Over the past month, I have been able to reduce my time wasted on social media and YouTube and instead read four short novels. In the autumn of my life, I take time each day to read novels and self-development books and explore new topics such as Sufism, Russian history, philosophy and of all things, quantum physics.
My objective is to develop my reading skills, both in French and English, so I can increase my concentration and focus to make the practice of writing feel like swallowing a more tasty frog. It is working.
Despite living next door to the village library, I was not much of a reader in my youth. Bloomingburg Free Library was a home to all the local kids I grew up with. On Saturday, the library was full of children and adults who would drive in from all directions to take out and return books.
The library was built as the Dubois Chapel and I think they help church services there and sometimes I wonder if ‘old man Collins, whose first name was Dubois, had anything to do with this structure. D.F. Collins owned most of Bloomingburg during his lifetime.
As a kid, I could roll out of bed, down the stairs, out the door, down a little hill and into the library. There was only ten feet between the buildings.
There was an old gray oil tank next to the building which provided fuel for a furnace that was not too efficient. During the winter, the library was always cold due to it being a two-story wood structure with
I remember seeing piles of clam shells around and under the oil tank and always wondered how these remnants of sea creatures got to our little village. But as an adult I read that clambakes were a thing at Dubois Chapel and those clam shells were decades old.
As you entered the library, you could climb the stairs to the second floor to find children’s books or turn left and enter the regular adult library. The counter was right upfront with piles of returned books which would eventually be reshelved. The shelves were all packed with books and there was some order. It is here that I learned to love putting the books back on the shelves and the Dewey Decimal system that I would eventually work in the school library in Pine Bush.
I did read some Hardy Boys books. They had a blue cover and there was a whole series of stories next to the yellow-covered Nancy Drew books for girls. I liked Sherlock Holmes, Old Yeller and Dr. Seuss.
There was probably another librarian in the early 60s, but Mrs. Nye was the only librarian I remember. She was very Italian, born in Brooklyn and her voice was thick and deep because she was a stout woman and by her constant smoking Virginia Slim cigarettes. I spent days in the library with her. Sometimes she would give me some money to go down and buy cigarettes and coffee for her at Berentsen’s. I don't think there was a restriction on kids buying cigarettes back then. But they knew I was not drinking coffee and smoking Virginia Slims. Marlboros maybe. Only kidding.
“Gunna zatcha” said Mrs. Nye. Which means “I don’t know” in Sicilian. Mrs. Nye was full of funny stories about everything. She was a talker. You had to listen and learn.
All the kids who hung at the corner would stop by the library and respectfully say hello to Mrs. Nye. She was the closest to Harry Malamas, who I think was from da Bronx, but they twaked the same language with their New Yawker accents. There was much love and respect between them. I remember when Harry’s brother died and she comforted him. We all did. Harry was much loved and his accent was fun to listen to as a kid.
Back to the sixties…
Upstairs in the library were three rooms: a front room, middle room and back room which was used for storage. In the middle room we would perform plays. My mom, Mrs. Larsen and Mrs. Horvath directed these performances along with Deedee Halleck.
These local women directed us in performing Jack and the Beanstalk, Hansel and Gretel, and other short plays which allowed us to express ourselves and have good fun.
Mrs. Larsen was exceptionally beautiful and I have a picture which I will update here.
Mr. Horvath was the only Olga I ever knew. But of course, I called her Mrs. Horvath. I loved her mom as well who I lovingly called Grandma Tkach. She was born in the Ukraine. Mrs. Horvath, I believe, was raised in New York City but she did not have a New Yawk accent. Instead, she spoke a more refined English. My mom and Mrs. Horvath were always very close and when the two got together they would talk constantly.
Deedee Halleck was an artist. I think it was her idea to have the local kids draw a mural on the stairwell walls. Each drawing was based on a book we read. I did a drawing about ants. There were many characters on this wall mural and our names and ages were noted as well. I distinctly remember The Snowy day because the girl who read the book and painted the mural was so good at painting. I didn’t know before that moment.
We thought our mural would be there forever. As a young man, I would walk up those stairs and see the mural and the names of all the locals who contributed. Michael and Linda Nye, Ezra and Peter Halleck, Beti Horvath, Charlie and Denise Helms I know were among the kids who contributed to this history. The list is longer.
Thank you for continuing to follow my substack. I promise to continue to develop my skills as a writer and publish opinion pieces and other fond memories. I read and write everyday, but have been a little shy to publish. Especially, about politics.