Although it usually either rained or snowed on me, I have always loved Halloween.
I do have one very clear memory of a "good" Halloween night: a tide of leaves, a wanton wind, a harvest moon, and hordes of little people in outrageous costumes, jostling up and down the streets with their bags of booty. For a child, Halloween is a wonderful, thrilling opportunity: to dress up, to walk in the dark, to MAKE adults give you candy.
At another level, Halloween worked on me as a strong seasonal song: the last hours of autumn, the harbinger of winter. (The purpose of the candy, I now imagine, was to build up the fat reserves required to survive the Midwest cold.)
So part of me is deeply puzzled by the strong resistance of some people to the very idea of Halloween. Some people object to its description as a holiday. They argue that "holiday" means "holy day," and Halloween isn't -- although it often incorporates "occult" elements (witches, goblins, ghosts) which are seen by some as contrary to certain Christian beliefs.
Yet we call many other days "holidays" that don't have any particular religious significance, but do have a part in our national or cultural life. "Halloween" to me is just what my encyclopedia calls it: "a festival."
Like many other festivals, Halloween picks up and transforms many bits of folklore. For instance, "Jack-o'-Lanterns," which in England and Ireland were made of carved beets, potatoes, and turnips, in America became candled pumpkins.
Where did the term "Jack-o'-Lanterns" come from? According to World Book, they were named for a man called Jack, who was such a miser that he couldn't enter heaven; but because he'd played jokes on the devil, couldn't enter hell either. As a result, Jack had to walk the earth with his lantern until Judgment Day.
Probably the earliest source of Halloween was the Celtic, or Druidic, festival called Samhain, celebrated more than 2,000 years ago. The Celts believed that Samhain, the Celtic lord of death, allowed the deceased to roam the earth for one night each year.
But the Catholic Church, as it did in so many cases, appropriated the cultural practice, and incorporated it into its own theology. In 800 A.D., the Church established All Saint's Day on November 1, for which a Mass was said called Allhallowmass. The evening before was called All Hallow e'en -- Halloween.
But I can assure you that as a child I never knew (nor would I have cared) about either of these historical tidbits. Even now that I do know, carving a pumpkin doesn't make me a Catholic, and trick-or-treating doesn't make my children little Druids.
These days I'm on the giving, rather than the receiving end of Halloween. But just as I take pleasure in the festival itself, I also take pleasure in learning a little bit more about it. Libraries are good for stuff like that, incidentally.
On both sides of a vast ocean, for one night each year, millions of children have touched that same sense of magic and mystery and the unfurling of time -- all through a festival that is itself more than two millennia old.
In my book, that's a traditional family value.
Wednesday, November 1, 1995
Wednesday, October 25, 1995
October 25, 1995 - vacation
I just got back from a vacation. I mean I stepped out of the car about ten minutes ago. My family went on a long-overdue visit with my wife's family in Arizona. I also chased a few ghosts of my own past in that area.
Long car trips are disorienting. When we sped reckless out of Phoenix two days ago, it was edging toward 100 degrees. This evening, we edged cautiously over Monument Hill, which was under about an inch and a half of snow and ice. It's hard to piece that together with a Mass Ascension (wherein 20% of the balloons in the entire world were launched at dawn over a dusty field north of Albuquerque), and a late morning when the entire LaRue Nuclear Family, in an ultimately fruitless attempt to find a pair of huaraches that fit me, strolled the surreal streets of Old Mexico.
So my mind is filled with the usual observations of the traveler returned. It all seems profound to me. But I just crawled out of a car. I suspect that for most folks, this column is best described as "Revelations of the Obvious."
For instance:
1) It is good to leave home.
2) It is good to get back.
3) Weather -- and climate -- are very odd things. Since I was traveling with a 20 month old child, I have learned that the body deals with rapid changes in altitude and temperature primarily through the production of snot. I still don't know why.
4) Different people behave differently, or seem to. On the way back, we got stuck in Tuba City, Arizona. We spent two hours waiting for (we thought) the light to change. It turns out that there really was a "Pow Wow," snarling traffic for miles in many directions. We stopped at a local McDonald's for some ice cream and I observed that for about 20 minutes, not one Navajo, of any age or sex, smiled. Then a bee buzzed a family gathered at an outside table, and everybody not only smiled, but laughed outright. It turns out that most Arizonan bees now have some genetic contribution from the more aggressive African bees. But what I find myself wondering is this: if I were to sit at a table at a Douglas County McDonald's, how many people would be smiling?
5) Douglas County has good libraries. As usual, I wandered into public libraries at almost every opportunity. In one Arizona town, the building was spanking new, an obvious testament to civic pride. But I stood at the front desk for almost 10 minutes before someone deigned to make eye contact with me. And then, this person gave curt, impersonal service. I saw the library director, lurking in his office, oblivious to the poor service around him. I was overcome with anger, then with pride. Every single one of the people who works at the Douglas Public Library District is smarter, more alert, more alive, than any of the people working in that library. While all of the other libraries I visited were certainly better than that first one, I'd happily place our staff against any of theirs, any day, any time.
6) Time doesn't matter much when you don't wear a watch. You wake up when you wake up. You go to sleep when you're tired. You eat when you're hungry. At this writing, I don't even know what day of the month it is, and I'm a little uncertain about the hour. But I suspect that a library column is due.
Here's hoping that this one provides at least some shadow of the diversion my vacation provided me ...
Long car trips are disorienting. When we sped reckless out of Phoenix two days ago, it was edging toward 100 degrees. This evening, we edged cautiously over Monument Hill, which was under about an inch and a half of snow and ice. It's hard to piece that together with a Mass Ascension (wherein 20% of the balloons in the entire world were launched at dawn over a dusty field north of Albuquerque), and a late morning when the entire LaRue Nuclear Family, in an ultimately fruitless attempt to find a pair of huaraches that fit me, strolled the surreal streets of Old Mexico.
So my mind is filled with the usual observations of the traveler returned. It all seems profound to me. But I just crawled out of a car. I suspect that for most folks, this column is best described as "Revelations of the Obvious."
For instance:
1) It is good to leave home.
2) It is good to get back.
3) Weather -- and climate -- are very odd things. Since I was traveling with a 20 month old child, I have learned that the body deals with rapid changes in altitude and temperature primarily through the production of snot. I still don't know why.
4) Different people behave differently, or seem to. On the way back, we got stuck in Tuba City, Arizona. We spent two hours waiting for (we thought) the light to change. It turns out that there really was a "Pow Wow," snarling traffic for miles in many directions. We stopped at a local McDonald's for some ice cream and I observed that for about 20 minutes, not one Navajo, of any age or sex, smiled. Then a bee buzzed a family gathered at an outside table, and everybody not only smiled, but laughed outright. It turns out that most Arizonan bees now have some genetic contribution from the more aggressive African bees. But what I find myself wondering is this: if I were to sit at a table at a Douglas County McDonald's, how many people would be smiling?
5) Douglas County has good libraries. As usual, I wandered into public libraries at almost every opportunity. In one Arizona town, the building was spanking new, an obvious testament to civic pride. But I stood at the front desk for almost 10 minutes before someone deigned to make eye contact with me. And then, this person gave curt, impersonal service. I saw the library director, lurking in his office, oblivious to the poor service around him. I was overcome with anger, then with pride. Every single one of the people who works at the Douglas Public Library District is smarter, more alert, more alive, than any of the people working in that library. While all of the other libraries I visited were certainly better than that first one, I'd happily place our staff against any of theirs, any day, any time.
6) Time doesn't matter much when you don't wear a watch. You wake up when you wake up. You go to sleep when you're tired. You eat when you're hungry. At this writing, I don't even know what day of the month it is, and I'm a little uncertain about the hour. But I suspect that a library column is due.
Here's hoping that this one provides at least some shadow of the diversion my vacation provided me ...
Wednesday, October 18, 1995
October 18, 1995 - fort collins and ya
Recently I was asked to stop by the Fort Collins Public Library to help evaluate a federal grant. The purpose of this grant was to highlight Young Adult (YA) services at a new "mini-library" that opened up a couple of months ago.
I spent a day talking with staff at the little store front branch, with the project team that wrote and administered the grant, with a couple of teenage girls (sophomores in high school) who served as a sort of focus group for the project, and finally, with the library director and her Board President.
It was fascinating. In Fort Collins, just as in Douglas County, a lot of children -- even children who used to be big readers -- fall away from the library once they get to be about 12 years old.
To turn that around, the Fort Collins Public Library took about $25,000 of federal money and tried to build some resources that would pull in the YA audience (usually defined as people between the ages of 12 and 18.)
For a little over $6,000, the library bought roughly 3,000 paperback books. It reminded me of the opening of our own Highlands Ranch Library, which was also heavily stocked with paperbacks (and also located in a storefront). It may not be a coincidence that Highlands Ranch soon became, on a square foot basis, the busiest library we've got.
Next, the Fort Collins mini-branch bought some audio and video tapes. Finally, for another $6,000, the library bought two PCs, one to serve as a public terminal, and one to run the CD-ROM program called SIRS. SIRS is a collection of clippings on popular topics for junior and senior high school research papers. (We have it in paper at Castle Rock, and the CD-ROM version at Oakes Mill.)
As a class of people, young adults have a sort of nebulous status in our society. But in the process of talking about the project, writing the grant, then trying to live up to it, the Fort Collins Public Library staff learned to pay closer attention to this often invisible but nonetheless important segment of the library community -- the Lost Ones.
Based on preliminary surveys and follow up interviews, Fort Collins young adults, well, don't like to be stereotyped. Their interests can be no more accurately predicted than the reading interests of older adults. While they appreciated the effort to collect the usual YA bestsellers -- a lot of relatively tame horror stories -- by the age of 13, most teenagers weren't all that interested in that stuff anymore.
In fact, they weren't much interested in recreational reading period. They just didn't have the time. These were kids with Day- Timers. They viewed the library much as adults view a grocery store -- a place that you go to do what needs to be done. Adults go to grocery stores to buy food. Young adults go to libraries to do school assignments.
The young women I spoke with were mildly interested in having a comfortable and segregated section to hang out in the library, but mostly they wanted what all the other workers want: tools useful to their tasks.
I asked these young women if the library had met their expectations. Both of them assured me quickly (and with rare politeness) that the library had indeed. They liked the brightness of the place, the friendliness of the staff, and their unusual willingness to seek out the opinion of real young people.
They added, "But we never expected that much."
And there's the cautionary tale for the modern librarian. It may be that we are sometimes led astray in our effort to woo back our Lost Ones, to persuade them to love our wares, our classics, our Best Books, as fiercely as we do.
Maybe we just need to give them the materials they need to do their jobs -- and so establish an expectation that the library knows how to do that.
On the other hand, it still strikes me as sad. Even our brightest young people have trouble finding the time to laze about and know the comfy pleasure of a good yarn, slowly unspun.
I spent a day talking with staff at the little store front branch, with the project team that wrote and administered the grant, with a couple of teenage girls (sophomores in high school) who served as a sort of focus group for the project, and finally, with the library director and her Board President.
It was fascinating. In Fort Collins, just as in Douglas County, a lot of children -- even children who used to be big readers -- fall away from the library once they get to be about 12 years old.
To turn that around, the Fort Collins Public Library took about $25,000 of federal money and tried to build some resources that would pull in the YA audience (usually defined as people between the ages of 12 and 18.)
For a little over $6,000, the library bought roughly 3,000 paperback books. It reminded me of the opening of our own Highlands Ranch Library, which was also heavily stocked with paperbacks (and also located in a storefront). It may not be a coincidence that Highlands Ranch soon became, on a square foot basis, the busiest library we've got.
Next, the Fort Collins mini-branch bought some audio and video tapes. Finally, for another $6,000, the library bought two PCs, one to serve as a public terminal, and one to run the CD-ROM program called SIRS. SIRS is a collection of clippings on popular topics for junior and senior high school research papers. (We have it in paper at Castle Rock, and the CD-ROM version at Oakes Mill.)
As a class of people, young adults have a sort of nebulous status in our society. But in the process of talking about the project, writing the grant, then trying to live up to it, the Fort Collins Public Library staff learned to pay closer attention to this often invisible but nonetheless important segment of the library community -- the Lost Ones.
Based on preliminary surveys and follow up interviews, Fort Collins young adults, well, don't like to be stereotyped. Their interests can be no more accurately predicted than the reading interests of older adults. While they appreciated the effort to collect the usual YA bestsellers -- a lot of relatively tame horror stories -- by the age of 13, most teenagers weren't all that interested in that stuff anymore.
In fact, they weren't much interested in recreational reading period. They just didn't have the time. These were kids with Day- Timers. They viewed the library much as adults view a grocery store -- a place that you go to do what needs to be done. Adults go to grocery stores to buy food. Young adults go to libraries to do school assignments.
The young women I spoke with were mildly interested in having a comfortable and segregated section to hang out in the library, but mostly they wanted what all the other workers want: tools useful to their tasks.
I asked these young women if the library had met their expectations. Both of them assured me quickly (and with rare politeness) that the library had indeed. They liked the brightness of the place, the friendliness of the staff, and their unusual willingness to seek out the opinion of real young people.
They added, "But we never expected that much."
And there's the cautionary tale for the modern librarian. It may be that we are sometimes led astray in our effort to woo back our Lost Ones, to persuade them to love our wares, our classics, our Best Books, as fiercely as we do.
Maybe we just need to give them the materials they need to do their jobs -- and so establish an expectation that the library knows how to do that.
On the other hand, it still strikes me as sad. Even our brightest young people have trouble finding the time to laze about and know the comfy pleasure of a good yarn, slowly unspun.
Wednesday, October 4, 1995
October 4, 1995 - libraries are anti-family
I subscribe to Citizen, a magazine produced by Focus on the Family, a Christian ministry and political advocacy group in Colorado Springs. The cover article of the latest issue (Volume 9, Number 9, also available at the Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock) was entitled, "What Lurks in the Library?" The subtitle: "The American Library Association believes children should have access to all material, no matter how violent or obscene."
The thesis of the article is pretty straightforward: public libraries are "anti-family."
But it turns out that there's some good news, too, at least according to the article's author. In Loudon County, Virginia, the chairman of the library board persuaded his colleagues to drop an American Library Association policy. This policy, called "the Library Bill of Rights," states that the public library should strive to make available "the widest diversity of views and expressions, including those that are unorthodox or unpopular with the majority."
The author appends this interesting statement: "The board also stripped the so-called 'anti-censorship' provisions of LBR [the Library Bill of Rights]."
I do not consider this good news. In fact, I consider this dangerous not only for libraries, but for families.
Why is the library "no longer" family friendly? (The article doesn't say when it used to be, or when that changed, or even what "family friendly" means.)
The issue seems to be that some libraries actually carry R-rated movies, and that these libraries don't automatically refuse to check the videos out to children. The unquestioned assumption, of course, is that children are eager to check them out, and do. For the record, this flatly contradicts my experience.
But since Focus on the Family has many dedicated readers and listeners, I'd like to lay my cards on the table.
First, I believe the public library is among the most "family friendly" institutions in the nation. In Douglas County, we offer public buildings that are physically attractive, determinedly welcoming, and open 68 hours a week. We have lavished our attention on acquiring a rich collection of picture books for pre-schoolers, contemporary and classic fiction for young people and adults, a broad spectrum of non-fiction for students of all ages, popular videos and audio tapes, and a good representation of general interest periodicals. We sponsor programs aimed at young people, middle aged people, and old people. We sponsor school visits. We provide public meeting space at no cost.
It is significant that over 70% of the residents of Douglas County have, and have used in the past year, a library card.
Thanks to the Friends of the Library, one of our libraries even has a changing table. Speaking as the father of a 19 month old child, it doesn't get any more family friendly than that.
Think about it: how many places can you take all of your family, for free, spend hours of time, have all the people in your family find something that suits them, and then get to take it all home?
Second, yes, we do have a few R-rated videos -- those videos that have received or been nominated for an Academy Award. Such items are the focal points of many articles, essays, and books. They deserve inclusion in a public library.
On the other hand, these items constitute a tiny fraction of our holdings. We have far more Focus on the Family publications, for instance, than R-rated movies.
Third, no, we don't examine each item at the point of check out to determine whether or not it's appropriate for the patron. It is our experience that our patrons have a pretty good idea why they want the material they do. We respect that, and do not feel it is our place (as a governmental entity) to tell them that they can't have it. That's the job of the parent, and based on my observations, "family values" get communicated pretty quickly to children. Most of the time, children live by them. If they stray, it's not because the library has seduced them.
So consider this the Douglas Public Library District's official response to the Focus on the Family allegation that we're anti-family. We believe that knowledge is better than ignorance. We believe that literacy is better than illiteracy. We believe that parents, not government employees, should decide what's appropriate for children to borrow from the public library.
And I respectfully submit that the way to determine the value of a public library is to examine it to see if you can find materials you agree with -- not just materials that you don't.
The thesis of the article is pretty straightforward: public libraries are "anti-family."
But it turns out that there's some good news, too, at least according to the article's author. In Loudon County, Virginia, the chairman of the library board persuaded his colleagues to drop an American Library Association policy. This policy, called "the Library Bill of Rights," states that the public library should strive to make available "the widest diversity of views and expressions, including those that are unorthodox or unpopular with the majority."
The author appends this interesting statement: "The board also stripped the so-called 'anti-censorship' provisions of LBR [the Library Bill of Rights]."
I do not consider this good news. In fact, I consider this dangerous not only for libraries, but for families.
Why is the library "no longer" family friendly? (The article doesn't say when it used to be, or when that changed, or even what "family friendly" means.)
The issue seems to be that some libraries actually carry R-rated movies, and that these libraries don't automatically refuse to check the videos out to children. The unquestioned assumption, of course, is that children are eager to check them out, and do. For the record, this flatly contradicts my experience.
But since Focus on the Family has many dedicated readers and listeners, I'd like to lay my cards on the table.
First, I believe the public library is among the most "family friendly" institutions in the nation. In Douglas County, we offer public buildings that are physically attractive, determinedly welcoming, and open 68 hours a week. We have lavished our attention on acquiring a rich collection of picture books for pre-schoolers, contemporary and classic fiction for young people and adults, a broad spectrum of non-fiction for students of all ages, popular videos and audio tapes, and a good representation of general interest periodicals. We sponsor programs aimed at young people, middle aged people, and old people. We sponsor school visits. We provide public meeting space at no cost.
It is significant that over 70% of the residents of Douglas County have, and have used in the past year, a library card.
Thanks to the Friends of the Library, one of our libraries even has a changing table. Speaking as the father of a 19 month old child, it doesn't get any more family friendly than that.
Think about it: how many places can you take all of your family, for free, spend hours of time, have all the people in your family find something that suits them, and then get to take it all home?
Second, yes, we do have a few R-rated videos -- those videos that have received or been nominated for an Academy Award. Such items are the focal points of many articles, essays, and books. They deserve inclusion in a public library.
On the other hand, these items constitute a tiny fraction of our holdings. We have far more Focus on the Family publications, for instance, than R-rated movies.
Third, no, we don't examine each item at the point of check out to determine whether or not it's appropriate for the patron. It is our experience that our patrons have a pretty good idea why they want the material they do. We respect that, and do not feel it is our place (as a governmental entity) to tell them that they can't have it. That's the job of the parent, and based on my observations, "family values" get communicated pretty quickly to children. Most of the time, children live by them. If they stray, it's not because the library has seduced them.
So consider this the Douglas Public Library District's official response to the Focus on the Family allegation that we're anti-family. We believe that knowledge is better than ignorance. We believe that literacy is better than illiteracy. We believe that parents, not government employees, should decide what's appropriate for children to borrow from the public library.
And I respectfully submit that the way to determine the value of a public library is to examine it to see if you can find materials you agree with -- not just materials that you don't.
Wednesday, September 27, 1995
September 27, 1995 - one world government
I've been nursing an idea lately. In fact, I'm writing a book about it. It concerns the intriguing parallels between the dawn of printing and the establishment of the World Wide Web.
My idea begins with the fact that the invention of printing (in the European culture) had three results.
The first was the rapid spread of literacy. Staggering numbers of people learned to read and write, mostly so they could read the Bible.
The second was the Protestant Reformation. Because of increasing literacy and the proliferation of Bibles, people were no longer solely dependent upon the Catholic priesthood to interpret the Word.
The third result of the discovery of movable type was a reflexive action on the part of the Catholic Church, an ultimately fruitless effort to suppress a basic challenge to its considerable political power. We know it today as ... the Inquisition.
In modern times, we again see a surge in literacy. This time, however, the medium is an international computer network. Suddenly, Americans find themselves able to converse easily with people who live in distant countries. Suddenly, world events are no longer filtered through the TV and newspapers. It's direct contact.
I have begun to suspect that this ease of planet-wide communication constitutes as profound a challenge to nationalism as printing was to the Catholic Church of the late 1400s.
Here's my concern: Can the Inquisition be far behind?
It could be that this is an extreme notion. I hope so. But elsewhere in the world, physical torture of political dissidents is routine. Could it happen here?
This idea of mine does explain why we have begun to see a sharp rise in political rhetoric about "patriotism" and "national pride." This just might be an attempt to define a kind of heresy.
That heresy even has a name: "One World Government."
If you like conspiracy theories (and you'd be surprised how many people do), there are oodles to choose from.
For some folks, the masterminds of the New World Order are the Tri-Lateral Commission. To the born-again Nazis of Europe (and their skinhead American counterparts), it is, once more, Jewish bankers. To the failed Communists of the U.S.S.R. and their nervous cohorts in mainland China, it's a conspiracy of capitalists.
To certain members of the extreme right, the United Nations is behind it all, and even now positions its mysterious black helicopters to seize control of the United States. (This is the same United Nations, incidentally, that had so much trouble recently in tiny Bosnia. It makes you wonder how well they'd do in a country that stretches from one ocean to another.)
If you'd like to hear a different perspective ... on Wednesday, September 27, at 7 a.m., the Castle Rock Rotary Club will sponsor a talk by noted scholar Ved P. Nanda. (The club meets in the banquet room at the Village Inn, just off I-25 exit 182.) His subject is "The United States and the United Nations."
Professor Nanda is the Director of the International Legal Studies Program at the University of Denver College of Law. You may have read his carefully crafted, thoughtful analyses of world goings-on in the Denver Post. His credentials are far too extensive to list here, but suffice it to say that he knows whereof he speaks.
This event costs $10. Of that sum, $6 buys you a breakfast buffet. The rest goes to the Rotary, which sponsors, among other things, local vaccinations, highway clean-up, a Read To Me program in county schools, and an international exchange program for students.
To reserve a space, or for more information, contact Dave Watts, Rotary President, at 688-2401.
My idea begins with the fact that the invention of printing (in the European culture) had three results.
The first was the rapid spread of literacy. Staggering numbers of people learned to read and write, mostly so they could read the Bible.
The second was the Protestant Reformation. Because of increasing literacy and the proliferation of Bibles, people were no longer solely dependent upon the Catholic priesthood to interpret the Word.
The third result of the discovery of movable type was a reflexive action on the part of the Catholic Church, an ultimately fruitless effort to suppress a basic challenge to its considerable political power. We know it today as ... the Inquisition.
In modern times, we again see a surge in literacy. This time, however, the medium is an international computer network. Suddenly, Americans find themselves able to converse easily with people who live in distant countries. Suddenly, world events are no longer filtered through the TV and newspapers. It's direct contact.
I have begun to suspect that this ease of planet-wide communication constitutes as profound a challenge to nationalism as printing was to the Catholic Church of the late 1400s.
Here's my concern: Can the Inquisition be far behind?
It could be that this is an extreme notion. I hope so. But elsewhere in the world, physical torture of political dissidents is routine. Could it happen here?
This idea of mine does explain why we have begun to see a sharp rise in political rhetoric about "patriotism" and "national pride." This just might be an attempt to define a kind of heresy.
That heresy even has a name: "One World Government."
If you like conspiracy theories (and you'd be surprised how many people do), there are oodles to choose from.
For some folks, the masterminds of the New World Order are the Tri-Lateral Commission. To the born-again Nazis of Europe (and their skinhead American counterparts), it is, once more, Jewish bankers. To the failed Communists of the U.S.S.R. and their nervous cohorts in mainland China, it's a conspiracy of capitalists.
To certain members of the extreme right, the United Nations is behind it all, and even now positions its mysterious black helicopters to seize control of the United States. (This is the same United Nations, incidentally, that had so much trouble recently in tiny Bosnia. It makes you wonder how well they'd do in a country that stretches from one ocean to another.)
If you'd like to hear a different perspective ... on Wednesday, September 27, at 7 a.m., the Castle Rock Rotary Club will sponsor a talk by noted scholar Ved P. Nanda. (The club meets in the banquet room at the Village Inn, just off I-25 exit 182.) His subject is "The United States and the United Nations."
Professor Nanda is the Director of the International Legal Studies Program at the University of Denver College of Law. You may have read his carefully crafted, thoughtful analyses of world goings-on in the Denver Post. His credentials are far too extensive to list here, but suffice it to say that he knows whereof he speaks.
This event costs $10. Of that sum, $6 buys you a breakfast buffet. The rest goes to the Rotary, which sponsors, among other things, local vaccinations, highway clean-up, a Read To Me program in county schools, and an international exchange program for students.
To reserve a space, or for more information, contact Dave Watts, Rotary President, at 688-2401.
Saturday, September 9, 1995
August 9, 1995 - hacker story
The system was running slow. Anybody who has worked with a computer system knows that happens sometimes. I was watching it, but wasn't especially worried.
Then, on July 17, I got an e-mail message from the system administrator of the Royal Military College in Canada. He wrote that he had received some "unwanted attentions" from somebody calling in through the Internet, originating from OUR computer. He told me the accounts that this person had tried to log into -- all old accounts that our system software didn't use anymore. But I checked to make sure, and did find one old account that I removed.
On July 19, I got another call, this one from the Weber College in New York State. Same thing -- somebody tried to break into their library computer from ours.
This time, I called our Ameritech Library Services technical support staff in Provo, Utah. We both started looking at our computer on a random basis, every day. Nothing showed up.
On July 24, I got a phone call from a friend, someone running another library computer system, this one right here in Colorado. Excited, he announced that he'd just tossed somebody off his system, someone who was prowling around with "superuser" privileges (accounts which give you access to every system file, and the ability to add, revise, or delete virtually anything). My friend said he'd seen this person -- who was using an account called "hume" -- flee back to my system.
Immediately I logged in, and there he was -- an account called "kant." At this point, I unplugged our connection to the Internet. "kant" disappeared.
We stayed off the Internet for about five days to assess the damage. We found some 40 megabytes of data on our system in the "kant" account. We learned that kant tended to use our system most in the wee hours -- from 1-4. We learned that he had connected to our computer from a terminal server at the University of California-Irvine.
The contents of his directory were eye-opening. He had programs that sniffed out system passwords (to allow him access to the system). He had programs that when he logged off, went around and erased the obvious signs of his presence. He also had huge text files that spelled out in clear, beautifully organized prose, how to "crack" almost any kind of computer system. It was a complete hacker curriculum.
After five days of work with our Provo people, we re-opened our Internet connection. We had left a lot of kant's files alone -- which we were still examining -- but thought we had plugged the obvious holes.
On Monday, July 31, 10:30 p.m., I dialed into our computer to check it just before I went to bed. He was back.
The next three hours were a little frantic. From my home, I logged kant off the system, then hurriedly looked around the system to see what he'd done this time. Almost immediately, he logged back in, under another account name, but again with superuser privileges. I threw him off again. Then he came back on as kant. I threw him off. Then I got thrown off.
Then I logged back in and this time got a message from -- one of our people in Provo. "Why are you throwing me off?" he asked.
Cautiously, we tested each other. "What's my extension?" he asked. I told him. "Who's my team leader?" I asked. He told me. I started to apologize for over-reacting, when kant came back on again. He even had the effrontery to try to strike up a side-conversation with my system support person!
Finally, our Ameritech associate shut off the Internet access through software. And over the past week, we've taken a hard look at EVERYTHING.
We've erased kant's files (then up to 61 megabytes) -- and uncovered a few other tricks that gave him access to our machine.
Every single password has been changed. We've installed a variety of operating system patches to plug some little-known bugs that can be exploited.
Here's the good news: the hacker COULD have wiped out every single file we've got. He didn't. As near as we can figure, he (and it could well be a she -- I just THINK of kant as a he) was just appropriating our $100,000 computer as his personal toy, apparently setting it up as a hacker-friendly waystation on the cracker network. He wasn't interested in any of our data (other than passwords).
Here's the bad news: although we'll be back up on the Internet by the time you read this, and although we think we have vastly improved our computer security, we've also learned that absolute system security isn't possible.
Computers are like houses -- you can make them difficult and inconvenient to break into, but there's always a way around it.
Next week: hacking and the law.
Then, on July 17, I got an e-mail message from the system administrator of the Royal Military College in Canada. He wrote that he had received some "unwanted attentions" from somebody calling in through the Internet, originating from OUR computer. He told me the accounts that this person had tried to log into -- all old accounts that our system software didn't use anymore. But I checked to make sure, and did find one old account that I removed.
On July 19, I got another call, this one from the Weber College in New York State. Same thing -- somebody tried to break into their library computer from ours.
This time, I called our Ameritech Library Services technical support staff in Provo, Utah. We both started looking at our computer on a random basis, every day. Nothing showed up.
On July 24, I got a phone call from a friend, someone running another library computer system, this one right here in Colorado. Excited, he announced that he'd just tossed somebody off his system, someone who was prowling around with "superuser" privileges (accounts which give you access to every system file, and the ability to add, revise, or delete virtually anything). My friend said he'd seen this person -- who was using an account called "hume" -- flee back to my system.
Immediately I logged in, and there he was -- an account called "kant." At this point, I unplugged our connection to the Internet. "kant" disappeared.
We stayed off the Internet for about five days to assess the damage. We found some 40 megabytes of data on our system in the "kant" account. We learned that kant tended to use our system most in the wee hours -- from 1-4. We learned that he had connected to our computer from a terminal server at the University of California-Irvine.
The contents of his directory were eye-opening. He had programs that sniffed out system passwords (to allow him access to the system). He had programs that when he logged off, went around and erased the obvious signs of his presence. He also had huge text files that spelled out in clear, beautifully organized prose, how to "crack" almost any kind of computer system. It was a complete hacker curriculum.
After five days of work with our Provo people, we re-opened our Internet connection. We had left a lot of kant's files alone -- which we were still examining -- but thought we had plugged the obvious holes.
On Monday, July 31, 10:30 p.m., I dialed into our computer to check it just before I went to bed. He was back.
The next three hours were a little frantic. From my home, I logged kant off the system, then hurriedly looked around the system to see what he'd done this time. Almost immediately, he logged back in, under another account name, but again with superuser privileges. I threw him off again. Then he came back on as kant. I threw him off. Then I got thrown off.
Then I logged back in and this time got a message from -- one of our people in Provo. "Why are you throwing me off?" he asked.
Cautiously, we tested each other. "What's my extension?" he asked. I told him. "Who's my team leader?" I asked. He told me. I started to apologize for over-reacting, when kant came back on again. He even had the effrontery to try to strike up a side-conversation with my system support person!
Finally, our Ameritech associate shut off the Internet access through software. And over the past week, we've taken a hard look at EVERYTHING.
We've erased kant's files (then up to 61 megabytes) -- and uncovered a few other tricks that gave him access to our machine.
Every single password has been changed. We've installed a variety of operating system patches to plug some little-known bugs that can be exploited.
Here's the good news: the hacker COULD have wiped out every single file we've got. He didn't. As near as we can figure, he (and it could well be a she -- I just THINK of kant as a he) was just appropriating our $100,000 computer as his personal toy, apparently setting it up as a hacker-friendly waystation on the cracker network. He wasn't interested in any of our data (other than passwords).
Here's the bad news: although we'll be back up on the Internet by the time you read this, and although we think we have vastly improved our computer security, we've also learned that absolute system security isn't possible.
Computers are like houses -- you can make them difficult and inconvenient to break into, but there's always a way around it.
Next week: hacking and the law.
Wednesday, September 6, 1995
September 6, 1995 - why circ isn't the whole story
As an honest librarian, it's important for me to know how well (or how poorly) the library is doing. As an honest library user and taxpayer, it's important for you to know, too.
The most commonly used measure of library service is circulation -- how many items get checked out in a year. In that number, most libraries also include renewals (the same person extends the loan on an item for another three weeks).
Generally speaking, the idea is that if people are checking out MORE books than last year, the library is better. If the library is checking out fewer books, then it's getting worse.
While some fluctuations from year to year are to be expected, circulation figures are in fact fairly reliable yardsticks for library performance. A drastic increase in library circulation usually does mean the library is getting better. A drastic decline usually means that it's lost funding, or lost the knack of matching up the things patrons want with the things the library is offering, or both.
It happens that over the past five years, library use in Douglas County has increased by almost 400%. From this year to last, things have slowed down tremendously -- largely because of the deliberate change of our loan periods from 2 weeks to 3 weeks. But even with that change, overall library circulation continues to rise.
Rather than just measuring the number of checkouts, however, a better measure is to calculate circulation per capita. By this measure, the Douglas Public Library District does very well indeed -- we're second in the state, just after Boulder Public Library.
Yet another measure is the "fill rate," usually determined through a survey. This is what we're after when we hand you a survey that asks if you actually found what you came in for, or had to settle for something else.
Another traditional measure is reference services, calculated as the total number of questions the library receives and tries to answer.
By this measure, the Douglas Public Library District is still among the lesser-used public libraries in the state. It happens that my wife and I use the reference services fairly frequently -- to track down population figures, article citations, things we read in the paper that seem to us unclear or unsubstantiated, used car prices, the relative safety of infant car seats, and much, much more.
Long before the Internet, the public has had access to a staggering amount of information through the relatively old- fashioned but utterly reliable technology of a phone and a reference librarian. The number is 688-8721. Try it.
Yet another measure of library services is programming. I'm not talking about computers, here, but about story times, public lectures, and other public meetings. Here again, the Douglas Public Library District does very well, offering more children's programming on a weekly basis than many libraries offer in a month.
There are many other measures as well. How many books get used within the library, but not checked out? Are the buildings and grounds well-maintained? Do the staff speak well OF EACH OTHER?
Among the more intriguing measures of library performance is revealed by the question: What percentage of the budget goes to new materials and to staff?
The "industry standards" for this are usually 10-12% for materials, and 65-70% for staff. As a relatively young library district, we have spent between 12-14% for materials, and a little over 50% for staff -- the rest of our money has been banked for capital improvements. As time goes on, and the district matures, however, we too will have to transfer a greater percentage of this money to the people who provide all our services.
But finally, the measure that matters is the intangible measure of "reputation," both within and without the library. Perhaps the single most important factor here is simple responsiveness.
When you walk through the library's door, how long does it take to get a smile and a greeting? When you ask for a book, or have a problem, does the staff find a way to say "yes!" -- or do they give you lists of reasons why they can't provide a particular service?
The public library, like any public institution, is healthy only so long as it remains focused on its job, and stays close to the people it serves. And while I may believe that the value of the public library is immeasurable -- its performance MUST be measured if we are to know its ultimate worth.
The most commonly used measure of library service is circulation -- how many items get checked out in a year. In that number, most libraries also include renewals (the same person extends the loan on an item for another three weeks).
Generally speaking, the idea is that if people are checking out MORE books than last year, the library is better. If the library is checking out fewer books, then it's getting worse.
While some fluctuations from year to year are to be expected, circulation figures are in fact fairly reliable yardsticks for library performance. A drastic increase in library circulation usually does mean the library is getting better. A drastic decline usually means that it's lost funding, or lost the knack of matching up the things patrons want with the things the library is offering, or both.
It happens that over the past five years, library use in Douglas County has increased by almost 400%. From this year to last, things have slowed down tremendously -- largely because of the deliberate change of our loan periods from 2 weeks to 3 weeks. But even with that change, overall library circulation continues to rise.
Rather than just measuring the number of checkouts, however, a better measure is to calculate circulation per capita. By this measure, the Douglas Public Library District does very well indeed -- we're second in the state, just after Boulder Public Library.
Yet another measure is the "fill rate," usually determined through a survey. This is what we're after when we hand you a survey that asks if you actually found what you came in for, or had to settle for something else.
Another traditional measure is reference services, calculated as the total number of questions the library receives and tries to answer.
By this measure, the Douglas Public Library District is still among the lesser-used public libraries in the state. It happens that my wife and I use the reference services fairly frequently -- to track down population figures, article citations, things we read in the paper that seem to us unclear or unsubstantiated, used car prices, the relative safety of infant car seats, and much, much more.
Long before the Internet, the public has had access to a staggering amount of information through the relatively old- fashioned but utterly reliable technology of a phone and a reference librarian. The number is 688-8721. Try it.
Yet another measure of library services is programming. I'm not talking about computers, here, but about story times, public lectures, and other public meetings. Here again, the Douglas Public Library District does very well, offering more children's programming on a weekly basis than many libraries offer in a month.
There are many other measures as well. How many books get used within the library, but not checked out? Are the buildings and grounds well-maintained? Do the staff speak well OF EACH OTHER?
Among the more intriguing measures of library performance is revealed by the question: What percentage of the budget goes to new materials and to staff?
The "industry standards" for this are usually 10-12% for materials, and 65-70% for staff. As a relatively young library district, we have spent between 12-14% for materials, and a little over 50% for staff -- the rest of our money has been banked for capital improvements. As time goes on, and the district matures, however, we too will have to transfer a greater percentage of this money to the people who provide all our services.
But finally, the measure that matters is the intangible measure of "reputation," both within and without the library. Perhaps the single most important factor here is simple responsiveness.
When you walk through the library's door, how long does it take to get a smile and a greeting? When you ask for a book, or have a problem, does the staff find a way to say "yes!" -- or do they give you lists of reasons why they can't provide a particular service?
The public library, like any public institution, is healthy only so long as it remains focused on its job, and stays close to the people it serves. And while I may believe that the value of the public library is immeasurable -- its performance MUST be measured if we are to know its ultimate worth.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)