A couple of weeks ago, the American Library Association flew me out to Washington, D.C. to participate in "setting a national agenda for public libraries."
To some people, an "agenda" has sinister overtones. Our enemies have agendas; our friends just have plans.
But the idea of a "national agenda" does have political overtones, particularly when held in our nation's capital.
So what kinds of things are librarians wanting to push?
I think most folks would be pleased. I hope so.
After a lengthy brainstorming session, we came up with about 6 or 7 broad areas. Ideas were further refined in small groups. Here are some samples:
* "Save Our Stories." The vision here was of the public library as repository of our many, personal and collective memories. Once, history was created through a painstaking preservation and review of the written record -- letters, diaries, speeches. Who will now collect today's emails, blogs, and other forms of digital -- and surprisingly transient -- content? If libraries, HOW?
* "Libraries Mean Business." This was the topic I chose to work with. The fastest growing sector of the American economy is small business. Often, libraries serve as business incubation centers: providing the raw information needed to create business plans, to research opportunities or obstacles, providing the free space to meet with potential partners or clients. Too, many municipal planning departments are starting to grasp the value of a mix of civic and private uses to build economic diversity and vitality: the library as anchor store. How can we take both of these trends to the next level?
* "Libraries Make Citizens." At many moments in American history, the nation's libraries have served the vital role of orientation. During the huge population disruptions before and during World War II, libraries provided immigration centers in New York, for instance, helping newcomers learn English, and begin to understand what American citizenship means. Immigration continues. Is our only response to consist of bristling borders and surprise arrests? And it's not only immigrants who need help. Recent studies have shown that our native born citizens are often shockingly ignorant of many basic facts about how the United States is supposed to work. We're not just talking about grade school children. What role might libraries play in the fostering of what used to be known as "civics?"
* "Family literacy." Libraries value reading. But expecting children to learn to love reading in school, is like waiting for them to learn to love talking then, too. What can libraries do to encourage families to build habits and skills that will REALLY ensure that no child is left behind?
There was, I think, an underlying theme to all these discussions. To my mind, that theme was about the dire necessity for public libraries to engage with their communities. Libraries are an oft-overlooked community asset, one more tool to put on the table to make towns and cities better places to live. Libraries that "get" that make a difference, and are valued in return.
The biggest problem I see is that we had too MANY ideas. At some point, really effective action is about concentration on just a few clear objectives.
I admired the leadership initiative of Leslie Burger, current president of the American Library Association. Whittling things down to what matters is a daunting task.
Meanwhile, it looks like there's enough to keep a librarian busy in 2007.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
December 21, 2004 - A Gift Suitable for All Ages
For the past several years, I've been reprinting what I've come to think of as "my Christmas column" -- a tradition. I hope you enjoy it.
***
What we really need is an all-purpose gift that will satisfy everybody. It should be suitable for all ages. It should require no assembly. It shouldn't need batteries. You shouldn't have to feed it. It should last forever. It should be constantly entertaining. The more the recipient uses it, the more he or she should like it.
And of course, it should be free.
No such animal, right? Wrong. I'm talking about a library card.
I'll never understand it. Most adults these days carry cards of every description; most of them DON'T have library cards. So for the woman or man who has everything, why not offer everything else? -- access to the total accumulated knowledge of the human race, not to mention the most wonderful stories ever told.
Of course, the real winner of a gift like this is not an adult. It's a child.
Here's all you have to do to make your holidays a success. First, come down to the library and fill out a library card application for your child. Then, check out three of four books. Wrap the card and the books and set them under the tree. Save this very special package for last.
When the child rips it open, say that this unassuming little card will let him or her get presents all year long. Then read your child to sleep that night with one of the books.
After your children have gotten bored with all their expensive toys, read them (or have them read) the other books, then trot them down to the library in that slow week after the main event. Teach your children about exchanging one present for another.
At the library, every day is Christmas. Behind every book cover there are riches. After introducing your kids to a treasure trove beyond Aladdin's wildest dreams, why not mosey over to the adult section, and browse through the latest offerings yourself? You know you deserve it.
Many people -- librarians, teachers, Secretaries of Education, even sport celebrities and actors -- have urged every child to obtain and use a library card. It's good advice.
Besides, at prices like these, who can argue? If you are not fully satisfied after a lifetime of learning and pleasure -- I'll cheerfully refund your money.
Trust me, this could be the best Christmas card you'll ever send.
***
What we really need is an all-purpose gift that will satisfy everybody. It should be suitable for all ages. It should require no assembly. It shouldn't need batteries. You shouldn't have to feed it. It should last forever. It should be constantly entertaining. The more the recipient uses it, the more he or she should like it.
And of course, it should be free.
No such animal, right? Wrong. I'm talking about a library card.
I'll never understand it. Most adults these days carry cards of every description; most of them DON'T have library cards. So for the woman or man who has everything, why not offer everything else? -- access to the total accumulated knowledge of the human race, not to mention the most wonderful stories ever told.
Of course, the real winner of a gift like this is not an adult. It's a child.
Here's all you have to do to make your holidays a success. First, come down to the library and fill out a library card application for your child. Then, check out three of four books. Wrap the card and the books and set them under the tree. Save this very special package for last.
When the child rips it open, say that this unassuming little card will let him or her get presents all year long. Then read your child to sleep that night with one of the books.
After your children have gotten bored with all their expensive toys, read them (or have them read) the other books, then trot them down to the library in that slow week after the main event. Teach your children about exchanging one present for another.
At the library, every day is Christmas. Behind every book cover there are riches. After introducing your kids to a treasure trove beyond Aladdin's wildest dreams, why not mosey over to the adult section, and browse through the latest offerings yourself? You know you deserve it.
Many people -- librarians, teachers, Secretaries of Education, even sport celebrities and actors -- have urged every child to obtain and use a library card. It's good advice.
Besides, at prices like these, who can argue? If you are not fully satisfied after a lifetime of learning and pleasure -- I'll cheerfully refund your money.
Trust me, this could be the best Christmas card you'll ever send.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
December 14, 2006 - Continuous Partial Attention
So here's my 12 year old son, Max, talking on our cordless telephone to his sister, Maddy. She's calling from Germany.
He's also online, engaged in an Instant Message session, complete with video, with his friend, also named Max. This other Max is also a tween, only he lives in London. The two Maxes met on youtube.com, where both of them post their homemade claymation videos.
On the one hand, this is great stuff. It wasn't that many generations ago that members of the same family were forced to mail letters to each other. Now, my boy is carrying on two live international conversations -- at the same time.
I can't help but think that's a good thing, both for my son's intellectual development, and for the prospects for world peace.
On the other hand, I just ran across a great new phrase: "Continuous Partial Attention." It was coined by one Linda Stone, who has worked for two giants in the computer business: Apple and Microsoft.
Continuous Partial Attention is a state of heightened alertness, based on the constant monitoring of multiple inputs and stimuli. It started out as something that sounds very productive: multi-tasking. Or as she puts it, it is the desire to be a "live node on the network."
But sometimes, multi-tasking turns dysfunctional. Stone says, "ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) is a dysfunctional variant of continuous partial attention."
Continuous Partial Attention means that you never give your full attention to anybody or anything. You never really listen, with your whole heart. Because you are now partially inhabiting cyberspace, you are only partially inhabiting real space.
You are not fully present. And there's something else: you always feel the gnawing, inescapable fear that you'll miss something.
In the business world, people are noticing that email, once a great tool for getting it done fast, has morphed into a black hole of employee time and energy. As a backlash, some companies have adopted "email free Fridays." For one day a week, people have to talk to each other, direct, face to face. Some CEO's suspect it might make people more creative.
Microsoft has established at least some meetings where everyone has to disarm at the door. No Blackberries. No iPods (or Zunes, now). No cellphones. No laptops. Just your own body and brains. For some, I have no doubt that this is utterly terrifying.
Stone also came up with another truly provocative notion: what's the ultimate aphrodisiac, the total turn-on in the new millennia?
Simple. The ultimate erotic experience is "committed, full attention focus." And when you think about that, it only makes sense. What is the experience of falling love but precisely that kind of utterly engaged rapture, when the beloved is the absolute center of the universe?
By contrast, one hears stories of people who go out on dates -- and spend the whole time talking to other people on their cell phones. Now, I understand, people even break up with each other via text messaging, which seems oddly appropriate.
Much of what drives people today is the realization that they've fallen into false community, a "network" that doesn't always translate into authentic connections.
It just might be the next bold new wave of living begins when people set down all their devices, back up slowly, turn around, and look at each other.
He's also online, engaged in an Instant Message session, complete with video, with his friend, also named Max. This other Max is also a tween, only he lives in London. The two Maxes met on youtube.com, where both of them post their homemade claymation videos.
On the one hand, this is great stuff. It wasn't that many generations ago that members of the same family were forced to mail letters to each other. Now, my boy is carrying on two live international conversations -- at the same time.
I can't help but think that's a good thing, both for my son's intellectual development, and for the prospects for world peace.
On the other hand, I just ran across a great new phrase: "Continuous Partial Attention." It was coined by one Linda Stone, who has worked for two giants in the computer business: Apple and Microsoft.
Continuous Partial Attention is a state of heightened alertness, based on the constant monitoring of multiple inputs and stimuli. It started out as something that sounds very productive: multi-tasking. Or as she puts it, it is the desire to be a "live node on the network."
But sometimes, multi-tasking turns dysfunctional. Stone says, "ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) is a dysfunctional variant of continuous partial attention."
Continuous Partial Attention means that you never give your full attention to anybody or anything. You never really listen, with your whole heart. Because you are now partially inhabiting cyberspace, you are only partially inhabiting real space.
You are not fully present. And there's something else: you always feel the gnawing, inescapable fear that you'll miss something.
In the business world, people are noticing that email, once a great tool for getting it done fast, has morphed into a black hole of employee time and energy. As a backlash, some companies have adopted "email free Fridays." For one day a week, people have to talk to each other, direct, face to face. Some CEO's suspect it might make people more creative.
Microsoft has established at least some meetings where everyone has to disarm at the door. No Blackberries. No iPods (or Zunes, now). No cellphones. No laptops. Just your own body and brains. For some, I have no doubt that this is utterly terrifying.
Stone also came up with another truly provocative notion: what's the ultimate aphrodisiac, the total turn-on in the new millennia?
Simple. The ultimate erotic experience is "committed, full attention focus." And when you think about that, it only makes sense. What is the experience of falling love but precisely that kind of utterly engaged rapture, when the beloved is the absolute center of the universe?
By contrast, one hears stories of people who go out on dates -- and spend the whole time talking to other people on their cell phones. Now, I understand, people even break up with each other via text messaging, which seems oddly appropriate.
Much of what drives people today is the realization that they've fallen into false community, a "network" that doesn't always translate into authentic connections.
It just might be the next bold new wave of living begins when people set down all their devices, back up slowly, turn around, and look at each other.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
December 7, 2006 - We Store it for You
I'm at a point in my life where "stuff" is starting to catch up with me.
On the one hand, there are boxes. I'm not just talking clothes, but those mysterious boxes that somehow survived three moves and ten years in the basement. Many of them are books, of course.
Some of those boxes are stuffed with my own writings. I have notebooks, I kid you not, from 6th grade. I have a couple of my incredibly naive and amateurish attempts at novels from high school. I do not, I promise you, spend my evenings reviewing this debris.
Here's the mystery: why do I think I need these things?
Not long ago, I sat through a "guided meditation" exercise. "Imagine a room," said our guide. "You can put anything you want in it. Big screen TV. Big comfy leather sofas. The rarest of paintings. High end sound systems. Price is no object."
After about 2 minutes of this, I realized that I wound up with a room that didn't have anything in it at all. My ideal space was a sort of Japanese hallway looking out at the mountains. Empty.
What do I want in life? Not more -- less. According to my family, this makes me a difficult person for whom to buy Christmas presents.
Now, let's consider another kind of storage issue. In the world of electronics is something called "Moore's Law." It concerns a formulation by one Gordon Moore, then promulgated by Carver Mead, about the amazing ability to cram ever more components into integrated circuits.
More popularly, people now understand Moore's Law to mean something like this: about every 18 months, the capacity of hard drives doubles, but the cost stays about the same.
It works. I still have, also in the basement, my very first PC. It came with two "floppy disks" that really were floppy. Each held 181K of "stuff."
Now I have 180 GIGAbytes on my current home PC. Most of that is empty. It cost about the same as the first PC.
I have also learned that everything I am likely to want to save -- letters, poetry, journals, even all of my newspaper columns -- fits just fine on a single USB flash drive. I started off with one that had 64 megs on it, about three years ago. It cost about $20. A year later, they were selling it, for the same price, but with 128 megs.
This past weekend, I ran across a deal where I could pick up 1 gigabyte of storage for $15.99. And this little flash drive was smaller than the last one.
This, of course, makes me think of Atlantis.
According to legend, Atlantis was once the most technologically sophisticated land on earth. Then, one day, after some kind of catastrophe -- volcano, earthquake, flood -- it utterly disappeared. It has never been found.
I think I know what happened. The storage technology eventually got to about the size of a tiny chip. Everything got copied there. The originals were destroyed.
Then somebody dropped the chip. They spent a while looking for it -- as at a party where someone loses a contact lens. This chip was never found. I'm guessing it cost about $20.
And there we have it: another of life's many strange contradictions. I have more boxes than ever, but all of my significant files -- if significant captures it -- now fit in a diminishingly small and cheap device. Which I will no doubt misplace, probably in the basement.
It's the kind of thing that drives a man to meditation, or, possibly to the library. Our motto: we store it FOR you.
On the one hand, there are boxes. I'm not just talking clothes, but those mysterious boxes that somehow survived three moves and ten years in the basement. Many of them are books, of course.
Some of those boxes are stuffed with my own writings. I have notebooks, I kid you not, from 6th grade. I have a couple of my incredibly naive and amateurish attempts at novels from high school. I do not, I promise you, spend my evenings reviewing this debris.
Here's the mystery: why do I think I need these things?
Not long ago, I sat through a "guided meditation" exercise. "Imagine a room," said our guide. "You can put anything you want in it. Big screen TV. Big comfy leather sofas. The rarest of paintings. High end sound systems. Price is no object."
After about 2 minutes of this, I realized that I wound up with a room that didn't have anything in it at all. My ideal space was a sort of Japanese hallway looking out at the mountains. Empty.
What do I want in life? Not more -- less. According to my family, this makes me a difficult person for whom to buy Christmas presents.
Now, let's consider another kind of storage issue. In the world of electronics is something called "Moore's Law." It concerns a formulation by one Gordon Moore, then promulgated by Carver Mead, about the amazing ability to cram ever more components into integrated circuits.
More popularly, people now understand Moore's Law to mean something like this: about every 18 months, the capacity of hard drives doubles, but the cost stays about the same.
It works. I still have, also in the basement, my very first PC. It came with two "floppy disks" that really were floppy. Each held 181K of "stuff."
Now I have 180 GIGAbytes on my current home PC. Most of that is empty. It cost about the same as the first PC.
I have also learned that everything I am likely to want to save -- letters, poetry, journals, even all of my newspaper columns -- fits just fine on a single USB flash drive. I started off with one that had 64 megs on it, about three years ago. It cost about $20. A year later, they were selling it, for the same price, but with 128 megs.
This past weekend, I ran across a deal where I could pick up 1 gigabyte of storage for $15.99. And this little flash drive was smaller than the last one.
This, of course, makes me think of Atlantis.
According to legend, Atlantis was once the most technologically sophisticated land on earth. Then, one day, after some kind of catastrophe -- volcano, earthquake, flood -- it utterly disappeared. It has never been found.
I think I know what happened. The storage technology eventually got to about the size of a tiny chip. Everything got copied there. The originals were destroyed.
Then somebody dropped the chip. They spent a while looking for it -- as at a party where someone loses a contact lens. This chip was never found. I'm guessing it cost about $20.
And there we have it: another of life's many strange contradictions. I have more boxes than ever, but all of my significant files -- if significant captures it -- now fit in a diminishingly small and cheap device. Which I will no doubt misplace, probably in the basement.
It's the kind of thing that drives a man to meditation, or, possibly to the library. Our motto: we store it FOR you.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
November 30, 2006 - elections had 2 positive results
I'm sure people are tired of hearing about the elections. But I have two things I'd like to share.
First, a lot of Colorado libraries went to the voters this November. And by and large, they did very well.
Successful library issues (usually, increases in funding to build or renovate libraries) were approved in:
* Adams County
* Basalt
* Berthoud
* Dolores
* Durango
* Fort Collins
* Garfield County
* Florence
* Hayden
* Montrose
Three of these were votes to form library districts (converting from a municipal or county library to an independent entity, much like the Douglas County Libraries): Adams County (which was actually formed a while ago, but only now got sufficient funding to operate), Fort Collins, and Garfield County.
That's not to say that all libraries won at the ballot box. Four issues went down, in Alamosa, Eagle Valley, Superior, and Pagosa Springs.
Still, I take the trend as encouraging. Libraries are smart investments in a community, and this is often even more strongly the case in small towns.
Here's another trend: over ten years ago, there weren't very many library districts out there. Now, about half of the 241 or so public libraries in the state are districts.
Why? Because for library districts, funding increases don't depend upon the whims of a small group of politicians. They depend upon broad community support.
That's probably true for most libraries. But it's unavoidable for districts: good service is essential to their survival.
And the record shows that the public understands that. They tend to reward library districts with greater funding than their municipal or county counterparts, because they can see how hard libraries work to provide that service.
My second observation about 2006 voting is this: even with some of the bobbles in Denver and Douglas County, I found myself tremendously heartened.
The last two national elections left a lot of people with a deep distrust of the process itself. Some believed Diebold voting machines to be utterly insecure from a software perspective. In many parts of the country, extreme partisanship worried others, particularly when some of those extremists (of either party) might be in local "control" of the election processes.
What troubled me, before this election, were the open expressions of that fundamental mistrust of the system. While there have always been shenanigans and errors in American elections, the elections themselves have been regarded, I think justifiably, as trustworthy nationwide.
Now, I believe, we have proof. Without any bloodshed, a lot of power changed hands overnight. If there really was some kind of big national conspiracy, that wouldn't have happened. The people in power would have stayed in power.
So quite aside from the spin you'll see by any of the political parties about the specific results of the last election, I think we owe a deep and genuine thanks to all the officials and volunteers who put those elections on.
Ultimately, and for all the verbal nastiness and even personal inconvenience of the 2006 elections, we have the good fortune to live in a nation where your political opinions or ambitions won't get you killed.
Instead, they actually count for something. And that's worth celebrating.
First, a lot of Colorado libraries went to the voters this November. And by and large, they did very well.
Successful library issues (usually, increases in funding to build or renovate libraries) were approved in:
* Adams County
* Basalt
* Berthoud
* Dolores
* Durango
* Fort Collins
* Garfield County
* Florence
* Hayden
* Montrose
Three of these were votes to form library districts (converting from a municipal or county library to an independent entity, much like the Douglas County Libraries): Adams County (which was actually formed a while ago, but only now got sufficient funding to operate), Fort Collins, and Garfield County.
That's not to say that all libraries won at the ballot box. Four issues went down, in Alamosa, Eagle Valley, Superior, and Pagosa Springs.
Still, I take the trend as encouraging. Libraries are smart investments in a community, and this is often even more strongly the case in small towns.
Here's another trend: over ten years ago, there weren't very many library districts out there. Now, about half of the 241 or so public libraries in the state are districts.
Why? Because for library districts, funding increases don't depend upon the whims of a small group of politicians. They depend upon broad community support.
That's probably true for most libraries. But it's unavoidable for districts: good service is essential to their survival.
And the record shows that the public understands that. They tend to reward library districts with greater funding than their municipal or county counterparts, because they can see how hard libraries work to provide that service.
My second observation about 2006 voting is this: even with some of the bobbles in Denver and Douglas County, I found myself tremendously heartened.
The last two national elections left a lot of people with a deep distrust of the process itself. Some believed Diebold voting machines to be utterly insecure from a software perspective. In many parts of the country, extreme partisanship worried others, particularly when some of those extremists (of either party) might be in local "control" of the election processes.
What troubled me, before this election, were the open expressions of that fundamental mistrust of the system. While there have always been shenanigans and errors in American elections, the elections themselves have been regarded, I think justifiably, as trustworthy nationwide.
Now, I believe, we have proof. Without any bloodshed, a lot of power changed hands overnight. If there really was some kind of big national conspiracy, that wouldn't have happened. The people in power would have stayed in power.
So quite aside from the spin you'll see by any of the political parties about the specific results of the last election, I think we owe a deep and genuine thanks to all the officials and volunteers who put those elections on.
Ultimately, and for all the verbal nastiness and even personal inconvenience of the 2006 elections, we have the good fortune to live in a nation where your political opinions or ambitions won't get you killed.
Instead, they actually count for something. And that's worth celebrating.
Friday, November 24, 2006
November 24, 2005 - Google
Just last week, the annual conference of the Colorado Association of Libraries brought over a thousand attendees to the Marriott Hotel at the Denver Tech Center.
I had the pleasure of participating in a "reactor panel" -- commenting on a keynote address by Pat Schroeder. Schroeder, former Colorado Congresswoman for some 24 years, is now the President of the Association of American Publishers.
Schroeder isn't too happy with librarians these days. How come?
Because Google has announced plans to scan and digitize the book collections of five big American libraries. And Google didn't talk to the publishers first.
Three of the libraries -- Stanford University, Harvard University, and the University of Michigan -- are digitizing everything they've got. Oxford University and the New York Public Library are also participating -- but are offering only those works already in the public domain.
What do libraries get? A free, digitized copy of every item. Ordinarily, that would cost millions.
What does Google get? In exchange for offering "snippets" from the scanned materials, available through typical Google searches, they'll make millions from the ads.
What do publishers get? Right now, nothing. Schroeder's stand is that Google has snookered everybody. In her view, the publishers made the content, and Google swiped it.
I disagreed with her: authors make the content. Publishers, at least in our current model, are the distributors of content, for which they take the bulk of the profits.
And just lately, it seems to me that publishers are getting a little greedy about copyrights. Publishers allow things to fall out of print, but then do not allow them to pass into the public domain.
Now they want a slice of the pie when somebody figures out a way to make these works more broadly available to the public. At the same time, publishing conglomerates are trying to extend the range of copyrights long past the death of the author.
How did libraries get in the middle of this? Well, library catalogs have been enriching their content for years. Once we just offered basic descriptions of a title, first on paper, then computer screen.
Now we show an image of the book jacket, include reviews and plot summaries, display sample chapters, and sometimes even offer detailed indexes.
Now, some of us offer the whole book online.
But I still haven't met any one who has actually read a whole book this way.
Neither Google, nor our catalogs, will lead to wholesale theft. Instead, they push people TO the book. We promote it, even when the publisher has utterly forgotten it.
There's another reason libraries are interested in this project. Sometimes, we are hit by disasters. There was the 1997 flood in Fort Collins that washed away whole floors of the CSU library. Katrina swamped many libraries in New Orleans.
Until digitization, there was no practical way for libraries to make a backup copy of one of their most important assets. Now there is.
Yes, Google will make a lot of money from brokering this access. Yes, publishers will have to scramble to find a new business model.
And yes, Google is also competing with some traditional library services. We have to look to our own business plans.
In part, that means that we need to ensure that not ONLY Google provides access to full text. We need other tools that do not assess fees, or subject the public to an endless stream of advertising.
It is fair and good that both author and distributor should receive compensation for their labor. But not in perpetuity.
Ultimately, these works make up the heritage of the whole human race. They need to be findable.
And they want to be free.
I had the pleasure of participating in a "reactor panel" -- commenting on a keynote address by Pat Schroeder. Schroeder, former Colorado Congresswoman for some 24 years, is now the President of the Association of American Publishers.
Schroeder isn't too happy with librarians these days. How come?
Because Google has announced plans to scan and digitize the book collections of five big American libraries. And Google didn't talk to the publishers first.
Three of the libraries -- Stanford University, Harvard University, and the University of Michigan -- are digitizing everything they've got. Oxford University and the New York Public Library are also participating -- but are offering only those works already in the public domain.
What do libraries get? A free, digitized copy of every item. Ordinarily, that would cost millions.
What does Google get? In exchange for offering "snippets" from the scanned materials, available through typical Google searches, they'll make millions from the ads.
What do publishers get? Right now, nothing. Schroeder's stand is that Google has snookered everybody. In her view, the publishers made the content, and Google swiped it.
I disagreed with her: authors make the content. Publishers, at least in our current model, are the distributors of content, for which they take the bulk of the profits.
And just lately, it seems to me that publishers are getting a little greedy about copyrights. Publishers allow things to fall out of print, but then do not allow them to pass into the public domain.
Now they want a slice of the pie when somebody figures out a way to make these works more broadly available to the public. At the same time, publishing conglomerates are trying to extend the range of copyrights long past the death of the author.
How did libraries get in the middle of this? Well, library catalogs have been enriching their content for years. Once we just offered basic descriptions of a title, first on paper, then computer screen.
Now we show an image of the book jacket, include reviews and plot summaries, display sample chapters, and sometimes even offer detailed indexes.
Now, some of us offer the whole book online.
But I still haven't met any one who has actually read a whole book this way.
Neither Google, nor our catalogs, will lead to wholesale theft. Instead, they push people TO the book. We promote it, even when the publisher has utterly forgotten it.
There's another reason libraries are interested in this project. Sometimes, we are hit by disasters. There was the 1997 flood in Fort Collins that washed away whole floors of the CSU library. Katrina swamped many libraries in New Orleans.
Until digitization, there was no practical way for libraries to make a backup copy of one of their most important assets. Now there is.
Yes, Google will make a lot of money from brokering this access. Yes, publishers will have to scramble to find a new business model.
And yes, Google is also competing with some traditional library services. We have to look to our own business plans.
In part, that means that we need to ensure that not ONLY Google provides access to full text. We need other tools that do not assess fees, or subject the public to an endless stream of advertising.
It is fair and good that both author and distributor should receive compensation for their labor. But not in perpetuity.
Ultimately, these works make up the heritage of the whole human race. They need to be findable.
And they want to be free.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
November 23, 2006 - Turkey Bowl, with Potatoes
I'll lay my cards on the table. A man has to make choices in his life. He can't be knowledgeable about everything, even if he works at a library and reads a lot.
Weighing my choices, then, I made a radical life choice, and I've stuck with it.
I am a sports illiterate.
I mean it. I have never watched an entire baseball game or basketball game or football game on television in my entire life. I've been to a couple of live basketball games, but that was back in junior high school.
I play tennis, racquetball, and used to play handball. I was a diver in high school, and once took a second in the state competition. I still try to keep in some kind of shape (roughly, the shape of a potato).
But I mean no disrespect to anyone when I say sports just isn't my thing. Like car and home repair, sports is an area of carefully preserved ignorance in my life, and I'm fine with that.
That makes my recent invitation to serve as commentator to an upcoming sports event a little puzzling. I will be accompanied by David Truhler, who may be more knowledgeable about sports than I am. But not by much.
We'd much rather sit around and play guitar and banjo. Or work up some /a cappella/ version of Christmas songs for our soon-to-be-released CD, "Christmas a la Tuna." (David and I are the Tuna Boys, as surely the world is now aware.)
But we have been asked to officiate over Turkey Bowl X, November 26, 1 p.m., at the Douglas County High School stadium in Castle Rock. By "officiate," I mean "emcee and make remarks about the game."
The Turkey Bowl has an interesting history. It started in 1996. The local fire and police departments were going through a lot of changes. To build some team spirit, Bret Johnson and Ty Peterson decided to have a flag football game between the two departments.
For the first 4 years, the game was played at Centennial Park, with friends and family in attendance. After 9/11, the Turkey Bowl was a fundraiser for the Fallen Firefighter and Police Officers of New York City. It raised $3,000 for that worthy cause.
In 2002, the donations (over $4,000) were split between the Fallen Firefighters and Police Officers and the Womens Crisis Center, located here in Douglas County.
In 2003, the Women's Crisis Center got the proceeds ($3,000). In 2004, the Turkey Bowl raised over $5,000 for a local firefighter battling ALS.
Since 2001, the Turkey Bowl has raised over $15,000 for charities! In 2006, they're donating proceeds to Sungate (see www.sungatekids.org). They've also pulled in some noteworthy sponsors (MedVed, IREA, Town of Castle Rock, and various local businesses).
So if you're looking for intense civic engagement and clueless but (we hope) entertaining commentary, come on out to this unique event. Admission is $2 at the door, per person. You'll find concessions, commemorative T-shirts, and a half-time visit by an Airlife chopper. Finally, there's a post-game barbeque -- tickets available at the game. It's an ideal family event.
I'll close with a somewhat touchy point. In brief, the "Hose Jockeys" (firefighters) have "hosed" Magnum Force (police) for 9 years in a row. It was close in 2004 (14 to 12), but the rest of the years, it's been pretty lopsided in favor of the firefighters.
I'm going out on a limb here. This year, the firefighters are gonna be in trouble. This year, Magnum Force is taking no prisoners. I base this, of course, on my really impressive sports knowledge deficit, an ignorance so profound that for the first couple of years I was in Colorado, I thought the "Broncos" were some kind of rodeo team.
Weighing my choices, then, I made a radical life choice, and I've stuck with it.
I am a sports illiterate.
I mean it. I have never watched an entire baseball game or basketball game or football game on television in my entire life. I've been to a couple of live basketball games, but that was back in junior high school.
I play tennis, racquetball, and used to play handball. I was a diver in high school, and once took a second in the state competition. I still try to keep in some kind of shape (roughly, the shape of a potato).
But I mean no disrespect to anyone when I say sports just isn't my thing. Like car and home repair, sports is an area of carefully preserved ignorance in my life, and I'm fine with that.
That makes my recent invitation to serve as commentator to an upcoming sports event a little puzzling. I will be accompanied by David Truhler, who may be more knowledgeable about sports than I am. But not by much.
We'd much rather sit around and play guitar and banjo. Or work up some /a cappella/ version of Christmas songs for our soon-to-be-released CD, "Christmas a la Tuna." (David and I are the Tuna Boys, as surely the world is now aware.)
But we have been asked to officiate over Turkey Bowl X, November 26, 1 p.m., at the Douglas County High School stadium in Castle Rock. By "officiate," I mean "emcee and make remarks about the game."
The Turkey Bowl has an interesting history. It started in 1996. The local fire and police departments were going through a lot of changes. To build some team spirit, Bret Johnson and Ty Peterson decided to have a flag football game between the two departments.
For the first 4 years, the game was played at Centennial Park, with friends and family in attendance. After 9/11, the Turkey Bowl was a fundraiser for the Fallen Firefighter and Police Officers of New York City. It raised $3,000 for that worthy cause.
In 2002, the donations (over $4,000) were split between the Fallen Firefighters and Police Officers and the Womens Crisis Center, located here in Douglas County.
In 2003, the Women's Crisis Center got the proceeds ($3,000). In 2004, the Turkey Bowl raised over $5,000 for a local firefighter battling ALS.
Since 2001, the Turkey Bowl has raised over $15,000 for charities! In 2006, they're donating proceeds to Sungate (see www.sungatekids.org). They've also pulled in some noteworthy sponsors (MedVed, IREA, Town of Castle Rock, and various local businesses).
So if you're looking for intense civic engagement and clueless but (we hope) entertaining commentary, come on out to this unique event. Admission is $2 at the door, per person. You'll find concessions, commemorative T-shirts, and a half-time visit by an Airlife chopper. Finally, there's a post-game barbeque -- tickets available at the game. It's an ideal family event.
I'll close with a somewhat touchy point. In brief, the "Hose Jockeys" (firefighters) have "hosed" Magnum Force (police) for 9 years in a row. It was close in 2004 (14 to 12), but the rest of the years, it's been pretty lopsided in favor of the firefighters.
I'm going out on a limb here. This year, the firefighters are gonna be in trouble. This year, Magnum Force is taking no prisoners. I base this, of course, on my really impressive sports knowledge deficit, an ignorance so profound that for the first couple of years I was in Colorado, I thought the "Broncos" were some kind of rodeo team.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
November 16, 2006 - Dynamic Organizations Stay Supple
A young friend of mine recently moved to California. She's been sending back thoughtful and astute observations about the public library she works for out there.
Not surprisingly, that library is different from ours in ways both large and small. For instance, we are an independent library district -- the only kind of public library that is directly accountable, not to some other governmental entity with its own concerns (such as a county or city), but directly to the people it serves. My friend's library is within a city with lots of its own problems.
Yet, responding to her observations reminded me that organizations, like the people who make them, are more alike than not.
I've often said about the Douglas County Libraries that we follow a distinct rhythm: 2 years out, 2 years in. It's like breathing.
For 2 years, often around a building project, we have intense and probing discussions with the public. That's how we figure out what people want from us. Breathe out!
Then, for 2 years, we put our plans into practice. More often than not, they are successful, often wildly so. That ramps up our business.
And that's when we find out that the new level of activity requires us to change the way we do things. Breathe in!
Any dynamic organization -- make that "any organization," because an organization that isn't dynamic doesn't last very long -- finds that "changing the way we do things" falls into two broad strategies.
First, you centralize. This happens when you find that there's a lot of inconsistency in the system. There's duplication of effort, some major or minor squandering of resources through inefficiency and lack of standards.
Second, you decentralize. Too much focus on standards and predictability results in, well, too much predictability. To some, it looks like a loss of creativity, or stagnation. (Although predictability in getting the right things done is no vice.) It may indeed result in a lack of responsiveness, particularly when things are changing rapidly in the environment around the organization.
Which is best? Like so many other black or white choices, the answer is, "it depends." It depends on which set of problems your organization faces at the moment. It depends on the people in key spots, and what their own strengths are. It depends on what's happening in the context of your organization.
One of the strengths of our library has been our distinct local connections. That's largely a decentralized process -- our staff responding to a unique community.
But an honest assessment of our operations told us that there were a lot of ways we could give the public a better bang for its buck. We moved our book ordering into fewer hands, and managed to get a lot more efficient with our time -- and therefore get more materials faster.
We established some standards for graphics, taking our program promotions up a notch, and increasing the number of people who came to them. We've worked hard to coordinate a unified strategy for the use of phone and computer equipment.
This year, as we go into our final budget adoption, we're working hard to institute that mysterious quality called "alignment" -- where all the rowers in the boat are pulling in the same direction and at the same time. We're also using more centralized measures of accountability -- benchmarks that tell us what's working, and what isn't.
Breathe out; breathe in. Centralize; decentralize. Flexibility is a sign of life; rigidity is the distinguishing feature of death.
Not surprisingly, that library is different from ours in ways both large and small. For instance, we are an independent library district -- the only kind of public library that is directly accountable, not to some other governmental entity with its own concerns (such as a county or city), but directly to the people it serves. My friend's library is within a city with lots of its own problems.
Yet, responding to her observations reminded me that organizations, like the people who make them, are more alike than not.
I've often said about the Douglas County Libraries that we follow a distinct rhythm: 2 years out, 2 years in. It's like breathing.
For 2 years, often around a building project, we have intense and probing discussions with the public. That's how we figure out what people want from us. Breathe out!
Then, for 2 years, we put our plans into practice. More often than not, they are successful, often wildly so. That ramps up our business.
And that's when we find out that the new level of activity requires us to change the way we do things. Breathe in!
Any dynamic organization -- make that "any organization," because an organization that isn't dynamic doesn't last very long -- finds that "changing the way we do things" falls into two broad strategies.
First, you centralize. This happens when you find that there's a lot of inconsistency in the system. There's duplication of effort, some major or minor squandering of resources through inefficiency and lack of standards.
Second, you decentralize. Too much focus on standards and predictability results in, well, too much predictability. To some, it looks like a loss of creativity, or stagnation. (Although predictability in getting the right things done is no vice.) It may indeed result in a lack of responsiveness, particularly when things are changing rapidly in the environment around the organization.
Which is best? Like so many other black or white choices, the answer is, "it depends." It depends on which set of problems your organization faces at the moment. It depends on the people in key spots, and what their own strengths are. It depends on what's happening in the context of your organization.
One of the strengths of our library has been our distinct local connections. That's largely a decentralized process -- our staff responding to a unique community.
But an honest assessment of our operations told us that there were a lot of ways we could give the public a better bang for its buck. We moved our book ordering into fewer hands, and managed to get a lot more efficient with our time -- and therefore get more materials faster.
We established some standards for graphics, taking our program promotions up a notch, and increasing the number of people who came to them. We've worked hard to coordinate a unified strategy for the use of phone and computer equipment.
This year, as we go into our final budget adoption, we're working hard to institute that mysterious quality called "alignment" -- where all the rowers in the boat are pulling in the same direction and at the same time. We're also using more centralized measures of accountability -- benchmarks that tell us what's working, and what isn't.
Breathe out; breathe in. Centralize; decentralize. Flexibility is a sign of life; rigidity is the distinguishing feature of death.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
November 11, 2006 - Checkouts Still a Basic Business
I was talking the other day with an economic development executive. A self-described Internet junkie, he wanted to know how the 'net was changing the profile of library use.
I told him a little bit about the study I reported on earlier this year: the more Internet stations we add, the more business we get everywhere else, too. But then I got curious about proportions. How do the uses of the public library compare to each other?
As of the end of October, we've already matched or beat our statistics for all of last year. In round terms, we have checked out over 4 million items. Our patrons have walked through our doors more than 1.2 million times.
We offer round the clock access to various electronic databases. To date, people have racked up over 400,000 searches.
Over 300,000 people have logged into our public Internet stations. We've answered over 230,000 reference questions.
We've had 168,856 volunteer hours donated to us. Imagine that each volunteer gives us just one hour. Given that we're open 69 hours a week, and have worked through some 44 weeks, that works out to about 55 volunteers every 7 days.
Finally, over 80,000 people have attended various library meetings.
So in terms of actual library use, here's what we know:
* Every person who walks through the door checks out about 3 and a half items.
* Every third person uses one of our subscription databases (either in the library, or from home).
* Every fourth person signs up for one of our Internet stations.
* Every fifth person asks a reference question.
* Every seventh person gives us an hour of their volunteer time.
* Every fifteenth person attends a library program.
Clearly, then, the greatest use of our public library is still as a place to borrow stuff. But there is quite a drop between what people check out, versus other measurable uses of our services.
Just because we can't measure it, of course, doesn't mean people are standing around with a confused look on their faces. (Although, sometimes, it might mean that, at which point our staff should make a graceful intervention.)
There's also the activity of "browsing," which is part of the process through which people get to those checkouts. It correlates to "shopping" -- people spend more time wandering around and handling the merchandise than they do actually paying for something.
Like shopping, hanging out at a library has another important dimension: social interaction. We are social creatures. We like to see others of our kind, and be seen by them. We like to listen to others, and have them listen to us.
Often -- although we don't have good numbers for this -- people are simply sitting and studying or reading. But quite as often, they're talking to each other. They may also attend meetings not sponsored by the library, but held there.
In all, I find these statistics reassuring. Despite the hype about computers replacing and displacing public places, it turns out that we still need those places for people to gather. And the traditional use of the public library -- a place to browse and borrow materials -- is still the big winner in terms of people's actions in the building.
2006 has been a year of many changes for the library. But it's important to remember that some things, basic to our business, are still our bedrock.
I told him a little bit about the study I reported on earlier this year: the more Internet stations we add, the more business we get everywhere else, too. But then I got curious about proportions. How do the uses of the public library compare to each other?
As of the end of October, we've already matched or beat our statistics for all of last year. In round terms, we have checked out over 4 million items. Our patrons have walked through our doors more than 1.2 million times.
We offer round the clock access to various electronic databases. To date, people have racked up over 400,000 searches.
Over 300,000 people have logged into our public Internet stations. We've answered over 230,000 reference questions.
We've had 168,856 volunteer hours donated to us. Imagine that each volunteer gives us just one hour. Given that we're open 69 hours a week, and have worked through some 44 weeks, that works out to about 55 volunteers every 7 days.
Finally, over 80,000 people have attended various library meetings.
So in terms of actual library use, here's what we know:
* Every person who walks through the door checks out about 3 and a half items.
* Every third person uses one of our subscription databases (either in the library, or from home).
* Every fourth person signs up for one of our Internet stations.
* Every fifth person asks a reference question.
* Every seventh person gives us an hour of their volunteer time.
* Every fifteenth person attends a library program.
Clearly, then, the greatest use of our public library is still as a place to borrow stuff. But there is quite a drop between what people check out, versus other measurable uses of our services.
Just because we can't measure it, of course, doesn't mean people are standing around with a confused look on their faces. (Although, sometimes, it might mean that, at which point our staff should make a graceful intervention.)
There's also the activity of "browsing," which is part of the process through which people get to those checkouts. It correlates to "shopping" -- people spend more time wandering around and handling the merchandise than they do actually paying for something.
Like shopping, hanging out at a library has another important dimension: social interaction. We are social creatures. We like to see others of our kind, and be seen by them. We like to listen to others, and have them listen to us.
Often -- although we don't have good numbers for this -- people are simply sitting and studying or reading. But quite as often, they're talking to each other. They may also attend meetings not sponsored by the library, but held there.
In all, I find these statistics reassuring. Despite the hype about computers replacing and displacing public places, it turns out that we still need those places for people to gather. And the traditional use of the public library -- a place to browse and borrow materials -- is still the big winner in terms of people's actions in the building.
2006 has been a year of many changes for the library. But it's important to remember that some things, basic to our business, are still our bedrock.
Thursday, November 2, 2006
November 2, 2006 - when Mother Nature is cruel
Mother Nature is mighty and unpredictable.
I've tried to set up a procedure to handle library closings or delayed openings. In general, we try to follow the school district. But sometimes what makes sense for them doesn't make sense for us.
As I'm writing this (the morning of October 27), Douglas County's weather is split along peculiar lines. In some areas, it's fine for travel. In others, people are socked in with snow. But the weather forecast says it's supposed to be in the 60s by noon. You gotta love Colorado.
The school district's delayed openings reflect local conditions. But what I decided to do is delay openings all around the library district until noon -- simplifying (I hope) the message to be distributed.
Once that decision is made, we begin the laborious process of contacting all our staff. At the same time, we gear up our PR machinery: that means that we call TV stations Channel 4 and 9, post the news on the front page our website (www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org), and put a message on our phones (for now, call your branch library number in the yellow pages; soon, we'll have one district-wide number).
If you ever have questions about a library opening, these are the places to check.
Closing our libraries is always a mixed thing -- a risk no matter which way I call it.
On the one hand, I grew up north of Chicago, where winter snowstorms were frequent and severe. Eventually, you adapt -- learn how to get around in icy and dicey situations.
But in Colorado, those conditions don't last long enough for people to learn the skills they need. So we get more accidents.
I've become a little more protective of the public and staff through the years, without trying to totally wuss out, and have a timid library shut down when everybody else is open.
I'm even starting to wonder about my own driving skills. Once upon a time, I was a truck driver back in the midwest, where I endured one of the roughest winters in some 50 years. I got through the whole thing without incident, even though I was putting in some 6-8 hours a day on the road.
Yesterday (and my worn tires are probably much to blame), I got stuck in my own cul de sac on the way home. Were it not for the friendly helpfulness of my wonderful neighbors, I never would have made it to my driveway.
Mr. Hopkins, one of those great neighbors, popped up with snowsuit, snow blower, SUV and tow line -- which I promptly attached to what I thought was the metal ring designed for that purpose on my Toyota, but to what turned out to be a vacuum hose.
Sigh. I'm sure I had a car once that had a tow bar in that exact spot. But I will be the first to admit that I am mechanically inept. Mr. Hopkins straightened out that problem, too.
Ultimately, extreme weather is yet another lesson in humility. Sometimes, things don't go the way we want them to. But with the cooperation of our neighbors, coworkers, and friends, somehow we get by.
I've tried to set up a procedure to handle library closings or delayed openings. In general, we try to follow the school district. But sometimes what makes sense for them doesn't make sense for us.
As I'm writing this (the morning of October 27), Douglas County's weather is split along peculiar lines. In some areas, it's fine for travel. In others, people are socked in with snow. But the weather forecast says it's supposed to be in the 60s by noon. You gotta love Colorado.
The school district's delayed openings reflect local conditions. But what I decided to do is delay openings all around the library district until noon -- simplifying (I hope) the message to be distributed.
Once that decision is made, we begin the laborious process of contacting all our staff. At the same time, we gear up our PR machinery: that means that we call TV stations Channel 4 and 9, post the news on the front page our website (www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org), and put a message on our phones (for now, call your branch library number in the yellow pages; soon, we'll have one district-wide number).
If you ever have questions about a library opening, these are the places to check.
Closing our libraries is always a mixed thing -- a risk no matter which way I call it.
On the one hand, I grew up north of Chicago, where winter snowstorms were frequent and severe. Eventually, you adapt -- learn how to get around in icy and dicey situations.
But in Colorado, those conditions don't last long enough for people to learn the skills they need. So we get more accidents.
I've become a little more protective of the public and staff through the years, without trying to totally wuss out, and have a timid library shut down when everybody else is open.
I'm even starting to wonder about my own driving skills. Once upon a time, I was a truck driver back in the midwest, where I endured one of the roughest winters in some 50 years. I got through the whole thing without incident, even though I was putting in some 6-8 hours a day on the road.
Yesterday (and my worn tires are probably much to blame), I got stuck in my own cul de sac on the way home. Were it not for the friendly helpfulness of my wonderful neighbors, I never would have made it to my driveway.
Mr. Hopkins, one of those great neighbors, popped up with snowsuit, snow blower, SUV and tow line -- which I promptly attached to what I thought was the metal ring designed for that purpose on my Toyota, but to what turned out to be a vacuum hose.
Sigh. I'm sure I had a car once that had a tow bar in that exact spot. But I will be the first to admit that I am mechanically inept. Mr. Hopkins straightened out that problem, too.
Ultimately, extreme weather is yet another lesson in humility. Sometimes, things don't go the way we want them to. But with the cooperation of our neighbors, coworkers, and friends, somehow we get by.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
October 26, 2006 - fines support new veterans memorial
In years past, the library has offered several fine amnesty programs. For instance, we have, at various times, encouraged people to drop off cans of food. In exchange, we wipe out old debts, and pass the food along to some worthy charity.
I'd like to introduce a different program: for one week, make a point to pay your fines with real money. Why? Because there's an important civic project underway, and it deserves your financial support.
That project is the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument. As noted on their website, (http://veteransmonument.highlandsranch.org), "Tuesday, August 8, 2006 marked the first anniversary of the death of Army Staff Sgt. Christopher Falkel, a 2001 ThunderRidge High School graduate who served as a Green Beret. Falkel was the first Highlands Ranch resident to be killed in action."
Many older communities have monuments to fallen soldiers. Highlands Ranch does not. Again as noted on the website, a group of "community volunteers, led by Jeff Alvis, and supported by the Highlands Ranch Park & Recreation Foundation and the Metro District of Highlands Ranch, has launched a fundraising campaign for the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument, to be built near the Highlands Ranch Library entrance in Civic Green Park."
The Civic Green Park has often been described as "the heart of Highlands Ranch," a truly civic place. The design -- both tasteful and very much in the spirit of the Colorado landscape, was created by Brian Muller. The idea is to place this monument at the north end of the park, not far from the front door of our library.
In addition to the features of the monument -- an arch, five large native rocks featuring the emblems of the five branches of the armed services, a small cascading water feature and pond -- there will also be a dedication wall.
On this wall will be tiles, available for purchase from the website. They come in two sizes; 4 by 8 inches for $200, or 8 by 8 inches for $500 (available in limited quantity). The tiles don't have to be for soldiers who lost their lives; you may simply acknowledge the service of any veteran, or member of the armed forces.
I should also stress that the tiles are not limited to residents of Highlands Ranch, or even of Douglas County. Of course, there will probably be some kind of connection to Douglas County residents.
War, of course, is a terrible thing. This monument isn't about a glorification of conflict. But it is about something we need to remember: there is a dimension to all of our lives that isn't just recreational or economic. It involves our connection to larger moments of shared social history, to issues of state, and even of global significance. It is appropriate to pause to reflect, to consider the real, individual cost of military service, and the purposes to which we ask people to give their time, or their lives.
To that end, the Board of Trustees has voted to dedicate all fine money collected during the week from Sunday, November 5, through Saturday, November 11, Veterans Day, as a donation to this project, and its contribution to our shared community.
The target for the project is $200,000. At present, it has collected a little over $17,000.
So please, consider making a small sacrifice to honor the much larger ones of our service people.
I'd like to introduce a different program: for one week, make a point to pay your fines with real money. Why? Because there's an important civic project underway, and it deserves your financial support.
That project is the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument. As noted on their website, (http://veteransmonument.highlandsranch.org), "Tuesday, August 8, 2006 marked the first anniversary of the death of Army Staff Sgt. Christopher Falkel, a 2001 ThunderRidge High School graduate who served as a Green Beret. Falkel was the first Highlands Ranch resident to be killed in action."
Many older communities have monuments to fallen soldiers. Highlands Ranch does not. Again as noted on the website, a group of "community volunteers, led by Jeff Alvis, and supported by the Highlands Ranch Park & Recreation Foundation and the Metro District of Highlands Ranch, has launched a fundraising campaign for the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument, to be built near the Highlands Ranch Library entrance in Civic Green Park."
The Civic Green Park has often been described as "the heart of Highlands Ranch," a truly civic place. The design -- both tasteful and very much in the spirit of the Colorado landscape, was created by Brian Muller. The idea is to place this monument at the north end of the park, not far from the front door of our library.
In addition to the features of the monument -- an arch, five large native rocks featuring the emblems of the five branches of the armed services, a small cascading water feature and pond -- there will also be a dedication wall.
On this wall will be tiles, available for purchase from the website. They come in two sizes; 4 by 8 inches for $200, or 8 by 8 inches for $500 (available in limited quantity). The tiles don't have to be for soldiers who lost their lives; you may simply acknowledge the service of any veteran, or member of the armed forces.
I should also stress that the tiles are not limited to residents of Highlands Ranch, or even of Douglas County. Of course, there will probably be some kind of connection to Douglas County residents.
War, of course, is a terrible thing. This monument isn't about a glorification of conflict. But it is about something we need to remember: there is a dimension to all of our lives that isn't just recreational or economic. It involves our connection to larger moments of shared social history, to issues of state, and even of global significance. It is appropriate to pause to reflect, to consider the real, individual cost of military service, and the purposes to which we ask people to give their time, or their lives.
To that end, the Board of Trustees has voted to dedicate all fine money collected during the week from Sunday, November 5, through Saturday, November 11, Veterans Day, as a donation to this project, and its contribution to our shared community.
The target for the project is $200,000. At present, it has collected a little over $17,000.
So please, consider making a small sacrifice to honor the much larger ones of our service people.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
October 12, 2006 - Library Hauntings
This is just a little early, but I thought people would like to know, as they approach Halloween, that some 100 United States libraries are reported to be haunted.
I read it in an article by George M. Eberhart, in a book called "The Whole Library Handbook." He is also the author of "Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology," "The Roswell Report: An Historical Perspective," "A Geo-Bibliography of Anomalies: Primary Access to Observations of UFOs, Ghosts, and Other Mysterious Phenomena," and more.
Most of the hauntings are a little mundane: cold spots in the building, elevators or computers that run erratically in the older wings, strange noises late at night. Of course, if you've ever worked in an old building after the sun goes down, you know that hearing odd things -- bangs, screams, moans, manual typewriters, people rifling through papers -- can be most unsettling, even if it only turns out to be frantic grad students cramming for a final.
Other phenomena are stranger. Here's one that would definitely have gotten my attention. The library director at the Cumberland University in Lebanon, Tennessee said that on March 5, 2001, he saw "a cat come floating across my office floor and disappear among the boxes stored under the table behind my desk. I did not see any legs or paws and no motion like a normal cat walking on a floor. The apparition was near the floor, about the right height for a cat, but it appeared to be gliding smoothly through the air instead of touching the floor."
In Tarrytown, New York, several years after his death, Washington Irving's ghost was reported to have been seen walking through the parlor and into the library -- where he was wont to pinch young ladies.
At the U.S. Capitol Building, Rotunda, in Washington, D.C., a male librarian has been seen paging through obscure volumes near where he once hid $6,000 -- a sum found in 1897 when the collection was moved to the Jefferson Building.
In Evansville, Indiana's Willard Library, a "lady in grey" has been seen many times. In fact, there are three ghostcams if you'd like to join the watch. See www.willardghost.com/index.php.
At the Peabody Institute Library in Danvers, Massachusetts, an old apparition has hushed noisy passersby.
Out here in the west, the dead are unquiet, too.
At the Albuquerque/Bernalillo County Library System, San Pedro Branch, in New Mexico, a disembodied voice calls out of an evening, "please come check out a book."
At the Long Beach Public Library in California, the "appropriate" books sometimes falls from the shelves, presumably while people are looking for them.
In Portland, Oregon, library staff saw a man sitting in a room that was supposedly locked and empty. As a supervisor went upstairs to check, the library assistant watching the camera saw the mysterious figure vanish.
Sadly, the only library in Colorado with a haunting is Denver Public, where people report having been pushed in the basement -- by nobody.
But I'll add another one. I could have sworn I saw a tall Indian, in buckskin and feathered head dress, stroll noiselessly through the foyer of the old Philip S. Miller Library on Plum Creek late one Sunday after hours. I couldn't find him, though.
I like Eberhart's take on all this: "...libraries offer such dynamic mental and sensual stimulation that if haunts are truly evidence for postmortem survival, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather spend my earthly afterlife than in a library..."
Watch for me.
[LaRue's Views, unless stated otherwise, are his alone.]
I read it in an article by George M. Eberhart, in a book called "The Whole Library Handbook." He is also the author of "Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology," "The Roswell Report: An Historical Perspective," "A Geo-Bibliography of Anomalies: Primary Access to Observations of UFOs, Ghosts, and Other Mysterious Phenomena," and more.
Most of the hauntings are a little mundane: cold spots in the building, elevators or computers that run erratically in the older wings, strange noises late at night. Of course, if you've ever worked in an old building after the sun goes down, you know that hearing odd things -- bangs, screams, moans, manual typewriters, people rifling through papers -- can be most unsettling, even if it only turns out to be frantic grad students cramming for a final.
Other phenomena are stranger. Here's one that would definitely have gotten my attention. The library director at the Cumberland University in Lebanon, Tennessee said that on March 5, 2001, he saw "a cat come floating across my office floor and disappear among the boxes stored under the table behind my desk. I did not see any legs or paws and no motion like a normal cat walking on a floor. The apparition was near the floor, about the right height for a cat, but it appeared to be gliding smoothly through the air instead of touching the floor."
In Tarrytown, New York, several years after his death, Washington Irving's ghost was reported to have been seen walking through the parlor and into the library -- where he was wont to pinch young ladies.
At the U.S. Capitol Building, Rotunda, in Washington, D.C., a male librarian has been seen paging through obscure volumes near where he once hid $6,000 -- a sum found in 1897 when the collection was moved to the Jefferson Building.
In Evansville, Indiana's Willard Library, a "lady in grey" has been seen many times. In fact, there are three ghostcams if you'd like to join the watch. See www.willardghost.com/index.php.
At the Peabody Institute Library in Danvers, Massachusetts, an old apparition has hushed noisy passersby.
Out here in the west, the dead are unquiet, too.
At the Albuquerque/Bernalillo County Library System, San Pedro Branch, in New Mexico, a disembodied voice calls out of an evening, "please come check out a book."
At the Long Beach Public Library in California, the "appropriate" books sometimes falls from the shelves, presumably while people are looking for them.
In Portland, Oregon, library staff saw a man sitting in a room that was supposedly locked and empty. As a supervisor went upstairs to check, the library assistant watching the camera saw the mysterious figure vanish.
Sadly, the only library in Colorado with a haunting is Denver Public, where people report having been pushed in the basement -- by nobody.
But I'll add another one. I could have sworn I saw a tall Indian, in buckskin and feathered head dress, stroll noiselessly through the foyer of the old Philip S. Miller Library on Plum Creek late one Sunday after hours. I couldn't find him, though.
I like Eberhart's take on all this: "...libraries offer such dynamic mental and sensual stimulation that if haunts are truly evidence for postmortem survival, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather spend my earthly afterlife than in a library..."
Watch for me.
[LaRue's Views, unless stated otherwise, are his alone.]
Thursday, October 5, 2006
October 5, 2006 - so you want to be a cataloger
You'll think I'm kidding. But I've got an experience for you that will change your life. And you'll love it: Yes, YOU can be a cataloger.
No, really.
I'm guessing that if you read this column, you love books. If you love books, the odds are very good that you've got books all over your house or apartment. They might even have started out in order. But they're probably not in order now. In fact, you're probably not quite sure which books you do have these days.
But that's about to change. Just follow these steps:
1. Go to Library Thing. You'll find it at www.librarything.com.
2. Create an account. It's free (up to 200 books), or $10 a year, or $25 for life.
3. Start looking for books you own. A database that combines some 45 libraries world-wide, including the massive Library of Congress, not to mention the files of Amazon.com, lets you quickly find what you want. Click on a match, and you've got a catalog record of your book. You've just started building your online collection.
4. In "list" or "cover" view, you can review your new library. You can search, sort, edit, and "tag" your titles. You can rate and review them.
5. You can find out what other people think of those books -- and what books they might have recommended.
6. Library Thing doesn't sell books; it just shares information about them. But once you know what you're looking for, there are libraries and bookstores!
At this writing, there are some 79,000 profoundly addicted users, and over 5.6 million books in the system. You can share information about yourself, too, and find -- who knows? -- your literary soulmate. Or at least you'll find people interested in the same things you are.
Library Thing will even pass along information to your blog, if you've got one. You can access Library Thing by cell phone when you're standing in a bookstore.
No less a newspaper than the Christian Science Monitor proclaimed, "LibraryThing appears poised to turn the cataloging of books into a form of communal recreation."
But you know what? That's what cataloging has always been -- the attempt to describe, as a group (of librarians, in this case), the fascinating world of literature. Just scanning through the tags or headings people give books tells you just how many ways we can describe something.
Like Amazon.com, Library Thing includes brief user reviews. Frankly, I like our own Douglas County Libraries catalog better than that; it includes links to the major reviews, and plot summaries.
But as is true with so many things, this isn't about competition; it's about collaboration. Library Thing adds a social dimension to the longstanding tradition of booklists. That's something public libraries have done in person for a long time. Now, it can be done online.
In a way, it's ironic. The trend in librarianship is away from so-called "original cataloging" -- where everyone is expected to create the cataloging record. In part, Library Thing fits into that; you grab what other people have done. Some in the library profession have thought this signals the end of a noble occupation.
But now you also get to add something personal, something that frames that record according to your own unique worldview. And that opens the door to all kinds of interesting new discussions and referrals.
Suddenly, to be a cataloger is be ... cool. Popular, even.
So, dear Readers, let's get cracking. A book uncataloged is like a friend not spoken to. There's work to do. Why shouldn't it be fun?
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
No, really.
I'm guessing that if you read this column, you love books. If you love books, the odds are very good that you've got books all over your house or apartment. They might even have started out in order. But they're probably not in order now. In fact, you're probably not quite sure which books you do have these days.
But that's about to change. Just follow these steps:
1. Go to Library Thing. You'll find it at www.librarything.com.
2. Create an account. It's free (up to 200 books), or $10 a year, or $25 for life.
3. Start looking for books you own. A database that combines some 45 libraries world-wide, including the massive Library of Congress, not to mention the files of Amazon.com, lets you quickly find what you want. Click on a match, and you've got a catalog record of your book. You've just started building your online collection.
4. In "list" or "cover" view, you can review your new library. You can search, sort, edit, and "tag" your titles. You can rate and review them.
5. You can find out what other people think of those books -- and what books they might have recommended.
6. Library Thing doesn't sell books; it just shares information about them. But once you know what you're looking for, there are libraries and bookstores!
At this writing, there are some 79,000 profoundly addicted users, and over 5.6 million books in the system. You can share information about yourself, too, and find -- who knows? -- your literary soulmate. Or at least you'll find people interested in the same things you are.
Library Thing will even pass along information to your blog, if you've got one. You can access Library Thing by cell phone when you're standing in a bookstore.
No less a newspaper than the Christian Science Monitor proclaimed, "LibraryThing appears poised to turn the cataloging of books into a form of communal recreation."
But you know what? That's what cataloging has always been -- the attempt to describe, as a group (of librarians, in this case), the fascinating world of literature. Just scanning through the tags or headings people give books tells you just how many ways we can describe something.
Like Amazon.com, Library Thing includes brief user reviews. Frankly, I like our own Douglas County Libraries catalog better than that; it includes links to the major reviews, and plot summaries.
But as is true with so many things, this isn't about competition; it's about collaboration. Library Thing adds a social dimension to the longstanding tradition of booklists. That's something public libraries have done in person for a long time. Now, it can be done online.
In a way, it's ironic. The trend in librarianship is away from so-called "original cataloging" -- where everyone is expected to create the cataloging record. In part, Library Thing fits into that; you grab what other people have done. Some in the library profession have thought this signals the end of a noble occupation.
But now you also get to add something personal, something that frames that record according to your own unique worldview. And that opens the door to all kinds of interesting new discussions and referrals.
Suddenly, to be a cataloger is be ... cool. Popular, even.
So, dear Readers, let's get cracking. A book uncataloged is like a friend not spoken to. There's work to do. Why shouldn't it be fun?
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
Friday, September 29, 2006
September 7, 2006 - immigration not just US issue
My wife, son and I have just returned from a trip to Europe. It was part family vacation, and part a sobering task: dropping off our daughter at university in Germany.
Our first stop was London, where we'd rented a room at a bed and breakfast. We did some touristy things: a trip to the enormous Ferris Wheel of the London Eye, the Globe Theatre, the British Museum, an Aquarium by the Thames. But mostly, we did a lot of walking.
I guess I thought I was going to hear English accents. There was certainly enough opportunity: it's been a long time since I've been in a city that crowded. Everywhere we went, at almost any time of day, the streets teemed with people.
Since we often took the Tube, or the Underground, we had lots of opportunity to eavesdrop. Mostly, we heard young people, in their 20s and 30s.
But few of them spoke with an English accent. Instead I heard Hindi, Pakistani, Turkish, Kurdish, Polish, Bulgarian, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, and many others I couldn't even identify. The occasional Cockney or BBC accent almost jumped out at you.
Later, we spent a few days with relatives who live not far from Oxford (which is quite aways outside London, into the English countryside). And that's as close as I got to thinking about libraries -- we toured Oxford's Bodleian Library. In addition to being the university's key research tool, we learned, the Bod was also the location of three scenes in Harry Potter movies (the infirmary, a classroom, and of course, the library).
Later, one of our relatives told us that it was anticipated that in just the last year, Great Britain might see something like 40,000 immigrants from Poland. They got 400,000.
But not just from Poland. In France, there are so many social protections for workers that some companies are reluctant to hire young people; they can't get rid of them if they don't work out. So the entrepreneurs were leaving France, and coming to England to set up shop.
We also saw countless groups of Muslim women, traveling, usually, in dense packs, fully garbed in black. But often, as the women would step up a curb, I'd get a surprising glimpse: under the nun-like habit, I saw more than one pair of sequined high heels.
I couldn't help but notice that England and the United Kingdom were dealing with far greater issues of immigration than anything in the United States. In our case, "immigration" mainly means the influx of Mexican workers, who speak just Spanish. But in the UK, we're talking about hundreds of thousands of people, every year, from all around the world, with a rich stew of languages and cultural traditions.
As I discovered later in Germany, not everybody speaks English, either. It's a humbling experience to try to negotiate a train schedule, or even order a sandwich, when my confident, "Bitte, sprechen Sie Englisch?" was met with a "Nee."
Educated people should speak at least three languages. I've got some work to do.
I also heard some interesting things about the United States from others. In particular, I was fascinated by the perspective of our Kurdish taxi driver (who escaped from Saddam Hussein's regime 16 years ago), and a former German police inspector, who now is my daughter's "foster dad" in Bremen. But that's another story.
Our first stop was London, where we'd rented a room at a bed and breakfast. We did some touristy things: a trip to the enormous Ferris Wheel of the London Eye, the Globe Theatre, the British Museum, an Aquarium by the Thames. But mostly, we did a lot of walking.
I guess I thought I was going to hear English accents. There was certainly enough opportunity: it's been a long time since I've been in a city that crowded. Everywhere we went, at almost any time of day, the streets teemed with people.
Since we often took the Tube, or the Underground, we had lots of opportunity to eavesdrop. Mostly, we heard young people, in their 20s and 30s.
But few of them spoke with an English accent. Instead I heard Hindi, Pakistani, Turkish, Kurdish, Polish, Bulgarian, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, and many others I couldn't even identify. The occasional Cockney or BBC accent almost jumped out at you.
Later, we spent a few days with relatives who live not far from Oxford (which is quite aways outside London, into the English countryside). And that's as close as I got to thinking about libraries -- we toured Oxford's Bodleian Library. In addition to being the university's key research tool, we learned, the Bod was also the location of three scenes in Harry Potter movies (the infirmary, a classroom, and of course, the library).
Later, one of our relatives told us that it was anticipated that in just the last year, Great Britain might see something like 40,000 immigrants from Poland. They got 400,000.
But not just from Poland. In France, there are so many social protections for workers that some companies are reluctant to hire young people; they can't get rid of them if they don't work out. So the entrepreneurs were leaving France, and coming to England to set up shop.
We also saw countless groups of Muslim women, traveling, usually, in dense packs, fully garbed in black. But often, as the women would step up a curb, I'd get a surprising glimpse: under the nun-like habit, I saw more than one pair of sequined high heels.
I couldn't help but notice that England and the United Kingdom were dealing with far greater issues of immigration than anything in the United States. In our case, "immigration" mainly means the influx of Mexican workers, who speak just Spanish. But in the UK, we're talking about hundreds of thousands of people, every year, from all around the world, with a rich stew of languages and cultural traditions.
As I discovered later in Germany, not everybody speaks English, either. It's a humbling experience to try to negotiate a train schedule, or even order a sandwich, when my confident, "Bitte, sprechen Sie Englisch?" was met with a "Nee."
Educated people should speak at least three languages. I've got some work to do.
I also heard some interesting things about the United States from others. In particular, I was fascinated by the perspective of our Kurdish taxi driver (who escaped from Saddam Hussein's regime 16 years ago), and a former German police inspector, who now is my daughter's "foster dad" in Bremen. But that's another story.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
September 27, 2006 - Keeping a Journal
I started keeping my first journal in 5th or 6th grade. My mother got it for me one Christmas.
It had a soft, burgundy-colored leather cover, and paper that was slightly yellow. There was only one page per day. At the top of the page, I was encouraged to record the weather, and my general health. Then I got a blank page.
So I kept a daily log of my life -- and my thoughts about it -- for about two years. I kept one again my senior year of high school, my last couple of years of college, and on and off ever since.
I know why I always start up again: personal therapy. I've got things I need to work through: situations, big decisions, or just ideas that got a hold of me. There's a kind of imbalance in my life that I feel a need to focus on. Writing is thinking, and sometimes, thinking is the only way out.
Then there's perspective: the discovery I make when I reread the journal later. What was so baffling back then is utterly obvious now. A journal lets me know that I've learned something.
Often, what I learn is that the journal should be destroyed before anybody else sees what a fool I've been. Still, it's progress.
I'm not always sure why I quit. The imbalance is resolved, I suppose. I've worked through the situation, made my decision, or just no longer feel the need to focus too intently on my feelings, my thoughts, or my actions. Too much self-examination can also be a barrier to growth.
The form of my journal has changed. Through the years I've used the dedicated journal; record books I picked up at a surplus sale; and school notebooks.
Eventually, I moved to the computer. There I've used a variety of programs, everything from simple text editors to full blown word processors, to customized databases, to "personal information managers."
I prefer outliners with a built in search tool; but I saw a wonderful and free product for the Mac called Journler (yes, that's the way it's spelled) that I foisted off on my daughter. It not only records your thoughts by day, but lets you fold in all kinds of multimedia things -- digital photographs, for instance.
Journals, or "diaries" (the main subject heading in our catalog, which is worth a look), is also a time-honored literary form. Whether in a novel or a travel log, the journal is often the key narrative structure.
For historians, journals can provide useful raw data for things that too easily get lost: the actual pattern of people's lives as revealed in the small details. The black and white TV on the revolving table. The price of gasoline. The outbreak of an epidemic in a rural school district.
Another use of the journal, combining self and literature, is the reading log. It's a great way to take control of your own education. A journal then becomes both a record, and a reckoning, with the world of books.
The root word of both "journal" and "diary" is "day." Seize the day; keep a journal.
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
It had a soft, burgundy-colored leather cover, and paper that was slightly yellow. There was only one page per day. At the top of the page, I was encouraged to record the weather, and my general health. Then I got a blank page.
So I kept a daily log of my life -- and my thoughts about it -- for about two years. I kept one again my senior year of high school, my last couple of years of college, and on and off ever since.
I know why I always start up again: personal therapy. I've got things I need to work through: situations, big decisions, or just ideas that got a hold of me. There's a kind of imbalance in my life that I feel a need to focus on. Writing is thinking, and sometimes, thinking is the only way out.
Then there's perspective: the discovery I make when I reread the journal later. What was so baffling back then is utterly obvious now. A journal lets me know that I've learned something.
Often, what I learn is that the journal should be destroyed before anybody else sees what a fool I've been. Still, it's progress.
I'm not always sure why I quit. The imbalance is resolved, I suppose. I've worked through the situation, made my decision, or just no longer feel the need to focus too intently on my feelings, my thoughts, or my actions. Too much self-examination can also be a barrier to growth.
The form of my journal has changed. Through the years I've used the dedicated journal; record books I picked up at a surplus sale; and school notebooks.
Eventually, I moved to the computer. There I've used a variety of programs, everything from simple text editors to full blown word processors, to customized databases, to "personal information managers."
I prefer outliners with a built in search tool; but I saw a wonderful and free product for the Mac called Journler (yes, that's the way it's spelled) that I foisted off on my daughter. It not only records your thoughts by day, but lets you fold in all kinds of multimedia things -- digital photographs, for instance.
Journals, or "diaries" (the main subject heading in our catalog, which is worth a look), is also a time-honored literary form. Whether in a novel or a travel log, the journal is often the key narrative structure.
For historians, journals can provide useful raw data for things that too easily get lost: the actual pattern of people's lives as revealed in the small details. The black and white TV on the revolving table. The price of gasoline. The outbreak of an epidemic in a rural school district.
Another use of the journal, combining self and literature, is the reading log. It's a great way to take control of your own education. A journal then becomes both a record, and a reckoning, with the world of books.
The root word of both "journal" and "diary" is "day." Seize the day; keep a journal.
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
Thursday, September 21, 2006
September 21, 2006 - Two Books Worth Reading
[Disclaimer: please note that these are "LaRue's Views;" I am, it would not surprise me to learn, speaking for no one else.]
At the end of my last column, I talked about hearing, in London, from our Kurdish taxi driver about Saddam Hussein's devastatingly anti-Kurd regime. Our driver was frankly grateful for the United States' invasion of Iraq. However, he had no intention of returning, other than as a visitor, to his birthplace. He described it as backward and dangerous -- no place to rear your children.
My daughter's "host father" -- a former police inspector who volunteered to look out for my daughter in Germany, and give her some glimpses into German family life -- was more diplomatic, but less supportive of our international policies. He believes that President George W. Bush has "not been good for the United States."
Vice-President Cheney made a comment recently that Americans who protest the war in Iraq were like Neville Chamberlain's attempt to "appease" the Germans after Hitler seized Poland. But, from the German perspective, the situation is more like their own silence after the same event.
Hitler, the former police inspector pointed out, attacked a country that hadn't attacked Germany. He fabricated a story about Poland's threat to Germany. And it was the beginning of a round of fervent nationalist sentiment and unbridled executive power.
And that grew into World War II -- not just because the international community was ineffective in stopping the invasion, but because German citizens granted it implicit approval.
It is difficult for any nation to challenge the United States militarily; our defense budget exceeds that of the next 15 countries. Ultimately, a nation's actions are best directed and restrained by its own people.
My daughter recently sent me a thoughtful email from her school in Bremen. She wrote, "It's been fascinating, and in a strange way heartbreaking, to see how much Nazism haunts modern Germany. In our series of workshops on intercultural understanding, the German students stated outright how wary they are of displays of national pride. One girl said that thanks to the ferociously patriotic Nazis, no German today says, 'I am proud to be a German!' She referred to German history classes, and how critically students are taught to look at that period, 'to understand what a terrible mistake we made.' The only Israeli student in the room said quietly after that, 'I think then that is a very good reason to be proud to be a German.'"
I'm thinking about that, and thinking about a recent piece I read from Tom Tancredo about the "clash of civilizations" (after a book by Samuel P. Huntington of the same name). Tancredo's argument is based on two premises.
First, Islam is fundamentally opposed to modernity and democratic society. I think Tancredo is right about that. For a far more radical exploration of the same idea, see Sam Harris's utterly provocative "The End of the Faith: Religion, Terrorism, and the Future of Reason."
Tancredo's second premise is that we are in a war with Islam, and that we must confront and overcome those who embrace Islamic ideals.
I don't think it's that simple.
Harris argues that while Islam may indeed be a threat to modernity, and to our survival, it is not the only threat. According to Harris, there's another one, closer to home: Christianity. The Christian state, embracing the urgent imminence and necessity of the "End Times" could precipitate our extinction, too. All it takes is faith ... and nuclear weapons.
I was astonished to read, for instance, that under President Ronald Reagan, Jerry Falwell was invited to give a national security briefing on the End Times. While few modern and moderate Christians may endorse an ultimate war for Jesus, there aren't as many moderate Christians in and around our national government as there used to be.
A second threat might be the same kind of jingoistic nationalism that empowered Hitler.
A third grows from the others: out of control executive power.
What do I think? I think we need a better way. The battle shouldn't be framed as between one religion versus another. We are indeed in a war -- but it's a war of ideas. The war is not between faiths, but between reason, and the unquestioning faith (whether political or religious) that sanctions the murder of innocents.
At the end of my last column, I talked about hearing, in London, from our Kurdish taxi driver about Saddam Hussein's devastatingly anti-Kurd regime. Our driver was frankly grateful for the United States' invasion of Iraq. However, he had no intention of returning, other than as a visitor, to his birthplace. He described it as backward and dangerous -- no place to rear your children.
My daughter's "host father" -- a former police inspector who volunteered to look out for my daughter in Germany, and give her some glimpses into German family life -- was more diplomatic, but less supportive of our international policies. He believes that President George W. Bush has "not been good for the United States."
Vice-President Cheney made a comment recently that Americans who protest the war in Iraq were like Neville Chamberlain's attempt to "appease" the Germans after Hitler seized Poland. But, from the German perspective, the situation is more like their own silence after the same event.
Hitler, the former police inspector pointed out, attacked a country that hadn't attacked Germany. He fabricated a story about Poland's threat to Germany. And it was the beginning of a round of fervent nationalist sentiment and unbridled executive power.
And that grew into World War II -- not just because the international community was ineffective in stopping the invasion, but because German citizens granted it implicit approval.
It is difficult for any nation to challenge the United States militarily; our defense budget exceeds that of the next 15 countries. Ultimately, a nation's actions are best directed and restrained by its own people.
My daughter recently sent me a thoughtful email from her school in Bremen. She wrote, "It's been fascinating, and in a strange way heartbreaking, to see how much Nazism haunts modern Germany. In our series of workshops on intercultural understanding, the German students stated outright how wary they are of displays of national pride. One girl said that thanks to the ferociously patriotic Nazis, no German today says, 'I am proud to be a German!' She referred to German history classes, and how critically students are taught to look at that period, 'to understand what a terrible mistake we made.' The only Israeli student in the room said quietly after that, 'I think then that is a very good reason to be proud to be a German.'"
I'm thinking about that, and thinking about a recent piece I read from Tom Tancredo about the "clash of civilizations" (after a book by Samuel P. Huntington of the same name). Tancredo's argument is based on two premises.
First, Islam is fundamentally opposed to modernity and democratic society. I think Tancredo is right about that. For a far more radical exploration of the same idea, see Sam Harris's utterly provocative "The End of the Faith: Religion, Terrorism, and the Future of Reason."
Tancredo's second premise is that we are in a war with Islam, and that we must confront and overcome those who embrace Islamic ideals.
I don't think it's that simple.
Harris argues that while Islam may indeed be a threat to modernity, and to our survival, it is not the only threat. According to Harris, there's another one, closer to home: Christianity. The Christian state, embracing the urgent imminence and necessity of the "End Times" could precipitate our extinction, too. All it takes is faith ... and nuclear weapons.
I was astonished to read, for instance, that under President Ronald Reagan, Jerry Falwell was invited to give a national security briefing on the End Times. While few modern and moderate Christians may endorse an ultimate war for Jesus, there aren't as many moderate Christians in and around our national government as there used to be.
A second threat might be the same kind of jingoistic nationalism that empowered Hitler.
A third grows from the others: out of control executive power.
What do I think? I think we need a better way. The battle shouldn't be framed as between one religion versus another. We are indeed in a war -- but it's a war of ideas. The war is not between faiths, but between reason, and the unquestioning faith (whether political or religious) that sanctions the murder of innocents.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
August 31, 2006 - Public Sector Vs. Private Sector Employment
Jamie LaRue is on vacation. This week's column is written by Art Glover, Human Resources Manager for Douglas County Libraries.
"How do you feel about public employment verses private employment?"
It is a question I have been asked many times since I began working for the Douglas County Libraries as the district's Human Resources Manager.
Often, the question is delivered with a knowing wink. I imagine they are thinking, "Surely you must be happier now!" And generally, I would say they are correct.
Once upon a time, I worked for a very large telecommunications and cable corporation. During those seventeen years, I did everything from handling calls from customers, to responding to executive complaints, to managing other employees, to human resources management work. I learned a great deal during my tenure with the company. I made long-lasting friendships. The company paid for my Masters degree. I was given many wonderful opportunities, and I'll always be grateful for that.
But was I happy at work? Oh, there were good times, sometimes even happy times. I'm usually a glass-half-full kind of guy, so I rode through the rough times without too much stress. Yet I was vaguely, and sometimes very, dissatisfied.
Why, you might ask? I have thought about it for quite some time now, and while there were multiple reasons I think I have narrowed it down to a few major issues. First, there was not a clear connection between my work and the overall mission of the organization. I never knew how my work fit into the grand scheme of things.
Something else became clear as I began to work for the library district. With my previous employer, I began to realize that I wanted to do something that would, directly or indirectly, give back to the community. I wanted to do something for the common good. I was growing tired of working to fill the pockets of the CEO, the shareholders, and our own wallets. This was the other major dissatisfaction for me.
Many people prefer working in the private sector. I understand that completely. It does have its advantages.
But for me, the public sector is where it's at.
I'm a big believer in acknowledging the fact that we all have choices. They may not always be easy choices; often they are very difficult choices. But I believe that the old saying is true: The only thing we must do in life is die. Everything else is a choice.
Some choices are made easier by circumstances. While working for the aforementioned telecommunications corporation, there were many threats of layoffs through the years. After enduring and surviving many rounds of down sizing that affected my peers across the company, and after handling many of the layoffs myself as a Human Resources Manager (a gut-wrenching experience, to be sure), my number eventually came up. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I had a chance to seek other opportunities with the company after the layoff became effective, but I decided against it. I decided that I wanted less stress in my life, for starters. I wanted to grow personally and professionally. I wanted to work for an organization that was much smaller than the over 50,000 employee workforce that I came from. I wanted to feel valued and listened to. Of course, fair pay and benefits were in the picture as well, but I was willing to face the inevitable decrease in compensation that the public sector provides in comparison with the private sector.
I may be an optimist, but I'm also a realist. Everything is not rosy in the public employment world. Funding, for example, is a constant concern, no matter how financially stable your public employer might be. There are also the usual workplace woes, from employee relations challenges to office politics to communications and trust issues.
But in spite of it all, those of us in the public sector know why we are here. Everything we do is in support of the community. It is a selfless and honorable endeavor.
And that's why, at least for us, working in the public employment world is a winner. Hands down. August 31, 2006 - Public Sector Vs. Private Sector Employment
Jamie LaRue is on vacation. This week's column is written by Art Glover, Human Resources Manager for Douglas County Libraries.
"How do you feel about public employment verses private employment?"
It is a question I have been asked many times since I began working for the Douglas County Libraries as the district's Human Resources Manager.
Often, the question is delivered with a knowing wink. I imagine they are thinking, "Surely you must be happier now!" And generally, I would say they are correct.
Once upon a time, I worked for a very large telecommunications and cable corporation. During those seventeen years, I did everything from handling calls from customers, to responding to executive complaints, to managing other employees, to human resources management work. I learned a great deal during my tenure with the company. I made long-lasting friendships. The company paid for my Masters degree. I was given many wonderful opportunities, and I'll always be grateful for that.
But was I happy at work? Oh, there were good times, sometimes even happy times. I'm usually a glass-half-full kind of guy, so I rode through the rough times without too much stress. Yet I was vaguely, and sometimes very, dissatisfied.
Why, you might ask? I have thought about it for quite some time now, and while there were multiple reasons I think I have narrowed it down to a few major issues. First, there was not a clear connection between my work and the overall mission of the organization. I never knew how my work fit into the grand scheme of things.
Something else became clear as I began to work for the library district. With my previous employer, I began to realize that I wanted to do something that would, directly or indirectly, give back to the community. I wanted to do something for the common good. I was growing tired of working to fill the pockets of the CEO, the shareholders, and our own wallets. This was the other major dissatisfaction for me.
Many people prefer working in the private sector. I understand that completely. It does have its advantages.
But for me, the public sector is where it's at.
I'm a big believer in acknowledging the fact that we all have choices. They may not always be easy choices; often they are very difficult choices. But I believe that the old saying is true: The only thing we must do in life is die. Everything else is a choice.
Some choices are made easier by circumstances. While working for the aforementioned telecommunications corporation, there were many threats of layoffs through the years. After enduring and surviving many rounds of down sizing that affected my peers across the company, and after handling many of the layoffs myself as a Human Resources Manager (a gut-wrenching experience, to be sure), my number eventually came up. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I had a chance to seek other opportunities with the company after the layoff became effective, but I decided against it. I decided that I wanted less stress in my life, for starters. I wanted to grow personally and professionally. I wanted to work for an organization that was much smaller than the over 50,000 employee workforce that I came from. I wanted to feel valued and listened to. Of course, fair pay and benefits were in the picture as well, but I was willing to face the inevitable decrease in compensation that the public sector provides in comparison with the private sector.
I may be an optimist, but I'm also a realist. Everything is not rosy in the public employment world. Funding, for example, is a constant concern, no matter how financially stable your public employer might be. There are also the usual workplace woes, from employee relations challenges to office politics to communications and trust issues.
But in spite of it all, those of us in the public sector know why we are here. Everything we do is in support of the community. It is a selfless and honorable endeavor.
And that's why, at least for us, working in the public employment world is a winner. Hands down.
"How do you feel about public employment verses private employment?"
It is a question I have been asked many times since I began working for the Douglas County Libraries as the district's Human Resources Manager.
Often, the question is delivered with a knowing wink. I imagine they are thinking, "Surely you must be happier now!" And generally, I would say they are correct.
Once upon a time, I worked for a very large telecommunications and cable corporation. During those seventeen years, I did everything from handling calls from customers, to responding to executive complaints, to managing other employees, to human resources management work. I learned a great deal during my tenure with the company. I made long-lasting friendships. The company paid for my Masters degree. I was given many wonderful opportunities, and I'll always be grateful for that.
But was I happy at work? Oh, there were good times, sometimes even happy times. I'm usually a glass-half-full kind of guy, so I rode through the rough times without too much stress. Yet I was vaguely, and sometimes very, dissatisfied.
Why, you might ask? I have thought about it for quite some time now, and while there were multiple reasons I think I have narrowed it down to a few major issues. First, there was not a clear connection between my work and the overall mission of the organization. I never knew how my work fit into the grand scheme of things.
Something else became clear as I began to work for the library district. With my previous employer, I began to realize that I wanted to do something that would, directly or indirectly, give back to the community. I wanted to do something for the common good. I was growing tired of working to fill the pockets of the CEO, the shareholders, and our own wallets. This was the other major dissatisfaction for me.
Many people prefer working in the private sector. I understand that completely. It does have its advantages.
But for me, the public sector is where it's at.
I'm a big believer in acknowledging the fact that we all have choices. They may not always be easy choices; often they are very difficult choices. But I believe that the old saying is true: The only thing we must do in life is die. Everything else is a choice.
Some choices are made easier by circumstances. While working for the aforementioned telecommunications corporation, there were many threats of layoffs through the years. After enduring and surviving many rounds of down sizing that affected my peers across the company, and after handling many of the layoffs myself as a Human Resources Manager (a gut-wrenching experience, to be sure), my number eventually came up. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I had a chance to seek other opportunities with the company after the layoff became effective, but I decided against it. I decided that I wanted less stress in my life, for starters. I wanted to grow personally and professionally. I wanted to work for an organization that was much smaller than the over 50,000 employee workforce that I came from. I wanted to feel valued and listened to. Of course, fair pay and benefits were in the picture as well, but I was willing to face the inevitable decrease in compensation that the public sector provides in comparison with the private sector.
I may be an optimist, but I'm also a realist. Everything is not rosy in the public employment world. Funding, for example, is a constant concern, no matter how financially stable your public employer might be. There are also the usual workplace woes, from employee relations challenges to office politics to communications and trust issues.
But in spite of it all, those of us in the public sector know why we are here. Everything we do is in support of the community. It is a selfless and honorable endeavor.
And that's why, at least for us, working in the public employment world is a winner. Hands down. August 31, 2006 - Public Sector Vs. Private Sector Employment
Jamie LaRue is on vacation. This week's column is written by Art Glover, Human Resources Manager for Douglas County Libraries.
"How do you feel about public employment verses private employment?"
It is a question I have been asked many times since I began working for the Douglas County Libraries as the district's Human Resources Manager.
Often, the question is delivered with a knowing wink. I imagine they are thinking, "Surely you must be happier now!" And generally, I would say they are correct.
Once upon a time, I worked for a very large telecommunications and cable corporation. During those seventeen years, I did everything from handling calls from customers, to responding to executive complaints, to managing other employees, to human resources management work. I learned a great deal during my tenure with the company. I made long-lasting friendships. The company paid for my Masters degree. I was given many wonderful opportunities, and I'll always be grateful for that.
But was I happy at work? Oh, there were good times, sometimes even happy times. I'm usually a glass-half-full kind of guy, so I rode through the rough times without too much stress. Yet I was vaguely, and sometimes very, dissatisfied.
Why, you might ask? I have thought about it for quite some time now, and while there were multiple reasons I think I have narrowed it down to a few major issues. First, there was not a clear connection between my work and the overall mission of the organization. I never knew how my work fit into the grand scheme of things.
Something else became clear as I began to work for the library district. With my previous employer, I began to realize that I wanted to do something that would, directly or indirectly, give back to the community. I wanted to do something for the common good. I was growing tired of working to fill the pockets of the CEO, the shareholders, and our own wallets. This was the other major dissatisfaction for me.
Many people prefer working in the private sector. I understand that completely. It does have its advantages.
But for me, the public sector is where it's at.
I'm a big believer in acknowledging the fact that we all have choices. They may not always be easy choices; often they are very difficult choices. But I believe that the old saying is true: The only thing we must do in life is die. Everything else is a choice.
Some choices are made easier by circumstances. While working for the aforementioned telecommunications corporation, there were many threats of layoffs through the years. After enduring and surviving many rounds of down sizing that affected my peers across the company, and after handling many of the layoffs myself as a Human Resources Manager (a gut-wrenching experience, to be sure), my number eventually came up. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I had a chance to seek other opportunities with the company after the layoff became effective, but I decided against it. I decided that I wanted less stress in my life, for starters. I wanted to grow personally and professionally. I wanted to work for an organization that was much smaller than the over 50,000 employee workforce that I came from. I wanted to feel valued and listened to. Of course, fair pay and benefits were in the picture as well, but I was willing to face the inevitable decrease in compensation that the public sector provides in comparison with the private sector.
I may be an optimist, but I'm also a realist. Everything is not rosy in the public employment world. Funding, for example, is a constant concern, no matter how financially stable your public employer might be. There are also the usual workplace woes, from employee relations challenges to office politics to communications and trust issues.
But in spite of it all, those of us in the public sector know why we are here. Everything we do is in support of the community. It is a selfless and honorable endeavor.
And that's why, at least for us, working in the public employment world is a winner. Hands down.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
August 24, 2006 - Youth Initiative better for community and families
It's a marvel to most adults that we made it this far. At least, I know some of the chances I took as a young adult might well have killed me.
The field of brain development research continues to shed light on all facets of human life. And what we've learned, at least about teenagers, borders on the insulting. Or does it?
In brief, it comes down to this: teenagers have a high predilection for risky business, coupled with a really startling lack of judgment.
Those aren't the same thing. Corporate CEO's routinely take risks -- but usually (or so Wall Street fervently hopes) there's a reason for it. And lack of judgment isn't just lack of experience. You don't see nearly as many 8-10 year olds with quite that reckless disregard for personal safety, even when it involves skateboards.
No, it's about the brain. It's a time of rapid change: chemicals pumping, neurons crackling with electricity. It's part of what gives teenagers that amazing energy and potential.
But there can be a dark side. At least some of them (see "risky business," above) cause trouble - or are its victims.
Douglas County is at a crossroads. We can follow the path of other counties in Colorado, and begin to build up a slow, cumbersome, crisis-based social services system.
Or, we can invest in a refreshing alternative: the Douglas County Youth Initiative.
The Initiative is one of several projects of the Partnership of Douglas County Governments. As far as I know, it represents the only example of shared staffing in the county -- multiple agencies contributing to a single staff position. Currently, those agencies include Douglas County, the towns of Parker and Castle Rock, the city of Lone Tree, and the Douglas County School District.
That position is held by Carla Turner, who came to the county about 9 months ago with loads of experience in everything from social services to criminal justice. But what she brings to the table is not just depth of experience.
She also brings a deep ability to analyze systems.
I have the privilege to serve on the DCYI Executive Board, and she and I were talking about this recently. She walked me through a not-uncommon scenario: a male teen with some anger issues, who keeps picking fights with his sister.
In the more typical government approach, there really isn't much that can be done until a crime is committed -- assault. At that point, the young man is tussling with the law, and the family is enmeshed with all kinds of mysterious, stressful proceedings and hearings and attorney costs.
The parents may look for an alternative on their own - sending their son to military school, for example. But then they find out that such schools are mighty pricey -- $22,000 a year, or more.
The result: time, trouble, and tension. No resolution.
Carla, working in close communication with a variety of agencies, has put together something called "WrapArounD." Under this model, things are a little different.
First off, when the parents call with concerns, a team is quickly assembled to take a look at the situation. Instead of reacting to a brush with the law, the focus is on providing assessments and resources to avoid the triggering incident.
What's the bottom line? More real help for real people. Positive, not punitive, engagements with the community. Lower crime.
Oh, and savings. It's much, much, cheaper to do things this way. She's proved it.
Thanks to Carla and her contacts, I'm also happy to report that the library now has a thorough, online guide to local resources for youth.
From our main page at www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org, click on the "Douglas County & Community" tab. Then click on the left tab for "Community Resources." There are a lot of good people there, just waiting to help.
What's the lesson?
Just because teens have brain development issues, doesn't mean the rest of us can't use ours.
The field of brain development research continues to shed light on all facets of human life. And what we've learned, at least about teenagers, borders on the insulting. Or does it?
In brief, it comes down to this: teenagers have a high predilection for risky business, coupled with a really startling lack of judgment.
Those aren't the same thing. Corporate CEO's routinely take risks -- but usually (or so Wall Street fervently hopes) there's a reason for it. And lack of judgment isn't just lack of experience. You don't see nearly as many 8-10 year olds with quite that reckless disregard for personal safety, even when it involves skateboards.
No, it's about the brain. It's a time of rapid change: chemicals pumping, neurons crackling with electricity. It's part of what gives teenagers that amazing energy and potential.
But there can be a dark side. At least some of them (see "risky business," above) cause trouble - or are its victims.
Douglas County is at a crossroads. We can follow the path of other counties in Colorado, and begin to build up a slow, cumbersome, crisis-based social services system.
Or, we can invest in a refreshing alternative: the Douglas County Youth Initiative.
The Initiative is one of several projects of the Partnership of Douglas County Governments. As far as I know, it represents the only example of shared staffing in the county -- multiple agencies contributing to a single staff position. Currently, those agencies include Douglas County, the towns of Parker and Castle Rock, the city of Lone Tree, and the Douglas County School District.
That position is held by Carla Turner, who came to the county about 9 months ago with loads of experience in everything from social services to criminal justice. But what she brings to the table is not just depth of experience.
She also brings a deep ability to analyze systems.
I have the privilege to serve on the DCYI Executive Board, and she and I were talking about this recently. She walked me through a not-uncommon scenario: a male teen with some anger issues, who keeps picking fights with his sister.
In the more typical government approach, there really isn't much that can be done until a crime is committed -- assault. At that point, the young man is tussling with the law, and the family is enmeshed with all kinds of mysterious, stressful proceedings and hearings and attorney costs.
The parents may look for an alternative on their own - sending their son to military school, for example. But then they find out that such schools are mighty pricey -- $22,000 a year, or more.
The result: time, trouble, and tension. No resolution.
Carla, working in close communication with a variety of agencies, has put together something called "WrapArounD." Under this model, things are a little different.
First off, when the parents call with concerns, a team is quickly assembled to take a look at the situation. Instead of reacting to a brush with the law, the focus is on providing assessments and resources to avoid the triggering incident.
What's the bottom line? More real help for real people. Positive, not punitive, engagements with the community. Lower crime.
Oh, and savings. It's much, much, cheaper to do things this way. She's proved it.
Thanks to Carla and her contacts, I'm also happy to report that the library now has a thorough, online guide to local resources for youth.
From our main page at www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org, click on the "Douglas County & Community" tab. Then click on the left tab for "Community Resources." There are a lot of good people there, just waiting to help.
What's the lesson?
Just because teens have brain development issues, doesn't mean the rest of us can't use ours.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
August 17, 2006 - back to school
I have a glad and broken heart. Our little girl doesn't live here anymore -- she's off to school in Europe.
I remember being surprised, when Maddy was wee, how much she brought back memories of my own childhood. When we put her on a plane for London (with all her buddies, who were headed off to perform at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, Scotland), I suddenly remembered when my own parents dropped me off at college.
I'm guessing it's more fun to go to England, Scotland, then to school in Germany, than it was to be dropped off in Normal, Illinois. But this part was the same: Maddy didn't look back. It was all excitement and new beginnings for her. I didn't look back, either.
It has now occurred to me that, just possibly, my parents were sorry to see me go. They might even have been proud of me, as I am bursting with pride over my daughter.
But they had other children to love. And so do we. Our son, Max, is starting middle school. Here we go again!
I like shopping for school supplies. There is a great earnestness to the fresh notebooks, the new pens and pencils. There is even something charming about the backpacks. Let's pack up! We're off to the Land of Knowledge.
I like that our school has provided Max with an organizer: developing good habits of scheduling and project management will serve him his whole life long.
There's another school supply that you may not have thought of -- although many Douglas County schools have begun to add it to their lists. What's that? A public library card.
A library card is important for at least three reasons.
1. Homework. School doesn't end when the last bell rings. There are papers to research, and reports to write. There are assignments that will not be remembered until after the school library has closed. The library card not only gives the young student the ability to take home mounds of books, magazines, and other media. It also unlocks our 24/7 databases, allowing research to happen even after the public library shuts down for the night, but before tomorrow's first class, when the report is due.
The library also, of course, provides space to study, or to meet with friends. But you don't need a card for that.
2. Fun. Let's not forget fiction. For those children who learn to love books, books are part of a great thirst for life. By the time I was Max's age, I had already lived a life as a colonist on Mars (Heinlein's "Red Planet"), survived a plague that wiped out 99% of the earth's population (George R. Stewart's "Earth Abides"), and more.
I know there are many parents who worry about their children finding out about the difficulties and complexities of life too soon. I worry about them finding out too late. Reading "for fun" also has a serious purpose: building up a mental skill set, insights into people and situations, that will enable your children to survive, and thrive, even in chaos.
3. A reminder of the civic dimension of life. Our children are endlessly bombarded with advertisements for this or that product. It makes it easy to miss something else: the grown-ups in our society have invested in a variety of infrastructures designed to help all of us be smarter and healthier, to not only give us rich internal resources, but to make us stronger through community and connection.
School is one destination in the Land of Knowledge. But your library is a passport to many other countries, both in that hemisphere -- and beyond.
I remember being surprised, when Maddy was wee, how much she brought back memories of my own childhood. When we put her on a plane for London (with all her buddies, who were headed off to perform at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, Scotland), I suddenly remembered when my own parents dropped me off at college.
I'm guessing it's more fun to go to England, Scotland, then to school in Germany, than it was to be dropped off in Normal, Illinois. But this part was the same: Maddy didn't look back. It was all excitement and new beginnings for her. I didn't look back, either.
It has now occurred to me that, just possibly, my parents were sorry to see me go. They might even have been proud of me, as I am bursting with pride over my daughter.
But they had other children to love. And so do we. Our son, Max, is starting middle school. Here we go again!
I like shopping for school supplies. There is a great earnestness to the fresh notebooks, the new pens and pencils. There is even something charming about the backpacks. Let's pack up! We're off to the Land of Knowledge.
I like that our school has provided Max with an organizer: developing good habits of scheduling and project management will serve him his whole life long.
There's another school supply that you may not have thought of -- although many Douglas County schools have begun to add it to their lists. What's that? A public library card.
A library card is important for at least three reasons.
1. Homework. School doesn't end when the last bell rings. There are papers to research, and reports to write. There are assignments that will not be remembered until after the school library has closed. The library card not only gives the young student the ability to take home mounds of books, magazines, and other media. It also unlocks our 24/7 databases, allowing research to happen even after the public library shuts down for the night, but before tomorrow's first class, when the report is due.
The library also, of course, provides space to study, or to meet with friends. But you don't need a card for that.
2. Fun. Let's not forget fiction. For those children who learn to love books, books are part of a great thirst for life. By the time I was Max's age, I had already lived a life as a colonist on Mars (Heinlein's "Red Planet"), survived a plague that wiped out 99% of the earth's population (George R. Stewart's "Earth Abides"), and more.
I know there are many parents who worry about their children finding out about the difficulties and complexities of life too soon. I worry about them finding out too late. Reading "for fun" also has a serious purpose: building up a mental skill set, insights into people and situations, that will enable your children to survive, and thrive, even in chaos.
3. A reminder of the civic dimension of life. Our children are endlessly bombarded with advertisements for this or that product. It makes it easy to miss something else: the grown-ups in our society have invested in a variety of infrastructures designed to help all of us be smarter and healthier, to not only give us rich internal resources, but to make us stronger through community and connection.
School is one destination in the Land of Knowledge. But your library is a passport to many other countries, both in that hemisphere -- and beyond.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
August 10, 2006 - let's catalog the community
A couple of years ago, we were working on the design of our Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. To that end, we did what we always do: talk with the community.
We held meetings with seniors, elementary school students, civic groups, and storytime moms. We listened to business people and government workers. Over and over, we asked, "What do you want to see in a library?"
There was a lot of overlap. Everybody wanted us to have books, books, and more books. Another strong contingent asked for recorded books -- on audiotape and CD.
Many people pushed us to greatly expand our public computers. They liked our big, fast, Internet pipeline.
Oh, and here's the one that always tickles me: they wanted fire and water. Almost every time I have held a focus group in Douglas County, eventually somebody brings up the importance of fireplaces (gathering around the hearth, warmth, shelter), and the sound of running water. People want to be inside and outside at the same time.
Well, all of our libraries do have fireplaces now. We haven't quite worked out how to do the kayak-ready river people seem to want, but we have experimented with small sculptures that recycle water and produce a pleasant burbling.
People also, consistently, asked for more public art. And so it is that most of our public libraries now also serve as community galleries.
The big surprise for me was the strong request for more public meeting rooms. Our old library had just one big meeting space, about 500 square feet. But the request for more made me go back and examine the pattern of use.
Sure enough, that room was booked Monday through Thursday night, a year in advance. But not all of our meetings were big ones. Sometimes, fewer than half a dozen folks were looking for gathering space.
Our projected new library space was slated for about 30,000 square feet. By the time we were done, at least 5,000 of that was dedicated to variously sized public meeting rooms: a big room that held about 150 people (or could be divided into two rooms holding about 65 each), a couple of spaces that seated about 20, another that seated 8-12, and a handful of big, office-size spaces for 1-5. That doesn't include our storytime space.
One of our staff members was troubled by this. "Does this mean," she asked us, "that people don't really want a library at all? They want us to be some kind of convention center!"
I think a lot about the question of mission creep -- what happens when public institutions start accepting more and more responsibilities that aren't really a part of their job. Ultimately, I think, such institutions fail to do anything well.
But I didn't, and don't, think that's the case here.
What is the job of the public library? Here's my read on it: to gather, to organize, and to present to the community the intellectual assets of our culture.
Books are obvious examples. Music is another. Movies are a third. And the burgeoning world of electronic information is yet another. What's missing?
You are! Even in the wired age, how do most of us get the information we're looking for? From each other!
The people within a community are just as much an "intellectual asset," a resource for learning, as any book we've got.
But that means more than just providing public meeting space. It also means that we need to apply the librarian skill set to the populations where we live. We need to catalog the community.
What does that look like? At a minimum, our website should contain comprehensive listings, boosted by a powerful search mechanism, of all those groups mentioned above: seniors, business people, school populations, government workers, civic groups, and more.
Ideally, someone should be able to type into our website, for instance, "home schooling," and not only get our books on the subject, not only retrieve a host of relevant electronic periodical articles, but also find out about area organizations that support home schooling, and when they might meet at the library.
Not too long ago, I read about a library in Scandinavia (I think) that took the idea one step further: need an expert? Look one up in at the library. Check him out!
I don't know how they handle renewals, or fines. But it's a good idea. It's the right idea.August 10, 2006 - let's catalog the community
A couple of years ago, we were working on the design of our Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. To that end, we did what we always do: talk with the community.
We held meetings with seniors, elementary school students, civic groups, and storytime moms. We listened to business people and government workers. Over and over, we asked, "What do you want to see in a library?"
There was a lot of overlap. Everybody wanted us to have books, books, and more books. Another strong contingent asked for recorded books -- on audiotape and CD.
Many people pushed us to greatly expand our public computers. They liked our big, fast, Internet pipeline.
Oh, and here's the one that always tickles me: they wanted fire and water. Almost every time I have held a focus group in Douglas County, eventually somebody brings up the importance of fireplaces (gathering around the hearth, warmth, shelter), and the sound of running water. People want to be inside and outside at the same time.
Well, all of our libraries do have fireplaces now. We haven't quite worked out how to do the kayak-ready river people seem to want, but we have experimented with small sculptures that recycle water and produce a pleasant burbling.
People also, consistently, asked for more public art. And so it is that most of our public libraries now also serve as community galleries.
The big surprise for me was the strong request for more public meeting rooms. Our old library had just one big meeting space, about 500 square feet. But the request for more made me go back and examine the pattern of use.
Sure enough, that room was booked Monday through Thursday night, a year in advance. But not all of our meetings were big ones. Sometimes, fewer than half a dozen folks were looking for gathering space.
Our projected new library space was slated for about 30,000 square feet. By the time we were done, at least 5,000 of that was dedicated to variously sized public meeting rooms: a big room that held about 150 people (or could be divided into two rooms holding about 65 each), a couple of spaces that seated about 20, another that seated 8-12, and a handful of big, office-size spaces for 1-5. That doesn't include our storytime space.
One of our staff members was troubled by this. "Does this mean," she asked us, "that people don't really want a library at all? They want us to be some kind of convention center!"
I think a lot about the question of mission creep -- what happens when public institutions start accepting more and more responsibilities that aren't really a part of their job. Ultimately, I think, such institutions fail to do anything well.
But I didn't, and don't, think that's the case here.
What is the job of the public library? Here's my read on it: to gather, to organize, and to present to the community the intellectual assets of our culture.
Books are obvious examples. Music is another. Movies are a third. And the burgeoning world of electronic information is yet another. What's missing?
You are! Even in the wired age, how do most of us get the information we're looking for? From each other!
The people within a community are just as much an "intellectual asset," a resource for learning, as any book we've got.
But that means more than just providing public meeting space. It also means that we need to apply the librarian skill set to the populations where we live. We need to catalog the community.
What does that look like? At a minimum, our website should contain comprehensive listings, boosted by a powerful search mechanism, of all those groups mentioned above: seniors, business people, school populations, government workers, civic groups, and more.
Ideally, someone should be able to type into our website, for instance, "home schooling," and not only get our books on the subject, not only retrieve a host of relevant electronic periodical articles, but also find out about area organizations that support home schooling, and when they might meet at the library.
Not too long ago, I read about a library in Scandinavia (I think) that took the idea one step further: need an expert? Look one up in at the library. Check him out!
I don't know how they handle renewals, or fines. But it's a good idea. It's the right idea.
We held meetings with seniors, elementary school students, civic groups, and storytime moms. We listened to business people and government workers. Over and over, we asked, "What do you want to see in a library?"
There was a lot of overlap. Everybody wanted us to have books, books, and more books. Another strong contingent asked for recorded books -- on audiotape and CD.
Many people pushed us to greatly expand our public computers. They liked our big, fast, Internet pipeline.
Oh, and here's the one that always tickles me: they wanted fire and water. Almost every time I have held a focus group in Douglas County, eventually somebody brings up the importance of fireplaces (gathering around the hearth, warmth, shelter), and the sound of running water. People want to be inside and outside at the same time.
Well, all of our libraries do have fireplaces now. We haven't quite worked out how to do the kayak-ready river people seem to want, but we have experimented with small sculptures that recycle water and produce a pleasant burbling.
People also, consistently, asked for more public art. And so it is that most of our public libraries now also serve as community galleries.
The big surprise for me was the strong request for more public meeting rooms. Our old library had just one big meeting space, about 500 square feet. But the request for more made me go back and examine the pattern of use.
Sure enough, that room was booked Monday through Thursday night, a year in advance. But not all of our meetings were big ones. Sometimes, fewer than half a dozen folks were looking for gathering space.
Our projected new library space was slated for about 30,000 square feet. By the time we were done, at least 5,000 of that was dedicated to variously sized public meeting rooms: a big room that held about 150 people (or could be divided into two rooms holding about 65 each), a couple of spaces that seated about 20, another that seated 8-12, and a handful of big, office-size spaces for 1-5. That doesn't include our storytime space.
One of our staff members was troubled by this. "Does this mean," she asked us, "that people don't really want a library at all? They want us to be some kind of convention center!"
I think a lot about the question of mission creep -- what happens when public institutions start accepting more and more responsibilities that aren't really a part of their job. Ultimately, I think, such institutions fail to do anything well.
But I didn't, and don't, think that's the case here.
What is the job of the public library? Here's my read on it: to gather, to organize, and to present to the community the intellectual assets of our culture.
Books are obvious examples. Music is another. Movies are a third. And the burgeoning world of electronic information is yet another. What's missing?
You are! Even in the wired age, how do most of us get the information we're looking for? From each other!
The people within a community are just as much an "intellectual asset," a resource for learning, as any book we've got.
But that means more than just providing public meeting space. It also means that we need to apply the librarian skill set to the populations where we live. We need to catalog the community.
What does that look like? At a minimum, our website should contain comprehensive listings, boosted by a powerful search mechanism, of all those groups mentioned above: seniors, business people, school populations, government workers, civic groups, and more.
Ideally, someone should be able to type into our website, for instance, "home schooling," and not only get our books on the subject, not only retrieve a host of relevant electronic periodical articles, but also find out about area organizations that support home schooling, and when they might meet at the library.
Not too long ago, I read about a library in Scandinavia (I think) that took the idea one step further: need an expert? Look one up in at the library. Check him out!
I don't know how they handle renewals, or fines. But it's a good idea. It's the right idea.August 10, 2006 - let's catalog the community
A couple of years ago, we were working on the design of our Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. To that end, we did what we always do: talk with the community.
We held meetings with seniors, elementary school students, civic groups, and storytime moms. We listened to business people and government workers. Over and over, we asked, "What do you want to see in a library?"
There was a lot of overlap. Everybody wanted us to have books, books, and more books. Another strong contingent asked for recorded books -- on audiotape and CD.
Many people pushed us to greatly expand our public computers. They liked our big, fast, Internet pipeline.
Oh, and here's the one that always tickles me: they wanted fire and water. Almost every time I have held a focus group in Douglas County, eventually somebody brings up the importance of fireplaces (gathering around the hearth, warmth, shelter), and the sound of running water. People want to be inside and outside at the same time.
Well, all of our libraries do have fireplaces now. We haven't quite worked out how to do the kayak-ready river people seem to want, but we have experimented with small sculptures that recycle water and produce a pleasant burbling.
People also, consistently, asked for more public art. And so it is that most of our public libraries now also serve as community galleries.
The big surprise for me was the strong request for more public meeting rooms. Our old library had just one big meeting space, about 500 square feet. But the request for more made me go back and examine the pattern of use.
Sure enough, that room was booked Monday through Thursday night, a year in advance. But not all of our meetings were big ones. Sometimes, fewer than half a dozen folks were looking for gathering space.
Our projected new library space was slated for about 30,000 square feet. By the time we were done, at least 5,000 of that was dedicated to variously sized public meeting rooms: a big room that held about 150 people (or could be divided into two rooms holding about 65 each), a couple of spaces that seated about 20, another that seated 8-12, and a handful of big, office-size spaces for 1-5. That doesn't include our storytime space.
One of our staff members was troubled by this. "Does this mean," she asked us, "that people don't really want a library at all? They want us to be some kind of convention center!"
I think a lot about the question of mission creep -- what happens when public institutions start accepting more and more responsibilities that aren't really a part of their job. Ultimately, I think, such institutions fail to do anything well.
But I didn't, and don't, think that's the case here.
What is the job of the public library? Here's my read on it: to gather, to organize, and to present to the community the intellectual assets of our culture.
Books are obvious examples. Music is another. Movies are a third. And the burgeoning world of electronic information is yet another. What's missing?
You are! Even in the wired age, how do most of us get the information we're looking for? From each other!
The people within a community are just as much an "intellectual asset," a resource for learning, as any book we've got.
But that means more than just providing public meeting space. It also means that we need to apply the librarian skill set to the populations where we live. We need to catalog the community.
What does that look like? At a minimum, our website should contain comprehensive listings, boosted by a powerful search mechanism, of all those groups mentioned above: seniors, business people, school populations, government workers, civic groups, and more.
Ideally, someone should be able to type into our website, for instance, "home schooling," and not only get our books on the subject, not only retrieve a host of relevant electronic periodical articles, but also find out about area organizations that support home schooling, and when they might meet at the library.
Not too long ago, I read about a library in Scandinavia (I think) that took the idea one step further: need an expert? Look one up in at the library. Check him out!
I don't know how they handle renewals, or fines. But it's a good idea. It's the right idea.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
August 3, 2006 - follow the formula for happiness
Suppose that there were a simple formula for happiness?
Well, according to Jonathan Haidt, there is. In his book, "The Happiness Hypothesis," he just gives it away:
H = S + C + V
Any questions? I thought there might be.
H stands for "happiness."
S stands for "set point." That's the idea that you're more or less genetically programmed to have a range of responses to the world, broadly falling into either optimistic or pessimistic.
The cheerful, upbeat folks, according to Haidt, were "winners of the cortical lottery." The paranoid, suspicious, depressed folks, were not. The cheerful folks don't necessarily deserve praise for being positive, and the downbeat ones don't necessarily deserve blame for being negative.
The positive ones do tend to be healthier and happier, though. They respond to challenges more quickly, and do a better job of weathering times of adversity.
It turns out that there are three clearly demonstrated ways for even the pessimists to effect a change in their world view and feelings.
First is meditation. This technique is simple to explain but surprisingly hard to master. Usually, it involves little more than just sitting quietly for even 5-15 minutes a day, and trying to keep the attention focused on something like your own breathing.
Why does it work? Because you retrain the mind to break the autonomic train of associations. You learn to detach and notice, rather than just get swept up into a mental or emotional narrative.
A second technique is cognitive therapy. This, too, takes some effort.
Here's a simplified example. Let's say that every time you look at somebody, you feel a rush of paranoia or fear. If you're in cognitive therapy, you have learned to be alert to this, and have prepared an alternative.
For instance, when you feel that negative rush, you mentally pause, and summon a memory of something kind or good the other person did. This changes your feelings about that person.
You keep practicing this, day after day, until again, you retrain yourself.
But meditation and cognitive therapy take not just persistent effort, but time. The third way is Prozac. And there's something suspicious about just popping a pill and being better.
Psychologists still aren't altogether sure why or how it works. Yet Prozac has been clinically demonstrated to change not just attitudes -- it's neither a depressant nor a stimulant -- but the fundamental behavior of your whole body. Prozac begins working in surprising ways: with changes in the actions of your intestines to the rhythm of your sleeping patterns.
And for many people, it seems to have the same results of years of professional therapy. But overnight. That isn't to say, of course, that it's right for everybody.
C stands for the conditions of your life. Some of them you can't change: your age, your race, and for some people, your health. For instance, you might have been paralyzed, or been diagnosed with a difficult disease.
But there are other things that can be changed: your job, where you live, or your marital status. Interestingly, Haidt points out the importance of noise -- an intermittent but uncontrolled environmental condition that can eat away at your happiness, almost without you noticing.
V stands for voluntary activities. Haidt describes a set of experiments with some surprising results. One group of people was told to take some time every day to do something they really enjoyed, just for themselves. Let's say it's "have an ice cream." Then they had to record how they felt an hour later, a day later, and a week later.
Another group was given the assignment of doing something for somebody else -- so-called "random acts of kindness."
A similar experiment was done with seniors -- one group, who hadn't volunteered before, was given the assignment of visiting and assisting other seniors.
The finding? Doing something for somebody else, not yourself, was by far the most powerful voluntary activity, resulting in significant and long lasting improvements in health and happiness.
It turns out that scientifically speaking, it truly is better to give than to receive.
Psychology has gotten pretty interesting lately. I can recommend "The Happiness Hypothesis" as a fascinating overview of the field. And it's anything but formulaic.
Well, according to Jonathan Haidt, there is. In his book, "The Happiness Hypothesis," he just gives it away:
H = S + C + V
Any questions? I thought there might be.
H stands for "happiness."
S stands for "set point." That's the idea that you're more or less genetically programmed to have a range of responses to the world, broadly falling into either optimistic or pessimistic.
The cheerful, upbeat folks, according to Haidt, were "winners of the cortical lottery." The paranoid, suspicious, depressed folks, were not. The cheerful folks don't necessarily deserve praise for being positive, and the downbeat ones don't necessarily deserve blame for being negative.
The positive ones do tend to be healthier and happier, though. They respond to challenges more quickly, and do a better job of weathering times of adversity.
It turns out that there are three clearly demonstrated ways for even the pessimists to effect a change in their world view and feelings.
First is meditation. This technique is simple to explain but surprisingly hard to master. Usually, it involves little more than just sitting quietly for even 5-15 minutes a day, and trying to keep the attention focused on something like your own breathing.
Why does it work? Because you retrain the mind to break the autonomic train of associations. You learn to detach and notice, rather than just get swept up into a mental or emotional narrative.
A second technique is cognitive therapy. This, too, takes some effort.
Here's a simplified example. Let's say that every time you look at somebody, you feel a rush of paranoia or fear. If you're in cognitive therapy, you have learned to be alert to this, and have prepared an alternative.
For instance, when you feel that negative rush, you mentally pause, and summon a memory of something kind or good the other person did. This changes your feelings about that person.
You keep practicing this, day after day, until again, you retrain yourself.
But meditation and cognitive therapy take not just persistent effort, but time. The third way is Prozac. And there's something suspicious about just popping a pill and being better.
Psychologists still aren't altogether sure why or how it works. Yet Prozac has been clinically demonstrated to change not just attitudes -- it's neither a depressant nor a stimulant -- but the fundamental behavior of your whole body. Prozac begins working in surprising ways: with changes in the actions of your intestines to the rhythm of your sleeping patterns.
And for many people, it seems to have the same results of years of professional therapy. But overnight. That isn't to say, of course, that it's right for everybody.
C stands for the conditions of your life. Some of them you can't change: your age, your race, and for some people, your health. For instance, you might have been paralyzed, or been diagnosed with a difficult disease.
But there are other things that can be changed: your job, where you live, or your marital status. Interestingly, Haidt points out the importance of noise -- an intermittent but uncontrolled environmental condition that can eat away at your happiness, almost without you noticing.
V stands for voluntary activities. Haidt describes a set of experiments with some surprising results. One group of people was told to take some time every day to do something they really enjoyed, just for themselves. Let's say it's "have an ice cream." Then they had to record how they felt an hour later, a day later, and a week later.
Another group was given the assignment of doing something for somebody else -- so-called "random acts of kindness."
A similar experiment was done with seniors -- one group, who hadn't volunteered before, was given the assignment of visiting and assisting other seniors.
The finding? Doing something for somebody else, not yourself, was by far the most powerful voluntary activity, resulting in significant and long lasting improvements in health and happiness.
It turns out that scientifically speaking, it truly is better to give than to receive.
Psychology has gotten pretty interesting lately. I can recommend "The Happiness Hypothesis" as a fascinating overview of the field. And it's anything but formulaic.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
July 27, 2006 - Technology Isolates and Brings Us Together
I was talking with a friend last night about the social effects of technology. He was saying that people today, mainly because of technology, live incredibly accelerated lives. And we're overstimulated.
We rush from one place to another, never really having the time to focus, to pay attention. Along the way we have radios, CDs, DVD players -- and that's just in the car.
Not to mention cell phones. How often, he said, do you see people driving down the highway, one to an automobile, paying only partial attention to the road, jabbering away on a phone?
We are a society with attention deficit disorder, he said.
We were having this discussion in a coffeehouse, surely one of the positive signs of the time. Coffeehouses are places where people go just to hang out, to talk with each other face to face.
Of course, over in the corner was a teenager, plugged into an iPod, surfing on his little iBook. Alone.
My argument was that things aren't that simple.
On the one hand, technology isolates us. Think of all those people, boxed up all by themselves, on the daily commute.
In an earlier time, they might have ridden a bus, or a trolley, or a stagecoach, or a wagon. The very freedom of the automobile makes us little atoms, whizzing around space by ourselves, colliding only occasionally.
But the cell phone works against that. Maybe you're not talking to a real live person right there with you. But you're talking to somebody!
Or if not, you're listening to talk radio. You're in the middle of somebody else's conversation.
Or take that teenager. If we had peered over his shoulder, what would we have found?
He would have been participating in some kind of online community -- a multiplayer game, a chat room, a forum devoted to a favorite movie or a band. He would be listening to a podcast made by a couple of kids just like him, one living in a basement in Vancouver, the other in an apartment complex in Pittsburgh.
The technology isolated him from us. But he was using technology to get connected to people elsewhere. And the odds are, he had found people more likely to share his interests than anyone he could have found in the coffeehouse.
I wish we had better library statistics on this phenomenon. We know that our public computers are in great demand, in every one of our branches. There is a host of resources we have developed for people: the marvelous asset of our catalog, the depth of our website, the wealth of in-depth information of our subscription databases.
But I suspect that the biggest use of the computers is just to talk to people. Our patrons send and receive email. They hang out with their buddies online -- and their buddies are all over the world.
Certainly, there's irony. They come to a public place, then ignore all the people around them, to talk to people somewhere else.
But you know, that's always been true in libraries. When you open the longstanding technology of a book, and immerse yourself in it, you're sitting in a roomful of people that suddenly cease to exist.
You enter a world of imagination, not quite physical, but still real. It's kind of like cyberspace.
I believe that people everywhere, of any age or time, seek the same thing. They are trying to find meaning, to make sense of their lives. They want to have real contact with others who share a vision of the world.
Sometimes, that contact is physical. We still have a need for that.
But other times, we reach out even in the middle of our incredibly overscheduled lives for just a touch of that human contact, even if the touch, strictly speaking, is only in our minds.
We rush from one place to another, never really having the time to focus, to pay attention. Along the way we have radios, CDs, DVD players -- and that's just in the car.
Not to mention cell phones. How often, he said, do you see people driving down the highway, one to an automobile, paying only partial attention to the road, jabbering away on a phone?
We are a society with attention deficit disorder, he said.
We were having this discussion in a coffeehouse, surely one of the positive signs of the time. Coffeehouses are places where people go just to hang out, to talk with each other face to face.
Of course, over in the corner was a teenager, plugged into an iPod, surfing on his little iBook. Alone.
My argument was that things aren't that simple.
On the one hand, technology isolates us. Think of all those people, boxed up all by themselves, on the daily commute.
In an earlier time, they might have ridden a bus, or a trolley, or a stagecoach, or a wagon. The very freedom of the automobile makes us little atoms, whizzing around space by ourselves, colliding only occasionally.
But the cell phone works against that. Maybe you're not talking to a real live person right there with you. But you're talking to somebody!
Or if not, you're listening to talk radio. You're in the middle of somebody else's conversation.
Or take that teenager. If we had peered over his shoulder, what would we have found?
He would have been participating in some kind of online community -- a multiplayer game, a chat room, a forum devoted to a favorite movie or a band. He would be listening to a podcast made by a couple of kids just like him, one living in a basement in Vancouver, the other in an apartment complex in Pittsburgh.
The technology isolated him from us. But he was using technology to get connected to people elsewhere. And the odds are, he had found people more likely to share his interests than anyone he could have found in the coffeehouse.
I wish we had better library statistics on this phenomenon. We know that our public computers are in great demand, in every one of our branches. There is a host of resources we have developed for people: the marvelous asset of our catalog, the depth of our website, the wealth of in-depth information of our subscription databases.
But I suspect that the biggest use of the computers is just to talk to people. Our patrons send and receive email. They hang out with their buddies online -- and their buddies are all over the world.
Certainly, there's irony. They come to a public place, then ignore all the people around them, to talk to people somewhere else.
But you know, that's always been true in libraries. When you open the longstanding technology of a book, and immerse yourself in it, you're sitting in a roomful of people that suddenly cease to exist.
You enter a world of imagination, not quite physical, but still real. It's kind of like cyberspace.
I believe that people everywhere, of any age or time, seek the same thing. They are trying to find meaning, to make sense of their lives. They want to have real contact with others who share a vision of the world.
Sometimes, that contact is physical. We still have a need for that.
But other times, we reach out even in the middle of our incredibly overscheduled lives for just a touch of that human contact, even if the touch, strictly speaking, is only in our minds.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
July 20, 2006 - Listen to the Band
One of the things I do for fun is to serve as Master of Ceremonies for the Castle Rock Band. The band, under Bandmaster Kent Brandebery, was formed in 1999, and plays concerts at the Castle Rock Community Bandstand, the Douglas County Fair, and other occasional locations.
Mainly, my job is to let these fine musicians catch their breath. To pass the time, I talk about the history of the next piece -- that research usually provided by the Bandmaster. Along the way, I've had the chance to learn a little bit about the American band movement.
It really started after the American Civil War in 1865. A lot of musicians returned home, and were recruited again to keep playing for various civic functions. Typically, they paid a small fee to the local band director. He (I've haven't heard of any women yet) then provided leadership, and helped train other community folks to play instruments.
Often, bands were adopted by various local organizations, who raised money for instruments and uniforms. You knew that a town was serious when at last it built its own bandstand, right in the town square.
And that's about how it went in Castle Rock. The first band was organized back in 1886. It had nine men, playing Cornets, Alto and Tenor Horns, and two Drums.
The local newspaper of the time -- the Record Journal -- seemed to enjoy writing about them. But they weren't always kind. After announcing the band's formation, and that they'd ordered their instruments, the Record Journal gave an update on Oct. 13 1886.
"[T]he band boys are happy, they have received their horns and are making progress under the able instruction of Prof. Bryant. The boys gave their first open-air blow out on Saturday night, and they say that [if] God will forgive them for the breach of the peace and quiet of the town this time they will not repeat their performance soon. May their request be granted."
But they got better. By July 6, 1892, after a ball game between Sedalia and Castle Rock (hundreds of Castle Rock folks went over by train), "...the Castle Rock Cornet Band played a few pieces which called the people together and speakers were introduced and entertained the people for a short time."
On Oct. 1, 1909, the Record Journal reported about the county fair, "The band boys had plenty of music and gave the people the best they had. They were not afraid they would more than earn their money either. No former Douglas County Fair ever was furnished with anything like as good music." I think that's praise.
And sure enough, by the early 1900's, Castle Rock build a band stand on Court House Square.
Then things got interesting. The bandstand appears in historic photographs up to around the late 1920's. Then, abruptly it was gone. Following W.W. I no newspaper stories regarding the band are to be found.
Mr. Brandebery, a local historian of some note, went looking for it, and did turn it up. It is now a toolshed in an alley off Gilbert Street in Castle Rock. The legs were sawn off -- but the dimensions were still recognizable.
And in fact, those same dimensions were used to recreate the bandstand on the northwest corner of the new Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. And various local groups, including the library, helped raise the funds to resurrect it (and it's a lot sturdier than the first one).
Maybe you'd like to hear an old-time band playing classics from a hundred years ago. I recommend it: it's fun for the whole family.
Here are the dates and times for the rest of the year. We hope to see you!
July 29 - Evening concert, Saturday, 7:30 p.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
August 12 - Fair Concert, Saturday, 9 a.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
September 17 - Fall Concert, Sunday, 1:30 p.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
November 18 - Star Lighting Program, Saturday, 2:30 p.m. In front of the Douglas County Administrative Building, Castle Rock.
December 11 - Holidays Concert, Monday, 7:30 p.m., Faith Lutheran Church.
Mainly, my job is to let these fine musicians catch their breath. To pass the time, I talk about the history of the next piece -- that research usually provided by the Bandmaster. Along the way, I've had the chance to learn a little bit about the American band movement.
It really started after the American Civil War in 1865. A lot of musicians returned home, and were recruited again to keep playing for various civic functions. Typically, they paid a small fee to the local band director. He (I've haven't heard of any women yet) then provided leadership, and helped train other community folks to play instruments.
Often, bands were adopted by various local organizations, who raised money for instruments and uniforms. You knew that a town was serious when at last it built its own bandstand, right in the town square.
And that's about how it went in Castle Rock. The first band was organized back in 1886. It had nine men, playing Cornets, Alto and Tenor Horns, and two Drums.
The local newspaper of the time -- the Record Journal -- seemed to enjoy writing about them. But they weren't always kind. After announcing the band's formation, and that they'd ordered their instruments, the Record Journal gave an update on Oct. 13 1886.
"[T]he band boys are happy, they have received their horns and are making progress under the able instruction of Prof. Bryant. The boys gave their first open-air blow out on Saturday night, and they say that [if] God will forgive them for the breach of the peace and quiet of the town this time they will not repeat their performance soon. May their request be granted."
But they got better. By July 6, 1892, after a ball game between Sedalia and Castle Rock (hundreds of Castle Rock folks went over by train), "...the Castle Rock Cornet Band played a few pieces which called the people together and speakers were introduced and entertained the people for a short time."
On Oct. 1, 1909, the Record Journal reported about the county fair, "The band boys had plenty of music and gave the people the best they had. They were not afraid they would more than earn their money either. No former Douglas County Fair ever was furnished with anything like as good music." I think that's praise.
And sure enough, by the early 1900's, Castle Rock build a band stand on Court House Square.
Then things got interesting. The bandstand appears in historic photographs up to around the late 1920's. Then, abruptly it was gone. Following W.W. I no newspaper stories regarding the band are to be found.
Mr. Brandebery, a local historian of some note, went looking for it, and did turn it up. It is now a toolshed in an alley off Gilbert Street in Castle Rock. The legs were sawn off -- but the dimensions were still recognizable.
And in fact, those same dimensions were used to recreate the bandstand on the northwest corner of the new Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. And various local groups, including the library, helped raise the funds to resurrect it (and it's a lot sturdier than the first one).
Maybe you'd like to hear an old-time band playing classics from a hundred years ago. I recommend it: it's fun for the whole family.
Here are the dates and times for the rest of the year. We hope to see you!
July 29 - Evening concert, Saturday, 7:30 p.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
August 12 - Fair Concert, Saturday, 9 a.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
September 17 - Fall Concert, Sunday, 1:30 p.m. (Castle Rock Community Bandstand)
November 18 - Star Lighting Program, Saturday, 2:30 p.m. In front of the Douglas County Administrative Building, Castle Rock.
December 11 - Holidays Concert, Monday, 7:30 p.m., Faith Lutheran Church.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
July 13, 2006 - Thank You, Melvil
There seem to be two things that everybody knows about public libraries.
First, we collect fines. The collective guilt of America about overdues is staggering.
People, please! For most things, we charge the same rate we did 20 years ago: a nickel a day. It always caps out way, way less than the cost of the item. We just want you to bring things back so other people can use them. Relax!
The second thing people know is the phrase, "the Dewey Decimal System."
But nobody remembers why Melvil Dewey invented it. The short answer is: we really needed it.
Before what librarians call Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) came along, libraries were a mess. The typical system worked like this:
* we got a new book.
* we assigned it an "acquisition" number. Typically, this was nothing more than the cumulating count of our purchases and gifts. So the first book to arrive in a day might be number 700,212. The next one would be 700,213, and so on.
* we indicated a location for the item -- "the green room." Or it might be a specific shelf location -- third shelf from the top, stack number 122.
Sometimes, people also tried to add some kind of subject description. All of the geography books would be by the map cases, and it would say so in the librarian's acquisition list. (There weren't a lot of public catalogs.)
Do you see the problem? As we kept adding books, the locations started to change. One day, that third shelf was full. One day, we had too many geography books to keep in the green room, or by the map cases. So everything got shuffled around.
And nobody went back to the big acquisition book or filing cabinet to cross off the old location and write in a new one.
Dewey's contribution was a significant improvement, and had several dimensions.
Just for starters, he came up with a classification system that attempted to describe the whole universe of possible subjects.
These subjects, or classes of knowledge, were assigned to various numbers. For instance,100-199 contained all works on philosophy and psychology. Within that range were finer divisions (tens and single digits), eventually sifting into still finer subdivisions, identified by decimal numbers (.5, .073, etc).
The DDC had its biases. In the 200s, for instance, Dewey gave lots of numbers to Western religion, and very, very few to Eastern religions.
But it was sturdy. The classification system was both infinitely expandable within the hierarchy, and internally consistent.
And it kept like materials together, greatly easing research, and greatly rewarding the casual browser.
It also had the important value of being relative.
That is, it didn't describe a particular location of an item. It provided a relative location. 153 was after 152, rather than being in a particular room. If something got moved, librarians just had to change a sign -- "the collection continues at ..."
Dewey was also a tireless promoter of the system. He wasn't the first to organize collections by subject. But until him, everybody organized those collections differently. So every library you went to required you to learn a new system. Dewey established a standard.
He also popularized the idea of the public card catalog -- setting up systems where items could be searched by anybody, not just librarians.
And he was serious about those standards; he even described the correct dimensions of the catalog or "index" card. Hence the perfect uniformity of card catalog cabinets.
Developed in 1876, the DDC has been modified 22 times. Today it is used by over 95% of the more than 15,000 public libraries in the United States. It has also been widely adopted in the rest of the world, even though many card catalogs have given way to computers.
It just goes to show you. Libraries work hard to publicize the many fascinating facets of our institution: our many formats of materials, our programs, our online offerings.
What people remember is fines and the Dewey Decimal System.
Now you know why we need them.
First, we collect fines. The collective guilt of America about overdues is staggering.
People, please! For most things, we charge the same rate we did 20 years ago: a nickel a day. It always caps out way, way less than the cost of the item. We just want you to bring things back so other people can use them. Relax!
The second thing people know is the phrase, "the Dewey Decimal System."
But nobody remembers why Melvil Dewey invented it. The short answer is: we really needed it.
Before what librarians call Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) came along, libraries were a mess. The typical system worked like this:
* we got a new book.
* we assigned it an "acquisition" number. Typically, this was nothing more than the cumulating count of our purchases and gifts. So the first book to arrive in a day might be number 700,212. The next one would be 700,213, and so on.
* we indicated a location for the item -- "the green room." Or it might be a specific shelf location -- third shelf from the top, stack number 122.
Sometimes, people also tried to add some kind of subject description. All of the geography books would be by the map cases, and it would say so in the librarian's acquisition list. (There weren't a lot of public catalogs.)
Do you see the problem? As we kept adding books, the locations started to change. One day, that third shelf was full. One day, we had too many geography books to keep in the green room, or by the map cases. So everything got shuffled around.
And nobody went back to the big acquisition book or filing cabinet to cross off the old location and write in a new one.
Dewey's contribution was a significant improvement, and had several dimensions.
Just for starters, he came up with a classification system that attempted to describe the whole universe of possible subjects.
These subjects, or classes of knowledge, were assigned to various numbers. For instance,100-199 contained all works on philosophy and psychology. Within that range were finer divisions (tens and single digits), eventually sifting into still finer subdivisions, identified by decimal numbers (.5, .073, etc).
The DDC had its biases. In the 200s, for instance, Dewey gave lots of numbers to Western religion, and very, very few to Eastern religions.
But it was sturdy. The classification system was both infinitely expandable within the hierarchy, and internally consistent.
And it kept like materials together, greatly easing research, and greatly rewarding the casual browser.
It also had the important value of being relative.
That is, it didn't describe a particular location of an item. It provided a relative location. 153 was after 152, rather than being in a particular room. If something got moved, librarians just had to change a sign -- "the collection continues at ..."
Dewey was also a tireless promoter of the system. He wasn't the first to organize collections by subject. But until him, everybody organized those collections differently. So every library you went to required you to learn a new system. Dewey established a standard.
He also popularized the idea of the public card catalog -- setting up systems where items could be searched by anybody, not just librarians.
And he was serious about those standards; he even described the correct dimensions of the catalog or "index" card. Hence the perfect uniformity of card catalog cabinets.
Developed in 1876, the DDC has been modified 22 times. Today it is used by over 95% of the more than 15,000 public libraries in the United States. It has also been widely adopted in the rest of the world, even though many card catalogs have given way to computers.
It just goes to show you. Libraries work hard to publicize the many fascinating facets of our institution: our many formats of materials, our programs, our online offerings.
What people remember is fines and the Dewey Decimal System.
Now you know why we need them.
Thursday, July 6, 2006
July 6, 2006 - The War of Independence Still Being Fought
Since this column comes out so close to Independence Day, let me recommend a book. It's called "The Founding Brothers: A Revolutionary Generation," by Joseph Ellis. It's available from our libraries in several formats: book, large type, CD, Cassette, and now, even on VHS and DVD.
It's a shame they don't teach history this way. Instead, we get elementary school fiction, in which the Founding Fathers did boring things, building to the inevitable climax of our own perfect government.
The truth was, the American Revolution was a time of almost unimaginable tumult. There were religious conflicts, duels of honor, agitation over slavery, and an emerging struggle between agrarian society and pre-industrial. There was over half a continent to be explored -- and many Indian tribes with their own views on the matter.
The Founding Fathers -- or the revolutionary brothers, as Ellis has it -- did not meet in measured calm, and quietly agree on the rules for a new government. They fought, not always fairly. They argued publicly and passionately, about both personal and political matters.
And when they were done, they had established a nation unlike any before it. It was a nation founded on compromise and mutual distrust; now we call it "checks and balances," and we ignore those systems at our peril.
It was a nation founded in the midst of deep and bitter issues it could not then fully resolve -- witness the enshrinement of slavery in our Constitution. But without that compromise, there would have been no nation.
Beneath it all was something truly magnificent: an idea that had at least some of its roots in the Iroquois Confederacy. Our first official formulation was Jefferson's draft of the Declaration of Independence: that we all have certain "inalienable rights." He was saying that in America, all were equal under the law.
It was a lie, of course. Even after the Constitution was adopted, there was slavery. Property-holding men could vote. No woman could.
But it was a good lie.
That root idea was so powerful, and grew so deep into the minds of the emerging nation, that it continued to work, trying to untangle the contradictions at the core of the Constitution. Four score and twenty years after the Declaration, was Gettysburg. Later, there was another battle for women's suffrage.
The deep history of the United States is all about that idea of personal equality. And it has always been in conflict with our actual social practices.
Not for us was the class-bound system of England, with its hereditary titles and lands. Not for us was the control of the state by priests. In our country, in this brave new nation, all were to be equal under the law.
Of course, these days, we do have a very distinct class system, now based on wealth, passed not by title but by trust fund. Yesteryear's priests are today's televangelists. And it's just possible that these threats are as much a danger to personal freedom as they were over 230 years ago.
Even our Bill of Rights faces many current challenges: there are people held without charges, records searched without permission or legal review. We still debate whether equal rights includes homosexuals, or workers we eagerly employ, but who had the misfortune to be born elsewhere.
But we haven't given up.
The real meaning of the United States of America is not our flag. It's not even our money. It is that stubborn belief in each individual's right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
The Revolution continues.
It's a shame they don't teach history this way. Instead, we get elementary school fiction, in which the Founding Fathers did boring things, building to the inevitable climax of our own perfect government.
The truth was, the American Revolution was a time of almost unimaginable tumult. There were religious conflicts, duels of honor, agitation over slavery, and an emerging struggle between agrarian society and pre-industrial. There was over half a continent to be explored -- and many Indian tribes with their own views on the matter.
The Founding Fathers -- or the revolutionary brothers, as Ellis has it -- did not meet in measured calm, and quietly agree on the rules for a new government. They fought, not always fairly. They argued publicly and passionately, about both personal and political matters.
And when they were done, they had established a nation unlike any before it. It was a nation founded on compromise and mutual distrust; now we call it "checks and balances," and we ignore those systems at our peril.
It was a nation founded in the midst of deep and bitter issues it could not then fully resolve -- witness the enshrinement of slavery in our Constitution. But without that compromise, there would have been no nation.
Beneath it all was something truly magnificent: an idea that had at least some of its roots in the Iroquois Confederacy. Our first official formulation was Jefferson's draft of the Declaration of Independence: that we all have certain "inalienable rights." He was saying that in America, all were equal under the law.
It was a lie, of course. Even after the Constitution was adopted, there was slavery. Property-holding men could vote. No woman could.
But it was a good lie.
That root idea was so powerful, and grew so deep into the minds of the emerging nation, that it continued to work, trying to untangle the contradictions at the core of the Constitution. Four score and twenty years after the Declaration, was Gettysburg. Later, there was another battle for women's suffrage.
The deep history of the United States is all about that idea of personal equality. And it has always been in conflict with our actual social practices.
Not for us was the class-bound system of England, with its hereditary titles and lands. Not for us was the control of the state by priests. In our country, in this brave new nation, all were to be equal under the law.
Of course, these days, we do have a very distinct class system, now based on wealth, passed not by title but by trust fund. Yesteryear's priests are today's televangelists. And it's just possible that these threats are as much a danger to personal freedom as they were over 230 years ago.
Even our Bill of Rights faces many current challenges: there are people held without charges, records searched without permission or legal review. We still debate whether equal rights includes homosexuals, or workers we eagerly employ, but who had the misfortune to be born elsewhere.
But we haven't given up.
The real meaning of the United States of America is not our flag. It's not even our money. It is that stubborn belief in each individual's right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
The Revolution continues.
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