I grew up in a small town in Northeast Ohio. I’ve come to love the Columbia Gorge and to call it my home, but I can’t consider myself a native. I’m not exactly old yet, but my memories of my youth are limited to a few shining moments, some showing more brightly than others. After the announcement in late May that Hood River County would be closing three libraries, thoughts of the early days of my life began to come back to me.
I was raised by two loving and ever-attentive parents who knew that in order to maintain sanity and foster their relationship for decades, they’d need a date night. Friday nights were a time for them to leave the day-to-day parenting troubles for awhile and to just be together, alone, away from everything. Luckily, my grandmother lived just around the corner. She was always so excited to see us late on Friday afternoons. I remember the way she’d be waiting at the screen door as if she could intuit the exact seconds we’d arrive. My sister and I would bounce out of the car and run to her embrace.
We would each have one of two things with us, either a large Pizza Hut button decorated with a star for each book we’d read that week, or a sheet of paper cataloging our summer reading list for the Morley Library summer program. Each title and author listed was another work devoured—another seed of knowledge or insight gained.
Grandma didn’t like pizza, but she would grin from ear to ear as we piled into her Pontiac and headed off for the small, free pizza we earned each and every week through a reading program that far too few of our schoolmates took advantage of. I remember clearly, sitting in a mostly empty restaurant just off the main drag outside of downtown. We’d wait anxiously for our prize to arrive while Grandma asked us about what we’d read, what we’d learned and what we would be checking-out from the library after dinner.
When the Pizza Hut program ended, not much would change. We’d sit over a dinner of spaghetti and fresh-picked vegetables at her kitchen table and recount our reading adventures as we made our way through the library’s summer reading program. We often found ourselves well into the lead by early June. We’d count the number of green construction-paper leaves with our names on them, each one placed onto the bare brown branches that took-up what must have been 30 feet on the interior wall of the library. By the end of each summer, with the help of hundreds of Lake County kids, the summer reading tree would be bursting with life—thousands of books read.
In my grandmother’s living room sat a brown leather chair where the three of us would squeeze-in to read away our Friday evenings. My sister and I would each take an armrest and Grandma would ease into the middle. We took turns reading aloud. I remember the way my younger sister would laugh at the jokes she didn’t get just because Grandma and I were laughing, and then we’d laugh with her, enjoying that frivolous, warm chuckle she still has to this day. It only took a few years to wear two small holes into those armrests. Grandma would tape-over them in hopes of stretching the life of the chair—maybe in some way it was a thank you for the way that chair brought the three of us together.
As we grew older there were quieter nights, but we’d still only occupy the space in and around that chair as we each dove into our young adult novels—Grandma reading the newspaper or a gardening magazine at our side. Whether we were 3-years old or well into our teens, we’d finish a stack of books that would make any parent proud and we’d head off to the library again the next week to exchange them for more knowledge, more enjoyment, more access into that world that only reading can open.
I’ve grown-up to make a living by reading and writing. It’s a gift I silently thank Grandma for each and every day of my lucky little life. I understand the bias I have toward the written word, and given my life experience, it’s easy to see why I get so nostalgic over the loss of a building filled with books. There are a host of reasons that these libraries are closing, but none is simpler than the fact that the money isn’t there. As many of us see the signs that this recession is lessening its grip on the nation, these closings serve as a reminder that we’re far from profitable, far from wealthy. I can’t blame a hard-working family for not wanting a raise in their property taxes, but it doesn’t make it any less of a sad story.
My office here in is just a block from the State Street branch that will soon shut its doors. Each time I walk by—every time I see someone tug at the locked front doors and look down at their watch—I’ll think of the worn spots on that old leather chair. I’ll think of the feeling of taping up another paper leaf on the library wall, and the weight of those stacks of books as we left that Hood River cavernous brick-building in Northeast Ohio. I may be far from the place I was born, but I’m home, and every time I look at the State Street Library I’ll feel a tinge of sadness at the fact that each hour that building remains closed, another child is missing out on the blessed life of the written word.
4 Responses to “The Blessed Life, The Written Word”
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Kathy Franz says:
Great memories…what a gift the Morley library is to it’s community. I wish for re-openings in Hood River. Summer reading programs, graduating to “chapter” books, booklists from the school, tracking books finished and books yet to be read…great ways to instill a love of reading. Kudos to Grandma.
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Dena Jo says:
Wow Matt. I think this is one of my favorite articles. And I remember those pizzas too! In all seriousness, though, I think this one is great because it’s happening in so many places and you made it personal to all of us.
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Marc says:
Great article. It is sad to see libraries close. Had a neighbor that once said that while the cost of education is high, the lack of it is even higher – not only for each of us but for our community and nation.
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Linda Snyder says:
Nice perspective, Matt. It’s hard to imagine living in a town without a library. I’ve moved 23 times in my life and lived in a lot of towns, but never one that didn’t have a library.
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Tags: books, gorge, Hood River, library, matt werbach, Pizza, read
