Ralph Whittington worked at the Library of Congress for 36 years, rising from an entry-level clerk to become a curator in the main reading room of the library's majestic building across from the U.S. Capitol.
He supervised the library's collection of telephone books — "I was in charge of every phone book in the freaking world," he said in 2002 — and also used his expertise as an archivist in his private life. Mr. Whittington had more than 5,000 early recordings of rhythm-and-blues and doo-wop music, but he was better known for amassing one of the world's largest collections of pornography.
For years, he stored his trove — which included thousands of items, from 19th-century "bawdy house coins" to magazines, videotapes, photographs, dolls and devices — at his Clinton, Md., home, which he shared with his mother.
Mr. Whittington, who was 74, died at his home on Aug. 6. The cause was cardiovascular disease, said his son-in-law, Stephen Chittenden.
"I really enjoy this stuff," he told the Washington City Paper in 1997. "I'm not like some guy who says, 'I only read Playboy for the articles.' I mean, I really do take a hands-on approach."
On his business card, Mr. Whittington listed his occupation as "erotic archivist." When discussing pornography, he did not apologize, stammer or blush. He documented his items with the same rigor that he used at the Library of Congress.
Everything was catalogued and cross-referenced. Boxes were carefully labeled with the name of a porn star or a thumbnail description of the infinite variety of carnal proclivities depicted in print or on film. Mr. Whittington noted 86 separate categories.
In 1999, Mr. Whittington sold most of his materials to the Museum of Sex, a professionally curated institution in New York. Before three 16-foot trucks hauled away almost 10,000 items in 848 boxes, his house was packed from floor to ceiling. Videotapes shared space in the pantry next to cereal boxes, and sex tapes were stacked in his mother's closet.
May Whittington was philosophical about her son's avocation. In a 1999 episode of Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show," she contentedly crocheted on the couch as her son discussed his collection.
"It's something he loves," she told The Post in 2002. "You see men his age going to bars or on dope. But he's home day and night. That gives me peace of mind. . . . He's not doing anybody any harm, and he's not doing himself any harm."
Mr. Whittington, who was a consultant to the Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas and the now-defunct Institute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality in San Francisco, sometimes mocked academics as people who "will read nine books on brothels and write the 10th one and never go to a brothel."
He sometimes conducted his research in person, including one instance in which he appeared on camera. For a fee, an adult-film star named Chessie Moore offered members of her fan club the opportunity to make an explicit videotape with her.
As Moore's husband ran the camera, Mr. Whittington directed and took part in the action. Moore later autographed her spike-heel pumps, which Mr. Whittington added to his collection.
Even after selling many of his materials in 1999, Mr. Whittington couldn't stop acquiring, and his house began to fill up again. He didn't allow anyone to borrow his artifacts, but he invited visiting scholars and the merely curious to view them from time to time.
