Library Juice 6:16 - July 31, 2003


1. Links...
2. Librarianship as a Revolutionary Choice
3. Toman the Seeker
4. Amusing Searches

Quote for the week:

Say oh wise man how you have come to such knowledge? Because I was never
ashamed to confess my ignorance and ask others.
-Johann Gottfried Von Herder, critic and poet (1744-1803)

Homepage of the week: Reva Basch


1. Links...


Cites & Insights Midsummer 2003 issue - CIPA special

(August issue also available at )

[ from Walt Crawford ]


CIPA Decision Response: A statement from ALA President Carla D. Hayden
and the ALA Executive Board

[ from Don Wood to IFACTION ]


Karen Schneider blogs about ALA's new opt-out communication preferences

[ from Karen Schneider to ALACOUN ]


How I Learned to Love FAIR USE... [Stanford Copyright & Fair Use]
By Mary Minow

[ from LibraryLink - ]


Joan K. Marshall Dies

[ from LISNews ]


State-By-State Report on Permanent Public Access to Electronic
Government Information - Update

[ from Sabah Eltareb to California State Library staff ]


Children's Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA)

[ from Karen Schneider to CALIX ]


The 'Left-Wing' Media?
By Robert W. McChesney and John Bellamy Foster
Monthly Review June 2003

[ found surfing ]


ALA Council Roster (on the ALA Website)

[ from Rochelle Hartman to ALACOUN ]


Sabo Bill: Public Access to Science Act

Miriam. A. Drake, Free Public Access to Science - Will It Happen?
Information Today, July 7, 2003.

Grant Gross, Bill seeks free access to federally funded research
Bio-IT World.

Opposition from the Journal of Cell Biology

Opposition from the American Association of Universities

Text of the bill

Public Library of Science

[ Links sent by Sam Trosow to PLGnet-L ]


Stanford University's Fair Use Site, redesigned

[ sent to me by Dan Mitchel ]


The Corruption of Cataloging
By Michael Gorman

[ found surfing ]


Letter sent by ALA/AALL/SLA, etc. to Congress in opposition to the FTAs

[ sent by Sam Trosow to the SRRTAC-L list ]


Text Wars
by Dan Kelly
New City Chicago

[ found surfing ]


Reading While Bearded: Marc Schultz shows off a souvenir from his
encounter with two FBI agents.
(Jim Stawniak, Creative Loafing Atlanta)

[ sent by Mark Rosenzweig to SRRTAC-L ]


L.A.C.K - Libraries Are Corrupting Our Kids - site relaunch

[ sent by Chris Zammarelli to undisclosed recipients ]


Sad 404

[ from Richard Harrison to WEB4LIB ]


2. Librarianship as a Revolutionary Choice

Speech at the Joint American Library Association/Canadian Library
Association Conference

by Naomi Klein
June 24 2003

Thank you Mitch for that lovely introduction.

And thank you all for coming here this morning.

I also want to thank my research assistant Debra Levy who happens to be a
librarian and tutored me in all things bookish in preparation for this

Every speech in the world begins like that - the pro-forma thank yous. I've
done it plenty of times on autopilot.

But this time is different.

The fact that the ALA decided to come to Toronto - my city - despite SARS,
became for me a sort of beacon of sanity in what seems an increasingly
insane world.

When things seemed to be spiraling into an apocalypse of violence, illness,
fundamentalisms and hysteria, I would check the ALA website and make sure
that yes, the librarians were still coming:

The U.S. and Britain might have gone to war based on no evidence of Weapons
of Mass Destruction. My neighbours might be wearing masks to go to the
corner store even though no one has been infected that way.

And yet some people are still thinking, still making decisions based on
facts. The librarians are coming to Toronto.

So I do not take your presence here for granted.

Nor do I take for granted the idea that thousands of us can gather together
in a room like this and freely exchange ideas, even controversial and
critical ones.

These are new sentiments for me. I confess that until very recently, I took
open borders and open forums for granted. Of course we are free to move,
free to speak our minds - what else would we be?

I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like we are losing freedoms every day.

Much of this comes from internally imposed restrictions: We are more afraid:
of each other. Who is going to infect us? Who is going to blow us up? Who is
going to blow the whistle on us for being anti-American - for saying the
wrong thing, or reading the wrong book?

We curtail our own freedoms out of fear of what might happen.

But we also have reason to be afraid, some of us much more than others.

I don't have to tell you this. Librarians in the United States are on the
front line of the attacks on privacy and civil liberties.

The Patriot Act has put you there. You know how little evidence - in fact,
none - is required to invade your users' privacy. That any law enforcement
official can demand to see a record of the books your users have taken out
and the Internet sites they have visited - without so much as claiming
"probable cause."

I was shocked to read in The New York Times a quote from Anne Turner,
director of the Santa Cruz Public Library System, talking about how her
libraries are shredding users' records on a daily basis.

She said: "The basic strategy now is: keep as little historical information
as possible."

It has actually come to this: professional archivists, the people who value
information and history most, driven to shred their own records for fear of
how they could be abused.

You all know this is happening and yet when you gather here with your
colleagues to discuss the pressing issues facing your profession, you cannot
even tell each other if you have been subjected to one of these searches.

It's the not knowing that kills me: not knowing how many records have been
rifled through, how many people have been detained, for how long, how many
face deportation.

So my thank you this morning is not one of those pro-forma thank yous: I
truly am thankful that we can talk like this. And I am especially thankful
that the ALA decided to come to Toronto.

Your choice is highly relevant to my topic today.

I was asked to talk about globalization.

SARS, and other highly infections diseases, are very much a part of
globalization, though a side of globalization that our politicians generally
don't like to talk about.

The official discourse about globalization is usually about things,
stuff: goods and services being traded across borders.

But globalization is also about people - the effect of that movement of
goods and services on people.

And one of the effects is that people move:

We travel, we migrate, we look for better opportunities.

Maybe the people who move were displaced by a war, or by a mega-dam that
drowned their village, or an industrial farm that pushed them off their

What I argue in my book Fences and Windows is that the current lopsided
vision of globalization has been about freeing money and goods while trying
to control and contain people.

So we in rich countries are told that we can have all the benefits of trade
- cheap products, access to the world at our fingertips - without the messy

We are told that we can live in bubbles of security while the rest of the
world boils with poverty, disease and violence.

What SARS reminds us of - in a relatively small way - is that we human
beings, regardless of national borders, are connected to each other -
whether we like it or not. Globalization is for real.

A flu in Hong Kong is connected to a conference in Toronto. An air
conditioner in New York is connected to a flood in Sri Lanka, and a famine
in Malawi.

One continent's pandemic becomes another's illness. One people's fury
becomes every country's fear. One nation's war becomes another's refugee

No border is truly secure.

Our skins - the borders of our own bodies - don't protect us from disease.

Just as the borders of our nations cannot protect us from terror.

We humans, much as we tell ourselves otherwise, are porous: our nations, our

No matter what armour we use to make ourselves feel safe and protected,
whether face masks, or elaborate alarm systems inside gated communities, or
weapons of mass destructions, we will never be entirely sealed off.

And so the question of the global age is not "Is globalization good or bad?"

It is: how are we going to pull this thing off?

Will the values that connect us be profit or justice? Fear or solidarity?

Are we going to keep trying to build better bubbles? Wrap ourselves in Saran
Wrap and turn our nations into police states?

Have even more grotesque invasions of libraries by the FBI under the Patriot

Or do we go another route?

Your coming here to Toronto - despite the SARS hysteria - was defiantly,
beautifully global. Many of you were afraid - and understandably so - but
you came anyway.

We need more such acts of brazen connectedness, more flagrant, defiant
openness. A human globalization to answer corporate globalization.

When I look out at this room I see people who represent values that are
distinctly different from the ones that currently govern the globe.

These values are, in no particular order:

- Knowledge (as opposed to mere information gathering)
- Public Space (as opposed to commercial or private space)
- and Sharing (as opposed to buying and selling).

It so happens that those are three of the most endangered and embattled
values you could have chosen to represent. If you decided to represent
"profit" or "global competitiveness" your lives would be easy.

But you didn't and the very notion that that some things that are so
important that cannot be fully owned and contained is under siege around the

Why? A simple, prosaic reason: Because there is money to be made. The global
economy is in recession. There aren't nearly enough middle class people in
the world to consume all of the cheap products that are being produced.

That means that the current stage of globalization is not simply about
"trade" in the traditional sense of selling more products across borders. It
is about feeding the market's insatiable need for growth by redefining
entire sectors that were previously considered part of "the commons" - and
not for sale - as "products."

When we talk about free trade or globalization, what we are really talking
about is the fencing in, the enclosing, of the commons.

This has reached into every aspect of our lives: health and education, of
course, but also ideas, seeds, now purchased and patented, as well as
traditional remedies, plants, water and even human genes - the privatization
of life itself.

And as you know, it is also reaching into libraries.

Information - your stock and trade - ranks just below fuel as the most
precious commodity coursing through the global economy.

The U.S.'s single largest export is not manufactured goods or arms or food,
it is copyrights - patents on everything from books to drugs.

The implications are not abstract, as I have learned in my research.

I was in South Africa a little less than a year ago. It was during the World
Summit on Sustainable Development - or Rio plus 10. All the talk was of
Public Private Partnerships: the solution to hunger would come, voluntarily,
from Monsanto, while thirst would be dealt with by Suez and Bechtel.

Yet in the poor townships, privatization has meant that 40,000 households
lose access to electricity every month. Hundreds of thousands have been
forced to drink from cholera infested rivers.

I went to a community meeting about water cut offs in Durban. A woman stood
up named Orlean Naidoo.

She said something that really stuck with me: "There are people in this
country who have made a mistake. They think that water is like gold or
diamonds. But you don't need gold or diamonds to survive. Water isn't
diamonds. It's life."

Water isn't the only thing that is fundamental to life. So is shelter. So, I
would argue, is knowledge. So is medicine.

And yet tell that to the trade tribunals that have allowed drug companies to
sue governments like Brazil for daring to produce generic life saving AIDS
drugs and distribute them for free to those in need.

Would that life-saving drugs were shared like library books, simply because
people need them to live and can't afford to pay.

But sharing is under siege.

It is the sworn enemy of the global market - which is why so much of
international trade law is designed to criminalize sharing.

Forget Napster, and the crackdowns on pirated CDs and software.

In Cochabamba Bolivia, the uprising against Bechtel was sparked by the fact
that under the contract, it became illegal to collect rainwater, since the
company had bought all water rights.

In India, farmers are sued by Monsanto for engaging in the age old practice
of saving their seeds and sharing them with their neighbours - they are
supposed to buy them anew each year from Monsanto.

This is the essence of free trade: making sure that absolutely nothing -
whether books or water or ideas - is offered for free.

The role of international trade law must be understood not only as taking
down "barriers to trade" - as it claims - but as a legal process that
systematically puts up new barriers - around knowledge, technology and the
commons itself, through fiercely protective patent and trademark law.

There is absolutely nothing free about it.

Most of you probably didn't think that helping people to share books was
subversive when you decided to become librarians.

And it shouldn't be: sharing, giving, saving and reusing are the most human
of impulses and we are at our best and most human when we act on them. The
desire to share, as you know, is immense.

Yet the fact is that you have chosen a profession that has become radical.

Being a librarian today means being more than an archivist, more than a
researcher, more than an educator - it means being a guardian the embattled
values of knowledge, public space and sharing that animate your profession.

You may not have chosen it but the fight against privatization and in
defense of the public good has been thrust upon you - by the mania for
privatization, public private partnerships, and outsourcing. It has also
been thrust upon you by GATS: the General Agreement on Trade and Services, a
World Trade Organization side agreement.

Now before we wade into those waters, a warning: GATS is purposefully
confusing, designed to prompt lay people to delegate the whole mess to the
"experts" who will rob them blind.

But you aren't lay people; you're librarians. So let's give it a try.

There are two main problems with GATS: one is that it takes privatizations
and locks them in so they become irreversible.

The other is that it takes partial privatizations - like outsourcing or
fee-for-service within a public system - and uses it as a legal wedge to
force full privatization.

So let's talk about the first problem: locking privatization in.

You are all familiar with the infamous case of Hawaii's State Library
system's 1995 decision to outsource book selection to a private company in
North Carolina.

Like all outsourcing and privatization, it was supposed to offer greater
efficiency at less cost.

In fact is was universally recognized as a disaster:

Lots of padding with cheap books, 61 copies of Newt Gingrich's novel,
geographically inappropriate books like A Practical Guide to Lambs and Lamb
Caring - in Hawaii.

It wasn't more efficient, it wasn't better. The contract was cancelled, and
the policy was changed.

It became a learning experience.

Under GATS, that could never happen. GATS strips us of our right to learn
from our mistakes. It denies us our right to be prudent: to try something,
see if it works, and if not, change our minds.

A few examples:

The British rails. In October, The Guardian newspaper got its hands on a
leaked government report about GATS and its rail system. The privatization
of Britain's rails is seen by most people as a scandal: accidents have
increased, the trains are late, fares keep going up.

And yet the document published by the Department of Trade and Industry said
that that in order to comply with GATS they would have to "fully bind the
existing regime for road and rail" - in effect locking privatization in
indefinitely and preventing re-nationalization, regardless of whether or not
the public demanded it or voted for it.

A year ago in Canada, the city of Vancouver was about to privatize its water
filtration system. The council backed out at the last minute, not because it
was against privatization per se but because after studying other cases, it
realized that it would lose the right to reverse the decision down the road.

That's what happened in Cochamaba Bolivia when the water was privatized by
Bechtel: in 2000, there was a popular revolt against the fact that
privatization had brought rate increased of 50 per cent or higher. Bechtel
was forced to pull out. But now the company is suing the Bolivian government
for $25-million for breaking the contract.

Far from making services more efficient and quicker on their feet, these
rules merely lock in bad deals and rob citizens of their right to adapt
- to change their minds.

Onto the second problem: using partial privatizations as a wedge to force
full privatizations.

The way GATS works is that countries can take entire sectors out of the
global market and declare them public services - but they have to go all the
way, there are no half-way public services.

Many trends, as you know, are pushing you towards a two-tiered library
system: charging for special orders, and for Internet use, outsourcing
ordering, even opening bookstores inside libraries.

These measures are a response to the same issues that pushed public schools
to invite advertising into their classrooms or public hospitals to start
charging for selective services: a desperate shortfall of government funds.

Hawaii's outsourcing debacle didn't arrive out of the blue - it was a
panicked response to the fact that the state had cut the library budget by
25 per cent.

Under GATS, the problem is that these partial privatizations could well be
used against you to force complete de-funding of libraries.

Private research providers, bookstores, and video store chains could go to
trade court and argue that they are being discriminated against because they
don't get public subsidies and you do.

Trust me on this: Barnes and Noble is not your friend, even if they do hand
out cool tote bags.

And the big publishers may be wining and dining you this week - but that
doesn't mean they won't sue you in trade court for offering electronic books
and journals for free.

Yes, it's outrageous. But it's also happening.

Here in Canada, UPS launched a challenge against Canada Post - the national
postal service - saying that they were being discriminated against because
the Canadian government was subsidizing their competition. If having a
public post office is an unfair trade barrier, having a public library could
be too.

There are already three ominous signs.

1) The debate about electronic books. Publishers and books sellers see free
access to electronic books and journals as a threat to their profits. As Pat
Schroeder, President of the Association of American Publishers, told the
Washington Post: "We have a serious issue with librarians."

2) Another sign: the U.S. government has announced that it will accept
bidding for library services under GATS.

3) Even though Canada hasn't put libraries on the free trade table yet, last
year the government sent out a questionnaire to public libraries asking them
to identify areas where they might have "export interests" - in other words,
could Canadian libraries make money by offering research or cataloguing or
binding services in New Zealand, or Uganda?

But these deals don't go one way: if Canadian libraries are going to become
exporters of library services then U.S. and European multinationals have the
right to import their library services here: think Microsoft-run catalogue
systems and Bloomberg reference desks.

So, what can you do to halt this process?

The primary recourse libraries have is that governments have the authority
under GATS to exclude the public services they choose.

But if you think your governments are going to go to the wall to protect
libraries - instead of using it a bargaining chip to push other countries to
open up their water and prison markets - I fear that you are mistaken.

I know that U.S. Trade Representative Robert Zoellick hand-wrote a letter to
the president of the ALA saying that you don't have to worry about GATS. And
p.s. "my first job was in a library so you can be sure I share your
commitment to this valuable public service."

That may be. But the thing is, Robert Zoellick works for the same
administration that showed exactly how it feels about libraries - and about
history and culture in general - when it stood by while Iraq's libraries
burned to the ground, its museums were looted and Iraq was turned into a
country with no past.

As Robert Fisk wrote from Baghdad on April 15: "For Iraq, this is Year Zero;
with the destruction of the antiquities in the Museum of Archeology and the
burning of the National Archives and then the Koranic library, the cultural
identity of Iraq is being erased."

"Why?" he asked.

I don't know. But I do know that erasing a culture isn't bad preparation for
AOL-Time Warner and Viacom to come in a sell a shiny new, pre-packaged one.

I'm not saying that was the plan. But I'm willing to say that the reason it
wasn't stopped - even though the danger was well known to the Pentagon - is
because wiping out Iraqi culture posed no threat to "U.S. interests in the
region" - as the hawks like to say.

How else to explain Donald Rumsfeld's response? When asked how he felt about
destruction of Iraq's museaums and libraries he offered words that will go
down in history: "Stuff Happens."

And so I congratulate the ALA for its courageously worded resolution
condemning the destructions of these acts that will come before the council
tomorrow. It's none of my business, of course, but I do hope it passes.

It shouldn't be surprising that the U.S. government cannot appreciate what
has been lost in Iraq's libraries - there is precious little evidence that
it can appreciate what is being lost when its own libraries are ravaged by
state cutbacks at home.

When all four branches of the public library in Binghamton, New York are
shut down entirely, as they were in December. The books weren't burned -
nothing so dramatic - they were just put into storage.

Or when California Governor Gray Davis actually proposes cutting library
funds from $31.5 million this year to $1 million next year - 31.5-million to

It looks like about half of that is going to be restored, but let's be
clear: neither U.S. nor Canadian librarians can trust either your state,
provincial or federal politicians to stand up for you at the World Trade
Organization - you can't even trust them to stand up for you at home.

All is not lost, however.

There are measures you can take to protect yourselves.

The best way you can preserve the state funding you currently receive is to
resist the temptation to partially privatize your precious public spaces -
whether by letting advertisements into libraries, or co-branding with
Microsoft, or outsourcing more of your core services.

The more you allow the lines to be blurred between a library and a
superstore, or a library and - heaven forbid, Google Answer - the more these
multinationals will be able to turn around and claim that you are robbing
them of their rightful market share.

Partial privatizations will be used as the thin edge of the wedge - the
legal precedent -to force more complete privatization down the road.

It's already happening with water, health care, sewers, and energy. Why -
when information is so profitable - would libraries be immune?

There's another reasons to resist partial privatizations. No matter what you
do, libraries are going to have to fight for their very existence. That
means you are going to need your most valuable asset on your side: library
users. Your communities will have to fight for you and with you.

If that's going to happen, your users have to know in their bones that there
is no comparison between a chain of book superstores, or an Internet café,
and a genuine community library. They have to feel your "public-ness" -
which is about much more than whether or not your funding comes from the
state and whether your services are free.

It's about that ephemeral quality that gives a community a sense of
collective ownership over a space. You know what it takes much better than
I: An ongoing, never-ending conversation between the library and the community
it serves.

A presence in people's lives that goes beyond anything offered by the
market: great librarians teach children to love reading, they introduce
young adults to the thrill of research, and they become de facto social
workers for adults who turn to the library when they have lost their jobs.

They also provide physical space for people of all ages to debate the issues
that matter to them

The other thing that gives people a sense of ownership over their public
institutions is accountability to the community (as opposed to their
shareholders): that means running libraries transparently, openly and when
possible, democratically.

It means not just being public but feeling public.

Book store chains can imitate that feeling with local interest sections and
story times, Amazon can talk about "community stake holders," but a
marketing concept will never be able to replicate the passion that flows
from an institution that is truly an outgrowth of the people it serves.

That passion, that sense of collective ownership, is your greatest
protection in the unavoidable battles ahead.

Remember that the next time a management consultant tells you that the only
way to save your library is to act more like a corporation, or to turn your
library into a bargain Barnes and Noble.

Not only won't it work, it will hurt you in the future when your users don't
fight for you because they can't tell the difference between public and
private space.

The best way to stay public is to be public - truly, defiantly, radically

It's your suit of armor. Wear it with pride.

You committed an act of faith in coming here to Toronto. Actually, it wasn't
an act of faith, but a sober, clear-eyed judgment. I trust it is the
beginning of many more acts of practical bravery. Our times call for nothing

Thank you for coming, thank you for being here - I really, really mean it.

3. Toman the Seeker

By Michael McGrorty

       My first encounter with Michael Toman came on a Monday morning in
February of the damp winter through which the citizens of South Pasadena
were subjected to my attempt at becoming a reference librarian.  He had
been assigned the unenviable task of holding my leash at the reference desk
through a morning shift.  We sat a few feet apart exchanging small talk to
kill the minutes until the doors came open.  I don't recall a word of what
we said; I was too worried about looking bad.  Somehow I had come to feel
that I should be instantly expert or at least highly competent in matters
of reference from the initial moment.  Toman seemed to sense my unease; he
kept up a pleasant stream of banter until the clerk turned the key in the
lock.  He's a good talker and I almost forgot that I was afraid of making a
fool of myself.

And then the patrons arrived to give the day some meaning.  A man came up
to ask about a novel; my partner gave a tickle to the keys and brought up
our holdings; somebody asked for directions to a place in town; Toman
accommodated them.  Before the first hour had passed, he was letting me
lend my penny's worth to the situation and I felt the knot in my gut
loosen.  When the shift was over I gave some thought to what had gone on
there at the desk.  I didn't have anything like a complete portrait of the
man, but there was enough of a sketch to think about as I drove the few
miles home.

I have in this lifetime seen quite a few folks work a reference desk.  I
have done it myself, as a callow youth in a college library where the
budget didn't support anything more elaborate than my own services on
summer evenings.  I have watched the good, the imperfect and the
indifferent, but I came away convinced after that first shift that I had
never seen anything quite like Michael Toman.

If you came across him in the street you'd think he was an insurance
salesman, perhaps the owner of a clothing store; put a tape around his neck
and he'd pass for a tailor.  Away from the desk he gives no sign of what he
is or does; he seems like a middle-aged guy gone a bit soft, an ordinary
man with an unremarkable face and manner.

Even at the desk he seems to be little more than a mild presence as he
awaits the arrival of a patron.  Then the customer comes up and the man
with the haberdasher's face asks his question:  'How can I help you?'  The
voice goes with the face and the pressed dress shirt, but there is
something in the eyes that hints at more.  The customer says, 'I was
looking for a book about opera singers,' and at the completion of that
sentence, Toman becomes a librarian.

He responds softly, "I think I can find you something."  The voice is the
same, but there is something in the tone that suggests he will find you
something, right here, today-that you will not go home without something
about opera singers, just as you would not have gone home without something
about tulips or manganese or the tax code.  Nothing is more certain than
that Toman will find you something.  I have never seen otherwise, except
when the request is so strange, so difficult or so abstruse that the
collection and his effort will not support a reasonable solution, in which
case the patron is sent elsewhere-and not merely out the door to find his
own way, but with direction to another place, a place with more or better
or deeper or more appropriate resources.  Toman makes sure of that; the way
he works a customer, you would think he was on commission.

Come to think of it, he acts like a waiter whose pay comes only in tips. 
His technique is to let you have a say, whereupon he responds like the head
waiter of a good restaurant:  he never disagrees with the customer's
request, never alters it, hardly ever asks for explanation.  If the man
wants oysters out of season, Toman will simply advertise that they have a
fine port which goes better with beef, in his most convincing voice, which
seems to bear the experience of decades.  The customer who desired the
mystery we didn't have will likely come away with one we had that is of the
same variety, and which will doubtless work to the same effect, for Toman
is a connoisseur of such things, of many such things, as one believes him
to be from his first word; he does not so much project confidence in
himself as in the process:  from his first sentence, the man disappears
into a function in which he is merely a component.  The game as he plays it
is not about Toman but about the Search.  Your search is his quest, and he
will likely take better care of it than you would in a week of trying.

The man with the pale face and the manners of a maitre d'hotel will take
you himself through the mysterious aisles to find the item that will please
you most.  He does not point and never gestures; he merely begins to walk
toward the place he expects to find your treasure, and of course you
follow.  On the way to your rendezvous with literature or non-fiction,
Toman will deliver a small lecture, just a few choice words about your
selection, perhaps about the genre or the author.  He will say, 'Asimov's
work is so broad in scope that one finds him in many categories, as we
shall no doubt discover.'  He says 'we,' and the follower believes that the
search is for him, too-that it is the foremost thing on his mind, the only
thing in focus. 

When the tour is done, the patron will find himself back at the desk, where
his guide will inquire whether he has any other desire; somewhere in all
this Toman will have discovered whether the person has a library card,
whether they know they can review their own record on a home computer, and
provided some other tidbit of information to close the episode; generally
he presents them with a schedule of hours as a sort of parting gift.

This routine, if such a variable sequence can be called that, is repeated
over and again for the entirety of the shift, for every shift at the desk. 
Two things make it different from the work of most others:  the first is
depth and the second, technique.  Depth is so individual an attribute that
it hardly makes sense to talk of its acquisition, but technique is a
different matter altogether.  One can learn technique; one may practice
method, and there are few better models than Toman at the desk, but there
is something behind his effort, a desire that fuels his consistency.  Fresh
or tired, Monday shift or Friday hours, Toman is the very same person to
anybody at the desk.  It isn't that he doesn't flag or need a rest, it is
that he doesn't want you to feel that you have gotten him at the end of his
string-he doesn't want to be tired for you because you didn't come in
looking for a tired librarian.  You came in looking for a book or some
music and a good attitude would certainly be welcome.  Toman's manner and
appearance arise from many years of visiting libraries; he gives you what
he wants to see in a librarian, because that is what a librarian is, what a
librarian does, until the relief comes or the lights flicker and it is time
to head off home.  For Toman, technique is the right thing in the right way
for everybody who comes through the door.  He takes a silent stubborn pride
in this.  You can read it in his eyes.


When they set me out to work with Michael Toman, the first thing I noticed
is that he doesn't waste a moment of time.  He always seemed to have a pile
of work with him of some sort to take up the moments between patrons. 
Quite a lot of the pile consists of book reviews.  Toman is a librarian of
the old school; he thinks that he can and ought to get a look at a fair
portion of the new books and reprints that flow from the vast machinery of
the publishing industry.  The reason he can read so many reviews is that he
subscribes to them; that and he seems to check the 'please send' box on
every coupon he comes across.  The result is that he receives every book
blurb on practically everything written in English.  And reads them.  There
is a purpose to this exercise.  Toman is building a collection.

Toman doesn't have a specialty, though he concentrates in a few areas. 
Right now he is attempting to enlarge our music collection.  In practical
terms that means he is trying to stay a step ahead of theft, damage and
obsolescence by selecting CDs that are worthy of a well-educated and
affluent community.  In order to do this, a person would have to know an
awful lot about music.  He did not, at least not at the outset, but he
knows a good deal now, because he has made it his business to know, made a
study of types and artists and periods and composers, in addition to
whatever he had accumulated in the way of personal tastes over the years. 
When I asked him about the accretion of this knowledge, he passed it off
the way you would if I had been astonished that you sent in your gas bill
on time.  To him this is only the way of the librarian.

If you turn left at the reference desk, just beyond the stairs there lies
the Teen Room, a spot where we direct the noisier adolescents to crack
their chewing gum.  The lure of the place is Toman's collection; its
centerpiece is the comic book shelves, where action heroes, space creatures
and Little Nemo elbow each other for room in a wild universe.  I knew who
Little Nemo was before I came to the library, but Toman is the first human
I'd met who had a similar interest.  But he more than trumps me in the area
of Elastic Man and wipes me out completely where Batman is concerned.  What
the man doesn't know about comic books isn't worth knowing.  I have
suggested that this is evidence of wasted youth; his response was that I
hadn't seen anything yet.  The collection keeps growing as fast as my
friend can obtain new titles by purchase or donation.  These aren't cheap
items and they have a tendency to walk off, but Toman isn't dismayed.  He
knows that only popular stuff gets stolen and keeps plugging the holes when
we have the cash. 

Toman deals in science fiction like an expert; in American fiction like few
others who are not teaching the subject.  He is wide and deep, and where he
is deepest nobody has seen the bottom.  He is a veritable ocean of
erudition about the mystery genre; many and many a time he has shamed me by
discussing some writer whom I ought to have known myself, but didn't; he
knows the oldest ones, the merely antiquated and the out-of-print, the new,
the modern and the post-modern; the noir, the cozy, the weft and warp of
the category top to bottom and in-between.  If there is a significant
mystery writer living within two days' ride, Toman knows him, knows of him,
has probably heard him speak or could pick him out of a crowd.  May God
help you if you ask for a mystery recommendation on his watch. 


I was disappointed that they set me out by myself without my friend and
mentor fairly early, perhaps too early, in this intern's career.  I think
the reason they did this is because Toman's desk needed some attending to. 
At least I think there was a desk there; people referred to the corner of
his habitation as such, but nobody, not even Toman, had seen the top of it
in years.  You couldn't even see the sides of the alleged desk; it was
surrounded by books, piles of magazines, stacks of reviews, great mountains
of printed matter, catalogs, donations and various tools of reference, in
the midst of which glowed the pale azure of a computer screen, a guide
beacon for Toman's landings in the chair.  Behind the chair rose a
bookshelf on which were arranged the chosen offspring of the chaos
surrounding the desk; one approached Toman's corner with caution lest a
false movement start an fatal avalanche of printed matter.

My theory is that it had become a priority of sorts for the corner to be
relieved of some of its accumulation, if only to spare the floor joists; I
was left at the desk for extended periods and Mr. Toman searched for his
blotter.  This proved far less entertaining, but provided more of a
learning experience in the long run-and it is a long run out at the desk
when one is only an intern, fielding questions like a Double-A shortstop
fumbles big-league grounders in spring training.  Toman would always leave
me there with the same comment:  "I'll be upstairs.  Call if you need to."
Often I did need to, but seldom did I call.  Were I a med student I'd
probably have killed quite a few patients, but the library's corpses leave
on foot, and most of them don't know how much better they'd have been
served by the regular crew.  Unless they've had Toman, of course.  And a
lot of them have:  They ask for him all the time.  Since we have the same
first name, I had to change to 'Mack' or find myself receiving calls and
notes about a million topics:  'Michael, I need to talk to you about that
book you recommended.  Thanks a million.'  They didn't like that I wasn't
the right Michael; sometimes they were upset that they library would pull a
dirty trick on them like using a counterfeit.  So, Mack I became and will
remain for as long as I do anything in this library.  It is better for all
of us.

My favorite time to encounter my friend is just after I've worked a shift
on the desk, especially when the traffic has been heavy and the questions
tough.  It reminds me very much of a tough swim or a hard uphill hike:  you
feel beat and tired and wonderful all at the same time, and nobody
understands that but somebody who has come up the same trail.  That's when
I like to see Toman; when the light of the desk is still on my face, and I
can tell him about the guy who asked for the name of Jesus' son, or the
lady who hummed her wedding song so I could find the lyrics.  Toman is the
one you want to share that sort of thing with.  He understands.  He's been
a librarian for a long time, and wants to be one forever, and by that I
mean someone who does the job with and for the patron rather than somebody
who has risen to the work of running the place from behind a couple of
walls and a door with a title on it. 

A few weeks ago I was working the desk when the boss came around to tell me
that my friend had taken ill and wouldn't be coming in for a few days.  The
story, as Toman would have said, went like this:  He felt ill and walked
himself down to the fire station, whereupon the boys thought it best to
escort him to the local trauma center, so the people there could run up
some bills.  They read their screens and figures, decided that my friend
had experienced a problem with his heart, and kept him under watch for a
few days.  A few days passed, then a couple of weeks before we saw hide or
thinning hair of Toman; he is back on the desk again, and the experience
has given him something more to provide to the customers.

What it has given me is a bad fright and a new sense of mortality and the
desire to understand Toman before he isn't around to understand anymore.  I
have already told him that I will kill him if his health doesn't
improve-this is a strong indication that his sense of humor is beginning to
take hold on me.  He looks pretty good for a hard-working librarian, but
I'm not letting my guard down.  Besides, if he leaves this place they'd
probably make me clean up around his desk-I'm the only one on staff with a
pickup truck.

Michael McGrorty
(Mack in these parts)

4. Amusing Searches

The following are search expressions which led from search engines (mostly
Google) to pages on during the month of July.

can a dumb person become an library archivist?
Orthodox Jewish Bathing Suit Styles
food habit of Idi amin
Idi Amin penis
"conan the rastafarian"
idi amin wives girls
librarian joke money
how to mass produce carrot juice
velcro crop failure
is a 1869 bible worth anything
profesional journals about lack of sexual desire
"I appreciate your cooperation"



ISSN 1544-9378

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