It is probably no surprise for anyone who knows me, that I love libraries. 

I was reading before I started kindergarten.  This isn’t a brag.  Try growing up in rural Ontario in the ’70s without cable TV and see how quickly you turn to books for entertainment.

A love of libraries makes sense for a bibliophile. You might not expect that the library was where I fell in love with movies, learned about comedic timing and became a wonderful place to kickstart a lacklustre dating life.

Before I get ahead of myself, I need to leave rural Ontario for the not-so-thriving metropolis of Barrie, circa 1981.

At that time, my new hometown had a population of around 50,000.  The grade schools and high schools had their libraries, but the public library, a three-story brick building on Collier Street, nestled into a hillside in the town’s core, was the real deal to a kid like me.

Across the street, was the annex.  A single-story building housing children’s books and the media section. 

Let’s start there.

For an incredibly small fee, you could check out reel-to-reel movies and use a deposit to secure a projector. My love of movies began with children’s entertainment.  Disney cartoon shorts for the most part.  During these 5 – 15 minute long films, our family would cry from laughter as Goofy attempted a variety of Olympic events to no avail; or as Mickey faced every mishap imaginable while towing an accordion-like expandable camper up and down a steep road. 

The antics in these cartoons were slowly replaced by real-life versions featuring either Laurel & Hardy (silent) or Abbott & Costello (talkies).  I’m sure Charlie Chaplin was in the mix too, but these pairings were gold.  As a natural-born ham, I was soon churning out impressions of Stan Laurel’s famous meltdown whenever he got in trouble.  Usually prompted by an exasperated Hardy whacking him over the head with his hat.  I’d try to make my parents and brother laugh by recreating this head scratch/fake tears combo.  Let me tell you when you make someone laugh at a young age, that is a high you’ll chase for the rest of your life. 

While the rest of my family would enjoy watching either of these duos get in over their heads, I was busy studying the beats.  How long do they wait for the punchline?  How often do they mix up the one-liners and the practical hijinks?  How do they fall and not get hurt?   I ate it all up.  Well, until Abbott & Costello met The Wolfman, but I’ll save that story for another day.

It wasn’t much longer until we kids graduated from these shorts to real movies.  Or should I say ‘reel’ movies since VHS wasn’t really a thing for us yet.  So what might the logical next step be for a child who has been watching black-and-white comedies from the ‘40s and ‘50s you ask? 

Black-and-white dramas made by Alfred freaking Hitchcock. 

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the exact order of things, but the first feature film I recall watching was his 1935 version of The 39 Steps (it was remade in 1959 by Ralph Thomas).  I’m certain the mystery driving the plot was way over my head, however, the image of the man’s hand, with a finger missing the top joint, still sticks with me.   

Let’s be clear.  It’s not like we were watching Psycho.  These films were mysteries, with lots of innuendos that I couldn’t pick up on at my age.  At the time, I was just happy to watch some ‘big kid’ stuff.  What I could not have realized, was the appreciation I was gaining for the golden age of cinema.  Fast-forward to a twenty-something me being just as likely to be found watching Pulp Fiction as I was Arsenic & Old Lace. Widely credited as the first screwball comedy, A&OL features a serial killer subplot and stars Cary Grant.  What’s not to love?

“Insanity runs in my family.  It practically gallops.” - Cary Grant, Arsenic & Old Lace

Around grade 4, I was able to use my library card at the main library.  It became a third home for me growing up (the YMCA was in second place).

There were thousands upon thousands of books.  That’s right Toto, I was not in Kansas anymore!  This was the grown-up library. 

My parents virtually gave me free rein to read whatever interested me.  Mostly this consisted of Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys & the Three Detectives stories.  I craved the excitement and adventure those ‘big’ kids got up to.  Solving mysteries that the clueless adults could not. Naturally, I moved on to bigger mysteries as a teen. Remember how swept away we were by Chariots of the Gods? The Bermuda Triangle? Different times.

One caveat to the whole ‘virtual free rein’ thing was the day I came home from an unaccompanied trip with a pile of books, one of which was The Burning Bed.  For the life of me, I have no idea why I picked it out - maybe because there was a Charlie’s Angel in the picture? 

All I can say is, librarians, I love you with all my heart, but holy cow, the person that let 10-year-old me check that out must not have been paying attention that day.  (Mom did not let me read it.)

When I was 16, I went to work at that same library as a page. 

I. Was. Being. Paid. To. Be. At. The. Library!

My job was to put books away.  That’s when I truly learned what the library had to offer: reference materials and boys.

Suddenly, this magical world of books expanded to include microfiche, learning the Dewey decimal system and discovering rows and rows full of census data.  You could find out about anything and everything in minute detail. 

Narrator: on this day, her love for data was born.

There were also these oversized, weird-looking binders with handles full of architecture, fashion textile prints and furniture designs.  I distinctly recall some of the cool kids making a beeline for the black and white Bauhaus binder only to be sadly disappointed.  On the plus side, they learned it was more than just the band from Northampton who sang about Bela Lugosi.

As I mentioned earlier, each of the schools had their libraries.  When our high school projects demanded more studious references, the public library became the only place we could locate source material.

This meant my 16-year-old, non-driving self, suddenly found her workplace to be the hub for teenagers all across the city.  The only time I would even see kids from other schools was for some regional sports event – and here they were, pouring into the library, with an overwhelmed look that screamed ‘I’m hopelessly lost and this assignment is due tomorrow’. 

Well hello there, tall, dark and pimply.

As with all magic spells, this one too, started to wane.

One day, I was unceremoniously fired.  Turns out, working as a page meant actually reshelving and organizing books.  Not hiding in the least-used aisles, spending my time reading said books.  What can I say?  There’s a reason you don’t put kids in charge of the candy store.

While my time there was coming to a close, I was nearing the end of high school after all, and was more interested in buying books than having to return them (and pay those pesky late fees), I never stopped appreciating the magic and mystery our public library unlocked for me.

All with the swipe of a card.

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