OOOs : Generalities

Little Athens Bar & Grill

—In the beginning, there were Generalities, said the director, squinching her eyes.

—You’re a hell raiser, is what you are, I said. I can’t believe they let you run the library.

How much longer till you’re out of here?

—Maybe five years, according to Plan A, said Helena, holding up her right hand, five

fingers stretched out and wriggling. Two years at least, for these personnel changes to take

effect. Then the campaign for the new library begins, that’s where you come in, Jeremy.

I nodded astutely. Clueless. With that listening face upon which so much depends,

wanting to believe in her dream, just a sparkle then in Helena's eye.

—Then the design phase; lots of public input on that. It takes longer, but you get more

buy-in. The architectural competition and public hearings will take a full year. Another year, at

least, for construction...

Helena got that Vision Statement look in her eyes, gazing off into the middle distance.

—And then instead of this bombed-out inner city, we'll have a new community center

with a public library, like two hands clasped. If all goes according to schedule we'll open for

business on January 1, 2001. And then I’m out of here.

—Then your turn at the helm is over.

—Exactly.

Helena brought her hands down again to her paper placemat, picked up the fragment of

wooden swizzle stick, and began methodically breaking it up into smaller and smaller bits. Her

nervous habit while drinking peppermint schnapps and coffee with Zelda, Nancy, and me,

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meeting for brunch at Little Athens Bar & Grill. We sat at a banquette surrounded by artificial

pinewood walls decorated with etchings of Greek temple ruins. No natural light intruded into this

cave-like setting, as the big-screen Sunday afternoon football game gently flickered on the wall;

an electronic window onto a brightly lit and more perfect world.

It was January 1996, and the digital tide was rising. We had no idea then of how digital

information was about to rock the world of library science. Odd bits of flotsam, such as myself,

were being lifted, beginning to drift and merge with other bits and bytes in a world unmoored.

I had no previous experience working in a library, but I had plenty of experience in

freelance writing and odd-jobbing since dropping out of Great Northwest State College. After a

decade of drifting I had found myself back home again in River Bend, working at Wally’s Wheat

World. Getting off work at noon, I still had plenty of time for writing, sending my stories and

articles anywhere that would publish them, including riverrun, the library newsletter. When

riverrun’s editor abruptly quit and left town, for reasons that remain unknown, my life was

forever changed.

After an extensive interview with these three ladies, I had been hired as editor of riverrun

and as an assistant librarian assigned to the Serials Department, combining two part-time jobs

into a full-time position. This informal meeting was a chance for me to learn more about Library

Science and about the great changes ahead for River Bend Public Library. Among many other

things, we discussed the signage system for the new library:

—Big, friendly billboards, I had proposed. One for each decade of the Dewey Decimal

system, in phosphorescent hues to glow in the dark. We’ll have art and famous quotations to

illustrate each sign.

—It Was A Dark And Stormy Night, had been Helena’s first suggestion.

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—Okay, great, I said, writing it down on my placemat. That would be for what? The

Eight-hundreds?

—Sure, said Zelda, Or the Five-hundreds, and we could put it with books about Weather.

No. The Five-hundreds should be Einstein. Energy equals M-C squared. And the Four-hundreds

could be Parlez Vous. Or, Qu’est Que C’est?

—What I don’t get is what we do with the Ninety-twos, I said. Biographies? Do they go

with the Nine-hundreds? Or do they go before the One-hundreds? With the zero-zero-whatever-

you-call-thems.

—Generalities is what those are called, said Nancy, getting a word in edgewise.

Dictionaries, reference works, all encyclopedic knowledge.

That’s when Helena said, with that gleam in her eye:

—I know what we want there: In The Beginning, There Were Generalities.

001: Knowledge

Zelda turned to me brightly, like a wizened old bird with one glass eye.

—Ask me about the Dewey Decimal System, she said, her beak poised, ready to pounce.

I could never remember which was her good eye, so I kept close watch on both her eyes

and said:

—What about the Dewey Decimal System?

—Take anything. Take architecture, for instance. Look in the Seven-hundreds if you

want to learn about its history and development. If you want to learn how to build your own

house, just go to the Six-hundreds. It’s all so integrated, you see.

She smiled, her head tipped happily sideways like a bird dreaming of an ideal birdhouse.

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002: The Book

—Have you seen this book…I said, pulling a volume out from my shoulder bag and

showing it around the table: …The Androgynous Manager?

The three women looked like I had brought out a bomb. They were afraid I was going to

talk about sex.

—It must be fifteen years old, I said, hoping to defuse the situation. Bill and I are reading

it, to help, you know, get adjusted to life in the library.

—If it’s that old, I probably ordered it, said Zelda, taking the book in hand and flipping it

open toward the library bar code on the back page. Holding it up to her good eye, it was the left,

she scrutinized the page closely in the dim light, looking for her mark.

003: Systems

The talk veered toward By Statements, re-organization, and the interviews to be held the

next day for the new Associate Director positions.

—I still don’t get why you want to...to let go of direct control, I asked Helena. What do

the new jobs do that you don’t already do?

—Can you say “Bad Guy?” Helena said, teeth gleaming whitely.

—Can you say “Fall Guy?” Zelda chuckled gaily.

—You’re going to interview for all three positions in one day? I asked.

—Only seven staff members applied, said Helena. I’m looking forward to it.

Gleaming eyes and white teeth shining out at me across the table; her moment of

apotheosis as all the pieces of the grand design began to coalesce.

021: Library Relationships

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I told them about Marian’s stalker. How I had responded like a stereotypical male,

charging over to Fine Arts to rescue the ladies from a creepy guy who needs mostly just to work

on his social skills. Standing fast by the females in their paddock, walled-in with fat reference

volumes, I had been stern-visaged, arms-crossed, feeling like a fool. One more example of what

androgyny in the workplace would more usefully resolve.

—You know, Melvil Dewey was the first library stalker, Nancy said, her eyes downcast,

a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

—I heard about that, I said. It was on the cover of Library Journal!

Nancy only smiled and nodded her head, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment.

—There was like a cult of women around Dewey, I mused aloud. He hired women

because they’re submissive. I mean, in those days they were, I quickly corrected myself.

—And they’d work cheap, Zelda peeped.

093: Incunabula

When the waitress brought the bill, Nancy said it was her turn to pay.

—Won’t be another time for me, I said. Not until there’s another staff re-org, anyway.

—Could be next week, said Helena, laughing. Who knows? If the board has that necktie

party for me.

She twisted her head sideways and made an upward yanking motion with her right hand,

like pulling tight a noose around her neck: Then we go to Plan B.

—What's Plan B? I asked.

—It's just like Plan A, but instead of five years, we only have one year to get it all done!

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Everybody had a good laugh at that, and we adjourned. Soon we were outside in the

parking lot, Sunday afternoon stillness along the waterfront. As others walked away toward their

cars, Helena held out her closed fist toward me.

—Something for you, she said. To remember me by.

I held my palm out and Helena let loose, like a shower of confetti, the fragments of

pulverized wooden swizzle stick she had been grinding up. Sun-stunned and hung-over, I stared

dumbfounded at the stuff sprinkled across the palm of my hand. Not knowing what else to do

with these infinitesimal bits of information, I pass them on to you, Gentle Reader.