Getting Carded
by Bill Shein

Every month, our little town newsletter taunts me with a compelling list of new books that have been added to the shelves of the Monterey Public Library. After two years of living here, and twenty-four instances of reviewing that list and saying, “Seriously, it’s time to stop procrastinating and get a library card,” I finally did.

On a recent Saturday morning, after completing routine small-town tasks like emptying my post office box and shaking an angry fist at the New Yorkers speeding through town, I made room for what would soon be my wallet’s most literate resident, and then walked through the door of the Monterey Library.

ME: Hi, I’d like to get a library card.

LIBRARIAN: Do you live in Monterey?

ME (pointing to my hat made entirely from Monterey goat cheese): Of course.

LIBRARIAN: Do you own property?

ME: Actually, I rent.

LIBRARIAN: Well, do you own property anywhere?

Do I own property anywhere? Does that matter? Are the late fees at the Monterey Library so onerous that I might have to sell a few acres of land if I’m slow to return “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Overcoming Procrastination”?

Of course, since Monterey is often filled with short-term vacationers, it’s understandable that granting library privileges to people who might disappear – with taxpayer-financed library books under their arms – is a concern. But in the moment, it was a surprise that detailed personal information might be required to secure “The Card.” Would notarized copies of tax returns be necessary? A DNA sample? How about records of my years in the Texas Air National Guard? Because even forging a fake set of those could take some time.

After I displayed a Massachusetts driver’s license with my Monterey address, our town’s vigilant librarian continued to eye me warily. She even remained unconvinced after I partially disrobed to reveal a discreet tattoo of the words, “Monterey: A Hidden Paradise.” Only after providing further assurances – in the form of my landlord’s name, address, and his Texas Air National Guard records – did the process move forward.

Still, her skepticism hung in the air like smoke from a burning set of Texas Air National Guard records. Did she recognize me from the photo on the back of my book, “Earn Millions Stealing Books from Small-Town Libraries and Selling Them on eBay”? Is that why I was about to be turned away? I worried that such a denial might damage my credit rating.

One reason libraries are so important is that hardcover books now routinely sell for more than twenty-five dollars. These sky-high prices would be a national scandal if big media’s “Scandalometer” was even remotely connected to real life. (Or, perhaps, if big media didn’t also own every major book publisher.)

Fortunately, the American Library Association reports that there are 117,000 libraries in America, including 9,100 public libraries. Nearly two-thirds of all Americans use the services of a library every year. In 2001 there were 1.2 billion visits to libraries – and perhaps double that if you include college kids who just slip into the stacks to make out. Today’s libraries are also a powerful democratizing institution, offering education and opportunity to everyone who can leap through flaming hoops to secure a library card.

As I filled out a form with my name and address – and that of my landlord – the librarian went over library rules. For example, when using the after-hours return slot, always wrap books with rubber bands to prevent spine-breaking damage when they drop to the floor. (Strangely, the return slot is located on the library roof.) That made perfect sense to me.

But as she handed me Monterey Library Card Number 408, she delivered a no-nonsense warning. “We don’t replace lost cards,” she said. Now, that didn’t make sense to me at all. No replacement cards? Lose The Card and you’re banned for life? That seemed severe until I heard about the previous policy, “Lose Your Card, Lose a Finger.”

CUT TO: A four-fingered man in the library’s fiction section, thumbing a copy of “Crime and Punishment.”

After vowing to protect The Card with my life, my long-overdue library membership immediately had its privileges: I walked out with a terrific biography of Mark Twain, a writer whose work was championed by courageous librarians of his age against those who wanted Huck and Tom banned from library shelves.

Similarly, today’s librarians deserve our thanks. In addition to ably protecting the collections of small-town libraries from transient vacation scofflaws (and suspicious men wearing hats of cheese), they recently earned kudos for raising the alarm about Patriot Act provisions that make our taste in reading material readily available to nosy government agents who drop into our libraries.

FBI AGENT #1: Looks like he read a Mark Twain biography, a book about procrastination, a how-to called “Make Your Own Cheese Chapeau,” and something called, “Earn Millions Stealing Books from Small Town Libraries and Selling Them on eBay,” which I think he wrote.

FBI AGENT #2 (Suit jacket bulging noticeably): Yeah, I read that last one.

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Bill Shein keeps The Card in a safety deposit box.

(This column originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle newspaper on October 3, 2004).