The phone has been ringing here all day so you get a rerun instead of a new post. This first ran here on 11/22/10…
Not long ago, I spoke at an event about comic books that was held in a public library. Upon entering the building, two thoughts collided in my brain at the same moment.
One was one of those "look how far we've come" observations. Comic books being heralded in a public library? When I was a kid, a library was where parents sent their children because they didn't want them reading comic books. Or at least, didn't want them reading only comic books.
The second observation was along the lines of, "Hey, I'm walking into a public library. How long has it been since I did that?" It had been quite a while…and the last two times were also to appear at events connected with comic books.
There was a day when public libraries were my home away from home…when I'd be in one at least twice a week to take something out or bring something back. My parents were big on the library and I almost always accompanied them. Then when I was old enough to go on my own, I went on my own. I was in one so often that if I overheard someone ask a librarian for the Dewey Decimal code for biographies, I'd call out "920" before the staffer could get the nine out. Naturally in high school, I worked in the school library…and I could have done that for a living if I'd wanted a real boring, thankless occupation that didn't pay and which would soon be obsolete. (I am not knocking librarians one bit. I admire them greatly, especially those who champion Free Press and public access to information. I'm just lamenting what has befallen the profession.)
Over in West L.A. on Santa Monica Boulevard, there was and I think still is a library I frequented. That I'm not certain it's still there should give you some idea of how long it's been. It was divided into two sections. When you walked in, the Childrens section was to your left and the Adult books were to the right. In theory, you weren't supposed to be looking in, let alone checking books out from the Adult section if you were under thirteen years of age. This is not because there was any pornography or filth on that side. They were just afraid kids might encounter a book that had the words "hell" and/or "damn" in it. I think I was around eleven (maybe ten) when I outgrew the Childrens section. I'd literally read everything in it that wasn't of the "See Spot run" variety. I'd even read all the Freddy the Pig books by Walter R. Brooks, and I didn't even like Freddy the Pig. It's just that I'd run out of books there I hadn't read and perhaps memorized.
My parents sometimes checked out books they thought I'd like from the adult section but what was obviously needed was for me to have the ability to browse it myself. That's when my mother called Mrs. Kermoyan. You may remember Mrs. Kermoyan from this anecdote. She was my elementary school principal and a big supporter of my writing and reading endeavors. I have one other story about Mrs. Kermoyan I'll tell here one of these days but this one is about how she somehow arranged for me to get an adult library card. The next time my parents took me to that library, I was handed a special, magic card that allowed me to read or borrow any book in the place. A moment of great pride.
Card in hand, I marched over to the Drawing/Cartoons shelf (Dewey Decimal 740, I knew) to see what they had for me there. I picked out a book at random, opened to a random page and found myself looking at a photo of a nude woman. What, I ask you, are the odds?
I immediately slammed the book shut — not because I didn't want to see the nude woman. I did, very much. In fact, I later checked her out in a couple of senses of that term. But right at that moment, I didn't want anyone to see me looking at the nude woman. I was afraid they'd think that was the only reason I wanted the magic card and so they'd take it away from me. One of my two great disappointments came when I realized that almost none of the books in the Adult section contained photos of nude women. I'd just gotten lucky my first time out.
That day, I checked out several books on comics and cartoons…and I later worked my way through many shelves of many aisles. Every so often, a library worker who didn't know of me would say, "Hey, you shouldn't be in this section" and I'd proudly haul out my card and show him or her, which made me feel pretty darn special. My second great disappointment would come when I learned that I wasn't the only kid my age to have such a card.
I liked taking books out of the library. What I didn't like doing was taking them back, though I always did. (One near exception came when I finally got hold of a copy of Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy by John McCabe — at the time, the only book in print on my two favorite performers. The L.A. library system didn't have a copy. The nearby Beverly Hills Public Library did. Using my aunt's address, I got a Beverly Hills library card just so I could check that one book out…and I kept it out for months. I'd renew it whenever I could renew it and when I couldn't renew it, I'd take it back, wait around until they returned it to the shelves and then check it out again. I only briefly considered claiming it was lost and paying the fine, which would have been a lot less trouble for me and for the library.)
Anyway, as I began to make a little money, I began to buy books as opposed to borrowing them…and that's about when I stopped going to libraries. A library was no longer my home away from home. My home became a library away from libraries. In some ways, that's not as good because you don't have as many delightful surprises. Then again, I rarely have to pay myself an overdue fine.