“I had heard the schools were successful but didn’t realize the extent.”
“Mrs. Stewart used beginner tablets of blotted papers and inserted the alphabet in one-half so her Moonlighters could learn their letters and etch their names. Weren’t long before the students could write without tracing and copy script from a newspaper or book.”
“This is exactly what we need!” She smacked a palm down onto the table.
“It helped a lot of Kentucky men stand up to the big lumber and coal companies.”
“My brother was a mule for the King Coal companies and died under their rule,” she said. Suddenly, she sprang up, spryas a young’un. “Law, chile, this is a grand idea. Why, I could have Miss Wells at the elementary get me the tablets, pencils, and tracing paper.”
“We could hold classes every evening, Mrs. Claxton.”
“Maybe my late-afternoon librarians could watch over their children in the reading room while we teach the parents.”
“We can solicit volunteer teachers like Mrs. Stewart did. And I could make up some fliers for your board and then distribute them around the neighborhoods, letting the parents know about the evening classes.”
Our conversation rose easily as we talked over and around, lifting each other’s ideas, jotting down our notes.
After an hour of discussion, she summoned her staff for a meeting, the excitement rising in her voice.
Weren’t long before eight of her librarians were gathered in the debate room. All looked to be in their thirties and forties, and very professional and serious. Nary a one complained about being called in to donate their services, a testament to their fondness for the older librarian and their own dedication to patrons.
“Lillian,” she called out, “see how much typewriter ink and pencils we have in the supply room. We may need to send the janitor over to the print shop on Walnut.”
Minutes later, she sent us packing into quiet meeting rooms, where we typed up fliers for the adult writing classes for the next three hours.
When I took a break, I spotted Mrs. Claxton in her office, furious fingers flying over the typewriter keys.
In the afternoon, Mrs. Claxton sent Lillian and another librarian over to the business district to ask shopkeepers to tape fliers on their windows.
Weren’t long before the librarian had stacks of leaflets on her desk. While I waited for her to count the fliers, the telephone rang.
“Louisville Western Branch Library.” Her eyes narrowed. Then she covered the receiver and whispered, “Close the door.”
“Yes, Warden, I’m still here. She’s working right now and doing quite well.” Mrs. Claxton shot me a smile.
I set the fliers on the table.
“Yes, she’s been a tremendous help in such a short time. I wish I had more like her… Uh-huh. I can understand why you want her back.”
My heart skipped.Had the warden changed her mind? Was the doctor waiting for me at the prison?Maybe she had sent someone and they were already on the way.
“I’ll make sure to stay in touch, and I’ll have her packed and ready for the officer Sunday at two. Yes, ma’am. Thank you, I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” The librarian hung up the telephone.
“Come on, chile, let’s grab these fliers and get going.”
Relieved, I gathered up the papers and followed her outside.
She nudged me over to the end of the building and placed a small brown hand on the cornerstone inscribed:
LOUISVILLE ^ FREE^ PUBLIC ^ LIBRARY ^COLORED ^ BRANCH
^ ERECTED ^A^D ^ 1907
“The Carnegie library was the nation’s first full-service library built for coloreds and staffed by coloreds. To power the people. Five years ago, we changed that toallthe people. Began hiring whites too. Today we need to go and find the ones who’ve been forgotten and get them book-read to vote.” She patted the rough, sun-bleached stone.
***
While the July sun beat down in the late afternoon, we made our way around the neighborhood, knocking on doors.
