Editor's note: Ex libris
As a child, my number one best friend was the librarian in my grade school. I actually believed all those books belonged to her.
—Erma Bombeck, American humorist and homespun philosopher
Half of the 3,500 public libraries in the United States in 1919 were funded through construction grants from impoverished immigrant-turned-steel magnate Andrew Carnegie. I take a personal interest in that legacy of a fellow Scotsman, because I ended up living in one of those libraries for a year.
Sure, college students say that all the time: “I lived in the library during my sophomore year” or “I lived at the library in grad school” or whatever, meaning they spent a lot of time back in the stacks, dozing in the study carrels, flirting with the aides. But I mean it literally. My abode in 1985 and 1986 was a distinguished yellow-brick structure perched on a hedge-lined knoll with concrete steps leading up to double doors flanked by wrought iron lampposts.
None of those design elements was an accident.
“The entry staircase symbolized a person’s elevation by learning. Similarly, outside virtually every library was a lamppost or lantern to symbolize enlightenment,” according to Wikipedia’s entry on Carnegie libraries. “In the early 20th century, a Carnegie library was often the most imposing structure in hundreds of small American communities.”
The library was certainly was among the most imposing buildings in my hometown. I borrowed my first books there, plumbed the mysteries of the card catalog and chipped in penny-ante fines for late or lost materials. As I grew older, that library was where I went to watch my best friend report to the Rotary Club on his trip to the Boy Scout Jamboree in Japan, and to hand out campaign literature at candidates nights when I first became active politically.
I must have been away in college or elsewhere when that library closed, done in by a combination of rising maintenance expenses, a declining tax base and other woes. (That long, symbolic flight of stairs probably didn’t help; the new library that opened in a former supermarket didn’t have any steps—or, I have to say, any imposing presence.) The city put the old building up for bid, and my father submitted the highest: $5,000, which he later negotiated down to $3,000 when it turned out the furnace was shot. I remember inspecting the building with him on a visit home, finding plaster falling from the walls and ceiling, and echoes and dust where generations had sought enlightenment and community. Dad intended to turn it into an apartment building, but he only got around to building one of the four units planned.
That was the unit I occupied during a teaching stint back in my hometown. My living room had been the realm of history and geography back when the Dewey Decimal System ruled; I cooked cheeseburgers in what had been the biography and literature sections and dreamed where people used to read about arts and recreation. The single walnut bookshelf that remained housed my record albums and stereo system.
I wonder what Mssrs. Dewey and Carnegie would have thought of that, but they’re not around to ask. Neither are the nice library ladies who issued the cards, collected the fines and read to the kids back in the day. And increasingly, as teacher and freelance writer Pamela Martineau reports in “Out of Circulation: School Librarians Are in Short Supply” (page 24), those good library ladies and gentlemen are hard to find in California’s public schools.
“There are too many teacher librarians disappearing,” Connie Williams, president of the California School Library Association and a Petaluma Joint Union High School District teacher librarian (the correct term for the dedicated professionals who earn degrees in library science and certification to work in our schools), told Pamela.
With solid research and reporting—and the help of more than one teacher librarian—Pamela makes the case for school libraries and qualified librarians: Strong school library programs are statistically tied to academic achievement from the school years into higher education, and teacher librarians are helping both students and teachers master the Internet skills needed in today’s Information Age.
“This is a classroom position that needs to be mandated, just as much as the science teacher does,” Williams advocates.
Looking for more good reading? This issue of California Schools has it:
In “Lifesavers” (page 14), staff writer Marsha Boutelle offers lessons from districts that “beat the odds,” in the words of a California Dropout Research Project report, to engage students—and, importantly, their families—so they can keep the kids in school.
“Four themes for success emerged” from the CDRP study, Marsha reports:
- connecting and engaging with students
- engaging parents and community members to support school efforts
- providing interventions and supports to students at risk of dropping out
- creating a culture of accountability and high expectations
In “Embracing the Data Monster” (page 34), staff writer Kristi Garrett turns in a helpful guide to four ways school boards can slice through reams of data to arrive at informed, effective decisions that benefit students.
“Student performance—academically as well as their social and emotional status, how well they’re doing behavior-wise, expulsion—is all data-driven,” Valerie Davis, president of the Fresno Unified School District board, told Kristi. “Everything we do with our community, our constituent services, our parent-family survey, our superintendent task force—our data expert crunches all the numbers and shows us trends.”
In our Class Acts (page 12), we look at an award-winning Orange County Department of Education program that puts urban kids in touch with nature and a Buckeye Union School District program that puts CSBA’s Professional Governance Standards to the test; both the standards and the district pass with flying colors.
So find a quiet spot in your favorite library and check out this issue of California Schools … and thanks for reading!
Brian Taylor (btaylor@csba.org) is the managing editor of California Schools.