30 hour work week

There was a time, not long ago, that whenever I went on vacation, I immediately got sick. There are, I imagine, both physiological and psychological reasons for that.

When you travel, you get exposed to a larger germ pool. Psychologically, the reason you're on a vacation in the first place is because you're running out of reserves. Add the two together, and you may as well tape a little shingle of cardboard outside your sinuses, visible only to malicious microorganisms: "Kick me."

Well, this time, I'm pleased to report, my family vacation was surprisingly healthy. Despite a regional heat index (temperature plus humidity) of approximately 150 degrees, and one incident when we had to strip Perry (our four month old) down to diapers and sprinkle him with ice water, we all managed to have a very interesting and completely illness-free time. My wife and I have both long had an itch to see New England, and we finally got a chance to scratch it.

This time, I got sick when I got back.

It was no biggie, mind, just a summer flu that put me flat out for about three days. But while I was lying around, I got to thinking about our whole pattern of work, play, and worker health in the United States.

I've thought for a long time that much of what's wrong with America has a relatively easy fix. Put simply, I think it's time for us to adopt the 30 hour work week.

This idea isn't as wild as you may imagine. In fact, it has already garnered a great deal of international support. Unions in England, France, Italy, the United States, and even West Germany have all discussed and endorsed it.

Their reasons vary. The French and Germans (according to a piece in the October 27, 1993 issue of the Washington Post) argue that it would enable them to put more people to work at little increase in cost. Incidentally, that was exactly the same line of logic used here in the United States during the Depression, when we went from a six to a five day work week, then found it impossible -- and unnecessary -- to go back.

Some of the West German and American supporters took what may first appear a surprising stance: the 30 hour work week would both increase productivity and provide more leisure time for shopping.

According to an article in the January, 1994 issue of Managers Magazine, numerous studies have demonstrated that reducing both the work week and the work day quite frequently result in big increases in productivity. Why? The article's author suggests some oft-observed realities: "less stress, less absenteeism, less turnover, less personal business during work hours, and lower costs."

Despite all of the above, the truth is that more Americans are working LONGER hours each week than they have in fifty years. Add to this the creeping cost of housing, and you have a situation where grown-ups just don't have much time to spend raising their children. Or surely, not enough time.

Imagine making a living salary, or even enough to support house payments, in 30 hours a week. For a couple, that would free up at least 10 hours per parent per week. As I have noted here before, a national PTA study several years ago found that the average mother spends less than half an hour per day of direct time with each child; fathers, less than 15 minutes. Imagine re-investing that 10 hours of former work time in something of even greater value.

I believe this change will happen, perhaps as soon as the next ten years. And at first, no doubt, the 30 hour work week will prove more expensive: more people, more benefits, for the same total number of "man-hours."

But in very short order, I am confident that we Americans will again demonstrate our astonishing capacity for increased productivity, making the shorter work week a successful investment in both the economic and the cultural infrastructure of our nation.

December 15, 1993 - crazy

"This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God." - Walt Whitman#

Sometimes, you read a slew of apparently unrelated texts, and realize abruptly that all of them are talking about the same thing.

Item: Molly Ivins' latest and often hilarious book, "Nothin' but Good Times Ahead." One of her pieces deals with the homeless, particularly the homeless population resulting from a "brave liberal experiment" called de-institutionalization. In the 60s and 70s, thousands of mentally ill people were released from what Ivins called their "incarceration" in various big state hospitals.

Ivins says that the failure of this program -- which she doesn't dispute -- was in large part because the second half of it called for the increased funding of local mental health centers. That never happened.

Item: a novella by Colorado author Dan Simmons, called "Sleeping with Teeth Women." The story is based on the legends and social history of the Lakota Sioux. Simmons describes how the Sioux honored even the "winkte" -- homosexuals -- and the "contraries," or people who behaved in an opposite fashion to all others members of the tribe. While most "self-respecting braves" wouldn't care to be either, the Sioux tribe nonetheless considered these variations from the norm to be "wakan" -- holy. They also had the deepest regard for dreams and visions.

Item: my wife, who spent some time on a scholarship in the old Soviet Union, told me about the Russian "holy fools." Before the Soviet revolution, the people fed, cared for, and even revered these people. How did you spot a Holy Fool? Well, if a man walked naked through the streets in the Russian winter and seemed unbothered by the arctic chill, he was obviously "touched" -- touched by God, or so the people believed.

Now maybe this is what comes of too much reading, but I can't help but notice something odd. Contraries, holy fools, and the touched have always been with us. In the past, at least in some cultures, we respected them.

But in today's more enlightened age, we view them with fear. As Molly Ivins puts it, we recoil from them as if their condition were contagious.

Of course, some people, for whatever reason, really are dangerous. And if they are violent, if they cause harm to another, surely the people collectively have the moral right to do something about it. Causing real physical harm to someone else is criminal. We put criminals in prisons, or sometimes, in hospitals.

But that issue -- when, whether, or where to put them -- isn't always clear. On the one hand, there are sometimes chemical causes for odd behavior. It may also be true that other kinds of strange but non-violent behavior are chemically caused.

On the other hand, many scientists, artists, musicians, poets, and even saints just didn't or don't act like regular folks. Do our educational, social service, medical or legal establishments have the wisdom to determine -- in the ABSENCE of any violent behavior -- that such people should be caged, whether it be behind bars, or behind potent drugs?

It's probably the case that no two of us could agree about just what "holiness" means -- or if it means anything at all. But I can't shake the suspicion that if the genuine article showed up -- real live holy men or women -- most Americans wouldn't have the wit to recognize it.

Or if we did, we'd soon find a way to punish them.

November 23, 1993

I have written in the past about something librarians call "patron confidentiality."

There are a few exceptions, but most of the time, we are constrained by statute and general professional principles to hold information about your reading habits as strictly confidential: it's a private matter, between you and us.

I've held workshops at each of our branches to discuss this issue, and the branch managers and staff have tried to maintain the highest standards of confidentiality.

But about the time we really got everybody on the same wavelength about this, we began to run into problems. Some of our patrons got mad at us.

There are two circumstances.

The first is the thoughtful spouse who wants to pick up a book for his wife. He stops at the desk and asks if anything new has come in for her. The problem is, even if there is, we're not supposed to tell him.

We recognize that almost all of the time, the book is probably nothing more controversial or private than the latest mystery. It could be that neither party would object to us sharing this information, and might even appreciate it.

On the other hand, as I've written before, the book could be, "How to Give a Surprise Birthday Party for your Husband." Or it could be, "How to Divorce Your Abusive Husband." Either way, we'd hate to spoil the surprise.

But we do offer some options. If you want us to check out something, or answer questions about what someone in your family has checked out, just make sure you have the right library card. We will cheerfully hand over books reserved by your spouse if you've got your spouse's card. We take that as tacit approval.

Another option is to have us post a note in our computer that you don't mind if your husband or wife picks up your books. Then all we have to do is to dip in to the computer to verify your agreement -- a matter of a few moments.

The second circumstance, and a trickier one, is letting parents have access to information about what their kids are reading.

In public schools, parents have the right to examine any records regarding their children's performance. That includes library use. But that law is very specific: it includes only public schools, not public libraries.

Library law, on the other hand, doesn't indicate that children are in any respect different from adults when it comes to intellectual privacy.

At our library, usually the only reason parents ask about their children's reading is because they're trying to get everything back on time. We appreciate that. And again, usually the books we're talking about aren't anything unusual. They're books on subjects being covered in school, or popular juvenile fiction. Standard fare.

But suppose the child is reading about something that she isn't ready to talk with her parents about yet? Maybe she's reading about the effects of drugs because one of her friends is doing them. Or maybe she's reading about menstruation, because she's too embarrassed to talk about that with her folks. Or maybe she's reading about a young girl whose parents are divorcing, just like hers.

On the other hand, if a child loses a book, parents have to pay for it. That's something parents agree to right up front, when they sign for their child's card. So isn't it reasonable to say that if parents are paying for it, they have a right to know what the book is BEFORE they discover it's lost?

Please understand: there isn't a soul who works at the library who wants for an instant to come between parents and their children. If anything, we would hope that parents and their children regularly discuss the things they read together.

But this question is a real one: do children have no right to intellectual privacy at all? If they do, don't libraries have to respect it?

So parents, please understand that when we hesitate to just "reveal all," we aren't being obstructionist, bureaucratic, or pointlessly stubborn. We're trying to balance our need to obey the law and respect our patron's intellectual privacy, with our sincere desire to offer you hassle-free service.

Sometimes, as you can see, that's harder than it looks.

October 20, 1993 - gruesome stories

Please understand that my daughter Maddy, now 6 years old, is a sweet, loving little girl.

I can't remember which book it was - some Grimm Brothers tale, I think. I do remember that the end was a little gory, surprisingly so. But once you start reading a story like this, there's no graceful way to get out of it, so I barreled ahead. If she's upset, I thought, then we'll talk about it. It's a technique that works for us.

Finally, I closed the book, and looked at Maddy carefully. "What did you think of this story?" I asked her. She grinned. "Gruesome," she said. "But good."

And speaking of sometimes spooky stories with occasionally horrible endings, Douglas County is now engaged in the campaigning that precedes a general election. For the first time, that election includes the School Board. In my opinion, it's been fascinating: there are some real alternatives, real choices for the citizenry, and I've heard some thought-provoking arguments on all sides. I've also heard some utterly fanciful tales that were nonetheless entertaining. But one of these days -- November 2, in fact -- the people will declare an end to the campaign storytelling.

For those of you seeking an earlier end: early voting, courtesy of the Douglas County Clerk and Recorder's Office, will be available at the meeting room of the Philip S. Miller Library in Castle Rock. The dates: from Tuesday, October 12, through Friday, October 29. The hours: 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.

The School District predicts that as many as 20,000 people will be voting in this election. If you've made up your mind on the issues and candidates, and want to avoid the crowds at your local precinct, why wait?

In a way, admittedly skewed, political campaigning is a Halloween program for adults -- a celebration of masks, costumes, and various tricks 'n' treats. But as one of the only public institutions with something for people of all ages, the library district feels an obligation to offer a program for children, too.

Our gruesome -- but good -- Halloween storytelling sessions are entitled, "Stories for the Fainthearted," and "Stories for the Stouthearted." The first session will be held at the Parker Library on October 27. The second will be held at the Philip S. Miller Library on October 28. At both places, the spooky stories will begin at 7 p.m. -- that's for the "Stories for the Fainthearted." Younger children are welcome; the stories are appropriate for children as young as 3.

At 7:30, both locations, the Stories for the Stouthearted" will begin. These are for kids ages 5 and up. It happens that the district has two very talented storytellers. Priscilla Queen of Parker will be featured, as well as Carol Foreman, of Castle Rock. At our other branches, there will be other activities. The Oakes Mill Library, in addition to its Spooky Share the night of October 28, will feature its traditional pumpkin decorating contest, and sponsor a UNICEF program on Halloween safety at 3 p.m., Saturday, October 30. At Highlands Ranch, be sure to check out the staff costumes on Halloween; they're a hoot.

Sometimes, at least around Halloween, I think the real appeal of scary stories is purely seasonal: the shiver on the inside echoes the shiver on the outside. That delicious chill just makes it all the more satisfying to reach for our blankets and settle in for a nice long snooze.

Of course, I don't mean politically. I think.

October 6, 1993 - memory and silly reference questions

At last week's dedication of the Josephine Marr Research Room, I said that in many ways, a community is like a single body. Historians, I said, are its eyes and ears.

What, then, is the role of the public library? Simple. We are the community's memory.

It's true. The library is where you go to find all the things you wish you could remember: the headline from a couple of weeks ago, the study cited in a news magazine, the controversial new book, or even the event you attended, but only saw a piece of. The whole focus of librarianship is to provide an unfailingly swift and precise recollection of the past.

It's not easy.

First, we have to accurately describe the thing to be remembered. Next, we need to work out a strategy for retrieving it. Then, we need to set up all of the necessary apparatus and links to allow someone to identify and use the strategy, and thereby reliably fetch the relevant information.

The ironic thing about all of this is that I'm as nearly amnesiac a person as you'll find. To be brutally honest, I'm not sure I should be trusted with the community memory.

Just a few months ago, I stepped out of a restaurant on Wilcox Street, looked up at the Rock, and for maybe 5#D10 seconds, I truly didn't know who or where I was. The scary thing is, I kind of liked it. For that slice of a minute, I was utterly free.

But all this means that I understand why most people really need a public library. Here's proof. I just got a list of genuine reference questions from someone who works at the Queens Public Library in New York. This guy swears (and I believe him) that people have strolled in and asked, "Do you have":

"The Hound of the Basketballs?"

"The Wrath of Grapes?"

"Hard Times, by Moby Dick?"

"The Scarlet Pumpernickel?"

"The Taming of the Screw?"

"An English translation of the novels of William Shakespeare?"

"A recent photograph of Abraham (the Old Testament Patriarch)?"

"A biography of that great Black Feminist, Martha Luther King?"

"The Homer, by Odyssey?"

"Cliff Notes on Jane Eyre, by Charles Bronson?"

"The King James Version, by Genesis?"

"A biography of Perry Mason?"

Here are three other memorable reference questions:

(1) "Happy Hanukkah" means "Merry Christmas" in what language?

(2) "My mother wants to become an American citizen. How can I get my mother neutralized?"

And finally, (3) "I've heard of Malcolm the Tenth. What happened to the first nine?"

Given the evidence, the problem is clear. In brief: I'm not alone. Most of us are lucky we can remember our names, much less anything that happened any time before a few seconds ago.

Fortunately, your local library employs a good many people whose memories are way better than mine (not that that would be especially difficult). Besides, we can always look it up.

So if you've got questions, just give your local library a call. You'd be surprised what we remember.

Hey, somebody's got to.

September 29, 1993 - books lies and videotapes

Like people in every other profession, librarians make some bad calls.

Back about the time the phonograph record debuted, there was a lot of talk about how this would completely revolutionize our library collections. The modern librarian, pundits declared, shouldn't hesitate to sweep out the books - those musty, dusty remnants of antiquity.

In their place would be tightly packed stacks of phonograph albums, because from now on, people would read books by listening to them. Why, some day soon, there might be phonograph-playing devices in every household!

Not too many years later, we went through the same kind of thing with 16 millimeter films.

Now, as we close out the 20th century, those libraries that built up big collections of phonographs and 16 mm films are, if not exactly sweeping them out, very definitely getting rid of them. Why? Well, there are lots of reasons, but the main one is that the technology that supported them isn't around anymore. The turntable has given way to the CD player; the 16 mm film projector to the VCR. On the other hand, the technology for reading a book (at least one working hand and one working eye) is still pretty much the same as it was a couple thousand years ago.

I'm not saying that those libraries were wrong to collect albums and films. But two lessons jump out at the disinterested student of library history:

1) the book has remarkable staying power, and

2) few other formats are likely to endure so long.

By far the majority of the purchases - and the uses - of Douglas Public Library District are books. Just this year (from January through August) about 70 percent of the new materials were hardback books. Together, they accounted for almost 75 percent of what got checked out. About a third of those, by the way, were books for very young children. (Thank you, moms!)

After that, though, things start to get interesting. A little over 17 percent of our new items this year were magazines, although they accounted for only 3.61 percent of our checkouts. Does that mean we shouldn't buy so many periodicals? No, because magazines are almost always the most current source of information. Too, the numbers are deceiving: a lot of magazines are used in-house, but not necessarily checked out.

Nearly 5 percent of the items added to the collection this year have been videos. While we have tried to place a strong emphasis on educational materials, we have given more than a nod to classic films, and book-related videos for children. They're popular: videos made up over 10 percent of what people actually checked out this year.

The next biggest number for new items added (4.74%) was audiocassettes: mostly unabridged books on tape. They accounted for 5.76% of our checkouts.

A mere 3.47% of our new items were paperbacks. But they accounted for even more business than our cassettes: a tad over 6 percent.

What am I driving at with all of these numbers? Mostly, I find that I'm comforted that books are still our primary draw. And I think that the surge in audiocassettes is fine too: unlike phonographs, audiocassettes really are used as substitutes for books, mostly by people who do a lot of driving.

But about those videos ... I can't help but wonder if they will prove any more long-lived in the popular mind or public shelves than phonograph albums. It's also a caution to us: we need to take care not to duplicate what's available at your local video store. There are a lot more of them than there are of us, and we need to stay focused.

And I see I haven't even touched on music CDs. Here at the library, we're still trying to figure out how much of a commitment we want to make to that format. Buying just a few CDs doesn't really offer much to our community. But buying a lot of them undercuts our ability to keep the shelves stocked with books.

And books - those magnificent, durable, wildly popular books - are still what we're really all about.

September 8, 1993 - charter school philosophy

I'll say this about my dad. When I was in college, he never once told me what I ought to study. But when it was all over, and I had graduated with the preposterously unlikely triple major of philosophy, creative writing, and business law, he did ask me, politely enough, just what I intended to do with it.

For a moment, I was stumped. Finally, I told him, "Argue eloquently in bars." But it turns out that philosophy is a terrific grounding for any profession. Why? Because if you can ask the question, "Why?" -- and make an honest stab at answering it -- then you can do anything.

Don't underestimate the power of philosophy. Even today, especially in the prestigious eastern universities, physics is called "natural philosophy." Philosophy's questioning spirit is the mother of all knowledge.

Philosophy can make you nervous, but it will never make you comfortable. So what's the point? Socrates said it first: "The unexamined life is not worth living." If you study philosophy, and if you're serious about it, your life will never be dull. Three little letters -- w, h, y -- will keep you forever on your guard.

There's an oddball glory to philosophic debate, too. And I've always been willing to pick up either side -- although I generally prefer the side I don't believe, because I learn so much more that way. It's harder work than just repackaging my prejudices.

And speaking of debates, I happened to attend the school board meeting on September 1. At this meeting, the School Board unanimously approved the formation of the state's second charter school. Philosophically speaking, it was a good debate, which means that both school board members and charter school enthusiasts had to do some head-scratching. But many good points were made. A key discovery of the evening was that the school district was giving to the Academy Charter school just exactly as much funding per pupil as they give to all of their other schools. As Superintendent Rick O'Connell put it, "No more, no less." The school district opted for fairness.

On the other hand, the district wanted to charge the charter school for administrative advice, which they clearly don't do with their own schools. It is true that district staff and the school board put in a lot of hours on this one -- but not nearly as many as the charter school people. And you can't charge extra just to comply with the law.

But despite a few moments of tenseness, everybody did what they were supposed to do: get involved in public education, ask some questions, defend some answers, try something new, and ultimately, make a difference.

In short, I believe this excellent example of good public debate -- to a refreshingly packed house -- resulted in a product better than either party could have accomplished alone.

Incidentally, the strong interest in charter schools around the county and state has sparked two library-related acquisitions. There is now a reference copy of the 600-page Academy Charter School application at each of our Philip S. Miller, Parker, Oakes Mill, and Highlands Ranch libraries.

In addition, the Colorado Department of Education has offered to send us a special collection of materials relating to charter schools. We'll house them at our Oakes Mill library, which has developed something of a specialty in education.

Remember: this whole idea of charter schools started as a deceptively simple philosophic question. Why shouldn't parents have more of a say in which educational experiment their children are part of?

Three little letters -- they can pack a lot of power.