The Original Version of the Magic Kingdom
Carole Harris Barton
1st
place
e
Growing up in west Kentucky at a coalmine wasn’t a disadvantage, it was just life—a narrow life,
even for the 1940s. But there were other worlds, and I knew that because of books.
Old books. New books. Borrowed books. Swapped books. Hand-me-down books. Books that made
me want to read. Books that made me proud I could read. Books that made me think. Books that
made me dream. Books that made me want more books.
Cinderella. Lassie Come Home. Heidi. Nancy Drew. I read them over and over, because I owned
only a few books, and re-reading them was like re-visiting friends—good friends who showed me
different worlds. Cinderella showed me a palace. Lassie showed me a farm. Heidi showed me the
mountains. Nancy Drew showed me the city. I didn’t know those worlds, but with my curiosity
piqued, I wanted to know them.
Reading had already broadened my view of the world, but reading’s positive influence on my
overall wellbeing mushroomed during the summer between my fifth and sixth grades when our
family moved away from the coalmine into nearby Madisonville. That’s when I discovered the
library: a huge, two-story, red brick building filled with rows of shelves stacked with books.
Like Paul Revere jumping onto his horse and riding off to Middlesex, I jumped onto my bicycle and
rode off to the library. Every day. First came the magazines. Life. Saturday Evening Post. Look.
Reader’s Digest and its vocabulary quiz, “It Pays to Increase Your Word Power.” Then came
whatever book I happened to be reading. When it was time to go, I carefully returned the book to its
place on the shelf where I could find it the next day.
One day the librarian approached me. I could come as often as I wanted, and stay as long as I liked,
she said. But if I’d rather, I could take books home with me, as many as five at a time, and I could
keep them for two weeks. I didn’t believe her. No, I shook my head. Yes, she nodded hers.
In retrospect, it is amusing: a skinny, skeptical 11-year-old girl arguing with a rotund, reassuring
50-year-old woman that what she said was too good to be true. Finally, I got it. The library then
became not just a collection of books, but a collection of miracles: books I could borrow for free.
That very day, I loaded my bicycle basket with books. Afterward, instead of daily trips, I made less
frequent ones, returning my five books and borrowing five more. Biographies about Clara Barton
and George Washington. Adventure books about journeys and exploration. Geography books about
lands and oceans. History books about people and nations. Mystery books about secrets and lies.
It was a magical summer. Because even without advanced technology and e-readers, a lending
library is the original version of the magic kingdom. And books are its magic.
2nd
The 2-day/2-book Library
place
by Rita Chartrand
e
I grew up in Orleans, pop. 1,332, in the northeastern corner of Vermont. Orleans
at that time—the 1940s—was a modest mill town not given to frills, but it did
have a library. The library too was modest, located in two small rooms above the
Central Savings Bank. From the library, you could look through an open door
and see Doc Webster, the dentist, practicing his profession on a gape-mouthed
helpless patient in the chair who was seemingly having something unthinkable
done to his teeth.
The library was open two days a week: 3:30 to 5:00 Tuesday afternoons and
9:00 to noon Saturday mornings. Only two books could be checked out at a time.
The children’s section was petite, located within a small alcove on several fourfoot shelves.
As to the collection, there was Curious George, Babar, Little Black Sambo and the
like. These I read and at the same time I read mysteries like Nancy Drew and
Hardy Boys mysteries—age appropriateness evidently not being a factor for me.
But the books I truly adored were the Thornton Burgess series with the
adventures of Reddy Fox, Jimmy Skunk and other woodland animals, all taking
place under the benevolent eye of Old Mother West Wind and the Merry Little
Breezes.
The book I remember best, however, is Forever Amber. Word got around about
where the book was located on the adult shelves. Whenever Mrs. Sylvester, the
fiercesome librarian, was busy, we young sensationalists dipped into it (and into
Frank Yerby’s bodice-rippers).
I don’t think the dearth of children’s books bothered me. I simply reread. But at
age seven—increasingly frustrated that I could take out only two books at a
time—I devised a crafty maneuver to add four more books a week to my reading
menu. On Saturday mornings, I’d get to the library at 9 o’clock, opening time.
Then I would check out two books and run all the way home. After speedreading the two books, I’d dart downtown at about 10:30 and fly up the stairs to
return them and take out two more books. Home again, read until 11:30, return,
take out two more books. Simple!
My mother acquiesced but was dubious about my scheme, claiming that I wasn’t
getting much out of the books because I read them too quickly. My father made
no comment; he was a fast reader himself but he only read the parts in quotes.
Mrs. Sylvester paid no attention.
Loving books as I did and having only twelve of my own, I very much needed this
little library which kept me in books during the critical years when reading may
or may not develop into a habit.
And reading did become a habit, a pastime I still cannot do without. I can’t begin to
number my fulfilling hours with books—or conjure up all the worlds that books have
opened to me. How grateful I am! Thank you, 2-day/2-book library—you changed
my life.
How has reading been a positive influence on my life?
Sandra Edwards
3rd
place
e
Reading has always been a positive influence on me. Over the years, it has allowed me to grow in
my self-confidence and knowledge base. Reading has expanded my horizon by providing
information on other’s cultures, values and behaviors. In learning about others, it opens up my
understanding of myself.
As such, reading has always been a passion of mine. There is nothing like reading a great book on
a cold rainy day or when you don’t feel well. It provides that comfort and familiarity, like an old
pair of shoes or grilled cheese sandwich.
As I was growing up, reading was always a part of my environment. My parents would read
poems, short stories and the Bible to us. I remember imagining the characters in the stories or the
walk through the forest. It amazed me even at young age that I could transport myself to another
place for a while. Reading provided an escape path for me. It allowed me to enter into another
realm. If I wanted to be an actor, or an astronaut, or even go around the world in 90 days – it was
available to me.
By reading, I found that I had quest for knowledge. Whether it was reading a text book, an
autobiography or fiction novel, I have always been influenced by the written word. It has caused
me to think. “How was the written word developed? Why is the grass green or the sky blue?”
I also realized that I was enthralled with the English language by learning placement of sentences,
new words and concepts. It is amazing how some authors use simple words to get their thoughts
across and other authors place the words so elegantly throughout their story. Some authors that
have really moved me are Ayn Rand, Elizabeth George and the thoughts of Marcus Aurelius.
In closing, I could not imagine my life without reading. Since I was exposed to the written word it
has given me a vast knowledge of the world and an understanding of life. Every day, I make a
consensus effort to read a short story, article or book. It has been said that a mind once expanded
will never regain its original shape.
So, read, read, read!