Several years ago a librarian in Ludington, Michigan, wrote a fictionalized account of life at the library. She was immediately fired. It seems that while her tales of various community characters was meant to be an eye-opening yet fun portrayal of working in a public environment, her boss didn’t think it helped her case when she put a photo of the library on the book cover. Even if the names were changed, everyone recognized everyone else, and so her real story began. It seems that free speech is great, until someone is speaking about you.
Sally Stern-Hamilton committed the ultimate library sin. She crossed the line of confidentiality, even though she thought she had covered her tracks, her descriptions of library patrons and scenes of everyday life at the library broke the rules when it came to library customer service. She put herself and her motives before the needs of the patron.
Working at a library, or any public service position, is not a job where you can talk much about your day. It is not a place where you will get a pat on the back or a medal for good conduct because your story is always someone else’s story and usually it’s a story that’s not meant to share.
The building itself is quiet, the voices of patrons past are silent yet a spirit fills the library with shadows of people who have scanned the shelves or looked for someone to guide them to that piece of information that would bring them some peace.
“I need to find out about mesothelioma”, one woman asked. “The doctor says my husband has mesothelioma but I couldn’t understand the diagnosis. Can you help me?”
“I need the number for the closest military recruiting office. It doesn’t matter which one.”
How do I find out about filing for Emancipation from my parents? The court said I could get a form here.”
“Where are your books about pregnancy?”
“Can you help me find a free lawyer? I don’t have money to pay my ambulance bill and I may lose my house.”
“Where do you go when you can’t pay your heating bill?”
The laughter of a hundred children is not enough to drown out the voice that asked for poems that could be read at a child’s funeral. A boy who once came to check out “The Great Gatsby”, now waits in a hospital for an operation to fix his leg, broken in three places in an accident. His friend who was driving died. A mother waits at the window for a child who won’t be home for Christmas, ever again. People searching for answers, searching for help, pass from door to desk and back again.
The navy recruiter pulls up to the door and someone slips the boy a twenty dollar bill because he has no other money in his pockets and maybe he’ll need lunch.
And how was your day at work? Fine...same old stuff.
The library is silent, and still.
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