Tahe Zalal, Story Preserver, 50
Tahe Zalal has held centuries in her hands.
Prints by Warhol and Ellsworth Kelly. Letters signed by George Washington. Marriage bonds that showed the taxes to be paid to the King of England.
Until one day in January of 1777, the courthouse clerk crossed off “King” and wrote “Commonwealth.” One word, signaling a seismic shift: a subject becoming a citizen.
“Sometimes the most powerful thing is just a change in a word; that’s history whispering to you,” she says.
Tahe is the Outreach Conservator at the Northeast Document Conservation Center. She travels to museums, archives, courthouses — anywhere history is stored — and helps institutions figure out how to preserve it. Sometimes, she’s the first one to notice a rare document that’s quietly been sitting in a back room for decades.
She grew up exploring museums and historic houses with her mom, falling in love with the quiet presence of old things.
“I was the kid who wanted to go to the museum, not the amusement park,” she says.
She studied art history and studio art (sculpture and ceramics) at UNC Greensboro. Her dad wanted her to choose something more practical, specifically computer science. But her first art history professor, Richard Gantt, changed everything.
“He taught art history like it was something alive,” she says.
Tahe started her career at Replacements, Ltd, in the China Restoration Department where her hands learned the patience of repair. From there, she transitioned into book conservation and then paper conservation at Etherington Conservation Center where she was trained by Don Etherington and Michael Lee. She has since advised hundreds of institutions across the country, from university libraries to small volunteer-run museums.
One day, at an HBCU in Baton Rouge, Tahe noticed a photo of Frederick Douglass and his young daughter, taken in the 1850s. The label on the frame stated that it was his daughter Rosetta. The photo was in poor condition- stuck to the glass with multiple tears and mold damage. Because part of her job was to help identify priorities in collections as well as to recommend fundraising ideas, she suggested that the photo would be worth considering for a future conservation project, as well as to bring awareness to the collection. She got permission to find out more about the photo and several months later learned that the photo was not of Rosetta who lived into adulthood, but Douglass’s young daughter Annie who had passed away at the age of ten. Even scholars at Harvard University and Oxford hadn’t seen the photo or any image of Annie. Eventually, it found its way into two books and her image was used in a mural at the Rochester, NY, airport.
“Most images of Frederick Douglass were of him as an activist and abolitionist, stern with his hands curled into fists. Here, he’s relaxed with a soft countenance. A young father with his little girl.”
Her favorite discoveries aren’t always the most famous. A panoramic photo from 1918 — men and boys on motorcycles in Biltmore Village — stopped
her in her tracks. “There were Black boys and men, just part of the crowd,” she says. “It challenged my assumptions of who was allowed to be visible in public life back then.”
Tahe’s own history is layered, too. Born to an Afghan father and American mother, Tahe carries a legacy of the appreciation for history. Here mother was a docent for many years at the Mordecai Historic Park in Raleigh and taught her how to move among the historic objects so that they would be safely preserved for future visitors. Her family owns the Melrose Knitting Mill, which had once housed her father’s specialty roofing company. He restored the historic building which now serves as a restaurant and event space. She sees preservation as something personal — an inheritance of care.
She’s also a mom. Her son is studying automotive systems technology at Guilford Technical Community College.
“He fixes engines; I fix paper,” she says.
They both use their hands to make things whole again.
“Conservation isn’t glamorous,” she says. “It’s slow, behind the scenes work. But I’m preserving evidence that someone lived. That they mattered. And that they won’t be forgotten.”
