The Night of Teachers/Seers
Oct. 26th, 2010 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stitchwhichI have had, in my life, three librarians who have deeply affected me. I don't remember their names. It's been too long. I do know that by now they have all died. But nameless or not, they deserve my tribute.
The first one was the librarian at Forest Hills Elementary School. I was only there for the last part of (I think) second grade... I don't remember much about it. But I had already been bitten by the literary bug and she was delighted to introduce me to the Newberry Award books and a whole slew of ones far beyond what my grade level was. (We were still in "Dick and Jane" books in class). She is the one who introduced me to "The Cat Who Went to Heaven". I read that book and read that book, and checked it out so often that no one else had a chance to read it that year. Although I will say that she helped me learn about sharing by teaching me to leave it on the shelf for a full week before checking it back out again. And at the end of the year, she put that book back in my hands when I was returning it for the last time, and told me that the school didn't want it any longer and I could keep it. Looking back now, I know that she probably paid for a replacement copy. No school is going to discontinue to carry a Newberry Award winner. I treasured that book, as I treasured her gentle kindness throughout my time there. It was against her shoulder that I wept when we had a beloved teacher (not mine) die on the playground as a result of an odd accident... other kids went to their teacher or their parents - I headed for the library.
The second one was in charge of the school library at Campbell Elementary School in Milwaukie, Oregon. The school was one of those 'open campus' styles - very radical for my time period, and the fifth/sixth grade class rooms were in a one-story building with the library down the hall. I was one of those annoying children who got all their work done fast and early and then sat around, bored and chatty, unless I had a book in my hand. Actually, I almost always had a book in my hand and sometimes it was even one of the textbooks. (My usual practise was to read through those the first week of school and then the rest of the year was, basically, review). So my fifth-grade and then sixth-grade teacher gave me permission (encouragement, begged me) to leave the class if my work was done and to go into the library until the next session would start. The libarian, a sweet and canny lady who looked a lot like I do now, would let me check books back in for her, shelve them, and even taught me how to repair damaged ones. Ach! Even now, I get enraged when I find a damaged book somewhere.
She trusted me - that was something I had not experienced much before then. Children, especially abused or neglected ones, are forced to trust all sorts of people, just for their daily existance but are rarely extended the same. She trusted me. She'd let me read, even take home, the new books when they arrived - after they'd been inventoried but before they had been readied for the shelves. I was allowed to read a book and when I was done with it, stamp it with the school's name and glue in the envelope on the back, then give it to her to make a card for the catalogue. That gift of respect and trust was water on desert ground... and I florished because of it. When I was 17 and living in a totally different town, she came into the restaurant where I was working and recognised me. At the time, I was completely annoyed by what she said, "Why Terri, you haven't changed a bit!" (What teenager wants to hear that they look the same at 17 as they did at 10 or 11?) but I was so very happy to see her and we talked and talked. I bought her dinner for her.
She, in a way, led me to the third librarian in my world - the one in charge of the Milwaukie Public Library. Which had a policy of not allowing children under the age of 12 to read any of the books outside of the children's area. Which were the same titles, for the most part, as the books already found in our school library. My school librarian wrote a letter of recommendation for me which, along with a note from my mother, gave the Head Librarian the excuse to make an exception and allow me rights to the 'real' library. Heaven! I had already read everything in my school library, starting at the upper left shelf and working my way around the room... the Public Library was HUGE and had - aha! - oodles and oodles of non-fiction biographies. History by way of people's lives. That librarian, too, befriended me and set aside new books for me to check out ahead of even the adults. She had been banging her head against a wall trying to find a way to let me check out the adult books - I had been spending hours in the library, alone sometimes from opening to closing, reading the books I wasn't allowed to take home.
I'm 40 years past knowing any of them - but their kindness, and their dedication to children and literacy are part of my legacy from them. I will never forget them.
The first one was the librarian at Forest Hills Elementary School. I was only there for the last part of (I think) second grade... I don't remember much about it. But I had already been bitten by the literary bug and she was delighted to introduce me to the Newberry Award books and a whole slew of ones far beyond what my grade level was. (We were still in "Dick and Jane" books in class). She is the one who introduced me to "The Cat Who Went to Heaven". I read that book and read that book, and checked it out so often that no one else had a chance to read it that year. Although I will say that she helped me learn about sharing by teaching me to leave it on the shelf for a full week before checking it back out again. And at the end of the year, she put that book back in my hands when I was returning it for the last time, and told me that the school didn't want it any longer and I could keep it. Looking back now, I know that she probably paid for a replacement copy. No school is going to discontinue to carry a Newberry Award winner. I treasured that book, as I treasured her gentle kindness throughout my time there. It was against her shoulder that I wept when we had a beloved teacher (not mine) die on the playground as a result of an odd accident... other kids went to their teacher or their parents - I headed for the library.
The second one was in charge of the school library at Campbell Elementary School in Milwaukie, Oregon. The school was one of those 'open campus' styles - very radical for my time period, and the fifth/sixth grade class rooms were in a one-story building with the library down the hall. I was one of those annoying children who got all their work done fast and early and then sat around, bored and chatty, unless I had a book in my hand. Actually, I almost always had a book in my hand and sometimes it was even one of the textbooks. (My usual practise was to read through those the first week of school and then the rest of the year was, basically, review). So my fifth-grade and then sixth-grade teacher gave me permission (encouragement, begged me) to leave the class if my work was done and to go into the library until the next session would start. The libarian, a sweet and canny lady who looked a lot like I do now, would let me check books back in for her, shelve them, and even taught me how to repair damaged ones. Ach! Even now, I get enraged when I find a damaged book somewhere.
She trusted me - that was something I had not experienced much before then. Children, especially abused or neglected ones, are forced to trust all sorts of people, just for their daily existance but are rarely extended the same. She trusted me. She'd let me read, even take home, the new books when they arrived - after they'd been inventoried but before they had been readied for the shelves. I was allowed to read a book and when I was done with it, stamp it with the school's name and glue in the envelope on the back, then give it to her to make a card for the catalogue. That gift of respect and trust was water on desert ground... and I florished because of it. When I was 17 and living in a totally different town, she came into the restaurant where I was working and recognised me. At the time, I was completely annoyed by what she said, "Why Terri, you haven't changed a bit!" (What teenager wants to hear that they look the same at 17 as they did at 10 or 11?) but I was so very happy to see her and we talked and talked. I bought her dinner for her.
She, in a way, led me to the third librarian in my world - the one in charge of the Milwaukie Public Library. Which had a policy of not allowing children under the age of 12 to read any of the books outside of the children's area. Which were the same titles, for the most part, as the books already found in our school library. My school librarian wrote a letter of recommendation for me which, along with a note from my mother, gave the Head Librarian the excuse to make an exception and allow me rights to the 'real' library. Heaven! I had already read everything in my school library, starting at the upper left shelf and working my way around the room... the Public Library was HUGE and had - aha! - oodles and oodles of non-fiction biographies. History by way of people's lives. That librarian, too, befriended me and set aside new books for me to check out ahead of even the adults. She had been banging her head against a wall trying to find a way to let me check out the adult books - I had been spending hours in the library, alone sometimes from opening to closing, reading the books I wasn't allowed to take home.
I'm 40 years past knowing any of them - but their kindness, and their dedication to children and literacy are part of my legacy from them. I will never forget them.
