Transition

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Several days ago I finished six weeks of daily hyperbaric oxygen treatment in the hope of mending some of the radiation damaged tissue which led to the fistula that  in two years has not totally healed. Previously I’d been hospitalized for 10 days and had weeks of recovery.  Days, weeks, months — to long with medical issues defining my days.  I feel liberated.  I don’t know if there was any healing from the hyperbaric treatments but my psychological state has been lifted.

I made a list of old and new projects, things I want or need to do.  I’ve begun a return to my three prong schedule — daily routines and house keeping, retirement and house projects, relaxation and field trips. After the “get up and together” routine, I enjoy a breakfast– probably my favorite meal.   I’m hoping despite the cold that I will take a daily canal walk, about an hour.  Some will be with the new pup, Nala.  She is a friendly walker.

Winter potential projects range from fixing Jenny’s doll house for Viv, digitizing slides, organizing closets and drawers, “getting rid of stuff,” cleaning and painting the balcony, sanding and varnishing kitchen floors (not me but a contractor).  I want to experiment more with cooking, listen to more music, continue to read and re-read books, write and get back to photography.  Buying a new Nikon is still on the list.

For six weeks there has been no travel and few field trips. We did take take Eli and Viv to see “Annie,” had lunch out a few times, and a trip to Terrain to buy our Christmas tree, but that was about it.  Change needed.  Yesterday we took a beautiful back road ride to Harley Hill Alpaca Farm in Quakertown. Bought gloves and insoles for walking, a few gifts. Also learned quite a bit about alpacas.  Buy several, sell fur, and get a tax deduction.    Stopped at Peace Valley to walk Nala and enjoy a Tabora Farm turkey club with real farm bacon.  Diane stopped in the Lavendar shop.

Recently finished reading “Philadelphia: finding the hidden city.”  The authors have a website and sponsor “hidden city” explores.  I’ve done a few.  Buildings from the past, some in ruins, others being revitalized or reused.  Always exploring the layers of history.  My kind of thinking.  I’m hoping to return to my weekly or maybe bi-weekly serendipitous explores in Philadelphia.  I had hoped to add New York City but that may need to wait a bit.

For an overnight, I’m looking at a B and B with fireplaces in Chestertown, MD — maybe in January.  I just finished Frances Mayes, “Bella Tuscany” and Julia Child’s memoir of her years in France.  Could I handle a major trip in 2018?   I can dream.

I’ve accepted that I’m slower.  Everything seems to take longer.  This transition will be no different.  The wood stove will help.  By mid-afternoon, I’m ready to light the fire.  It’s glow and warmth spreads.  So much seems possible.

 

Man jump

 

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70 years old!

Celebrating 70 years anniversary retro label with red ribbon, ve

About 2 weeks ago on July 24, I turned 70 years old. Lot of people wrote wishing me Happy Birthday, hoping I had a great day. Sorry to write, but I didn’t. Several weeks earlier I returned from a visit to Jerry and Kate Alonzo in Geneseo, NY and a few Finger Lakes days in Ithaca. I developed an intestinal bowel infection? It didn’t end the trip but I was uncomfortable. A trip to my GP, resulted in an antibiotic and tests which came up negative. But my stomach remained upset, I had limited appetite and sat in my recliner much of many days. Ten days later a second doc suggested the stomach may be off due to the antibiotics. A week later it’s almost normal. I mean I had a lobster roll for lunch today. But it’s not 100%. Can the Cape be my tonic?

I need what for years I called “Nantucket Time.” Turn off the news. Trump’s constant twitter and crazy domination of the news which I almost always disagree with takes its psychological toll. I need to forget the consistently growing list of what I need to do — doctor appointments, house projects, getting rid of  stuff. Retirement shouldn’t be stressful. The days are numbered till we reach September.

I spent a quiet Sunday at the house on Ayer’s Pond in Orleans at the elbow on the Cape. It’s secluded. Quiet. Small boats sway in a gentle breeze. Stronger wind creates halyard chimes. As the day proceeds a few make their way in sailboats, kayaks, and motor boats out the Namequoit River to Little Pleasant Bay, the Atlantic a possibility. I watch red-headed chipping sparrows hop from bushes to the feeder. They seem to be the bird of the day. Bright sun filters through pines that surround the house. I sit inside and with the breeze it gets chilly, so I move outside immediately warmed by the sun. This a the tonic I need.

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I read “A Fish Caught in Time: the search for the coelacanth” by Samantha Weinberg. Coelacanth fossils 200 million or more years old had been around for years; but a live one was caught, amazing the scientific community, in the late 1930s, in the Comoros Islands off of South Africa. Identified, partially preserved, the find sparked decades of searching for live coelacanths. Millions of dollars and dozens of expeditions failed to keep a specimen alive in captivity. Museums throughout the world did eventually obtain a specimen for their collection. Missing link, evolution, pre-historic fish fired the imagination. I found it interesting that in the late 1940s, coelacanth fossils were discovered in a Triassic strata on the campus of Princeton NJ.

Environmentalists warned that over fishing might push the fish into extension. Imagine it. In a few decades, we wipe out a fish species older than dinosaurs? Fortunately this hasn’t happened. Continuing with the fish theme, I also watched a Front Line documentary,”The fish on my plate” based on the writings of Paul Greenberg. He wrote “Four Fish” and “American Catch.” Greenberg spent a year exploring the sustainability of the fishing industry giving up a land based diet for an Omega 3 based diet from the sea. Although he learns a lot about fish farming and enjoyed  many seafood meals throughout the world, his doctors found no immediate health benefits but he concluded with a plan to continue to enjoy sustainable seafood with an ocassional hamburger.

I ate small portions during the day, drank lots of water thought I was doing well but the symptoms of my intestinal disorder seemed to return at night and early morning. Nantucket time and Cape May tonic may take some time.

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Wonderland

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I started this long holiday weekend with several medical issues.  On Friday I had a heart catherization due to a poor stress test following my reports of  minor chest contractions.  The test showed that two of my bypasses had collapsed.  Fortunately the most important third looked great,  pumping blood.  Meds can be taken to control the contractions (angina, not a heart attack).  Good to know.  In addition my abscess-fistula was swollen, sore, with increased discharges. Maybe due to the fact that my colonostomy wasn’t producing anything.  (I have a reluctance writing about this but for any of my friends getting older, medical information is important.)

I started Saturday and finished Sunday in my recliner chair.  Reading, napping, surfing the Internet, e-mail, Facebook, a bit of TV.  The news always seems to intrude. It use the words “news” cautiously.  Trump news; White House news.  The most prominate being the President’s attacks on the media.  The infamous Scarborough-Brzezinski tweets; the CNN attacks, icluding the juvenile wrestling with the CNN icon.  But then there is the WH commissions request for voting information (states are refusing);  jibberish about infinity and space (look at Buzz Aldrin’s face); Republican defense of their health care bill; Trump’s tweet to repeal today and replace tomorrow (contradicting previous statements), the President’s upcoming meeting with Putin (he will wing it); turmoil in the WH; Tillersen can’t get his staff appointments.  .  . It doesn’t stop.

And the President hours of watching cable news. Welcome to Wonderland.

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I went to find a fresh book to read from a shelf in my bedroom and was drawn to Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass.”    I began the trip down the rabbit hole and a day later through the looking glass.  I couldn’t help asking: were there similarities between Carrol’s  Wonderland and the White House?  I don’t mean there are direct parallels in story, plot or characters.  But when the Red Queen shouts “Off with their heads.”  You decide.

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There is no logic in Wonderland; nonsense reigns.  I’ll share some quotes; you can decide if it relate to Trump, the White House and our current political discourse.

“Always  speak the truth, think before you speak, and write if down afterwards.”

“I don’t think . . .” said Alice.  “Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter.”

Can you imagine Trump tweeting:

“Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”  We are going to do great impossible things.

Trump likes us to focus on himself.

“Who in the world am I?  Ah, that’s the great puzzle.”

And does this sound a bit like administration spokesperson?

“Contraiwise,’ continued Tweedledee, ‘If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t.  That’s logic.”

“We’re all mad here.”

Mad Hatter: “Have I gone mad?”  Alice: “I’m afraid so. But I’ll tell you a secret.  All the best people are.”

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Womderland is an alternate world.  Different from the real word.  Words take on different meanings.  There are alternative truths.

“When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean — nothing more or less.”

Alice: How Long is forever?”  White Rabbit: ” Sometimes, just one second.”

“Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.”

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And then we have the Cheshire Cat, always grinning:

“I’m not strange, wierd, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.”

 

There was a lot more in Wonderland that reminded me of the White House.  A good reread.             “Off with their heads.”

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The Flying Machine

HOTCHKIN(1892) p008 On the Old York Road

In the early 1970s, Diane and I rented a house in New Hope with John and Barbara Paglione.  It was on a two block spur off route 202 on the edge of the borough — Old York Road.  We became friends with Rodney and Ragna Hamilton who lived across the street.  Sometimes they were our intro into New Hope society.

I remember Ragna introducing us to John Loeper, an educator, school administrator, and writer.  Among recent digging in my children’s book collection, I found and reread Loeper’s “The Flying Machine: a stagecoach journey in 1774.”   (It was published in 1976 in time for the bicentennial.).

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“The Flying Machine” is the story of the Swift-Sure Stagecoach line that traveled between Philadelphia and Elizabethtown, NJ.   In NJ, passengers could take a ferry to or from New York City.  The “Flying Machine” route was “the Old York Road.”

Loeper writes for middle school students.  I bought several of his books and at the time thought I could write books like this.  Of course, I didn’t.

But the reread was fun.  Local history; memories.  A young boy, David, takes the Swift-Sure stage coach to NY to visit family.  The coach connects the Barley Sheaf Tavern on Second  street with Elizabethtown, NJ.  From there a ferry took passengers to NYC.  The trip took two days.  I particularly like the local references.  “Down the streets of old Philadelphia they went, past Christ Church, Walnut Street, the High Street (today it’s Market).

There was a mid-day stop a Crossroads Inn, another at Bogart’s Tavern in Buckingham.  They passed through Lahaska and the Great Spring, called Aquetong, to Well’s Ferry (now, New Hope).  “John Watson (the driver) halted the Flying Machine before the Logan Inn. ”  William Penn’s secretary was James Logan.  A ferry ride across the Delaware river brought the traveler’s to Coryell’s  Ferry on the New Jersey side (now Lambertville).  For me these are all familiar locations.

Similarly in New Jersey the stage coach passed through Mount Airy, Ringoes, Pleasant Corners, Centerville (overnight stop), Bound Brook, and eventually the Indian Queen Tavern in Elizabethtown.  These NJ names are new for me.  In the story, David takes the ferry to NYC, “his journey on the York Road was over.”  My journey living on Old York Road lasted four years.

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I remembered and located a related book  “Along the Old York Road” (1965) by James and Margaret Cawley in my local history collection.  The couple has written several NJ local history books published by Rutgers University Press.  James Cawley recalls many personal experiences living close to the road.  The Cawley’s story leans heavy on colonial history and the use of the road by General Washington during the American Revolution.

They describe many field trips they take in the area.  One passes our New Hope house. “This part of the road retains some of the original stone and plaster buildings and, at the point were Sugan Road crosss our road, a left turn takes the traveler to and across Aquetong Creek, on the banks may be seen the ruins of an early mill, now being restored.  The mill was built by Richard Heath in 1702, and is believed to be the oldest one in Bucks County.”  When we lived there, the Jim Hamilton family lived in the Heath mill.

There are several Bucks County sites mentioned by the Cawley’s that I would like to visit.  Inghamdale and Rolling Green are houses outside of New Hope.  I could take a closer look at the Friends Meeting in Lahaska and General Greene Inn (Bogart’s Tavern) in Buckingham.  I need to check out Hartsville, the Log College, and Hatboro,  scene of the Battle of Crooked Billet.  In New Jersey there are many new sites to explore.

For me Old York Road carries so many personal memories.

 

 

 

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Fortuna

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I’ve always been a beachcomber, followed in my mother’s footsteps.  Shells, drift wood, beach glass.  I once found a note in a bottle, return to a Cuban address.  I did, with a touch of Cold War anxiety. Somewhere I have several decorative pieces of iron but the completely intact sea gull skelton was consumed by our dog, Luz.

Last week I couldn’t pass up buying several books in the NJ Maritine Museum at Beach Haven.  “Fortuna” by Carole Bradshaw caught my eye.  The cover was a photograph of a red tile washing in the waves.  The back cover read, “A shipwreck, an anchor, and a baby.  What do they all have in common?  When Carole Bradshaw found a small piece of red tile tossing around in the surf on Long Beach Island, New Jersey, she was about to find out.”  This sounded like a history adventure I would enjoy.

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I immediately thought of Colin Fletcher’s “The Man from the Cave”  (1981).  Fletcher, a backpacking guru, stumbled on an abandoned camp in a remote section of Nevada.    An old wooden trunk, personal belongings in a cave, fragments of a 1916 newspaper.   Fletcher uses these historic traces to identify the camper — “Chuckawalla” Bill Simmons from Braddock, PA.  On his search he met family members and others who filled in Bill’s story including the Nevada camp.

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Then there was the discovery of the identity of a 1910 North Pownal, Vermont child mill worker photographed by Lewis Hine.  Two amateur historians identified her as Addie Card.  An article in the September, 2006 Smithsonian tells their story.  After following leads in all types of records, they learned Addie’s history and even found and met with two of her adoptive descendants.

Naturally I purchased “Fortuna.”  Carole was your average beachcomber.  She and her daughter were walking the beach at Ship Bottom on Long Beach Island (LBI) in 1970.  She found several red tiles.  Years later she showed the tiles to a Manahawkin friend.  On some she could read, ARNAUD ETIENNE & Cie ST HENRY MARSEILLE.  Her friend, Lydie identified the tiles as debris from the ship Fortuna.  As a child, Lydie had seen the grounded ship.

The shoals off LBI were known as the graveyard of the Atlantic.  It was not uncommon for ships to run aground.  The Fortuna floundered in 1909.  An Italian ship out of the port of Trapani in Sicily.  The ship’s captain and owner was Giovan Adragna.  Aboard was his wife, two young daughters, and a baby born in Barbados weeks before.  His wife, Maria didn’t want to be left at home during the two year voyage.

“LBI’s first lifesaving station was built in Harviey Cedars in 1848.  All U.S. Life savings Stations were built. Exactly the same.  The shape and size of the building, both inside and out, were all alike.  There was a large boat room,  a kitchen, two sleeping compartments and a storage room.”   By the 1900s, the stations were staffed  by trained, paid  professionals.

Lifesaver Horace Cranmers discovered the stranded Fortuna  on January 18, 1910 while on patrol.   The Ship Bottom crew were first on the scene followed by other stations.  Lines were unsucessfully shot from a Lyle gun.  If established the line would be used to rescue individuals in a breeches buoy.  We have a personal interest in Lyle guns since Diane’s grandfather made them during World War II.

Life savings boats were launched.  But Captain Adragna was initially reluctant to abandon the Fortuna.  The lifesavers insisted and eventually all 17 on board were rescued, including the recently born Adragna baby.  They would be brought to the Ship Bottom station where they lived until transit back to Italy was arranged.

In April 1983, Carole and her husband, Greg, discovered more tiles but also the skeleton iron frame of the Fortuna.  Then there was a cannon like ball — could it be the anchor?  Carole became convinced that it was the ship’s anchor.

She mobilized local political and historical forces. The anchor was removed from the sand; fundraising financed a memorial in front of Ship  Bottom’s borough hall.  But for Carole, something was missing.  What happened to the baby?

Letters to Sicily lead to the discovery of two of Captain Adragna’s children, Giuseppe and  Severia (the baby born on the Fortuna in 1909).  Carole travel to Sicily and then brings Guiseppe and Severia to Ship Bottom for the dediation of the anchor in honor of their father.

Fortuna was a great story.  I need to go see the anchor in Ship Bottom and a mast that is used as a flagpole at the Beach Haven Little Egg Harbor Marina.  And I’ll continue to walk the beaches looking for traces of history.

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LBI in mid-June

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Sitting on the front porch of the Victoria Guest House.

Teens (actually actors) on the square, the swat of a softball, screaming, laughing, and clapping.

Laughing gulls cavorting and squalking on the beach.

Young boy and girl runs toward the waves; quick retreat.

Families quietly cycle by on deserted streets.

A gentle southeast breeze cools the hot afternoon sun on the beach.

An early evening storm blows through with lashing winds and rain.

Chicken and turkey sandwiches at Barry’s Do Me a Flavor

Salty, seaweed soaked, humid air on the bay.

Sitting on bench watching the ocassional passing boat in Sunset Park, Ship Bottom.

Victorian homes, basic gingerbread, cedar shakes, whites and gray; ocassionally Cape May colors.

White wicker, chairs, rockers and couches.

Petunias, day lilies, blue and white hydrangea,

Breakfast bowls of fresh fruit and homemade French toast, orange juice, coffee.

Barneget Lighthouse standing tall.

A still, quiet, broken by a distant chirping sparrow.

Horseshoe crabs seemingly mating in the surf.

Thousands in ocean beach chairs;  two young surfers; one daring jet skier.

Sun and heat waves glisten in a small backyard pool.

Church bells at noon in the distance. Again at six.

Footloose in the  reopened Surflight Theatre.

An elegant dinner at Stefano’s — local  Barneget scallops, BYOB.

A bucket of steamed clams at Polly’s Dock Clam House on the bay.

Reading the Beachcomber and Sand Paper.

An afternoon swim in Victoria’s pool.

Reading John Baily Lloyd’s History of LBI — Six Miles at Sea or Eighteen Miles of History.

Wandering through the many exhibits in the NJ Maritine Museum.

Photographs of Ship wrecks.

Bench sitting on the ocean at dusk.

Hearing stories of hurricane Sandy.

Chatting with some fisherman on the bay.

Memories of Mignoni-Profy Beach Haven vacations, flounder fishing with cousin Bill.

Ordering new shorts from L.L. Bean.

Chilly wind when the sun slides behind clouds.

Soft Shell Crabs at the Black Whale and Mud City crab cakes at Parker’s Garage.

Pistacchio ice cream one afternoon.

Elegant dining at Stefano’s — local Barneget scallops.

Clams Casino in honor of uncle.

Lunch at Ship Bottom Shellfish and Pearl Street Market.

LBI telephone memory chat with cousin Ellen.

Flashes of Uncle Frank and Aunt Ellen’s Harvey Cedars house.

Mignoni-Profy reunions.

Older women slowly walk the beach collecting shells.

Beach House, awful dinner. Sent rubbery tuna back.

Engleside hotel; photographs of original Engleside.

Flea Market on the square.

Take home clams and scallops from Surf City Fish Market.

LBI memories.

Sitting on the front porch of the Victoria.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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In the Library

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From the children’s collection, “Library Lion ” by Michelle Knudsen, illustrated by Kevin Hawkes.  Published in 2006, it was a New York Times bestseller.  Everyone knows that you must be quiet and there is no running in a library.  But what will happen when a lion has the audacity to enter Mrs. Merriweather’s  library.  When her assistant, Mr. McBee came running down the hall, Mrs. Merriweather, called, “No running.”  “But there is a lion,” said Mr. McBee, “in the library.”  But he wasn’t “breaking any rules” so Mrs. Merriweather said,  “Then leave him be.”

Can you picture Mr. McBee and Mrs. Merriweather.  He is wearing plaid pants, a yellow suit coat, poka dot bow tie, close cropped hair and large glasses.  She is wearing a blue-gray frock, with lots of buttons and a belt, sensible shoes, a bun hairdo and oval glasses that she wears on the end of her nose.

After exploring the card catalog and stacks, the lion settles down for story hour.  But when the story hour ends, the lion roars, raahhhrrrr!  Corrected, he promises not to roar and Mrs. Merriweather says he can return tomorrow.  The lion begins to do all kinds of library chores, dusting encyclopedias, licking envelopes with overdue notices, helping children get books.  He always laid down with the children for story hour.

 

One day Mrs. Merriweather “stretches a little far for a book on the top shelf.  She falls.  The lion runs down the hall and roars at Mr.McBee.  McBee gasped, “Your breaking the rules.”  The lion knew what that meant and left the library.  McBee finds Mrs. Merriweather on the floor and calls the doctor.

 

Days pass. The lion does not return.  He was missed.  McBee decides to search the neighborhood; he eventually finds the lion and brings him back to the library.  Mrs. Merriweather runs to greet him.  “No running” Mr. McBee says. Everyone learns a lesson.   “But sometimes there was good reason to break the rules. Even in the library.”

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Lions in front of the New York Public Library

I was in early elementary school when my father first took me to the Dorrance (Campbell soup family) street library in Bristol.  It was an old wood frame building; the librarian resembled Mrs. Merriweather, but had gray hair.  I was soon checking out books myself.  One strong image is finding that there was more than one “Wizard of Oz” book.  And the library’s copies were beautifully illustrated, first editions I believe.   I worked my way through the Hardy Boys, then Tom Swift, and other “boys” series.  I even tried a few Nancy Drew and Bobbsey Twins books.

I also remember the librarian guiding me in late elementary to a new area labeled Junior classics.  There were Jules Verne books, “Robinson Crusoe,” “The Swiss Family Robinson,” “Huckleberry Finn,”  and “Tom Sawyer,”‘ possible some Dickens.  New worlds to explore.

The old Bristol Free Library was replaced by the Grundy Library on Radcliffe Street in the early 1960s.

Privately funded, it is probably one of the best libraries in the County.  I used it when it first opened, and when I first started teaching, off and on since then.  They had a great selection of LPs (many of historic interest) that I would check out for classroom use.  For years I borrowed a 20 plus set of blue bound,  facsimile books in early new world history to teach about primary sources (some were in Latin or languages other than English languages).  In the 1980s the librarian contacted me.  Since I wás the only one who used the books, would I like them. They are now part of the HGP collection. I’m sure they are checked out regularly.

My High School library at Holy Ghost Prep was a disappointment.  Father Curtin, later Brother Dominic served as librarian. Someone was buying easy to read series– biographies, books about saints or books about states.  I checked out a lot of books but also bought many paperbacks because I knew the school library offerings were not great or challenging reading.  In the summer of my sophomore year I took an American literature course at Neshaminy HS.  In my senior year, Father Dave Marshall taught a good literature course.  I began to read Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Twain, and other American authors.

I loved the Bapst Library at Boston College Library.

Although required reading books were usually purchased, library  books were used for research papers.  The subject of my first paper was Hemingway.  I read every book of criticism and biography in Bapst, even doctoral dissertations.  I then traveled to Boston University to supplement BC offerings.  No question I was a library person, a book person.  Bapst with its antique furnishings, low lights, long tables was also my favorite study venue. Footnote: after reading so much Hemingway criticism, I felt everything had been written.  Fortunately my professor, John McCarthy, helped me develop a topic —  “Huckleberry Finn and the Nick Adams stories.”  A well-known Hemingway critic stole the idea a year or so later?

When we moved to Yardley, the “Old Library on Lake Alton” became a special place.

It had been started as a private subscription library in the mid 1800s.  By the 1970s it was part of the County system.  It was small.  Books were two deep on the shelves.  But it was always an exciting place to visit.  They were purchasing new titles but also had a lot of older volumes — sometimes dusty.  The librarians were pretty typical.  But there was nothing better than walking to the library on a snowy evening for a good winter read.  When the County built a new local library in Lower Makefield township, the “Old Library” became the home of the Yardley Historical Association.  For many years I was active with the Association and presented quite a few slide programs on Yardley history.  It’s probably one of the most painted and photographed buildings in Bucks County.

In 1974 I was hired by Headmaster Francis Hanley as librarian at Holy Ghost Prep.  A Spiritan brother, Dominic Reardon, was the librarian. The library had been moved from a room on the third floor in my student days to the former first floor gym.  It was a good size room, nicely furnished but most of the books were not labeled with clear call numbers, there were few, if any, new purchases.  Donations were accepted from other libraries, even donated card catalog cards.  I disposed of thousands.    I don’t think many books were checked out.  The library pretty much served as a study hall for classes. (Ironically, since I’ve retired some faculty tell me the library is again a silent study hall.)

Hanley wanted me to run a more open library.  Let in the lion. Sometimes it roared.   I began taking courses for a MA degree in educational media.  Libraries were becoming labeled media centers.  I established a music center (problematic as kids would talk loud with earphones); a room for AV equipment and the software (film strips, tapes, slide programs) was set up for faculty. I established a relationship with the BCIU to borrow 16 mm films.  Sometimes I would feature a film  in the library.  I also managed several other small rooms — one as an audio lab, a darkroom and eventually a video room for taping.

I served as HGP’s librarian (always taught 3 courses, so it was not full time) for several years but was appointed Assistant Headmaster in the late 1970s.  For several years the library was managed by volunteer mothers until we hired a librarian, Jan Showler.  I went on to serve as Assistant Headmaster for over ten years but was destined to return to the library.

In 1989-90 I took a sabbatical to research and write my dissertation for an Ed.D program in educational leadership. When I returned I was offered the position of librarian. Since I was writing my dissertation (another story),  it was a good fit.  Several years later the HGP library moved to the first floor of a new building, Founder’s Hall.  Arlene Buettler was hired as a part-time assistant and I would continue to teach 2, sometimes 3 classes.

The new Holy Ghost Prep library was an extremely pleasant environment.  I was teaching several courses at LaSalle and Holy Family in the evenings and I continued to teach several courses at HGP.  What I enjoyed most was exposing students to a new book, a new idea, a new question.

For me a library has always been a special place, a space to think, to read, to write, to explore new worlds. There were rules but also reasons to break the rules.  It was good to let the lion into the library.    I would finish my education career as a librarian and part time classroom teacher.

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New worlds, new ideas, even a bit of magic — all found in libraries.  You just need to look, listen, and read.                                              “Old Library on Lake Afton” Yardley.

 

 

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