When I was nine, we moved back to Mishawaka after living two years in South Bend. As soon as Mom gave permission, my brothers flew out the door to freedom and to seek out neighbor boys. Not me. I was too shy to meet anyone. “Where’s the library,” I asked Mom. That’s where my friends were, in books.
Fortunately, the library was a straight shot down Main Street with a left turn on Mishawaka Avenue. Those were the days when a young child felt safe to walk alone even to the edge of downtown. Let me tell you about this library and its gatekeeper.
Located in a small storefront, the branch library was tucked in among a row of tired shops. Plain and unadorned, Mom almost missed it. At the doorway, dust motes met our eyes. Since this branch site was the poor cousin to our main library, it hosted older copies of fiction with their musty smell. Adult books lined one wall. Baby and young children’s books were nestled in the far-right corner. Elementary school books consumed three-fourths of a wall. Small round tables with hard wood chairs sat in the middle of the room. It was small, it was intimate. I loved it.
Straight ahead towards the back, sitting at her desk, the librarian had her nose in a book. Wow, this is my kind of librarian! Seeing us, she didn’t look one bit guilty but set the book aside and said, “It looks like you need a library card.” I couldn’t stop smiling as Mom filled out the form.
With my new library card in hand and a reminder of how to get home, Mom left. After all, I was a veteran, getting books on my own at the South Bend library for the past year. The librarian, call her Mrs. Jensen, asked, “What do you like to read?”
Not knowing the term ‘series’, I said, “Authors who write a lot of the same kind of books, and history stories.”
“Follow me.” We walked over to a shelf, and she pulled out a book. “I think you’ll like this one.”
For the next nine years, all the way through high school, Mrs. Jensen always found the right book for me. Never a repeat title, either. How did the woman do that?
I always checked out six books, the limit allowed us. No paperbacks on those shelves; all the books were hard covered. Six heavy books were all my skinny arms could carry anyway. With over a half mile to home, it was a brutal walk on hot Indiana days with little shade. Going to and from the North Side Branch Library was worth every step.
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