PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS (continued 2)

I am afraid that if there were any nice thoughtful benignant way of taking each librarian in this great mass meeting, of all the librarians there are, one side and whispering to him quietly, "Oh, but you know I do not mean YOU," I would probably do it!

But being driven to it and being faced out this way as I am today, two or three thousand to one, there seems to be nothing for it but to face the music and to look you in the eye a minute and say once for all, "I DO mean you, I mean each of you and all of you," and I accuse you of not taking immediate, powerful and conclusive steps to convince donors of libraries and the public of the rights of librarians, of your right to perform your duties under decent, spiritual conditions as members of a high and spirited calling, as professional men and women, as artists and as fellow human beings and not as overworked, under-assisted, weary servants of books.

The charges against the library donors and managers that I brought out in my new book "Crowds," more particularly the chapters, "Mr. Carnegie speaks up," and "Mr. Carnegie tries to make people read," are charges that are going to be answered most successfully by people who admit that they are largely true and who will then proceed tomorrow, before everybody, to turn them into lies. The sooner the librarians and trustees and public men of this country proceed to make what I am saying today about public libraries hopelessly ridiculous and out-of-date, the sooner I will be happy.

If I were to move into a strange community and wanted to be a valuable citizen in it, the first thing I would do would be to go to the public library and ask the librarians and their assistants this question, "Who are the interesting boys in this town?"

If the librarians could tell me I would linger around, and in one way or another, get acquainted with those boys, follow them up and see what I could do to connect them with the men with the books, and ideas and ambitions and opportunities that belong to them.

If the librarians could not give me a list of such boys I would ask them why.

If they told me that they had not time to attend to such things I would ask the trustees why.

If the trustees had not selected librarians naturally interested in boys and books and had not provided such librarians with the necessary assistants so they would have time and spirit to do such things I would turn to the people and I would challenge the people to elect trustees for their library who knew what a library was for.

I sometimes think of the librarian in a town as the Mayor Of What People Think, and if he does not have time to read books and to love ideas and inventions in himself and in other people and does not take time to like boys and get the ideas and boys together, he cannot be in a town where he lives, a good Mayor Of What People Think.

We shall never have great libraries in the United States until the typical librarian exalts his calling and takes his place in our modern life seriously—as the ruler of our civilization, the creator of the environment of a nation and as the dictator of the motives and ideals of cities, the discoverer of great men and the champion of the souls of the people.

I candidly ask you all: What is there that can be done in America in the way of letting librarians keep on being folks?

One almost wishes that all the members of the library association of America would write to Andrew Carnegie, snow him under with letters from the nation, asking him to try the experiment of having at least one of his libraries in the United States fitted up as elaborately and as elegantly with librarians as it is with dumb waiters, marble pillars, book racks and umbrella stands.

When we go into a library—some of us—we want to feel our minds being gently exposed to cross-fertilization. We may not want librarians to throw themselves at us—come down plump into our minds the minute we enter whether or no, but we do want when we come into a library to be able to find (if we steal around a little), eager, contagious, alluring librarians who can make people read books and from whom people cannot get away without reading books. Every library ought to be supplied with at least one librarian in each department, stuck all over with books, like burrs, so that nobody can touch him or be near him without carrying away a book on him that he's got to read and that he will long to read and will read until somebody drives him to bed!

Faithfully yours,

GERALD STANLEY LEE.

Northampton, Mass.

Greetings and good wishes to the men and women who hold the keys:

I saw in England, last year, a very old library where the books are chained to the shelves. They have always been chained there; at first because they were valuable and human nature was weak, and now to preserve the tradition. But in general, either because the value of books is less or because human nature is less weak, we trust our public with its books unchained. The shelves of most libraries, I understand, are open freely and the loss of books is small—small enough to be disregarded, you tell me, in relation to the general good.

And not only is the public freely admitted. In Northampton I have seen, many times, the books put on wheels and traveling out to the public; they are in a kind of clothes-basket set on a truck with tiny wheels; and the janitor trundles the truck to the trolley, and the trolley carries the books to Leeds or Florence or Williamsburg, it may be—I do not know their destination. I only see them traveling away on wheels. This is only A-B-C to all of you. Most of you could tell me much more interesting things that libraries are doing. Some of you have already seen that it is not enough to put the books on wheels and trundle them out to the public, but that the public itself must be followed and captured. You tell me that in the future the library that would be really up-to-date must catch its readers where it can and chain books to them.

Presently we shall need wings to follow life and bring it back to its books. For life moves swiftly; and you who hold the keys and who are putting books on wheels and sending them out will not stop till the life in books and the life of the world are come together again. Presently we shall all work for this. You have freed the books, you have sent them out, you have reached out to give them to us freely. Presently you will unlock the books themselves and open the pages; and the time when a child studied only a few books will belong to the past; the living use of books will be a part of the life of every child that is born into the world. Presently we shall all work together for this—with you who hold the keys.

JENNETTE LEE.

New York, N. Y., April 3rd, 1913.

I'd like to do as you request—but I have no facts to contribute. I feel sure that the public library is doing much to improve dramatic taste—but I can't adduce any evidence.

Yours truly,

BRANDER MATTHEWS.

Philadelphia, Pa.

The librarian's constant difficulty is now, what shall a library try to collect, what shall it keep? This has become a grave question. Being myself book greedy, a gourmand of print, I am a poor judge of what to reject.

Soon or late the average man, who is presumed to represent common sense, will ask, "What is the use of these accumulations of books?" This average man can never consider a library with comment of imagination. A book is for him a book, whereas for you or me a book is a saint, a hero, a martyr, a fool, a seraph of light bearing science. Let us drop him with a word of scorn. We shall not ever understand one another. Nor would he have the faith in books of that Samonicus who, for the cure of a tertian fever in the Emperor Gordian, ordered the fourth book of the Iliad to be applied to the head of the patient. That has long puzzled me—why the fourth? But Mr. Average awaits a quotation. A voice out of the splendid day of Elizabeth shall say it: "Sir, he hath not fed of the dainties that are bred of a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink."

S. WEIR MITCHELL.

The Nation,

New York City, May 5th, 1913.

I fear you must be charging me with discourtesy for delaying so long my reply to your letter of April 19th. I have in fact had the intention of writing to you rather fully on the subject of public libraries and best sellers, for use in your conference in Kaaterskill. One obligation after another, however, has kept me from doing this and now I can only express to you briefly my conviction that the public library ought by no means to undertake "to supply all the best sellers hot from the press." It has always seemed to me that the office of any institution such as the library is as much to direct and restrain public taste as it is to supply what is demanded.

With regret that I cannot reply at greater length to your flattering request for my opinion, I am

Very truly yours,

PAUL E. MORE, Editor.

Washington, D. C., May 17, 1913.

When your letter came I was, I believe, away from home. At least I never had an opportunity to answer it until just now, having been absent a good deal since its date. Although you do not set the time of the coming conference, I assume that it is not too late to answer your question and I am writing now simply to acknowledge receipt of your letter. I will, however, say that I believe that the circulation of fiction by our public libraries does help to enlighten the people on all problems whatsoever, for, in the first place, fiction contains many of the standard novels which certainly have a tendency for good; and secondly, however trashy novels are, in the main they have an educating effect.

Yours very truly,

THOMAS NELSON PAGE.

4 Newbury Street, Boston, Mass., April 29, 1913.

I cannot better comply with your request (made on behalf of the American Library Association) than by giving you a leaf from my own experience of twenty-five years, as President or managing director of a rural library, which serves the public in a mountain town where I chiefly reside, and yet is a private institution, receiving no aid whatever from town or state. And my message is to libraries of small means and resources, so situated that trained librarians or assistants are not to be had.

We have by this time about 5,000 volumes, all obtained through gift or purchase, of which less than half are works of fiction; and the list, on the whole, includes most standard works. From one benefactor we have a good stone building, erected last year upon a lot of our own; and by the time the testamentary provision of another benefactor takes effect hereafter we shall have an endowment fund ample enough to place our institution upon a permanent footing of liberal expenditure. Hitherto our annual income has been small and met by life memberships, special entertainments and personal gifts, in which summer visitors and the townspeople combine.

In order that our books should be classified but without too much effort I introduced, some years ago, the following scheme: A, denotes works of fiction; B, biography, history, travels, etc.; C, poetry, essays and miscellaneous; P, periodicals and pamphlets (by bound volumes or in cases); R, books of reference. Juvenile books under these respective heads are marked by an added J.

We have no card catalog and find our patrons served more to their liking, and perhaps more economically, by issuing printed lists, frequently, which give the author and the title simply; the number, and letter, as printed, indicating the subject. About 1905 a pamphlet catalog was brought out which gave our list complete to that date. Since that time, supplement lists have been printed at convenience; while the latest books are always posted in the library on written sheets. When the supplements become sufficiently numerous we expect to issue a second full pamphlet catalog; and so on. We cannot pay for expert assistance to keep up a card catalog properly, with our present means; and what our patrons most want is to have individual printed lists that they can readily consult.

About 90 per cent of our circulation consists of A or AJ books, but we try to increase the demand for the B and C books. So, too, the books most eagerly sought are those last added, but we encourage the reading of standard authors wherever we may.

Yours very truly,

JAMES SCHOULER.

Indianapolis, Ind., April 24, 1913.

"Is the fiction circulated by our public libraries helping to enlighten the people on social and economic problems?"

George Meredith, in a letter written in 1884, said:

"I think that all right use of life, and the one secret of life, is to pave ways for the firmer footing of those who succeed us.... Close knowledge of our fellows, discernment of the laws of existence, these lead to great civilization. I have supposed that the novel, exposing and illustrating the natural history of man, may help us to such sustaining roadside gifts."

Merely "entertaining" fiction is comparable to vaudeville or to tight-rope walking; its use may be to amuse the tired laborer of all sorts; its overuse, however, tends to become a habit and produce flaccid minds. Save for this, all fiction which depends on "plot"—always a hash of used meats—or on farcical or melodramatic "situation," is almost negligible. But on the whole, and because of this flaccidity, I believe, it would be a good thing if all merely "entertaining" fiction could be destroyed.

A very small portion of that fiction which is produced by artists seeking to know and reveal life, deals with economic problems. Except for the work of a few writers (Mr. H. G. Wells, for instance,—he includes economic discussions) it concerns itself with social relations and "the natural history of man." Its circulation must certainly help to enlighten people upon social problems. Here I must fail you, for I do not know what type of fiction has the circulation you mean; the most general circulation, I take it. A novel is helpful as it is a revelation of truth; it is always harmful when it is written from a false or assumed point-of-view; it is very likely to be harmful when it is founded upon shallow observation or a cocksure philosophy. Most of the fiction produced in our country today is founded upon nothing except the desire to circulate; therefore it shouldn't!

Very sincerely yours,

BOOTH TARKINGTON.

Elizabeth, N. J., May 16, 1913.

The question you ask is not debatable. The public library is among the foremost aids the American boy has today. As great a help as the library is the librarian. Much depends upon his personal interest, enthusiasm, judgment, appreciation of the book and the boy. "The man behind the book," provides the power.

Librarians undoubtedly are a help not only to the boy, but to the writer of boy's books. But like all other classes there are librarians and librarians. Some are efficient, some too theoretical, some visionary, some without the capacity to understand the normal boy, and a few are deficient. As far as I have observed, the limitations of the librarians are not so much in their knowledge of books as in their understanding of boys. Every profession has its special peril. The minister may become dogmatic, the judge autocratic. The peril of the purely bookish man is that of becoming a prig. The pre-conceived opinion of what a boy ought to be sometimes prevents the discovery of what he really is. Among some there is a tendency to magnify the unusual boy at the expense of the normal boy. Such librarians would confer a benefit if they would discover what has become of the prodigies of our boyhood.

It is sometimes forgotten that boys must be led into better reading, not forcibly transplanted. There are steps and stages in this journey as in every other. A taste for good reading is something to be cultivated, not forced. A healthy boy has about the same appetite for observing the ready-made opinions of his superiors that he has for donning the made-over garments of his ancestors. Many librarians understand the boy as well as the book. The combination is fruitful, and divorce here has its own penalty as well as elsewhere. If the American boy (as in many places he is) can be made to feel that the librarian as well as the library are for his benefit, a double good will result.

Cordially,

EVERETT T. TOMLINSON.

Arlington, Mass., May 29, 1913.

In reply to the question proposed to me by your Association, "Is the public library helping the boy to become a useful man?" I reply emphatically in the affirmative. Of course, the degree of helpfulness must depend largely upon the library, and still more upon the character of the boy. To one of low tastes, with no ambition beyond the hour's indulgence, the finest library will have little meaning; but to one having a thirst for knowledge, and aspirations for self-improvement, access to any fairly well chosen collection of books cannot but prove of inestimable service in stimulating and developing his nobler qualities. My own early experience convinces me of this. In my recollections of a backwoods boyhood ("My Own Story," pages 44-46) I have told something of my indebtedness of a small subscription library, in which were found the works of a few great writers, among those Byron, Shakespeare, Plutarch, Cooper, and Scott, and a History of England, which was the first book I turned to after reading "Ivanhoe." The world was transformed for me by the poets and romancers that smiled on me from those obscure shelves. I repeat here what I once wrote of that golden opportunity of my boyhood. The town has a vastly more attractive and comprehensive library today; but the value of such an institution depends, after all, upon what we ourselves bring to it. The few books that nourish vitally the eager mind are better than richly furnished alcoves amid which we browse languidly and loiter with indifference. This is true alike of the boy and the man.

JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.

Toledo, Ohio, May 14, 1913.

You ask, "Is the public library a factor in the recent development of a public conscience?"

I suppose that by the term public conscience you mean that undoubted quickening of the public sense, shall we say public decency?—which America has felt in the last ten years, though as yet it has undertaken no fundamental reforms, and is too apt to degenerate into a mere hue and cry after some individual whom it would make a scape-goat for the sins of the people.

Now, in the development of this feeling, or of this public conscience, it is doubtful whether the public library has been much of a factor. It depends altogether upon the librarian. There are a few instances, no doubt, in which the public library has had this effect, and there are many librarians in the country who, as wise and intelligent men like yourself, are interested in vital subjects, and therefore able to interest others in them. By a judicious exposure of books these subjects are made so inviting and so attractive that the patrons of the library are led on and on in an ever widening exploration of the subject. The library does offer to any one who wishes to make inquiry the opportunity of gratifying his desires, and in this way it no doubt exercises a considerable influence. There is a profound and tremendous influence, silent and indirect, from its mere existence, its mere presence, which must do good in a city, just as in a home in which there are many books, even though they were never read, there is the atmosphere of culture. The librarian, however, should be a sort of teacher, helping the public mind, assisting in the development of the public conscience, for I fear that the public, if left to themselves, would rather read the six best sellers, and in the realm of general ideas engage, to recall a phrase of Henry James "in the exercise of skipping."

Yours sincerely,

BRAND WHITLOCK.