The Library Manager’s Greatest Adventure
Richard Band
A long-time library staffer relates the following account and would swear to its accuracy on the Bible, or, for secular skeptics, on Webster’s Unabridged Third Edition.
It started out a typical Tuesday afternoon for the Library Manager at the Midlands Public Library in pre-digital 1985. He paid some bills. He wiped the dust off the old City Directory. He had pulled it to find out who lived at 103 Marion Street in 1954—this to answer an inquiry from a customer trying to recall the girl from his childhood who lived there.
The Library Manager chatted with his staff about the Large Print shifting project: “Leave the bottom shelf empty. Old knees can’t bend down that far.” Then he ordered a biography of Jim Thorpe, because “kids today need to know about Jim Thorpe.”
And next, the Library Manager quietly slipped away to the 800 section just to browse through Literature, to admire the fruits of his favorite Dewey Decimal Subject Development—from 808.042 (Idiot’s Guide to Grammar), to 811 (American Poetry), to 834 (Essays), and all the way to 899 (Haiku)—until abruptly bumping up against 900 (World History).
Strolling down the aisle, he arrived at 822.33, home of the venerable Mr. Shakespeare. Suddenly, it smacked his eye: nestled between Cymbeline and Hamlet, neatly but egregiously wrong—Food for Festive Days, 641.7. A cookbook, and not in the least Elizabethan. But the Library Manager knew this misplacement was not due to a lazy shelver or a careless customer; it was a conspiracy of curious derivation.
Days before, he had noticed that this very volume—Food for Festive Days—had been checked out and renewed 37 times by the same person, the renewal limit being two. A book with recipes to serve large crowds with ingredients measured in cups, not teaspoons. Jackie the Caterer, the borrower, had to have had an accomplice to pull this off. Pamela, the Head of Circulation—loyal Pam and friend to all—must be the guilty party.
“Nobody else would want that book,” Pam said, pleading their case. The Library Manager had calmly pointed out that the rule is there to prevent such hoarding: “Put it back on the shelf awhile so others have a chance to see it and the right to borrow it. If not, Jackie can freely check it out again after a reasonable period of time.”
And that is exactly what Pam had done. She had hidden it where only Jackie knew to find it, where the Bard’s plays were in lonely residence, where the book might as well have been in Stratford-Upon-Avon or buried in the Yorkshire moors. Their scheme uncovered, Jackie offered to buy the book—also against the rules. “Because we can’t be influenced,” said the Library Manager, “about which titles to withdraw. And this is not a bookstore.”
A chastened Pam returned Food for Festive Days to the cookery section, safely snuggled between Deep South Baking and Grilled Farm to Fork. The staff were informed that, to Jackie, this book was contraband. The boss returned to his office, somewhat smugly at having successfully scuttled the devious plot. But he was beginning to wonder if his being such a stickler was making him look like an ass.
The drama wasn’t over. A bookstore would, in fact, come into play. Weeks later, the sharp-eyed Library Manager was browsing the Used and Rare Editions shop in a neighboring city. Searching for a bargain in the dollar bin, he spotted a battered afterthought with a startling title: Food for Festive Days! He clutched it as though it were the Hope Diamond. His proud presentation of the treasured tome to Jackie the Caterer made all things right again. The one dollar bill she reimbursed him was soon framed on his office wall.
Pierre Francois-Bouchard discovered the Rosetta Stone during the Napoleonic wars, unlocking Egyptian hieroglyphics. History records few such milestones and hardly ever in our lifetime. But Leonard the Library Manager in a tucked-away town, uncovered an out-of-print find that rescued the arcane recipe served at the joyous McCormick-Hardy wedding feast, circa 1985. Sicilian Braciole with Prosciutto and Raisins, for a party of 125. And of course, the library’s copy of Food for Festive Days was checked out at the time and not to Jackie the Caterer.
What mysteries yet lurk at the Midlands Public Library? Where the rules are rigidly enforced, though on occasion a book might find itself orphaned in the wrong classification, and thus, irretrievable. Until inventory, that is. Which never happens at Midlands.
Richard Band
Richard Band is a retired librarian from Lancaster, SC. His work has appeared in various literary reviews and a poetry collection, Solitary Stars, was published in 2024. He was awarded The Forum Prize from the Poetry Society of South Carolina in 2025. He takes permission from Robert Frost and Billy Collins to allow for a whimsical perspective in the literary arts.