A version of this article first appeared in the July/August 2001 issue of Ancestry Magazine
There's a scene in the movie "Wizard of Oz" where Toto locates the wizard working the controls of his machines from behind a curtain. Having been discovered, the less-than-wonderful wizard shouts into his microphone: "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" That phrase has been taken into our language when referring to the people who work behind the scenes keeping machines running or pulling the strings and levers in the background to make something work.
There are many unseen people hidden behind curtains who make the technology for genealogy work. Heeding the wizard's plea, we usually pay no attention to them. We should. The thousands of volunteers who do transcription work, the programmers who develop genealogy software, the web masters who host genealogy sites, the support staff who keep servers and networks running, and the technical support representatives who field our calls for help deserve some consideration and courtesy. As someone who sees both sides of "the curtain", it's time I write about treating the wizards behind the curtain with some kindness and respect.
Not to say that there were no Danes living in Wales at the time of the 1881 census. There were at least ninety individuals on the disc who were recorded as being born in Denmark. Most of them had non-Welsh surnames like Tagholm, Ludvigson, and Christensen.
In the case of my Welsh family, however, the transcription error was obvious. A "P" was mistaken for a "D" by one of the volunteer transcribers. A review of the 1881 census itself (I was working with indexes after all), showed that the hand writing was indeed difficult but close examination showed Penmark rather than a foreign country. No Danes in my family tree, sad to say.
I was apoplectic! What knucklehead got this information about MY family wrong for thousands of genealogists to see? My 2nd great grandmother and 3rd great grandmother were about as Danish as a pastry. What if some unknown cousin started down the wrong path to Denmark for our family? What was I to do? How could I correct it?
I calmed down a bit eventually. I wanted to complain to someone, but then I realized that I was looking at this all wrong. The project which had transcribed and put to CD-ROM the entire 1881 UK census had taken over a decade. It was done by over 10,000 volunteers who put in over 2 million volunteer hours to do the job. The LDS Church sells the resulting CD-ROM set for a pittance. Instead of being irate over an error, I should be thankful for those thousands of volunteers and all the other people involved in the production of this great finding aid.
I called the LDS technical support telephone number and asked how I could correct the error. The human being at technical support provided me with instructions on how to submit a correction. I made sure that I thanked that person in technical support for their help.
Technology hides the human face of the people who make the technology possible and who keep the technology working. This is as true in genealogy as it is in any field of endeavor. We, the users, forget that there are humans behind it all - humans write the code, humans fund the projects, humans make the content, humans run the show. The error which I had found was a very human one.
The thin technological veneer sitting on top of our research tools such as CD-ROM finding aids, web sites, genealogy software programs, etc. is what we actually face when we sit down at our computers. With technology being in our face, we can make several wrong assumptions.
We assume that because we are facing technology, all of what we want will be automated. We assume technology will be available to give us what we want. If it's not automated, we are disappointed. We certainly voice our disappointment but rarely do we volunteer to fix the problem. Got the 1851 & 1881 census on CD-ROM? Then we want 1861 & 1871 and we want it yesterday.
A further assumption is that because we have technology in our faces, we treat people the same way we treat the technology. Usually rudely, always as a servant, and mostly as inanimate objects. We do this by association. It is easy to think of technical support staff for the 1881 census CD-ROM was simply an extension of the product itself. The nice person I spoke with on the telephone was not a part of any product, they were a human being like myself.
Of course, we usually only resort to interfacing with humans after reaching the point of frustration with the technology. The genealogy program doesn't work quite right - call their help line. There is something wrong on the web site - e-mail the web master. The mailing list is doing something funny - contact the mailing list host. At this point, we've already burned off some of our patience with the problem at hand. The human at the other end of our communications is usually the unlucky recipient of our attitude towards the problem itself.
I get a good share of "attitude" about problems as a result of hosting genealogy web sites and running genealogy mailing lists. I've observed technical support call centers in action and Dante's visions of Purgatory are a picnic in comparison. Technical support people have my sincere sympathy.
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