Street roots
Sept. 2, 2011
GOOD READ, from page 8
Street Books
invites the public to
attend a reception
celebrating our
successful
summer. Meet the
patrons, and learn
how you can help
keep the library
going this winter:
6-8 p.m,, Monday,
Sept. 12, at the
Mercy Corps
Action Center, 28
SW First Avenue,
next to Skidmore
Fountain. Find out
more at http:// g
streetbooks.org
and free of drugs. A kind of success story.
“I thought you looked familiar,” A.B. said.
“Cohgratulations.” He reached out and
shook Jeffrey’s hand.
Street Books patrons are issued a simple,
complimentary library card, no photo ID or
proof of address necessary, and after they
choose a book, they Sign their name on the
card, which they leave behind. We leave the
date blank, agreeing to find each other the
grows. Road warrior-types with backpacks
and dogs on leashes, a bicyclist circling the
square, dressed as a jester, hollering “Give
the jester a cheeseburger!” In the midst of
all the color and vibrancy, our patrons come
and go. Each one has a story: Ben looks
professorial in his red eyeglasses. He sleeps
outside on the ground each night, btft can
recite Goethe’s “Sorrows of a Young
Werther”‘from memory. Most weeks he
Beth Nakamura from The Oregonian, which
was posted along with a great article by
Rebecca Koffman. What followed was a lot
of great press all summer. Meanwhile, local
Portlanders donated paperback books and
money toward sponsoring a patron with a
requested book, sometimes coming in
person to the Street Books library. A group
of students from Beaumont Middle School
took their old books to Powell’s, sold them
and got a gift certificate of $100 for Street
Books. Broadway Books, on NE Broadway
and 17th, wrote and said they loved Street
Books and wanted to help. “We’ll start you
with a $50 gift card,” they said. “Come get
whatever you need.”
Assistant Street Librarians SueZalokar
and Celia Luce offered tactical and moral
support, and gave me the occasional day-off.
Beth Chapman, a former librarian herself,
became a regular at the Saturday shift, and
often went in search of titles requested by
our patrons. Street Books also received
visits from librarians at the Multnomah
County Library, including one from Geoff
Brunk, with Outreach Services, who gave us
two boxes of carefully chosen books. It fast
became clear that the city of Portland was -
more than ready to support a library that ?
served its citizens who lived outside. , ,,4
Good-natured debates and conversations
regularly spring up about literature. One day
Max, who was sixteen and staying at the
Harbor Light Shelter, checked out “A
Million Little Pieces,” by James Frey. Debra,
who was also young, was combing through
the library, searching for a book. She saw
Max’s choice and said “Just so you know,
that guy made up a bunch of stuff in his
memoir, ft’s not actually all true.”
Max shrugged. “If it’s a good story, it
doesn’t matter so much.”
“It does matter,” Debra.said. “I was ,.
totally into it, and only halfway through
following week, or the week after that. I
have found over time that not only are
patrons conscientious about returning their
books, but they come back to talk to me if,
for some reason, they can’t return, them.
"'Seabiscult' is a booh about a horse Judged
by the way it looked," Mark said, "but there
was a man who saw some capability in that
horse, and a light. People didn't recognize
w hen I h eard hfe’d m ade it all upV and it
S O ne Saturday, a patron nam ed D ustin ~
the heart that the horse had."
sucked to find that out!”
I listened as two teenagers suddenly
engaged in a debate about an author’s
responsibility when it comes to penning a
memoir, the subjectivity of “truth”, and the
necessity of some invention whenever one
is constructing stories from the past. The
writing teacher part of me wanted to pump
my fist in the air and say, “Yessss!”
Another chance encounter I witnessed
happened on a recent Saturday shift in the
Park Blocks. A.B. was there, the security
guard who once asked to see my permit,
and was now a great supporter and defender
of the Street Books cause. Also there was
Jeffrey, a formerly homeless meth addict,
now clean and a student in my writing class
at Marylhurst University. Jeffrey gestured to
A.B., who was looking through the library
books, and said, “That guy used to wake me
up in the park next to the elephant, back
when I was stilt using. He was always pretty
nice about it.”
“Hey A.B.,” I waved him over, and
repeated what Jeffrey had just said. I told
h im that Jeffrey was a college student now,
approached a t the Earfe^peks shift, and
said, “Laura, I have terrible news.”
. I steeled myself for the possibility that a
patron had been hurt or killed.
He took a deep breath. “I totally ruined
the copy of “Hellboy,” the graphic novel you
checked, out to me.”
I wanted to hug him. I told him it was no
problem, and that I was happy he’d come
back to let me know.
“It got wet in the rain, and the pages are
stuck together,” he said mournfully. “I jUst
kept thinking about you looking at the
“Hellboy” card and wondering ‘Where’s
Dustin? Where’s the “Hellboy” book?’”
In a City like Portland, each week brings
strange and miraculous visions: a kitten
perched on an accordion as a young man
plays a polka, his case open in front of him
in case people feel like throwing in a dollar.
A guy named Phil, and his shopping cart
that is more a sculpture, sedimentary layers
of precious belongings, expertly arranged to
use space in the most efficient way possible.
On one side, two lilies pokihg up from a
bottle of water. On the other side, a bag of
soil out of which a healthy tomato plant
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checks out murder mysteries or thrillers,
saying that he’d go more for highbrow, but
he needs something exciting to transport
him from his current reality. Pamela has
checked out and returned books for most of
the summer. She recently had her shopping
cart full of possessions taken away by street-
cleaners and lost everything — from photos
of her children to a book about wolves,
given to her by a stranger who read about
her on the Street Books Web site.
This summer they have had a chance to
share their stories at the Street Books
library, meeting others like them, who sleep
outside, and plenty of other people of
means: students, city workers, bicyclists and
artists. It’s a great stew of all different types
of people. People who live under roofs,
people who live under bridges, people who
love books, people who write them, and
dogs on leashes. So many stories to be told.
And plenty of others to check out from the
Street Books library.
Street Roots vendor
and Street Books
Volunteer Dante (in
backward baseball
cap) helps out
curious visitors to
the mobile library.
Look for a Street
Books Kickstarter
fundraiser project
in early September
at www.kickstarter.
com.