A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I worked in the NYU library as a bibliographic searcher. New books were cataloged by author, in most cases an easy task. But various collections of essays by groups of scientists or other academics could be less straightforward. Was the umpteenth symposium of molecular physics responsible or was it the sub-committee on fluid dynamics? Such tomes would land on my desk. First, I would peruse our collection of search books that listed how other libraries had cataloged books. Once found, they would be cataloged in the same fashion. If not found, then I would hazard a guess at who was responsible for the new tome and catalog it that way.
One day, some cathode ray tube computer terminals (probably stop a .357 magnum), were plunked down nearby. They contained some of the information in our search books. We were assured that our jobs were safe. Right. I figured they were safe until all the information in our voluminous search books had been entered. After that they wouldn’t need near as many human searchers as were then employed. Later I took an evening class at the university in computer programming. I eventually got a job doing that and left bibliographic searching behind, before the job vaporized. The pay was better too.