I have lived in libraries. Brought to a local branch from before I was born, I knew it well even before being hired there when I was 17.
Campbell Branch was one of those old style buildings, dark wood and high ceilings, brown smooth undulating floors. But once I was an employee I was shown the lunchroom, also lovely wood and window high up and bright, Barbara's office with the books to be fixed and new books to be marked and organized. The toilet for staff was down a steep uneven stairway, and stored Benny's cleaning supplies. I would learn how to open and close the windows with the long pole with the iron hook, and sit behind the large wooden desk and have access to the cards and learn how to change the due date stamp. I shelved books, and loved to organize the children's picture books, a never ending task, but one that opened such a wonderful world of art and humor. I loved Mercer Mayer and Seuss, Potter and Sendak. I could sit on that lovely bench and alphabetize books. So soothing an occupation.
I got the Dewey system in my brain, I still imagine books according to where they will be on those shelves. Especially the heavily used children's sections. Joke and car books, animals and comics.
It was the first place I got to call adults by just their first names, kind of a cheat because three of them were Barbara, the head librarian was Mister Beldin- always- but I never cared to talk to him anyway.
There were two SLA positions, student library assistant. We referred to ourselves as SLA-ves. In my two plus years there, first was Michelle- a fan, of Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica and baseball and Beach Boys. We went to a lot of movies together, since she had a car. Then Billy, who was only 15 and into Dungeons and Dragons. I crushed on him -to no effect, because he was there. Nice geeky kid.
The patrons made the job even more interesting, especially since the Social Services offices were just down the street. The oddest ones tended to prefer one of us, and Barbara referred to them as "(your name here)'s friend." My "friend" was a tall dyed-red-haired woman in her 60's with bright thick makeup who tended to lean in way too close to tell you all about her day. I eventually figured out that she was nearly deaf. Mr. Belding's "friend" was an old guy who wore coats and galoshes all summer and whose odor would come in about five minutes before he did*. Barbara's was a middle aged Italian man who brought in a passel of kids and reeked of garlic. Incomprehensible and odiferous, but endearing. I don't remember the other two Barbaras (the children's librarian and the adult librarian)'s "friends".
Saturdays would be the children's programs, movies or story tellers, crafts. I would run the projector and try to keep an eye on the short folks. I checked in/out books, took overdue fines, and on slow days, got to study or read. Summer I worked more hours, and read even more books. Once I walked there during a tornado, the sky bottle green, and the floor flooded.
I would work in other libraries, shelving tons of books as I inched my way through school. I have the papercut scars to prove it. I can flip a book to better read the spine and slide it on an overstuffed shelf -all with one hand. If I could make a living wage doing it, I would happily shelve books all the time. Perhaps when I retire, as a place to go every day. Find the corners of another library. The worlds they open up, and the people I would meet.
Besides, that is where I keep all my books, and staff don't pay overdues.
*Tipping my hat to Terry Pratchett and Foul Ole Ron, and his smell.
6 comments:
My earliest library memory, ca. 1956: I borrowed The Book of Live Dolls by Josephine Gates from Mt. Clemens Public Library. The children's section was below ground and, as I remember it, you had to go around to the side of the building and down a little sunken stairwell to get in. I'm sure I borrowed this book more than once. I loved the idea of a life-sized playhouse where dolls came alive. My first escapist lit! I wanted that playhouse!
Not even sure which or when my earliest memory of a library was, seems I've always been in libraries, perhaps because my home was also full of books, and quiet was enforced. But the library was different, magical, because there were books for those of my height, and bright displays covered walls, and books were stood up so that the covers showed, and people read books aloud.
I like libraries, too.
I love this post, naturally. What powerful memories the bookish retain of their early library life.
I ran an old Victorian library once & worried about a grim, grey children's entrance up a dark granite staircase. I painted murals and did clever lighting. One day a man said to me "I remember coming here as a lad. I loved going up that staircase, it had glittery bits in it that sparkled in the light; it was a sort of magic stairway to the books." Eye of the beholder.
I worked four years in a library, as a student page. Best job ever. I'd put a huge stack of books aside to take home at the end of my shift.
Also, I am a librarian's daughter...I think one day I might switch careers and follow in her path. Some days I'm really tempted. :)
The library was my sanctuary in adolescence. It was where I went for peace.
But the piles of books I used to haul off with, especially as a young adult: barely able to peek over them, then spreading them all over my floor, stacked and scattered and opened, all for thirst of any particular subject that caught my fancy. And the cat gingerly (but clumsily) picking his way across them to get at my lap...
There was a three book limit, for a very long time. I dreaded getting to Sunday afternoon, having run out of books.
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