Teach
04-04-2008, 08:38 PM
There were books everywhere. Thousands and thousands of books, The only library that I’ve ever seen that was bigger was The BPL, Boston Public Library, in Copley Square.
I was then a sophomore in college. Because my family was relatively poor (did you ever look for loose change under your car’s seat covers), I needed to work to pay for part of my tuition and also the cost of my books. One of the places I worked to defray my college costs was in the school's library.
Yes, I was hired as a page. My job: To take the book slips that my fellow students had filled out and then play the ever popular game: "Find That Book!" (I can’t remember whether we played the Library of Congress or the Dewey Decimal verrsion). For all this scurrying around I was paid the handsome sum (tympany): $2.25 an hour. Today – as most of you realize — unless you’re doing your latest impersonation of Rip Van Winkle, that's just about enough (in today's do-re-mi) to buy 2/3rds of a gallon of gas.
Yes, for three solid hours, I would play the role of a giant mouse in a maze; I would make my way up one aisle and then down another, but instead of trying to find a piece of cheese --- I was in search of the correct book. Well, I was keeping my weight down, anyway.
Frankly, this mind-numbing work was causing many of us to develop a condition called bibliophobia. I might also mention that if you took what seemed like inordinate amount of time in finding the cheese... I mean the books, some of your fellow students might give you some snide remark like: "Whadya do...go to New Hampshire to find the book?" "New Hampshire," I kept thinking, "New Hampshire."
Well, that's when it dawned on me. Not only did I need to find time to study for my coursework, I also needed time to study the Rockingham Park harness program that was neatly folded — out of sight — in my back pocket.
In my travels throughout the library’s catacombs, I found a spot. A secret hideaway. Call it — for a better name — an alcove. It was a dead end, cul de sac in the "mouse maze". It was quiet. Secluded. Off the beaten path. It was "My Place."
"My Place" became the spot for me to relax...to read the harness racing program. To stop playing -- at least for a short time -- the game: "Find That Book!"
However, one day, as I was studying the harness program, one of my supervisors happened to find "My Place." ‘Ahumm, or was it "aha." In any event, whatever it was, Mr Noodle (if you’ve watched Sesame Street as often as I have with my grandchildren, you know what I'm talkin' about).
Well, the next thing I hear is: "Walter, what are you doing?" "Oh nuthing, Sir," I answered. "Just doing some studying," I continued. And what are you studying?" Mr Noodle asked. I said, "The speed and endurance of standardbred racehorses." If Noodle's face could talk at that moment, it woulda said, "Dah." "Let me put it to you this way, Sir," I said. "I'm tryin to dope out the double at 'The Rock,'" At that moment, another quizzical look crossed Noodle's face. He was: "Clueless in Boston." I felt like saying, "Like whataya been reading all your life? The dictionary.
Well thankfully, Mr Noodle went easy on me. Not that I was so enamored with the job, in the first place. Just a means to an end. Just one of the multiple hoops I had to jump through on my road down the path of Life.
Yet, one thing was for sure: "My Place" would no longer be my private harness racing study area. Actually, I half-expected Mr. Noodle to go there... and study the the dictionary... I can just see him now: "a...aardvark...aaardwolf..."
I was then a sophomore in college. Because my family was relatively poor (did you ever look for loose change under your car’s seat covers), I needed to work to pay for part of my tuition and also the cost of my books. One of the places I worked to defray my college costs was in the school's library.
Yes, I was hired as a page. My job: To take the book slips that my fellow students had filled out and then play the ever popular game: "Find That Book!" (I can’t remember whether we played the Library of Congress or the Dewey Decimal verrsion). For all this scurrying around I was paid the handsome sum (tympany): $2.25 an hour. Today – as most of you realize — unless you’re doing your latest impersonation of Rip Van Winkle, that's just about enough (in today's do-re-mi) to buy 2/3rds of a gallon of gas.
Yes, for three solid hours, I would play the role of a giant mouse in a maze; I would make my way up one aisle and then down another, but instead of trying to find a piece of cheese --- I was in search of the correct book. Well, I was keeping my weight down, anyway.
Frankly, this mind-numbing work was causing many of us to develop a condition called bibliophobia. I might also mention that if you took what seemed like inordinate amount of time in finding the cheese... I mean the books, some of your fellow students might give you some snide remark like: "Whadya do...go to New Hampshire to find the book?" "New Hampshire," I kept thinking, "New Hampshire."
Well, that's when it dawned on me. Not only did I need to find time to study for my coursework, I also needed time to study the Rockingham Park harness program that was neatly folded — out of sight — in my back pocket.
In my travels throughout the library’s catacombs, I found a spot. A secret hideaway. Call it — for a better name — an alcove. It was a dead end, cul de sac in the "mouse maze". It was quiet. Secluded. Off the beaten path. It was "My Place."
"My Place" became the spot for me to relax...to read the harness racing program. To stop playing -- at least for a short time -- the game: "Find That Book!"
However, one day, as I was studying the harness program, one of my supervisors happened to find "My Place." ‘Ahumm, or was it "aha." In any event, whatever it was, Mr Noodle (if you’ve watched Sesame Street as often as I have with my grandchildren, you know what I'm talkin' about).
Well, the next thing I hear is: "Walter, what are you doing?" "Oh nuthing, Sir," I answered. "Just doing some studying," I continued. And what are you studying?" Mr Noodle asked. I said, "The speed and endurance of standardbred racehorses." If Noodle's face could talk at that moment, it woulda said, "Dah." "Let me put it to you this way, Sir," I said. "I'm tryin to dope out the double at 'The Rock,'" At that moment, another quizzical look crossed Noodle's face. He was: "Clueless in Boston." I felt like saying, "Like whataya been reading all your life? The dictionary.
Well thankfully, Mr Noodle went easy on me. Not that I was so enamored with the job, in the first place. Just a means to an end. Just one of the multiple hoops I had to jump through on my road down the path of Life.
Yet, one thing was for sure: "My Place" would no longer be my private harness racing study area. Actually, I half-expected Mr. Noodle to go there... and study the the dictionary... I can just see him now: "a...aardvark...aaardwolf..."