Until recently I though everyone knew the joy that was the BookMobile. I have been corrected and upon reflection realized that the larger towns of our great state with city libraries that are larger than hen houses had no need for this special service.
The BookMobile was a special sort of RV like-vehicle, the inside of which held, from floor to ceiling, rows and rows of books. At the front the driver and passenger seats turned and a desk folded down. Each class had a slotted time to go to the BookMobile. I remember lining up, arms full of books I had to return, and trying to be as quiet as possible because I knew we wouldn't get to go until we were lined up appropriately and quiet. Unruly students truly tested my patience on BookMobile day. But then we would be on the move, out into the blacktopped part of the playground and up the two or three green carpeted steps into the book-filled haven.Usually two volunteer mothers or fathers sat behind that desk and dutifully stamped out our books to us as we signed our names on the small card which they placed in a file box. My favorite days were the ones where my mom and grandma volunteered. I felt like the princess of the BookMobile because they were there. The special people in charge of guarding and protecting the books that came in and out. Sentinels of children's literature for the BookMobile's five hour stop. They would greet me specially and I knew there would be no trouble checking out my books with them at the helm.
The man who ran our BookMobile was named Chip. He went all over to rural schools, but he lived in our town. His daughter Carly was in my year in school. My mom and grandma knew him and said he was a very nice man. He would greet us and help us find books. He made suggestions in our favorite genres and knew most every one's name. He was a nice man. And, then, it seemed to me, the best of men, because he brought me books every second Tuesday that weren't available in our small school library.
I love the public library. I still love to load a pile of books in my a
rms. But some days I miss the BookMobile. I miss the ugly green carpet that had snags in it. I miss the moms and dads stamping the little cards and having me sign my name. I miss Chip the librarian, in his early 80's style winter vest, recommending a new world to me, and calling me by name, asking how my grandmother and mom were doing. I miss the feeling of being small in an RV full of books and feeling that I had access to everything, if only the BookMobile would keep coming every second Tuesday.
rms. But some days I miss the BookMobile. I miss the ugly green carpet that had snags in it. I miss the moms and dads stamping the little cards and having me sign my name. I miss Chip the librarian, in his early 80's style winter vest, recommending a new world to me, and calling me by name, asking how my grandmother and mom were doing. I miss the feeling of being small in an RV full of books and feeling that I had access to everything, if only the BookMobile would keep coming every second Tuesday.
