Stacks
My first library memory is still very clear, over 50 years later: I’m in my mother’s Impala, sitting in the back seat, clutching a plastic bear-shaped container of honey and a worn copy of Winnie the Pooh. There were other books in my haul, but I opened that one because it’s the one the librarian just read from, before they handed out the honey. I remember feeling so vibrant and excited, like I had just experienced something magical in a simple library event for five year olds. And in many ways, it was magical; it marked the beginning of an amazing journey where I would discover that books — and the characters within — could not only be my friends, but could take me with them on adventures. I was a lonely, quiet kid and the library’s children’s room and its collection of books and magazines became a mystical, revered haven.
I spent hours in the stacks on Saturdays reading passages from books and deciding which ones to take home. Beverly Cleary. Eleanor Estes. Edward Eager. Gertrude Chandler. Donald J. Sobol. Judy Blume. E. L. Konigsburg. I read every word these authors put forth. They wrote books that would take me away as I huddled in a corner of the library, transported to worlds with magic coins and friendly witches and kids my age going on amazing adventures. They spoke of feelings I couldn’t quite articulate, of ideas and experiences I wanted to have, they were words that made me feel seen and heard.
When I was seven, the library started its own bus route, with a stop right across the street from my house. My mother would load me on the bus and I’d be able to spend all that time in the stacks without my mother hovering over me, wanting to leave. Sometimes I would leave the confines of the children’s section and wander into the periodicals room, or the adult reference area. I’d watch the older kids studying, the adults searching the card catalog, the librarians helping people. This was my real home, I thought. This is where I belong. The library bus was the greatest thing that happened to me. I could easily escape the loneliness of a solitary existence and join my “friends” in the stacks on weekends. During the week, after school, I could take the bus in with just enough time to turn in books and grab a few new ones before I had to be home for dinner. I may have spent more time in the library than I did at home.
As I got older, my relationship with the library stayed fervent but changed in ways. I had kids of my own and started them early, joining in on the infant reading times, the mommy-and-me sessions, the summer reading programs. We didn’t have a lot of money and the library afforded us myriad entertainment, from read-alongs to sing-alongs, from books to VHS tapes, from magazines with craft ideas to cassette tapes of the kids’ favorite artists. This was all free. All handed to us for just showing our library cards.
Later, I would be employed for a short time in the library that was my haven. I worked in the children’s room, shelving books, putting out new ones for display, helping kids and their parents find what they needed. I would spend my break time in the stacks of that room, looking for the books I read as a child and reading through them again, taking me back to the magical library days of my youth. While I worked there, I strived to make sure each child I helped saw the library as a special place.
Today I read an article in Forbes which puts forth the idea that Amazon should replace libraries to save taxpayers money. The idea is ludicrous, I thought, and over a thousand twitter users apparently agreed with me, taking the author, Panos Mourdoukoutas, to task.
I can not imagine a world without libraries. It’s such a privileged stance to take, to think that a bookstores, coffee shops and Netflix can take the place of the hallowed library. For some people, libraries are the only way they can afford movies, books, magazines and the culture events that most libraries offer. Its the only place they can do schoolwork and research. Its where people who can’t afford the internet and computers at home go to use those things to look for jobs or do homework. The library is so much more than books. It is a vital, necessary component to any community which wants to thrive.
Mourdoukoutas is not the only person to come up with the idea that libraries are obsolete and should be replaced. I’d venture to say that the people who think like this are not people who ever benefit in any way by going to the library. They are capitalists who are trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist. They are also the same people who bemoan the fact that their taxes pay for other peoples’ kids to go to public school. They care nothing of the greater good. The don’t think about the poor, the disadvantaged, the fact that they themselves benefit from their tax dollars being used on public education and libraries by creating an educated, cultured society.
I want the children of my town — and every town — to have the experience I did in the stacks of the town library. I want them to always have enough money to offer the services they do. Libraries are not bookstores. They are not cafes, they are not Netflix. Their services are free and you’d be surprised at the number of people in your own neighborhood who rely on that. I don’t go to the library as much as I used to; I have everything I need at my fingertips on my computer or iPad. But I will gladly pay out of my taxes to help keep my local library afloat. It’s called being part of a community.
Long live the library.
