I've
been thinking about libraries recently, and how grateful I am that
they exist. Reading and books are such a major part of my life that I
simply can't imagine a world where they weren't readily available.
I
grew up in the country. The grade schools I went to in first through
third grade (in Nineveh and Rogersville, PA respectively), were small
community schools. In Nineveh there were only three classrooms and
three teachers for six grades. First and second grade kids shared a
room and a teacher, as did third and fourth, and fifth and sixth.
Neither of these two schools were big enough for an actual library.
One day a week the Bookmobile would show up. This was the traveling
library for the entire school district and I assume it spent the rest
of the week at other grade schools. It was essentially a large motor
home lined with bookshelves and books.
The
librarian was a wonderful woman by the name of Mary Berryman. She was
small built, with gray hair, catseye glasses, and a sweater held on
by clasps. I know how amazingly cliché this description sounds, but it is the
truth. When I was six I thought she was old, but she continued as the
district grade school librarian well past the time I graduated
college, so my perceptions are a little skewed.
As
I've said elsewhere on this blog, I learned to read, mostly from
comic books, well before I began first grade. Mom is an avid reader
and instilled her love of books in me very early. Library day was my
favorite day of the week.
I'm
not exactly sure of the chronology of this, but I also remember the
Library came to our community during the summer months as well, for a
summer reading program. It's possible I went to the Bookmobile before
I actually started school. Mom tells me that once when she took me I
chose the books I wanted and when I took them to check out Mrs.
Berryman asked my Mom if they weren't a little too advanced for me.
Mom said they were what I wanted, and if they were too advanced, well
then, there was something for me to learn from them. She continues
the story that when we returned the books I couldn't wait to tell
Mrs. Berryman all about them.
Mrs.
Berryman guided thousands of students through the hallowed shelves of
her library over the years, but I think it's accurate to say I was
one of her favorite kids. Mom instilled my love of books. Mrs.
Berryman and the school library facilitated my access to them in a
way my family could never have afforded. I was voracious (still am).
Oddly
enough, the first three real books (chapter books instead of stuff
written primarily for kids), did not come from the library. Mom
bought me a copy of the Howard Pyle version of The Adventures of
Robin Hood. I inherited copies of both Tom Sawyer and
Huckleberry Finn from my older brother. I had read all of
these by the time I finished third grade.
By
the time I entered fourth grade the school district had built a brand
new school building in Graysville, PA and consolidated several of the
smaller grade schools in this new location. Mrs. Berryman finally had
a permanent home for her library, and for the first time I had access
to one every day. I couldn't begin to tell you the number of books I
read there.
In
addition to the library we were periodically given a catalog from
Scholastic (or the 1970's equivalent) that we could order books from.
I remember getting several in this fashion, including my first copy
of All In Color For A Dime, a collection of essays about
comics of the Golden Age. This was probably my first, conscious
knowledge of comic book history, and definitely my first exposure to
the concept of comics scholarship (just as an aside... I loaned my
copy of this to the Chatham student I'm advising this semester
because one of the essays ties in specifically with the topic she is
writing about for her thesis.)
 |
| My original copy, with this cover, is long gone. A revised edition came out a few years ago. |
In
seventh grade I went to the West Greene High School building (there
was no separate middle school then; grades seven through twelve all
wandered the same halls and used the same facilities). Of course I
very quickly made myself at home in the library there and became a
very familiar face to the new librarian, Mrs. Hildreth. The books
housed there were aimed at an older audience of course.
During
my teen years, in addition to the books I read from the library, I
began to buy a lot of cheap paperbacks: Westerns, spy novels, and
men's adventure stories with guns and girls. They were the kind of
books that were probably inappropriate for my age and certainly not
available at the school library. Eventually I discovered Science
Fiction and Fantasy and was somewhat redeemed.
During
my last year in high school there was a day when the seniors went to work as an assistant with one of the grade school teachers and help with
their classes. I couldn't think of anyone back at Graysville I would
rather spend the day with than Mrs. Berryman. She proudly introduced me to her classes as someone she was proud of and
who had a bright future, because as she told them, I had always read
books.
Mary
Berryman did eventually retire and lived a long life. She's gone now
but shines in my memory as the absolute Platonic ideal of a
Librarian.
During
college and grad school I had access to libraries of course. I used
them primarily for research and class projects, but there was always
the reading for pleasure aspect of it. I read a lot of Hesse, Henry
Miller, Proust, and Kerouac while at Edinboro.
Somehow
though, once I was out of school, I simply didn't go to a library
very frequently. I still read, but I was buying most of my material
by that time. I felt like I needed to own everything I read. One of
my high school teachers, Will Hinerman (more on him in another post),
had a large library of books in his home. There were always books
around when I was growing up, but I don't think the idea of a
personal library ever crossed my mind until I saw his. It became a
goal. To supplement the books I bought at the big chain stores and
local book stores I haunted used book stores and flea markets. I
suppose I have a little bit of the hoarder in me.
So
over time I accumulated a lot of books, a fact that was brought home
to me a couple of years ago when, for the first time in many years, I
needed to move them.
I
started going back to the library regularly when I started working in
Oakland. The main branch of the Carnegie Library is around the corner
from my store. Over time I have realized I don't need to own
everything I read (I would already be out of room in my house if that
were the case). I'm there frequently and take advantage of many of
their services. I have come to know many of the librarians there, and
they are all exemplars of the Berryman credo.
There
are two people in my life who I consider close, dear friends who are
librarians, one at the Carnegie and one at a university library far
away. One of them tells me that every day in the stacks she hears the
books sing to her and feels it is a sacred duty to take care of them.
The other one refers to the library as a “Temple for the Secular
Soul.” I love that they both use the language of the sacred to
refer to what they do.
For
most of recorded history the ability to read was reserved to a
special few. It was one of the things only the very privileged ever
learned. The idea of archiving the collected knowledge of the world,
its history and its stories, is one of the greatest ideas in our
history. Today, when the skill of reading is taught to everyone, I fear it is
all too often taken for granted. The ability to read was kept from
the lower classes, slaves specifically, in an effort to keep people
uninformed and more easily controlled. Ideas can be dangerous things, especially to the status quo. Today, when information is at
our fingertips, when the wisdom of the ages is readily available, far
too many people choose to remain willfully illiterate. Books are
gateways to other worlds, to other ways of thinking, to knowledge and
wisdom, to entertainment and enlightenment and empowerment.
In
a recent conversation with one of my librarian friends she told me
that someone had accused her of reading too much. My immediate
response was to say that there's no such thing as reading too much.
This was based on my own belief that there are far more books I want
to read than I will ever be able to read in my lifetime. After giving
it some more thought I do want to amend my initial kneejerk reaction.
It is possible to read too much if you never actually go out and have
a life as well. Your life is your story; you are writing your own
book every day. It should be filled with something other than
reading. But reading provides guideposts and maps for the kind of
life you want to live.
In
spite of the pages I devour, I don't think I live to read.
I
read to live.
