection, spacing, the arrangement of type upon the page, binding—must be so handled that a pleasing effect is produced. The catalog designer needs to stimulate his gray matter, to wait for something to evolve from this cranial combustion, and then to make his plans. If the catalog of a year ago was a total bust, discard it. Start anew. Think. Above all, design a publication which will serve the poor devil who is going to use it.

I. Remarks on Choosing a Type Face Obviously the type face selected for the catalog must be clear and readable. While I think William Morris was over pessimistic when he exclaimed, "There has not been a decent book printed since the sixteenth century," still the catalog designer will not go astray if he remembers that dignified and pleasing type faces originated in the days of Jenson, Aldus and Tory. Many circumstances will influence the final decision. An institution with a preC 12 3

Revolutionary or early Federal background can well afford an authentic period typography—perhaps Caslon or Janson, Baskerville, Scotch Roman or Bell. A technical school may select a face that will suggest vigor and precision, the modern tempo—perhaps Baskerville or Bodoni, Caledonia or Scotch Roman. A girl's school may tend to a type face of a definitely graceful suggestion—perhaps Estienne or Granjon, Bembo or Deepdene. Again, the amount of copy will influence the choice. An institution offering only a few courses will seek to increase the bulk of its catalog, and an expanded type face (like Baskerville) will be welcome; on the other hand, a school offering many courses will want a condensed face (like Granjon or Bodoni Book) to secure the opposite effect. In any event, graceful, readable faces are available, and in making a selection the designer has an opportunity of exercising his esthetic taste with wisdom and discrimination. 2 The selection of a type face for the catalog is deserving of thoughtful deliberation for still another reason. It would seem a sound policy for every institution to have a continuity of design among all its publications so that the institution becomes identified in time by the mere appearance of its catalogs and bulletins. Also, once this 2

Many designers of institutional printing will need to work with Old Style Number One, since this is a face which finds its way into print shops which do not possess faces seeming more desirable. The face has been badly maligned through poor usage—particularly through a tendency of setting it with inadequate spacing between the lines. With care Old Style Number One can be made to produce good work, but, on the other hand, let no printer tell you it is the one indispensable face. This traditional claim belongs to Caslon. In any event, know type faces. Understand—and, whenever possible, obtain—exactly what you want.

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policy has been established the task of the designer of institutional printing becomes greatly simplified, and his time and ability to check on details increased. Since the catalog should be the model to which all other bulletins conform, there must be sound reasoning behind its form. A happy result cannot be achieved through a willy nilly pursuit of typographical fads, nor by the example of modern commercial advertising. You are not screaming for attention—you are offering a service, backed by your reputation. The existence of an institution depends on the maintenance of standards, and the design of its printing should reflect the dignity, the privilege and the distinction of this position. In Printing Types, Their History, Forms and Use, Updike lists five general classifications of type which may prove useful in selecting a face for the general printing of your institution.3 In the first group Updike places "Types that seem indisputably standard, on which there is no possibility of going astray"—examples: Gaslon, for its beauty and utility; Scotch, for work "which could not be executed so appropriately in an old style letter." In his second group Updike places "Types which, while standard, are not of universal utility"—examples: "modernized old style" and "French Old Style" or "Elzevier"; while in the third group go "Types that are based upon some historic fonts or show that their designer was a student of early type-forms"—examples: Cloister, Garamond and Kennerley; and in the same group go "fonts adapted for 'publicity,' though not usually suitable for the printing 3

Daniel Berkeley Updike, Printing Types, Their History, Forms and Use (Cambridge, 1937), Vol. II, p. 228 et seq.

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of books"—examples: Cheltenham Old Style and Bodoni. In groups four and five Updike has placed, respectively, "Types of approved utility for decorative use" and "Initial letters and type ornaments." These last two classifications need no elaboration here, but it will not be amiss to remark that the person who steeps himself in Updike's readable and unexcelled two-volume work will in the end emerge a better student of printing and a more qualified critic of the labors of the craft—both those in which he has had a finger and those in which he has not. Of equal importance to choosing a type face for the catalog is choosing a type size, and again a few general remarks will be helpful insofar as they apply to all institutional printing. As a rule, small type (8- and 9-point) may be used with effectiveness in books not intended for continuous reading, while in books which are intended for continuous reading the size may be increased up to pica (that is, to 10-, 11-, 11 yi- and 12-point). The "readability" of any size of type must be relative to the width, or measure, of the line; that is, as the measure of the line increases, so also should the size of type used. After pica or 12-point, esthetics, not eyestrain, is often the motivating influence behind the designer's choice. Applied to the catalog, these generalizations suggest many interesting possibilities. Course descriptions, lists of prizes, fellowships and names can easily be treated in the smaller sizes, while entrance requirements, rules and regulations and other material intended for fuller perusal would seem more properly interpreted in the larger sizes. If the decision is made to keep to one size throughout the catalog it would appear wise to rely on another old adage of C 15 3

printing: In case of doubt choose the larger type. In such casesj io-point would seem adequate for most catalogs. To achieve a truly distinctive type page the printer must be counselled to give careful attention to spacing— between words, between sentences and between lines of type. Certainly nothing so distracts the eye as the formation on the printed page of meandering white lines or "rivers" caused by the improper spacing of words. In good printing, William Morris believed, the spacing between words should be as near equal as possible, and again, close spacing between sentences and moderate indentation of paragraphs will tend to reduce the "rivers" and so improve the appearance of the page. As for the spacing or leading between lines, the nature of the publication, the size of the page, and the type face selected will tend to influence this decision. Within reasonable limits, as the type size increases, so, too, should the spacing between lines.

II. The Key to Designing the Catalog Subheads and the titles of courses, appearing over and over in every catalog, present a major problem to the catalog designer. Such subheads should bear a relation to the rest of the page or else the reader will recoil from the catalog as he would from an overdose of surrealism. CAPITALS, C A P S AND SMALL C A P S , SMALL GAPS, ITALIC CAPS and Italic Upper and Lower Case, in the same size as the text type or perhaps in a size larger, would seem to provide sufficient variety, and while bold face type is employed by many there is reason to doubt if it is either effective or pleasing. It is my hunch that too C 1 0

much bold face type finds its way into college catalogs, and the general result, I believe, is to minimize the readability of the page by giving it the effect of a minor tragedy: that is, the page has the same appearance as though a chicken had hopped across it after dipping its feet in ink. Bold face type is intended for display advertising layouts, and the designer of a college catalog can easily dispense with it. It may seem like leading with one's chin for the catalog designer to become concerned over the preparation of copy, but the editorial and typographical features are so closely related that eventually the two must be worked out in a spirit of compromise. The major bone of contention between the designer and the editor becomes, inevitably, the course descriptions. Frankly, too much bunk finds its way into such summaries; sentences become involved, and claims are made for courses which are never fulfilled. An effective course description needs a crisp, clear style, both typographically and editorially. A sound approach is, if they are necessary at all, to make such descriptions brief and topical, with only essential facts included. Here is an example: 103. P S Y C H O L O G Y OF I N D I V I D U A L

DIFFERENCES.

( C r . 3 ) M . , W . , F . 10. Professor SANDERSON.

A study of human diversity; the feeble-minded, the superior, the insane, and the criminal; an introduction to clinical psychology and clinical testing. Prerequisite: 102.

No wasted words, no windy adjectives and adverbs, but a clear, honest statement to be grasped quickly. A catalog

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so conceived can be made to do the job for which it is intended—to inform and nothing more! A word may be said for the catalog cover. Here, I think, is one of the most mal-treated of all pieces of institutional printing. Again, simplicity and neatness should prevail. The space is limited and too many eggs cannot be jammed into one basket. The cover is not a handbill on which everything is shoved with the possible exception of prexy's telephone number. It is enough to give the name of the institution, the title of the publication, the year of issuance and the place. If the catalog is booksewed, and it is foolish economy to employ wire stitching in a publication of more than 32 or 48 pages, the title should appear on the backbone, reading from top to bottom. The reason for this form is that when with other publications the catalog is laid flat, front side up, it is possible to read the backbone without taking it out of the pile, or, what is even more convenient, without standing on one's head. A special note may be inserted at this point for the catalogs of extension divisions, which, as a class, are sometimes rather tearful. As you might expect, the trouble begins on the cover which is only partly a cover and partly a billboard and soda cracker wrapper. It is true that extension catalogs have a selling job to do, but I should like to feel that extension education depends for its vitality upon the dignity and the reputation of the institution which is its sponsor. Why not capitalize upon that asset first? Also, the cover should be designed in type faces related to the rest of thè catalog and not an assortment of sans serif faces which look even more out of place when C t9 }

used with photographs of buildings in the Gothic or Georgian tradition. As a matter of fact, sans serif type faces usually demand straightforward, simple treatment. Since the eye is untrained to reading them they need to be well spaced and used with prudent moderation. Finally, when the catalog announces evening courses may I suggest that a pictorial cover with a campus scene at night and with a few words of type neatly displayed (and sensibly within the tradition of the campus architecture) will go further toward selling the idea than a long-winded statement within a box and surrounded with other type matter.

III. The Choice of Paper Certainly as vital to the design of good printing as the selection of an appropriate type face is the selection of a suitable paper. Just as Woodrow Wilson at the Paris Peace Conference became concerned over "secret covenants secretly arrived at," so will the neophyte designer of printing eventually find paper an enigma. For that matter, many printers—and many paper salesmen, too—are of no help whatever in throwing light upon the role paper should play in achieving effective results. The literature upon the subject is sparse, and in time the man who is striving earnestly to learn his craft almost suspects that the paper industry is in league against him. As far as the requirements of institutional printing are concerned, paper falls into three broad classifications: antique, machine finish, and coated. Each of these types of paper has been designed for a particular requirement of printing, and each shows to best advantage only when C 19]

used for its intended purpose. Coated or glossy finished papers are designed to reproduce halftone engravings, and when type is printed on them it has a tendency to "thin down" and to lose much of its elegance. Machine finish papers, designed to reproduce with effectiveness both halftones and type, can be used when the number of pages makes the bulk of the catalog a definite problem; however, when used in large books or catalogs machine finish paper will make the publication feel heavy, a somewhat disagreeable feature. Properly, type should be printed on antique or "book" papers, and these are the papers best suited to the majority of college catalogs.4 Again, as the selection of a type face for the catalog will have an influence on the appearance of all printing issued by an institution, so, too, will the choice of paper for the catalog tend in time to become the choice for related bulletins and announcements. Such standardization, in my opinion, is highly salutary and only imposes the obligation that the original selection be made with care and intelligence. In fact, the type face chosen should have a direct relation to the paper on which it is printed, a point stressed by Rollins in a brief, but admirable essay on "Considerations on the Choice of Paper" 5 . "Harmony of type and paper should be considered. Types like Bodoni, Scotch Roman, and some of the modern scripts, type with fine hair lines, should be printed on 4

Printing & Type Influence tke Selection of Paper, published for gratuitous distribution by S. D. Warren Company of Boston provides many illustrations of how engravings and type appear on various finishes of coated and antique papers. Similarly, other paper manufacturers make available booklets which serve the same general purpose. C 20

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smooth, relatively hard surface papers; but Caslon, Cloister, Granjon and others need a somewhat softer, rougher surface. There is no one perfect surface for all type faces, although a smooth antique can, with careful presswork, be used for many types. For antique effects, a rougher surface may be employed." Personal taste will dictate the color of paper used, though it is my opinion that for institutional printing reddish-white paper is more attractive than bluish-white, that a "natural" color can be used without any error of mistake, and that light cream or light ivory (India) shades give pleasing effects. Naturally the cover stock should bear as much relation to the body stock in texture and finish as it is possible to secure. A word of caution would seem advisable for the catalog designer who is faced with increasing, rather than decreasing the size of his catalog for the sake of a more impressive appearance. A n expanded type face, the proper use of white space and page margins are the answer to this problem—a thick, bulking paper is not. If there is still a temptation to ignore this advice the designer should remember that the device of bulking paper is used to "blow u p " mystery stories and short novels so they will seem worth $2.00 a copy. Is this the class of publication into which the college catalog should be placed? As Mr. 6

C a r l Purington Rollins, "Considerations on the Choice of P a p e r , " A Demonstration of Two Strathmore Book Papers (West Springfield, Mass., 1940). If M r . Rollins finds other of his conclusions appearing in these paragraphs without the benefit of direct quotation, it is only because two curds of milk, emanating from different cows, frequently discover that their labors have produced the same piece of cheese.

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Rollins counsels, " Y o u cannot make an intellectual giant by putting a size 7yi hat on a 6}4 head. A small, thin book should be printed on 6o-pound paper—because the leaves will turn easily and the book can be bound more satisfactorily." Even though some printers obscure the importance of paper in effective printing, good old-fashioned horse sense will come to the designer's rescue. He will reason that moderate priced papers are adequate for printing of fleeting usefulness, that durable, more expensive papers belong on printing intended to endure. He will reason that broadsides which are to be posted on bulletin boards should employ paper stock of sufficient weight to stand wear and tear, and that concert or lecture programs should be soft and pliable so that when a thousand persons turn a page at the same moment there will be no scratching, creaking noises to disturb the artist or lecturer. He will reason that in catalog or book work paper should provide background for the printing and should not be a sore thumb poking through the lines of type, while in announcements, advertising leaflets and broadsides a gay, striking color of paper may be used as an attention-catcher. He will reason that one color of paper will be easier to read if it must be read at night under artificial light, another if read by daylight; and he will reason that if a deckle edge is provided (always at the right or at the right and bottom, never at the top or bottom of the page alone) it should never protrude to become a dust catcher. In short, on each piece of printing he will select the sheet of paper best suited to the purpose for which that printing is intended.

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A few remarks concerning the buying of paper should prove helpful. Paper specifications are usually listed on sample swatches in this manner: 25 x 38—160 M, The underscored dimension denotes which way the grain of the sheet runs, and, of course, the grain should always run parallel with the folded side. The "160 M " signifies that 1,000 sheets of paper, 25" x 38", will weigh 160 pounds, useful information in computing paper cost. Thus, if a publication requires 6,000 sheets of paper 25 x 38—160 M and you know the cost per pound is 12.5 cents per pound, then 6 multiplied by 160 multiplied by 12.5 cents will give you the paper cost—$120.00. The following table showing paper sizes in relation to the untrimmed, rough trimmed and full trimmed page size will be of repeated service: Paper Size 25

x38

30X x 41 x x x 34X x x 35 36 x x 38 x 38 40 x x 41 44 x 44 x 46 x

32 32 33

43 44 44 45 46 48 50 55 62 61 64 66 69

Untrimmed

sX x 7 H 5^x8 5^x8 5^x8 X 5H x 8 H sXxzX

6 x9 6XX9X 4^x6^ 5 x7 5 X x 7H 5>ix8 5^x8^ 5^x8^

Rough Trimmed

6XX9H 5X x 7X SX*77A SX*7X $X x &X

5^x8^ 6

x 8X

4 ^ x 6X 5 x 7^ 5 X x 7)4 5X^7 X 5 ^ x 8 y& 5^x8^

Full Trimmed

6 X*9X 5 x 73/s x 7X sX S3AX7X 5^x8

SX x 8X 5X x %X SttxSX

6X*9X 4X x 6X

5 X7X SX*73A 5^x8 5^x8^

Rough trimmed, X off top. Full trimmed, X off top, X off side, X off bottom.

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As a final caution, remember that paper represents only part of the cost of the job, so do not make it the sole source of printing economy. It is far better to give your printing suitable, good-appearing paper and to dispense with a few typographic embellishments which may lend nothing but unnecessary hand composition to the completed book!

IV. Page

Margins

With care in selecting the type face and the paper, with intelligence in marking the design, and with skill in presswork and binding, there still remains one function that is the responsibility of the catalog designer—placing the type on the page. Unless wisdom prevails in this final operation the effect of much of the work which has gone before may be spoiled. Proper page margins are not only indispensable in a well printed book or catalog; they are also frequently (and ruinously) overlooked as a vital part of the initial planning. One is reminded of a remark made to the Grolier Club of New York by Professor Brander Matthews of Columbia University: "There are not a few to whom these niceties [the proper proportion of type to the page] are unknown—not a few in the United States and not a few in Great Britain." On the same subject William Morris said: "Now I go so far as to say that any book in which the page is properly put on the paper is tolerable to look at, however poor the type may be, whereas any book in which the page is wrongly set on the paper is intolerable to look at, however good the type and ornaments may be." C 24 3

The rule for placing type on the page as observed by the ancient printers was, in general, to give the trimmed page an outer margin double the inner margin and a bottom margin double that at the top. Actually the ancient printers were following closely the style of the earlier manuscript volume where the margin was wider on the outer edge and bottom to allow for handling by the reader as well as for the making of marginal notes. Also, the page gained a certain pleasing symmetry—no one can dispute that. While each page affords its own problem, making the stating of rules of thumb a risky business, for modern usage this practice has been modified to the rule of 3-4-5-7, or five parts of outside margin to three parts of inside margin, and seven parts of bottom margin to four parts of top margin. The printer or designer who ignores well-balanced margination is a definite menace to the craft, and a liability to the institution issuing the catalog. Type on book or catalog pages that is centered, or below center and out from center is positively disgraceful, and the institution which has its bulletins and catalogs printed in the job shop of a local newspaper will need to take special precaution against this failing of the "down and out" page (as distinguished from the " u p and in" page, which is proper), since the custom of such a shop is to place the type on the center of the untrimmed page, completely forgetting that unlike a newspaper or circular the catalog must be trimmed. One can lament that there are so many evidences of careless planning of page margins still manifest among institutional publications; there can be no excuse for this shortcoming except a plea of ignorance. On the other hand, those designers of books C 25 ]

and brochures who seek to attain the ultra of classiness by isolating the type page amid vast expanses of excessive margin seem equally inept at their craft. The key to placing type upon paper is one of obtaining a proportion pleasing to the eye, and the sad truth is that simple rules are the easiest to forget or to ignore.

View Books: Three Headaches in One IN RECENT YEARS our colleges and universities (not in quest of more students but of better students) have been flooding the mails with view books. The notion is prevalent that maybe the embattled Chinese were right—a picture is worth a thousand words of description. So the flood goes on with big books and little books, fat books and thin books being printed by the ton in order that next year's freshman can see for himself how assorted is the architecture of campus buildings. The visual approach to dramatizing an institution's sales story is sound if there is any merit whatever behind modern advertising; on the other hand, the view book is a comparatively new technique in institutional publicity and there is need for a review of the subject. Most view books exhibit a depressing sameness, for prom trotters look surprisingly alike in New York or 'Frisco, and so, too, do classrooms, football players and fraternity porches. In too many instances institutional names could be swapped on view book covers without making the inside story too misleading to the casual reader. Like the catalog, the view book has one main purpose to perform and that is to present honestly and C 26 ]

clearly the character, the reputation, and the dignity of the institution whence it originates. Faced with this problem, the designer of institutional printing can be forgiven for taking a hitch in his belt. He has been presented with three headaches. First, he must consider his photographs; second, the method of reproduction; and, third, the design of the book itself.

I. The Photographs What that famous son of China forgot to say about a picture being worth a thousand words was the fact that it had to be a good picture. In brief, a picture that told a story. What he forgot to say was that overworked pictures, like repeated platitudes, become clichés—dull and meaningless. What he forgot to mention, too, was the fact that while a picture can whet interest it can also dampen ardor. To be effective no view book can afford to include one bad picture. A hodge podge of photographs sprinkled at various angles across the pages is not enough—the view book must have one compelling, significant theme to which each picture must contribute. A small, private country school set in the restful splendor of the New England mountains should select its photographs to create this mood of healthful quiet and repose. Another school of distinguished background should slant its photographs to emphasize the importance of this heritage. Still another school may concentrate on the friendliness among small, intimate groups, another on the equipment it provides for techC27]

nical instruction, another on the advantages it derives from its location in a metropolitan area. One fact of modern advertising and ancient story telling seems mandatory in the conception of the view book—it is better to emphasize one mood than to dissipate interest by dragging in a dozen. A common failing in view book photographs is a tendency to show too much. A photograph need not be exclusively reportorial. While it may be true that a building has three floors, a view of the porchway may tell more about its real charm than an awkward angle shot of the entire structure. T h e same principle is applicable to interior scenes. A representational photograph—one that concentrates on dynamic composition within a limited space —is invariably more convincing and may even be more truthful. After all, the intrinsic charm in a room is not entirely one of dimension, but one of the relation of the room to the people who occupy it (thus, if they occupy but part of the room, then only that part may be intrinsically important). Deerfield Academy has employed this technique with admirable results. For example, a single doorway going back to Revolutionary times has been used to represent the school's distinguished ancestry, and every detail of the doorway's beautiful colonial architecture has been brought into clear, forceful focus, even the worn doorstep. T h a t one picture, printed on a full page with a tint block softening the background, tells an eloquent story for Deerfield. For purposes of reproduction the view book designer should refuse any photograph which is not sharp in important details, well lighted to emphasize contrasts, and C28]

artistically composed (that is, presenting the main subject at the point of focal interest with all inter-related details contributing to, and not distracting from, that focal center). The camera can be a powerful and moving instrument when treated as a medium of artistic expression, or, as Lester Beall, designer and consultant art director, has said, as "the epitome of two-dimensional realistic reproduction." "Framing" will dramatize a photograph, as, for example, a building seen from between the trunks of two campus trees. Again, to quote Mr. Beall, "Instead of the unorganized helter-skelter mess of the candid pot shot, the camera today is used with definite feeling for organized space."6 Obviously, the subject is a large one, but the view book designer who understands certain rudiments of photography will be happier in the end. His engraver and his printer can give him no more than he provides in his photographic copy.

II. Methods of Reproduction In institutional printing, photographs are usually reproduced by halftones, a method in which the copy is etched by a screening of dots on copper or zinc plates. The scale of halftone screens follows: 50- and 65-line—Used by most daily newspapers as these halftones print on news stock run on high speed presses. In reproductions by halftone, the rougher the sheet of paper used the coarser must be the screen of the engraving. 6

Lester Beall, "Graphic Art of Our Time," Sixth Production Yearbook (New York, 1940), p. 23. C 29

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85- and 11 o-line—Print on machine finish, super, smooth cover and coated stock (and frequently are used on trade publications). 120- and 133-line—Print well on enamelled and other smooth finished stock. These are the two screens which will be of greatest service to the view book designer. As he would naturally suspect, the finer screen reproduces finer detail. 150- and 175-line—Print on highest coateds only. There will be little use for these screens in institutional printing; in fact, they are not available save in the larger engraving plants. At once it is apparent that we are back to a consideration of the relation of paper to printing with emphasis this time on the role of the coated papers. Such papers fall into two classifications: dull finishes and glossy finishes; and to make the riddle even more entrancing some photographs reproduce best on dull finishes, others are effective on either dull or glossy finishes, and still others find their best reproduction only on glossy finishes. The reason for this variance in reproduction results rests in the nature of the halftone engraving as a printing surface. On glossy coateds the screen dots make precise impressions, preserving detail so needed in the reproduction of delicate patterns, and the thin dot impressions, permitting the glossy paper to show through, provide a degree of reflection essential in reproductions of glazed or metallic surfaces. On dull coateds (or when halftones are printed with dull ink) the screen dot impressions are slightly enlarged or thickened. This enlargement of screen dots will add depth to pictures and cause tones to blend, certainly C30]

a very pleasing effect when the nature of the photographic copy permits of such treatment. Other methods of reproduction are available to the view book designer and should receive his consideration and study. Printing from type and from halftones (raised dots) is known to the trade as relief printing. Another process, likely to prove of real interest in the reproduction of photographs for view books, is known as pianographic printing, and includes photo-offset lithography, collotype or photogelatin, and aquatone. 7 Finally, there is the process of intaglio printing which includes sheet-fed gravure, rotogravure (used for long runs only), photogravure, copper engraving and steel engraving.8 Each of these processes is highly specialized, and, on the average, the designer of institutional printing does not encounter them until he has become fairly experienced at his craft. Still, he should be aware of these processes and of the character of work for which they are best suited. Collotype and aquatone are especially delightful for photographic reproductions, and so, too, is sheet-fed gravure. 7

Offset-lithography will provide an illustration of how this process differs from relief or letterpress printing. Since there is no appreciable difference in the level of the printing image and the nonprinting areas of the plate, and since water is repellent to grease, by making the printing image grease-receptive (ink-receptive) and the non-printing areas water-receptive (ink-repellent) the inked image is transferred to a rubber blanket on the offset cylinder and from there to the paper. 8 Photogravure, best known of the types of intaglio printing, will provide an illustration. Ink is lifted out of depressions of uniform size but of varying depths, depending upon the strength of tone to be reproduced, giving printing action directly opposite from that used in letterpress work.

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The softness of texture which they give to pictures should not be overlooked in printing where the design and the budget will stand such treatment.

III. Problems in View Book Design Basically, the view book calls for pictorial emphasis and the wise designer will think first in terms of photographs, then in terms of methods of reproduction, and finally in terms of written copy. It is, indeed, three headaches in one. It will be a wise designer, too, who will remember that sensory perceptions contribute to the effectiveness of view books—the choice of ink, paper and type should please the eye, the bulk of the book should be neither too heavy nor too light but should feel pleasantly balanced to the touch of the hand. In other words, the view book attracts before it informs; its approach may be both emotional and intellectual, but it is first an approach through showing enjoyable situations in which the reader places himself for whatever vicarious pleasure he can obtain from this flight of fancy. But while the view book needs to compel the reader's imagination, both garishness and stodginess would seem equally disastrous. Somewhere between these extremes remains the happy medium for the view book—punch and dignity. The first problem in design is placing the pictures on the pages. A sequence of photographs which will tell a continuous story from cover to cover would seem ideal; in any event, subjects should be grouped and presented with titles or text that will provide plausible transitions from page to page. The actual design of the layouts should t 32 ^

offer variety—with logic. Too many tipped photographs, too many ovals and vignettes become an eyestrain, and one such spot on each two facing pages will in the end prove far more effective. The nature of the photographs should play as much of a rôle in determining their arrangement on the pages as the designer's preconceived layouts, for photographs shoved into awkward positions manage to remain awkward. As a general rule, the designer will find that while bleeding enhances some photographs, creating the illusion of expanse, photographs of groups of people seem best squared off with white space. He will find, too, that except in rare cases only larger cuts should be bled. If there is a considerable amount of text to go with the views, letterpress should be the best process for printing that text. Two possibilities are suggested since they have been used with admirable results. One is to print the text on antique paper and to group the views in signatures on a matching color of coated paper, binding one signature of views between each two signatures of text. Dartmouth has produced a beautiful book by employing this method, and at Rutgers we have been well satisfied with a book similarly designed. Another variation is to select an antique paper of sufficiently hard sizing so that the letterpress signatures and the signatures of views, printed by a planographic process (as collotype or aquatone) will match identically, and the increase in cost, with wise planning, can be slight. The splendid volume issued by Deerfield Academy utilizes this plan. Typographically, the design will vary with the amount of written copy. Sans serif faces, currently popular with C ss 3

view book designers, may be acceptable in instances where only brief captions are used, but the feeling persists that most sans serif or "modern" type faces look out of place when surrounded by examples of Gothic or Georgian architecture. Type in a view book should be unobtrusive; unless it is graceful and easy to read—in a word, appropriate—it will distract from the views. In publications of this character, due to the limited amount of composition and to the need for careful spacing to make copy fit definite blocks on the layouts, monotype composition would seem more satisfactory, and, in the end, more economical.

The Neglected Orphans: Broadsides, Announcements and Folders BROADSIDES, announcements and folders represent the commonest forms of printing which confront the institutional designer. Day after day they pass through his office in a steady stream, and each one, unhappily, comes to him tagged: "Needed at once—please rush." It is one of the troublesome incongruities of institutional organization that while committees will consume long hours and even days in planning the content of such printing, when the copy reaches the designer he is expected to leap to his end of the task with the same ruddy-faced abandon as a runner in a ioo-yard dash. One lamentable habit, I am afraid, begets another, for as a rule these smaller pieces of institutional printing are carelessly and unimaginatively presented to the public. In a very real sense, this situation is regrettable. t 34 ^

These broadsides, announcements, and folders actually provide an opportunity where, with careful planning, truly elegant results can be achieved. Since the individual pieces are small, a ten per cent increase in production cost would cause few eyebrows to be raised, and the designer, if given reasonable time in which to collect his wits, could do himself proud. In the long run it may be that these smaller pieces of printing are as important in identifying an institution as the catalog or view book; perhaps, in one sense, they are more important, since their distribution is to a group of persons from whom the institution seeks patronage for its social and cultural functions, and from whom, some day, it may be seeking gifts and bequests. Generally speaking, it is a dangerous policy in printing, as in all crafts, to work from a multiple set of standards, giving of one's "best" to one division of work, of one's "good enough" to another division, of one's "passably fair" to still another and so on down a greased slide to outright mediocrity. The lesson in such experiences is that in time all standards suffer, for laxness breeds carelessness which in turn produces error, and the virus of this trio is notoriously contagious. When faced with the problems of these smaller printed forms, we are reminded anew of the formula which has brought Updike his distinguished reputation—to do common work well. No designer can perform a greater service for his institution than to insist upon the same high standard in all his work, and it is the responsibility of his colleagues (who in the end are the beneficiaries) to grant him adequate time in which to execute his craft with thoroughness. CS5 3

Broadsides, announcements for lectures and concerts, and program folders are of significance for still another reason, since they involve the mechanics of type display. The designer is faced with planning his printing so that attention is caught at once and pertinent data is readily accessible. It is both an exciting and exacting assignment, and perhaps the best advice for approaching the problem has been given by De Vinne, who quoted an old compositor offering instruction to a novice at type display as saying: "Read it over. Understand what is wanted. Then ask, Who? What? When? Where? The answers you get are your cues to display." O n the one hand the designer has the copy, on the other the availability of type with which to convey its message. In his thorough and interesting study of the subject, J. L. Frazier, editor of The Inland Printer, has called type display " a higher form of punctuation" and his arguments are provocative: 9 "Intelligent display can dispense with punctuation by the use of conventional points and cause the sense of the language to be even clearer. For example, an ignorant man would surmise that the end of a line means a stop, though he might not understand that a period means the same thing. Parentheses are used to indicate that the matter they enclose is of a subordinate character, but is that object so effectively accomplished with parentheses as by setting the matter apart in smaller type?" It is almost astonishing to discover how the simple grouping of thoughts creates emphasis and sets the pattern for the display. Consider, for example, Fig. i as representing the copy as it comes to the designer and Fig. 2 9 J.

L . Frazier, Modern Type Display (Chicago, 1929), p. 3.

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as the shape it takes when he breaks it down into its divisions of thought: The Friends of the Library of Rutgers University cordially invite you to attend a lecture on modern type design by Frederic Goudy in Van Dyck Hall, December 5, at eight o'clock

The Friends of the Library of Rutgers University cordially invite you to attend a lecture on modern type design by Frederic Goudy Van Dyck Hall, December 5 at eight o'clock

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 2 in no way need determine the final form of the design, but it does show the thoughts which need emphasis, and it demonstrates Frazier's principle of "higher punctuation." Many factors will be involved in type display and they are listed here merely to call attention to their scope and variety: contrasts between the sizes of type used, the selection of harmonizing type faces, the use of white space for emphasis and contrast, the division of type forms into pleasing shapes, and the use of such decorative elements as rules and borders, initial letters, illustrations, and color. It is impossible to overemphasize the importance of selecting harmonizing type faces. Among some institutions there has been a distressing inclination to mix type faces as though a piece of printing represented a cocktail shaker into which all the available ingredients were emptied in an effort to make the result as deadly as possible. The deadliness of such a procedure cannot be disputed; it is its effectiveness that remains in doubt. Again, simC S 7 ]

plicity and neatness are the inescapable mandates, both in arrangement and in the type form.10 And again, the importance of understanding the place and the purpose of each type face is back to haunt the designer, for it is as important to know when not to use a type face as to know when to use it. The overseer of institutional printing will find the experience of lasting value if he will take the time to watch a printing plant in action and to understand the mechanics of each operation—the linotype and monotype machines, hand composition, breaking the type into pages, the lock-up into printing forms, make-ready on the press, collating and binding. It will be of value if he will hold a composing stick and endeavor to set type with his own hand. Once he has faced the problem of justifying a line of type he will find that a door has opened onto a fuller understanding of the craft. A knowledge of type faces also will provide protection against the use of rules and borders which do not harmonize, for the same elements of dark and light strokes which distinguish the design of a type face should be as well a distinguishing feature of decorative material. Also, initial letters, followed by C A P I T A L S or SMALL CAPS, should bear a direct relation to the text face, and should be aligned perfectly with the top and bottom lines of type with which they go. 11 10 11

See page 58 for groupings of type faces. Five Hundred Tears of Printing from Type, a handsome brochure designed and written by Richard Ellis (Camden, N. J., 1940), can be studied with value by every designer of institutional printing. With fine feeling Mr. Ellis has handled a selection of type faces within the spirit of their tradition. While the brochure is now out of print, it will be found in many institutional libraries.

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There is no limit to the problems which these smaller pieces of printing will provide; there is no limit to the greatly needed improvement which care and patient planning will bring to them; there is no limit to the stimulation they will offer for continued study and practice; in fact, there is only one limit which needs to be avoided in connection with such work and that is the all too prevalent attitude: "Needed at once—please rush."

College Annuals: A Monument to Missed Opportunity NO type of college or university printing goes further astray from the basic principles of good printing and book making than the annual yearbook. With few exceptions this publication represents the biggest printing expenditure of the year, and with even fewer exceptions the money poured into it is largely wasted. At Rutgers two years ago we faced this sad fact with complete honesty. We admitted that our college annual, which should have been treated as an opportunity for fine book making, had degenerated through carelessness and indifference into an engraver's stepchild. Somehow this confession made us uncomfortable and we began to wonder if we were playing fair with our undergraduates who published the book and footed the bills. Other questions arose to disturb our conscience. Were we not failing as educators if we ignored the opportunity which the yearbook offered? In effect, were we not turning our backs on a group of boys who were faced

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with a chance to learn good book making in such a way that forever after they would possess a practical, realistic appreciation of the graphic arts? Were our undergraduates so dull of soul that they would not respond to this challenge merely because hard work and initiative were involved? In our own view book we had defended extracurricular activities with the somewhat ebullient statement that "if there is a particle of initiative, originality and go-get-it in your make-up, here's the place where it will come out of hiding"—but now we were on a spot where we could either prove our words or eat 'em. At first the boys were a bit apprehensive. What did they know about making books? Hadn't an engraver brought them a dummy which required nothing but photographs and copy to complete their share of the work? We asked, "But will it be one whit different from ten thousand other yearbooks which will be rolling off the presses this spring?" The boys grew sheepish. We told them about Bruce Rogers, a genius in type and book design, who was introduced to his life's work by planning his college annual while a senior at Purdue University. They nodded. Sure, they wanted something better— something that would last. Sure, they'd like an annual that would reflect distinction upon their Alma Mater. When the conference ended, they rolled up their sleeves and went to work. They came back to ask questions—hundreds of questions. They came singly and in groups, and we answered each query patiently, offering suggestions but issuing no orders. After all, this was to be their book, a definite creative enterprise which would stand as a mark of their abilC 40 3

ity to cope with a difficult problem and make their own decisions. We had guessed right when we placed our faith in those boys, for with a minimum of coaching they dug in and learned sound principles of book making. First, they decided that unlike the usual annual they wanted a yearbook that could be read, so out came the glaring blue-white coated paper of the year before and in went a cream shade of coated on which the halftones were printed and a cream antique on which the type was printed (the book was designed so that one coated leaf, printed on both sides, was tipped in between every two antique pages of text). Next, feeling that an institution which traced its beginning to 1766 could well adopt a period typography, out came the sans serif type face of former years and in went Caslon, a beautiful, appropriate face. Then, dedicated by now to a doctrine of sanity, simplicity and utility, off went the fake leather cover of a year ago and on went a quiet tan buckram with gold-stamped labels. Dozens of other refinements were introduced, among them a simple title page in two colors, a magnificent frontispiece which was a photograph of the bell in Old Queen's (they sweated over photographs the way the designer of a college view book should), a gilt top, a red silk page marker, an index of names, and copy that carried meaning. Then, aware that they had started a wholesale revolution, they wrote a preface: What is probably the most effective device of modern yearbook designing has been abandoned; we have departedfrom the trend of the times . . . the volume is compact and modest, simple in design, and illustrated as completely as possible . . .

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It did not seem appropriate that a permanent book should be put out in the modern style of typography so common to catalogues, magazines and more or less temporary publications . . .

An

exciting adventure to the creators, we hope it will prove a lasting one to the readers . . .

Reactions on the campus were typical—it was good work, everyone admitted it. But the boys had learned their craft well enough to know that the verdict of failure or success must come from a higher tribunal—bookmen, printers, designers. They were not disappointed. In a published article, David M. Glixon, editor of Bookbinding and Book Production, characterized their yearbook as "perhaps the sincerest, most beautiful annual that has been published," and in a letter to the author Frederic G. Melcher, editor of Publishers' Weekly, wrote: The more I look at it the more revolutionary it seems. In my collection of books at home I have a college year book from Hiram College about thirtyyears ago which had been owned by Vachel Lindsay and in which he had written a hard hitting expletive about what he called "boiler plate decoration" etc. In the thirty years after his graduation nothing had been gained in the appearance of college annuals. This is the first thing I have seen that showed an inclination to move away from the terrible examples of bookmaking which seemed to represent not so much college taste in bookmaking as a lack of any directionfrom those who could influence the students away from the sadform in which such things usually have appeared. I wish a copy of this annual could be a reference book in every college town.

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I tell this story not to boast over what has been achieved at Rutgers, but to point out what can be done in making the college annual a definite and worth while educational experience. Success will not attend every effort—a year later the yearbook staff slipped back toward standards not so high, though this year there is promise of a better, sounder annual than the one of two years ago. What educator has not learned that unless hope springs eternal he belongs in a different calling—perhaps embalming? The important factor, I should say, would be to keep a campus free from monuments to missed opportunity.

Research, the Foster Parent: University Books and University Presses THE VITAL ROLE played by research in the work of every progressive educational institution has been well established, and while many of the results of such scholarship are published in technical journals there still remains a vast quantity of material too long for dissemination through these media. Commercial publishers, fine fellows to a man but driven through force of long habit into looking for quick turn-over on capital invested, cannot be of much service in this connection and so the responsibility for publishing this more extended scholarship rests with the colleges and universities. Here is further evidence that the designer of institutional printing will find his task an almost limitless one, and that he can never know too much about every phase of the graphic arts or of institutional printing for sooner or later along

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will come a problem calling for specialized knowledge. Certainly book making falls into this category. There are many methods by which institutions handle publishing of this type, and the one common denominator among them seems to be that each must be subsidized in part or in whole from endowment or foundation resources since the promise of sufficient returns from sales to meet manufacturing costs is in most instances sadly remote. A simple procedure is to set up a faculty committee who select the manuscripts to be published from current funds and who farm out the responsibility for the manufacture of these books to one printer or another. In this type of arrangement the books are distributed on an exchange basis with other institutions, and little or no effort is made to reimburse the sources from which the cost of publication is derived. This procedure has the advantage of convenience, but it is not without serious shortcomings, not the least of which is the fact that the committee is completely at the mercy of the printer. For another, many institutions are restricted in their funds and every penny must count; thus, if a book can sell enough copies to pay part, if not all, of its cost then that income can be placed in a reserve fund to finance future publications. A further disadvantage is a certain waste of energy; that is, half of the mechanics necessary for the operation of a university press have been set in motion and a well rounded publishing unit could be built on this beginning. In institutions where this half-a-press plan is operating the ramifications of this suggestion may be interesting to explore. A second method employed by some institutions for the publication of their scholarship is to contract on a C 44 3

cost-plus basis with an established publishing organization (usually a university press) for the manufacture, advertising, and merchandising of their books. This arrangement may be considered both wise and practical for institutions issuing occasional books insofar as an effort will be made to keep the funds for research partly self supporting. A major disadvantage, of course, is the fact that while Institution B merely publishes a book for Institution A (at Institution A's expense) the book becomes identified, and is generally classified, as Institution B's book. A variation of the same procedure is used at a few institutions where a subsidy is offered to issue one book through one publishing organization, another subsidy to issue the next book through some other organization. Where this arrangement is of any especial benefit over the single contract between Institutions A and B is difficult to say; it would seem to suggest numerous disadvantages. Again, for the institution with an occasional book to publish, the factor of convenience may outweigh other considerations. Still another method of institutional publishing is to allow the authors to deal with the printer and to give the authors a perfectly free hand in the appearance and distribution of the books. Experience indicates that negotiations of this nature eventually are regretted; slipshod craftsmanship becomes the invariable level of such publications, and before the end of the adventure is reached, author, institution, book and printer suffer. Through one plan or another the supervision of institutional printing should be centralized; surely the making of books, one of

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the most specialized and most expensive of all forms of institutional printing, should not be made the first exception to this rule. At one time or another during the past two decades Rutgers University flirted or consorted with all of these devices; the results were not always the happiest, and the stimulation of faculty research was not as effective as we felt it could be; so, three years ago, we drew a long breath and established the Rutgers University Press.

I. The Function of University Presses The function of a university press is not solely one of publishing books, for if this were so, then the financial problems which face such presses would be easier to solve. Actually, the function of a university press is to publish peculiar classes of books—books that represent a distinct contribution to scholarship and books that become part of a regional literature. The basic distinction between a commercial publisher and an institutional publisher is simply that the former looks first for a book that will sell and the latter looks for a book that will endure. Not long ago one of our university presses searched its storage quarters for flat sheets of a book which had been printed many decades before; a few copies were bound in cloth to meet the demands of scholars who still found the volume useful. This is an example of the policy of long range publishing in which a university press must find one of its principal satisfactions. Obviously, institutional publishing is an enterprise in which profits, if they exist at all, are neither swift nor plentiful; it is an enterprise in which there is a continual C 46 ^

need for subsidies from endowment and foundations; but it is an enterprise which, for all its heartaches, has contributed a permanent virility to learning, and to American democracy as well, since these presses keep alive regional cultures and regional points of view which might become obscured if we were completely at the mercy of commercial publishers who have centralized their activities in two or three cities, thus unavoidably coloring their own approach to what the nation as a whole is thinking and feeling. In an effort to stimulate interest in the books they publish, university press books today appear in gay jackets and pleasing formats, while in an effort to reduce deficits occasionally a university press will attempt a book in a semi-popular vein, or a text book, or perhaps even a book which, deep in their hearts, the officers of the press know they have no business publishing. In some instances the words "University Press" will be omitted from the publisher's imprint on the jacket and backbone because there is a sheepishly confessed conviction that these words discourage sales in setting the book apart from the books of the trade publisher. If these practices constitute transgressions, they can be forgiven in view of the vast quantity of really important scholarship which has come, and which will continue coming from these institutional publishers. However, a university press does fail to fulfill its intended function when it forgets that its primary responsibilities are to scholarship and to the literature of its region.12 On the other hand, the presses which 12

Notable examples of institutional publishers who have adhered to the letter of this function are the University of North Carolina Press and the University of Oklahoma Press.

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are taking their jobs seriously have not transgressed through the inauguration of an effort to make their books more readable, and as this influence develops the cause of scholarship will benefit. A stilted prose style is as great a drawback to a book as a tawdry format, and there is reason to feel encouraged now that university presses are making their editorial standards higher than previously has been thought necessary for this type of book. In some cases the presses are taking the initiative in persuading capable men on the faculty to write books which will meet these higher standards. So, in a very real sense, a new era is dawning and in time more and more persons will discern that the university press book of the future will combine competent scholarship with a fine literary style. As that day draws closer the economic future of university presses promises to grow brighter. With all its drawbacks, a press remains a desirable— in some respects, an indispensable—agency in the organization of any institution which places emphasis on a wellrounded program of faculty research. To the world at large, a university press is first and always the mark of a faculty mentally alive; it is, in addition, a valuable medium through which the discoveries of scholarship may be shared by research workers in widely scattered parts of the globe; and, in bringing prestige to the scholars on its campus, in disseminating the results of their research and in attracting to an institution teachers who have been drawn by its growing reputation, a university press benefits an institution's humblest student and its youngest and oldest graduate. In an institution where such publishing is continuous and cumulative, a university press constiC48^

tutes the most practical organization for handling this work, and through certain techniques of merchandising, it represents as well the most promising means for keeping such publishing funds at least partly, if not entirely, selfsupporting. When an author, manuscript in hand, arrives at the press office, the two questions uppermost in his mind are "How will my book look?" and "How will it be sold?" The making of books will be treated presently; fundamental techniques of merchandising are worthy of some attention now insofar as this factor enters into every discussion where ways and means of establishing a sound program of institutional publishing are being considered.13 Outlets for the sale of institutional books most readily available include book stores, libraries and directby-mail. The first two outlets call for a scale of discounts from list prices, and the Robinson-Patman Act requires that such discounts be uniform for companies operating in the same sphere of competition.14 Direct-by-mail advertising is a principal source of sales for institutional publishers; a general catalog and a supplementary fall or spring announcement, or both, are considered essential 13

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In this connection, later remarks on "Establishing a Publications Office" also will be of interest. The general practice is to classify institutional books into two groups: those carrying a "short" discount and those carrying a " l o n g " discount. Scholarly books of an obviously limited sale carry the "short" discount—20% off list to retailers and jobbers, from 1 0 % to 2 0 % off list to libraries. On books of general interest— books that deserve stimulation for possible across-the-counter sale — a "long" discount is given, usually 33/^3% on single copy pick-up orders from retailers or jobbers, 4 0 % on orders for two or more copies, while the discount to libraries is 2 0 % or 2 5 % .

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mailing pieces by established presses; and, in addition, announcements are prepared for individual books as they appear. Even in their moments of brightest optimism institutional publishers seldom expect better than a 4 % response from such mailings, and, therefore, it is thought advisable to include in one envelope advertising on books totaling $20 or more in value. A simple and effective solution to this problem is to include with each announcement a stuffer on which several other books of diversified appeal are advertised. A prospective buyer receiving an announcement of a new book in history may be an amateur gardener who also would be interested in a book on gardening, or he may be attracted by books in any of many other fields of interest aside from the one in which he is a specialist. Reviews in the scholarly and technical journals also sell institutional books; in the case of some titles the largest percentage of sales may come from this source; and often a book that has lagged in the stock room will begin to move once these reviews (sometimes delayed twelve or eighteen months) appear. Are there too many university presses? The only fair answer to this oft spoken query must come from the institution contemplating the sponsorship of another press. If an institution has the facilities and the staff for research, if it has adequate funds for printing and advertising, and if it sees clearly the primary service which scholarship expects from a program of institutional publishing, then it may assume that there are university presses still to be born and that their arrival into the educational world will be greeted cordially. In any event, whether an institution operates through [50^

a press or through one of the other plans of publishing previously enumerated, the making of books presents the institutional designer with an interesting, and in many respects an unique challenge: the manuscripts which come to him represent years of toil, perhaps the labor of a lifetime; it is his duty to bring this scholarship to life, not to bury it in a tomb of unattractive shoddiness. II. The Making of Books The step from designing a college catalog to designing a book is not as great as many may suppose. In both catalog and book the same principles will apply in choosing a type face (with the one difference that a book is intended for continuous reading and a catalog is not), in the choosing of paper, and in placing the type upon the page. To be sure, there will be other refinements of design to consider, but these will tend to offer their own solution as long as the book is treated as a unit and every element in its design is aimed toward achieving harmony. From the bastard title (so often miscalled the half title) to the closing line of index there should be a constant balance—or, if you like, a recognizable kinship. The title page and the remainder of the book should be brothers, not strangers united by the mere accident of proximity; and between the contents page and the chapter openings, between the chapter openings and the text, and between the text and the running heads there should be the same logical and evident relation. Good books are not produced through luck; neither are they necessarily achieved by copying models; rather, the designer fashions a good C 51 ^

book when, as he approaches each division of his work, his selections are dictated by a feeling of what is most appropriate.

For a concise, illuminating summary of the details of planning which should go into a well-designed book little improvement can be made upon the list of standards by which the jury of the American Institute of Graphic Arts selects a volume for inclusion among the "Fifty Books of the Year": "They will consider the material, design, and workmanship of the binding; the choice of paper and type face; the legibility and attractiveness of the page; the use of color and illustration, if any; the register and impression; the typographic design throughout; the artistic conception and cohesion of the whole; the books' durability and fitness for the use for which it is intended; and the success with which the designer has met the problems of manufacture and those presented by the book's editorial content." A book is composed of the following parts: bastard title*, advertising card (if the publisher has none, the reverse side of the bastard title remains blank), title page*, copyright (on the reverse of the title page), dedication*, preface*, contents*, list of illustrations*, introduction*, half title*, text*, appendix*, glossary, bibliography, and index*. Those sections of a book followed by an asterisk (*) should always begin on a right hand page, even if the preceding page must remain a blank, and it is the preferable form to treat the glossary and the bibliography in the same manner. An exception should be noted in cases where the preface is written by someone C 52 ]

other than the author, when it should be placed after the contents and the list of illustrations. The niceties of book making are most noticeable on the title page, the contents page, the dedication, the running heads, and the openings of chapters. In these portions of the book the designer demonstrates not only his originality and versatility, but also his sense of good taste and fitness. He is wise if he approaches these pleasant tasks with restraint, considering each embellishment most critically, being certain at all times that there is reason behind his choice of ornament and rule. While George Bernard Shaw may have been indulging in typical overstatement when he muttered through his beard one day that there never had been a page with a rule on it which couldn't have been improved by removing the rule, still there is a certain soundness behind this outburst of Shavian intolerance. At least the designer might ask, would the page be improved by removing the rule (or the other embellishments)? Again, a remark by Mr. Updike seems pertinent: "Badly conceived ornamentation and the abuse of good ornament have become so general that one is tempted sometimes to think that the art of decoration is the art of leaving things out!" 15 At least Mr. Shaw and Mr. Updike bring us back to an earlier conclusion which applied to the catalog and to the smaller forms of printing and which would seem equally true in the design of books— while a flair for showiness may lead to unhappy consequences, neatness and simplicity will not. In planning the binding of a book, the principle remains the same—appropriateness (in this instance, dura15

Updike, In The Day's Work, p. 48.

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bility as well as appearance) and neatness should prevail. A stained top and headbands, stamping in genuine gold rather than rolled or imitation gold are attractive "extras" which will add not too greatly to the final cost, but if the budget is squeezed so that it becomes a choice between these refinements and, let us say, a more desirable weight of binder's board (which no one will see), then it appears more sensible to put the money into the binder's board. The institutional designer should sacrifice at all times the absolutely unessential, though pleasing, devices of dressing up a book in favor of adequate basic materials—it is better to run one color on the title page and buy a suitable sheet of paper; it is better to do without decorative endpapers and give proper leading between the lines of type; yes, in all cases, it is better to provide a healthy anatomy before worrying over derby and spats, for these particular accouterments look rather foolish on a skeleton. Footnotes are the one burden which every institutional designer—and his printer—must bear with good humor; they will increase his cost and spoil the simple neatness of his pages, but he has no refuge save to mutter his rebellion in the privacy of his office. To decrease expense, footnotes can be set in smaller type than the text (a principle true also of the appendices, glossary, bibliography and index, since these are not intended for continuous reading), and it seems satisfactory in some instances to number such footnotes consecutively by chapters rather than by pages. There is always a temptation to put the footnotes in one section at the end of the text, but the first consideration for this practice should concern

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the reader and not the designer. Will the reader benefit by this arrangement? Extract material appearing in the text is set usually in one size smaller type, not so much as a means of economy, but more to indicate that this material is subordinate to the author's own remarks. We are told in Ecclesiastes, "Of making many books there is no end," and there will come a day when the institutional designer will echo this thought with deep feeling. Ere he yield to the convenience of unsatisfactory short cuts, however, let him remember these words of Milton: "Who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, God's Image; but he who destroys a good Book kills reason itself."

Institutional Periodicals: A Study in Extremes THE astonishing diversity of institutional publishing is nowhere better illustrated than by the periodicals issued by our colleges and universities. Journals of every size, shape and description, news bulletins and sheets of chitchat, library chronicles and organs for endowment appeals, alumni magazines and football programs are typical examples of their almost endless variety. If these periodicals were gathered in one exhibit they would fill a sizable auditorium, and the appearance they would make would be, to state it mildly, a study in extremes. Some would reflect a deft hand at design, others no hand at all, and still others the result of an overdose of imagination; some would be pleasant and readable, others would look

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cramped and uninviting, and still others would be as forbidding as though they were printed in Sanskrit. In short, viewing such an exhibit would leave a person close to the fringe of emotional exhaustion. For purposes of classification and the present discussion these periodicals may be divided into two groups— the scholarly or technical journals and the alumni magazines. Certain basic observations can be made concerning both groups, and the principles of printing craftsmanship expounded will be mutually applicable. As usual, the first consideration in design is the purpose for which the publication is intended, and at once there is reason to wonder why these periodicals should vary between the extremes enumerated. In its group, each has a common purpose, a common problem, a common solution. And, to return to another elementary principle of design, the chief cause of distress in this class of institutional publications arises from the misuse of type. Especially in the case of scholarly and technical journals it becomes difficult to understand why, typographically, they frequently are so dull and uninviting. True, space is limited and there is a need to publish as much material as possible, but there exists an obligation—in effect, a duty—to make these journals thoroughly readable for the very reason that their contents are so important. A customary failing is to set the text matter in a small size of type (8-, 9-, or io-point), with the width of the lines averaging from 26 to 30 picas. The impact of such pages upon the reader's eye is only a shade less shocking than walking into a door. How much more sensible it would seem to design such pages in two colC

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umns with a pica of white space between the columns. Then, the eye would require fewer pauses in reading a single line, and the use of the smaller sizes of type would afford less strain. The importance of type size in printing can not be too strongly stressed. Some years ago the British Association for the Advancement of Science inquired "into the influence of school-books upon eyesight." The size of the type face, the group found, was "the most important factor in the influence of books upon vision." Many experiments were conducted by the Britishers, who concluded that "io-point is the smallest size fit for anyone, however good his sight." Designers of academic journals should reflect upon the consequences of a too small type size! Again, type harmony is sometimes badly wanting, a principle previously emphasized. There is a tendency (one to discourage, I think) to endeavor to obtain "novel" effects by scrambling many faces of type across a page— one face for the text, another for the sub-heads or by-line, while a box may be inserted in still another face. Such handling of the page design leads into many channels of sorrow, of which ugliness of appearance, distraction of attention, and mitigation of "readability" are but three. Between text and headings, sub-headings and by-line, running heads and folios, footnotes and text, there should be unity, and the wise journal designer will select a type face which will meet each requirement of make-up. In cases where the printer does not have enough sizes of a type face to meet all these needs of the page design, then the faces which are combined should bear some resemblance. C 57 }

Below are groupings of type faces which have a degree of relation, and these should prove of frequent assistance to designers of institutional printing: 16 Old Style No. I (F & L ) Old Style No. 7 (L) Century Catalogue (F) Century Old Style (F & M ) Original Old Style (L) Binny Old Style (M) Bruce Old Style (M) Farmer's Old Style (M) Ronaldson Old Style (M) Century Expanded (F, L & M) Schoolbook Old Style (F) Century Schoolbook (M) Regal (I) Excelsior (L) Ionic No. 5 (L) Opticon (L) Textype (L) Garamond (F, I & L ) Granjon (L) Garamond No. 2, No. 3 (L) Garamont (M) American Garamond (M) Deepdene (M) Poliphilus (F & M) Blado (F) Estienne (L) Bembo (F & M)

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Caslon (I & L ) Caslon Old Face (I & L ) Caslon Old Style (F & M ) Caslon, English (F & M) Janson Roman (F) Janson (L & M) Bodoni (F, I, L & M ) Bodoni Book (L & M ) Bodoni Bold (F, I, L & M ) Cloister Oldstyle (F, I & M) Kennerley Old Style (M) Kenntonian (I) Benedictine Book (L) Italian Old Style (M) Jenson (M) Caledonia (L) Scotch Roman (L & M ) Baskerville (F, I, L & M ) Benton (F) Bulmer Roman (F) Bell (M) Antique No. 1 (I & L ) Bookman (L & M ) Bookman Oldstyle (F) Bookman New (M) Bookface (I) Cheltenham (F, L & M )

Foundry type—type that must be set by hand—is designated by (F) following the name of the type face. Linotype is designated by (L), Monotype by (M) and Intertype by (I). £ 5 8 ]

Dullness in the journal page may be avoided by an application of other fundamentals of sound design. Certainly the elimination of bold-face headings and bylines is a step in the right direction. A n 18-point or 24-point roman or italic letter (depending on the type face) would give pleasing effects for the main heads on a 6" x 9" or 7" x 10" journal page, while the sub-heads and by-line should be set in sizes of type sensibly graded between that of the main heads and that of the text. The use of an initial letter at the beginning of articles, adherence to the rule of 3-4-5-7 in determining the page margins, the selection of a good woven antique paper for periodicals where halftones are not employed, sewed binding instead of wire stitching when the journal exceeds 48 pages are additional niceties which can be incorporated into the design without incurring more than a slight increase in production costs. Examples of institutional journals which are worthy of study include American Literature (published by Duke University), The Princeton Library Chronicle, The Journal of the Rutgers University Library and The Tale Review. The alumni magazine presents the designer with a different problem. Again, he must first ask: to what purpose is the publication dedicated? Obviously, an alumni magazine's chief appeal is to the graduate who wants news about his classmates, but at the same time it must cultivate a continuing interest in all the affairs of the institution so that alumni support will be at hand when football tickets go on sale or when an endowment drive is launched. The activities and interests of the readers of an alumni magazine are widely varied and it becomes the £59 3

responsibility of the designer to produce a publication which will hold equal attraction to bank presidents, tycoons of industry, artists, writers, actors, clerks, salesmen, and sometimes even the young man who is getting his start in life by puddling in a steel mill. In other words, the magazine must go into mansions and bungalows, club lounges and back-hall rooming quarters, and, in each case, rather than drag the reader to a desultory thumbing of its pages through a feeling of duty, the magazine should draw him to a perusal of its contents through an appearance of stimulating brightness. It must have snap, and yet in fairness to the latent respect for the institution which lingers in every graduate's heart and which nourishes his devotion to Alma Mater, it must also be dignified. Education is a serious and important business; it is nurtured on a mixture of ideals and sweat; and the more an institution awakens in an alumnus the sense of high idealism which he felt when he first entered its gates, the more willingly will that alumnus roll up his sleeves and go to work for the institution. This maxim belongs in the mind of the man who plans the form of an alumni magazine; it imposes both a challenge and an obligation. To the prudent designer the alumni magazine calls for two indispensable requirements—a compelling cover and flexibility in the arrangement of material on the pages. Especially must the cover be shrewdly devised, for it must appeal to mind and heart in the same glance, no small job in view of the fact that restricted budgets are a common failing of alumni publications. A good photograph and lettering, with decorations in a second color, or with a second color in the picture provide one effec£60 3

tive answer to the cover problem; or a good photograph printed in one color, with lettering above or below the picture in the same color or a second color provide another. Remember always that the name of the institution is the strongest element of attraction on the cover; remember also that color not wisely used can be painful to behold. Flexibility becomes essential in designing the pages since headlines on articles vary in length, pictures vary in shape and in tone, and the number of illustrations varies in different articles. These elements must be considered in planning the magazine's style so that balance may be maintained at all times—balance not only on a single page, but also in the relation of facing pages. The shapes on a page which can give dynamic effects are a horizontal, a vertical, a diagonal and a circle. Obviously a page of type or any straight edged halftone supplies the horizontal or the vertical elements. The diagonal can be provided by a number of simple methods: it is present in any sub-head, or main head and sub-head set as an inverted pyramid; it is present when main head and illustration are placed on opposite corners of a page (or of facing pages); it is present, in a rudimentary way, in the relation of the upper right corner of the type page to the lower left corner. The experienced designer emphasizes this diagonal—in the placing of heads and illustrations, and of heads and sub-heads or by-line. O n a solid page of type he may emphasize it solely by the use of initial letters. But in stressing the diagonal the experienced designer does not destroy balance—thus, if a head gives a heavy weight on the top of one page, then it is balanced cei

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somewhere along the diagonal with a lighter weight (think of where you would need to place a fat man and a thin man to balance a see-saw), and this lighter weight may be a sub-head, by-line, engraving or a box. The circle, the remaining shape, is provided through art work in outlining an illustration; though it is not used, page design can still remain dynamic. A n evening's fun—and valuable education—can be obtained by going through newsstand magazines and recognizing how these shapes are used in the page lay-outs. Where so many alumni magazines fail to be attractive—and this criticism is applicable to the scholarly or technical journals as well—is in the treatment of those pages where advertisements appear. T w o cardinal violations of sound design appear time and again: one, the failure to divide reading matter from advertising matter with a hairline rule; the other, the failure to place the biggest advertisement at the top of a column, the next in size below it and so on down the scale until the smallest advertisement is placed at the bottom. It is refreshing, where possible, to have the typography of advertisements match the typography of the editorial material; and where plates are accepted from advertising agencies, remember that such plates invariably are designed for a 14-pica column and so the columns of editorial material should be set in the same measure. Examples of alumni magazines intelligently planned and deserving of thorough study include Dartmouth Alumni Magazine, Technological Review (of Massachusetts Institute of Technology), California Monthly (of the University of California), Case Alumnus and Lehigh Alumni Bulletin (though C 62 3

these two use more art work than the average alumni magazine can afford or needs), Pennsylvania Gazette and Harvard Alumni News. At this point the author draws a quick breath, for, in general, he has discussed the various types of institutional publishing. Such suggestions as have been given may be classified as printing techniques. However, the task of raising the level of institutional printing requires one more set of considerations. Call them, for want of a better term, institutional techniques.

On Buying Printing GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING, a sad-eyed German who liked to crib ideas from the classics, penned a fable which appeared to be his own. A raven, wrote Lessing, once observed that an eagle brooded thirty days over her eggs, and deciding that this must be the reason why eaglets were so sharp-eyed and strong, the raven decided to employ the same method. Sadly, Lessing recorded: "Since that period she has always brooded thirty days over her eggs, but, hitherto, has only succeeded in hatching miserable ravens." When buying printing the moral of this fable deserves prolonged reflection. No matter how painstakingly the designer plans his work, no matter how patient and explicit he makes his instructions, the sorrowful fact remains that he can neither set the type nor run the presses. At this point he is at the mercy of his printer, and if the printer he selects is a raven at his trade then the poor devil cannot (no matter how long he is brooded over) produce eaglets.

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Mark Twain's citation of a certain Tennessee politician might serve as well as a description of a good printer: " H e did his damnedest; no man could do more." In choosing a printer there are many questions to ponder. Is he a craftsman or a tradesman (that is, is he as interested in upholding his reputation as he is in sending out monthly statements)? Is he willing to check details—spacing between words and between lines, broken type, short pages and long pages? Is he consistently conscientious— that is, after devoting long hours to make-ready on the press will he check his make-ready after a reasonable number of impressions, or, what is even more important, will he make certain there is sufficient inking on the forms (neither too much nor too little) to allow his make-ready to be of some purpose? Will he employ the same care in each and every operation of manufacture—in the stylizing of the manuscript to avoid both delay and author's alterations, in sending clean proof intelligently queried, in inserting all corrections without making further mistakes in setting those corrected lines, in breaking the galleys into pages to prevent widows (that is, a word standing alone as the last line of a paragraph or the first or last line of a paragraph standing as a single line at the top or bottom of a page or column), in knowing the proper marginations of a page in locking up for the press, in slip-sheeting or spraying to avoid smears and offset when one page still wet with ink falls upon another, in insisting in the bindery that running heads align? Is he a reputable business man demanding value for services rendered or is he that type of petty robber who submits a low estimate and counts upon padding author's alterations and upon dropt 64 3

ping lines from pages to make an extra form so that in the end his price really is higher? Is he a skilled workman who takes an interest in your problem because it is his problem too; a workman whose advice on technical questions can be accepted as reliable, yet who does not impose prejudices when asked for judgments; a workman who does not propose substitutes as being as good as materials specified unless they happen to be as good? In short, is he someone whom you can accept as a co-worker instead of a lackey? By the answers to these questions shall you know your printer. On the other hand, a printer has the right to ask certain questions of his customer. Is he reasonable in his demands, asking for service and not for servitude, willing to concede that overhead expended in his behalf is a justified charge on the final bill? Is he fair when he calls for competitive bids, asking a printer to bid against other printers of equal standing—in brief, not confusing the cutthroat with the competitor? Does he know what he wants and can he tell when he gets it? Is he, as a designer, a conscientious craftsman, or is he bluffing his way and expecting the printer's pride to be swallowed as long as his own vanity is satisfied? Does he understand that buying printing is, in effect, the signing of a contract in which two parties enter into a partnership? Does he realize, too, that this contract must be made in a spirit of mutual respect so that at all times there exists a willingness to make concessions where quality is not impaired and an equal honesty in seeing eye to eye when concessions will injure the final product? By the answers to these questions shall a printer know his customer. c 65 n

Too few persons who buy institutional printing know how to buy it. The basic failing is an inability on the part of the persons buying the printing to understand in advance exactly what is wanted. As a general rule, printing must be designed before it can be bought, for only in this way can all important details be covered in the specifications sent out for estimates or for competitive bids. In a very real sense, success or failure in institutional printing flows from this source, since the heart of any creative enterprise—and printing falls in this category—rests in a clear conception of what shape the finished product shall take. Conversely, then, an ability to write intelligent specifications produces this all-important concept, and so there are two points from which the problem may be approached. If the design of the printing is grasped at the outset, then the specifications may be written as a matter of course; if, however, there exists at the beginning only a knowledge of the items which should be included in the specifications, then as these are designated the design of the printing will evolve more or less automatically. Because of the importance of providing adequate specifications in establishing a sound technique for buying institutional printing, I have devised the form on the following page which can be used in writing such specifications. Each group of items on this form should be explained fully so that the printer can grasp at once the basic design of the publication in question. Provision of such instruction is especially needed where printing is purchased through competitive bids.

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Title Department Delivery date

Proofs due.

SPECIFICATIONS R U T G E R S U N I V E R S I T Y , N E W BRUNSWICK, N E W J E R S E Y Number of copies Number of pages Overall size inches x inches. Text size picas x picas, plus or including running head. Page margins: inside picas, top picas, outside picas, bottom picas; chapter sinkage picas. Stock, body Substance Stock, cover Substance Body ink

Color

pages of text, set pages of extracts (course descriptions) set pages of tabular matter, set pages of footnotes, set pages of index, set Total number of pages . . . . Title page

Finish

Color Finish Cover ink

Cover

Copy to be delivered Number of galley proofs to be delivered to be returned Are revised galleys wanted? Number of page proofs to be delivered to be returned Are revised pages wanted? Date of delivery of job To Binding: ( ) saddle wire or ( ) side stapled, cover glued or ( ) Smythe sewed, cover glued, or ( ) case bound, see reverse side for detailed instructions, or ( ) folded to overall size above indicated. Edges ( ) trimmed flush or ( ) untrimmed or ( ) deckled. Are there any bleeds? How many?

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Set chapter titles Subheads itials ( ) capitals or ( Running heads

Chapter infollowed by ) small caps. Folios

Footnotes are designated ( ) by symbols or ( ) by superior numbers by pages or ( ) by superior numbers by chapter or ( ) by superior numbers consecutively throughout the manuscript. Engravings ( ) We supply or ( Line cuts ( ) We supply or ( Comments

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screen. ) you supply. ) you supply.

Generally, institutional printing must be bought within a budget—too frequently within a budget which is inadequate to the point of being ridiculous. It is equally unfortunate, I believe, that there is a tendency among institutional financial officers not only to prune the printing budget to the bone, but also to save as much as possible from this amount to apply to other operating deficits at the end of the fiscal year. Yet the printing budget represents in large measure an institution's advertising appropriation—a main source whence it attracts students and endowment. A college or university operating on an annual budget of $2,000,000, will, let us say, set aside $5,000 for general printing. To maintain high standards of craftsmanship in view of the bulk of printing which must be produced becomes a feat of sleight-of-hand and nothing less when the overseer of institutional printing is faced with a budget so restricted. Unhappily, black magic seldom comes to the rescue; quality is scuttled; no one is satisfied, while the institution actually suffers. How to combat this difficulty is a problem of considerable importance. It can be said with truthfulness that our institutions at times issue unnecessary publications, and these dissipate funds which could be placed to a wiser use, but even the elimination of such pieces of printing will not, in many cases, reduce the bulk of institutional publishing to a point where the budget will allow a uniformly high standard of work. Confronted with this situation, there remains but the expedient of classifying printing into groups—A group for the work which will be planned and manufactured with great care, B group for the work which is to be considered "good commercial printing," C group

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for the work which is "good enough as long as it can be read." The weakness of this scheme needs little elaboration. Once a craftsman begins to compromise with standards he ceases to be a craftsman. And the man who can decide at what point an institution is to reflect dignity and culture and at what point it is to relapse into carelessness and mediocrity is taking upon his shoulders a task which no angel would assume. His penny-wise, pound-foolish practices give promise only of possible danger. He may call himself a pragmatist, but he is, in reality, a dreamyeyed theorist who is very much of an untutored gambler at heart. How can one prove that high standards consistently maintained will justify their expense? This query, intended as a haymaker in any verbal bout on the question of printing, is, in fact, the wild swing that sends a man sprawling across the ropes. All education, good or bad, is a question of standards. All living, gracious or tawdry, is a question of standards. All morality, for good or for evil, is a question of standards. In brief, as an institution thinks and lives and believes, so will it represent itself to the world at large. So will it be judged. So will it be known. The man who buys printing buys more than the impression of type upon paper; he buys the creative impulse, directs its expression, and becomes in effect an accessory to the act. He stands in a position of responsibility, and he will do well to remember that fact, for on how well he performs his task may rest a number of factors—the institution's public reputation, its estimate of itself, perhaps even its future endowment. C69]

Establishing A Publications Office IF there has been any direction at all to the discussion which has gone before it has been leading step by step to the fact that there should be a centralization of authority in the supervision of institutional printing. If each department or division is to design its own printing, each without adequate supervision or general theme, then the result can be only a hodge-podge (and, indeed, this explains precisely what is happening in many institutions). There should be one office, directed by a competent person, through which all institutional printing should pass, and it should become the function of this office to design the printing, write the specifications, and supervise the various operations of manufacture. Certainly a principal advantage of a publications office is the ability to place the responsibility for printing on one set of shoulders. If the man who runs the office knows his job and is not shamefully overworked, a definite technique will be developed which will be of service to every department. The printing will be not only better planned, but in the end more economically manufactured. Individual prejudices will give way to sound principles of craftsmanship; a uniform typography will appear in publications, and in time the institution will become identified by the excellent character of its printing. A publications office needs rather homely, if basic, equipment. It should contain type specimen books from all the printers with whom it deals, and it should contain also sample books from leading manufacturers of paper. Examples of fine printing should be filed away, ready for C70]

inspection whenever they can be of usefulness in helping the designer or his client to visualize the final shape a job may take. There should also be available a generous supply of tracing paper so that layouts may be devised showing the exact sizes of type faces as they will appear on the printed page. With these few items of equipment the overseer of institutional printing may do his task well. Instead of arbitrarily saying thus and so should be done, he can show persons from other departments the type face and paper stock he is recommending so that these persons may see for themselves why his selections are superior. He can offer suggested layouts, again to demonstrate why they are better, and he can offer assistance in marking the copy so that there is a minimum of delay once the job goes to the printer. Logically, it is his duty not only to prepare the specifications but also to see that these specifications have been met when the printing is delivered. He should check proofs for spacing and arrangement and since he possesses the technical background he should carry on negotiations with the printer. If he can be relied upon to give his best to each piece of printing, no matter how large or small it may be, he will win for himself a place which will soon make him indispensable to his institution. So many of the problems which beset institutional printing disappear with the establishment of a publications office. First, a concept of what an institution's printing should represent to the outside world is more easily grasped and more rigidly controlled. Second, the printer knows he must deal with someone who can give intelligent C71 ]

instructions and who expects honest and expert service. Third, the printing is designed for the specific equipment of the printer to whom the job is given so that there is less time and less money wasted in manufacture. Finally, there is someone available who knows, and decisions can be made without long wranglings between committees or departments—decisions, moreover, which will be correct. In brief, a specialized job will pass into the hands of a qualified specialist, a happy prospect which will appear in the finished product. It is both proper and logical that the publications office also should have some degree of editorial supervision over the preparation of copy, and if the copy is not edited in this office, then at least the editorial style should be established with the advice of the overseer of institutional printing. The preparation of copy is a function which, if wisely pursued, can save a considerable amount of money on printing bills. Editorial revisions should be made on the author's copy and not on the galley proof— a simple rule, too frequently ignored. Also, if a number of changes have been made during the process of editing, then it is a wise economy to have the manuscript retyped so that when the printer gets it the copy is neat, easy to read, and can be set in type without possibility of errors due to confusing interlineations. A few maxims should be followed in the preparation of manuscripts for the printer. Copy should be typed on one side only of sheets of white paper " x 11and should be double- or triple-spaced to allow ample room for the insertion of new material in editing. There should be an inch of blank margin at the top of the page and C

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also at the left edge of the page so that the printer may use these spaces for the notation of instructions for the typesetter. Never pin anything to a sheet of copy. If there is an insert to be added, this new copy should be typed on a slip of paper and pasted—at the left margin only— with a mark to show exactly where this new matter is to be inserted when the type is set. Care should be taken to see that paragraphs are neither too long nor too short (thereby destroying the typographic appearance of the page), and when a paragraph runs too long, paragraph marks may be inserted before any sentence to indicate to the typesetter that the copy is to be broken at that point for a new paragraph. Each sheet of paper should be consecutively numbered in the upper right hand corner, and, when possible, the printer should be given a complete manuscript—from page one to the end—so that the copy may be set and paged without confusion. Certainly it is part of the duty of a publications office to make evident on the copy the style which is to be followed by the printer. There should be uniformity as to the face and sizes of types to be used, both in the text and for the headings. There should be uniformity in the use of italics, small capitals and bold face; uniformity in punctuation; uniformity in the handling of quotations and extracts; and uniformity in the indentation of paragraphs and other special matter. Also, there should be a uniform style of spelling, and the edition and title of a dictionary which will be the reference for the reading of proofs should be clearly indicated to the printer. One final problem which will confront the publications office is estimating from the manuscript the number

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of pages which will be required in print. There are many ways of reaching this estimate, but perhaps the safest method is by the character count. First, take four or five typical pages from the manuscript, find the average character count per fine for each of these pages, and then calculate a general average per line of characters. Next count the number of lines in the manuscript and multiply this figure by the average per line character count to arrive at the total number of characters in the manuscript. Third, determine the character count per line for the actual type face in the measure in which the printed page is to be set, and when this figure has been secured, divide it into the figure which represents the total number of characters in the manuscript so that you will have the number of lines of text which the copy will require. Finally, decide on the number of lines of type there is to be on each page, and divide this figure into the number of type lines to arrive at the number of pages which will be needed. To illustrate: Suppose the average character count in a fine of manuscript is 63, and that there are 1,745 lines in the manuscript. 1,745 multiplied by 63 will give a total 109,935 characters in the manuscript. Suppose further that the manuscript is to be set in 12point linotype Scotch Roman on a measure of 21 picas, which will give a count of 50 characters to the line. Divide 50 into 109,935 a n d you have the number of lines of type, 2,199. Suppose, too, that there are to be 31 lines of type on each printed page; then divide 31 into 2,199 to arrive at the number of printed pages, which in this case will be 71. A publications office which is charged with a responsibility for the supervision of the design of printing C74H

as well as with some degree of editorial supervision, will more than justify its existence. In fact, after it has been in operation long enough to demonstrate its ability to handle complicated pieces of printing efficiently and without confusion, many will be its friends who, to the last man, will oppose a change to the days when the institution functioned without the services of such an office.

The Summing Up WHERE to begin and where to end these remarks has been a difficult decision. When a subject is so close to one's heart as the purpose and the potentiality of general institutional printing is to mine, there seems no limi* to the visions which that subject can project upon one's mind. In a very real sense, a love of fine printing is an intoxicant, quickening the pulses at its sight, numbing the senses when it is absent. Y e t there is more than an esthetic relationship involved in this mating of composing sticks and mortar boards; there is as well a very practical aspect. In any discussion of printing first consideration must be given always to its function, and a statement by Frederic W. Goudy seems to offer rather an eloquent summary in this respect: 17 " I n the printing craft in its larger aspect, it is life and nothing less with which we have to deal; it is life that you are called upon to foster and to mould since printing moulds our minds, expands our vision and heaps up knowledge. Printing is one of the greatest means of pro17

Frederic W. Goudy, "Type Design," The Journal of the Rutgers University Library, Volume III, Number 2, June, 1940, p. 49.

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moting education, and education is not only one of the finest but one of the greatest of arts; it is indeed the mother art, the alma mater of genius, the preceptress of intelligence and the foster parent of life." Add to function the second consideration in printing, that oiform. Is it to be beautiful, stimulating, inspiring, or is it to be dull, enervating, meaningless? Is it to be rich and creative, or is it to be cheap and unimaginative? Is it to carry onward the glorious tradition of more than five centuries or is it to fall at last into the lethargic despair produced by the hackneyed worker? To each of these questions the answer will be a reflection of the type of mind which gives the answer. If the mind is aware to beauty, if that mind is stimulating and inspiring, if that mind is endowed with creative ability, if that mind is awake to the heritage of the art with which it copes, then there can be but one response and that response becomes the form which any piece of printing takes. For this reason, such printing goes out into the world as a spokesman which all other men can evaluate at its true worth. There remains one last consideration—the force of good printing. Traditionally, the luckiest of mammals is the cat with its nine lives, but objects which capture the creative greatness of men have nine times nine thousand lives and many more besides. From generation to generation objects which fulfill their function and are guised in a pleasing form are cherished and preserved. This has been proved so often that we have come to forget it, even when we hear the music of Bach or Beethoven, or when we read the poetry of Keats or Shelley, or when we gaze t 76 3

upon a Rembrandt or an El Greco. But we do not preserve those things which are ugly or shoddy; in fact, we are as eager to be rid of them as we are of a bad conscience. And as this is true of thoughts and of words, of music, poetry, and painting, so is it true of printing, which also must fuse function with form if it is to obtain the vitality to endure. To be specific, what do these conclusions mean in institutional printing? For my part, I would say that they mean but this: printing which is to reflect institutional accomplishment, which is to stimulate and to sustain interest must be faithful to the precepts of an ancient art. There would seem no other recourse, unless an institution wishes to sacrifice an opportunity to maintain prestige, and, as it may develop, to sacrifice as well that integrity of spirit upon which real culture is nurtured and without which no institution has a sound claim to perpetuity.

GLOSSARY Addenda (Appendix) — Material added to a book. Additions (Author's Alterations or A. A.'s, Author's Corrections or A. C.'s) — Additions are new matter added to copy after type has been set; alterations or corrections are changes made in type already set requiring resetting of that type. Agate — 5^-point type. Newspaper space usually is sold on a basis of fourteen agate lines to the column inch. Alignment — The straightness of a line of type or edge of a page of type. Ampersand — The character derived from the latin word et (&). Ascender — That part of lower case letters such as b, d, f, and h which ascends above short bodied letters such as a, e, and c. Arabic Numbers— Figures i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, o. Backing U p — Printing on reverse of sheet already printed on one side. Bastard Title — A right hand page containing only the title of the book and preceding the title page. Bastard T y p e — T y p e set on a slug differing from the size of the face, as io-point face on an 11-point body. Bible Paper — Specially thin, opaque paper. Black-letter — Old English Text letters. Bleed — T o trim away all white margin from an illustration. Blind-stamp (Blanking) — Stamping hot from a die without gold leaf or color ink. B l o c k — The wooden base of a halftone or zinc engraving. Blocks — Bases of wood or metal to which unmounted, bevelled electrotypes are attached for printing. Boards — The stiff covers on a book. Body Type — Text type, usually 14-point or under, as distinguished from larger sized display type. Bold-face — Type with a heavy, black face. Border — Rules or ornaments used to enclose a body of type.

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Box — Rectangle of rule around a column heading, page heading or an item of special importance. Brochure — Pamphlet. Bundle — T o compress between small wooden boards in a bundling press a quantity of folded sections of a book for storage before binding. Calendered — Paper passed through hot rolls for smoothing surfaces. Canceled Type (Scratch Letters) — For figures used in mathematical works and for letters which are silent in pronunciation, the type is cast with a line through the figure or letter, thus: 3, Caps — Capitals. Caption (Legend) — Title of an illustration. Caret (A) — The sign, resembling an inverted v, used to indicate the insertion of new or omitted copy. Case — In printing, the shallow tray in which type is kept, the compartments holding caps being referred to as upper case, those holding the small letters as lower case; in binding, the covers of a book. C a s t e r — T h e machine which casts the letters in monotype composition. Casting O f f — A method by which an estimate is made of the amount of space a piece of copy will require when set in type. Catch Word — A word standing alone to serve as an indication of alphabetical sequence in an index; also, in old books, a word set at the end of a page to indicate the first word of the following page. Changes — See author's alterations. Chase — A steel frame in which pages of type are locked into a form for printing. Coated Paper — Paper with a glossy finish used in reproducing illustrations by halftone engraving. Such papers may be coated, double coated, triple coated. Collate — T o verify the arrangement of the signatures and pages of a book previous to sewing. CSO^

Colophon — Printer's mark. Column Rule — Hairline rule used to separate columns of type. Composing Stick—A small metal tray, held in the left hand, in which type is assembled. Composition — The setting of type. Compositor — One who sets type. Condensed Type — Type in which the letters are compressed in width, though not in height. Examples: Bodoni Book, Cheltenham Condensed. Copy — Manuscript from which type is set, and material, as photographs and drawings, from which illustrations are made. Copyfitting — See casting off. Corrections — Rectifying the mistakes made in setting by the compositor as distinguished from author's alterations. Cursive — Type which is an imitation of handwriting, though more formalized in treatment than script type. Example: Bernhard Cursive. Cut — Any illustrative printing block. Dandy — A paper making roll which impresses the watermark or a laid finish. Dash — A short length of printing rule centered on a type form. Examples: En dash - , i em dash —, 2 em dash , 3 em dash . Dead — Type which has been printed and for which there is no further use. Deckle Edge — Rough, ragged edge left in the manufacture of paper. Delete (Dele) — The sign used in proofreading to indicate material which is to be cancelled. Descender — That part of a lower case letter descending below the base line (as in q, p, g and y); also the tail of the Q. Die — A plate used in hot stamping of gold leaf or in blind stamping, usually made of brass, sometimes of zinc or heavy electro. Display Type — Type used for other than text matter. Distribution — Distributing type alphabetically in cases, after it has been used. Type set by machine, however, is melted after use. C 81 3

Drop-folio — Number at bottom of page. Dummy— A book or pamphlet without printing prepared to show size, quality of paper, style of binding and similar details. Also, a book or pamphlet on which an indication is made of what is to appear on each page. Also, the page proofs of a book bound to show sequence of pages. Duodecimo (12 mo.) — A book made of sheets folded into twelve leaves. Edition — Number of books to be made in a single printing. Eggshell — A moderately priced paper made with eggshell finish. Electrotype — Type or engraving reproduced by impressing the relief (raised) surface in wax or lead and electroplating the impressed mold by means of a thin shell of copper backed up by stereotype metal. Em — The square of any size of type (thus, 6-point type is six points square). The capital M occupies one em. Emboss — To stamp with hot brass or other die a title or ornament on a book cover. En — Half the width of the corresponding em, though equal in height. End-sheets — Double leaves of paper, one half pasted to cover and the other half a flyleaf, used at each end of a book. English Finish — A paper of good quality though while not supercalendered will reproduce both type and halftones with effectiveness. Errata — A list of typographical errors or errors in fact bound in the beginning or back of the book and printed on a separate sheet of paper. Etching— In printing, a plate. Extended type — A type with characters wider than in the normal type face. Example: Century Expanded. Extra Binding — Hand sewed and hand bound. Face — Design or style of type. Florets — Printers' flowers, floral ornaments.

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Flyleaves — Blank leaves in front and back of a book or pamphlet. Foil — A special leaf, frequently in color, sometimes metallic in imitation of gold, used for stamping covers of books. Folio — Page number. Also a sheet folded to make two leaves. Font — A complete assortment of type for one size and face. Form— Pages of type ready for press. See chase. Format— General style and appearance of a piece of printing. Foundry — A plant where electrotypes are made or type is cast in metal. Foundry Proof— Proofs of pages of a book for the electrotype foundry; thus, final proofs. Frontispiece — An illustrative plate facing the title page of a book. Front Matter—Those pages of a book which precede the opening page of text. Full Face — Same as bold face. Furniture— Pieces of metal or wood used for blanking out portions of page not filled with type and for filling the space between the type and the chase. Galley—A shallow tray, brass or steel, closed on three ends in which composed type is placed before being made into pages. Galley Proof — Proof taken from such type. Gather — To collect folded sections of a book into a proper sequence. Gold Leaf—Genuine gold hammered thinner than tissue paper and used for stamping hot on covers and for gilding the edges of paper. Gothic — Black letter types used in early printing. G r a i n — I n paper making, that dimension (length or width) of a sheet of paper in which the fibers are more or less parallel, permitting the sheet to fold more easily "with the grain." Gutter — Inner margin at the binding edge. Hair Line— A very fine rule; also, the thin lines on a type face. Hair Space — A very thin space, usually of copper, used in letter spacing. Half Bind— Leather back and corners.

Half Title — A right hand page containing only the title of the book and preceding the first chapter; it also may separate each chapter in a similar manner. Halftone — An engraved printing plate. See text, page 29, for explanation. Head (Heading) — Headings are of four kinds: A Center Head A Side Head — Followed by text, as in this Glossary. A Cut-in Requiring special type setting so that the type Head runs around it and thus gives the heading an attractive display, though composition costs are increased. Marginal Which hang out into the margin so that they seem Heads like the man on the flying trapeze. Head Band — A small strip of silk or mercerized cotton attached to top and bottom of the backbone of a book before the cover is attached thereto. Imposition — The arrangement of type pages in the form in such a manner that the bound pages will follow in correct order. Imprint — Name or mark of printer. Incunabula— Books printed before Easter 1500 A.D. Inferior Figures or Letters — Those figures or letters appearing below regular size type in the same line. Example: H s O. Initial — A large letter, often ornamental, used at the opening of a chapter. Insert, Inset—An illustration or map printed on paper different from text of book and inserted between two leaves of the text in binding. Intaglio — A style of printing, as in photogravure. See text, page 3 1 , for explanation. Italic—Sloping type characters, first used by Aldus Manutius in 1501.

Journeyman — A printer who has learned his trade thoroughly. Justify — T o space between words so that a line of type will be of the exact length required. Kern — The part of the type letter, as in the italic f, which overhangs the rectangular body of the letter. Kill — T o cancel type already set. Laid Paper — Paper in which parallel wire marks (called chain marks) appear due to its method of manufacture. Lead — A thin strip of metal, not type high, used for spacing between lines of type. Also, to space out between lines. Leader — Dots or hyphens connecting type at the left side of a line with type at the right side, thus: Barrel of apples $1.25 L e a f — A sheet of paper in a book; thus, each leaf equals two pages. Legend — See caption. Letter Press — A method of printing from raised surfaces. See text, page 31, for explanation. Ligatures — T w o or more characters which are connected and cast on the same body of type. Examples: if,