One of the greatest joys I’ve had as a child was going to my local, public library.
I remember my 10-year-old self excitedly bursting through the double doors on a Tuesday afternoon. Seeing the towering forest of bookshelves before me, I’d timidly approach and gingerly prune off one book at a time. One moment, I’m holding James and the Giant Peach. And the next, I’m standing on the stepping-stool reaching for The City of Ember, just outside my grasp.
Carefully balancing my precarious stack of books, I would find a nook between the shelves, plop down, and dive into a world of wondrous imagination. I’d stumble with the Pevensie children into the mythical land of Narnia and travel with the Ingalls family as they made their journey through America’s frontier.
But as I was voraciously reading in my little nook, I’d occasionally notice other things. The cheers and giggles as a local magician pulls a line of handkerchiefs out of her sleeve. The scratches of a pencil as an elderly couple tries to finish a crossword puzzle. The clicks of the stamp on my peers’ summer reading cards. And, of course, the group of parents keenly (but quietly) discussing the next PTA meeting or bake sale.
The local library was not just a place to read, but a place to meet your friends and talk about summer plans (or, more often, school year woes). It was an extension of the public square, where all members of the community were welcome.
And this was the historical purpose of our public libraries. America’s oldest tax-supported library was founded in 1833 to make access to books “free to all the citizens.” In the 1950s, public libraries expanded their programming by starting summer reading programs and hosting meetings for community groups. Libraries became democratically shared spaces.
With the pandemic, however, we lost them. A Public Library Association survey found that 98% of libraries responding reported building closures. Librarians across the country scrambled to adjust to the “new normal.” They offered virtual storytimes and distributed laptops. But in a world where children and adults alike were irked by Zoom meetings, it just wasn’t the same.
We lost a physical space. And in a way, we lost our ethos.
Even after other institutions opened, many counties were slow to reopen libraries, pointing to vague “staffing” issues.
Today, our libraries are unlocking their doors. It’ll be a while before we hear the laughter during magic shows or the rustle of a newspaper. But reopening our local libraries is a small victory. We are reclaiming a public space. Hopefully, we will regain our sense of community.
