Under the Sun
Reading between the lines
-- and at the public libraryAROUND this time of the year, the credit card company sends me a list of all the transactions recorded the previous year, a sort of jolting excursion down a memory lane of consumerism.
For me, its a catalogue of how wisely or unwisely I've unburdened myself of my paycheck. For John Ashcroft and cohorts at his now-misnamed Justice Department, it's a fingerprint of a potential terrorist.
I'm not worried. If the government's so-called intelligence experts were to poke their noses into my beeswax -- as they'd like to do with every person in America -- they'd rate me green on the color scale of threats to homeland security. I've bought fertilizer, but I don't think Osmocote can be converted into an explosive device. They'd see I have no weapons of destruction, mass or minuscule, unless I were to pack the trowel I got at the Garden Exchange in my luggage.
The only other buying habit of note would be the amount I pay out for books and publications. From that, the snoops could safely guess that I'm not one of the 800,000 Hawaii residents who have a library card.
I did as a kid. Signing up for a card seemed a thrilling rite of passage into citizenry. You were allowed to take home a book owned by everyone as long as you returned it within a given period. A little while later, I found out that children were limited to borrowing from only a few sections, which seemed like a gyp. On occasion, braving the disapproval of the shushing librarian, I'd sneak into the adult collections, the forbidden fruit too alluring to leave unexplored.
Most of the material was over my head, but one fat book I pulled down didn't seem too difficult for a 7-year-old. It began, "The Salinas Valley is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into Monterey Bay."
There was only one word, "swale," that was unfamiliar and I figured I could look it up. I put the book in the middle of a stack of selections to borrow, hoping the librarian wouldn't notice it was from the adult section. Of course, I was busted. No way would the librarian let a kid read "East of Eden."
I forgot about the John Steinbeck classic until my early teenage years. Strolling through the stacks, I saw the title again and borrowed it. I must have read that book three or four times before taking it back, overdue by at least a week. When I started earning my own money, it was one of the first books I bought. I've replaced that copy several times over the years and pick it up to reread from time to time, which is one reason I buy books rather than borrow them from the library.
Others may not have that choice. That's why public libraries are so important, one of the essentials of American society. They are storehouses of human knowledge available to anyone who hasn't abused the privilege.
The Internet can serve up research material when you know what you're looking for, but when your brain is hungry for something new and you don't know exactly what, a library lets you explore.
Public libraries cost money, and right now there isn't enough to keep them open beyond 40 hours a week. State librarian Virginia Lowell told the Star-Bulletin last week that the new schedules will be built on public usage, but reducing hours obviously will hurt those who can least afford to pay for books and Internet access.
To raise funds, Lowell suggested that state tax return forms include a little check box so that those inclined can designate a dollar or two to go exclusively to public libraries. However, if the libraries get a check box, other worthwhile agencies may seek similar designations, creating a mess of public finances.
On second thought, maybe that's not a bad idea. At least we'd have a choice. I wouldn't check the box for Ashcroft's paycheck.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin for 25 years.
She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.