“It’s a small world—but I wouldn’t want to paint it.”
–Steven Wright
I have always loved hanging out in libraries. When I was young, they offered a refuge from the chaos at home. Growing up in a Chicago home with 914 square feet of room, 5 children (We moved to a larger house when numbers six and seven were born), and two adults, the library was the place I went to get away. Reading at home was a risky proposition. My mom always expected the older kids to take care of the younger ones, so if I was reading, I was neglecting my duties. Many times, she would smack me and yell, “The house could burn down around your ears, and you’d still have your nose stuck in a book!” My dad also frowned on reading, regarding it as a feckless pursuit and any time spent not doing manual labor as “loafing.” If he caught me reading, he handed me a shovel and pointed to the back yard; there was always something that seemed to need digging out there. At the library, however, no one bothered me, and I could read to my heart’s content.
In high school, I was painfully shy. (No one believes me when I tell them that I was voted “Most Reserved” in my graduating class of 600 students.) Therefore, I often hid out in the school library, where I could avoid awkward social interactions. In college, I discovered girls and beer, but some of my favorite times were still spent sitting on the floor in the stacks working on a research paper. I also put in many hours behind the reference desk in the university library as part of my work-study program. I became a much more serious student in grad school, and I practically lived in the libraries at Southern Illinois and then the University of Florida. During most holiday breaks, when other students went home, I used the time do extra work in the library. When students headed for the beach during Spring Break, I stayed in town and worked on the pale complexion I called my “Library Tan.” My friends once joked that, over Thanksgiving Break, there was no one in the library “except Jack and the Asian students who couldn’t go home.” At UF, I had my own tiny room, called a study carrel, in the library. It was a little metal cage with a lock that was reserved just for me. To many, it looked like a jail cell in a prison, but, to me, it represented a sort of freedom. I kept books, school supplies, and extra clothes in there. I even decorated the place. When a fellow Ph.D. student, a budding communist, put up pictures of Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, and Leon Trotsky, I adorned my carrel with photos of Groucho Marx, John Lennon, and a baseball player from the 1930s called Hal Trosky. (I was too clever for words.)
Thus, as soon as the bulk of my painting and other work in our new home was completed, I headed to our River Falls library. On a day which was a relatively balmy 12 degrees, I walked the two miles to get a library card. This library is a warm, welcoming place that seems much larger than a town of this size would warrant. Also, I was quickly reminded of what a small town this is: the first person I saw was my grand-daughter, Abigail, checking out books at the counter. I guess her fourth-grade class walks next door from her Catholic School every week for “library time,” and I just happened to be there at that time. As I turned in my application for a card, the check-out person, who had seen me talking to Abigail, asked, “So, are you Ben or Amber’s parent?” When Kathleen went to the library a week or two later, the same woman recognized the name and said, “I met your husband earlier.”
As the world has moved into the digital age in recent years, libraries have had to re-invent themselves somewhat. The River Falls Public Library offers computer services, DVDs, video games, books on CD or Kindle, the ability to borrow books from dozens of other libraries, and an array of programs for all ages. There are classes, lectures, discussion groups, poetry readings, and story-times. For children, they also have programs for crafts, lego-building, a “Big Fun Lab,” and even mini golf in the winter (which, let’s face it, is most of the year). My step-son, Ben, believes that his family has paid for most of these programs with their numerous late fees over the past few years.
In a town such as River Falls, the library also serves as a sort of nerve center for many civic activities. Community meetings, displays of local art and history, and other events are all held in the library. So, when it came time for us to vote for the first time in Wisconsin, we knew where we had to go. This was just a small primary for a state judge—three candidates, and this election would eliminate one—but we wanted to vote against a candidate we found abhorrent. (I rarely vote “for” a candidate; instead, I usually find myself voting “against” someone.) There were four people working in the voting room when we walked in, and only one other person voting. Thus, the voting process was quick and easy.
That brings me to the Steven Wright quote at the top of this entry. When we were leaving, we ran into two friends from our Wednesday-night-happy-hour group, Larry and Jane. While chatting with them outside the library, our daughter-in-law, Amber, stopped to say hello on her way in to vote. Right there, it was more people than I ever ran into on a chance encounter in 22 years in Nashville.
And now, in order to ruin your day completely, I want to call to mind the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disney. I guarantee that that insipid song, “It’s a Small World, After All” will be implanted in your brain for the rest of the day.
You’re welcome.