have some books filed by their Dewey Decimal System numbers, but most are fiction and biographies. They’re filed in alphabetical order.”
“What do you do about Mac and Mc?” Helen said. “Where would McNaughton go?”
“Under Mc. And Mac is Mac. We don’t shelve them together. If I have time, I’ll prep the books for you and put them in alpha order, so you can just roll the cart out on the floor and start working.”
“This mahogany cart with the brass wheels is a beauty,” Helen said.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” Gladys said, “andthat’s a good thing. These old carts are tanks. Good for toning up the arms.”
“They’ll keep your tattooed biceps show-worthy,” Helen said.
“Do you know there are tattooed librarian calendars?” Gladys said. “I’m not the only one fighting the stereotype.”
“You sure don’t look like Mrs. Brackensieck, my favorite librarian when I was in grade school,” Helen said.
“What? Did she keep her hair in a bun and wear twinsets?” Gladys’s question was a challenge.
“No, she looked like what she was—a soccer mom,” Helen said. “She knew I loved to read and let me check out books that were way above my reading level. I grew up in a St. Louis suburb and used to hide out at the library when my parents weren’t getting along.
“The bookmobile came to our neighborhood one Saturday a month, and it provided the best drama in town. We kids used to sit around in the bookmobile and see if anyone would check out The Book. This was the Midwest, so you have to remember two things about that time:
“First, people didn’t fling around so many four-letter words back then. Not in public, anyway.”
Gladys nodded her dark head. “I’m from a little town in Michigan,” she said.
“Second, librarians checked out books with the old Dictaphone system.”
“Before my time,” Gladys said, “but I’ve heard of them. The librarians had to say the title out loud and it was recorded.”
“Right,” Helen said. “The reason we kids hung around the bookmobile was that about once a month, someone would check out The Book. It was an Erskine Caldwell novel. We’d watch the very proper librarian hesitate, take a deep breath, then do her duty and say the book’s title out loud. In public.
The Bastard
.”
Gladys laughed so loud Helen was afraid a patron would shush her.
“I think the bookmobile librarian wore a twinset,” Helen said.
Gladys grinned. “Every once in a while, I see a librarian who dresses like the stereotype,” she said, “but we come in all colors, sizes and flavors—Asian, Caucasian, Latino, African-American, men, women, straights and gays. When I started here, Hilary was the head librarian. She’s African-American, the daughter of a board member’s housekeeper. Hilary left for a better job in Chicago.
“So far, Flora Park hasn’t hired a replacement. Instead, they gave me a small raise and now I’m doing the work of two people. I don’t know when they’re going to replace me—maybe never. Alexa fills in when I take a day off.”
“Why won’t Flora Park hire someone else?” Helen asked. “It’s a rich town.”
“And clueless when it comes to libraries,” Gladys said. “One of the city council members popped in at eleven on a weekday morning and didn’t see any patrons in the library. He assumed we didn’t have anything to do. Another council member said we didn’t need a library because everyone uses the Internet.”
“There’s a lot of misinformation on the Net,” Helen said. “I need a librarian to help me find the right stuff. You’re the real search engines.”
“Tell the city council that,” Gladys said. “I hear variations on that theme all the time: ‘We have Google, so we don’t need librarians.’
“Even our library board members are clueless. One donated a hardcover mystery and expected to see it on the shelf the next day. The book has to be cataloged and labeled, put in a
“What do you do about Mac and Mc?” Helen said. “Where would McNaughton go?”
“Under Mc. And Mac is Mac. We don’t shelve them together. If I have time, I’ll prep the books for you and put them in alpha order, so you can just roll the cart out on the floor and start working.”
“This mahogany cart with the brass wheels is a beauty,” Helen said.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” Gladys said, “andthat’s a good thing. These old carts are tanks. Good for toning up the arms.”
“They’ll keep your tattooed biceps show-worthy,” Helen said.
“Do you know there are tattooed librarian calendars?” Gladys said. “I’m not the only one fighting the stereotype.”
“You sure don’t look like Mrs. Brackensieck, my favorite librarian when I was in grade school,” Helen said.
“What? Did she keep her hair in a bun and wear twinsets?” Gladys’s question was a challenge.
“No, she looked like what she was—a soccer mom,” Helen said. “She knew I loved to read and let me check out books that were way above my reading level. I grew up in a St. Louis suburb and used to hide out at the library when my parents weren’t getting along.
“The bookmobile came to our neighborhood one Saturday a month, and it provided the best drama in town. We kids used to sit around in the bookmobile and see if anyone would check out The Book. This was the Midwest, so you have to remember two things about that time:
“First, people didn’t fling around so many four-letter words back then. Not in public, anyway.”
Gladys nodded her dark head. “I’m from a little town in Michigan,” she said.
“Second, librarians checked out books with the old Dictaphone system.”
“Before my time,” Gladys said, “but I’ve heard of them. The librarians had to say the title out loud and it was recorded.”
“Right,” Helen said. “The reason we kids hung around the bookmobile was that about once a month, someone would check out The Book. It was an Erskine Caldwell novel. We’d watch the very proper librarian hesitate, take a deep breath, then do her duty and say the book’s title out loud. In public.
The Bastard
.”
Gladys laughed so loud Helen was afraid a patron would shush her.
“I think the bookmobile librarian wore a twinset,” Helen said.
Gladys grinned. “Every once in a while, I see a librarian who dresses like the stereotype,” she said, “but we come in all colors, sizes and flavors—Asian, Caucasian, Latino, African-American, men, women, straights and gays. When I started here, Hilary was the head librarian. She’s African-American, the daughter of a board member’s housekeeper. Hilary left for a better job in Chicago.
“So far, Flora Park hasn’t hired a replacement. Instead, they gave me a small raise and now I’m doing the work of two people. I don’t know when they’re going to replace me—maybe never. Alexa fills in when I take a day off.”
“Why won’t Flora Park hire someone else?” Helen asked. “It’s a rich town.”
“And clueless when it comes to libraries,” Gladys said. “One of the city council members popped in at eleven on a weekday morning and didn’t see any patrons in the library. He assumed we didn’t have anything to do. Another council member said we didn’t need a library because everyone uses the Internet.”
“There’s a lot of misinformation on the Net,” Helen said. “I need a librarian to help me find the right stuff. You’re the real search engines.”
“Tell the city council that,” Gladys said. “I hear variations on that theme all the time: ‘We have Google, so we don’t need librarians.’
“Even our library board members are clueless. One donated a hardcover mystery and expected to see it on the shelf the next day. The book has to be cataloged and labeled, put in a
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