New York Public Library is a business but a business like no other. The library’s sole purpose is to transact in materials not money. Ours is a business based on trust. We lend. The library has millions of dollars in materials and we trust that the people who borrow these materials will return what they take. We hope in as good as condition as possible. Naturally there is wear, that is expected.

But there are people who use the library for other reasons. They want to destroy, deface and degrade. Our premise of trust is broken often by people who for selfish reasons harm what we offer simply because they can. Unless we catch them, the destruction continues. Sometimes we are lucky. Sometimes we can catch the person who covets the picture within a book and will willingly, guiltlessly slice it right out of the page. Vandalism of materials is a wordless crime and most of the time these wanton acts go unsolved, unpunished.

I work on the 3rd floor in the Language and Literature department at the Mid-Manhattan Library. The floor is often crowded with people on any given day. The aisles are often occupied with people browsing the shelves. For the most part everyone looks as they should, even the ones we know to be homeless. They too have a need for the library and it isn’t just to be in a safe environment. The ones I have observed seem to have an insatiable need to read and they do. I don’t peg them as wanting to hurt the library. Sadly there is another sinister element who occupies the floor and probably the others floors as well. They are people who look like you and I, but their motives are different from the rest of us at the library. They are out to destroy what many of us feel is sacred, trust.

The Dictionary of Literary Biography is a massive reference work. It occupies one side of a set of book shelves, consisting of many bays. It is a comprehensive and vital resource and consulted often. My colleagues and I have discovered the DLB to be not only a well used source for researchers, but by others whose sole purpose is to vandalize. For the criminal whose intent is harm, the DLB is a tableau waiting to receive its dastardly due.

The damage to the books is not outwardly noticeable. But if you are the unlucky one who happens to take one of the hurt books, the crime suddenly becomes horribly real. Upon opening the book you will discover the pages have been mangled, aggressively mangled. Page after page you discover the damage that has been put upon the book. Whatever the original purpose for consulting the DLB, or any other book that has suffered the same fate, is replaced with shock, sadness and frustration. The pages from the bottom are mashed and bent, scarred for life. The words that once laid smoothly across the clean white page are bent, buckled and ugly. Pages that soundlessly turned now make crinkled and sometimes tearing sounds. The damage done to these books and others is from the bottom up. Short, sharp jabs thrust into the pages and hundreds of pages are ruined. The brutality suffered by these book is violent and it is wrenching. I surmise the object must be something like a screwdriver. The destruction up these books and many others is awful. What is worse is the assault and destruction on our notion of trust, for those who work at the library and for those use the library.

Fortunately the DLB can also be found as an online database at the NYPL website. An NYPL library card is needed to access this database.

A tiny article from The NYTimes from 1875

A class project by Sandra Hart for the University of Alberta's MLS program

A blog entry by Tom Cremers from Google Groups - Museum Security, titled Theft and Vandalism: A Real Threat to Preservation

The power of the Manhattan Bridge cannot be denied. It is an orchestration of rivet studded girders, harp like cables and beautiful beaux art design and it spans the East River like a dancer leaping across a stage. Her audience is the city of New York and specifically its Brooklyn residents. I ride across her expanse daily via the subway. I always position myself by a window. Once the train is delivered from darkness, I stop what I am reading and look out: out the windows, through the massive metal beams, beyond the walkway and out into the city. It is a ride I never tire of because the beauty is apparent and it is relatively short lived. Slowly the train descends into the tunnel on the other side and the journey continues and my eyes return to the page in the book I am reading.

I work at the Mid-Manhattan Library at 40th Street and 5th Ave. In the evening when I leave from work, I walk down 40th Street to the subway station at 6th Ave. This spring I noticed something different, something I never noticed before. The weather was beginning to warm, the days were growing longer and there was an explosion of green coming from Bryant Park. I happen to look up as I walked west on 40th Street. At that moment, I was met with a striking, yet subtle view. I stood there a few moments to take it all in, as people hurriedly passed me by. As the world rushed around me, I felt completely alone as I stood there looking out. Along the western edge of the park, buildings covered in skins of green, blue and gray glass thrust upward with enormous energy and vigor. The area is tight with tall buildings and the emphasis on height is even greater juxtaposed with the low lush green park. I looked out upon the buildings, high in the sky and what I saw was a vertical reflecting pool, like a placid pool of water that gently lifts the surrounding landscape to your eyes. But my Midtown reflecting pool is upright and it is the skin of glass that jettisons the images outward. The view is every bit as beautiful as that which is given to us by a quiet body of water in a natural landscape. However this hard surfaced pool, streaming vertically into the sky, is a man made beauty.

On a beautiful spring night last week picture story teller Ben Katchor came to Mid-Manhattan to do a reading of his work. I had asked Ben Katchor to come do a program almost a year ago and through many correspondences and date changes Wednesday, May 7th finally arrived. To be honest, I discovered Ben Katchor a few months before I had invited him to speak at the library. In a conversation with a friend, his name was mentioned as someone I should come to know. Ben Katchor I learned is a comic strip creator unlike any before.

His comic strips reveal the absurdity of everyday life. He presents wonderfully drawn scenes, using characters who are quintessentially human. The characters, sometimes subtle and sometimes not, always pack an ironic punch. Katchor has the uncanny ability to show the funny side of the ordinary, the mundane and the pedestrian. His work focuses on the parts the rest of us don’t think about until we happen to read one of his comic strips. The obvious we take for granted is the palette Ben works from. This is where the beauty of Ben Katchor’s work lies. I admire and enjoy his intuitive understanding of what can be funny… for Ben Katchor it is anything.

Ben Katchor has been making comics strips for years and his work has been in many publications, currently his work can be found in Metropolis Magazine. He has published a number of books and written operas. He is constantly working. I was a bit nervous about meeting him because of his stature. He was the recipient of the MacArthur Foundation Fellowship Award, a 500,000 dollar Genius Grant, an award aimed at gifted and largely unrecognized talents. Ben Katchor is a big name and I was enormously proud when he came to Mid-Manhattan to do a reading.

At 6:15 PM the room was filling nicely. I stood at my usual spot in the hallway, greeting the people as they arrived. Ben came into the hallway at one point and we chatted briefly. I discovered he was pleasantly warm and easy to talk to. He expressed pleasure and appreciation of the people arriving. At 6:35 PM my programming director, Debbie Hirsch, suggested we begin. I ushered Ben into the room. I told him I would introduce him and then he could begin. At 6:40 PM I stood at the podium and read my introduction. I then turned the stage over to Ben Kacthor and the lights went dark.

Ben Katchor’s work is wonderful on paper. However Ben’s reading of his panels, displayed huge on a screen is truly special. Frame after frame in beautiful colors appeared in front of us. The written narrative normally seen in his comic strips was hidden from view. Ben read the narratives aloud, in the most calm and understated manner, he then punctuated the narrative with the animated voices of the characters. The audience responded with appreciative laughter throughout the program. 70 people attended a most enjoyable and intimate event.

Picture Story: The Call of the Wall by Ben Katchor

Links to articles on Ben Katchor: Bomb Magazine, Identity Theory

Programming is great. Not only do I get to select the programs I present, I am then rewarded 10 fold by attending interesting and entertaining programs and I get paid for it! What could be better? About a year ago I happened to be reading Christopher Gray’s Streetscapes column in the Real Estate Section of the Sunday New York Times. It is the first column I read in the Sunday paper. Generally the focus of the Streetscapes column is a building. However on Sunday, April 29, 2007 Christopher Gray did something quite different. On that day the Streetscapes column was devoted to a man, Paul Shaw. Mr. Shaw is a designer and design historian, specializing in architectural lettering.

The subject of the article was completely new to me and I found it fascinating, exciting even. In the article Christopher Gray went on a walking tour with Paul Shaw whose focus was on letters: letters on buildings, in the subway and on monuments, letters which appear everywhere in the city. After reading the article I had experienced a visual revelation, allowing me to see beyond my pedestrian eyes. I found myself looking anew at buildings, monuments and signs that before I would glance over.

I knew Paul Shaw would present a wonderful program and decided to invite him to come speak at the library. I contacted Christopher Gray and inquired about Mr. Shaw. Christopher confirmed my thoughts about Paul Shaw and happily provided me with contact information. After receiving Mr. Shaw’s email address I wrote a lengthy email to him, introducing myself and what I do, followed by a polite request for him to come speak at the library. My wishes were granted with a response of “yes, I’d be happy to speak at the library!”

Months went by and then came the creation of the promotional materials for the program. There was further correspondence between Paul and I about content and title of the program. Initially there was some confusion between Paul and I about what the title should be for the program. Paul’s title was, how should I say, not the most exciting it should be to attract an audience. Paul’s title seemed geared to a specific audience, with perhaps more expertise in the field of typographic design, definitely not appropriate for a general audience. We went back and forth on this discussion for a few more emails till Paul understood what I had been politely trying to tell him. We want people to come to the program, not avoid it. “Oh” he said. “You want something more jazzy sounding.” “Yep, exactly!” I said. The next title fell right into the perfect range of jazzy/sexy. Then came the wrangling with the look of the flyer. Naturally Paul wanted to see everything and I was happy to oblige. He is a designer and I was told by my supervisors to expect it. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it can be problematic. We create an effective, nice looking flyer, with an already established template. It was initially created with lots of input from present and former employees. Hence we produce a solid looking flyer. Many of our patrons have told me how handsome the flyers look and I take this as a good sign. Paul made some comments and some changes and I tried to appease his requests. Finally we came to an agreement on an appropriate flyer that he could be happy with. Phew!

The night of the event we got our biggest crowd ever, 135 attended. And Paul Shaw did not disappoint. If ever there was a blockbuster program, this was it! Paul worked hard on his presentation, you could tell. He had us on the edge of our seats. He presented a program in three parts: letters in the subways, letters on apartment buildings and finally letters on department stores (Paul Shaw counts Lord & Taylor as a former client). Interesting stories, as well as a bit of design theory and history melded into a fascinating and visually exhilarating experience. It's all in a letter, I just never knew how much. Paul Shaw will be coming back in the fall to do another program. I hope you can attend!

Generally in the same subject area, I have included a review of Helvetica, Gary Hustwit’s 2007 documentary that uses the legendary typeface to weave a broader story about typography, graphic design and visual culture in the last half-century.

My father moved into my Brooklyn home about 10 years ago when my mother died, and thus began my career as his personal librarian. When he first moved to Brooklyn, I showed him how to use the bus system so he could travel to and from the Brooklyn Central Library. I gave him a simplified explanation of the Dewey system; telling him what I tell everyone who comes to the reference desk, “think of the number as the address where the subject or book lives on the shelf.” I knew my father’s reading preferences very well and it was with assurance that I sent him to the 940’s to find exactly what he would like. For the most part he took care of his reading material himself, with his weekly jaunts to the library. I would pepper his selections with other books I thought he might enjoy from the collections at Mid-Manhattan. Favorites in the category were Samuel Pepys: The Unequaled Self by Claire Tomalin , Sweet and Low: A Family Story by Rich Cohen, Wild Swans:Three Daughters of China by Jung Chang, The Color of Love: A Mother’s Choice in the Jim Crow South by Gene Cheek and much more. His reading was varied, but mainly it was WWII history he loved and always non-fiction. While at my house he watched no TV. My father just read for his entertainment. As far as I could tell he loved it.

A year and half ago my father became quite ill. I had noticed he did not seem himself so I forced him to go the doctor. I was informed that my father was very sick with congestive heart failure, a common affliction of the elderly. He was so sick there was cause for concern whether he would even live. For 10 days I maintained a presence at the hospital. I sadly watched him turn old right before my eyes. I brought him books while at the hospital but they remained unread. I surmised he was distracted by his plight. Naturally he became depressed. Life was now different and he would have to adjust, or not. The trips to the library would now become memories. Within a matter of days his world became miniscule to what it had been. Miles of travel would now be reduced to blocks, if he was lucky. There was nothing neither he nor I could do; this was life, cruel and ironic.

Once home my father tried to manage a hefty depression. He now had to get used to a new self and that new self would be drastically different from a few weeks before. I brought him books, foolishly thinking reading would be a welcome distraction. How wrong I was. The books gathered dust and their beckoning was left unanswered. I finally broke down and bought him a TV and had cable installed. My kids were thrilled and my father became a zombie in front of the blue screen. He watched for hours and would sleep and then watch more. It broke my heart. He seemed unable to focus on a book. Outwardly he seemed fine, but to me he had become a mere shadow of himself. He no longer seemed an active participant in life, but rather a passive ride taker. I became resigned to my new father and just tried to make him comfortable.

There came a time recently when I brought home two books, the book I was reading A Death in the Family by James Agee and Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides the book I planned to start reading afterwards. My father is Greek and our family is from Detroit so I made a point of showing him Middlesex because of the Greek author and the Detroit setting for his book.

My father in his old age has developed a keen interest in everything Greek. I thought the Eugenides book would interest him, if not to read then to simply marvel at the author’s heritage. To my surprise it was the Agee book that caught his interest. He said about the Agee book, “I always wanted to read this book.” With that, I said “here pops, take it, you read it.” That was months ago and my father has been reading fiction every since. Perhaps by reading fiction my father has been able to recapture a part of life that he has lost in his own life. Author Paul Theroux once said “fiction gives us a second chance that life denies us.” I bring him mysteries like: Georges Simenon, Henning Mankell, Elmore Leonard and other works of fiction from Ian McEwan to Somerset Maugham and many more. I am happy to be of service to my father for as long as it lasts. I am also so thankful to be working at Mid-Manhattan, with such an incredible collection of fiction to choose from.

About six years ago when I started working at the Mid-Manhattan Library in the General Reference Collection, a man came to the desk, wanting a book on New York Public Library history. He said the book was written by a woman. The first book that came to my mind was Phyllis Dain’s New York Public Library: A History of its Founding and Early Years. At that moment I did not know the call number but I knew its location on the shelf. I pulled the book from the shelf and gave it to him. I gestured for him to take a seat and with a smile he walked over to a table. I went back to my seat.

A half hour later, he came to the desk to return the book and thanked me. I asked if he found what he was looking and with that he told me he was giving a lecture at the National Arts Club that evening. He had come to Mid-Manhattan to do a last bit of fact- checking. The topic of his lecture, New York Public Library history in relation to Andrew Haswell Green. Our conversation was not long, but at the end of it I decided to ask him for his business card. “Gladly!” he replied and then pulled the card out of his wallet and handed it to me. We shook hands and said goodbye. I looked at his card carefully, looked at the name. Up to that point though we had engaged in a lively conversation, however we had not exchanged names. The card said in bold lettering “Rediscovering Andrew Haswell Green NYC’s Forgotten Visionary” and under this in small letters was the name Michael Miscione. Almost half the card was taken up with a photo of a man from the neck up, his bearded visage serene, confident. The man, no doubt, Andrew Haswell Green. Once off the desk, I put the card away in my desk and thought about what an interesting hour it had been.

Later I looked up Andrew Haswell Green. He was a very prominent figure among the movers and shakers in New York City in the late 19th century and he was integral to the establishment of Central Park and New York City as we know it today, by combining the boroughs in 1898. Green was instrumental in creating the famous grid of streets and avenues that help to define Manhattan. He also was a major participant in the establishment of The New York Public Library and the Metropolitan Museum. You name it--Haswell was involved in every iconic facet of what we know to be New York City for the latter part of the 19th century. Unfortunately, he was murdered by a crazed individual who mistook him for someone else and his name sank into obscurity. That is until Michael Miscione came along. Michael Miscione has been a one-man force in trying to revive the name Andrew Haswell Green and his importance in New York City History.

I kept Michael Miscione’s card in my desk along with other cards that I felt may somehow be important to me one day. That day came last year, many years after we had first met. When I was asked by my supervisor to begin doing programs in late 2006, I was at first a reluctant participant. Once I started doing programs, I discovered I really liked it and that is where my programming passion began. As I searched for interesting and dynamic programs, my thoughts went all over the place. Everything I read, saw or heard suddenly had an import beyond its initial interest. A potential program was in everything I experienced.

I decided to contact Michael Miscione to speak at the library. I knew he lectured based on our one encounter many years ago. And more important I knew he would be interesting. New York City- related programs are always a draw. We get hundreds of questions about New York City; patrons can’t get enough of the subject, me included.

After many attempts at contacting Michael Miscione, I finally reached him. I relayed the story of how we met many years ago and why I saved his card and ultimately why I was calling him that day. Initially he hesitated and then like a rubber band being shot, he remembered the encounter almost exactly as I did, except he could go onto to remember a really successful lecture he gave that evening at the National Arts Club. I thought to myself “Bingo! Cyn you just got yourself a really good program.” Michael was more than happy to come and speak at the library. I learned that he was the Borough of Manhattan Historian, that he was a filmmaker, and he was in fact as interesting as I found him to be many years before.

Michael Miscione has come twice to speak at the library. The first program he presented in the spring of 2007 was The Combining of the Boroughs of 1898 and the Establishment of New York City. He presented his second program this past February: The People vs. Wayne Boyd: The Murder Trail That Nearly Redrew The Map of New York City.

Both talks were the best that programming could offer. Slide lectures with wonderful historic photographs were supported by a dynamic speaker whose command of his subject takes the viewer on a most exciting intellectual ride. One hundred people attended each program. Michael Miscione will be speaking again on Monday, November 17, 2008. I encourage New York City history enthusiasts to mark their calendars now. You won’t be disappointed!

The Morgan Library
One of the gems of the city is the Morgan Library located on Madison and 36th Street, literally just around the corner and down the block. I fell in love with the place 26 years ago and I have never stopped loving it. To me it is the one of the most intimate spots in the city, more so before the Renzo Piano reconstruction but still really wonderful.
I like it for a couple reasons: first because the shows are never big; they can’t be. It is always a one-room experience and that is just about right for my eyes. Secondly, to see the actual personal rooms of Morgan never fails to completely humble me to the extent of what great, great wealth can accomplish. Morgan’s rooms take my breath away. If a room had a sound, Morgan’s library would be a cacophony of noise, screaming a beautiful symphony of sound, moving forth in all directions, mingling and mixing and highly organized, nothing left to chance. There is a sparkling brilliance to the library; it is rich in colors, design and textures. You can take it in generally and simply let its beauty surround you or study the detail of this glorious and complex room. It’s all there and never should be missed.
Morgan’s study is a different matter all together. Awash in vermilion and wood, it is serene in comparison, warm and inviting. Despite its grandiose quality, Morgan must have spent many an hour in this room talking about the world with his guests. He is everywhere in the room, you feel him and see him twice on the wall in big handsome portraits. To my surprise, you can now see Belle de Costa Green’s office, Morgan’s first librarian and then longtime director of the Morgan Library. Her room is the smallest but no less elegant. All the rooms are rich and sumptuous, constructed with the finest materials in the world and attest to the power of the man who amassed a fortune and then created one of the premier institutions in the country if not the world. Yeah Morgan!

The current show at the Morgan is Michelangelo, Vasari, and Their Contemporaries: Drawings from the Uffizi
http://www.themorgan.org/exhibitions/default.asp
I decided to go opening night. Normally attending a show on the day it opens would be out of the question, but on Fridays after 7:00 PM The Morgan is free. I decided to give it a shot. I often like to go see an exhibit twice. This is akin to reading a passage a few times over to truly savor its magic and artistry. I was a bit weary when I entered, there was a fairly long line at the coat check and I thought the evening to be doomed. I sidled up to a guard and asked if I needed to check my coat and two bags. He looked at me and my two bags and thought for a minute then said “nah, you can go on in.” Happily I pushed through the big glass door that takes you to the gallery and then to my delight I entered the gallery and it was not crowded. I could view the exhibition unfettered–always a plus.
I am not an expert in drawing, I don’t understand the traditions and could not tell you about the influences. What I will say is that drawing often allows you to see the inner workings of the artist and it always reveals the subtle yet extremely powerful skill of the artist; it can be the draftsmanship or the emotion or feeling the artist was able to impart to the picture. Drawing is spare but the level of complexity that can be achieved with very few materials always astounds me. In any show there are always favorites and for me there were a few.
Giovanni Stradanus’ The Allegory of the Immortality of Poetry. The theme is wonderful and the description card nicely lays out what is happening in this involved little gem. Compositionally it is triangular and there are nice elements that help guide your eye from left to right. A beautiful classical arch is in the middle ground, steering you to focus on The Three Fates. In the foreground is the winged figure of Time, an extraordinary figure completely unaware of the otiose task he has taken up. According to the description card Time is tossing papers inscribed with names into the river. Geese save them as quickly as he tosses them, ferrying the allegorical pieces of papyrus up a meandering river to the background where nymphs attach the saved papers to columns in the Temple of Immortality. It is an intricate piece, with a fairy tale quality to it, very detailed though not wrought. It is lovely to look at again and again.
In the show were also wonderful battle scenes and triumphal march scenes, all detailed and complex in composition. Lastly, a couple flawless studies  kept my eyes busy for good long while.
Baccio Bandinelli Studies of Heads and Poppi Francisvo Vandini ’s Four Heads
Finally, for those of you who want to read a really excellent stand out biography of Morgan, Jean Strouse’s Morgan: An American Financier is the one. http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/03/28/reviews/990328.28lingemt.html
Last year a biography of Bella de Costa Green (it’s on my list to read!) by Heidi Ardizzone was published: An Illuminated Life: Belle da Costa Green’s Journey from Prejudice to Privilege
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0393051048/ref=dp_proddesc_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books

In bits and pieces of metal and muck a different type of life rained down upon the street below and I could not stop thinking about what goes on high above our heads. This as a result of the recent spate of tragedies of men and debris falling to the street from above, far above. Before Christmas two window washers crashed to the street below along with their scaffolding from 47 floors above. Miraculously one man lived. Just last week a construction worker fell from roughly the same height along with part of the floor and thousands of pounds of wet cement.
At any given time, many, many floors above our heads there is a whole world taking place. We see it only in spats, most of us carry on oblivious to what is happening above us. Things are being hauled up and down, unbelievably heavy things, things that would cause great damage if they were to fall, things that would splatter the flesh in an instant. For the most part nothing comes down upon us unexpectedly. From time to time things drop from the sky as though giant invisible hands with nimble fingers have plucked people and metal and tossed them down. Sometimes massive objects do topple over upon us. Will the scrim of scaffolding really protect us? Despite our ability to reign in nature, from time to time, she says “tsk, tsk, tsk little darlins that is not physics, you can’t fool mother nature…KABOOM!” And so it was with the most recent tragedies. Horrifying, terrifying and exhilarating incidents that make the heart race when you stop to think about it. Surprisingly, for the most part, the innocent below are untouched. Even more disturbing is that these incidents occur on the bustling streets of New York City.
Midtown construction work is constantly going on, often high above our heads. In the warms months of spring and summer I was a regular audience at many of the sites. It was fascinating and exciting I returned again and again for the thrill. I was riding a virtual roller coaster and the price of admission was free. How could I resist?
Once I was on a side street between 5th Ave and Madison when I noticed almost in the clouds a crane slowly turning with a load attached to a long cable. Enormous weights were in motion to counter balance. It was a ballet of metal and muscle and I had to press my back against the wall of a building as I looked up. Vertigo took my breath away. I could not believe what I was witnessing juxtaposed against the lunch time crowds rushing to and fro. I was mesmerized, enthralled. I vowed to come back everyday and I did. After a while one of workers noticed me and he was willing to answer my myriad of questions. I tried to imagine what it was like to be way up there, the man driving the crane whose only contact with the world is via walkie-talkie. I visited this site often. I was even lucky enough to watch them bring the crane down. I have watched huge cooling systems being hoisted to the tops of tall buildings. I have watched heavy loads of I-beams go up with the wave of a hand above 42nd Street as crowds and traffic go about their business below. I even saw a load of construction material ready to go up suddenly spring loose from the thick metal cables that bound it. The look on the workmens’ faces revealed how truly lucky we all were.
I look forward to the warm months when I can watch the events of the building on the corner of 6th Ave and 42nd St unfold and discover new sites where I can watch this mechanical matinee. The canopy layer of our concrete forest is as rich with life as any tropical forest.

Easy Rawlins is very near and dear to my heart. If he was real I would be in love. Instead I must admire him from afar, through the written word. The man I have the biggest crush on exists only on the page and in my mind’s eye. He is the protagonist of the acclaimed Easy Rawlins series created by noted author Walter Mosley.
I discovered Mosley by accident. I was visiting friends a few years back and I was hungry for something to read, something fun. We got on the topic of books and I mentioned my desire. Mosley was suggested with the added endorsement of Bill Clinton considering Mosley a favorite. That night I looked Mosley up in Novelist (how I miss that database) and discovered the Easy Rawlins series. The next day I got the first book, Devil in a Blue Dress. I read practically the whole book in one sitting. I loved it. I then went on to the third and fourth and within a matter of time I had read the entire series practically in one long sitting and I was hooked. There were so many things that I liked about Easy Rawlins: he was smart but not arrogant, he made mistakes, he was human, he had tremendous humility that he wore like a well fitting suit, and lastly he aged in each installment.
Mosley uses the backdrop of an historical milieu, sometimes using significant events like the Watts Riot to set a story. Mosley’s writing is top notch, graceful and powerful. His sentences often warrant a second look. His secondary characters are well thought out and purposeful.
There is tragedy and humor to the East Rawlins series. They often make me cry.
When I started doing programming, in the back of mind I thought how wonderful it would be to have Walter Mosley come speak at the library. I fantasized about what the night would be like. I seriously wanted to meet Walter Mosley and tell him how much of a fan I was of Easy Rawlins. So in this frame of mind I fired off a letter to Walter Mosley, then two and three, all of them passionately inviting him to come speak at the library. His publicist tried to let me down gently, but I would not give up. After many months and many more letters I did finally give up, putting my school girl crush on Easy Rawlins to rest. I thanked his publicists (there were two or three) for their help and I put the idea of Walter Mosley coming to speak at the library away.
Then last year I was strolling the aisles of the Book Expo at the Javits Center and as luck would have it, I came across the Little Brown & Co. booth and right in front was promotion for the 10th installment of the Easy Rawlins series Blonde Faith. I can’t tell you how excited I was. I gently inquired about having Walter Mosley come to the library. The reception of the request was warm but they would have to check with the author first. I requested business cards and went on my way.
Once back at the library the work began, I composed an email to Walter Mosley’s publicist and waited a week. No response. I re-sent the email with a new email on top. This time a response. It went this way back and forth for a about a month, maybe two. I finally was able to secure a date and with that my heart raced with joy. Getting a solid date of NOV 20 2007 erased the feeling of inadequacy that accompanied my previous attempt to get Walter Mosley to come to the library. Now I was elated and proud. But all the work that went into getting Walter Mosley to come to the library and the great feeling of joy I felt was for naught. In September I was notified by his publicists that Mr. Mosley would not be coming to the library after all. I was frustrated and extremely disappointed and there was nothing I could do about it.
Yesterday was Christmas Eve. I finished Blonde Faith, the 10th installment of the Easy Rawlins series. I happened to be on the train and there it was: the last page, then the last paragraph and finally the last sentence. I shut the book, looked up and thought to myself what a great book it was and how much I love Easy Rawlins.

Where to begin? There are many. I will begin with Joke Man. For as long as I have been at MML there had always been Joke Man, an appropriate sobriquet. Joke Man visits were regular like the sun rising every morning, but not nearly as pleasant. Every morning, just around 9:00 Joke Man would make his rounds of the desks on the second floor. He drove my colleagues mad with frustration. He was dreaded and loathed and avoided whenever possible.
I did not deal with Joke Man much; our meetings were intermittent because I began work at 10:00. By the time I came in bright and bubbly, ready to face the world, Joke Man was exiting. It was mainly his backside I saw as he left through the door. As I scanned the room, the look on my co-workers faces said it all. They had suffered keenly through interminably insipid jokes and they did it with a begrudging smile on their face.
His jokes always started out with “Did you hear the one about…..” And then one after another they come at you like bullets, each worse than the one before. It was like being in a car and knowing you’re headed for disaster and all you can do is brace yourself for the worst. With great joy, you knew the end was near when Joke Man would ask for a biography of some screen siren back from the 40’s. Alas, that is Joke Man.
I sensed something different the other day: I sat quietly for a moment at the reference desk before I suddenly realized what was different. Somehow the many days without Joke Man unconsciously registered within me. I brought the absence of Joke Man up with a couple of co-workers on the floor and I was met with “Oh yeah, wow…I wonder where he is?” I speculated mostly in my head about what might have happened to him.
You wonder about some of our patrons, some whose need to interact is such that they will do it in a manner that ultimately sabotages the interaction they so desperately want. I had the impression Joke Man was alone; I knew he lived in Brooklyn and that was it. Mid-Manhattan was on his daily routine. God only knows where else he sought community. I feel that the five minutes I spent thinking about Joke Man makes the presence of him validated: for Joke Man as human being and for me as a human being.

Etching by Jacque, Charles Emile, 1813-1894, from NYPL Print Collection / Digital Gallery.
Saturday at the reference desk started out quietly, but like a carnival that spins your eyes wide, after a while we became so busy that my partner and I were running around the floor, answering phones and taking care of patrons who were three deep and waving like drunks at a bar. I was on the desk in the last hour and we were still going strong. My last patron, well, was my best.
He came to the desk telling me that this library was indeed a weird place: a place full of books he couldn’t find. I straightened and leaned into him and said…”What’s the problem?” “Normally,” he said, “I find whatever I am looking for on the shelves.”
I said “Maybe in a book store, but this is a library. We use call numbers to find books. What do you want?”
“I want books on sexual instruction”
“Ah I see,” I said, “Let me give you the call number…. 613.96” with the caveat “there is not going to be a lot on the shelves, naturally a very popular topic, you understand.”
After he left to get his books, I thought - sex is not like making a soufflé. If it was, we would follow the recipe, practice it, and then we would all make perfect soufflés. I think an instruction book on sex would make some press too hard and others press in the wrong places. Sex is like a river. It flows, and god help the soul who tries to teach a river how to flow - just look at the Army Corps of Engineers.

A few weeks back I presented a program with Michael Lerner, the author of Dry Manhattan: Prohibition in New York City. I like to read the books of the authors I present, and so far I have managed to do this (though I don’t always finish in time for the program). In the case of Dry Manhattan, when I made my presentation I had only one chapter left.

If you have not seen the cover of this book, well let me say it the sharpest jacket cover I have ever seen. And even though they always tell you in library school that you’re not supposed to judge a book by it’s cover, Dry Manhattan’s wonderful jacket cover is indicative of the pages therein.
New York City history is always fun and when it is well written, interesting and important, to me that spells “winner!” And that’s what this book is. I can say this with confidence because not only have I read the book, but I noticed another co-worker reading it as well. He and I discussed what we liked about it and not surprisingly they were the same things. More recently, I noticed another co-worker getting ready to read the book. She’d gotten a glowing recommendation from the co-worker with whom I had discussed the book. Like I said, it’s a winner.
Lerner brings together many parts of history that before, for me, had been separate and independent of each other. History for which I had sensed there were connections but never could see how or why they fit together. Dry Manhattan is a wonderful road map to a place I did not understand before.

I wish to rain on your parade. I think Bryant Park should not be a venue for commerce! Once again the green in Bryant Park is being traded for the green in money. In the spring and fall, the park is filled with the fashion shows and come winter there is the skating rink and the surrounding shops. I do not object to the skating rink and a small concession stand. What I do object to is Bryant Park being scheduled back to back with events throughout the year without any time alloted for it being a park.
There is so little green in the city. The beauty of Bryant Park is that it is a park, classical in style and rimmed with mature trees, beautiful plantings, and most importantly, a rectangle of green grass like no other in the city. Bryant Park is an oasis but it is never allowed to be the oasis it was designed to be. When the weather allows and the park is not blocked off to the public, people clamor to find any bit of space in the park to sit during their lunch hour and take in the wonderful setting of Bryant Park. I read in the NYTimes that even during the dark days of Bryant Park, when drug addicts and grifters were rampant, people would still converge on the park and enjoy the park despite its derelict condition.
The park is beautiful and obviously able to generate a lot of income. Certainly income needs to be made to help in the upkeep of the park but when I see the sod torn up and then replaced once, twice and thrice, money seems horribly wasted. Realistically I know that the money Bryant Park generates will always be a motivating factor to utilize the park in more money making ways.
I just find it really sad the merchandise in the shops that fill almost every spot in the park during this time of year is perceived as something special. What’s packed into those contrived little chalet-like booths can be had anywhere and better too.
My voice is a small one when it comes to defending Bryant Park. And unfortunately the sublime beauty of this well-designed park does not speak loud enough to override this terrible misuse of a grand park.

I read an article by Anthony Grafton in the November 5, 2007 issue of the New Yorker, titled Future Reading: Digitization and its Discontents. Essentially the article is about the digitization of books and related material by Google and other organizations. What I liked best about the article was his discussion of the incompleteness of the project. Grafton discusses the process of choosing what is going to be digitized. Material not currently digitized is material from poor countries, material that is out of print but in still under copyright, rare and delicate materials and archival material. There are no plans to include these items. Instead of being the seamless cohesive fabric of the recorded knowledge of humanity, Grafton points out the patchwork quality of this vast complicated quilt.
For me this notion harkens back to the point in recent history when “rogue” scholars pointed out that there were and are other histories and philosophical thought that existed simultaneously as Western thought. When teachers don’t present this side to students, gaping holes in the history of humanity are allowed to exist. Somewhere around the 70’s I noticed weak attempts were made to fill these holes. In regards to Google’s immense undertaking, I wonder how the other printed words of less politically powerful cultures will be included in this rich fabric. Will the holes be allowed to exist and why?
I also like Grafton’s intro where he tells the story of how Alfred Kazin, author of “On Native Grounds,” used the great Humanities and Social Sciences Library of NYPL as inspiration to write. With great finesse, Grafton finishes off where he began, walking between the great symbols of Patience and Fortitude. It was nice to read something so positive yet bittersweet about our wonderful institution as we all watch ourselves morph into something unknown. I wonder if in the end we will be able to deliver the service Grafton so eloquently alludes to.