In May 1873, during his junior year at Amherst, Dewey experienced what he later called an “epiphany” while daydreaming in a lecture hall. He envisioned a decimal-based system to organize all human knowledge, inspired by the metric system’s clarity and Francis Bacon’s tripartite division of learning (memory, reason, imagination). Over the next two years, he refined this idea, sketching a framework that grouped knowledge into ten main classes (000–999), each divided into ten divisions, and further into ten sections, with decimals allowing infinite subdivision. For instance, 523.1 denotes the universe, while 523.13 specifies galaxies.
In 1876, at age 24, Dewey published A Classification and Subject Index for Cataloguing and Arranging the Books and Pamphlets of a Library, a slim but revolutionary 44-page manual. The DDC’s genius lay in its relativity—books were shelved by subject, not fixed location, enabling libraries to grow without reorganizing. Its accompanying subject index cross-referenced topics, making it user-friendly for both librarians and patrons. The system debuted at Amherst’s library, where Dewey tested it as assistant librarian post-graduation (1874–1876). By 1877, libraries like those at Wellesley College adopted it, and its spread accelerated after Dewey presented it at the ALA’s founding conference.
The DDC’s flexibility suited libraries of all sizes, from small towns to universities, and its decimal structure transcended language barriers, earning global adoption. Dewey revised it obsessively, releasing a second edition in 1885 (over 600 pages) and overseeing updates until his death. Today, maintained by the Online Computer Library Center (OCLC), the DDC is used in over 200,000 libraries across 135 countries, a testament to Dewey’s foresight.
Building a Profession: Libraries and Education
Dewey’s ambition extended beyond classification to professionalizing librarianship itself. In 1876, he co-founded the American Library Association with luminaries like Justin Winsor and William Frederick Poole, serving as its secretary for over a decade. The ALA fostered collaboration among librarians, setting standards for a nascent field. Dewey also launched Library Journal that year, editing it until 1896 and using it to advocate for modern practices, from cataloging rules to public access policies.
In 1883, Dewey became chief librarian at Columbia College in New York City, where he overhauled a stagnant library. He introduced open stacks (allowing patrons to browse), expanded hours, and implemented DDC, doubling circulation within a year. Recognizing the need for trained librarians, he proposed a school to teach library science—a radical idea in an era when librarians were often self-taught. In 1887, Columbia approved his School of Library Economy, the first of its kind globally. The curriculum covered cataloging, bibliography, reference work, and administration, blending theory with practice.
Notably, Dewey admitted women to the school, defying gender norms. By 1887, women comprised most of the inaugural class, reflecting the field’s growing feminization. Graduates like Katharine Sharp and Mary Wright Plummer became library leaders, spreading Dewey’s methods nationwide. However, his mentorship of female students was marred by allegations of overfamiliarity, including inappropriate physical contact, which surfaced later and strained his reputation.
In 1888, Dewey relocated to Albany as director of the New York State Library and its affiliated library school (transferred from Columbia in 1889). Over the next 18 years, he transformed the state library into a model institution, introducing traveling libraries for rural areas, services for the blind, and interlibrary loans. He also standardized cataloging across New York’s libraries, cementing DDC’s dominance. His school trained hundreds, shaping a generation of librarians who exported his ideas globally.
Efficiency and Reform: Beyond Libraries
Dewey’s obsession with efficiency permeated every facet of his life. In 1876, he co-founded the Spelling Reform Association, advocating for phonetic spelling to save time (e.g., “through” as “thru”). He briefly simplified his name to “Melvil Dui” and named his son Godfrey, not Godfree, to align with his principles. He championed the metric system, shorthand, and typewriter use, believing small changes could yield societal gains.
His entrepreneurial streak led to the Library Bureau in 1876, initially a side venture to supply DDC materials. It grew into a major firm, producing card catalogs, shelving, and furniture designed for efficiency. Dewey’s knack for standardization—down to uniform catalog card sizes—streamlined library operations worldwide.
In 1895, Dewey founded the Lake Placid Club, a resort in the Adirondacks for educators and professionals. Envisioned as a haven for intellectual and physical renewal, it offered lectures, sports (including early golf and skiing), and communal dining. The club’s success, hosting the 1932 Winter Olympics, boosted the region’s economy. Yet, its exclusion of Jewish people, African Americans, and others under the guise of “social compatibility” sparked outrage, especially among ALA colleagues who saw it as betraying librarianship’s egalitarian ethos.
Personal Life: Triumphs and Troubles
Dewey married Annie Godfrey, a librarian and Amherst acquaintance, in 1878. Their son, Godfrey, born in 1887, followed his father into library-related work. Annie supported Dewey’s ventures, managing aspects of the Lake Placid Club until her death in 1922. In 1924, Dewey wed Emily Beal, a club associate, who outlived him.
While charismatic and inspiring, Dewey’s personal conduct drew criticism. By the 1880s, colleagues noted his overly tactile interactions with women, from hugs to kisses, which many found inappropriate. In 1905, four female ALA members accused him of harassment during a conference trip, leading to his marginalization within the organization. These incidents, detailed in later accounts like Wayne Wiegand’s Irrepressible Reformer (1996), suggest a pattern of entitlement that clashed with his progressive advocacy for women in librarianship.
The Lake Placid Club’s policies further eroded his standing. Dewey’s defense—that private clubs could select members—ignored the harm of exclusion, alienating allies and prompting boycotts. His business dealings, including conflicts of interest with the Library Bureau, also raised ethical questions.
Later Years: Florida and Final Days
Health issues, including nervous exhaustion, prompted Dewey’s resignation from the New York State Library in 1906. He shifted focus to the Lake Placid Club, expanding its facilities and membership. In the 1920s, seeking a year-round retreat, he established the Lake Placid Club’s southern branch in Florida, near Lake Stearns (later renamed Lake Dewey in his honor). He spent winters there, promoting local development and refining DDC editions.
On December 26, 1931, Dewey suffered a cerebral hemorrhage at the Florida club and died at age 80. His death closed a chapter on a career that reshaped knowledge organization but left unresolved tensions over his conduct and biases.
Legacy: A Dual Inheritance
Melvil Dewey’s impact is profound yet fraught. The DDC remains a cornerstone of library science, its decimal framework organizing millions of books across cultures. His library school set a precedent for professional education, and his ALA and Library Journal fostered a global community of librarians. Innovations like open stacks and interlibrary loans democratized access to knowledge, embodying his belief that “the library is the people’s university.”
Yet, Dewey’s personal failings—harassment allegations and discriminatory policies—complicate his legacy. Modern scholars critique the DDC itself for Eurocentric biases (e.g., allocating disproportionate space to Western religion) and debate whether to rename awards or buildings honoring him. Libraries using DDC grapple with updating its framework to reflect diverse knowledge systems.
Dewey was a man of his time, driven by a restless intellect and a faith in progress, yet blind to some of his era’s—and his own—shortcomings. His story challenges us to celebrate innovation while confronting its human costs, ensuring his contributions endure alongside lessons from his contradictions.
