Day 29, Wednesday, March 13: Los Angeles

Carnegie libraries visited: Lincoln Heights, Vermont Square, and Cahuenga. 

The “Grounded at Grand Central” AA meeting at 7.15 am today was about six blocks from the hostel, so I walked there. I almost wrote “decided to walk there” but the fact is that not only did I decide to do that, I actually did it. A joke commonly told in the rooms of AA goes something like this: 

“Three ducks were sitting on a log and one decided to jump into the water. How many ducks were left on the log?”

The answer is still three, as the one duck decided to jump but did not actually do it. The lesson: It’s not enough to decide not to drink. You actually need to stop drinking.

Interior of the LA Public Library

The room is small, warm, stuffy, and packed. ‘Vinny’ celebrated his 4th ‘birthday’ and so everyone congratulated him; cake was served. The AA daily reflection for this day focuses on spirituality: “I understand spiritual things to be unconditional love, joy, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, self-control, and humility…my goal is spiritual growth, accepting that I will never have spiritual perfection.” Sounds like something that Siddhartha might have written.

After the meeting I met ‘Hal,’ who knows Los Angeles’ City Librarian, John Szabo. Hal kindly introduced me via text. In addition to being City Librarian, and already featured in Susan Orlean’s The Library Book, John has written the book on death and dying appropriately entitled, Death and Dying: An Annotated Bibliography of the Thanatological Literature. I can’t wait to meet him, and I hope it works out.

On the way to the Lincoln Heights Carnegie library, one of the three Carnegies on my itinerary today, I passed a billboard sponsored by BevMo! shouting “Alcohol delivered in as fast as 15 minutes” (bold in the original). How convenient.

I arrived at the library before opening time so I stopped to take a few pictures. Orlando, sitting on the sidewalk by his decrepit Dodge Coachman motorhome (the D was hanging crookedly, and the o was missing entirely), said “Don’t park there. You’ll get a ticket.” I said that I would be quick, and that I was only taking a few pictures. By the time I was in front of the building, Orlando called out “Hey, they’re here!” I ran back, stared down the parking enforcement, or maybe I didn't. It was hard to tell, so I moved the car to a legal spot a block away. I returned to give Orlando a tip for his help. He said thanks and took the money, but instead of chatting with me it seemed that he had a beef with the traffic officer that was more important, so he went back to that.

LA Street Scene

Crystal Noe, the Senior Librarian at the Cahuenga Branch (Carnegie) Library, was dressed like my twin today, except that she had her hair tied back and I did not have any to tie back. Wearing a t-shirt (and cardigan – it can get cold in her library), jeans, and trainers, Crystal enthusiastically walked me through all the various online resources regarding the history of the Cahuenga Library. I was introduced to her while she was meeting with another staff member in a utility closet. I did not have time to eavesdrop much, but it sounded like some pipes needed repairing. My introduction was brief: “Can I add another request to the 101 things already on your desk? Crystal figuratively dropped those other things to spend ten minutes of her time with me, and I let her know how much I appreciated that.

Cahuenga Branch Library in Los Angeles

“I have always imagined,” noted Argentine fantasist Jorge Luis Borges, “that paradise will be a kind of library” wrote Patt Morrison in the Los Angeles Times in 1996. “But perhaps not this kind of library. Before it closed for its make-over in 1990, the Cahuenga branch was a dark and grotty hole, a spirit-shriveler of a place that was intended to uplift – ”the scariest place I ever worked,” one of its alumni librarians declared – and indeed, the only people who found it perfect were the film crews that made horror movies in its varnished gloom.” A local bond initiative enabled the library to be renovated and reopened in 1996. 

Libraries touch people in all sorts of ways, and in ways not always apparent at the time. At the Cahuenga library’s reopening, Morrison writes that 

Queen Silver had earned her front-row seat at the ceremony, for 75 years ago, when she was a child of 10 and the city’s first library bond measure was on the ballot, she went door to door--a good distance in Hollywood back then--to get the grown-ups to vote for it.

Queen Silver’s mother was an itinerant women’s rights lecturer, not exactly a profit-making calling. In such a family, matters often came down to buying a book or buying food. “If it hadn’t been for the library,” says Queen Silver, “I might have grown up a lot thinner.”

Earlier this year a friend or relative – I cannot remember which – asked me how many years ago did Kitt die. I said “seven” but another party to the conversation interjected “No, it was eight: he died in 2016.” I mention this tiny anecdote because in March 2024 the mainstream media had a field day regarding President Biden’s memory, with headlines like the one in Forbes “Biden Forgot When He Served As Vice President And Year Of Son’s Death.” Granted, I have killed more than a few brain cells, but there are many events in my life, even important ones, that I have a difficult time recalling the year the event took place. Even the death of my son. I do vividly remember where I was when I heard the news. I remember who called me and exactly what he said. I remember the date, but not the day of the week. The details I remember – the what, when, who, and how, but not why – are those most immediately engaging my senses. The ‘year’ of Kitt’s death is a more abstract concept, and I have no particular reason to connect it to any particular year (2015? 2016? 2017?) except by reference to other events I remember. Ok, so, Kitt died before I got married but after I proposed. Kitt died after he had enrolled in Georgetown, which was the year after he graduated from high school, and so forth. I usually have to triangulate events to remember the year something happened. I do not easily recall the year when I got my left hip replaced, but I do remember it was on the same day that 27 children and adults were gunned down at Sandy Hook.

The title City Librarian is given to the person at the pinnacle of the Los Angeles libraries’ hierarchy. In Los Angeles, the Mayor selects the City Librarian, who must then be confirmed by the City Council. Here's the list or women who served in that capacity: 

Mary E. Foy: 1880-84

Jessie A. Gavitt: 1884-89 

Lydia Prescott: 1889-89

Tessa Kelso: 1889-95

Clara B. Fowler: 1895-97

Harriet Child Wadleigh: 1897-1900

Mary L. Jones: 1900-1905

Althea Warren: 1933-47

Elizabeth Martinez: 1990-94

Susan Goldberg Kent: 1995-2004

Fontayne Holmes: 2004-08 

The special collections (which include rare, historical, documents and photographs) of the Los Angeles Public Library (LAPL) system that have been digitized are located in the library’s “TESSA” webpage. “TESSA” is named after Tessa Kelso, who served as LAPL’s 6th City Librarian. You can find more on these and other City Librarians here.

Graffiti tours are my thing. I never paid much attention to graffiti, or never thought of it as more than a nuisance, until my son Kitt turned me on to it when he said, “Hey, Dad, do you want to watch Exit Through the Gift Shop, a 2010 documentary directed by the graffiti artist Banksy. (I had never heard of him.) I learned later that Kitt himself had experimented with this art form, when his mother discovered a row of spray paint cans hidden behind some books in his room. When confronted, Kitt asserted that they were for an “art project”.

I’ve taken guided graffiti tours in Buenos Aires, Paris, New York, and Lisbon, and the one in LA checked all the boxes. Our guide was knowledgeable and witty. I won’t remember anything that he said.

I will remember that is was a joyful experience.