I HEART librarians

As a writer, a reader, a bibliophile, one who believes that literacy unlocks countless doors, one who believes that books change lives, I have been a life-long lover of libraries. Especially public libraries.Brief pause for historical interlude: As with many wonderful ideas that happened a long time ago in this country, Benjamin Franklin figures into the library narrative. He founded the first one in the colonies, a lending library in Philadelphia in 1703. The country’s first free (which is to say, tax supported) public library opened in the spring of 1833 in Petersborough, New Hampshire. The more famous (and erroneously claimed as “first’) Boston Public Library opened its doors in 1852. Fun fact: In the 1890s, the city boosters of Butte, Montana opened that city’s public library “as an antidote to the miners’ proclivity for drinking, whoring and gambling.” (One wonders how that worked out for them.)A few years later, the millionaire (when that meant something) governor of New York, Samuel Tilden, bequeathed a fortune to establish the extraordinary New York Public Library. And then there was Andrew Carnegie, industrialist-philanthropist, who funded the establishment of more than 2,500 libraries worldwide, 1,689 of them, each a gem, in the U.S. Today, in case you’re interested, we have more than 16,000 public libraries.And now, back to the present (or, rather, five days ago):I am signing advance readers’ copies of my soon-to-be published book, Free: Two Years, Six Lives and the Long Journey Home, at the Public Librarians Association annual convention. Sourcebooks, my extraordinary publisher (incidentally, the largest woman-owned publisher in North America) has a booth in the convention hall. There’s a line of librarians queuing up, the badges hanging from their necks identifying them as hailing from Alaska and Arkansas, Wyoming, Arizona, Louisiana, Denver, Boston, all over the Midwest.In the thirty seconds or so I have to interact with each of them, I ask why they are interested in the book. I’m prepared for the usual answer: Adult nonfiction is a big category for us. I am not prepared for the personal responses: The references to family members or friends who have spent time behind bars and their difficult journeys back to their communities. And I am really not prepared to learn of their professional involvement, as librarians, in the lives of previously incarcerated in their communities.These librarians see and talk with these folks every day. Some—far too many--who are released from prison are unhoused. On the streets at night, they find refuge during the day at the public library, a warm, dry place to sit, to read, to snooze. And yes, to use the bathroom. Some who are released go to temporary shelters or halfway houses or transitional housing, too often chaotic noisy places that can feel (and be) confusing or unsafe or both. A few hours of quietly sitting, undisturbed, in a public library is a respite.The librarians I got to meet were on the frontline, aware of and sensitive to the challenges of reentry. More than a few talked about special programs they run or are creating to welcome and serve this population. “We are at the heart of our communities,” one Ohio woman told me. “We serve the entire community—and that means those who’ve spent time in jail and are now back home. We can model that for others.”Oh librarians, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.The book I signed for them, the book you can pre-order now (publication date April 19):