The Library Vault

as narrated to Ramona Burkey

The year was 1983. Michael Jackson performed the “Moonwalk” for the first time, Sally Ride became the first American woman to travel to space … and Middletown was expanding its public library. Up until then, the Russell Library had consisted of an old converted church, a 1930 addition, and a standalone children’s library that had used to be a bank. The 1983 construction not only connected all of these structures (so you didn’t have to go outside to visit different parts of the library anymore), but it added some much-needed square footage to a busy library that was bursting at the seams. 

Yes, yes, the addition was lovely, and patrons of all ages flocked to the new space, “ooh”ing and “aaahh”ing to beat the band. But if you ask me, the foundation of any good library is – quite literally – its basement. And there’s one particular part of our library’s basement that has been misunderstood for far too long.

Hi, I’m Richard, but you might know me as “The Pit.” I don’t know (or, frankly, appreciate) how I got that nickname, since technically I’m a hatch. I serve an incredibly important purpose at the library, but you wouldn’t know it from how people talk about me.

“The Pit.” Doesn’t that phrase just make you shudder? It makes me think of “The Pit of Despair,” or gross, chewed-on olive pits, or (dare I even say it?) ARMPITS?! How rude. You know, if it weren’t for me, they would’ve had to disassemble every single piece of large equipment or machinery they’ve brought into the basement of the library since 1983, piece by piece, and then reassemble it, piece by piece. But instead, because I exist, all they had to do was open up my metal grates, lower the equipment down with a crane, and boom. Done. Easy like Sunday morning. And the thanks I’ve gotten? “Pit”iful, at best. Yeah, I went there. 

Anyway, you’re welcome.

Look, there are some perfectly nice pits in this world. I hear Pittsburgh is a great city, and people seem to like that Noah Wyle guy who pretends to be a doctor on that show, similarly called “The Pitt.” During World War I, gas mask filters were even made from fruit pits. Amazing. Orchestra pits house fantastic musicians, and the ball pit in the Russell Library Children’s Activity Room often contains delightful, happy children. And don’t even get me started about barbecue pits. The best!

So what I can’t understand is the totally creeped-out look on library staff members’ faces whenever someone mentions me. You know, for a group of supposedly enlightened information professionals, they’re awfully biased, and frankly, I don’t appreciate it. They even decided to use me as a stop for several years on those weird “Secrets of Russell Library” tours. As if posing that ghastly “Lil’ Deb” doll on a milk crate and taking overexposed photos for social media ‘likes’ somehow makes up for everything I’ve been through. 

And let me tell you, I’ve seen some things. Oh yes. Every time it rains, or snows, or those blasted trees decide to drop their slippery, slimy leaves, what do you think it’s like for me? With just a metal grate over my head, I have zero protection from the elements, or spiders, or (shudder) empty potato chip bags. The worst. I can’t stand that crinkly sound.

I’m now in my mid-40s, and I’ll admit that I’m showing my age. The metal conduit that brings the main electrical service into the library through one of my walls rusted out years ago. My grates are corroded, and my walls are flaky. It’s the pits. Yup, I went there again.

Yet despite it all, I’m here for the library. About a decade ago, I helped some really cool guys bring a new boiler down to the basement, so that folks can stay nice and toasty in the wintertime. And rumor has it that the library might even get a new chiller soon (not soon enough, if you ask me; the current one breaks down all the time and is SO LOUD – even worse than potato chip bags!). So I’ll be here, waiting for that day when a big crane appears, my grates are thrown open, and I fulfill my destiny. 

In the meantime… could you please just call me Richard?