There’s a new library being built out in Fulshear. I see the construction as I pass by the site, and I know it’s going to be quite grand.
I’ll miss our small little library where we know the librarians by name, they know our children, and the perfect book is never more than 25 feet away.
Libraries hold a special fascination for me. Not big, impressive buildings, but the cozy places, the one-room libraries. They’re slowly being replaced by bigger, sleeker and more modern libraries.
They have their appeal for sure, but my childhood memories of the library were created years ago. It’s what I picture when I think about the perfect place to curl up with a book.
The main library in my hometown was built in 1909, and I rode my bike there at least once a week, my yellow cardboard library card with the metal plate in the middle tucked in my pocket.
The only area I was allowed to visit was a small section on the first floor, but that didn’t matter. All the treasures I wanted were there.
When we moved to Louisiana, the Baker Public Library was a small, two-story building with the library on the first floor and meeting rooms on the second.
I felt important because I knew the Dewey Decimal System and how to look up books and magazine articles.
The librarian was an elderly lady, just like the stereotype one sees in movies. She had silver hair and reading glasses that hung around her neck, suspended by a silver chain.
I thought she lived at the library because, if given the choice, I’d probably choose the same.
In high school, I remember sitting at a library desk, an encyclopedia open in front of me, while I painstakingly copied down information for a book report.
All of us were careful to give the correct attribution because to not state where you got your information would result in a failing grade.
Two things I love about libraries are how they smell and sound. There’s a musty smell mixed with printer’s ink, glue that binds the books together, and the rich smell of the wooden shelves.
Today’s modern libraries have electronic books and metal shelves. They might be cheaper, but they don’t have the same feel of a bound book or the smell from the dozens of wooden shelves in the library.
Footsteps often echoed in the library because there wasn’t any carpet, just linoleum. I remember hearing the librarian’s thump, thump as she’d stamp books being checked out.
There was a card in the back of the books. She’d take out the card, stamp it and the card glued to the inside back cover of the book so you’d know the due date.
If the book came from the adult section – we all tried sneaking those in with our Hardy boys’ books – the librarian would pull it out, cluck her tongue and the book was returned to the adult part of the library.
Most times, she’d recommend books for us to read, based on what we were checking out. That’s how I discovered mystery writers like Phyllis Whitney and, as a teen, the master of all storytelling Stephen King.
Books that aren’t checked out for a while are often sold to help generate funds for the library. I’ve picked up quite a few gems over the years, and I always wonder how a particularly well-written book could go unnoticed for so long.
Then I smile, feeling like a pirate who discovered a long-lost treasure.
Whenever we go on vacation, I always find the town’s library and stop in. Most have a “Friends of the Library” sale, and I can usually pick up a paperback novel or magazine to read.
There’s no stopping progress, and I’ll be a frequent visitor when this new library is open for business. Until then, I’ll be content with the coziness of our neighborhood library.
If you haven’t visited yours lately, stop in. Browse the bookshelves, ask a librarian for a recommendation and see if there’s a book sale going on.
You never know what treasures you might find.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.