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Idea Sanctuary |
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Copyright © 2001 by Dave Badtke |
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When I was young, I didn’t read books from beginning to end. I was intimidated by their heft, their endless wordy pages. I vaguely remember reading a book about cavemen and another about the wreck of a tanker at sea, but these books were notable less for their subjects than for their rarity in my life. My attention span was too short. I preferred to skip across pages and pictures, losing myself in the images, the possibility of understanding, much as I lost myself in open fields where I collected rocks, breaking them open with a hammer, or where I chased insects with a net fashioned from pillowcase, coat hanger, and broom handle. I would become an avid reader much later, in high school, finally discovering the magic of written stories when I was swept along by Raskolnikov’s disabling angst in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. But even when I was young and read in spurts, thumbing through volumes that cataloged my world of rocks and insects, the small library in our Chicago suburb was a special sanctuary. In the foyer was a large wooden desk behind which sat a librarian. To the right was the adult room. When I entered, the librarian and I would look at one another briefly. Sometimes she would acknowledge me with a smile. Other times she would be too busy, glancing up just to take note of me before returning to the books she was stamping. She knew I knew the rules and that as long as I was quiet and stayed in the children’s reading room, which was on the other side of the card catalog, I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. No one would ask anything of me. No one would wonder what I was doing. No one would ask me to do chores. No other children would bother me, though even if the librarian hadn’t been there to preserve order, I knew that bullies never went to the library. In high school, I would frequently go with my best friend to the library rather than to lunch. In college, the library was the only place quiet enough to study. And when I was a graduate student, I spent endless hours at one of the many desks hidden deep within the stacks. The two years I spent in the Peace Corps upcountry in West Africa was the only period during which I had no access to a library. When I arrived from Africa in Paris, I went within a few days to apply for a card at the Bibliothèque Nationale. I was interviewed by a librarian who explained that the library was reserved for researchers. She asked me what I planned to do and the specific resources I would need, suggesting that other libraries might be better for scientific study. I panicked and said I needed to study Mecanique Quantique, by Albert Messiah, the only French physics book I could remember. She checked. They had it. I’m sure she knew I had no intention of reading the book, but she acceded to my fabrication. We were coconspirators: Knowing that I needed sanctuary, she issued me a card. Given the importance of libraries in my life, I naturally wanted to stop at the library when my wife and I first drove through Benicia, when we were considering whether we would move here from Danville. And I was amazed at the facility we found, all the more so because Danville had just completed construction of a new library. Benicians got their library right. The facility balances architectural beauty with an ambiance that invites exploration. The lighting, the colors and textures, the flow within the building inexplicably evoke a completeness, that quality without a name discussed by architect Christopher Alexander in A Pattern Language, that is both welcoming and energizing. Ceilings are low enough to create a sense of intimacy. The main corridor takes you past the reference and checkout areas, past the periodicals, to chairs and books, compelling you to go there much as First Street leads you to water. And because staff desks are situated along rather than blocking your path, you have this immediate feeling when you enter that the librarians and staff are there to help you on your journey. While the library wasn’t the only reason we moved to Benicia, it was no accident that we found a house within easy walking distance. And during National Library Week, which ended last Saturday, I was reminded of some of these early impressions and called Monique le Conge, Director of the Benicia Library, and asked her if we could talk a bit about the state of the library. Ms. le Conge’s passion for the institution she serves was obvious. We talked for an hour and could have talked much longer, she the manager and enthusiast, I the fan and player. Our discussion ranged over many topics. She considered most library users to be well-mannered, though she did deplore the use of cell phones. (I confessed guilt, realizing that I had taken calls in the library, feeling like the little boy who had strayed from the rules.) We discussed the reading habits of children, and she said that she thought there were many more readers than people realized. Last year, 315,325 items were circulated by the Benicia library, which would be roughly 11 items for each person living in Benicia, except that the library’s wonderful facilities, staff and hours encourage use by many living in nearby communities. Ms. le Conge mentioned that someone had recently suggested to her that libraries might no longer be necessary, because the Internet will increasingly give us access to all the information we will need. MIT announced last week, for example, that it will spend $100-million to provide free online access to all its course material and lectures. In the future, when we’re able to sit at home and download the latest lecture on gravity-wave detectors or a Virginia Woolf novel, will we find that libraries have become redundant community artifacts, as anachronistic as card catalogs? While some towns may be tempted to reduce fiscal burdens by cutting library costs, perhaps in some cases by shutting libraries down, speciously thinking that knowledge can be dispensed from AKMs (Automatic Knowledge Machines) the way money is dispensed from ATMs, a community which misreads the future in this way will enter a dark age just as surely as if it had decided to cut expenses by closing schools, there being course materials online, or by paving over parks, there being a surfeit of backyards. National Library Week has ended, but your library stands as a sanctuary, ready to receive you in your search for knowledge. When you go, say hi to the librarians and staff—tell them, in passing, that your mind sent you. |
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- Dave Badtke can be contacted at: www.CarquinezReview.com; Dave@Badtke.com; PO Box 763, Benicia, CA 94510; or by calling 707-745-5540.
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