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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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

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.”

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'.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.


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.

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.

Why I'm Doing This, Parts One & Two


Why I’m Doing This, Parts One & Two

The approved reason for the “One Small Good Thing” project is for me to get a broader understanding of various aspects of public library administration. (And to fulfill a class requirement for my MLIS, of course.) The hope is that, through the examination of these “micro” anecdotes, I will have an opportunity to consider larger “macro” issues facing public libraries.

This is what I wrote in my project proposal:
"I believe that this experiment will result in a rich 'in the moment' snapshot of how public libraries (and librarians) operate, which will in turn help me more deeply understand the theoretical issues of librarianship, particularly because they will be tied to actual experiences."

(I've since found actual research that shows this is a hole in professional library literature. Hot dog! I'll share that in a later entry, since I'm still processing what it all means -- thank you, Bill Crowley and John E. Buschman.) 

Of course, the real reason I’ve undertaken this project isn’t altruistic, communal, or even educational. 

It’s selfish. It’s for my own survival. 

Let me explain.

A few months ago, in response to some disparaging messages about the role of librarians from people who should know better (I won't mention the particulars of the whos or the whats, for various reasons), I got what is formally called "bummed OUT"... depressed... demoralized. I wondered if what I'd dedicated my life to, the profession I'd been practicing for almost seven years, would continue to be mischaracterized, maligned, and simply misunderstood. Why was I doing this -- furthermore, why was I pursuing a higher degree in it -- if what I was doing was just going to be devalued and brushed away as a kind of computer-store clerkship?

I agree with my library's CEO, Gary Shaffer, who does a great job of explaining why libraries are so important. His cri de couer is "Libraries change lives" -- my only addition would be "...and so do librarians!"

So I decided I needed a jolt of radical positivity. I had to find a way to start focusing on what I and my wonderful colleagues were doing every day that was of value. I wanted (and still need) to know that what I did mattered.

I started collecting stories: at least one positive interaction, one "small good thing" I experienced in the library every day. I wrote on post-it notes, scratch paper, notebooks.

After a few weeks I noticed I started to feel better... and that I wanted to expand my story base, to see the "small good things" that others in my library experienced.

How It All Began


How It All Began

I suppose the “One Small Good Thing” project started, without me realizing it, more than 20 years ago, when, as a high school senior, I first started deep diving into the story worlds of Raymond Carver.
 
As any English major worth her salt will tell you, there are writers that, early on, get deep in your marrow, your stem cells, your DNA. Long after you’ve gone through your Isak Dinesen phase, or William Faulkner obsession (when, for example, you sat up late reading and re-reading “Barn Burning”, incessantly talking to amused professors and indulgent friends about THAT RUG and ITS SYMBOLISM, and what genius Faulkner possessed to use it as he did to explore issues of family loyalty and racism)... long after that, when now you just pass the beloved yet dusty volumes on the shelf without really seeing them, they still have a deep power over your worldview. The words, the images, the themes and elements keep quietly replicating inside you. 

(If this sounds suspiciously like a horror novel, it's probably because I also had an unhealthy flirtation with Stephen King and Dean Koontz in 9th grade.)

Then, inexplicably, it all bubbles up, or bursts out, unbidden, like pussywillow buds in early March or freckles on your nose after a day in the sun. The words, the themes, the images are just waiting for the right moment to emerge.

Of all of Raymond Carver’s stories, the one that got deepest into my DNA, the marrow-iest of my marrow, was “A Small Good Thing.” It’s a remarkable story: a mother orders a birthday cake for her son, but when the son is hurt in a car accident she forgets to cancel the cake order. Not knowing this, the baker starts incessantly calling the grieving parents in the middle of the night for them to pick up the cake. The son dies, the mother confronts the baker to tell him to stop calling, and the baker begs for forgiveness. Then he offers her freshly baked cinnamon rolls, saying “Eating is a small, good thing in a time like this.”

I immediately connected to the story’s exploration of the power of simple human kindnesses – and how becoming aware of the fragility of life and closeness to death makes us reach out for connection with others.

More than that, it’s the phrase – a small good thing – that continues to bubble up for me, and that was the inspiration for this project.


What the project is


What It Is (What It Be Like)

In early 2013, as part of my Public Library Administration independent study for my MLIS program at the University of Oklahoma-School of Library & Information Studies, I asked 12 library employees at the Tulsa City-County Library, including myself, to keep track of 3 to 5 “small good things” per week for the entire month of March. These “small good things” were anything that they’d experienced in the library that were positive or made them feel positive, particularly as it related to the library’s services and administration. (I'll explain why in a later entry.) The employees ranged from front-line public services staff to managers to behind-the-scenes support staff. I’ve used pseudonyms for these employees in my reflections.

I collected these “small good thing” stories, analyzed them using general categories that the late Dr. Connie Van Fleet used in her Public Library Administration class syllabus, and will, during the month of April, reflect on my favorite and/or most striking stories.