I renewed the visitor library cards of a woman and her 9- or 10-year old son who are staying in an emergency shelter right now. It was Valentine's Day, and the lady had a heart sticker on her cheek, which the boy told me he gave her. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he said, brightly, smiling genuinely. I asked if he gave his mom a valentine, and he said he'd given her a special one, homemade. "The best kind," she said, putting her arm around him. They spent an hour or so choosing books and talking quietly, and I marveled (silently) at their close relationship in what is surely a difficult situation. I'm so glad they could have the library not just to get books and use computers but to be in a place of peace, of quiet and (I hope) kindness.
Laura, associate librarian
I haven't seen this mother and son in about a month, and I hope that's because they are in a permanent location now and using one of our other libraries. I think about them often, however, because they are so unlike what most people think of when they hear the label "homeless."
Soon, the Central Library will be closing for a complete, two-year renovation. It needs it. The plumbing, heating, and electricity are all about 20 years out of date. We're spending insane amounts of money just heating and cooling it, more each month as the systems break down. It's been remarkably well-kept, but even remarkably well-kept buildings -- particularly ones used as much as the Central Library has been -- start to fall apart.
Despite this, and despite the fact that the renovated library will be for ALL of the citizens of Tulsa and Tulsa County, we've all heard complaints from people who sneer at "giving the homeless their own library." (Of course they have the right to say this, though it's difficult to support the free speech of others when that speech is so hateful and ignorant, isn't it?)
I want to introduce them to this woman and her son and then ask, "So, do you think they don't deserve a place of learning and peace?"
Of course, the happy, loving, clean, and "normal"-looking mother and son are easy to get behind, will serve as great billboards and faces of my imagined PR campaign. In contrast, many homeless people are the opposite of my Valentine's Day visitors: unhappy, angry, dirty, mentally ill, and with a tendency to display a host of un-social behaviors.
But here is what I, and most public librarians, believe with every fiber of our people-loving beings: these people are also equal citizens of our city, and as such, they also deserve a place of learning and peace.
In The Atlas of New Librarianship, R. David Lankes writes:
"The power of librarians is not just about an 'A' student, a suburban family, a trial attorney, or a doctor. It is also about the failing student, the battered wife, the pro bono client, and the indigent patient. That is what makes librarians powerful AND noble."
This profession I've chosen to invest my life and being in IS noble, and sacred, and pretty amazing, all things considered.
I end the library-class portion of this project with the written suggestion from a nearly-homeless library customer about the name of our temporary library as the Central Library is renovated.
He wrote a beautiful, page-long description of how, as a veteran with very little money but a desire to still live a meaningful life, he "was searching for a place to land... I utilized the one place that disseminated information perpetually... the Library."
He continued: "I met perhaps thousands of people in my lifetime... spanning half the globe... and while I am not monetarily well-off, I am well-read... I'm sure that there are many people to whom the new temporary library could be dedicated to, but it is my suggestion that it be named for all of those seekers of answers... to those who have a need in their lives for solutions... for those who will endlessly pursue a better way.
"I think that you should consider a name something like 'The Library for the Lost'.... while I've never been good at putting a title upon a particular thing, I think that consideration should be given to those who will utilize the facility more so than anyone else."
This letter hit me in my soul's center. It reminded me what we're all about, who we're all about. Our people, all of them, laywers AND pro bono clients, homeless AND not, are people. Some are lost, some stay lost, some get found, some are already found but get more found. The library is for all of them. What a library does matters, but who we do it for matters even more.
I think the stories in this "One Small Good Thing" collection show this. I hope my reflections honor the good people who kept track of their stories, and Connie Van Fleet, the public librarian extraordinaire who inspired the entire enterprise.
Ray Bradbury said "I found me in the library," but he's not the only one.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Pop! goes the library
Staff person volunteered to serve as Buddy Bookworm at unveiling of the Pop Up Library at MTTA Denver Bus Station. A Pop Up Library is a small collection of children's books that appears in an unexpected location.
Lynn, department manager
Have you ever stuck your head in the old sneaker of a 14-year-old boy? After he's worn it all day? When it's 100 degrees outside?
Then you have some notion of what it's like to put the big old bulky and less-than-fresh mascot suit of the library's Buddy Bookworm, which various people wear at community events like this one.
In other words, it ain't all that great. At first. But then you're at the event, and children come running up to you, their faces full of joy and excitement, and they're hugging you like you're a combination Santa Claus and Mickey Mouse, and you wave at them with your four-fingered foam hands and hug them back and bounce around... and yeah, then it's pretty great.
The "pop up library" at the bus station was an awesome idea, and while of course I'm pretty stoked that TCCL is sharing literacy in unexpected places, what I like the most about this story is that someone volunteered to put on the Buddy Bookworm suit, with all of its negatives -- because the positives, the smiling children and joy and hugs and fun, completely buried everything else.
Lynn, department manager
Have you ever stuck your head in the old sneaker of a 14-year-old boy? After he's worn it all day? When it's 100 degrees outside?
Then you have some notion of what it's like to put the big old bulky and less-than-fresh mascot suit of the library's Buddy Bookworm, which various people wear at community events like this one.
In other words, it ain't all that great. At first. But then you're at the event, and children come running up to you, their faces full of joy and excitement, and they're hugging you like you're a combination Santa Claus and Mickey Mouse, and you wave at them with your four-fingered foam hands and hug them back and bounce around... and yeah, then it's pretty great.
The "pop up library" at the bus station was an awesome idea, and while of course I'm pretty stoked that TCCL is sharing literacy in unexpected places, what I like the most about this story is that someone volunteered to put on the Buddy Bookworm suit, with all of its negatives -- because the positives, the smiling children and joy and hugs and fun, completely buried everything else.
The end of technology?
Worked on creating meaningful but manageable weeding lists to send to branches. Decided lists with more than five but less than 50 titles should work. Ran high circulation weeding lists for each branch in Decision Center [a software program] for adult fiction items that had circulated more than 100 times. I was pleased that I had to lower the number to 75 or 50 for a few branches in order to get more than five items on the list. I plan to run similar lists regularly so that branches can stay on top of weeding but not feel overwhelmed by huge lists with thousands of items on them. Also, I want to find more creative ways to look at weeding beyond the traditional low circulation dusty book lists. Decision Center has several reports to help with this such as High Circ Weeding, Supply/Demand Weeding, and Age of Collection Weeding.
Gayle, support services librarian
Although it may sound like doth protesting too much et cetera, I really have nothing against technology. My household boasts 3 eReaders/tablets, I watch entirely too much cable TV, our microwave is a blessing, and I like breakfast smoothies and occasionally curly hair, thanks the blender and the curling iron, respectively.
My problem comes when we conflate the positive results of technology -- the curly hair, the mid-afternoon popcorn -- with the tools used to reach these ends. In education, this often means rhapsodizing over a school simply having an iPad or a Smart Board... regardless of whether these technology tools help students learn any more or better than they would with chalk on a board or a printed book (also technology tools, of course). Sometimes they do, but it's in the using and the user that determines the results, not the tool itself that magically makes good thing happen.
Neil Postman said all of this better in The End of Education about 15 years ago, though his distaste of electronic technology (specifically television) was much higher than mine.
BUT.
What Gayle has done in this example is use the technology tools available to her brilliantly.
Weeding -- the professional librarian task of evaluating a collection, whether print or electronic resources, and determining what should go and what should stay -- is frequently a difficult and painful process, but Gayle has harnessed the power of creating lists with the Decision Center technology that will be extraordinarily helpful to our branch libraries in the process.
I'm in awe. Not of the technology (though it does sound pretty nifty) so much as the efficient USE of the technology by a human being who knows how to use it.
Color me impressed. Just don't use Photoshop if a crayon works just as well.
Gayle, support services librarian
Although it may sound like doth protesting too much et cetera, I really have nothing against technology. My household boasts 3 eReaders/tablets, I watch entirely too much cable TV, our microwave is a blessing, and I like breakfast smoothies and occasionally curly hair, thanks the blender and the curling iron, respectively.
My problem comes when we conflate the positive results of technology -- the curly hair, the mid-afternoon popcorn -- with the tools used to reach these ends. In education, this often means rhapsodizing over a school simply having an iPad or a Smart Board... regardless of whether these technology tools help students learn any more or better than they would with chalk on a board or a printed book (also technology tools, of course). Sometimes they do, but it's in the using and the user that determines the results, not the tool itself that magically makes good thing happen.
Neil Postman said all of this better in The End of Education about 15 years ago, though his distaste of electronic technology (specifically television) was much higher than mine.
BUT.
What Gayle has done in this example is use the technology tools available to her brilliantly.
Weeding -- the professional librarian task of evaluating a collection, whether print or electronic resources, and determining what should go and what should stay -- is frequently a difficult and painful process, but Gayle has harnessed the power of creating lists with the Decision Center technology that will be extraordinarily helpful to our branch libraries in the process.
I'm in awe. Not of the technology (though it does sound pretty nifty) so much as the efficient USE of the technology by a human being who knows how to use it.
Color me impressed. Just don't use Photoshop if a crayon works just as well.
Monday, May 6, 2013
The student is the teacher.
People often assume that you develop closer relationships with readers working in smaller branch. The likelihood of this happening is probably higher at neighborhood libraries where the staff tends to know more people on a first-name basis. Still, I really enjoy the avid readers who visit the Central Library. One gentleman who comes in frequently reads a lot of gay literary fiction, and I usually make a few comments about what he's returning or checking in. We've had so many great, impromptu discussions about books over the past year or so. This morning, he returned By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. As he handed me the book, I immediately started gushing. He had never read read anything by Michael Cunningham and was blown away. This opened the door to discussing Cunningham's Pulitzer Prize winning novel (and one of my all-time favorites), The Hours.
Hillary, librarian
I don't have much to say, except that I love this story not, surprisingly, because of its emphasis on books (and not just books, but literary fiction, which I heart!), but because of the metaphors Hillary uses to describe this interaction: it's a conversation between two passionate readers, and it's also a door onto future and further conversations.
Double-Heart!
Do you know those horrible Lifetime kinds of movies about teaching where the tag line is something like "She was the teacher, but her students taught her as much as she taught them"? (Cue massive eye-rolling.) The idea, if not the expression of the idea, is valid. In the best educational interactions, teachers are also students and students are teachers, and, labels aside, everybody comes out ahead.
Well, librarians are also readers and, sometimes, readers act as librarians, and the sharing that happens is priceless.
Hillary, librarian
I don't have much to say, except that I love this story not, surprisingly, because of its emphasis on books (and not just books, but literary fiction, which I heart!), but because of the metaphors Hillary uses to describe this interaction: it's a conversation between two passionate readers, and it's also a door onto future and further conversations.
Double-Heart!
Do you know those horrible Lifetime kinds of movies about teaching where the tag line is something like "She was the teacher, but her students taught her as much as she taught them"? (Cue massive eye-rolling.) The idea, if not the expression of the idea, is valid. In the best educational interactions, teachers are also students and students are teachers, and, labels aside, everybody comes out ahead.
Well, librarians are also readers and, sometimes, readers act as librarians, and the sharing that happens is priceless.
Don't read this!
We received an email from a person in another state who was dismayed that there was a list on our catalog named "Books parents should not let their children read". The email-er even copied and pasted the American Library Association (ALA)'s Bill of Rights to support her dismay. The response from one of our librarians was, in my opinion, a master class in kindness and restraint, especially given that keeping the list (which was created by an individual, not a librarian) available, as abhorrent as it may have been to us personally, was exactly the kind of intellectual freedom that the ALA Library Bill of Rights upholds. The librarian thanked the person for her concern and then patiently explained:
"The list to which you are referring is a user-generated list, which was created by an individual. Bibliocommons (the library catalog that we use) allows individuals to create and share lists. You will find lists, tags, and reviews from a multitude of library users throughout the country and Canada. (This particularly list was created in 2011 before the Tulsa City-County Library used Bibliocommons.) ... Of course, we embrace intellectual freedom and encourage families to make their own, personal decisions about materials they select. This list is the opinion of a library customer, not an official library bibliography."
Laura, associate librarian
Have you ever noticed that your most vehement disagreements are often with people who generally agree with you, and vice versa?
It's true for me, at least. The person I probably argue with the most is my own father, and we are pretty much in sync in our opinions about politics, books, movies, and Bob Dylan. It doesn't stop us from bickering about all of those things -- until someone else in our family (usually my sister) says, "Hey, you're actually both saying the same thing!"
I think there was something of this too-close-for-peace going on in this particular interaction. The email-er was actually a teen librarian, and she was rightly horrified to think that a library would create such a list as "Books parents should not let their children read."That misunderstanding, coupled with an attempt to tell us about something we already knew (that the ALA Bill of Rights condemns censorship and supports the right to a variety of expressed opinions), created a friction that would probably not have existed had we received an email from someone completely opposed to intellectual freedom -- a parent wanting us to withdraw certain books from our collection, for example.
Why do I include this as a small good thing?
Because the Tulsa librarian's response could have easily been righteously cutting and curt (is there anything more annoying than someone telling you something you know good and well?!!??), but she took the high road in such a way that the response back was positive and supportive. No feelings were hurt, and the end result was two librarians supporting each other in the fight for free and equal access to all ideas and opinions, including ones that call for, ironically, silencing other ideas and opinions.
"The list to which you are referring is a user-generated list, which was created by an individual. Bibliocommons (the library catalog that we use) allows individuals to create and share lists. You will find lists, tags, and reviews from a multitude of library users throughout the country and Canada. (This particularly list was created in 2011 before the Tulsa City-County Library used Bibliocommons.) ... Of course, we embrace intellectual freedom and encourage families to make their own, personal decisions about materials they select. This list is the opinion of a library customer, not an official library bibliography."
Laura, associate librarian
Have you ever noticed that your most vehement disagreements are often with people who generally agree with you, and vice versa?
It's true for me, at least. The person I probably argue with the most is my own father, and we are pretty much in sync in our opinions about politics, books, movies, and Bob Dylan. It doesn't stop us from bickering about all of those things -- until someone else in our family (usually my sister) says, "Hey, you're actually both saying the same thing!"
I think there was something of this too-close-for-peace going on in this particular interaction. The email-er was actually a teen librarian, and she was rightly horrified to think that a library would create such a list as "Books parents should not let their children read."That misunderstanding, coupled with an attempt to tell us about something we already knew (that the ALA Bill of Rights condemns censorship and supports the right to a variety of expressed opinions), created a friction that would probably not have existed had we received an email from someone completely opposed to intellectual freedom -- a parent wanting us to withdraw certain books from our collection, for example.
Why do I include this as a small good thing?
Because the Tulsa librarian's response could have easily been righteously cutting and curt (is there anything more annoying than someone telling you something you know good and well?!!??), but she took the high road in such a way that the response back was positive and supportive. No feelings were hurt, and the end result was two librarians supporting each other in the fight for free and equal access to all ideas and opinions, including ones that call for, ironically, silencing other ideas and opinions.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Child's play
A little guy in our library knocked his head on the shelving and started crying -- and Mom was nowhere around. So I sat with him and we read a book until Mom returned from the bathroom. He was happy to see her again.
Bob, branch library manager
I had a call in the Hotline from a mother wanting books at a particular library about spaceships and the moon. I walked her through searching the catalog and using the limiters to select the library location. She was very happy for the tutorial, and explained why she put items on hold in advance. "I have a 1 1/2 year old who will pull more books down in two minutes than we can put back up in two hours, so I need to do as much as I can beforehand as possible!" We had a chuckle and I assured her that one day she would be able to actually come in to the library and not just run to the holds shelf, but for now, that was perfectly acceptable!
Laura, associate librarian
Every field has its giants, its intellectual leaders and early thought-creators. Melvil Dewey, he of the magical mystery cataloging system, is a big one for libraries (obviously), but there was also S.A. Ranganathan, who culled library thought into five simple "laws" that all libraries should strive to uphold. One of the laws -- still revered today -- is "Save the time of the reader."
Libraries do all kinds of things, from having the newest books on one shelf to making self-checkout machines available, to accommodate this law.
Michael Gorman is a latter-day library leader who has proposed a few supplemental laws to Ranganathan's. The Gorman law that resonates most deeply for me is "Libraries serve humanity."
These two stories, while sharing mothers and small children in common, are also perfect examples of a combination of these two laws.
When libraries serve children, we are also serving busy parents -- and an easy-to-navigate catalog and ability to place items on hold in advance are great ways to help parents save time (and the hassle of re-shelving books their little ones may pull down).
But what Bob demonstrated is that we also serve humanity in the form of little boys who bang their heads and need some comfort in the form of a warm lap and a story until Mom gets back from the bathroom.
Technology can be wonderful -- in the service to real people -- but kindness will never go out of style.
Bob, branch library manager
I had a call in the Hotline from a mother wanting books at a particular library about spaceships and the moon. I walked her through searching the catalog and using the limiters to select the library location. She was very happy for the tutorial, and explained why she put items on hold in advance. "I have a 1 1/2 year old who will pull more books down in two minutes than we can put back up in two hours, so I need to do as much as I can beforehand as possible!" We had a chuckle and I assured her that one day she would be able to actually come in to the library and not just run to the holds shelf, but for now, that was perfectly acceptable!
Laura, associate librarian
Every field has its giants, its intellectual leaders and early thought-creators. Melvil Dewey, he of the magical mystery cataloging system, is a big one for libraries (obviously), but there was also S.A. Ranganathan, who culled library thought into five simple "laws" that all libraries should strive to uphold. One of the laws -- still revered today -- is "Save the time of the reader."
Libraries do all kinds of things, from having the newest books on one shelf to making self-checkout machines available, to accommodate this law.
Michael Gorman is a latter-day library leader who has proposed a few supplemental laws to Ranganathan's. The Gorman law that resonates most deeply for me is "Libraries serve humanity."
These two stories, while sharing mothers and small children in common, are also perfect examples of a combination of these two laws.
When libraries serve children, we are also serving busy parents -- and an easy-to-navigate catalog and ability to place items on hold in advance are great ways to help parents save time (and the hassle of re-shelving books their little ones may pull down).
But what Bob demonstrated is that we also serve humanity in the form of little boys who bang their heads and need some comfort in the form of a warm lap and a story until Mom gets back from the bathroom.
Technology can be wonderful -- in the service to real people -- but kindness will never go out of style.
Citizen ceremony? Go north. Jury duty? To the south.
I learned today that the person who maintains our Tulsa Organizations and Services database is developing a new LibGuide to help customers navigate the various courts near the Central Library -- city, county, and federal. We often get questions from people about which place they need to go for various services. She decided to do this based on input from a coworker. This is a perfect example of how astute librarians are in tune with the needs of our community and collaborate to fulfill those needs.
Sheena, library manager
The downtown library in Tulsa is sandwiched between a federal courthouse (and post office) to the north and a county courthouse to the south. The city court where you contest parking tickets is in a weird little pocket nearby. Naturally, that means we often have court-users of all types, from lawyers and judges to jury members to defendants.
It's fairly common to get a family, dressed to the nines and carrying American flags, coming into the library and asking at the desk where the courthouse is. We point to the north and wish them a hearty welcome as new U.S. citizens.
They're the easy ones to direct. (And really gratifying. If you're ever in need of a shot of enthusiastic-but-not-jingo-ist patriotism, you can't do much better than a citizenship ceremony. Those smiles are genuine, and the flag-waving signifies real joy for the opportunities this country gives its people, homegrown or transplanted.)
But then there are the others that are more difficult to help -- frantic people with a court date, but not much of an idea of which court they need. They often thrust crumpled documents at you, confusion and panic marking their faces.
The new LibGuide Sheena refers to will help librarians help folks clear the confusion and get to the right court. It's an amazing piece of work, and I agree with Sheena: it's a great example of librarians (and libraries) responding to the community. (In case you're curious, here's the link to the "Navigating Courts in Tulsa" LibGuide itself: http://guides.tulsalibrary.org/CourtsFAQ)
What is a "LibGuide"? It's a web-based collection of resources on a particular topic or collection of topics. As I see it, a LibGuide is a kind of museum populated with information resources, and librarians are the curators, deciding what books, articles, videos, web sites, basic questions and answers will best help a curious person explore a topic better. In the earlier "Web 1.0" world, they were known as "pathfinders", and this term is still used, but the "Web 2.0" versions promise more multimedia and interactive content.
To get even more specific, "LibGuide" refers to the particular software used to create these collections. For the Tulsa City-County Library, the company is Springshare, and "LibGuides" are what their software helps librarians create.
But that's shoptalk that's interesting only inasmuch as... well, in no way. It's a tool, and only as good as the people who use it. In this case, it's a pretty great tool, and I imagine I will be using it a lot.
Sheena, library manager
The downtown library in Tulsa is sandwiched between a federal courthouse (and post office) to the north and a county courthouse to the south. The city court where you contest parking tickets is in a weird little pocket nearby. Naturally, that means we often have court-users of all types, from lawyers and judges to jury members to defendants.
It's fairly common to get a family, dressed to the nines and carrying American flags, coming into the library and asking at the desk where the courthouse is. We point to the north and wish them a hearty welcome as new U.S. citizens.
They're the easy ones to direct. (And really gratifying. If you're ever in need of a shot of enthusiastic-but-not-jingo-ist patriotism, you can't do much better than a citizenship ceremony. Those smiles are genuine, and the flag-waving signifies real joy for the opportunities this country gives its people, homegrown or transplanted.)
But then there are the others that are more difficult to help -- frantic people with a court date, but not much of an idea of which court they need. They often thrust crumpled documents at you, confusion and panic marking their faces.
The new LibGuide Sheena refers to will help librarians help folks clear the confusion and get to the right court. It's an amazing piece of work, and I agree with Sheena: it's a great example of librarians (and libraries) responding to the community. (In case you're curious, here's the link to the "Navigating Courts in Tulsa" LibGuide itself: http://guides.tulsalibrary.org/CourtsFAQ)
What is a "LibGuide"? It's a web-based collection of resources on a particular topic or collection of topics. As I see it, a LibGuide is a kind of museum populated with information resources, and librarians are the curators, deciding what books, articles, videos, web sites, basic questions and answers will best help a curious person explore a topic better. In the earlier "Web 1.0" world, they were known as "pathfinders", and this term is still used, but the "Web 2.0" versions promise more multimedia and interactive content.
To get even more specific, "LibGuide" refers to the particular software used to create these collections. For the Tulsa City-County Library, the company is Springshare, and "LibGuides" are what their software helps librarians create.
But that's shoptalk that's interesting only inasmuch as... well, in no way. It's a tool, and only as good as the people who use it. In this case, it's a pretty great tool, and I imagine I will be using it a lot.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Your information is wrong (Aw shucks ma'am)
An elderly lady came in asking about when we would have the 1040 instructions. I told her they are scheduled to be delivered on March 4th. Her reply was "well darn, all I needed was page 34 from last year." We told her to hang on and that we would find and print the page she needed. The word is "incredulous" because she did not think that we would do that for her. The next word is "effusive" in her praise for us. Aw shucks ma'am.
Contestant #2, branch library manager
Did I say that information retrieval was getting super-easy? And that I didn't think the main purpose of public libraries was to be places where people could get information, by information intermediaries? Well, that's true, mostly, and I'm sticking to it, mostly.
Except that means it's also partially not true.
Here's a perfect example where retrieving a vital bit of information was not so easy for a library customer, and a librarian really was necessary to act as an intermediary -- to be a "human Google" of sorts. (And yes, I own the T-shirt with "Librarian" printed in Google letters.) ((I own the "Reading is sexy" one, too.))
I've been on both ends of this process in the library. It feels great to find the perfect document, the missing link of information, the impossible phone number or out-of-print book title or obscure governmental department, that someone is desperately looking for. It also feels exactly as Contestant #2 describes it when you're on the other side: incredulous, and effusively thrilled and grateful.
My new best friend Bill "Lifecycle Librarianship" Crowley (in case it's not apparent, I am making fun of myself and my tendency toward worshiping intellectual heroes, NOT him or his ideas!) also sees the value of information-finding in libraries. But he places it as secondary to the learning/reading role, especially in public libraries.
A few choice quotes, from Renewing Professional Librarianship:
The library is "a community learning resource requiring well-educated professionals who, at times, provide information and do so effectively" (38).
but, and this is the important distinction:
"Information is delivered, but it is not the primary purpose of the enterprise... Most libraries, particularly in the public sector, are learning facilitators, both in law and in fact" (34).
Nevertheless, it's hard to argue with a lady who thinks librarians are miracle-workers (and who ARE) because they can find and print page 34 of last year's tax instructions, all in just a few minutes.
Contestant #2, branch library manager
Did I say that information retrieval was getting super-easy? And that I didn't think the main purpose of public libraries was to be places where people could get information, by information intermediaries? Well, that's true, mostly, and I'm sticking to it, mostly.
Except that means it's also partially not true.
Here's a perfect example where retrieving a vital bit of information was not so easy for a library customer, and a librarian really was necessary to act as an intermediary -- to be a "human Google" of sorts. (And yes, I own the T-shirt with "Librarian" printed in Google letters.) ((I own the "Reading is sexy" one, too.))
I've been on both ends of this process in the library. It feels great to find the perfect document, the missing link of information, the impossible phone number or out-of-print book title or obscure governmental department, that someone is desperately looking for. It also feels exactly as Contestant #2 describes it when you're on the other side: incredulous, and effusively thrilled and grateful.
My new best friend Bill "Lifecycle Librarianship" Crowley (in case it's not apparent, I am making fun of myself and my tendency toward worshiping intellectual heroes, NOT him or his ideas!) also sees the value of information-finding in libraries. But he places it as secondary to the learning/reading role, especially in public libraries.
A few choice quotes, from Renewing Professional Librarianship:
The library is "a community learning resource requiring well-educated professionals who, at times, provide information and do so effectively" (38).
but, and this is the important distinction:
"Information is delivered, but it is not the primary purpose of the enterprise... Most libraries, particularly in the public sector, are learning facilitators, both in law and in fact" (34).
Nevertheless, it's hard to argue with a lady who thinks librarians are miracle-workers (and who ARE) because they can find and print page 34 of last year's tax instructions, all in just a few minutes.
A Thousand Selves
An elderly black man in a wheelchair asked about the "John Carter" novels. He enjoyed the movie (possibly the only one who did? :) [it bombed, as they say, at the box office] ) and wanted to read the books. I popped upstairs to grab a few for him to choose from, and we talked about some other adventure/science fiction novels he might also enjoy. He'd never heard of Robert B. Parker, so I grabbed a few of those for him, too. Impatiently waiting to see what he thinks, the next time I see him.
Laura, Associate Librarian
There's an older white dude who has recently been on a tear with John Irving novels. He's checked out everything we have and has even inter-library loaned a few titles from libraries around the country -- really obscure Irving novellas and short novels from before he was big. We've had some interesting conversations about what he likes in Irving, and I've suggested a few other authors for him to try, though he says he's going to read everything Irving first. He told me, "Now that I'm retired, all I seem to want to do anymore is read." It reminded me of the retired father in Ethan Canin's novel, America America (one of my favorites), who, after forty-five years of manual labor, retires, unexpectedly to his kids, into heavy-duty reading. I told the guy to keep on reading, and that I was furiously envious of him. Smiles and laughter all around. (Though I really am envious!)
Laura, Associate Librarian
This is going to sound unnecessarily dark, but once, years ago, my therapist asked if I was having suicidal thoughts. "No," I answered. Then, "Well, yes, sort of? Like, I think about how great it would be not to be myself anymore. Not to be dead, exactly, but to wake up and just be some different person."
That's a fairly universal feeling, I think, that occasional desire to be someone else... coupled with the knowledge that you can never really get outside of or away from your own maddening self.
Unless you are reading novels.
(Even then, of course, you're still reading with your Self, locked into your own experiences and perspective and prejudices and idiosyncratic knowledge or ignorance.)
Encountering stories -- in novels, memoirs, narrative movies or documentaries -- is a surefire way to lift yourself out of your Self, if only momentarily, and become someone else. A thousand someone elses, in fact.
I've always been a reader, a consumer of stories (though tellingly, when I was talking to that therapist, I'd stopped reading for a few months), but for many people, that reading bug doesn't really kick in until they are older, often in retirement.
Both of these gentlemen I helped were older, in their 70s or later, if I had to guess, and yet they were living great adventures, being other people, through their reading. If we're lucky, librarians get to help people make those connections -- and sometimes, we just get to participate at the fringes, and watch it happen. These experiences were a little bit of both, I suppose, though mostly the second. I was just happy to be involved in some small way.
Not without coincidence, instead of completing various household and grad-school tasks, I spent a great part of today reading Jonathan Dee's latest novel, A Thousand Pardons, luxuriating in the lives of people not myself. One general theme of the novel relates to guilt and contrition and redemption (as the title suggests), but the other, more pressing theme is about the very thing I'm writing around -- wanting to get outside the box of who you are... and then realizing you can't, but that reaching out to other people helps.
Laura, Associate Librarian
There's an older white dude who has recently been on a tear with John Irving novels. He's checked out everything we have and has even inter-library loaned a few titles from libraries around the country -- really obscure Irving novellas and short novels from before he was big. We've had some interesting conversations about what he likes in Irving, and I've suggested a few other authors for him to try, though he says he's going to read everything Irving first. He told me, "Now that I'm retired, all I seem to want to do anymore is read." It reminded me of the retired father in Ethan Canin's novel, America America (one of my favorites), who, after forty-five years of manual labor, retires, unexpectedly to his kids, into heavy-duty reading. I told the guy to keep on reading, and that I was furiously envious of him. Smiles and laughter all around. (Though I really am envious!)
Laura, Associate Librarian
This is going to sound unnecessarily dark, but once, years ago, my therapist asked if I was having suicidal thoughts. "No," I answered. Then, "Well, yes, sort of? Like, I think about how great it would be not to be myself anymore. Not to be dead, exactly, but to wake up and just be some different person."
That's a fairly universal feeling, I think, that occasional desire to be someone else... coupled with the knowledge that you can never really get outside of or away from your own maddening self.
Unless you are reading novels.
(Even then, of course, you're still reading with your Self, locked into your own experiences and perspective and prejudices and idiosyncratic knowledge or ignorance.)
Encountering stories -- in novels, memoirs, narrative movies or documentaries -- is a surefire way to lift yourself out of your Self, if only momentarily, and become someone else. A thousand someone elses, in fact.
I've always been a reader, a consumer of stories (though tellingly, when I was talking to that therapist, I'd stopped reading for a few months), but for many people, that reading bug doesn't really kick in until they are older, often in retirement.
Both of these gentlemen I helped were older, in their 70s or later, if I had to guess, and yet they were living great adventures, being other people, through their reading. If we're lucky, librarians get to help people make those connections -- and sometimes, we just get to participate at the fringes, and watch it happen. These experiences were a little bit of both, I suppose, though mostly the second. I was just happy to be involved in some small way.
Not without coincidence, instead of completing various household and grad-school tasks, I spent a great part of today reading Jonathan Dee's latest novel, A Thousand Pardons, luxuriating in the lives of people not myself. One general theme of the novel relates to guilt and contrition and redemption (as the title suggests), but the other, more pressing theme is about the very thing I'm writing around -- wanting to get outside the box of who you are... and then realizing you can't, but that reaching out to other people helps.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Paws for awesome
Our library scheduled a PAWS reading program today and also had a photographer call to ask to take pictures of the children reading to the therapy dog. The photographer is in the process of completing a book on Tulsa that will feature all the things our city offers that enhance our quality of life. We had a slow start but eventually had approximately 18 children participate in this event. I felt validated that this photographer is choosing to feature our library as a place that enhances our quality of life and is something I immediately recognized when I moved to Tulsa almost 4 years ago.
Busy Book Bee, children's librarian
Reading is, I have been surprised to discover in the last few years, something that the human brain isn't designed to do well.
In fact, it's really, really hard for our pitifully primordial noggins to translate those squiggles on a page into meaning.
Those of us who become good readers forget how hard it was for us, because it's not hard anymore. (Success has a way of erasing past pain that way.) And for those who still struggle to read well -- especially children who must face the daily humiliation of not reading well -- it's doubly hard, because they think it must mean they are stupid, when for many, it's just that their brains haven't adapted to this ridiculously difficult skill as well as other brains have, or just haven't had enough practice.
Concentrated practice in a supportive environment is one of the best ways to improve reading.
That's one of the reasons the PAWS for Reading program is so successful. Children don't have the extra pressure of reading aloud to an adult or in front of a classroom -- they can read to a sympathetic audience, one who is calm and patient and never tells you to sound it out. The bonus is the dogs are also, you know, dogs: friendly, with soft fur to touch and pet, and they are always thrilled to see you walk into the room, even if you only just walked out of the room.
What I especially like about Busy Book Bee's story, however, is that it's not just about this program, which is great enough on its own, but that there are people who recognize that it's something that "enhances our quality of life" in our community.
A simple thing, children reading to therapy dogs, but not small, for either the children, or our community.
Busy Book Bee, children's librarian
Reading is, I have been surprised to discover in the last few years, something that the human brain isn't designed to do well.
In fact, it's really, really hard for our pitifully primordial noggins to translate those squiggles on a page into meaning.
Those of us who become good readers forget how hard it was for us, because it's not hard anymore. (Success has a way of erasing past pain that way.) And for those who still struggle to read well -- especially children who must face the daily humiliation of not reading well -- it's doubly hard, because they think it must mean they are stupid, when for many, it's just that their brains haven't adapted to this ridiculously difficult skill as well as other brains have, or just haven't had enough practice.
Concentrated practice in a supportive environment is one of the best ways to improve reading.
That's one of the reasons the PAWS for Reading program is so successful. Children don't have the extra pressure of reading aloud to an adult or in front of a classroom -- they can read to a sympathetic audience, one who is calm and patient and never tells you to sound it out. The bonus is the dogs are also, you know, dogs: friendly, with soft fur to touch and pet, and they are always thrilled to see you walk into the room, even if you only just walked out of the room.
What I especially like about Busy Book Bee's story, however, is that it's not just about this program, which is great enough on its own, but that there are people who recognize that it's something that "enhances our quality of life" in our community.
A simple thing, children reading to therapy dogs, but not small, for either the children, or our community.
A mysterious phone call
I was working on the 2nd floor desk on a Sunday afternoon the day after our big Festival of Words, given every other year by the library's American Indian Resource Center. Not long after we'd opened, I took a call from our AskUs Hotline, the short-answer reference phone service that also acts as a central number for the entire library system. "She didn't say why, but I have a caller who is asking for the 2nd floor desk" was how the Hotline librarian introduced the call. As it turned out, she was on the cleaning staff of the service that the library uses, and she wanted to make sure it was okay that she'd moved some chairs and tables back after the festival was over. "I knew they weren't in the right places when I cleaned this morning, so I moved them -- but then I worried that I shouldn't have done that." I assured her that not only should she not have worried, she'd done us a favor and deserved our thanks.
Laura, associate librarian
Sometimes a blind phone call on the desk can be not great news (for example, someone looking for a lost phone, which is almost always gone forever, especially in a building as large as my library), but in this case, I was happy to talk to this lady. She really did deserve gratitude for what she'd done -- it was above and beyond what she was being paid to do, and it helped staff the next day, even if we didn't realize it.
(Having moved my share of chairs and tables in the library after events, I was especially grateful when I knew what she'd saved me from that day.)
Her call made me think of a few different things that I'll try to bring back to some kind of public-library-administration meaning.
First, I was impressed by the level of commitment to doing a good job for the library -- by someone who wasn't even working directly for the library, but through an intermediary hired by the library. (If that sounds a little convoluted, that's intentional, because the process seems rather convoluted.) I mean, she even called the next day to make sure that going above and beyond her job was okay. Who would do that if it didn't matter to them?
People naturally want to do well in whatever they do -- something I try to keep in mind when a waiter gets my order wrong or the cable company "is experiencing an unusually high volume of calls".
Next, I wonder if the library ever originally had a janitor or cleaning staff that they directly employed. My guess is yes, and that contracting out cleaning services was an efficiency suggested, who knows how many years ago (20? 30? more?). Paying a service is no doubt cheaper than paying a direct employee, who you would have to also kick in health insurance, vacation days, and lots of et cetera.
The library is, of course, not just an idealistic conception of lifecycle learning and dedicated relationships and all of that emotional stuff I tend to value and talk about endlessly. It's also a building that must be cleaned. Sometimes, a lot. (Bathrooms, especially.) I certainly wouldn't want to do it -- I have a hard enough time keeping my own home at the level of barely acceptable.
Nevertheless, I appreciate that, in order to run a library without wasting the public's money, such efficiencies are necessary.
But I'm still glad there are people in the world who care enough about what they do -- even if it's not deemed "skilled" by our society -- to follow up in the way this lady did. She taught me a good lesson in librarianship, actually: pay attention to others, go out of your way to help, and double-check to see if what you did helped.
Laura, associate librarian
Sometimes a blind phone call on the desk can be not great news (for example, someone looking for a lost phone, which is almost always gone forever, especially in a building as large as my library), but in this case, I was happy to talk to this lady. She really did deserve gratitude for what she'd done -- it was above and beyond what she was being paid to do, and it helped staff the next day, even if we didn't realize it.
(Having moved my share of chairs and tables in the library after events, I was especially grateful when I knew what she'd saved me from that day.)
Her call made me think of a few different things that I'll try to bring back to some kind of public-library-administration meaning.
First, I was impressed by the level of commitment to doing a good job for the library -- by someone who wasn't even working directly for the library, but through an intermediary hired by the library. (If that sounds a little convoluted, that's intentional, because the process seems rather convoluted.) I mean, she even called the next day to make sure that going above and beyond her job was okay. Who would do that if it didn't matter to them?
People naturally want to do well in whatever they do -- something I try to keep in mind when a waiter gets my order wrong or the cable company "is experiencing an unusually high volume of calls".
Next, I wonder if the library ever originally had a janitor or cleaning staff that they directly employed. My guess is yes, and that contracting out cleaning services was an efficiency suggested, who knows how many years ago (20? 30? more?). Paying a service is no doubt cheaper than paying a direct employee, who you would have to also kick in health insurance, vacation days, and lots of et cetera.
The library is, of course, not just an idealistic conception of lifecycle learning and dedicated relationships and all of that emotional stuff I tend to value and talk about endlessly. It's also a building that must be cleaned. Sometimes, a lot. (Bathrooms, especially.) I certainly wouldn't want to do it -- I have a hard enough time keeping my own home at the level of barely acceptable.
Nevertheless, I appreciate that, in order to run a library without wasting the public's money, such efficiencies are necessary.
But I'm still glad there are people in the world who care enough about what they do -- even if it's not deemed "skilled" by our society -- to follow up in the way this lady did. She taught me a good lesson in librarianship, actually: pay attention to others, go out of your way to help, and double-check to see if what you did helped.
The joke's the thing
A young man who has some developmental challenges came up to the desk and asked me if he could tell me a joke. At first I was a bit apprehensive, but he was so excited that I couldn't tell him no. He told me the joke, and a follow-up joke, and he was so happy to share his creativity that he bounded over to the computers and smiled the rest of the time he was in the library.
Simone, branch library manager
Before I begin, I know what your question is. Well, I know what MY question was. "WHAT WAS THE JOKE???!!?" was the subject line to the email I sent to Simone after she sent me this story.
So, to get it out of the way:
What do you call a woman who has one leg? Eileen.
Where does she work? Ihop.
Simone added, He was pretty satisfied with himself lol
Have you ever told a joke, expecting laughter, and heard crickets instead? Of course you have. That's a pretty universal human experience. And doesn't it stink when it happens? What about when you tell a joke, or say something slightly funny, and you get a positive response -- a smile, laughter (a snort is best), a nodding head? Pretty much the opposite, of course.
That's the part of Simone's story that she leaves out but is pretty easy to fill in: she laughed. At both jokes. Of course she did. Otherwise the young man would not have been so happy that he "bounded" on his way to the library's computers and smiled the entire time he was there.
It's all part and parcel of a welcoming environment in a library. Robert Frost wrote that "home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."
The library is not quite the place where, when you go there and tell a joke, they have to laugh -- but isn't it nice to know that chances are, they will?
Simone, branch library manager
Before I begin, I know what your question is. Well, I know what MY question was. "WHAT WAS THE JOKE???!!?" was the subject line to the email I sent to Simone after she sent me this story.
So, to get it out of the way:
What do you call a woman who has one leg? Eileen.
Where does she work? Ihop.
Simone added, He was pretty satisfied with himself lol
Have you ever told a joke, expecting laughter, and heard crickets instead? Of course you have. That's a pretty universal human experience. And doesn't it stink when it happens? What about when you tell a joke, or say something slightly funny, and you get a positive response -- a smile, laughter (a snort is best), a nodding head? Pretty much the opposite, of course.
That's the part of Simone's story that she leaves out but is pretty easy to fill in: she laughed. At both jokes. Of course she did. Otherwise the young man would not have been so happy that he "bounded" on his way to the library's computers and smiled the entire time he was there.
It's all part and parcel of a welcoming environment in a library. Robert Frost wrote that "home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."
The library is not quite the place where, when you go there and tell a joke, they have to laugh -- but isn't it nice to know that chances are, they will?
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Praying for creative ideas & innovative solutions
The library is way over budget for subs, so tonight when one of our night crew called in sick, the supervisor under me took one for the team and did not ask for coverage (a substitute). Instead, we'll rely on staff from an allied department to provide a break for the person working alone on that desk. This is an example of how staff routinely sacrifice for the cause and cooperate with one another for the common good.
Sheena, library manager
Another staff member dealt with a temporary change in responsibilities that will have a large impact on the library as a whole graciously, and is helping to find a way to really make things work. No whining, just a quick adjustment, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to make the library work as well as possible.
Elizabeth, support services manager
Before I worked at the library, I was a professional writer for a variety of organizations, including a religious university. (I'm down with Jesus, so that wasn't a problem. The rampant sexism and paternalistic a-hole-ery was.) My direct boss was (and still is) a virtuoso writer, intensely smart and wickedly funny. (Yes, I said wickedly. It is not inconsistent with faith to have a sly and slightly dark sense of humor.) Her boss, and thus my "big boss," would begin every department meeting with a prayer, often asking God to send us "creative ideas and innovative solutions."
Every week, week after week, the same prayer for "creative ideas and innovative solutions."
After 7 or 8 months of making suggestions and then getting shot down, time after time, I was pretty frustrated. I sat in the meetings, listening to the same prayer, seething, thinking, I AM GIVING YOU CREATIVE IDEAS AND INNOVATIVE SOLUTIONS, BUT YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!
In these stories, Sheena and Elizabeth are not only finding creative ideas and innovative solutions to a pretty tough budget issue, but they are given the opportunity to actually implement them. Essentially, because of a variety of un-foreseen factors, including a particularly nasty flu season, the library exhausted its budget for substitute coverage before the end of the fiscal year.
It's not fun, I imagine, to be a manager and not be able to fully staff public service desks because the budget won't allow sending a substitute to cover for a sick employee. You get pressure from both sides: from below, staff who don't like to work alone (particularly when it's super-busy and you can't get to the bathroom, much less do anything else, during your shift), and from above, administration who tell you sorry, even though you're down three people because of the flu, we can't send any more backup. Yuck.
But these ladies have been figuring it out, and helping their people cope.
In Sheena's case, that means supporting supervisors underneath her to handle a rough evening with help from other departments. In Elizabeth's case, that meant moving a non-public-services employee to work public services desks -- temporarily -- as a substitute.
The lovely thing about both of these stories is the attitude of Sheena and Elizabeth, both managers who supervise large numbers of employees, toward those employees. They recognize that their people were put in not-great situations, and are genuinely impressed with those employees' ability to see the bigger picture in helping the library as a whole.
That's good management.
I'm going to do something I haven't yet here and end with a story, too, just because it shows another, back-door way to an innovative solution -- one that started out to solve one problem but ended up solving another (personal budgetary) one:
The Children's Associate spent her entire shift cleaning out the closet where her supplies are stored, and we found much more than we expected. There were wall hangings from "east regional", light bulbs that were broken, mouse droppings, architectural renderings of the building for its 1981 renovation (which I plan to frame), all kinds of supplies that the teen and children's associate have been purchasing out of their own pocket because we had no idea what was in the closet! Finally we are able to move around with ease in that closet. And it doesn't hurt to know what we have on hand for projects.
Simone, branch library manager
I would only add: and it's good that we can stop spending our own money on supplies and use the treasures that were already there!
Sheena, library manager
Another staff member dealt with a temporary change in responsibilities that will have a large impact on the library as a whole graciously, and is helping to find a way to really make things work. No whining, just a quick adjustment, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to make the library work as well as possible.
Elizabeth, support services manager
Before I worked at the library, I was a professional writer for a variety of organizations, including a religious university. (I'm down with Jesus, so that wasn't a problem. The rampant sexism and paternalistic a-hole-ery was.) My direct boss was (and still is) a virtuoso writer, intensely smart and wickedly funny. (Yes, I said wickedly. It is not inconsistent with faith to have a sly and slightly dark sense of humor.) Her boss, and thus my "big boss," would begin every department meeting with a prayer, often asking God to send us "creative ideas and innovative solutions."
Every week, week after week, the same prayer for "creative ideas and innovative solutions."
After 7 or 8 months of making suggestions and then getting shot down, time after time, I was pretty frustrated. I sat in the meetings, listening to the same prayer, seething, thinking, I AM GIVING YOU CREATIVE IDEAS AND INNOVATIVE SOLUTIONS, BUT YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!
In these stories, Sheena and Elizabeth are not only finding creative ideas and innovative solutions to a pretty tough budget issue, but they are given the opportunity to actually implement them. Essentially, because of a variety of un-foreseen factors, including a particularly nasty flu season, the library exhausted its budget for substitute coverage before the end of the fiscal year.
It's not fun, I imagine, to be a manager and not be able to fully staff public service desks because the budget won't allow sending a substitute to cover for a sick employee. You get pressure from both sides: from below, staff who don't like to work alone (particularly when it's super-busy and you can't get to the bathroom, much less do anything else, during your shift), and from above, administration who tell you sorry, even though you're down three people because of the flu, we can't send any more backup. Yuck.
But these ladies have been figuring it out, and helping their people cope.
In Sheena's case, that means supporting supervisors underneath her to handle a rough evening with help from other departments. In Elizabeth's case, that meant moving a non-public-services employee to work public services desks -- temporarily -- as a substitute.
The lovely thing about both of these stories is the attitude of Sheena and Elizabeth, both managers who supervise large numbers of employees, toward those employees. They recognize that their people were put in not-great situations, and are genuinely impressed with those employees' ability to see the bigger picture in helping the library as a whole.
That's good management.
I'm going to do something I haven't yet here and end with a story, too, just because it shows another, back-door way to an innovative solution -- one that started out to solve one problem but ended up solving another (personal budgetary) one:
The Children's Associate spent her entire shift cleaning out the closet where her supplies are stored, and we found much more than we expected. There were wall hangings from "east regional", light bulbs that were broken, mouse droppings, architectural renderings of the building for its 1981 renovation (which I plan to frame), all kinds of supplies that the teen and children's associate have been purchasing out of their own pocket because we had no idea what was in the closet! Finally we are able to move around with ease in that closet. And it doesn't hurt to know what we have on hand for projects.
Simone, branch library manager
I would only add: and it's good that we can stop spending our own money on supplies and use the treasures that were already there!
A library outing
Earlier today I was working the desk when one of our children's librarians approached me about where she might direct someone who was looking for books on sexuality/sexual orientation. My shift was ending, so I volunteered to go into the stacks to talk with the customer to do a more thorough reference interview. I was expecting a teenager, but it was actually an adult woman who has written a book for GLBTQ teens. She was meeting with a designer to work on a cover, and she wanted to have an idea of how books for teens looked.
I spent about 15 minutes with her and ended up giving her the ALA Rainbow List from 2013, information about Tulsa's Pride Center (the 2nd largest in the U.S.), and information about marketing your book to the Tulsa City-County Library. She was really grateful, but the interaction really boosted my spirits. I was thinking of how important that kind of book is for a questioning teen, and I was reminded once more that we are here to help people construct meaning, to think about the big questions, to get an alternative point of view. Reminded me of why I became a librarian.
Hillary, librarian
Well, Hillary just about writes my reflection for me, tying this interaction with the larger meaning of libraries in helping people construct meaning: The Big Questions.
One's own sexuality is a pretty Big Question, of course, and the library as an institution has been firmly on the side of the good in this debate, as it (mostly, eventually) was in race relations. As in: we respect and equally serve all people no matter their fill-in-the-blank: in this case, sexuality.
Regarding GLBTQ (gay lesbian bisexual transgender questioning) people, especially teens -- who are much more likely to be victims of crime, depression and suicide -- it is the right and ethical thing to find ways to make them feel safe and welcomed in the library. (They may not have many other places to go where they will be treated fairly.)
There are many ways to do this -- from specific training of library staff to answer questions about GLBTQ issues to holding "rainbow family" storytimes (something the Sacramento Public Library does regularly) to participating in local Gay Pride events.
Another is to ensure that our collection has plenty of materials about the GLBTQ experience, either in fiction or nonfiction.
And to have dedicated librarians like Hillary who understand the importance of taking an extra 15 minutes -- on her own time! -- to talk with anyone about these issues and connect them with other welcoming organizations.
I spent about 15 minutes with her and ended up giving her the ALA Rainbow List from 2013, information about Tulsa's Pride Center (the 2nd largest in the U.S.), and information about marketing your book to the Tulsa City-County Library. She was really grateful, but the interaction really boosted my spirits. I was thinking of how important that kind of book is for a questioning teen, and I was reminded once more that we are here to help people construct meaning, to think about the big questions, to get an alternative point of view. Reminded me of why I became a librarian.
Hillary, librarian
Well, Hillary just about writes my reflection for me, tying this interaction with the larger meaning of libraries in helping people construct meaning: The Big Questions.
One's own sexuality is a pretty Big Question, of course, and the library as an institution has been firmly on the side of the good in this debate, as it (mostly, eventually) was in race relations. As in: we respect and equally serve all people no matter their fill-in-the-blank: in this case, sexuality.
Regarding GLBTQ (gay lesbian bisexual transgender questioning) people, especially teens -- who are much more likely to be victims of crime, depression and suicide -- it is the right and ethical thing to find ways to make them feel safe and welcomed in the library. (They may not have many other places to go where they will be treated fairly.)
There are many ways to do this -- from specific training of library staff to answer questions about GLBTQ issues to holding "rainbow family" storytimes (something the Sacramento Public Library does regularly) to participating in local Gay Pride events.
Another is to ensure that our collection has plenty of materials about the GLBTQ experience, either in fiction or nonfiction.
And to have dedicated librarians like Hillary who understand the importance of taking an extra 15 minutes -- on her own time! -- to talk with anyone about these issues and connect them with other welcoming organizations.
Ten minutes
Within the space of ten minutes -- an older parent reminded me that her son was a reluctant reader and she offered that my recommendation of Lemony Snicket has turned him into a reader to a caregiver that mentioned her charge had recently passed away and wanted her service to be in the library because she loved it so much.
Contestant #2, branch library manager
I love that the value of the public library as an educational connector "from the lapsit to the nursing home" (see my last entry) was demonstrated in the matter of time it takes to walk around the block or cook an egg. Reluctant reader now an enthusiastic reader. BAM. An elderly person who loved the library so much she wanted her funeral there. BOOM.
LIBRARY OUT *mic drop*
Okay, so I guess I do need to say a few more words.
One of the Tulsa City-County Library's goals is to help children compete globally. But that's quite an elephant to eat all at once, isn't it? How do you break down such a lofty goal? Most educators will tell you that if you do nothing else for a child to help him or her do well as adults, the BEST thing is to foster a love of reading.
There are all kinds of reasons for this (readers tend to do better in school, get more attention, take harder classes, etc., which leads to better higher education and more career opportunities), but the clearest one is that reading is the best way to learn about things you cannot possibly learn about by doing or seeing them on your own.
Most of us will never travel to Africa or watch an owl eat a mouse or pilot a spaceship to the moon. But reading allows children to do all of these things, expanding their knowledge and their sense of possibility.
So what's the best way to ensure children will be able to compete globally?
Lemony Snicket, of course.
The second part of the story is a little more macabre, though now that I think of it, why not hold a memorial service in a library? There a departed soul can go to mingle with all of the other departed souls written about in books, or who have written books, and be reborn -- stay alive through the act of others reading them or reading about them.
Not a bad way to spend ten minutes.
Contestant #2, branch library manager
I love that the value of the public library as an educational connector "from the lapsit to the nursing home" (see my last entry) was demonstrated in the matter of time it takes to walk around the block or cook an egg. Reluctant reader now an enthusiastic reader. BAM. An elderly person who loved the library so much she wanted her funeral there. BOOM.
LIBRARY OUT *mic drop*
Okay, so I guess I do need to say a few more words.
One of the Tulsa City-County Library's goals is to help children compete globally. But that's quite an elephant to eat all at once, isn't it? How do you break down such a lofty goal? Most educators will tell you that if you do nothing else for a child to help him or her do well as adults, the BEST thing is to foster a love of reading.
There are all kinds of reasons for this (readers tend to do better in school, get more attention, take harder classes, etc., which leads to better higher education and more career opportunities), but the clearest one is that reading is the best way to learn about things you cannot possibly learn about by doing or seeing them on your own.
Most of us will never travel to Africa or watch an owl eat a mouse or pilot a spaceship to the moon. But reading allows children to do all of these things, expanding their knowledge and their sense of possibility.
So what's the best way to ensure children will be able to compete globally?
Lemony Snicket, of course.
The second part of the story is a little more macabre, though now that I think of it, why not hold a memorial service in a library? There a departed soul can go to mingle with all of the other departed souls written about in books, or who have written books, and be reborn -- stay alive through the act of others reading them or reading about them.
Not a bad way to spend ten minutes.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
"Lapsit to nursing home"
A little girl approached me yesterday and said "the library makes me feel like ice cream."
We hosted an art program at night for adults last week. After the program, a woman approached the desk and said "This is the first time I have been out of the house since my husband passed away. Thanks."
Bob, branch library manager
Lately, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on by Bill Crowley, a former public librarian and current library school professor at Dominican University in Chicago. His work makes ME feel like ice cream.
By this, I mean that he is articulating, eloquently, forcefully, and with both righteousness and research, what I know to be true about the value of public libraries -- and the failure of "library and information studies" graduate programs (sadly, including, sometimes, my own) to honor the first (libraries) because of its mistaken thrall to the second (information).
One of Crowley's recent calls to action is the conception of and rallying around public libraries as places of "lifecycle learning" -- he calls it "lifecycle librarianship" and the focus is on what libraries can do to support and fulfill "human learning needs from lapsit to nursing home".
This dyad of stories from Bob perfectly encapsulates how libraries, when focused on people, address those learning needs -- of all ages, whether it's a toddler coming in for storytime or a widow getting out of the house to discuss art with others.
What strikes me as particularly touching about these stories is what it says about the welcoming aspect of public libraries. After all, it's far better (and easier) to educate people (in whatever form that takes: storytimes, book discussions, duct-tape crafts) if they feel they have been invited, by people who are inviting. As the old saw goes, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Presumably, the little girl who equates the library with ice cream is expressing her joy and delight in the aspects of the library she's found welcoming: kind and friendly librarians, fun storytimes, a space created just for children, with big and colorful books and comfy chairs or pillows.
But the widow who is just venturing from her home after the loss of her husband also chose the library because it was welcoming -- likely for many of the same reasons: kind and friendly librarians, interesting programs, and a space created just for people like her, with plenty of books and other materials and comfy chairs and tables.
I spent part of today talking over deep library ideas with a colleague, and she said something that I believe fervently: public librarians have the opportunity, every day, to work with people who are at their most vulnerable, and that relationship, that moment, that human exchange, is sacred. "I don't use the term 'sacred' lightly," she said, "but it's apt for so much of what we do."
Think about the widow again. Who knows how long it took her to leave the house, but when she did, she decided that the one place that might make her feel better, that would gently bring her back into the world where her loss was not everything, was the library. That's an enormous thing, like placing your beating heart in your hands and extending it to someone, saying, "Here; please don't drop it."
Bob, and Bob's library, did not drop it. The library is like ice cream, and it's also the place to go when your heart has been broken with loss and you need basic human interaction to feel a part of things again.
That is certainly what I would call sacred, too.
We hosted an art program at night for adults last week. After the program, a woman approached the desk and said "This is the first time I have been out of the house since my husband passed away. Thanks."
Bob, branch library manager
Lately, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on by Bill Crowley, a former public librarian and current library school professor at Dominican University in Chicago. His work makes ME feel like ice cream.
By this, I mean that he is articulating, eloquently, forcefully, and with both righteousness and research, what I know to be true about the value of public libraries -- and the failure of "library and information studies" graduate programs (sadly, including, sometimes, my own) to honor the first (libraries) because of its mistaken thrall to the second (information).
One of Crowley's recent calls to action is the conception of and rallying around public libraries as places of "lifecycle learning" -- he calls it "lifecycle librarianship" and the focus is on what libraries can do to support and fulfill "human learning needs from lapsit to nursing home".
This dyad of stories from Bob perfectly encapsulates how libraries, when focused on people, address those learning needs -- of all ages, whether it's a toddler coming in for storytime or a widow getting out of the house to discuss art with others.
What strikes me as particularly touching about these stories is what it says about the welcoming aspect of public libraries. After all, it's far better (and easier) to educate people (in whatever form that takes: storytimes, book discussions, duct-tape crafts) if they feel they have been invited, by people who are inviting. As the old saw goes, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Presumably, the little girl who equates the library with ice cream is expressing her joy and delight in the aspects of the library she's found welcoming: kind and friendly librarians, fun storytimes, a space created just for children, with big and colorful books and comfy chairs or pillows.
But the widow who is just venturing from her home after the loss of her husband also chose the library because it was welcoming -- likely for many of the same reasons: kind and friendly librarians, interesting programs, and a space created just for people like her, with plenty of books and other materials and comfy chairs and tables.
I spent part of today talking over deep library ideas with a colleague, and she said something that I believe fervently: public librarians have the opportunity, every day, to work with people who are at their most vulnerable, and that relationship, that moment, that human exchange, is sacred. "I don't use the term 'sacred' lightly," she said, "but it's apt for so much of what we do."
Think about the widow again. Who knows how long it took her to leave the house, but when she did, she decided that the one place that might make her feel better, that would gently bring her back into the world where her loss was not everything, was the library. That's an enormous thing, like placing your beating heart in your hands and extending it to someone, saying, "Here; please don't drop it."
Bob, and Bob's library, did not drop it. The library is like ice cream, and it's also the place to go when your heart has been broken with loss and you need basic human interaction to feel a part of things again.
That is certainly what I would call sacred, too.
Not of this world
Confirmed a date to participate in a panel for a Library Journal webinar about data-driven collection analysis and evidence-based decision making. Terrified, but excited about the opportunity.
Gayle, support services librarian
Submitted a query to Neal-Schuman Publishers for a potential book on Readers' Advisory and spoke to my manager about potential projects that may be in the pipeline for the two years in which we are relocated. I was reminded a lot this week that there are multiple ways of succeeding and developing professionally.
Hillary, librarian
When pressured to use his nascent power over the people to overthrow the oppressive Roman empire, Jesus said that his kingdom was not of this world -- meaning earth, our physical bodies... and Roman politics. Gayle and Hillary recognize that while they live in the world of our particular library system (which is by no means an oppressive empire, I am quick to point out!), they also know that they are participants in a larger world -- that of library organizations like the ALA (American Library Association) and publications like Library Journal.
(As much as I respect ALA and the Library Journal, I am not claiming they are the heavenly kingdom, either, though they do represent, I suppose, a heaven-like ideal of connected librarians sharing knowledge and support.)
As Introduction to Public Librarianship author Kathleen de la Pena McCook points out in a chapter called "Connections" -- which I immediately skipped to, since every other word I seem to be using in this blog is "connect" or "connection"-- "Public librarians have demonstrated prescient leadership in collaboration beyond their own local boundaries to extend and expand library service."
Both Hillary and Gayle are part of the much larger and historical tradition of public librarians who know that their kingdom is larger than the boundaries of their particular library system. They are committed to their daily work in their Tulsa City-County Library departments, but they recognize the need to share what they know with other colleagues, and to participate in the national conversation in libraries.
As someone who would like to do the same, I'm inspired by their example.
Gayle, support services librarian
Submitted a query to Neal-Schuman Publishers for a potential book on Readers' Advisory and spoke to my manager about potential projects that may be in the pipeline for the two years in which we are relocated. I was reminded a lot this week that there are multiple ways of succeeding and developing professionally.
Hillary, librarian
When pressured to use his nascent power over the people to overthrow the oppressive Roman empire, Jesus said that his kingdom was not of this world -- meaning earth, our physical bodies... and Roman politics. Gayle and Hillary recognize that while they live in the world of our particular library system (which is by no means an oppressive empire, I am quick to point out!), they also know that they are participants in a larger world -- that of library organizations like the ALA (American Library Association) and publications like Library Journal.
(As much as I respect ALA and the Library Journal, I am not claiming they are the heavenly kingdom, either, though they do represent, I suppose, a heaven-like ideal of connected librarians sharing knowledge and support.)
As Introduction to Public Librarianship author Kathleen de la Pena McCook points out in a chapter called "Connections" -- which I immediately skipped to, since every other word I seem to be using in this blog is "connect" or "connection"-- "Public librarians have demonstrated prescient leadership in collaboration beyond their own local boundaries to extend and expand library service."
Both Hillary and Gayle are part of the much larger and historical tradition of public librarians who know that their kingdom is larger than the boundaries of their particular library system. They are committed to their daily work in their Tulsa City-County Library departments, but they recognize the need to share what they know with other colleagues, and to participate in the national conversation in libraries.
As someone who would like to do the same, I'm inspired by their example.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
When "the" library becomes "my" library
We have several cowboys who like to come visit the library, particularly to chew the fat and to have country western songs printed for them. Today one of the regulars came in and wanted several songs (chords included). While the children's associate was helping him find his music sheets, he started to tell us about his prolific Native American beadwork, which he does as a hobby. His hatband was a lovely example of the fine work this man does with beads. He was very happy to share his passion with us. It put a smile on our faces to see the delight in his eyes as he spoke fondly of his two passions, music and beadwork.
Simone, branch library manager
Today I got to do some fun readers' advisory on the desk! A shy, soft-spoken young African-American man wanted books on "African American history." After doing a bit of a reference interview, I discovered that what he really wanted was novels that featured aspects of African American history. He said he was currently reading Ernest Gaines. I was able to put Toni Morrison and Edward P. Jones in his hands. The appreciative look on his face as I excitedly told him about these authors balanced out a week's worth of negative experiences!
Sheena, library manager
I'm really so proud of the cultural programs we offer at the libraries, particularly those that we offer through the American Indian Resource Center (AIRC). This weekend is the Festival of Words, and tonight I spoke with a young man who came to the desk to ask me specifically about this event. I handed him a brochure, and he genuinely seemed so pleased by everything that was planned. He told me that the person leading the stomp dance was his cousin. When I told him he could keep the brochure, he was so grateful. I love these moments when "the" library becomes "my" library for patrons -- when they realize it belongs to them.
Hillary, librarian
How do you know when you've fallen in love? For me, it was when the man who would become my husband heard the distraction in my voice on the phone one evening after work and responded not with anger but understanding: "Hey, the latest Harry Potter came in for you from the library, didn't it? It's okay -- you want to read. Why don't you call me in the morning?"
He saw me, but more than that, he got me.
(A new, much-anticipated book will almost always make me severely anti-social -- when I finally got my hands on Jonathan Franzen's Freedom a few summers ago, I stopped making dinners and had to resist the urge to call in sick every morning that week.)
I think there is something of this reflection (being seen) and recognition (being got) going on in all of these stories.
Public libraries these days are sure to include in their collections books and other materials that reflect the variety of cultures and people in the community (and beyond). Putting books by the African-American writers Toni Morrison and Edward P. Jones in the hands of the young African-American man was thrilling to Sheena not only because she was able to finally figure out what he really wanted (and to switch from what she thought was a reference interview to a Readers' Advisory interview), but because she was saying to him, in effect, Look, here you are.
More than a reflection, however, is the essential recognition, the visceral "you get me" feeling that leads to true ownership -- when people switch from viewing it as "the" library and realize it is "my" library, as Hillary so eloquently writes.
That is the force behind my library's three cultural centers -- the African-American Resource Center, the American Indian Resource Center, and the Hispanic Resource Center. All three have special collections, and all three hold major programs and events every year to celebrate and explain (and reflect and recognize) the cultural achievements of their populations.
There is a long and storied tradition in public libraries for this kind of cultural heritage mission, which I've been reading about in a few different books recently -- Introduction to Public Librarianship, by Kathleen de la Pena McCook (the premiere historian for public libraries), and several chapters by the late Connie Van Fleet, particularly "The Public Library as a Social/Cultural Institution", in Adult Services: An Enduring Focus for Public Libraries.
Late 19th century and early 20th century public libraries were interested in preserving cultural objects, particularly books, and sharing them with unschooled populations (particularly immigrants) to ensure a proper socialization into educated American society. It was a rather paternalistic vision: public libraries as stern masters, pointing to fitting in with everyone else.
The 1960s and 1970s led to a different view of cultural heritage, introducing the idea of promoting cultural diversity -- of seeing what cultures other than the dominant white one had to offer. Libraries also began moving away from just preserving objects to encouraging the interaction with the knowledge found in the objects. As one writer expressed at the time: "We need to place less emphasis on cultural objects (books, sound recordings, or whatever) and more emphasis on the function of these objects in people's lives" (quoted in Adult Services, p. 485-6).
I've attended several events put on by all of our cultural centers, but the American Indian Resource Center's Festival of Words is probably my favorite, with stomp-dancing, panel discussions on various topics related to American Indians, children's crafts, and demonstrations of American Indian hand games. Thousands of people tromp through the library, learning and enjoying, and you can see the influence of the Public Library Mission Statement adopted in the 1970s that said the library is "an agency which recognizes cultural and ethnic differences and encourages self-pride and appreciation of different cultural heritages."
Cultural support in the public library comes in many different packages, whether it's one-on-one sharing of novels by African-American authors, splashy community festivals, or listening to an old man talk about his artistic passions.
And when "the" library becomes "my" library -- you realize you are in love.
Simone, branch library manager
Today I got to do some fun readers' advisory on the desk! A shy, soft-spoken young African-American man wanted books on "African American history." After doing a bit of a reference interview, I discovered that what he really wanted was novels that featured aspects of African American history. He said he was currently reading Ernest Gaines. I was able to put Toni Morrison and Edward P. Jones in his hands. The appreciative look on his face as I excitedly told him about these authors balanced out a week's worth of negative experiences!
Sheena, library manager
I'm really so proud of the cultural programs we offer at the libraries, particularly those that we offer through the American Indian Resource Center (AIRC). This weekend is the Festival of Words, and tonight I spoke with a young man who came to the desk to ask me specifically about this event. I handed him a brochure, and he genuinely seemed so pleased by everything that was planned. He told me that the person leading the stomp dance was his cousin. When I told him he could keep the brochure, he was so grateful. I love these moments when "the" library becomes "my" library for patrons -- when they realize it belongs to them.
Hillary, librarian
How do you know when you've fallen in love? For me, it was when the man who would become my husband heard the distraction in my voice on the phone one evening after work and responded not with anger but understanding: "Hey, the latest Harry Potter came in for you from the library, didn't it? It's okay -- you want to read. Why don't you call me in the morning?"
He saw me, but more than that, he got me.
(A new, much-anticipated book will almost always make me severely anti-social -- when I finally got my hands on Jonathan Franzen's Freedom a few summers ago, I stopped making dinners and had to resist the urge to call in sick every morning that week.)
I think there is something of this reflection (being seen) and recognition (being got) going on in all of these stories.
Public libraries these days are sure to include in their collections books and other materials that reflect the variety of cultures and people in the community (and beyond). Putting books by the African-American writers Toni Morrison and Edward P. Jones in the hands of the young African-American man was thrilling to Sheena not only because she was able to finally figure out what he really wanted (and to switch from what she thought was a reference interview to a Readers' Advisory interview), but because she was saying to him, in effect, Look, here you are.
More than a reflection, however, is the essential recognition, the visceral "you get me" feeling that leads to true ownership -- when people switch from viewing it as "the" library and realize it is "my" library, as Hillary so eloquently writes.
That is the force behind my library's three cultural centers -- the African-American Resource Center, the American Indian Resource Center, and the Hispanic Resource Center. All three have special collections, and all three hold major programs and events every year to celebrate and explain (and reflect and recognize) the cultural achievements of their populations.
There is a long and storied tradition in public libraries for this kind of cultural heritage mission, which I've been reading about in a few different books recently -- Introduction to Public Librarianship, by Kathleen de la Pena McCook (the premiere historian for public libraries), and several chapters by the late Connie Van Fleet, particularly "The Public Library as a Social/Cultural Institution", in Adult Services: An Enduring Focus for Public Libraries.
Late 19th century and early 20th century public libraries were interested in preserving cultural objects, particularly books, and sharing them with unschooled populations (particularly immigrants) to ensure a proper socialization into educated American society. It was a rather paternalistic vision: public libraries as stern masters, pointing to fitting in with everyone else.
The 1960s and 1970s led to a different view of cultural heritage, introducing the idea of promoting cultural diversity -- of seeing what cultures other than the dominant white one had to offer. Libraries also began moving away from just preserving objects to encouraging the interaction with the knowledge found in the objects. As one writer expressed at the time: "We need to place less emphasis on cultural objects (books, sound recordings, or whatever) and more emphasis on the function of these objects in people's lives" (quoted in Adult Services, p. 485-6).
I've attended several events put on by all of our cultural centers, but the American Indian Resource Center's Festival of Words is probably my favorite, with stomp-dancing, panel discussions on various topics related to American Indians, children's crafts, and demonstrations of American Indian hand games. Thousands of people tromp through the library, learning and enjoying, and you can see the influence of the Public Library Mission Statement adopted in the 1970s that said the library is "an agency which recognizes cultural and ethnic differences and encourages self-pride and appreciation of different cultural heritages."
Cultural support in the public library comes in many different packages, whether it's one-on-one sharing of novels by African-American authors, splashy community festivals, or listening to an old man talk about his artistic passions.
And when "the" library becomes "my" library -- you realize you are in love.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Meet me at the front door
We went to Bentonville, AR to see the new Crystal Bridges Museum. It was beautiful and amazing, but of course we also had to visit the library. (Most librarians visit the library of whatever town they are in on vacation. One day I will decide to start my own travel business where I just take librarians on tour to the best libraries around the world.) I was impressed. My husband asked me what I thought of the Bentonville Public Library, and I spent several minutes talking about what I liked.
The lower shelves gave great sight lines for better security (and to let the natural light in); there were clearly defined areas for children, teens, nonfiction, and fiction; there was comfortable seating near windows; there were eReaders (locked down) for people to try out; the furniture and carpets matched; the information desk was clearly marked; and, most importantly, there were friendly librarians who welcomed us when we walked in. My husband laughed. "Wow, you can really tell you're a librarian and have thought about this. I was just going to say that I thought it was really nice."
Laura, associate librarian
My library system is getting ready to undergo a massive renovation of our downtown library (MY library). So even though it's true that I almost always visit the library in any town we are vacationing in, right now I'm doubly interested in what other libraries look like -- especially ones that are new or that have undergone renovations, as the Bentonville Public Library has.
I've been impressed with the architects who have been chosen to do our renovation. I've attended several meetings over the last year and a half, both as a library employee and a regular old citizen, as they listened to what we wanted in our library and then presented their plans.
One problem with our library right now is the front door. As in, we have THREE of them, on two different floors. It's massively confusing (not to mention not terribly secure). I can't tell you how many times we've had panicky people come to the desk, desperately looking for a loved one, who they told to meet them at the entrance... but now they're not sure where that is, exactly.
(After I start that library-tour business, I'm also going to write a romantic comedy in which the male and female protagonists miss each other in a humorous misunderstanding because of multiple entrances in a public library.)
There has been a fair amount of writing in library literature over the last ten years or so about "the library as place." It's often about a space for community gathering (a "third space" -- beyond home and work), and there is some lovely theoretical work about what that means.
But there is also the hard cold reality of the public library as a physical space -- a building with shelves, and lighting, and chairs, and information desks. I have every expectation that our new renovated space in the Central Library will get most of this right, as I observed in the Bentonville Public Library, and I'm so excited to see how it will all turn out.
Now if I could only somehow blink myself into the future two and a half years...
The lower shelves gave great sight lines for better security (and to let the natural light in); there were clearly defined areas for children, teens, nonfiction, and fiction; there was comfortable seating near windows; there were eReaders (locked down) for people to try out; the furniture and carpets matched; the information desk was clearly marked; and, most importantly, there were friendly librarians who welcomed us when we walked in. My husband laughed. "Wow, you can really tell you're a librarian and have thought about this. I was just going to say that I thought it was really nice."
Laura, associate librarian
My library system is getting ready to undergo a massive renovation of our downtown library (MY library). So even though it's true that I almost always visit the library in any town we are vacationing in, right now I'm doubly interested in what other libraries look like -- especially ones that are new or that have undergone renovations, as the Bentonville Public Library has.
I've been impressed with the architects who have been chosen to do our renovation. I've attended several meetings over the last year and a half, both as a library employee and a regular old citizen, as they listened to what we wanted in our library and then presented their plans.
One problem with our library right now is the front door. As in, we have THREE of them, on two different floors. It's massively confusing (not to mention not terribly secure). I can't tell you how many times we've had panicky people come to the desk, desperately looking for a loved one, who they told to meet them at the entrance... but now they're not sure where that is, exactly.
(After I start that library-tour business, I'm also going to write a romantic comedy in which the male and female protagonists miss each other in a humorous misunderstanding because of multiple entrances in a public library.)
There has been a fair amount of writing in library literature over the last ten years or so about "the library as place." It's often about a space for community gathering (a "third space" -- beyond home and work), and there is some lovely theoretical work about what that means.
But there is also the hard cold reality of the public library as a physical space -- a building with shelves, and lighting, and chairs, and information desks. I have every expectation that our new renovated space in the Central Library will get most of this right, as I observed in the Bentonville Public Library, and I'm so excited to see how it will all turn out.
Now if I could only somehow blink myself into the future two and a half years...
Community, kinship, & "The Handmaid's Tale"
One of the most exciting things I get to do in my job is serve on the Board of the Oklahoma Center for Poets and Writers. As a result of that involvement, the library is one of four major partners in Tulsa Reads, a city-wide reading initiative sponsored by the center, Tulsa Town Hall, the Tulsa City-County Library (TCCL), and the Tulsa World.
This spring, Tulsa Reads will host Margaret Atwood. The library is partnering with the Margaret Hudson Program, which is an alternative school for pregnant teens and teenage mothers. Their English teacher is selecting half a dozen girls to receive from TCCL free copies of Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale," free tickets to attend the author event, and a book discussion led by a TCCL librarian as a follow-up a few weeks later.
When I spoke with the English teacher, she was so grateful to the library for thinking of her students. She said, "No one ever thinks of us." It made me feel so good to have an opportunity to make these girls feel special.
Sheena, library manager
My favorite definition of feminism is that it is the radical notion that women are human beings. In other words, if you are a feminist, it simply means that you believe that half the world's population is part of our community and deserves to be treated as such.
We celebrate National Library Week this month (this week, in fact!), and I can think of no better "small good thing" story than this one to exemplify both feminism and this year's theme of "Communities matter @ your library". The young women in this program are likely not used to being viewed as members of the community (and in fact may not see themselves that way, either), and yet the library is purposefully inviting them as community members to participate in an important literary event. Margaret Atwood is the big leagues when it comes to authors -- if she weren't Canadian, I'd say she was a national freakin' treasure, so instead I'll say she's a universal freakin' treasure.
But really, this little program also is also just an opportunity to read and discuss a terrific book away from the girls' new identities as mothers or mothers-to-be. "No one ever thinks of us," the school's English teacher said, and I'm sure that's true. One day you are just Judy, 16 and having fun, your future a big and beautiful blankness of possibility -- and the next you are Mommy, and your future has narrowed into a murky path.
Around the time I first read Sheena's story, I was listening to Gregory Boyle's Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion driving to and from work. Boyle is a Jesuit priest who has been working with gang members in L.A. for 30 years. It is an extraordinary book, made even deeper and funnier and sadder by Boyle's own voice as he tells stories and makes connections.
Boyle is constantly returning to the idea that humans are built for deep community. Our world's biggest problem, he says, is that we forget that we belong to one another. He believes that God (he is a Jesuit priest, remember) wants us to grow together in kinship -- in community -- in, ultimately, love.
Despite having seen immeasurable pain and suffering and senseless death and deep human cruelty over the years, despite burying nearly 200 young men and women he's worked with and loved (many killed by other young men and women he's also worked with and loved), Boyle says that even in the roughest barrios, in the most despairing moments and conditions, he sees evidence of people recognizing this kinship -- of gathering together in a larger community of humanity, or people-hood.
I'm sure this is part of the reason Sheena's story so captivated me -- it, too, is evidence of living toward kinship. The library will not add to the world's ills by forgetting that we each belong to one another. We will support community and kinship. (Though because we reflect all viewpoints in the community without championing one over others -- a bedrock value of public libraries -- we do not say it comes from God, as Boyle does. Atheists are part of our community, too, and pantheists, and agnostics.)
What's even more interesting, or relevant, is part of what makes the world in The Handmaid's Tale a dystopia is a severe dis-connection of this kinship model -- which is, of course, reflective of our own world's disconnection.
The marvelous thing about reading novels is that, so often, the act of entering their worlds does the exact opposite of this disconnection. You read yourself on the page, and you also read others on the same page, and those two things -- yourself and others -- come together in the reading so you understand that you are the same in some profound and deep way.
So I imagine these young girls reading Margaret Atwood, encountering her radically disconnected world (and one in which women are NOT treated as fully human), and, ironically, feeling connected, and valued.
Now that's something extraordinary.
This spring, Tulsa Reads will host Margaret Atwood. The library is partnering with the Margaret Hudson Program, which is an alternative school for pregnant teens and teenage mothers. Their English teacher is selecting half a dozen girls to receive from TCCL free copies of Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale," free tickets to attend the author event, and a book discussion led by a TCCL librarian as a follow-up a few weeks later.
When I spoke with the English teacher, she was so grateful to the library for thinking of her students. She said, "No one ever thinks of us." It made me feel so good to have an opportunity to make these girls feel special.
Sheena, library manager
My favorite definition of feminism is that it is the radical notion that women are human beings. In other words, if you are a feminist, it simply means that you believe that half the world's population is part of our community and deserves to be treated as such.
We celebrate National Library Week this month (this week, in fact!), and I can think of no better "small good thing" story than this one to exemplify both feminism and this year's theme of "Communities matter @ your library". The young women in this program are likely not used to being viewed as members of the community (and in fact may not see themselves that way, either), and yet the library is purposefully inviting them as community members to participate in an important literary event. Margaret Atwood is the big leagues when it comes to authors -- if she weren't Canadian, I'd say she was a national freakin' treasure, so instead I'll say she's a universal freakin' treasure.
But really, this little program also is also just an opportunity to read and discuss a terrific book away from the girls' new identities as mothers or mothers-to-be. "No one ever thinks of us," the school's English teacher said, and I'm sure that's true. One day you are just Judy, 16 and having fun, your future a big and beautiful blankness of possibility -- and the next you are Mommy, and your future has narrowed into a murky path.
Around the time I first read Sheena's story, I was listening to Gregory Boyle's Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion driving to and from work. Boyle is a Jesuit priest who has been working with gang members in L.A. for 30 years. It is an extraordinary book, made even deeper and funnier and sadder by Boyle's own voice as he tells stories and makes connections.
Boyle is constantly returning to the idea that humans are built for deep community. Our world's biggest problem, he says, is that we forget that we belong to one another. He believes that God (he is a Jesuit priest, remember) wants us to grow together in kinship -- in community -- in, ultimately, love.
Despite having seen immeasurable pain and suffering and senseless death and deep human cruelty over the years, despite burying nearly 200 young men and women he's worked with and loved (many killed by other young men and women he's also worked with and loved), Boyle says that even in the roughest barrios, in the most despairing moments and conditions, he sees evidence of people recognizing this kinship -- of gathering together in a larger community of humanity, or people-hood.
I'm sure this is part of the reason Sheena's story so captivated me -- it, too, is evidence of living toward kinship. The library will not add to the world's ills by forgetting that we each belong to one another. We will support community and kinship. (Though because we reflect all viewpoints in the community without championing one over others -- a bedrock value of public libraries -- we do not say it comes from God, as Boyle does. Atheists are part of our community, too, and pantheists, and agnostics.)
What's even more interesting, or relevant, is part of what makes the world in The Handmaid's Tale a dystopia is a severe dis-connection of this kinship model -- which is, of course, reflective of our own world's disconnection.
The marvelous thing about reading novels is that, so often, the act of entering their worlds does the exact opposite of this disconnection. You read yourself on the page, and you also read others on the same page, and those two things -- yourself and others -- come together in the reading so you understand that you are the same in some profound and deep way.
So I imagine these young girls reading Margaret Atwood, encountering her radically disconnected world (and one in which women are NOT treated as fully human), and, ironically, feeling connected, and valued.
Now that's something extraordinary.
Free all the gals!
Just had a call in the Hotline from a lady who kept saying "Free Gal". When I said Freegal, she was a little embarrassed that she had been saying it wrong. I told her I like "Free Gal," and she should keep calling it that, in honor of Women's History Month.
Lily, librarian
Today I had an opportunity to tell a customer about the new Freegal software. He was thrilled that he could download free music from the library!
Sheena, library manager
Freegal is a cool new service whereby library card holders can download 3 free songs per week through our web site and keep them forever. There are approximately a million-billion songs available (okay, not that many, but a lot, all right? Enough to fill all of the iPods across the land), and it's pretty easy to do, if you have a computer with an Internet connection. (And if you don't, you can use a library computer.)
Our library's CEO, Gary Shaffer, has explained (rightly, I think) that we added Freegal as a way to bring people to the library (virtually, if not physically), to surprise and delight folks who might not have thought of libraries recently, and then surprise and delight them even more when they see what else we have to offer -- language-learning programs better than the Rosetta Stone (it's called Mango Languages, and it's awesome), Lego-building contests for kids, eBooks, kite-flying workshops, astronomy presentations followed by stargazing, and, of course, my favorite: discussions about all kinds of interesting books and ideas... to name just a few recent events at our libraries.
(Seriously, take a look at my library's event guide when you get a chance. It's pretty amazing -- I only wish I could go to half of them.)
But I can't help thinking that the woman who called the AskUs Hotline (the library's short-answer reference service and main phone number for the entire library system: 918-549-READ[7323]) was doubly surprised and delighted at Lily's quick wit in the moment (not to mention her kindness in the face of the lady's mispronunciation). She completely overturned the hoary stereotype of the humorless librarian in one neat little phrase. AND she supported the sisterhood's long history of fighting for equal rights, to boot.
That's one cool gal.
Lily, librarian
Today I had an opportunity to tell a customer about the new Freegal software. He was thrilled that he could download free music from the library!
Sheena, library manager
Freegal is a cool new service whereby library card holders can download 3 free songs per week through our web site and keep them forever. There are approximately a million-billion songs available (okay, not that many, but a lot, all right? Enough to fill all of the iPods across the land), and it's pretty easy to do, if you have a computer with an Internet connection. (And if you don't, you can use a library computer.)
Our library's CEO, Gary Shaffer, has explained (rightly, I think) that we added Freegal as a way to bring people to the library (virtually, if not physically), to surprise and delight folks who might not have thought of libraries recently, and then surprise and delight them even more when they see what else we have to offer -- language-learning programs better than the Rosetta Stone (it's called Mango Languages, and it's awesome), Lego-building contests for kids, eBooks, kite-flying workshops, astronomy presentations followed by stargazing, and, of course, my favorite: discussions about all kinds of interesting books and ideas... to name just a few recent events at our libraries.
(Seriously, take a look at my library's event guide when you get a chance. It's pretty amazing -- I only wish I could go to half of them.)
But I can't help thinking that the woman who called the AskUs Hotline (the library's short-answer reference service and main phone number for the entire library system: 918-549-READ[7323]) was doubly surprised and delighted at Lily's quick wit in the moment (not to mention her kindness in the face of the lady's mispronunciation). She completely overturned the hoary stereotype of the humorless librarian in one neat little phrase. AND she supported the sisterhood's long history of fighting for equal rights, to boot.
That's one cool gal.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Darn tootin'.
Well today... a middle aged customer needed help finding a book on cloud computing for a paper she was doing. She came to me and I dutifully took her to the stacks as she had asked for a book. After seeing there was not much there I guided her towards the Ebsco databases. I walked her through finding Ebsco on the library website then helped her with search strategies. I found a couple of articles, used the correct citation style and emailed them to her.
Her response was that "I should have come to the library two years ago." Darn tootin'.
Contestant #2 (his choice of pseudonym, by the way :)), branch library manager
There are two parts to this story that have the most meaning for me.
The first is the last (sentence): "Darn tootin'."
It encompasses how most librarians (particularly long-serving ones, like Contestant #2) feel about what we do, and adds a bit of Okie flavor humor to boot: of COURSE you should come to the library. Why WOULDN'T you?!?
Maybe we shouldn't automatically feel that people should know this, but it's nice when you get that reaction: Oh, I should have come here before! It's satisfying to see that they recognize that you've helped them, and can help them, and are ready and willing to help them again.
The second line isn't even a full line, but there's a world of information in it: "and then helped her with search strategies." Contestant #2 was just stating another obvious, but this level of personal instruction and education is one of the things public libraries do the best -- and what makes me proud to work in a library.
The great educational philosopher and progressive educator (well, truly, father of Progressive Education) John Dewey said, "Libraries are the best schools", and I tend to agree.
I'm taking a second graduate library class this semester in "Information Literacy and Instruction" (ugh, library schools so need to get better class-title-writers!), so I've been thinking about this a lot the last few months.
The writer and intellectual gadfly Ray Bradbury never stopped touting the educational aspects of the public library. Right up until he died a few years ago, at the ripe age of 80-something, he was saying things like
By the way, Ray Bradbury wrote his greatest work, Fahrenheit 451, on a typewriter in the basement of a public library.
Is the library the source of most great literature?
Darn tootin'.
Her response was that "I should have come to the library two years ago." Darn tootin'.
Contestant #2 (his choice of pseudonym, by the way :)), branch library manager
There are two parts to this story that have the most meaning for me.
The first is the last (sentence): "Darn tootin'."
It encompasses how most librarians (particularly long-serving ones, like Contestant #2) feel about what we do, and adds a bit of Okie flavor humor to boot: of COURSE you should come to the library. Why WOULDN'T you?!?
Maybe we shouldn't automatically feel that people should know this, but it's nice when you get that reaction: Oh, I should have come here before! It's satisfying to see that they recognize that you've helped them, and can help them, and are ready and willing to help them again.
The second line isn't even a full line, but there's a world of information in it: "and then helped her with search strategies." Contestant #2 was just stating another obvious, but this level of personal instruction and education is one of the things public libraries do the best -- and what makes me proud to work in a library.
The great educational philosopher and progressive educator (well, truly, father of Progressive Education) John Dewey said, "Libraries are the best schools", and I tend to agree.
I'm taking a second graduate library class this semester in "Information Literacy and Instruction" (ugh, library schools so need to get better class-title-writers!), so I've been thinking about this a lot the last few months.
The writer and intellectual gadfly Ray Bradbury never stopped touting the educational aspects of the public library. Right up until he died a few years ago, at the ripe age of 80-something, he was saying things like
“Libraries raised me. I don’t believe in colleges and
universities. I believe in libraries because most students don’t have any
money. When I graduated from high school, it was during the Depression and we
had no money. I couldn’t go to college, so I went to the library three days
a week for 10 years.”
and
“I discovered me in the library. I went to find me in
the library. Before I fell in love with libraries, I was just a six-year-old
boy. The library fueled all of my curiosities, from dinosaurs to ancient
Egypt…I discovered that the library is
the real school.”
Is the library the source of most great literature?
Darn tootin'.
Frybread & laughter
Sarah made me laugh. Several times. It's fun to work with people that make you smile.
Gayle, support services librarian
On Wednesday, we had fry bread. That is all. That is enough!
Hillary, librarian
One small good thing for most people isn't small at all, really. It's working with people you like, who make you laugh, who share their homemade fry bread in an impromptu Indian taco potluck lunch.
I know this isn't specific to libraries. For most people in most workplace settings, your co-workers make an enormous difference in your daily life, for good or ill. (Just watch any permutation of "The Office", or read the sad, funny novel "Then We Came to the End" by Joshua Ferris.)
But there is something about working in a public service (truly: people-serving) setting -- what some writers call "emotional labor" -- that makes you crave small moments of laughter and connection with your fellow comrades in action.
There truly is nothing better, nothing more important, than sharing a lunch and inconsequential, freeform talk (what did you think of Russell Crowe's performance in "Les Miserables", where are you going on your next vacation, did you see that Adam Ant is coming to Cain's Ballroom) with friends who happen to work with you, particularly when you have spent hours and days and even years together, absorbing the anger and frustration and sorrow and problems of many people you encounter in a library.
(I haven't written much about this aspect of public library service, because this is a project about small good things, but trust me: there's a lot of unhappiness out there in our world, and librarians get a front view of much of it. Not as much as, say, critical-care nurses or shelter workers, but more than you might imagine. We do a lot to alleviate the pain and heartache of what we see, and we also often feel quite powerless to do anything at all. It's often a see-saw of emotion that can go dark fast.)
So, before I fall into morose reflection, let me return to the joy of being surrounded by friends as you work -- for knowing that Sarah (or Rebecca, or Peter, or Tim, or Rosemary) will always make you laugh, that the best frybread-maker in your department will, at least once a year, casually mention that hey, she feels like bringing in some homemade frybread; who wants to have a great big loud wonderful lunch and talk about nothing much at all but give you a moment that is all?
Well. That's something pretty big.
Gayle, support services librarian
On Wednesday, we had fry bread. That is all. That is enough!
Hillary, librarian
One small good thing for most people isn't small at all, really. It's working with people you like, who make you laugh, who share their homemade fry bread in an impromptu Indian taco potluck lunch.
I know this isn't specific to libraries. For most people in most workplace settings, your co-workers make an enormous difference in your daily life, for good or ill. (Just watch any permutation of "The Office", or read the sad, funny novel "Then We Came to the End" by Joshua Ferris.)
But there is something about working in a public service (truly: people-serving) setting -- what some writers call "emotional labor" -- that makes you crave small moments of laughter and connection with your fellow comrades in action.
There truly is nothing better, nothing more important, than sharing a lunch and inconsequential, freeform talk (what did you think of Russell Crowe's performance in "Les Miserables", where are you going on your next vacation, did you see that Adam Ant is coming to Cain's Ballroom) with friends who happen to work with you, particularly when you have spent hours and days and even years together, absorbing the anger and frustration and sorrow and problems of many people you encounter in a library.
(I haven't written much about this aspect of public library service, because this is a project about small good things, but trust me: there's a lot of unhappiness out there in our world, and librarians get a front view of much of it. Not as much as, say, critical-care nurses or shelter workers, but more than you might imagine. We do a lot to alleviate the pain and heartache of what we see, and we also often feel quite powerless to do anything at all. It's often a see-saw of emotion that can go dark fast.)
So, before I fall into morose reflection, let me return to the joy of being surrounded by friends as you work -- for knowing that Sarah (or Rebecca, or Peter, or Tim, or Rosemary) will always make you laugh, that the best frybread-maker in your department will, at least once a year, casually mention that hey, she feels like bringing in some homemade frybread; who wants to have a great big loud wonderful lunch and talk about nothing much at all but give you a moment that is all?
Well. That's something pretty big.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Let's beat Portland!
This isn't for everyone yet, because I don't have details squared away, but you'll hear more about the event in the next few weeks. The positive thing is that we get to partner with a terrific group in the community that is instrumental, in my book, to making/keeping Tulsa cool, smart, and technologically progressive. I'm really thankful that we can still do wild, crazy, new ideas that involve a bit of risk, a bit of play, and quite a bit of "letting go". This isn't always the case, but this is a big re-energizer to me. (March 5)
The good thing I can think of is seeing individuals in the community and individuals at the library pulling together to promote open source, open data, and to beat Portland, OR at something. (March 20)
Lily, librarian
Technology is awesome...when it works. I'm fully behind the notion that technology should do what technology does best while people should do what people do best. I guess the issue is that I trust technology better when there are people behind it, making sure it, you know, works.
At any rate. (That might be better saved for another blog entry.)
Lily is referring to an awesome new community initiative that the library is involved with -- the Tulsa Wiki. (You can find it here: www.tulsawiki.org.) It's hosted by the library but not limited to the library: there are geeks and techno-geniuses across our city and county eager involved with "populating" the site with usable information about Tulsa.
In fact, we're involved with bringing those people together into a "National Day of Hacking" -- in June, I think -- to make it a really robust online tool.
Wikis aren't new, exactly -- at least how "new" is defined in the tech world. (Twitter is newer than wikis, for example.) The notion that we can harness the knowledge and experience of lots of people is an exciting one, and, like technology in general, it can be awesome... when it works.
I think this is going to work, in part because of Lily's leadership and vision. And also her contacts and enthusiasm and knowledge of technology... a pretty heady combination.
P.S. I love Portland, Oregon, but there's something about the place -- all of that great public transportation, independent bookstores, beautiful weather (in the summer, at least), organic coffee -- that makes you want to "beat them at something." Sure, we're just the second-largest city in a state that thinks it's a good idea to arm schoolteachers with guns and consistently ignores the truth of global warming, but we still have something to offer... even if it's just online.
The good thing I can think of is seeing individuals in the community and individuals at the library pulling together to promote open source, open data, and to beat Portland, OR at something. (March 20)
Lily, librarian
Technology is awesome...when it works. I'm fully behind the notion that technology should do what technology does best while people should do what people do best. I guess the issue is that I trust technology better when there are people behind it, making sure it, you know, works.
At any rate. (That might be better saved for another blog entry.)
Lily is referring to an awesome new community initiative that the library is involved with -- the Tulsa Wiki. (You can find it here: www.tulsawiki.org.) It's hosted by the library but not limited to the library: there are geeks and techno-geniuses across our city and county eager involved with "populating" the site with usable information about Tulsa.
In fact, we're involved with bringing those people together into a "National Day of Hacking" -- in June, I think -- to make it a really robust online tool.
Wikis aren't new, exactly -- at least how "new" is defined in the tech world. (Twitter is newer than wikis, for example.) The notion that we can harness the knowledge and experience of lots of people is an exciting one, and, like technology in general, it can be awesome... when it works.
I think this is going to work, in part because of Lily's leadership and vision. And also her contacts and enthusiasm and knowledge of technology... a pretty heady combination.
P.S. I love Portland, Oregon, but there's something about the place -- all of that great public transportation, independent bookstores, beautiful weather (in the summer, at least), organic coffee -- that makes you want to "beat them at something." Sure, we're just the second-largest city in a state that thinks it's a good idea to arm schoolteachers with guns and consistently ignores the truth of global warming, but we still have something to offer... even if it's just online.
Yes we can.
Just spent some time helping a young African-American girl to print out photos for a school project she's doing about Michelle Obama. Once we got the pictures to print, she held one of the pages up to me and said, "Awwww... She's so beautiful. I can't believe Michelle Obama is the President!" Who am I to argue with that?
Hillary, librarian
You do not have to have voted for Barack Obama to be proud of our country for electing an African-American as president. (These people really do exist!) If the arc of history truly does bend toward justice, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, then our country's long arc from slavery to Jim Crow to a semblance of equality among the races is something to feel good about.
Public libraries were not immune from institutional racism, sadly. In Oklahoma more than 60 years ago, the librarian Ruth Brown led the fight for integration in her town (Bartlesville) and her library. She was fired for it. Today we recognize her heroism (the Oklahoma Library Association even has an award dedicated to honoring it) -- and work in libraries where everyone, of all races, truly is welcome.
Including African-American girls who look at the First Lady and see themselves as presidential material.
Now, should Hillary have corrected the girl's impression that Michelle Obama is the President?
I don't think so. The girl might have misspoken (my guess), but even if she didn't, she'll learn pretty quickly, especially as she writes her report.
No, the girl was just sharing her delight at a simple step forward in our country's history.
Democratic, Republican, Libertarian, Green Party-ian, how can you deny that delight? The "Awww... She's so beautiful." that recognzies she won't be barred from becoming a public servant at the highest level because of her race? Michelle Obama's beauty is also, in one sense, the promise of this child's future.
Who are we to argue with that, indeed!
Hillary, librarian
You do not have to have voted for Barack Obama to be proud of our country for electing an African-American as president. (These people really do exist!) If the arc of history truly does bend toward justice, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, then our country's long arc from slavery to Jim Crow to a semblance of equality among the races is something to feel good about.
Public libraries were not immune from institutional racism, sadly. In Oklahoma more than 60 years ago, the librarian Ruth Brown led the fight for integration in her town (Bartlesville) and her library. She was fired for it. Today we recognize her heroism (the Oklahoma Library Association even has an award dedicated to honoring it) -- and work in libraries where everyone, of all races, truly is welcome.
Including African-American girls who look at the First Lady and see themselves as presidential material.
Now, should Hillary have corrected the girl's impression that Michelle Obama is the President?
I don't think so. The girl might have misspoken (my guess), but even if she didn't, she'll learn pretty quickly, especially as she writes her report.
No, the girl was just sharing her delight at a simple step forward in our country's history.
Democratic, Republican, Libertarian, Green Party-ian, how can you deny that delight? The "Awww... She's so beautiful." that recognzies she won't be barred from becoming a public servant at the highest level because of her race? Michelle Obama's beauty is also, in one sense, the promise of this child's future.
Who are we to argue with that, indeed!
Best Friends Forever!
I was working the desk when a lady asked for help with checking a few items out -- the self-check machine was rejecting a few items. I checked her out and we chatted about the Dr. Seuss craft table in the Children's department. She'd brought her kids specifically to the Central Library so they could become "Thing One" and "Thing Two" (such a great idea -- our Children's department manager is a genius). She happened to look at my name badge and said, "Wait. You're Laura? You made my reading guide!" She was referring to Your Next Great Read, a Readers' Advisory service I helped launch a few years ago. Readers fill out an online form about the books they like, and librarians (including me) create "personalized reading guides" with 3 to 5 authors and around 10 titles we think they'll like, with reasons explaining why. It's a deeply satisfying service to be a part of, and we'd received plenty of wonderful e-mail thanks before, but this was the first time I'd encountered a real live reader of mine. I (just as shy and nervous as a 7th grade boy at a school dance) asked, "So... did you like my suggestions?" She said, "Are you kidding? I loved most of them so far! You're my new best friend! Now whenever I'm looking for something to read, I just go back to your list and I know I'm going to find something good." Needless to say, I was buzzing and beaming and generally a pain to talk to because I couldn't stop marveling at it. My new best friend, indeed!
Laura, associate librarian
So this is my story, and you would think I wouldn't have much else to say than what I already said.
Oh, you don't know me very well yet, do you?
This particular interaction made my day, week, month, and year. Truth be told, it might have even made my career -- my entire professional view of myself.
My job title might be Generalist Library Associate (I think "Associate Librarian" better reflects what I do and am, so I'm taking some liberties by switching those words around), but I am, at heart, a Readers' Advisory librarian. If you don't know what Readers' Advisory is, you're not alone. It's a rather new field of study in the library world, though not at all new in practice. Basically, it's connecting readers to books that will enrich their lives. (There's that connecting thing again.)
By "books" I don't only mean the square things with pages in them. It encompasses all of the new technology: electronic books, audiobooks, play-aways. And it doesn't just mean fiction, either, though that is the bulk of what we deal in and suggest. It's stories and it's recreation and it's education; it's what happens when you find a book that speaks to you in some way, that opens your eyes to the world and your self and others.
Nancy Pearl, she of librarian action figure and Book Lust awesomeness, is our fair leader. She, along with a few other crusading librarians like Joyce Saricks, made thinking about why people read different books -- and figuring out how to determine which books would appeal to which readers -- a professional librarian activity. There are classic Readers' Advisory books like Now Read This..., and Genreflecting (and, of course, Book Lust), and terrific services like the NoveList database, all designed to help librarians help readers.
But that basic interaction -- librarian to reader -- is still essential.
You cannot convince me that an algorithm on Amazon will be able to make a truly personalized reading guide like we are able to. And they certainly won't be able to write reasons why you might enjoy The Night Circus or give Edward Abbey a try.
(Those were two completely different readers, by the way. The first likes historical novels and fantasy stories, and The Night Circus is an excellent combination of the two. The second is a fan of John Irving's winding plots, off-center characters, and realism, and Abbey sees Irving all of those plus adds a dark humor I thought the reader might like.)
I am sympathetic to the arguments that public libraries need to introduce new technologies to people, to be on the forefront of the ebook revolution, to find ways to connect with people (and again with the connect and the people).
I just hope that it won't be on the backs of what most people go to libraries for: books and reading.
BOOKS AND READING. That's our brand. That's what matters to most of our people. If you look at library statistics going way back yonder, what checks out the most? Fiction. Even in today's world of DVDs (also stories, by the way) and music CDs, books with characters and plots and stories are what people come to the library for. It often happens that they'll be surprised and delighted at what else they'll find at the library (research articles for school papers, Dr. Seuss crafts for children!, the CD from the latest "American Idol" winner), but it doesn't change the fact that their primary goal is to find books (or ebooks, or etc.) that will speak to them, stories that will bring pleasure and life and thought and joy... that will, in other words, enrich their lives.
And I get to be a part of that! Through "Your Next Great Read," I get to talk directly to readers, and then search for the writers that I think they should get to know.
Essentially, I get to make new best friends. And that is a privilege I am greatly honored to have.
Laura, associate librarian
So this is my story, and you would think I wouldn't have much else to say than what I already said.
Oh, you don't know me very well yet, do you?
This particular interaction made my day, week, month, and year. Truth be told, it might have even made my career -- my entire professional view of myself.
My job title might be Generalist Library Associate (I think "Associate Librarian" better reflects what I do and am, so I'm taking some liberties by switching those words around), but I am, at heart, a Readers' Advisory librarian. If you don't know what Readers' Advisory is, you're not alone. It's a rather new field of study in the library world, though not at all new in practice. Basically, it's connecting readers to books that will enrich their lives. (There's that connecting thing again.)
By "books" I don't only mean the square things with pages in them. It encompasses all of the new technology: electronic books, audiobooks, play-aways. And it doesn't just mean fiction, either, though that is the bulk of what we deal in and suggest. It's stories and it's recreation and it's education; it's what happens when you find a book that speaks to you in some way, that opens your eyes to the world and your self and others.
Nancy Pearl, she of librarian action figure and Book Lust awesomeness, is our fair leader. She, along with a few other crusading librarians like Joyce Saricks, made thinking about why people read different books -- and figuring out how to determine which books would appeal to which readers -- a professional librarian activity. There are classic Readers' Advisory books like Now Read This..., and Genreflecting (and, of course, Book Lust), and terrific services like the NoveList database, all designed to help librarians help readers.
But that basic interaction -- librarian to reader -- is still essential.
You cannot convince me that an algorithm on Amazon will be able to make a truly personalized reading guide like we are able to. And they certainly won't be able to write reasons why you might enjoy The Night Circus or give Edward Abbey a try.
(Those were two completely different readers, by the way. The first likes historical novels and fantasy stories, and The Night Circus is an excellent combination of the two. The second is a fan of John Irving's winding plots, off-center characters, and realism, and Abbey sees Irving all of those plus adds a dark humor I thought the reader might like.)
I am sympathetic to the arguments that public libraries need to introduce new technologies to people, to be on the forefront of the ebook revolution, to find ways to connect with people (and again with the connect and the people).
I just hope that it won't be on the backs of what most people go to libraries for: books and reading.
BOOKS AND READING. That's our brand. That's what matters to most of our people. If you look at library statistics going way back yonder, what checks out the most? Fiction. Even in today's world of DVDs (also stories, by the way) and music CDs, books with characters and plots and stories are what people come to the library for. It often happens that they'll be surprised and delighted at what else they'll find at the library (research articles for school papers, Dr. Seuss crafts for children!, the CD from the latest "American Idol" winner), but it doesn't change the fact that their primary goal is to find books (or ebooks, or etc.) that will speak to them, stories that will bring pleasure and life and thought and joy... that will, in other words, enrich their lives.
And I get to be a part of that! Through "Your Next Great Read," I get to talk directly to readers, and then search for the writers that I think they should get to know.
Essentially, I get to make new best friends. And that is a privilege I am greatly honored to have.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
All is well with my soul
Lady came in today to ask for lyrics to 2 hymns and she said someone told her a librarian could help. The songs were, All is well with my soul and How great thou art. The customer proceeded to tell me her friend died and a close friend was going to sing at the funeral. I listened and offered my condolences to her for her loss as I looked up the lyrics and printed them for her. She was so grateful and I felt so good that I was able to hopefully alleviate some of her grief.
Busy Book Bee, youth librarian
Can Google offer condolences? And mean it?
It's been popular in graduate "information science" programs to declare that those who work in libraries are "information intermediaries." While I do not want to disparage the hard work and expertise it can take to solve a really complex reference question (I've seen too many great librarians find the right answer to impossible queries to negate the worth of this -- I'm talking to YOU, all of the Research Center department at the Central Library), finding most information is usually not that hard.
Google is a much better information intermediary than I will ever be, and technological tools are being created every day to make retrieval of facts like the lyrics to famous hymns fast, easy, and human-free.
But Busy Book Bee did something Google could not: she listened, and she offered her sincere attention.
I don't know if the lady who came into the library (because "someone told her a librarian could help" -- I love this more than I can say; can I get it printed on a T-shirt?) did so because she truly couldn't find the lyrics on her own. But I'd like to think some of her motivation was that she wanted to share this very personal task with a person... not a computer. She wanted basic human recognition of what she was trying to do: honor a loved one who'd died.
And lo, a librarian helped me, and listened to me, and all was well with my soul. Or something like that.
Busy Book Bee, youth librarian
Can Google offer condolences? And mean it?
It's been popular in graduate "information science" programs to declare that those who work in libraries are "information intermediaries." While I do not want to disparage the hard work and expertise it can take to solve a really complex reference question (I've seen too many great librarians find the right answer to impossible queries to negate the worth of this -- I'm talking to YOU, all of the Research Center department at the Central Library), finding most information is usually not that hard.
Google is a much better information intermediary than I will ever be, and technological tools are being created every day to make retrieval of facts like the lyrics to famous hymns fast, easy, and human-free.
But Busy Book Bee did something Google could not: she listened, and she offered her sincere attention.
I don't know if the lady who came into the library (because "someone told her a librarian could help" -- I love this more than I can say; can I get it printed on a T-shirt?) did so because she truly couldn't find the lyrics on her own. But I'd like to think some of her motivation was that she wanted to share this very personal task with a person... not a computer. She wanted basic human recognition of what she was trying to do: honor a loved one who'd died.
And lo, a librarian helped me, and listened to me, and all was well with my soul. Or something like that.
Hands, Circles, Connections
I had a question from an international student who asked about classes to learn English. He was a pretty good speaker and I understood him fairly well. I was about to suggest a tutor when I found out he was only going to be in the country 2 months. I then thought of the Conversation Circles that are held weekly at Hardesty and called the literacy office to confirm the dates and times. I gave him the information and he was very appreciative.
--Jane, branch librarian
When I was a freshman in high school, my friends Philip and Mary and I boarded a dusty school bus one weekend and traveled three hours to stand on the side of the road and hold hands with strangers. The concept was admirable -- "Hands Across America" -- to create a great chain of humanity against poverty, or maybe it was for farmers, or to feed starving children in Africa? I don't rightly remember. Rosy predictions had that the entire country (this land is my land, this land is your land) would be crossed with hand-holding people, from sea to shining sea.
I was as for the whole idea and ideals of the endeavor as much as a crusade-loving 14-year-old can be, but the reality? It was... well, kind of ridiculous. There were maybe 20 or so of us, mostly high school students, and after we scrambled off the bus, we waited until the leader told us it was time: hold hands! For two minutes! Then clamber back onto the bus and head home.
There was no great chain across the country. There were wide, long gaps of empty, no-hand-holding spaces. Essentially, we traveled three hours to hold hands with each other, 20 or so of us, which we could have just as easily done at home, or at the mall, or outside a movie theatre.
This moment is what I think about, improbably, when I consider Jane's story of helping an international student practice his English skills.
Follow my logic here.
Librarians are connectors, in more ways than one. We connect people with information, of course, taking them to this resource or that -- try this ERIC database for your research paper in Early Childhood Education, or here are the books on Cherokee herbal remedies (to name two such connections I made this afternoon in my library).
But there are other and more important ways we act as connectors... ways that live up to the "Hands Across America" ideal while not falling into its roadside ridiculousness.
We connect people with other people. We recognize when someone has a need that someone else can help fulfill, as in the student who wanted help with his English.
But we also make connections in our own minds, which allow us to make those human connections, those great chains of meaning. Jane has worked in the library system for many years, and is aware of all of our resources, including the Ruth G. Hardman Adult Literacy service, including both its volunteer tutors and the regular "Conversations Circles" to allow ESL learners to practice speaking.
She listened to this man's request, which prompted her to consider the resources she knew might help him, and find exactly the thing that would work the best for him. She held the hand of one person (the literacy office) while holding her hand out to the student and inviting him to join this highly specific but really quite wonderful chain.
When I think back to that day on the bus to the middle of nowhere, to stand next to the road and hold hands with other people, the overwhelming feeling isn't one of failure. It's of the camaraderie and laughter I shared with friends and strangers on the way out and back. It's the sense that we were all together in a greater crusade (against poverty, or for farmers, or whatever it was)... we were making a connection to something greater than ourselves.
In libraries, we make those connections. But we don't have to board a bus to do it, and there are rarely gaps we can't overcome.
--Jane, branch librarian
When I was a freshman in high school, my friends Philip and Mary and I boarded a dusty school bus one weekend and traveled three hours to stand on the side of the road and hold hands with strangers. The concept was admirable -- "Hands Across America" -- to create a great chain of humanity against poverty, or maybe it was for farmers, or to feed starving children in Africa? I don't rightly remember. Rosy predictions had that the entire country (this land is my land, this land is your land) would be crossed with hand-holding people, from sea to shining sea.
I was as for the whole idea and ideals of the endeavor as much as a crusade-loving 14-year-old can be, but the reality? It was... well, kind of ridiculous. There were maybe 20 or so of us, mostly high school students, and after we scrambled off the bus, we waited until the leader told us it was time: hold hands! For two minutes! Then clamber back onto the bus and head home.
There was no great chain across the country. There were wide, long gaps of empty, no-hand-holding spaces. Essentially, we traveled three hours to hold hands with each other, 20 or so of us, which we could have just as easily done at home, or at the mall, or outside a movie theatre.
This moment is what I think about, improbably, when I consider Jane's story of helping an international student practice his English skills.
Follow my logic here.
Librarians are connectors, in more ways than one. We connect people with information, of course, taking them to this resource or that -- try this ERIC database for your research paper in Early Childhood Education, or here are the books on Cherokee herbal remedies (to name two such connections I made this afternoon in my library).
But there are other and more important ways we act as connectors... ways that live up to the "Hands Across America" ideal while not falling into its roadside ridiculousness.
We connect people with other people. We recognize when someone has a need that someone else can help fulfill, as in the student who wanted help with his English.
But we also make connections in our own minds, which allow us to make those human connections, those great chains of meaning. Jane has worked in the library system for many years, and is aware of all of our resources, including the Ruth G. Hardman Adult Literacy service, including both its volunteer tutors and the regular "Conversations Circles" to allow ESL learners to practice speaking.
She listened to this man's request, which prompted her to consider the resources she knew might help him, and find exactly the thing that would work the best for him. She held the hand of one person (the literacy office) while holding her hand out to the student and inviting him to join this highly specific but really quite wonderful chain.
When I think back to that day on the bus to the middle of nowhere, to stand next to the road and hold hands with other people, the overwhelming feeling isn't one of failure. It's of the camaraderie and laughter I shared with friends and strangers on the way out and back. It's the sense that we were all together in a greater crusade (against poverty, or for farmers, or whatever it was)... we were making a connection to something greater than ourselves.
In libraries, we make those connections. But we don't have to board a bus to do it, and there are rarely gaps we can't overcome.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Connie Van Fleet & the Importance of Stories
A Note: Stories, Not
Statistics
It will probably come as no surprise that I believe in stories. Of
course I do. I’m an unrepentant novel-reader, Readers’ Advisory freak, watcher
of story-driven movies and television series with long-term character arcs
(“Mad Men” much?).
Stories simply tell us more
– and with more meaning— than statistics and spreadsheets ever will. (Of
course, there are those people who look at spreadsheets and see the stories in
those. That is a rare gift; bless them!)
The public library, for me, is a place of stories: not just
a place where we connect people to the stories that will enrich their lives,
but where the stories of patrons’ lives intersect with the stories of
librarian’s lives.
I did not know the late Dr. Connie Van Fleet well, but from my limited contact with her -- and from those who did know her well -- she, too, believed in the power of stories... and public libraries.
At one OLA workshop on African-American Literature Readers' Advisory that I attended a few years ago, Connie memorably described an experience she had with an older African-American woman, in Sunday hat and gloves, approaching the library public services desk in New Orleans. Connie immediately thought she would ask for gospel music, or Bible studies, but instead the lady asked for something completely different -- true crime books, if I'm not mistaken, "the bloodier the better!"
I loved this story because it was funny and knowing -- and was much more effective than if Connie had just said, "Be careful not to stereotype your customers and their reading tastes based on how they look." Every time I have a customer approach the desk and I think I know what they will ask for, I try to erase that notion and be completely present to their needs. That is largely Connie's doing.
This project is dedicated to her, and I hope it will be a fitting tribute to her. The world lost a great advocate for public libraries when she died earlier this year, but more than that -- we lost a great human being.
What I Hope YOU Will Get Out Of It
What I Hope You Will Get Out Of It
I've always been a bit of a Nosy Nellie -- curious about how others live, what they do, how they spend their time and what kind of ice cream they eat at night.
This project is the flip side of that curiosity: I want to share these stories with others who are themselves curious about what goes on, day to day, in a public library.
The “others” include the obvious audiences of a library-dedicated blog:
if you’re a library student interested in how public libraries operate, if
you’re a library administrator feeling disconnected from frontline library
service, if you’re a library school professor or instructor who, because of your academic focus, has been removed from “the real world” in libraries, I invite you to read the stories and catch a glimpse of what it's like, mid-2013.
I also have the (mistaken?) hope that people outside of the library world ("Library Land") might read some of these stories and reflections and get a better idea of what goes on in libraries and why that matters -- to individuals, to our country, to democracy itself. (I dream no small dreams here.)
If you're a taxpayer, a parent, a city leader, an elected official (or some combination of all of these) -- I want you to have a chance to see what we do and, I hope, recognize the values and the value of public librarians and public libraries.
Or, you know, if you're a bit of a Nosy Nellie, too, and are just curious to see what librarians do all day, anyway.
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