Knowledge Is Power

 

A library has always been a sanctuary for me. Besides holding a treasure of unimaginable tales, it was a place I could hide away for awhile. 

High school was an absolute horror for this introverted, clumsy girl, made worse by being surrounded by the Buffys and Brads who wore brand name clothes while I tried to blend into the walls in my Kmart jeans and ratty sneakers. 

I hid in the library and read to escape.

It is a habit that remains to this day. When I feel hopeless, cornered or frightened, I head for a library.

There were four libraries to choose from in town. My favorite was just blocks away. Early in the morning I would walk past my favorite whistling tree, wave to the crazy pom who thought he was a doberman, tiptoe through an abandoned school parking lot with broken glass, to the library/gingerbread house with its muntin windows and cross beamed ceiling. 

Eventually, after I had moved across town I used the Simmons library. The library was built in 1899 and was designed by the famous architect, Daniel Burnham. He designed the iconic flatiron building in New York, and you need only to walk around Chicago to see his work. Zalmon Gilbert Simmons (thee mattress Simmons) donated funds for the town's very first library. I'll forgive him for being a Republican because they weren't full on monsters back then.

It's a beautiful building inside and out. The exterior is deceiving because it looks massive, but going inside it seems small, sort of the opposite of a Harry Potter's charmed wizarding tent.

I soon became familiar with all the librarians. It was a rotating group of six to seven- all women staff who maintained order with smiles and efficiency. Without the library I could not have kept a record of my art or books. I soon became one of the regulars who used the the library's resources on a daily basis. Patrons came in to use the copy machine and without fail they all needed the assistance from one of the staff. They could also have a librarian fax important documents needed to be sent that very minute. Students would use the computers to take tests. When I needed a break I would carefully climb down to the lower level using the narrow, wrought iron staircase to the children's section where the little ones chattered away. There was no "shhhh," sign in the children's room.

The main attraction was of course, the books. After checking out my selections, I always delighted in reading the receipt. "By using this library you have saved $130!"

Like any neoclassical revival building, there are claims it is haunted by a female ghost. I've never seen her and the only feeling I get when I'm sitting amongst the beautiful volumes is one of solace.

A growing societal dilemma is the plight of the unhoused. This library is one place transients who have nowhere to go can feel safe. They would come in from the rain or snow and warm up. Some laid their heads down from exhaustion. The librarians passing by looked the other way if they nodded off for awhile.  

Eventually, the one or two began to be five, then ten. In the summer months they slept under the Winged Victory. In the winter months they huddled behind marble columns near the library's entrance. 

As the years have passed, the library has become more a homeless shelter that happens to house books. Card carrying patrons rarely come in to browse or sit to read. They have laptops, phones and E readers to connect them to literary works.

For over a year I didn't step inside the library. Not because of the unhoused, but because I had lost all interest in reading a book, any book. In time, I was able to find joy again, immersing myself completely in epic journeys into the unforgiving Amazon, or humorous accounts of hiking the Appalachian trail. I was home again. One Saturday, after completing my errands in town I decided to head over to check out a book or two. When I entered the library I could sense a difference at once. The all women staff had been replaced by two men who kept their heads buried in their laptops. There was no friendly wave or nod of acknowledgement. I noticed the computers were now limited to a two hour use. The children's room had been moved upstairs to a tiny section in a corner. No one was reading a book. A few men sat at a table, their belongings strewn about as they stared into the ether.

The main concept of having a library has not changed. It is a place to seek knowledge for everyone. Like many institutions born in a different time libraries need to adjust to present day needs in order to survive. In our technological era most libraries have adapted to the changes and have added other resources for its community to use such as live theatre, or a boisterous gaming night- no more shushing in the aisles.

 As I concede to the fact many of our once thriving institutions, like the USPS, Amtrak, schools and libraries need change, the orange man is throwing the baby out with the bathwater. This was not a plan by him and his minions to save a few dollars. It is a blatant attempt to suppress anyone who dares to defy him. He abhors anyone he thinks is a threat. He is terrified of seekers of knowledge. He will do everything in his power to remove any form of information. He can slash and burn the books and libraries all down, he will still never achieve his objective.

In Ray Bradbury's book, Fahrenheit 451, each person memorized one book and passed that knowledge on to the next generation so that great reads will be kept safe. It is a frightening thought that somehow we will need to do something along those lines, but it's no longer a fantasy. It is happening. 

*Yes, that's the whistling tree. I need to go visit her.