Day 108, Tuesday July 2, 2024: Cleveland, Ohio
- Mark Carl Rom
- Sep 27, 2025
- 6 min read
Carnegie libraries visited: Cleveland Carnegie West
Days sober: 376
Cleveland might have the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, yet I prefer Cleveland Heights’ “Rocke & Rom Bed & Breakfast” (R&R B&B), which caters exclusively to solo travelers researching libraries who happen to be related to the hosts, my brother-in-law (the Rocke) and my sister (the Rom). I give it a ★★★★★ review. My request for “Mark’s Room” was accepted, and so I moved into a clean, quiet, and well-appointed bedroom with a garden view from a beloved writing desk. When I was ready for breakfast, I was served homemade granola (from the Cook’s Illustrated recipe), tart cherry juice, and pour-over coffee made especially for me. My sister Cristine and brother-in-law Alan gave me a pretty sweet rate, too.
Were I Andrew Carnegie, and able to take time off from my demanding plutocrat schedule to write a review, I would give the online version of Cleveland Public Library’s history a one-star rating, assuming zero stars are not possible. This history doesn’t even mention Carnegie, who gave the city $590,000 ($23 million in 2025) to build fifteen branch libraries in the first decade of the 20th century. The only mention of the 1900s in this history is that in 1903 Cleveland had one of the first libraries to lend books in braille. Noteworthy, absolutely but let’s show Andrew some respect, ok?
Cleveland Heights, where Cristine and Alan live, was not one of those fifteen, but it could have been. Around 1904, Carnegie had pledged $10,000 for a library there. In 1910, J.R. Hall, the Secretary of the Board of Library Trustees for that village, informed Carnegie, in the most passive way, that “some time ago it was decided to abandon this project.” Hall asked whether the gift could be transferred to Lake Erie College. Carnegie never bites on a bait and switch.
The R&R B&B was so comfortable, I mainly lazed around, rousing myself to be chauffeured by Cristine and Alan (did I not mention that my accommodations included all transportation?) to visit the Cleveland Carnegie West library and the Bay Village Branch of the Cuyahoga County Public Libraries. We drove west through Cleveland's center, then back east along the shores of Lake Erie.
In 1910, Carnegie West was the first of the Cleveland Carnegies to open. It’s located in Ohio City, one of Cleveland’s oldest and currently most diverse neighborhoods. It’s also, I note, the home of the largest concentration of craft breweries in the area. Its best known brand is the Great Lakes Brewing Company which, oh, I remember, makes some very, very, good beers including the Burning River Pale Ale. In the spirit of “name it to own it,” the BRPA (pronounced, I’m guessing, “burp”) took its name from the fact that the Cuyahoga River was so polluted that it literally, in the literal sense of the word, caught on fire in 1969. That was then: fifty years later, in 2019, the American Rivers organization named the Cuyahoga its “River of the Year” given how much progress had been made in restoring it. When we put our time, talents, and resources to work, we still can make progress in solving some of our country's persistent problems. Even rivers that burn.
Bay Village is affluent, and the library reflects this. A city of 16,000 on the shores of Lake Erie, its median household income is 50 percent higher than the national average ($122,000 compared to $80,000). Its library “features a rooftop terrace with a view of Lake Erie, two cozy fireplace seating areas, an interactive children's play, learn and grow space, study rooms, public meeting spaces and an Innovation Center.” The library was funded through money provided by the county, local funds, grants, and donations. I haven’t been able to put my fingers on the exact mix, yet as I discovered the area does have a history of library benefactors.
The first white settler in Bay Village was Joseph Cahoon, in 1810. His son Joel and daughter-in-law Margaret had eleven children – “all successful, prominent, citizens.” Four of his five daughters lived to adulthood, and all four of them became teachers in the Cleveland school system. Ida Maria, the youngest, also became an author, writing Looking Backwards, the history of the Saturday Reading Club, and The History of the Cahoon Family.
Ida was the last surviving member of her immediate family – neither she nor her sisters had any children – with two of her sisters (Lydia Elizabeth, who was 17 years older, and Laura Ellen, 11 years) dying in 1917, the same year as Ida. Five months before her death at age 65, Ida wrote her final will and testament. The first twenty items involve gifts to specific individuals and in the 21st she details her bequests to Bay City: the Cahoon Homestead was to be used as a public park, the home on that land to be used as a public library and museum, and any income generated from those properties was to be used for the maintenance of both: “I hereby give and bequeath to the ‘Library of Dover by the Lake’ [at the time, Ida’s property was in the Dover township], herein intended to be created, all my books, pictures, and I request that the family portraits and best pictures be placed therein on the walls of said Cahoon Homestead, and be forever maintained therein.” These gifts did come with some conditions: “no bathing, boating, games, or sports” on Sundays; no booze; and proper policing.
In her penultimate request, Ida wrote:
I hereby direct and request that steps be taken by said Mayor and Council of the Village of Bay, to enlist the attention of Mr. Andrew Carnegie and solicit his help and assistance in establishing and maintaining said library.
I can find no evidence that the town acted on this request. Bay Village did organize a library committee in 1920, and the library in the Cahoon home opened in 1921. Mrs. Emma Paul Pope and Miss Olive P. Bailey were appointed as associate librarians, although it looks like they stuck around just long enough to get the library up and running, because in 1922 Mrs. Julia (Osborn) Scott was selected to be the resident librarian, a position she held for the next 24 years, keeping her quarters upstairs in the former Cahoon home and the current Dover-by-the-Lake Library.
Born in Dover Township in 1880, Julia married Louis Scott, the grandson of Rueben Scott, one of the community’s original settlers – it’s safe to say that the Scotts and the Cahoons were well acquainted – in 1904. The marriage produced one son, David – named after Julia’s father – in 1906. Then, Scott and David seem to vanish from Julia’s life. According to the 1930 Census, Julia and Louis were still married, and 24 year old David was still living with them. Where were they? Had Julia just moved out of their home and into the library? Marriages are mysterious, I know, but I can’t help but wonder whether her apartment in the library was an escape, a solace, or a lonely-after-hours affair.
Julia was a living reference section for the community as it seems she knew everyone, and everything, about Village Bay and its history. She did more than just tend to the books, too. She took in a “Gypsy family” into her library home for two weeks, after the family sought refuge there when their baby became ill. (The baby died and was buried in the Lakeside Cemetery, just outside the park.) Another time, two guys who had a bit, or more than a bit, too much to drink broke into the library on a cold night and slept on the couches downstairs. As the story goes, in the morning, still stinking of booze, they went upstairs, woke Julia up, and asked her to make their case when the police arrived. If this story is true, I have to admire and to question the librarian’s ability to sleep through a break in and the ability of the still-tipsy drunks to wake up before she did.
One more thing. Yesterday, I wrote at length about Lakewood librarian Roena Ingham and expressed my disappointment at not being able to find a picture of her. Before I gave up, I did the obvious thing – I sent an email to the help desk of the Lakewood library. A response came just seven minutes later: “We have received your request. We will have someone send a photo over later today.” Less than an hour later, branch manager Andrea Fisher emailed me the picture, with this note:
I am attaching a photo of Roena A. Ingham from the Library's archives. Best of luck to you with the completion of your book. I look forward to reading it once it is published. Let us know if you need anything else.
I doubt that librarians can turn water into wine although, really, I wouldn’t put it past them. If not miracle workers, they are definitely people helpers and problem solvers. Thanks, librarians. Here's Roena.
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