Standing in a Sacred Space

My old neighborhood library inspired me to become a writer

There is something utterly sacred about a public library, because it is dedicated to sharing knowledge freely, belongs to the community and is a steadfast, quiet presence. It is a still point in a turning world. At least, that’s what my neighborhood library was to me growing up in Buffalo, N.Y. The James L. Crane Library was just two blocks from my house, and it became my refuge in a childhood full of turmoil.

So I got chills last week when I arrived a few hours before my book launch and author reading of my book, “Saving Ellen: A Memoir of Hope and Recovery.” I went right to the corner of the library where I once would spend hours reading dozens of my beloved juvenile biographies of famous people like scientist Marie Curie, suffragist Elizabeth Cady Stanton and baseball player Babe Ruth. Those books, always my favorites, allowed me to dream big dreams while the quiet, kindly atmosphere of the library gave me a place to breathe and to think.

Fifty years later, as I stood there, it felt like holy ground. I felt so grateful to this place for helping me grow up as an eager reader, and eventually, a writer.

Later, in the community room upstairs I was able to read a portion or two of my book before a generous crowd of about 40 people -- relatives, two siblings, high school classmates, former neighbors that I hadn’t seen in many years and many strangers I didn’t know but was glad to meet. It felt like more than a homecoming; it felt something like Christmas morning.

I haven’t lived in my home city for 42 years, ever since my husband and I loaded a U-Haul truck and moved to Boston 10 days after our wedding. The morning newspaper in Buffalo, the beloved Courier-Express, had closed eight months before and I knew the odds of finding a reporting job in my hometown were slim. So Pete and I hit the road. In Boston, he would attend graduate school and I was determined to find a journalism job to support us. We never intended to leave the area where we both had grown up for more than two years.

We were sure we would move home eventually.

That didn’t happen. We never made it back, instead making a life together in New England. Four moves, four decades, four houses, two kids and two grandkids later we love living in Connecticut, but retain an abiding affection for the Buffalo area. Often all that outsiders think about the city is its national reputation for snowstorms during winter. But that overlooks its beauty, its parks, its beautiful old homes and the fact that the people are warm. All reasons why, despite living two-thirds of my life in New England, I still refer to the city as home.

So it was a privilege to be among friends and relatives in the old neighborhood. Talking Leaves Bookstore sold out of books at my launch at the library, despite sending an employee back to the shop to grab every last copy. And I basked in the security in being with the people who knew me when I was 12, who laughed with my mother and who loved my sister Ellen as I did. Even a threatened rainstorm held off just long enough for nearly 20 of us to go to a watering hole two blocks away. By the time sheets of rain fell, we were dry, with plates of food, a pint or two, conversation and laughter to warm us.

Who knew? Maybe you can go home again, for at least one day.