The Desk Set

Simply order a book (or more!) from the A.P. Tureaud Wishlist.

(HINT: order by using the 2010 A.P. Turead School Book Drive by the Desk Set list on the right side of the screen, and the shipping address gets automatically filled in! No more cutting and pasting for you!)

The Saints won the Superbowl, Mardi Gras is next week, and we’re 27 books closer to fulfilling the needs of Tureaud’s classrooms! We are full of love for NOLA, so please join us and help us reach our goal of 840 books by the end of the month.

Find out more about the Desk Set’s Mardi Gras party and book drive.

Indeed we should all write. And thanks to Symphony Space, New Yorkers can take advantage of an adult literacy program that “emphasizes that literacy is not only about learning to read but about discovering and writing about the world around us.”

All Write! is a free program offered to adults all over New York City, and next Monday, you are invited to celebrate this experience, and help to keep it free.

Symphony Space is offering a limited amount of discounted tickets to their All Write! Benefit for teachers and librarians.

Here’s the dirt:

New New York Voices: Celebrating the All Write! Adult Literacy Program

For nearly two decades, Symphony Space has offered the All Write! literacy program, absolutely free of charge, to adult students throughout the five boroughs. Celebrate this innovative program at this one-night only performance featuring Sonia Manzano, S. Epatha Merkerson, Isaiah Sheffer, Sam Waterston, and B.D. Wong, plus musical guests Ivy Austin, Jay Leonhardt, and Lanny Meyers.

SPECIAL OFFER!

Get tickets for only $25!  Just use code NYVC when ordering at 212-864-5400, at symphonyspace.org, or at Symphony Space, Broadway and 95^th Street.  A limited number of tickets are available at this special price.

As the ink is still drying on my MLS degree, I feel somewhat at a loss for experience or perspectives worth sharing with an audience that includes more seasoned librarians. At this early benchmark in my career as a librarian, I don’t feel that I’ve just now crossed a mystical threshold into a community of “official” librarians. The largely part-time, evening-and-weekend class format of library school left me without a strong sense of cohort with my fellow graduates; I’m sure I will not be alone in skipping commencement services this May, nor do I imagine sales of library school class rings, yearbooks, or letter jackets will be very high. After graduation, few of us display our degrees, wear our academic garb, or follow our signatures with “MLS”. Furthermore, many of us had worked in libraries for some time before even starting library school. My early work experience is what led me to apply to library school in hopes of a more stable career and better salaries, but in some cases I feel like I learned more actual procedural knowledge and skills through on-the job experience than I did in library school. The MLS is a standard credential for job qualifications, and probably leads to greater professional clout and stability, but it otherwise the status an MLS affords seems somewhat hazy. So, with the amount of time and money we’ve spent on library school in the face of a slim job market, it’s worth asking: “What’s the point?”

Surely, if it were just for love of books and for a desire to help people find them, I could just as easily have continued as a library worker without completing the MLS; I could have even worked at a bookstore, and I am sure I would be as capable of developing many of the necessary procedural and technical skills without needing a graduate degree to do so. I suspect that those of us who chose libraries over bookstores did so for a reason, but In the day-to-day work of libraries, it can be easy to forget what those reasons were. I’d risk sounding like an editorial for American Libraries if I wrote a manifesto about about the grand philosophy that grounds our profession and helps us frame issues like censorship, privacy, technology, and equal access, but it was largely because I already identified with these values and viewpoints that I sought to pursue librarianship in the first place. Library school also gave me a shared vocabulary and experience with other librarians and library students, and helps me better articulate and share those values. For all the disparate experiences we’ve had with library school, librarians still manage to maintain a strong sense of professional identity, job satisfaction, motivation, and community–not only through library school but also through publications, blogs, conferences, and groups like the Desk Set.

For these reasons, I’ve come to believe that being a librarian is more than just mastery of specific skills and rules such as how to use Boolean operators to search a database, how to set up a blog, or how to geographically subdivide a subject heading. These skills and rules can be learned outside of library school, and are constantly changing anyway. Rather, it is in part because of library school, and the community of librarians I’ve found among my classmates and colleagues, that I am better able to appreciate why we bother to nurture these skills and rules and technologies in the first place. When it gets hard to see past the distractions and frustrations of our immediate work situations, and when our MLS feels like it’s lost its luster, it helps to know that we who call ourselves “librarians” can support each other–whether it’s through serving on a committee, writing a blog, or contributing to a fundraiser, or simply offering a sympathetic ear when venting those frustrations over post-work drinks or on Facebook. The lengths to which librarians go to do so is tribute to this fact. In that sense, it would be unrealistic to expect the MLS alone to give us all the skills and motivation we need to sustain us through an entire career. Library school may be a starting point for forming professional identity and skills, but it only bears any meaning if we continue to work together to improve the policies, services, funding, and education that allow us to call ourselves librarians.

Twelve wonderful books have been ordered so far as part of our annual Mardi Gras book drive to benefit the kids at A.P. Tureaud School in New Orleans, LA. But here’s the thing. We’re trying to get 840 total copies of the requested titles by the end of February.

No way! you might say. 840 books, that’s a lot of books! And February is a short month.

You would be right, of course, but we think it can be done. Why? Because two years ago, you all helped to donate 1076 new books for the Book Drive! And that was before the book drive was connected to the utterly amazing Mardi Gras Party at Daddy’s! And, let’s face it, paperbacks are pretty cheap; almost everything on the list is under $10. But a little help from you will go a long way towards helping us reach our goal.

Come on, y’all! Show the teachers and students at the A.P. Tureaud book some love and order a book or two today. Just 828 books to go!

The Desk Set has always felt the need to spread both literacy and mirth, and for the last several years, Mardi Gras has been an ideal time for us to do that. We hope that you will join us to celebrate this fattest of Tuesdays with greasy, bumpin’ tunes recorded strictly in the state of Louisiana from DJs Matt Fiveash and Steve McGuirl, homemade King Cake, Mardi-Gras beads, and good – no, fabulous – company. Making the evening even more satisfying is the opportunity to once again contribute to the literary life of A.P. Tureaud Technology Academy in New Orleans, LA and be rewarded with a pint of Blue Point beer for your generosity.

Serving students in grades pre-K through 6, Tureaud is a public school (located in the 7th ward) and part of the Recovery School District (RSD), an organization dedicated to turning underperforming schools into successful places for children to learn. Organized in 2003, the RSD is Louisiana’s attempt to turn around a state-wide trend of low performance in education. Since 2005, the idea of recovery in New Orleans has been intrinsically linked to the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina. While the RSD was implemented after state legislation passed in 2003, almost all of the 112 participating schools were added after the Hurricane. Without visiting New Orleans, it is easy for us to believe that recovery has been largely achieved, and indeed many aspects of life in NOLA are approaching normal. But we would be in error to assume that the public schools – notoriously struggling even before the hurricane – aren’t still in great need of resources.

For the last two years, Desk Setters have participated in a yearly book drive to try to augment the collection of classroom libraries at Tureaud. Last year, we collected and raised money for over 275 books, which went directly into the classroom libraries at Tureaud. This year, we are working with the classroom teachers to try and provide class sets of titles that will be read by every student and taught. The wish-list includes an array of award-winning and otherwise acclaimed tales; some are classics, some are new, and all will be excellent additions to the school’s collection.

We are hoping to provide thirty copies of each of the titles in the Book Drive, so please be as generous as you can be and spread the word!

Purchase some paperbacks here.

All books can be sent in care of Maria Falgoust’s (co-founder of The Desk Set) family in Louisiana:

A.P. Tureaud School c/o Donna Falgoust
94 Donelon Dr.
Harahan, LA 70123
United States

When your books arrive, your name will be placed on a donor book plate, and the books will be delivered in person to A.P. Tureaud.

We hope to see you at the party, and we hope that you can continue to help us make the world a more literary place, one book at a time. Show the kids and teachers at A.P. Tureaud some love!

by Emily Nichols

Librarians would leave Brooklyn, usually to go back to go back to their home state, and those left behind would wonder briefly what their lives were like now, and imagine they were easier and more dull and lonely. When my turn came, I bought a baby blue linen dress with pink buttons from a boutique in Park Slope that was (I imagined) suitable for a small town New England children’s librarian. The drama of my interview was heightened arriving at the Beverly Depot, which was featured in the David Mamet movie State and Main. The Beverly Public Library was designed by Cass Gilbert (he also designed the Woolworth Building) and it has an impressive beaux arts facade. My heels echoed loudly on the marble floor.

Beverly Public Library from the town common

For those readers who are considering a change (maybe not this year, but if/when the job market opens up) I can say it was the best possible thing for me, and I often day dream about not having done it. The transition from Brooklyn to Beverly was not easy and not dull.

What initially attracted me to my current job as Head of Children’s Services in Beverly was having a desk, phone, computer, office, and department that were all mine. In Brooklyn I was managing the school age services for something called a Cluster, a group of five branches that were adjacent on the map but had little in common besides an overwhelming need for library services. In my cluster were both Brooklyn Heights (next to St. Ann’s School and Borough Hall) and Red Hook (next to the projects with their million dollar blocks.) Managing staff and services in five locations when you weren’t any one’s direct supervisor was a daily challenge.

In Beverly I can be constant and responsible within the powerful framework of children’s librarianship. I choose books, I choose staff, I make the schedules and I select, present or delegate programs. It helps that my entire staff is more experienced and organized than I am, except the eager, thoughtful and creative teen-aged pages. The community seems to agree on what it wants from the library and is involved in fund-raising, special events, and the daily work of the library. Every year the public librarians meet with the school librarians to write the summer reading list that is used throughout the city.

favorite weeded books

Having a computer and a desk and ordering powers has made me a better librarian because I take the time to keep up with literature and reviews in a way I didn’t in Brooklyn, where programming and weeding and going to meetings were my main responsibilities. Unfortunately I also obsessively read Chowhound and mourn my lost lunch options. Lucky for me, Massachusetts is close enough that I can get to Roberta’s when I have an uncontrollable craving.

Having a fresh start has given me what I said I wanted: more professional experience in a different setting, a desk, a closer relationship with my family and old friends. It has also given me some things I didn’t dream of: enough sleep, a new understanding of and respect for my chosen career, and a consistent writing practice through my blog.

where I walk the dog

Thank you for reading my posts this month and thanks to Maria and Sarah for sharing their space. If they ask you to do anything, say yes.

Image courtesy of 826NYC

The best kept secret of the Brooklyn Public Library is in the basement of the Williamsburg Branch, perched over the BQE near the projects and the JMZ train. In 2006 a Superheroes’ Union Meeting Hall decorated with posters gently poking fun at the rules and regulations of working within BPL (Looking to hire a sidekick? Don’t forget to fill out form 137X!) opened in a formerly vacant suite of three rooms in the renovated Carnegie building. The center is run by 826NYC and staffed by volunteers who provide completely free after school tutoring for children aged 6-18 during the school year.

Thirty-four percent of Brooklyn children live below the poverty line. Forty-six percent of Brooklyn residents speak English as their second language. There are so many kids in need of, well, everything, and there is a library within half a mile of of all citizens, so theoretically you can reach most of these children through existing library spaces. Rapidly gentrifying Williamsburg was selected partly because there is a significant population of creative professionals and college students in the gentrifying neighborhood to tap as volunteers. Neighborhood libraries often host one or two after school homework helpers but overburdened public librarians have a hard time supporting and retaining volunteers along with their many other duties. The tutoring center used all the resources already within the borough and the building- a safe meeting place, research materials, the kids who already hang out there, and the adults who want to help.

In one of my many many lucky breaks, I was working as a children’s librarian at the Williamsburg branch when 826 and BPL partnered to open the tutoring center. I took over as project manager partway through the planning stages- translating between the tiny nonprofit (four staff people) and the huge Library system which has a different department for every function: Finance, Volunteers, Buildings, Marketing, Grants, Events. My part was quite small, but it is easily the project of which I am most proud.

“If even one child goes to college because of this, all the time and stress is worth it.” said Gary Shaffer, a former BPL librarian who started the partnership by approaching 826 founder Dave Eggers at The New Yorker Festival. I agree. A scrappy nonprofit with extremely high profile talent behind it can move in ways that a 60 location institution just can’t- so the relationship between the two was symbiotic. Although 826 may have thought we moved slowly, the space makeover and opening took barely eight months and $16K. This is unheard-of speed and thrift for a project in a public institution.

In my dreams, every library in every neighborhood and town has a writing/tutoring center with original art by Marcel Dzama and a dedicated rotating group of community volunteers personally invested in the success of all children. If we could use the drive and inventiveness of 826 and combine it with the dedication and resources of our existing public libraries and librarians, our libraries would be more nimble, creative, community driven, and focused.

If you know anyone who is considering a library or teaching career or who simply wants to get to know their neighborhood in a new way, please suggest that they volunteer with 826NYC or their local library.

-Emily Nichols

The New York Society Library is the perfect place to indulge your old-fashioned, book loving, quiet library yearnings. Their events are consistently terrific, and they provide great opportunities to turn off your smart phones and engage in some 20th-Century style social media: listening, talking and thinking about literature.

And if some cocktails and some super cool writers are involved, so much the better.

Purchase tickets ($10 advance, $15 at the door)

Spread the word on Facebook.

A Literary Magazine Salon
Thursday, January 28, 2010 at 6:30 PM
Members’ Room; $10 in advance/$15 at the door

Join us for this unique evening of cocktails and readings celebrating the literary magazine. Hosted by Jenny Lawrence, this special evening features:

One Story editor Hannah Tinti (The Good Thief) introducing
Terese Svoboda (Trailer Girl and Other Stories)

jubilat publisher Rob Casper introducing
Cathy Park Hong (Dance Dance Revolution)

A Public Space editor Brigid Hughes introducing
John Wray (Lowboy).

by Emily Nichols

I became a librarian because Ben Steinbach swore at me and I stayed a librarian because I desperately missed my mother.

This is not the story you would get if you took me out on a first date. Dates usually say, predictably, “You don’t look like a librarian.”

“I save my Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt for special occasions.” I answer and rapidly change the subject.

If you met me at a conference I might say how my great grandfather was a librarian at Princeton. And I knew some really great women who became librarians and it seemed like a kind of amazing career. You might smile politely. And I would smile with a few too many teeth and a slightly manic air, especially if you were a middle aged woman with status in my profession. Other phrases I repeated until I believed them.

• “I love books and children, it seemed like a natural fit.”
• “I was accepted to several graduate programs in History but I decided I wanted a job that made me happy now, not in 10 years, ha Ha!”
• “The children’s department allows you to focus a lot more on books and writing than other departments where the focus is more on computers or resumes.”

Lies and more lies. It was dark haired, dark eyed Ben and his advanced vocabulary that triggered my trajectory. We were five and best friends, playing with his three legged dog in the road near his house. His father was napping in the room he used as a drawing studio and after Ben used the worst word either of us knew I left, showing more backbone in that relationship than I have since. It was three miles through dark scary woods on a dirt road to my house, but I walked the whole way. When I got to the center of town I stopped by the town library to pick up some books. With all the casual nonchalance a pudgy kindergartner could muster, I walked in. The town librarian called my parents who retrieved me from my sanctuary.

Ben and Emily

It now seems inevitable that as a confused and grieving college graduate I picked the library as my future. My hometown of Heath, MA (population 800) and Brooklyn have very few things in common. After three months in the city, I secured a job at the Brooklyn Public Library. Traversing the borough, I thought ‘this train holds more people than my entire town, more than my high school, more than my college class.’ However, a library is the library wherever you go and I settled into BPL as easily as I had the 900 square feet of the Heath Free Public Library.

Saywer Hall, Home of the Heath Free Public Library, Town Offices, and Post Office

Brooklyn Public Library's Central Library

On my second day of work in the Central Library’s Youth Wing, my supervisor sent me out to the stacks and told me to start reading. I discovered almost immediately a powerful secret. When I was reading the children’s books I could hear something I had thought was gone forever: my mother’s voice. As I turned the pages of There is a Monster at The End of this Book I could hear her as throaty Grover begging me not to turn the pages. In Rosemary Wells’ Noisy Nora I relived the naughty thrill of the refrain “Nora, said her sister, Why are you so dumb?” I was not allowed to call my brother dumb, but in a book it was allowed, and my mother would say it! When I turned the moody pages of The Runaway Bunny and heard her gentle nighttime voice reading “‘If you become a sailboat and sail away from me,’ said his mother, ‘I will become the wind and blow you where I want you to go.’” I slumped on the floor between the shelves, bowed my head to the book in my lap, and cried.

I cried a lot at work. The babies and the reading, singing, story times we put on for them scared the crap out of me, if I’m honest, which I wasn’t. People in other departments or other professions would say “I don’t sing. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s easy! The babies don’t care how you sound.” Children’s librarian bravado. It wasn’t easy. It was excruciating, hours of nervous churning stomach before the program followed by the fifteen minutes storytime of terror mixed with humiliation. The abject stage fright seems as silly as the bragging- storytime is not such a big deal to others, is it? During mine I could hear The Itsy Bitsy Spider in my mother’s soprano echoing behind my own ragged voice and I saw all these babies and mamas and felt stranded somewhere between the two.

Emily and her mother

The older kids were my favorites. I remembered fondly hundreds of solitary hours I spent reading The Phantom Tollbooth, A Wrinkle in Time, and From The Mixed Up Files of Basil E. Frankenweiler. I shared these and many new books with the kids and their parents and I stayed carefully in my prepubescent world. Sixth grade was when things went wrong for my family, so the children’s department was where I felt most at home, working with the limited range of emotions available there.

I developed a juvenile crush on a coworker and would take him down into the vintage wilderness of the four subbasements of the Central Library. Not to make out, horrors no, but to show off all the secret passages and rooms I had found. Past the morgue of the Brooklyn Eagle- huge and full of filing cabinets with clips from the paper- there was a room with a ditch that you could only cross on a board and I stood on the other side of the dark crevasse and taunted my beloved, precisely as if we were eleven.

“Chicken.”

The building is an art deco wonder, four floors above ground and four below, designed to look like an open book from the air. I swear to Dewey I once found a half floor, like the one in Being John Malkovich, with a desk, chair and telephone in a space not high enough to stand. In true children’s book fashion I heard voices coming, fled and never found it again. Deeper down I traveled a corridor crowded with dusty display cases and card catalogs. Beyond that there was a gravel floored room intended by the designers to be a subway stop but never completed. Cigarette butts, condoms, and a Polaroid photograph of a car proved I was not the first explorer.

I imagine, although I don’t know from experience, that all professions have their secret satisfactions. I believe everyone must have their own guiding passions that they fail to mention in polite conversation. Does the catalog thrum like your father’s encouraging baritone when you know you are entering records correctly? I am not a Freudian or a ghost whisperer. I know I missed my mother and I followed her voice to a good job in a wild city. And if I tell you anything else, I’m lying.

Every time I look at Jeremy Balderson’s Biblioball portraits I become thrilled and filled with holiday cheer. Thank you all for coming, and thank you for being so darn cute!