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Mr. Mitchell and his "Liberry" Girls.Navigation: Main page Author: Rhodes, Carolyn Mitchell1 Section: LOCAL HISTORY
A childhood recollection of growing up atop New York public libraries in the 1950s "SHE lives in the liberry'!" my new friends would say with amazement and intrigue. It was the 1950s and 1 was uncomfortable and self-conscious about living in such a large home surrounded by books, librarians, and silence. My father, Joe Mitchell, a 35-year New York Public Library employee, was an athlete, a first-rate baseball player, a reader, and a learner. The librarians relied on my "Mr. Mitchell" (as be was called by library staff at the Tompkins Square and St. George branches) for everything besides their library duties. It was a big job and the hours were long, but be never complained and loved the library. My mother Theresa was an angel, who kept us all happy by doing everything right. My oldest sister, Helen, was born in NYPL's since-closed Rivington Street branch in Manhattan. Irene and I were born during the years our dad worked as a custodial engineer at the Tompkins Square branch. Eventually, we all moved to the St. George branch on Staten Island, located high on a hill with a view of the New York City skyline. On Mondays at Tompkins Square, Dad would rise at 6 in the morning and venture downstairs to the basement to stoke the coal furnace. Each Wednesday, be got dressed in a suit and tie for stair duty. "Don't run, walk!" be told the children. 'This is the library. No talking!" Every child knew that entering Tompkins Square library's marble vestibule meant being quiet or they would have to answer to the man on stair duty. Of course, all of our school friends obeyed the unwritten "quiet" rule. "Is that your father?" they'd asked inquisitively and respectfully. My first memory of life as a "liberry" girl (no one pronounced the word as "library'") was the trip upstairs to my home at Tompkins Square. A sign that said "private" was posted at the entrance to the wide marble staircase leading to our third-floor apartment. New librarians, who didn't know we lived there, would often stop me. This is the children's room," they would say with authoritative words that echoed loudly. "You are not allowed upstairs." Shyly I would respond, Tm Mr. Mitchell's daughter." Our apartment at Tompkins Square had a large kitchen, with lots of cabinets and big windows. I was allowed to have a parakeet and a few fish, but no other animals. The hallway led to a living room with a door to another passageway, and from that corridor to two connected bedrooms--one directly across from the living room and the other on the far side of the hallway. Merriment above the stacksThe best room was the big ball adjacent to our apartment, a large banquet-sized room that was filled with lots of noise on Sundays. My sisters and 1 had the most fun there. In an area disturbed by only a few pillars, it was playtime for us. This room was where Helen learned to play the piano and where Irene and I bicycled and roller-skated. We also played marbles, pick-up sticks, and card games, and listened to Sunday's radio program The Shadow that aired at different times of the day. On Sundays, when Dad wasn't playing baseball at the park across the street on his one day off, he would join us in the banquet hall. Dad would play with his top--a cylindrical, wooden, pear-shaped toy with a steel point similar to the modern-day yo-yo--commanding it with his fingers. With a flip of the wrist and a twist of the body. Dad would rotate the colorful spinning top up and down the thin string, eventually flipping it upward with a perfect landing back onto the string. He hardly ever missed. With mastery. Dad controlled the top's string and its movement. Timing is everything," be would say. It was magic. We loved lo watch the show. Our Norman Rockwell American-style Sundays also consisted of Dad relaxing with his newspapers, while Mother cooked dinner. When my sisters and I weren't playing together, we were busy with schoolwork or occupied with some other library activity. There were no computers in those days. Having the library available on Sundays was a godsend for catching up on school projects and homework. I'd also spend time in the record room, where I danced and sang. It was good practice for my 1953 library-film debut (at age 7) with author Carl Sandburg--the first famous person I'd ever met--who invited me to sit on his lap while he read his poems "Buffalo Bill" and "Chicago." Our film traveled to libraries around the world. Sunday evenings were topped off with ice cream sodas. We'd sit at one of the children's room tables and talk about how great the treat tasted. Then, Dad would make sure our homework was complete and he would quiz us on the times tables to make sure that we had them all memorized. "You must learn this, so you can he smarter than me," he told us. We learned about many other subjects as well. When Alfred Kinsey's first reports, based on a series of sexual history interviews he'd conducted from the late 1940s and early 1950s, were released to the public through libraries, they were labeled reference. The Kinsey files were not kept in the same section with other reference titles, but were placed under lock and key until requested. On Sunday, however, the key was at the main desk and my sisters apparently read all about it. I had no idea what the reports signified, hut I knew it was quite controversial. Depression-era folks educated themselves along the way and Joe Mitchell took advantage of reading and made sure that all his "liberry" girls read too. Mother was also a "liberry" girl. In addition to dealing with our many crises, she did all of the holiday party baking and household chores. Can you imagine doing laundry by hand without a washing machine and hanging each sheet, shirt, and blouse on a clothesline from the kitchen window that looked out over the backyard of the apartments around the block? After family time, Mr Mitchell tended to his arduous tasks--none of which he ever complained about--making sure the Tompkins library was in pristine condition for the following week. He would mop, wax, and huff all three floors, polish the wooden banister, and, at least monthly, clean the cathedral windows inside and outside. Dad also continued his cleaning tasks after we moved to the St. George library. Sweet memoriesHelens sweet-16 birthday party in the Tompkins Square banquet hall topped all the events I can remember. We decorated with balloons. Helen's boyfriend and his friends showed up in leather jackets. I was 10 years old. It was the height of the 1950s and we jitterbugged to the 45 rpm-record "Jailhouse Rock." I don't remember my sweet 16th being as much fun as Helen's. By then, we had moved to the suburbs. I attended Curtis High School, which had a magnificent view of the Statue of Liberty and the New York City skyline. Helen and Irene were enrolled in Hunter College. My sisters and I didn't see much of each other because of their long trip from ferry to train and back again at night, studying every spare moment, and burning the midnight oil. We moved to the St. George branch in Staten Island when I was 12--the last library in which we all lived in together. Dad retired in 1975. He and Mom moved to Toms River, New Jersey Mr. Mitchell continued playing baseball and won a Babe Ruth Award from the New Jersey governor. He was also honored as a top athlete by his retirement community and was frequently in the news. Mom and Dad lived until they were well in their 80s. All three of Mr. Mitchell's "liberry" girls graduated from college. Helen and Irene received their master's degrees and are both teachers. It was a splendid and unique childhood. PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): (Facing page) Kids browse books at the table and on the shelves of NYPL's Rivington Street in the children's reference room. (Above) NYPL's former Rivington Street branch from the outside. PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): (Left) The Mitchell family-(front) young Irene and Helen; (rear) mom Theresa, a former Bergdorf Goodman dressmaker wearing a hat that she designed; baby Carolyn; and Dad--prepare for an outing in 1946. PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): "Mr. Mitchell" takes his girls for a ride in Tompkins Square Park circa 1947. ~~~~~~~~ By Carolyn Mitchell Rhodes CAROLYN MITCHELL RHODES is an office associate at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa and a magazine and newspaper freelance writer. in the Fair Use guidelines of the 1976 U.S. Copyright Act. info [at] singlearticles.com Powered by CommonSense |
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