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Caroline at Albert Whitman & Company
By Kathy Tucker Brooks, Editor - May 2005
(In 1977,) when I began working at Albert Whitman, the company was housed in an old building on West Lake Street in Chicago. The editorial offices, which were two desks separated by a partition, were on the 6th floor.
To get there one took a rickety elevator, which was kept locked to discourage visitors who might wander up from the street. Periodically the Lake Street elevated train thundered right alongside the building; then conversation came to a complete stop.
It was a dusty and dirty place. Sometimes there were mice. Occasionally the landlord did not pay his bills and the heat was turned off.
But this was an editor’s office, and from the day she got there, September 5, 1961, Caroline gave it dignity. Every Monday morning, she dusted and straightened up. She had decorated the office with her sister’s lovely watercolors; occasionally, she put up seasonal decorations like colored-paper leaves or snowflakes.
She took good care of the tools of her trade: the unabridged Oxford dictionary, a fine IBM Selectric (correcting) typewriter, a large drawing board, pica rulers, type books, a good collection of rub-down type, jars of rubber cement. (There was a large metal cupboard with 12 shelves, perfect for keeping large pieces of art flat and safe. She was pleased that she’d procured this—she’d found it in a warehouse, I think, and gotten the men to lug it up to the office.)
And of course, there was the slush pile—the manuscripts sent, unsolicited, by hopeful writers. Out of this pile (about 800) and using her own wits, Caroline had to come up with about sixteen books a year for the company to publish. These books had to make enough money to pay the rent, the printing bills, and the salaries of about ten employees.
She was pretty much a one-woman show. There was usually an editorial assistant, but there was no secretary, no designer, no production person. So in addition to generating exciting ideas for projects or culling good manuscripts out of the slush pile—jobs properly editorial— she also designed and produced the books.
She chose the artists, directed them through sketches and final art, selected the type (she especially loved choosing typefaces) ordered it from typesetters, proofread and ordered corrections, and ultimately—and I remember this especially because it was so time-consuming and because today all this is done on the computer—she pasted up the mechanicals.
This meant she pasted down the “repro copy” in the exact position it was to appear on the page. If she pasted a paragraph heading downhill, it would be printed that way. Sometimes if she found a little mistake (an E instead of an I) she would cut out the offending letter with her trusty exacto knife and glue down another one precisely in its place.
This kind of work might give someone a headache, but Caroline liked it—not surprising, as she was a person who also loved to sew and to hang wallpaper. But while Caroline found even the minutiae of publishing enjoyable and interesting, she was very well focused on the big picture.
Working with author Gertrude Chandler Warner, she edited the Boxcar Children series, which the company had purchased from Scott Foresman. Caroline worked on 13 Boxcar stories, until Miss Warner died in 1979. I think the plots of the last books, when Gertrude Warner was in very poor health, were greatly influenced by Mrs. Rubin.
While Caroline was editor, the Boxcar Children was the bread and butter of the company, and along with the many subsequent books in the series, today it still serves not only to support AW but more important, entertain and teach millions of children all over the world. Caroline had her very own ideas, too, and they were great.
Together with author Norma Simon and artist Joe Lasker, Caroline began a series of books that became known on the AW list as “concept books.” These were books that would focus on the feelings and problems of children, in a confirming and comforting way.
BENJI’S BIRD, about a child who has to adjust to a natural loss, was quickly followed by SEE THE FIRST STAR, a story about a little boy who needed glasses. Subsequent titles were WHAT DO I DO? And WHAT DO I SAY? — simple stories of daily life that helped children identify actions and feelings.
The idea that children’s feelings, sometimes negative, should be affirmed before they can be affected, seems like very basic psychology today. But in the late sixties seventies these were new ideas, and the books Caroline developed for the Concept series were greatly welcomed by teachers, librarians and families. Many are still in print today.
Perhaps the best known is ALL KINDS OF FAMILIES, written by Norma Simon and illustrated by Joe Lasker. In this classic, loving families of all kinds are described, including a family whose dad is in jail. Since its publication in 1976, it has sold about more than 120,000 copies, all in hardback, and it is still going strong.
Caroline wanted to include children from all backgrounds, races, and cultures in the Albert Whitman books. It was her idea to make Mary Jo, the heroine of WHAT MARY JO SHARED, a black child. The power of this story is that it isn’t about the fact that Mary Jo is African American. The story is about a little girl who wants something unique to share with the other children at school, and comes up with the terrific idea of bringing her dad.
There were many, many other books as well. There were lots by creative Midwest people, for Caroline felt authors and artists in the Midwest was often unfairly overshadowed by the New York publishing world. There were mysteries by Florence Parry Heide and Roxanne Heide. Stories about daily life, like SURPRISE FOR MRS. BURNS by Glennette Turner and DAYS I LIKE, by Lucy Hawkinson. Stories about the past, like WHEN GRANDPA WORE KNICKERS by Fern Brown. Sports stories, like GOAL TO GO by Mike Neigoff.
There were how-to art books, like The I CAN’T DRAW BOOK, by Jerry Warshaw, COLLECT, PRINT, AND PAINT FROM NATURE by John Hawkinson. There were riddle books by Ann Bishop, also illustrated by Jerry Warshaw.
Although Caroline didn’t care much for fantasy, she made an exceptions for THE LITTLE OLD MAN WHO COOKED AND CLEANED and THE LITTLE OLD MAN WHO COULD NOT READ, silly stories by Irma Simonton Black, illustrated by Seymour Fleishman, and THE ONLY GLUP MAKER IN THE U.S. NAVY by Tom McGowen, SNOW ON BEAR’S NOSE, by Jennifer Bartoli and THE LITTLE BOY WHO LOVED DIRT AND ALMOST BECAME A SUPERSLOB by Judith Vigna.
Caroline was committed to every book. She formed close relationships with authors and illustrators, often meeting with them to talk about plots and ideas. Often, they became her lifelong friends.
Author Norma Simon wrote a lovely letter about her relationship with Caroline; I’d like to read an excerpt:
I remember when Caroline Rubin first came to Connecticut to meet with Joe Lasker and me. She came bearing the good news that our first Albert Whitman book, BENJY’S BIRD, would be published (in 1965).
Then we talked about a new genre of children’s picture books that Caroline wanted us to try. She called them concept books - picture books that dealt with children’s ideas and emotions instead of linear stories with a beginning, middle and end. (Caroline’s idea became WHAT DO I SAY?, the first of a long list of Concept Books that Whitman has published over these forty years. )
This lovely new editor in our lives, with her encouraging and nurturing attitude, made for strong sympathetic feelings between the three of us. I’ve often wondered what might have become of my writing career without Caroline’s sparks of inspiration, her clear comprehension and appreciation of what I was trying to express, her gentle guidance thru book after book.
In the course of our long correspondence, our children grew up. Education and careers of Betsy and her cousins, marriages, the births of grandchildren, travels abroad, and, always, the annual trip with dear friends to Stratford, Ontario for the Shakespeare Festival filled her letters.
After she retired, she wrote about her new computer:
…my Macintosh is the most exciting and challenging writing tool I’ve ever used. …Writers now have the proverbially impossible: the opportunity to have on’s cake and eat it, too. Keep the original. Make a copy and improve it…Nothing’s lost, try again. The Macintosh, remember, is the descendant of the Apple. So like Eve and her apple, once you’ve bitten into so-called high-tech, the world is never the same.”
Gentleness, graciousness, warmth, comfort, caring, optimism and humor found expression. On her old IBM typewriter or her magical Macintosh, Caroline connected. I am so grateful for our connection.
Caroline Rubin had definite opinions about books for children. She did not like books in which the art or story was too sophisticated, thus directed more toward adults. She did not like books in which the characters were talking animals. She didn’t like books that would be read once and tossed aside.
She wrote of her own editorial preferences: “I believe books should communicate directly, and that children should be able to enjoy them independently. Books can help children understand themselves, show them how to make and do things, and provide a satisfying reading experience.”
This practical, intelligent, confident, and child-friendly editor put her firm print on every book that went out the door, to the enjoyment and benefit of countless children.
It was always a big relief when at last a book was ready to go off to the printer. “Whew!” Caroline would say. Then—I can still hear her cheerful voice, “Next!” After she had retired, every time I talked to her, her first words were “What’s new?”
She was always interested— especially in books, in art, in people. She was always looking to the Next Big Thing. She was the kind of person who trusted that the future would be intriguing and that she could find good there. She is now in our hearts and minds, encouraging us to enjoy books and art and people, to look forward to life, to trust what we can do to affect it, to eagerly and happily embrace what’s coming next.
May 14, 2005 - Delivered by Kathy at Caroline's Memorial Service
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Caroline's business card
John Satterlund
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