Libraryland It S All About The Story 1st Edition Ben Bizzle Sue Considine PDF Download
Libraryland It S All About The Story 1st Edition Ben Bizzle Sue Considine PDF Download
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Libraryland
CHICAGO | 2020
© 2020 by the American Library Association
Extensive effort has gone into ensuring the reliability of the information in this book; however,
the publisher makes no warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein.
ISBNs
978-0-8389-4743-2 (paper)
978-0-8389-4813-2 (PDF)
Book design by Alejandra Diaz in the Chaparral Pro and Korolev Rounded typefaces.
Introduction ix
Miguel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
7 YAG O C U R A
Project Code. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
8 B R A N DY MC N E I L
vii
viii | CONTENTS
Anonymous Man.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
10 S U E CO N S I D I N E
Flux Capacitor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
11 JOHN SPEARS
Ben’s Game.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
13 N I CO L E G O F F
Prudie’s Letter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
14 VA L E R I E C A R R O L L
I
t was late one night at a library conference. As is common in library con-
.
ference culture, friends were sitting around a table in a hotel bar having
drinks. I’ve always been fond of the conference nightlife. It is, to me, where
the magic happens. On this particular night, it went something like this . . .
ix
x | I NTRODU CTIO N
And that was that, no takebacks. That’s how this book came into being.
A couple of friends at a conference, just planning to have a few drinks, man-
aged to talk themselves into writing a book. Like I said . . . where the magic
happens . . .
We know the kinds of challenges you face when working in a library,
how tough it can be sometimes. So this book of stories is for you, the com-
passionate, empathetic, giving people on the front lines of service in your
communities. This book is a sharing of the hearts, minds, and spirits of your
friends, peers, and colleagues. It is a collection of little notes to inspire you,
to soothe you, to lift you up, especially when the everyday gets hard, and
to remind you that the work you do is essential. You change and save lives
every day.
S
ometimes, what seems to be the most mundane of reference trans-
actions ends up being the most meaningful of human experiences.
That sounds a little Hallmark—okay, a lot Hallmark—but several
years ago I encountered this in practice.
I was working the desk, and the library, for a change, was relatively quiet.
I heard a couple of voices, one growing increasingly frustrated in pitch, over
by one of the catalog stations. My curiosity was piqued when I heard the
word “submarine,” so I went to investigate. I anticipated finding a mother
and child struggling with a report of some sort. To the contrary, I found a
distinguished couple who seemed to be battling the OPAC with little success.
I caught the woman’s eye and she said, “He is trying to find something
about submarines, and we can’t find anything. Could you help him please?”
There was a bit of a tremor in her voice that I did not expect, as my original
suspicion of a mother, a child, and a report due tomorrow did not match the
somewhat dapper older gentleman with wavy, silvery hair, carefully pressed
casual clothes, and an expensive leather jacket.
I approached him and asked, “Are you looking for the history of subma-
rines, how they work, or some story with submarines in the plot?” I was a bit
1
2 | CHAPTER 1
concerned, as I feared the gentleman was perhaps a Tom Clancy reader, and
our copy of The Hunt for Red October had been literally read to shreds. I was
sure it was back on the list of books slated for repair or replacement. I didn’t
think he was likely to be looking for Jules Verne. The gentleman smiled at
me gently and said, “No stories.”
I stepped up to the catalog station and, as I suspected, it was set to Subject,
the most frustrating field in the library, where extraneous words can virtually
ensure that a patron will not find what they’re looking for. I could tell that
the couple was well-educated, and that the woman especially was not used
to a lack of success in a library environment. She had the air of a teacher or
somebody who sought out the more challenging book groups, and one who
would have opinions on most of the books in the classics canon of forty or so
years ago. The gentleman, my immediate patron, continued to smile benignly.
“I can start off by looking for books about submarines and confining my
search to the General field. I think we may have a limited book collection
on the mechanics of submarines, but I can look for more through our inter-
library loan program. Are you interested in their uses in oceanography or
historically in warfare?”
“Not oceanography,” the gentleman replied, still smiling warmly.
“Well, in history we can also use the term ‘U-boat,’” I let him know.
His face lit up and he said, “Yes, yes!”
We walked over to the 600s section, where we found a coffee table book
or two, as well as a pictorial history of the development of underwater craft.
I gave these books to him somewhat apologetically, saying that we didn’t
have much with a lot of text or narrative.
I asked, “Do you want to look at these at the table while I go look in the
military strategy and history areas?” He nodded and went to the table. To
my bemusement, the woman, who by now I had determined was his wife,
decided to accompany me instead.
I apologized again for not having more books with more narrative, and
she rather sharply responded, “He doesn’t read much. The pictures are fine.”
I must have looked surprised because I would have pegged both of them,
from their appearance, as heavy readers.
She continued. “He has Alzheimer’s. Right now all he wants to talk about
is submarines.”
Immediately, and sadly, it made more sense: her tension, his not taking
the lead on searching for his own book. I said to her, “I am so sorry.”
D O YO U HAVE A NY TH I NG ON SU B M A RI NES? | 3
At that, she crumbled. “He’s not the same person he used to be. I can’t
keep up with him. I have to make sure that he doesn’t go wandering off or
get lost, so I can’t really sleep. I’m so very tired. He’s fine now, but he gets so
mad at me sometimes.”
I could hear the tears in the back of her throat. I touched her shoulder
again and repeated how sorry I was. I told her I could not imagine how hard
this must be for her, given the changes in the person she was married to and
how tired she must be.
Meanwhile, I had found some titles on the use of U-boats in World War II
and showed them to her. Many of them had too much text for him to manage,
but a few had some great photos. I also found a book/CD combo of historic
broadcasts. She said she thought they might be too hard, but I suggested that
we put them on the table for him so that he could decide what he did and did
not want. Meanwhile, she could search for books for herself and give him some
time to look through the things we’d found. She started thanking me profusely,
to an extent that far exceeded what I felt I had actually accomplished for them.
We walked over to his table, and I set the books down. I smiled at him
and said, “I would like you to see which of these you think will be useful to
you and tell me why you like them. Then I can see about getting some more
from other libraries for you. I will be back in a minute, but I’m going to also
look for some books for your wife.”
As we stepped away, she started again. “We used to talk for hours. We used
to do things together after work. I’m still trying to work, but I worry about
him constantly. We can’t talk like that anymore. He either looks at me with
that . . . smile” [the benign one I had seen earlier, which now seemed far less
involved and far more removed]. She practically spat the word smile, “. . . or
he loses his temper with me. He was never mean to me before.”
I touched her shoulder again. “I’m sure I’m not telling you anything that
you haven’t already considered, but I bet he senses there are things that he
can’t do or say that he was able to before. It is in no way your fault, but you
are the only, or at least the safest, person for him to express his frustrations
to. I know that must be really hard for you, but you are the only one there.”
She nodded and started to tear up and said she was going to get a couple of
books while he was occupied. I asked her if she needed any recommendations,
but she shook her head and turned away.
I glanced over and he was still happily looking through the books I’d found
for him, and I sensed that his wife needed some time to regroup. I checked
4 | CHAPTER 1
the desk—no one was there in need of help—and then started doing some
searches. I made some printouts, walked over and picked up a book, and
sought her out again.
“Ma’am, you have been pretty open with me, so please forgive me if I’m
being intrusive, but you sound like you might be at the end of your rope. Your
spoons are all used up.” I could tell she was not familiar with that phrase,
which is popularly used by another exhausted group, those with autoimmune
disorders. I clarified: “You start out the day with say 5−7 spoons that have to
get you through the day. Performing a task takes up a spoon, a reserve. Maybe
time at work uses 3 spoons or getting him ready for something takes 2. When
the spoons are gone, so are your mental, emotional, or physical reserves. It
sounds like you might be using your spoons up before noon some days, and
you never go to bed at night with spares. In the long run that will tear you up.”
“Do you fly, ma’am? Or have?” I asked. She nodded. “You know how the
flight attendants always caution you to put on your own oxygen mask before
helping somebody else?” She nodded again. “Well, you’re not doing that,
ma’am, and it’s taking its toll. I can tell you’re a strong person, but everybody
has their limits. I’m actually almost more worried about you than I am about
him, so I got some things for you.” I brought up the printouts. “Have you
ever talked to the Alzheimer’s Association or the Area Agency on Aging?” She
shook her head. “Being a caregiver is one of the hardest jobs in the world. It
will never be easy, but they can help you with strategies for getting assistance
and, possibly, affordable respite care so that you can go to lunch with a friend
or go for a walk. You need to be able to take a break. You have to understand,
this is harder than being a mom. Moms don’t have the sad memory of a
person who doesn’t seem to be there anymore. I’ve printed the contact info
for both places. You can also set up an appointment. You need help and you
need resources, and the people at both of these places have connections all
over the county. You might also be able to find somebody free or affordable
to talk to professionally. You’re carrying an enormous load, even bigger than
you might realize. I have worked with these people, and they can help. And
if they can’t, please come back and I’ll hunt somebody else down for you.”
She teared up again and told me that I might have saved her life. “Do you
know that nobody else has said anything like this?”
Touched, I replied, “Well, ma’am, it’s clear that you are a really strong,
capable woman, but you may be doing too good a job [she laughed], and people
might think you would be insulted if they offered to help. I’m the kind of
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