Library for the Lost

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 The plumbing, heating, and electricity are all about 20 years out of date.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.