Better Read Than Dead!

1939 Funeral Home/Library Offices dubbed "The Hereafter"

Every day many strange and wonderful stories happen in public libraries.  Lives are changed.  Destinies are shaped.  Discoveries are made.  Sometimes these stories center around the librarians. 

In the winter of 1990 the library where I worked was overdue for a total renovation. The library was located in a 1917 public school building composed of several large classrooms, all outfitted with beautiful big windows, wood floors, ornate iron radiators, slate chalk boards, and millions of dust motes. The Director was concerned that the wood floor joists beneath some of the book stacks might be giving way. The determining moment came when the Library Board and the Director all went down to the classroom housing the biography collection and jumped up and down. The floor moved. 

Up to that time we had adapted bravely to the status quo, as library people tend to do.  The secretary worked in the former coat closet of her first grade classroom.  The outreach department worked out of the former kitchen, the nonfiction books were shelved in the cafeteria, and so on.  The massive old four floor brick building lacked an elevator, but sported an old wooden ramp covering the stairs leading down to the cafeteria addition.  Generations of children gleefully stampeded noisily up and down the ramp to the resignation of parents and the stoic staff.

For one brief shining moment in the annals of library history, the staff took to rollerskating in the mornings before the library opened.  The daring members could shoot down the ramp and then weave through the tables and stacks of the nonfiction room.  If the children had only known!

The Library (source: www.librarypoint.org)

The plans called for a renovation with a capital R. The library would need temporary space for an interim library onsite; and offsite storage for approximately another hundred thousand volumes and staff work space. The town fathers, not wishing to expend any more tax payer capital than absolutely necessary, searched their collective minds for a temporary offsite location. Voila!  A novel solution was found.  The City had just purchased a recently vacated old funeral home in town for future court space.  The library could use the funeral home!

Another co-worker and I were given a tour for planning purposes. This was my first glimpse of a mortuary establishment behind the scenes.  We struggled to maintain a professional demeanor as we swung from nervous laughter to a morbid fascination and a distinct unease. 

As we walked through the spaces we were able to identify some solid design advantages.  There was a huge hearse garage capable of storing thousands of books. The garage was connected to the building with a ramp that was perfect for rolling book carts, as were the strangely long elevators.  The downstairs viewing room could become the law library, and the director and assistant could fit nicely into the funeral director’s office suite.  The chapel could be used for staff meetings, if one could creatively adapt the coffin shaped platform located at the front, a decorating challenge not normally addressed in women’s magazines.  We would also have to ignore some rather disturbing past revelations in the local paper.

It seems that the chapel’s voluminous red velvet drapes, which could have outfitted Scarlett several times, had not been disturbed for many years.  Imagine everyone’s surprise when a body was discovered behind some of the drapes, neatly embalmed, but apparently forgotten by some long ago busy staff member.  When I gingerly peered behind these very curtains I discovered several wall vaults, presumably storage for those busy times like the plague. I chose not to investigate further.

The going got tougher as we toured the second floor. As Hunter Thompson once said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”  We saw another large viewing room which could be subdivided into offices.  There were more small offices and a bathroom complete with a shower and a cache of smelling salts in the closet, which could have come in handy for the rest of the tour.  Next was a long unheated room, which the assistant city manager cheerfully explained had been the coffin storage room.  Now, it was an empty dusty room with a strange dark stain on the wood floor.  None of us chose to comment or speculate on the stain’s origin.

We passed down a narrow twisting hall that led to the back of the building, past a suitably gothic window, and ended at the door of the embalming room.  My compatriot is a very calm and rational person, but when the door opened I saw the hair suddenly stand at attention on her arms. I will spare the reader the lurid details, except to note that there was mysterious equipment that made my dentist’s chair seem like a beloved rocking chair.  The windows were frosted glass. The assistant manager quickly assured us the special features would be removed promptly.  We decided the long counters and sinks would come in handy for the cataloging and processing department, and hastily departed.

And so the project unfolded.  We wrenched the collections out of that old school building using a combination of trustees from the local jail, temporary workers, staff, and volunteers. Men heaved the law collection up through the basement windows on makeshift ramps using brute force.  After we moved the massive book collections from the lower floors, we spent another two weeks staggering down the flights of stairs carrying years of stuff squirreled away by conscientious librarians. 

At one point we gave up and started throwing items through the windows into the enormous dumpster positioned below.  This quickly stopped when we discovered much of the town was checking out the treasures in the dumpsters, and we were risking an accidental road runner /wily coyote flattening type of incident.

Then there came a point during the several week long process when most of the trustees decided that the extra time off for good behavior really wasn’t worth this much effort. Instead, they elected to stay home in their cells, relax, and read some of their recent acquisitions.   Over the next few years I would occasionally see a man in a convenience store or somewhere around town and they would look at me in horror, and then mutter, “You are that woman from the library!” Then they would hasten away, apparently terrified I would somehow force them to return to the library and work.  A few of the trustees and temporary workers soldiered through the entire process, gaining the respect and friendship of staff, and a sense of solid accomplishment and belonging that I hope they carried forward in life.

So we persevered on with a constantly changing cast of characters. The sheer physical labor of a major library move can be staggering without a professional moving crew doing all of the work. We did have two library moving consultants with a tractor trailer and industrial carts who were invaluable. Moving tens of thousands of books in order, taking apart and reassembling tons of steel shelving into new configurations, and setting up temporary library spaces out of a hodgepodge of salvaged stuff is a big undertaking. However, like other momentous occasions in life, such as multiple birth or running a marathon, participating in a library move can be an empowering learning experience.

There is something wonderful about working with dozens of people on a major endeavor, brainstorming, problem solving, and sharing the simple satisfaction of hard physical labor.  The move turned out to be one of the best of times of my life.  Friendships were deepened, new friends were made, creativity flourished, and countless challenges were overcome by teamwork.  The library staff adjusted to the changes gallantly and humorously.  Slogans were coined including, my  personal favorite, “Better Read than Dead!”  The temporary library was dubbed the “Here”, and the funeral home the “Hereafter”.

When that enormous old school building finally stood empty a friend and I climbed up through the attic and out on the roof and sat staring out, exhausted and euphoric, into the early evening.  Disturbed pigeons beat their wings furiously in the air all around us, and the old town lay far below like a faded postcard in the dusk. The river curved sweetly around the bend, edged with giant old sycamores, the bare white branches like old bones against the sky.  The memory of that moment  in time still burns bright and clear.

A View of Town (source: www.tripwow.tripadvisor.com)

I also recall that the former funeral director came back to visit during the year the funeral home was our temporary home.  He seemed genuinely stricken at the changes, and I suddenly understood that the funeral home had been a beloved institution and the center of his life, just as the library was the center of ours. I sensed that there had been a rhythm, a dignity and a gravity in the daily operations of that building that were gone forever now. 

My time there also made me think some about the funeral home business;  the culture, traditions and people.  One of the most capable public administrators I have known came from an old funeral home family on the Eastern Shore.  C.M. Williams was unfailingly courteous, a formal and reserved gentleman of the old school.  Over the years he was kind to me, and in the end I like to think we were friends.  I have met several other kind and gentle funeral directors, descended from generations of funeral home families, some with historic homes and funeral buggies dating back to before the Civil War.  


Often the funeral director is a respected community member such as Sid Oman who was the beloved Mayor of Chesapeake, Virginia and Elizabeth City, N.C.  during his career. Many of these old families have been bought out by new chains, and like many business models, the era of the family funeral home is drawing to a close in many places.  There is a third generation small town Michigan funeral director who gives voice to the profession. Thomas Lynch, poet and writer, writes humanely, movingly and eloquently about his experiences and thoughts.  His books have been widely and critically acclaimed and the subject of two award winning documentaries.

The Library Director always claimed the year spent in the funeral home was her favorite, presumably because it offered a peaceful respite from the usual beehive of a busy public library.  I have more mixed emotions.  There always seemed to be some palpable emotional resonance of sadness in the space that made me uncomfortable. 

Late one evening I stopped by to pick up a forgotten item from my desk upstairs.  I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway with the red damask wallpaper, pulsing with the faint orange glow of a night light.  I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. The air felt throbbing, thick, and oppressive.  I made my way to the bottom of the staircase. I felt as though I was wading very slowly through high water. My heart pounded. It was difficult to breath and I felt as though I was suffocating. I gazed up at the dark second floor yawning above. I simply could not make myself climb up those stairs. I turned and left the building. 

No doubt my own imagination and emotional psyche triggered my reactions, but I certainly understood when I heard later that one of the General Distict Court judges flatly refused to have his office in the former embalming room, despite a total renovation. Since that time I have gone on to move many libraries and be involved in many large building projects, but none have involved adapting a space quite as unusual as a funeral home.  No project has ever rivaled that first big move for sheer audacity, magnitude, and complexity.

However, I have discovered that wherever you go, people who work in libraries are very good people with willing hearts and hands. I have learned that libraries are a lot like families. They are created with sweat and tears, worry, humor, leaps of faith, and confidence. Creating and maintaining libraries requires a bold shared vision, a lot of hard work by dedicated staff, and a great deal of help and support from many people in the community.

This year the valiant staff of the Chesapeake Public Library is looking forward to several big building projects.  This spring we will be moving the South Norfolk Library to make way for a beautiful new building and setting up a temporary library down the street.  In October, we are planning a month long, low budget, and creative re-adaptation of the Russell Library by staff, trustees, and volunteers.  After the new year we will be moving back into the new South Norfolk Library.  Once again, we will have an opportunity to utilize all of those combined talents and skills gleaned from life experiences, and to learn some new ones, because every project is unique. So, once more into the breach, dear friends and co-workers, once more, or in this case thrice more.  Now, where is my rubber mallet?