LOVING LIBRARIANS [Su, 1-21-24]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—LOVING LIBRARIANS [Su, 1-21-24]

 

I love librarians. It is because of them that I became a story-teller.

It must have been about third grade. The branch library on 2822 E. Washington Street in Indianapolis was having a summer reading program. There were no spectacular prizes. I think we only got a certificate saying we had read the requisite number of books. But… with each book read, we had to tell the story to the librarians, so they could know if we had really read it.

My school teachers sent home notes saying that I couldn’t read, because I would not read out loud in class, the way the other kids did. I was afraid to. I was one of those children who would rather be thought stupid than make a mistake, because in my life, mistakes meant punishments.

I remember presenting a book to the librarian. “Did you read this?” “Yes.” “Tell me the story…”

Well, yes, that was part of the deal. You had to prove that you had really read the book. I was trapped. I had no choice. But, also, the library was a safe place. The librarians would send no report card notes home to my parents, the way teachers did. And it was just a pleasant lady, just one person…

That did not last long. She called another librarian over to hear me tell the story. She called another. Soon it seemed that all the librarians in the world were standing there smiling, encouraging me to go on. Didn’t they have anything else to do? Well, nothing as entertaining. Other kids, they just had them tell enough that they could say, “Yes, you read it,” and put a mark on their tally sheet. But they made me go on and on. They didn’t believe I had really read the book!

I was humiliated. So I doubled my efforts to tell the story. They laughed. “Go on,” they said. Then it became clear that they did not doubt that I had read the book; it was something else. “We just like to hear you talk,” the first librarian said.

I remembered that at my last doctor’s appointment. I have been going to her for eight years now. I was telling her some tale and then remembered that she is a busy woman with a schedule to keep. I apologized for holding her up. “No, go on,” she said. “I like to hear you talk.”

Only recently did I ever hear myself talk. My final sermon. The first time I’ve ever been on livestream, so my first chance to see myself “in action.” Except there was very little action. I was surprised at how boring I was. Little voice modulation. No histrionics. No waving of arms. Just standing there, looking at the people, talking.

But I was telling stories. If you tell stories, people like to hear you talk.

John Robert McFarland

The library had the designation of Branch # 3, even though it is the oldest of the branch libraries. Perhaps it was called # 3 because it shared an alley with Public School # 3. It was founded in 1911, with a grant from the Carnegie Foundation. It is now the oldest library building in Indianapolis, still in use. Here is a pic of the librarians on opening day in 1911.