Blatant Berry: Knowing Norman Horrocks

No personal loss is greater than the death of a close, trusted friend, upon whom you depend for all that friends do for each other. The passing of Norman Horrocks is both a terrible personal and professional loss for me. I have only a small stock of the kind of friends, like Norman, who support me and yet honestly tell me when they believe I am wrong.

It was my mentor and another friend like that, Eric Moon, who taught me that friendship trumps professional politics, that our disputes are very rarely personal. Moon introduced me to Norman, and we stayed in close touch ever after.

Norman was especially generous with his connections, and those connections were worldwide. It was he who suggested that the Australian Library and Information Association invite me to speak at its Perth Conference years ago. He introduced me to the group I used to call “the internats,” a gang who had collected at the library school at the University of Pittsburgh under then-dean Harold Lancour. They became crucial sources for us at LJ.

Norman’s connections were far greater than nearly all the others, truly global. He was there at the early birth pangs of the social responsibility movement, when people like Jim Welbourne, Bob Croneberger, Ellen Gay Detlefsen, Mary Lee Bundy, Bette Wilson, Pat Schuman, John Forsman, Carolyn Forsman, and Andrew Armitage gathered in Pittsburgh to light the fuse that began that rebellion in the American Library Association (ALA). Horrocks, to his credit, knew when to listen to the young rebels and when to tell them how to get action in the complex processes of the association.

The marshaling of his alliances and political savvy to find a way get the desired result was never more effective than when he was able to get a negative ALA accreditation decision reversed for the library school at Nova Scotia’s Dalhousie University when he was dean.

His own early career, fully documented in the tributes and essays to honor him, included his role in British intelligence. The skills he garnered there served him long after, as displayed in one of my favorite episodes. Three of us were having drinks when Norman said he was going to the party. The best and biggest ALA party at the time was hosted by a major encyclopedia publisher. I had a falling out with that firm and was not invited. Norman said, “Come with me!” We followed him to the entrance to the huge event, guarded by two stern women checking the invitations of all comers. Norman went ahead of us, and when they asked if we were with him, he said, “No!” We panicked and started to leave until we saw a great commotion, with paper and invitations falling to the floor. Norman and the ladies gathered up the mess. As Norman rose, his left hand waved behind him holding two invitations. We took them and were admitted.

Norman was willing to listen, that rare and most generous thing a friend can do. He would even let me read an editorial aloud on the phone. More important, he’d tell me what to do to make it more compelling. He advised with conviction and honesty and always stood behind me, even when we had disagreed about the avenue I took.

True friends like Norman try to guide and persuade you, not to come over to a different position but to take a path to your own goal that will be more successful.

Norman Horrocks always found the way to do that. When I would confront, he would convince. When I would orate, he would listen. He would tell me when I was wrong but only if I asked, so I nearly always did. As my friend Pat Schuman said when we commiserated after Norman’s death, he trained dozens of ALA presidents. He was such a good friend that until just a few weeks ago he continued to train me, too, in the ways of getting results from complex processes, mutual support, and personal trust. I am devastated by losing him.