Carnegie libraries visited: Eufaula, Alabama
Too safe: it was a three police car morning.
When my alarm went off at 7.30 I heard what sounded like a truck lifting its bed to dump mulch. I woke up to see the lifting bed out my front window, but the truck was not there to unload mulch: the bed was being lowered to roll my car up on it to tow it away. I unlocked and opened the door to see a rather surprised police officer. He assumed that my car was abandoned, as who else would park on the street overnight in this small town? He continued to look surprised when I explained what I was doing and merely responded “Oh, ok” which seemed to mean “Why would an old white dude travel around looking at libraries and sleeping in his car?” He waved the truck off and, after I assured him I was leaving, he drove away.
Before I left, I opened the driver’s door, looked up and down the street, saw no one and, using the door as a privacy screen, I peed. Having done my business I got in and pushed the start button. Adjusting the rear view mirror, I saw two police cars with lights on barreling toward me. They got out, and I got out. Both officers stood in ways that emphasized “I am authority.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No.”
“Usually someone peeing in the street has been drinking.”
“I’m sorry. I slept here overnight, and I looked all around…”
“Well, you didn’t look hard enough. Someone saw you and called it in. There’s a church over there, and a school…” she said, waving her arms vaguely to her right, as I could see that there was no school on this block. “Where are you from?”
“Arkansas”
“Well, what would you think if I peed in the street there?”
Deborah Stone, in her fantastic book The Policy Paradox, writes that Americans commonly think that we should be free to do what we want so long as we do not harm anyone else. That seems to make sense. We have strong liberty guarantees in this country. But what constitutes ‘harm’ gets tricky. It’s illegal for me to hit you: that’s a direct harm. But we also ban drunk driving not because every drunk driver hits someone, but because drunk driving elevates the risk that someone will be hit. And so it goes with a whole basket of potential harms.
The harm most relevant here involves ‘cumulative’ harms. This occurs when an action does not itself create any harm, but a harm is created if everyone (or if enough people) does the action. Walking on the grass is a good example of a cumulative harm. If one person walks across the grass, no harm is done. If everyone walks across the grass, then a path is worn and there is no more grass to walk on.
I wanted to explain to the officer that peeing on the street was a good example of a cumulative harm. If everyone in Eufaula peed on the street, then, well…no, even in that case there would not be enough pee even to make the street entirely wet. And there was no chance that everyone in Eufaula was going to pee on this street today, or ever. The officer’s demeanor suggested that she was not in the mood to hear this, so I simply promised never to pee on the streets of Eufaula ever again.
Fort Walton Beach, Florida, had no Carnegie libraries. I did have a beach, and so I went there. I had to walk the gauntlet to enter the Fort Walton Beach library. On one side were food trucks (cubanos, acai bowls, coffee) and on the other was Parlor Donuts, with a large shark sculpture. I chose the caramel pecan donut.
The Walton Beach Women’s Club was the impetus for this library. The WBWC was founded when “a handful of strong pioneer women [NB: it was 1921] came together to enforce laws and ordinances, clean up the town, provide medical and dental needs to the children and rid the town of mosquitoes and fleas.” The first library they established in 1927 was located in the Masonic Lodge (at the time, the Masons had no female members). The women served as volunteers on a rotating basis. In 1936 the women donated all the books to the local high school (so that its library could be accredited) and the library shut down. It reopened in 1954 “when the Business and Professional Women's Club, assisted by the Women's Club, established the Fort Walton Beach Public Library in the Community Center, the land for which was donated by Library Board President, Mrs. Liza (L.M) Jackson. Miss Lucile Woodward, a member of one of the first families of this city, served as librarian.”
Florida’s population had boomed during WWII before actually declining afterward. Most of its growth came after 1950, no doubt because of the attractiveness of new libraries like the one in Fort Walton Beach. Oh, and also air conditioning, which became widespread during that decade.
Just as I could not resist the caramel pecan donut before visiting the library, I was too weak to avoid the milkshake from the shop across the Miracle Strip after my visit. For the first time on this trip I just sat, doing nothing, and enjoyed the sun.
The Ben May Library in Mobile, Alabama makes at least one list of the most beautiful libraries in each state. It is stately inside and out. But it is not the most memorable part of Mobil for me.
Troy is. I met Troy, a 23 year old male from Vietnam, through Couchsurfing. He had recently graduated from an American university and was working in Mobile. Unfortunately, his job as an aerospace engineer – or his visa, or both – had ended and he had to return home. I was fortunate that he offered to host me. He might have had reason to be suspicious: I’m an older guy who had no reviews, as I had not surfed until now. I tried to recover my initial contact with him and was unsuccessful. No doubt I told him about my quest and offered flattering comments and promised to bring some treats. To my surprise, he accepted my bid. He is an accepting guy, with 21 guests having posted their reviews of him. A sample: “Troy is truly an amazing host and person.” “He's not only a cool and friendly host but also made me feel right at home with his cozy and welcoming space.” “He’s a level headed dude with a great mentality. I appreciated that we could share some deep conversation.”
I texted him when I arrived, bearing a baguette, jam, and oranges. He welcomed me warmly and brought me up to his 6th floor apartment. It was a tiny one-bedroom with concrete floors. He didn’t have a couch – couch surfing is not to be taken literally – and so I would sleep on the floor. His living area was so small that, when it was time to go to bed, I had to move his two chairs and small table to put my sleeping bag on the floor.
Young, of modest means, and from a foreign land, Troy was a most gracious host. He cooked a simple dinner of spiced noodles, and we shared stories of our travels, families, and educations. After dinner, he excused himself so that he could FaceTime with his family back in Vietnam, while I wrote up my notes for the day. Differing ages, nationalities, and experiences were no barrier to a most enjoyable evening, nor was the concrete floor an impediment to a solid night of sleep. The kindness of strangers.
댓글