Two Types of Librarians (Of Which I Have NEVER Met Either)

In an effort to fully flesh out the classification of the different human elements found in public library service, I have decided to define types as I identify them, leaving the complications associated with establishing an in depth system to the side for a moment.

I decided to start with two types of librarians, which I am lucky enough to only have witnessed at other libraries and never had to work with...

The first group are known (by me) as the SQUATTERS. They want to stay where they are and not change a thing. They have spent years of their hardest work (?) to prepare procedures and a corporate culture that ensures no change is possible. They only thing that will dislodge them is time combined with a concerted effort by their successors. The squatters were not always this way, however. They used to desire to change, to do things their way. At some point, they realized that this isn't all it's cracked up to be, and they found, magically, that the spot they were in at that moment was perfect. They then spend their careers trying to keep it that way. They kill innovation via the informal filibuster. They also know every detail of every policy, either because they wrote it or they don't like it. Ironically, their e-mails can often be identified by extremely ornate backgrounds, fonts, theme music, and other HTML goodies.

Go figure.

The other type to define today are the

IDEALISTS. These folks are either fresh out of library school, or have recently been reintroduced to the public sector. They expect a library to function smoothly, with rational thought at the reason for rules and policy. They are still blind to the reality of their positions as babysitters and movie finders. They are still waiting for the opportunity to enlighten the masses. They wait so long that helping some high school kid do his homework by showing him how an index works actually passes as a victory.

Librarians can remain idealists forever. They can also, after years of fruitless struggle, morph into a squatter. A third option is that they ride the belief that they can make a difference all the way into a management position. This is how they become the nemesis of the squatter. Once in management, they find that they are too busy listening to the complaints of squatters and the ideas of the new idealists to get anything done other than scheduling.

The other option for idealists? Complete burnout and profession change.

They can be identified by the tired smile on their faces and the frustrated tone of their e-mails.

The Inner Workings of the Public Library Part I

The Life Cycle of a Public Library Book

I have taken it upon myself to detail the life cycle of a public library book in order to form a response to a frequently asked question: "Whach yall do wit dose ode books and stuff?"

If a library book were alive, its point of conception would be what is known as the ordering phase. A librarian is courted by publishers and vendors via trade and advertisement publications. With the gloss of the cover like a twinkle in the eye, the black and white pictures of the book like a lover's promise, the publisher's review like a boastful suitor's speech, the librarian cannot help but fall in love.
(Much like real life, however, the librarian can order a book simply to fill a need. The resulting purchase is usually made after the librarian is met with selection list lacking anything better. In fact, this is much more often the case... at least with library books.)
The next stage is known as processing, or, sometimes, pre-processing. This is the equivalent of a naming ceremony, the confirmation, and the circumcision. The book is stamped with the name of the library to ruin its chances at ever being considered valuable. Thus a promising first edition is forced to serve the public good. A security device is installed, and a sticker to aid location is attached. The book, freshly aware of its place in the library, is now ready for introduction to its public.
From here the book can follow along two very different paths that lead to a shared end. The path of the unpopular book is one of dust and inertia. Occasionally someone will check it out, but not enough to warrant the shelf space it occupies. This book will be "weeded" due to limited number of checkouts. An alternative to this would be that the books inertia carries it in obscurity until someone notices the information it provides is outdated or proven incorrect. Then it is weeded.
The second path is one of extreme popularity. The book actually checks out so much that it needs to be removed from the collection, often before most patrons even know the library owns it. This counterintuitive measure must be taken. Books that check out at a higher than average rate are likely to be damaged through use. Broken spines, loose and missing pages, water (coffee, urine, kool-aid) damage, eaten by a dog (baby), stolen, vandalized, or other forms of destruction await these books. Since most of these titles are ordered in multiples, these books are weeded and often not replaced. Not thanked for their sacrifices, these books disappear quietly, with little more than a gasp caused by their condition as a eulogy.
(I shall not attempt to judge which is the more depressing path. Instead, I will find solace in the fact that books are inanimate objects that possess no feelings or desires whatsoever.)
After the book is weeded, it again finds itself on one of two possible paths. The first path is reserved for books whose condition may allow them further service. These books are typically sold for pennies on the dollar to help fund the library. One final sacrifice for those who didn't already give everything to their duty. You can find these in "Friends of the Library" book sales. If you buy a book that has a library stamp on it, paired with a "withdrawn" stamp, this was its past.
The books that are too broken to sell for two bits are recycled. By recycled, as a matter of remaining truthful, I mean thrown away. These books are usually deposited into black, thick trash bags so that no one sees them during their final journey. For some reason, people can get upset when they discover that their library destroys books. (I believe I have explained enough so that it is understood that the library doesn't destroy books, it simply removes books that have been destroyed.)
The vacant shelf space left by these books must be filled, which brings us back full circle.

As a librarian, granted a pretty inexperienced one, I have discovered quite a few things about an entrenched bureaucracy recently. More on that later... I think we need a little background info first.

I graduated with my MIS in December of 2006. Since that time (and a little before) I have been working in a large public library system as someone near the bottom of the totem pole in my caste. For those of you who are unaware, the library professions are separated into 5 very segregated classes. While each class definitely has subgroups (which I am currently working on classifying fully)they are so segregated that I shall, from now on, refer to them strictly as castes. They are listed in order of salary, greatest to least.

(the descriptions below are solely stereotypical, and should be treated however you desire)

The top level caste is known as administration. Perhaps they were librarians once, but they are no longer. Not that this is a bad thing. The function of this caste is to herd the other castes toward the goal, or mission, of the library. There are many other, dirty, nasty, sweaty responsibilities too, but since I don't understand almost anything that they do, we shall just leave it with the generalization that they run the library.

Next are the librarians. Members of this caste vary widely in age and responsibility, but share certain characteristics. You can often find them in meetings. They can find you what you need if they want to. This is not to say that members of the other castes are unable to do this, but more along the lines that this is what this caste does. There is also programming, reader advisory, babysitting, etc.; but, mainly these are the information seekers and disseminators. It should be mentioned that, as we speak, this caste is involved in a civil war of sorts. The future of this group hangs in the balance. On one side sits that "old guard" who might not actually want to help you anymore. The information you want to find might exist in a medium that was invented long after they stopped keeping themselves up to date with current trends. They have, rightfully so(?), earned their pensions and want to be left alone (or talk about books with their chronological peers). Pacing up and down the other side of the divide are members of the "cult of technology". These librarians want to overhaul everything so that patrons (that's what libraries call customers and the homeless) can get at everything they need to know without getting out from in front of the public access computer screen. They are the Gods of the Diest's library. They hope to set things in motion, tweaking once in a while, and watch the beauty of library life as it unfolds. "The more the patrons can do for themselves," this group says, "the more time we can spend doing important things." These important things seem to include figuring out other ways for patrons to help themselves. Of course, most librarians fall in between of these two sides, but what group isn't defined by it's extremes?

The third caste is made up of Clerks. Clerks check out your materials, take your fines, complain at you for leaving disc 2 of that platinum special edition DVD in your player when you returned it on time. They are also the ones that, probably, answer the phones when you call, and relate your situations to management. This group can hold a lot of power, and they're not afraid to use it. They, generally, do not help you find something, unless you just returned it, or you never really returned it at all and you're trying to fool them. They don't like things to change, and can often be found explaining how past procedures are better than current ones.

The 4th caste's members are known as paiges. They do not page people. They do shelve books. They shelve the heck out of books. Good paiges make clean, nice and easily navigable libraries. Bad paiges make libraries where nothing can be found, and is often still in the back. They require no special training, education, or experience. I would like to call them the unsung heroes of the library world, but too many of them would be too quick to point this fact out themselves. Smaller library systems do without this caste, adding their duties to those of the clerks, or subsisting with work performed by the next, and final, caste.

Finally, there are the volunteers. There are two main types, both of which should be on the endangered species list. The first type is court ordered. These are people who have to perform some sort of community service, and would rather work indoors at the library than scraping gum off of toilet stalls at the rec, center. The second type are far more uncommon, much more rare than anything you can order at your favorite steakhouse. These are the volunteers who are actually volunteering their time, not giving it in exchange for something else. Volunteers can be amazing or horrible. They can save you money, or waste your time, do the things no one else will, or do nothing much at all. They are the great gamble in the library, or they would be if they cost anything.

This is the underlying nature of the society of public libraries. The constant push and pull between these groups, caused somewhat by the extreme, nearly impenetrable, caste system, has led to the state of public libraries today. I'm sure I'm missing whole groups of people who will feel extremely left out and offended by the fact that I don't realize that the library wouldn't function without them.

Soon I will enlighten you on the way that libraries actually work (or rather how the interactions between these caste members and the public allow the library to float along with no end in sight.)

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