LaRue's Views 2007

Many of us have an image of homelessness: the raggedy man who sleeps under a bridge, pushes a grocery cart, lives in a cardboard box. Maybe he panhandles during the day, probably to support an alcohol problem.

That problem doesn't really exist in Douglas County, right?

Wrong. According to various social service agencies in the county, homelessness is on the rise, right here. But homelessness isn't a single, or simple, profile.

And it never has been.

This is the second of our guest columns, this one submitted by long time library patron, Sonny Poling. Enjoy!
Written by Sonny Poling

We don't always know the effects our actions have on others.

Some years ago, I wrote a column about trying to do things I'd always wanted to do, but hadn't gotten around to. This is probably an aging Boomer phenomena, as witnessed by the slew of books coming out with titles like "100 Places to See (or Things to Do) Before You Die."

But one of my readers, Manijeh Badiozamani, a college professor, took the challenge personally. And she did something she'd always wanted to do: volunteered to work in a kitchen.

I don't go to a lot of conferences. But I just came back from the annual American Library Association conference in Washington, D.C.

I was not alone. There were, by last estimate, over 27,000 librarians in the city. That's a lot of librarians.

But that might be one of the points of the conference. Did you know:

* there are more library outlets than there are McDonalds in this country?

* there are more annual visits to libraries than to all sporting events combined?

Back at the end of March, I wrote about something I was calling "community reference." The idea was as radical as it is obvious: people with questions may not think to ask a librarian, so the library needs to send the librarians to the people.

Sometimes, those questions are big -- so big that whole neighborhoods or municipalities wrestle with them. Here's an example: how do you build and sustain a vibrant "downtown?"

Do any of you remember when you checked out a book in the "old days," i.e. the Sixties? They would take an actual photograph of your card and the removable library card pasted into the book. You would stand there at the checkout counter, and the librarian (complete with glasses and a bun) would step on a foot pedal, triggering the bright light photo and a neat 1960's mechanical noise, taking the picture, so as to trace you if you became overdue or worse.

I've been writing this weekly column about libraries for 17 years. My readers know what I think about libraries. (Hint: I like them. A lot.)

Over the years, I've met thousands of library patrons. In Douglas County, they're a remarkably literate bunch. By that I mean that they're not just readers. They're writers, too, whether that's a short note, a long email, a thoughtful letter to the editor, and even their own books.

They have library stories to tell, too. Here are just a few, sent to us recently.

Ah, summer, the season of lawn mowers and pollen. But there are compensations.

My daughter will be home from her first year at college overseas. My son will be able to start making claymation movies again, having blasted through his final weeks of infernal math homework.

For awhile, young people will bask in the heat and indolence of seasonal downtime. Then, of course, they'll get bored.

What to do?

Well, I did it. I wrote a book, and it got published. I unpacked my six free copies on a Friday night.

By Monday, I'd read it four times.

There's good news and bad news about being a published author. Here's the bad news.

The copyediting process caught several things I'd missed. For instance, I told the same story twice, in two widely seperated sections of the book. The editor asked me which one I wanted to cut, and I picked one.

But in the final review, both of them were still there. So I sent in another correction.

Over 15 years ago, my wife and I wrote an article called "Green Librarianship." It was based on a lot of research, just coming out at that time, about how our buildings were making us sick.

Back then, a few vendors tried to offer alternatives to the toxic glues used to hold down carpets, the formaldehyde-soaked pressboard used for insulation, and hermetically sealed heating, ventilation and air conditioning systems. And most of these vendors were seen as kooks.