why I love librarians

One of the first things I remember seeing when I came to Brooklyn in 1993 was the stunning gold facade of the central branch of the Brooklyn Public Library.  But the first library I actually visited was in Canarsie—it was around the corner from my stepmother’s house, and since I didn’t feel welcome there, I spent more and more time at that library.  I was an immigrant, I had no status, but I’m pretty sure they gave me a library card.  I may have used my father’s card, but I’m almost positive I got my own because years and years later I had to apply to change the name on my card (in 1993 I was Kristin Hood).  As a child I grew up getting all my books from the public library; I don’t think I ever bought a book until college, and then I was so attached to those books that I lugged them with me each time I moved…all my books crossed the border with me!  I’m less attached to books now, and still dependent on the public library to meet my research and recreational needs.  Yesterday I went to the Brooklyn Museum and peered into the glass cases that held antique doll clothes and illustrations depicting the Sanitary Fair of 1864.  Then I walked two blocks to the central branch of the BPL and was handed a book that contained those *same* original illustrations.  Can you believe that?  Museum-quality artifacts are available at the BPL; if you go to the Brooklyn Collection on the second floor, the *amazing* librarian there will hand you books that are almost a hundred and fifty years old!  It took me a full minute to unwrap one book, and then it nearly disintegrated as I scanned the pages, searching for proof that African Americans contributed to or participated in the Sanitary Fair.  First I read the catalog of donated items, which immediately made me think of Antiques Roadshow—I always tell my students that show perfectly illustrates the racialized transfer of wealth in this country.  Who owns all the valuable stuff?  Not people of color…in fact, it’s likely their ancestors *made* the stuff that’s now a priceless asset in someone else’s portfolio…The Sanitary Fair’s catalog lists contributors by surname only, but at the very end of the crumbling book I found a list of cash contributors—it occurred to me to look for some of the black churches and sure enough, the African Wesleyan Methodist Episcopal Church was listed as giving $20!  Triumphant, I carefully wrapped the book up again, brushed the hundred-year old paper fragments from my lap, and moved on to the search for Richmonia St. Pierre.  No luck there.  The librarian called up a book from the basement for me, but Volume 1 of the Anglo-African Magazine only covered 1859.  So this week will include a trip to the Brooklyn Historical Society.  I’ve never used their library, but I’ve visited it before and it’s impressive…the first time I saw it, Rosa declared, “I should do a performance here!”  I started thinking of Genna—how would she feel in a space like this?  A library that was once “for members only”…

I have such respect for historians—black feminist historians who comb through the archives searching for traces of our foremothers.  Every illustration shows dainty white ladies…no mention is made of what WE contributed to this country.  Ordinarily I’m a DIY kind of girl, but thank God for librarians because this is HARD WORK!  (thanks also to children’s librarian Megan who led me to the Civil War books—gotta figure out how teenage boys enlisted in the army…)