“So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.”
Roald Dahl, “Matilda” 1988.
I am Matilda. Libraries saved my life. I knew I was gay, but I didn’t know what that meant. I officially came out in the early 80’s and the most radical technology that I possessed at that time was my Sony Walkman. Compared to my IPod mini, the device is now laughable. However, my Walkman and I spent countless hours together and drained thousands of batteries while listening to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and this new girl from Detroit, Madonna.
Back then, we didn’t have the internet, nor did we have the world in the palm of our hands with our smart phone, but that didn’t stop me from finding out who I was as a young gay man. I had something more powerful than any of today’s technology.
I had a library card, and I used it.
I grew up in Toledo, Ohio and we were fortunate to have a very vibrant library system in our city. The main branch in downtown was an imposing fortress of knowledge full of dusty old books, (now) vintage vinyl, and a whole of other literary goodies. You could actually check out 16mm films and a projector for private home viewings. My favorite was the 3D version of “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” It came with a dozen 3D glasses for optimal viewing fun. That place was my refuge from the world and my place to find out just exactly what was going on in my head.
We didn’t have Google back then either. We had the card catalog and I quickly learned that gay was not the term I should be searching for when trying to figure all this out. Homosexuality and all its alleged ills were neatly housed in the 300’s, 301.4157 to be exact. I memorized this number so I could casually go to that area of the library and see what that particular branch (the Toledo library system had many branches) had to offer. I didn’t want to raise the suspicion of the librarians, whom I was certain knew of my nefarious searches. I was able to sneak in, check the shelves, and gather whatever was offered. The first time I checked books out on homosexuality I was a sophomore in high school. I was nervous and scared that I might be questioned. The clerk said nothing, even as I stammered out the lame excuse of “research” for my psychology class. News flash, I didn’t take psychology until college. I hid the books in my locker at school with the spine facing in so no one would see the titles. I’d sneak them into my study hall and read them inside of my textbooks.
I was fortunate to get a job as a Page in the branch near my high school my junior/senior year. It was a dream job: hang out in a library, work with librarians, and work with books. Never mind that I was paid a pittance, I was in heaven. I remember seeing my mailbox go in on the same shelf as the librarians and I think I almost passed out from excitement. For someone who loved books, this was it. One of the librarians was a gay man who was partnered with another librarian in the district. They had a fabulous old house in Toledo’s Old West End and threw the best parties. He befriended me and became my unofficial mentor. I didn’t always get his droll humor but I did freak the hell out when he checked out Kraftwerk’s “Computer World” LP for me and suggested that they might become my new favorite group. They did.
He also put a paperback copy of Armistead Maupin’s “Tales of the City” in my box with a note clipped to it that read: “see me if you have any questions.” Boy did I ever, the most important one being, where were the rest of the books? To this day, Maupin remains one of my literary heroes and I was thrilled to actually meet him at a fund raiser in Ann Arbor several years ago. He was taken by our names (Tom and Tod) and signed one of our books: “Tom and Tod wait for no man. Love, Armistead.”
So while times have changed for LGBTQ youth, the ugly realities remain:
· Some are frightened to search for LGBT issues for fear that their parents will discover their searches.
· Some aren’t quite sure where they stand and are questioning.
· Some are isolated in the more rural areas of our country.
· Some feel alone and confused and are considering suicide as a solution.
While libraries can’t do everything, they certainly can provide LGBTQ youth with the information they need to move forward into adulthood. The libraries in Toledo saved my life back then. Without that information and knowledge at my fingertips, I’m not sure where I’d be right now. So to all of you out there who work in libraries, thank you for all you do.
l�c"q�