TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=90TT0128> <title> Jan. 15, 1990: Get Me A Ladder At The Library </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990 Jan. 15, 1990 Antarctica </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> EDUCATION, Page 72 Get Me a Ladder at The Library </hdr> <body> Books are still king, but now there is so much more When Chicago's new public library is completed in 1991, it will include a telecommunications hookup with all 86 branches, as well as a satellite downlink to draw programming from worldwide networks. Atlanta's public-library system operates its own channel on cable television, broadcasting literacy classes and interviews with authors. In Colorado more than 14,000 commuters a year find rides through a computerized information system run by the Pikes Peak Library District. And in Oregon the Salem Public Library lends audiovisual equipment and even personal computers. Welcome to the library of today. Although books are still the chief business of libraries, these once quiet redoubts have vastly broadened their scope, branching out to serve their modern users' extended needs. One result is that despite tight municipal budgets and cutbacks in state and federal aid, American public libraries are experiencing a spirited renaissance. From 1988 to 1989, 111 new library buildings went up around the country, the greatest number in one year since 1979. Many of these were underwritten by new bond issues, voter-initiated taxes and private donations. Borrowers and browsers are streaming into the nation's 15,215 public libraries. In 1987, 57% of the American public used such facilities, up from 51% in 1978. The revival knows no geographical boundaries. In 1985 Atlantans voted for a $38 million bond referendum that expanded the central library, constructed twelve new branches, started six modular libraries in public housing projects and bought $9 million in books. Washington State voters have gone to the polls at least nine times in the past five years to support bond issues aimed at renovating or building libraries. The budget for the New York Public Library soared from $60 million in 1981 to $127 million in 1989, thanks largely to government funds and the generosity of private donors. Even in oil-dependent Tulsa, citizens have voluntarily hiked property taxes to improve their libraries. Perhaps the most impressive example is Detroit, a city ravaged by crime, poverty, a declining population and an eroding tax base. Practically the last thing local citizens might be expected to fight for is books, but they did just that when a money squeeze threatened to shut down twelve of the city's 25 branches in 1984. Detroit voters bailed out the libraries by approving a $1 million property tax by an impressive margin. In 1988 they renewed the levy. "People think their library will always be there," says Paul Scupholm, head of Detroit's independent Friends of the Library fund-raising group. "But when faced with its closing, they dig into their pockets." Another reason for the energetic revival of libraries is that as city budgets have shrunk, library administrators and staffers have become more aggressive advocates. Once satisfied to stamp books and shush noisy patrons, librarians now write grant proposals, chat up community leaders and campaign for bond issues. Image is important. In 1988 the Public Library Association named its first ever marketing director in an effort to improve "customer" relations. "We're mobilizing our constituency," explains P.L.A. president Sarah Long. "We're targeting areas for special services." As a result of this get-smart approach, public libraries no longer content themselves with walk-in trade off the street. Today they combine the hustle of a small business and the concern of a community center with facilities tailored to the tastes and needs of their users. Video rentals attract film buffs. Data bases, software and fax machines bring in budding entrepreneurs. Language and literacy classes entice the swelling number of urban immigrants. While parents browse, youngsters are entertained by puppet shows and storytellers. "Name any need and the library can help you," says Brenda Johnson, assistant director for Washington's public-library services. Technology has made possible these multiple roles, vastly expanding what libraries can offer and eliminating many economic disparities. Through the magic of computers, a branch located in the poorest section of town can provide the same information available in branches in affluent neighborhoods. A library in Philadelphia can retrieve data housed in far-off Los Angeles. "We're beginning to define the library beyond a physical place," says Michael Eisenberg, associate professor of information studies at Syracuse University. "When you think of it that way, where does the library end?" It doesn't. In keeping with the new emphasis on marketing, libraries are increasingly providing services to businesses. The Louisville public library, for example, has its own patent collection. A dozen facilities around the country advise small firms on how to win federal contracts. Last July the Los Angeles Public Library introduced FYI, a fee-based research and document-service that gives businesses access to 1,500 on-line data bases and a national library network. Once the desired information is located, researchers fax or hand-deliver it right to a client's desk. The library's community-service role is also being redefined. For latchkey kids, the Seattle Public Library runs an after-school program complete with tutors who help with homework. San Francisco, with its multilingual population, offers a computerized card catalog in Chinese, Japanese, Spanish and Vietnamese. Some libraries provide boxes of discount coupons for grocery shoppers and one-day passes to museums; a branch in Chicago even lends ladders and household tools. Along with new functions have come new problems. In many cities, brawls, drug deals and illicit sex in the rest rooms are not uncommon. In Washington's Mount Pleasant library last spring, a woman was found in a drug-induced stupor with a needle hanging out of her arm. The city's Martin Luther King facility trains cameras on its bathroom areas to discourage child molesters. The homeless, who nap at study tables and bathe in library rest rooms, are a growing constituency. To make space for regular users, the Tulsa public library in 1985 helped set up a day shelter, complete with showers and phone service. Some critics complain that these new roles, while worthy, have taken libraries too far from their traditional mission of providing information. "If you love everything, you love nothing," grumbles Brown University president Vartan Gregorian, former head of the New York Public Library. Perhaps. But voters across the country are making it clear that modern, multifunctional libraries are something they are more than willing to support--and pay for. By Susan Tifft. Reported by Deborah E. Brown/Los Angeles and Sheila Gribben/Chicago. </body> </article> </text>