The Rear End

Reading Something Into It

ah, the library – that electrifying mistress of knowledge

Mike Paulus, illustrated by Beth Czech |

Is it weird to feel kind of excited when stepping into a library? Probably not. People have constructed libraries throughout time, and while I’m sure the pursuit and preservation of knowledge have something to do with this phenomena, it probably has more to do with the high you get from just walking into a building so full of possibility. And of course, there’s all the hot librarians. They’ve gotta have someplace to work, you know.

My relationship with Eau Claire’s public library is an experience I’d label as “vicarious.” I don’t go there very often, but my wife and kid go there darn near every week. My work schedule and daily routines don’t leave a lot of time for me to join them, but I do get in there from time to time. Mostly, I hear about all the glorious fun my daughter had running around, looking at books. I really need to make an effort to visit more often. Because libraries awesome.

The L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library stands out to me in particular because, besides having one long-ass name, it’s the library I grew up with. So it’s become the definition of “library” to me. Sure, it doesn’t have big, stone lions lounging on either side of its front steps (it doesn’t even have front steps), or those cool slidey ladders on wheels. But it’s got lots of books and a cool, two-story open reception area, and plenty of chairs tucked away into little corners. No matter how old I’ve been, no matter what school I’ve attended, no matter what town I’ve been in, the L.E. Phillips is what I compare any library too. It’s a good one. But a few others have definitely stood out. 

For about nine months in 1987 my family moved to Hammond, Wisconsin. In Hammond, the water tower is right in the middle of town, and right by the water tower is the town’s little library. (Or at least, it was in 1987.) I was in the fifth grade that year, and most of my library-going was done at school, but I remember visiting the town’s public stacks once or twice. Hammond’s surrounding corn fields had yet to be transformed into housing developments, so there wasn’t a whole lot of tax base available for things like libraries. As a result, most of the books were kind of old, and that made the place seem kind of mysterious, like a private library in a big mansion or something.

This is probably why I checked out an Agatha Christie mystery novel. Let me pause for a moment to point out the obvious – I didn’t get along too well with the other fifth grade boys at my rural grade school. While they were all watching sports and playing sports and snowmobiling down Main Street, I was ... well, checking out Agatha Christie novels from our crappy, under-funded public library.


    Did I enjoy that Agatha Christie novel? Oh, heavens no. I could barely read it. English whodunit crime novels written 60 years before He-Man cartoons appeared on television are not what most eleven-year-old boys consider a fun time. I just liked the idea of checking out an old, dusty, linen-bound mystery book from a sleepy, little two-room library. In the movies, stuff like that always leads to mysteries and adventures and ramshackle romps through underground tunnels to a hidden pirate ship full of gold. I didn’t like Hammond all that much (no offense, Hammonders) and little things like that library book helped me escape for just a little while.

The next library that really stands out to me is UW-Eau Claire’s McIntyre Library. Oh, McIntyre. What a foxy older woman you are. So intellectual with your studious stacks of dissertations, theses, and microfiche – all wound up like a bun on the top of your head. Your many windows gaze out over campus like the horn-rimmed glasses of your, um, librarian’s, um, soul. But you can’t fool me, Lady McIntyre, with all that academic strictness. Like many students before me, I spent many long nights searching between your shelves, groping for the text I needed so badly ... usually ending up far more confused than when I started. You seemed amused by this, you clever minx, you. But you always gave me the answers I needed.

I had my favorite nooks and niches within your walls, my favorite places to linger, my favorite computer workstations equipped with a full suite of Microsoft Office software applications. My favorite laser printers. You got me through countless late night cram sessions, McIntyre Library. And I will never forget you.

Now that I have a little kid, I’m starting to rediscover libraries, and looking back, I wish I’d spent a lot more time in them. Sure, I can still find the mysterious, old, linen-bound mystery novels, but now I can also request my favorite TV shows on DVD. I can check out some pretty damn good music. I can even attend the occasional Guitar Hero tournament or movie screening. They’re really doing some good stuff down there. You should check it out.

(Sorry about the “check it out” joke.)