The most extraordinary thing about being the young daughter of store owner on Main Street in Danbury, CT in the 1950s was that I could walk, by myself, to the library. Past Previdi’s stationary with its window bumper to bumper with newly repaired typewriters, past Lester Wong’s Chinese restaurant with the words Ho Yuen written in red and gold fake Chinese characters, past Mel Green’s toy store, past Malove’s Jewelers I went. These glass-fronted, modern buildings paled in comparison to the library, at once as imposing as a cathedral and as welcoming as a grandmother’s home. Our library was decked out — a majestic brick facade crafted from 1870s: pressed brick, decorative stone trim, gables that formed a cross, the fanciest of roof tile, floral finials, and gothic arches galore.
Mounting the wide stone steps, I eagerly installed myself in the expansive, first-floor children’s room. A huge mural, painted in mossy greens and rose reds, depicted favorite storybook characters — Robin Hood, the Pied Piper, Little Red Riding Hood — as they interacted with ordinary children dressed in slightly Medieval dress. Dark, carved woodwork turned seamlessly into bookcases. I loved knowing where things were in that library: the biographies all bound in orange, the poems, the fairytales, the chapter books. It was okay to take books home, but what I loved most was being there, delighted to find my place in the child-sized furniture, a storybook princess, queen for an hour or two.
Only once do I remember creating a stir. I requested a copy of “The Scarlet Letter” —a book my parents had mentioned that sounded somewhere between sexy and an alphabet book.
“This book is not for children,” one librarian informed me, as she shot a disgusted glance at her colleague.
“It’s upstairs in the adult section and you are too young to go there,” her deskmate added.
Even today, few things give me more pleasure that spending time in our beautiful local library — watching readers engage in one of the real luxuries our society offers.
In the library I am both as young and as old as I want to be.
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Wendy Saul is a retired professor of education and co-author of Thinking Like a Generalist: Skills for Navigating a Complex World.
Wendy a beautiful memory. I had a similar story in ansonia xx
I grew up in Jacksonville IL, a town of 20,000 with wonderful librarians. When we were young teenagers my friend Cathy put her name on the wait-list for Lady Chatterley's Lover. A nosy friend of my mom's saw Cathy's name there and told the librarian she couldn't let her have it. The librarian said Cathy was entitled to read the book. And we did...aloud that summer!