The first public library I visited was in a big room over the Seymour fire station in the 1940's and 1950's. Downstairs were the city's two fire trucks which seemed impressive to me, though by today's standards they weren't much bigger than Gary's van. These days, those old trucks are the antiques in the Burger Fest parade.
Next to the entrance to the fire station was a simple wooden door that opened to a long, long staircase. We climbed higher and higher until we reached a pair of double doors, opened to reveal stacks of books. Magical, precious books. We turned a corner and there she was, Miss Tubbs.
Miss Tubbs was everyone's idea of what a librarian should be.Her white hair was pulled into a bun on top of her head. She was an old maid, or did spinster sound better? No career women back in those days, she was someone no one wanted. She was pale, with reading glasses she peered over to stare down on the little people at her desk, clutching their books. She seized them. In her hand she had her pencil with a date stamp clamped to it.. She checked out the books, marking the date due on a slip of paper glued to the inside cover. She removed the card from the paper pocket beside the slip and marked the due date on that, too. That card went into a drawer in the desk and I scurried away. The books were treasure, but you had to get past the dragon first.
But that was only during the summer. During the school year, my teacher, Mrs. Koepp, brought boxes of books from the library. She was on the library board and was able to bring a fine selection to supplement the small library we had in the one room school out on French Road.
As I got older, I learned to use the amazing card catalog at Seymour's library. Whenever I looked through it searching for a specific book, I found myself going forward and backward through the drawer to see what other wonders might be found.
My father later told us that he, too, was afraid of Miss Tubbs. Even when my mother worked as an assistant librarian, he refused to go into the library. It was up to my mother to gather up the westerns he liked and take them home.
It turned out that Miss Tubbs wasn't such an old maid after all. She had a lover, a married man. When his wife died, he married his Eleanor. They went off on a honeymoon and she died there. Years of waiting for a few weeks of bliss, it seemed.
But I still remember her fondly as the old dragon who kept the treasure trove that was my first public library.
Next to the entrance to the fire station was a simple wooden door that opened to a long, long staircase. We climbed higher and higher until we reached a pair of double doors, opened to reveal stacks of books. Magical, precious books. We turned a corner and there she was, Miss Tubbs.
Miss Tubbs was everyone's idea of what a librarian should be.Her white hair was pulled into a bun on top of her head. She was an old maid, or did spinster sound better? No career women back in those days, she was someone no one wanted. She was pale, with reading glasses she peered over to stare down on the little people at her desk, clutching their books. She seized them. In her hand she had her pencil with a date stamp clamped to it.. She checked out the books, marking the date due on a slip of paper glued to the inside cover. She removed the card from the paper pocket beside the slip and marked the due date on that, too. That card went into a drawer in the desk and I scurried away. The books were treasure, but you had to get past the dragon first.
But that was only during the summer. During the school year, my teacher, Mrs. Koepp, brought boxes of books from the library. She was on the library board and was able to bring a fine selection to supplement the small library we had in the one room school out on French Road.
As I got older, I learned to use the amazing card catalog at Seymour's library. Whenever I looked through it searching for a specific book, I found myself going forward and backward through the drawer to see what other wonders might be found.
My father later told us that he, too, was afraid of Miss Tubbs. Even when my mother worked as an assistant librarian, he refused to go into the library. It was up to my mother to gather up the westerns he liked and take them home.
It turned out that Miss Tubbs wasn't such an old maid after all. She had a lover, a married man. When his wife died, he married his Eleanor. They went off on a honeymoon and she died there. Years of waiting for a few weeks of bliss, it seemed.
But I still remember her fondly as the old dragon who kept the treasure trove that was my first public library.
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