Libraries: what happens to those books?

 

"Heritage" is a word that should never be taken lightly. What was dreamed of and then built now must be torn down.  Happens all the time in America, where "eminent domain" trumps treasure. 

Old Cincinnati Public Library

                                        The little suitcases say "Public Library". 

And, then this...

AND, then this.....

                                         Parking garage and office building

"The cost of the lot and building was $383,594.53, about $7.7 million today. The Public Library contained 60,000 volumes, with an estimated capacity of 300,000. So why this building demolished? Talks for a new library building had already begun 30 years earlier when the book collection had started to outgrow the building. Books were stacked beyond reach. Ventilation was poor, the air stuffy. The paint was peeling.....

"Talks for a new library building had already begun 30 years earlier when the book collection had started to outgrow the building. Books were stacked out of reach, the 19th century ventilation system was already failing and the paint was peeling."

Past vs. Present?  Restore a building with unknown huge amounts of money? Or, build a new one?

Do you wonder what books were stacked there? They were packed and then stored until the new library was finished. Can you imagine what aged tomes might be in those boxes? 

This was originally from 2021, not that long ago.  But it strikes me that all that knowledge and history is gone.

Herd Mentality in current times.

                                                                    
                                                                          In London

Memories of farm life are many; some are intensely pleasurable and others are simply unpleasant.  Making apple butter in a caldron outside on a brisk fall day: that qualifies as pleasurable.  Anything to do with hog management qualifies as unpleasant.

One such unpleasant event was “driving hogs”, or herding the hogs into a confined area where they would be sorted by weight.  The hogs weighing 200+ lbs. were sent to market; the others were reprieved for a while. 

To herd the hogs meant that all seven of our family would start at the far end of the feed lot where the hogs grazed.  We were spaced evenly across in a line and waved our arms (usually holding long sticks) while calling “sooooooWEEE”.**

Hogs were fairly docile at the beginning, but as they reached the other end of the feed lot where they had to move to the only opening left to them, some of the hogs got suspicious.

How to understand pigs

It was usually a big burly hog with a nasty disposition.  He was the leader, and the other hogs followed him.  Blindly so.

This was the dicey part of herding.  Push too much, and the hogs bolt.  Stand back too far, and they bolt.  But, regardless, whatever that lead hog did, the others did as well.

Please forgive the way my brain works, but this segues into my thoughts for this day: The Herd Mentality.

In the February 2012 Smithsonian magazine, writer Ron Rosenbaum penned a thought-provoking article adapted from his introduction for the new edition of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William L. Shirer.  Published initially in 1960, Shirer’s book “…recalls an important point in historical consciousness…”

From Wikipedia

Shirer examined how Hitler and the ‘perfect storm’ of many factors managed to seduce an intelligent nation of Germans and lead them to do and behave in abhorrent crimes.

1961 photo of William L. Shirer from Wikipedia

There is no way to summarize Rosenbaum’s article.  Here is a closing quote from his article:

“…There is danger in giving up our sense of self-hood for the illusory unity of a frenzied mass movement, of devolving from human to herd for some homicidal abstraction.  It is a problem we can never be reminded of enough, and this this we will always owe William Shirer a debt of gratitude…”

 Have you ever sensed being part of a herd?  Do we retain our “self-hood” in this age of digital awareness? With the bombardment of advertisements, do you find yourself being prepped to purchase something, or behave a certain way?  Man.  These are really profound thoughts for us to read.

Note:  This post in no way advertises this book or advocates these writers.  The impressions and conclusions gained from reading this Smithsonian article struck me as timely and important.


**There will be a future post or two about the herding hogs experiences, as some of them were traumatizing and others amusing.  SooooWeee is a recognized hog call in the Midwest.  

If the connections seem insensitive or rude, please forgive me.  Sometimes, especially when standing in a long long line that winds across and back with posts and wire. I feel that I am being "herded".  This perspective comes from farm life and going to DisneyLand. 

This is a rewritten repost from 2018.

 

Exploring a stranger's life

Handwritten neon-green signs led Sarah down streets to the estate sale.  Let’s see—mid-1980s, neatly kept desert lawns…retirees who have moved from the busy life to the business of staying alive.

The sign and number of cars indicated that this house was the estate sale.  Sarah prepared herself for venturing into someone else’s house, someone who either no longer lived, or at least, not here.

Walking through the door told her everything, almost.  Blue and mauve was a sure sign of the late 80s.  Furniture was well worn, especially the big recliner.  The man’s recliner…Sarah thought.  He was the last to leave.

The high ceilings and fans over the dining room and the dining furniture showed the couple had been well off; no Jerome’s or MOR furniture here.  Oak, real oak—and Lenox china ware, a complete set?  Waterford lead crystal? Ireland?

Sarah passed through the kitchen with its separate dining table, a mid-century set.  Now that’s worth some money, she thought as she ran fingers along the maple.  The then much younger couple must have loved this during the 1960s.

The bedroom was a bigger story about the couple’s lives together.  Travel.  Native American artwork.  Framed movie posters lined the walls. MASH.  Hmm, they loved MASH.

Sarah began crying in the bathroom.  Hair rollers placed in a plastic bag, shower cap, and rows of nail polish lined the counter, Mabelline lipsticks in shades of red. Some were opened, laying on the counter. When did she last use these?

She picked up a purple vinyl purse and promised herself she would use it.

Then the man’s attached office told of his fascination—no, obsession with Star Trek and X-Files.  Rows of video tapes, graphic novels (comic books), and collectibles lay casually on shelves.  How long had he been amassing this stuff?

The other two bedrooms had been her rooms.  Loved dolls, giraffes, Hallmark special Christmas ornaments.  His room was all Sci-Fi and her rooms were filled with a soft love.

The garage was the final stop.  It told the final chapter.  Sarah’s eyes watered as she held rusted hammer and tools, beheld the walker and raised bathroom seat, and saw “50 cents” attached to one golf club.  It was too much to bear.

She paid for the purse, 25% off the $5.00, and hurried away from the house. Inside her car, Sarah opened the purse and appreciated its construction.

In one zipped pouch was a scrap of paper.  It read, “Pick up t-bone steak for dinner.”  It was for him.  Sarah found a tissue and wiped her eyes.