The Library Vault

Why did I become a librarian? Many reasons. From the time I learned to read, I hungered for new books. I would bring home the little Scholastic book pamphlets from school and pour over them, checking off all the books I wanted and confidently handing them to my father. I never doubted that he would give me the money to buy the books I had selected and he never disappointed me, no matter how tight the budget was.

But the deciding factor, the one thing that made me truly and firmly decide to enter the profession, happened when I was twelve years old.

To begin, my father did not read for pleasure. He read for information, to gain knowledge, to figure out how to do something. As far as I know, he never once borrowed a book from any library.

And yet he understood my love of books and the library. I would borrow books from the school library and I really, really loved Scholastic Book fairs. (Side note: There have been very few things since that have replicated the joy that I felt selecting those little paperback books. I once saw a meme that said “I have spent my whole adult life chasing the high of a Scholastic Book Fair. It’s true.)

That’s why I loved my local library. It was truly my happy place, away from school bullies, away from teachers who believed it was their duty to change me from a shy, school-hating child into an extroverted, school-loving superstar. It took me away from the chaos of my parents’ always-on-the-verge-of-crumbling marriage. It was a refuge, a magical place where none of those things existed. To say the library meant a lot to me is the understatement of the century.

The selection seemed endless to my child’s eye. And there was Dad, driving me to the library after he got out of work, dropping me off while he ran to the store to pick up a few things, waiting in the parking lot while I scanned the shelves looking for a Nancy Drew that I hadn’t read yet. (Oh, the joy of finding one!) Like the Scholastic Books, he never said no when I asked to go to the library. I think he understood that I needed the library.

He almost never came inside. He told me I was responsible for keeping track of the books I borrowed and when they were due. He was responsible for getting me to the library so I could borrow and return materials.

Then came that chilly night in October when I was twelve years old. Dad was waiting in the library parking lot for me while I selected some books. When I got back to the car, he was shaking. He told me he couldn’t seem to get warm. The next day he suffered his first stroke. He was thirty-nine years old.

He mostly recovered, although some of his strength was gone and he never regained feeling in his left arm and hand. But once he had recovered sufficiently to drive, he took me straight to the library.

I was apprehensive. For the first time in my life I had overdue library books. I had a little babysitting money but I had no idea how much I owed. I was truly afraid they wouldn’t let me borrow any more books. (Thank goodness that today most libraries, including Russell Library, are now fine free!) I was now very much aware of my family’s financial situation and had even stopped asking for Scholastic Books. The library was my sole source of reading material.

To my surprise, Dad came into the library with me. He handed the overdue books to the librarian, took out his wallet and said, “I was sick and couldn’t bring these back.” He smiled at me. “It wasn’t her fault.”

The librarian asked what had happened and he told her about his stroke. She asked us to wait and vanished into a back room. She returned with a smile.

“No charge,” she said. “The library has a heart.”

That was a big deal. My dad was now unemployed because of his health. As I mentioned, we didn’t have a lot of spare money.

My father walked out of the library that day smiling. He said, “There are still good people in the world.”

I decided then and there that I wanted to be a librarian. I couldn’t imagine a career that didn’t somehow involve books. But that librarian’s kindness made me realize what a difference a librarian could make in someone’s day.

Three years later, I was hired as a library page at that same library. The librarian who had been so kind to us was no longer there. I never even knew her name, and she never knew how much her action meant to me.

In honor of National Library Week and the librarian who made a young girl happy a long time ago, here are some of my favorite books about libraries and librarians: