Short paeans on the meaning of libraries knock down walls, find passports to a world of dreams and illusions

Albert Greenstein, manager of media relations for Arco, has sent me a stack of prize-winning essays in the “What a Library Means to Me” contest.

The contest was sponsored by KABC in behalf of the Los Angeles Public Library’s Save the Books campaign, which Arco is managing.

The library is trying to raise $10 million to replace books and periodicals lost in this year’s Central Library fires.

There were three categories--junior and senior high school students in Los Angeles schools, library personnel, and the general public. Six winners were chosen in the first category, one in the second, and 12 in the third.

The prize for each winner was a pair of round-trip tickets donated by Pan American World Airways to New York, London or Frankfurt, where three of the world’s great libraries are housed, plus six free days in hotels.

That was worth shooting for, and more than 20,000 entered.

The rules were simple: Tell within 100 words what a library means to you. The resulting essays, says Greenstein, “ranged from the poetic to the prosaic, from the humorous to the heart-rending.”

Jack Zafran, a clerical assistant in the Chatsworth library branch, wrote this:

“For years, I was a castle in the library, sharing a countryside of silence, in silence, with others similarly locked in their own solitude of words and thoughts. Now that I work there the landscape has changed. The quiet remains, but every time a shy teen-ager checks out a book on being popular or a sad-eyed woman exchanges a pregnancy book for one on miscarriage, I hear walls coming down. We may never say a word to each other, but we’ve spoken. Where stillness once ruled, I now hear voices. Where castles stood, I see people instead.”

Karin Jegalian, ninth grade, Eagle Rock magnet school, wrote that a library is a place where “you can find Shakespeare, Homer, Einstein, and Hemingway . . . (and) can lose yourself in a 19th-Century romance or battle with the knights of the Middle Ages. . . .”

Adam Wilson, eighth grade, Webster, saw the library as his magic carpet, where he could visit with George Washington, see the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk, and be on top of Mt. Fuji or aboard the Titanic.

Cindy Holsey, 11th grade, Monroe, said “the ability to read is my sole passport into the vibrant world of dreams and illusions. . . . I may enter the jungles of South America, eat a hearty meal with the Pilgrims, or embark on a mission into the abyss of space.”

James Hsu, 12th grade, Huntington Park, saw the library as “a teacher who never talks . . . the fountain of knowledge, the cornerstone of civilization . . . a gratis gold mine waiting for me to excavate. . . .”

Regina Ruiz, 12th grade, Garfield, compared a library to “a wise old tree filled with mystery, wonders and knowledge. . . .”

Among the general winners, Michael Harris of Gardena saw the library as a door to hope and freedom: “Ghetto boy, no way out. Poverty ensnares. . . . Yet, there’s a plan: Be the best--study. Books: master keys, open life’s doors. Priceless knowledge. Practically free. Frederick Douglass astutely wrote, ‘Once a man’s mind is free, he can never be a slave again.’ Freedom from all slaveries. This libraries mean to me. . . .”

Frank Ramirez, Los Angeles, saw the library as a fortress of dissent and freedom: “A time machine . . . (where) thought remains, preserved for dialogue into the ages. An uncensored library is freedom . . . we are strong enough to withstand dissent. . . . A preserved library is a gift to the future . . . a statement . . . to unborn generations, ‘We trust you to read and think for yourself. . . .’ ” Pascale Tran, Los Angeles, sees the library as a haven for political refugees, with books “that would open a small window of the world for me . . . a world bigger than my eyes could see. . . . I began to understand the . . . planet I live on and learned to hang on to my hope, my belief in the goodness of people, and somehow the sadness of everyday life around me became bearable. . . .”

In most of the entries there was a current of sincerity, as if the authors were trying to express a true debt to libraries, not merely trying to win a free ride.

It is reassuring also to know that so many people can write 100 words. Writing sometimes seems like a lost art.

Meanwhile, this is a good time to pass along a suggestion from Bob Lee, formerly of the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. Lee is now living a life of sybaritic retirement in Newport Beach, thinking good thoughts.

His “visionary project” is to select the top student of the year in each Los Angeles school and treat him or her to a tour of Washington, D.C.

“That would be an experience they would cherish the rest of their lives. It would be valuable to them personally and would be valuable to the entire community for the better citizenship it would create.

“Obviously it would take money. Do you think it possible that one or more of the mega-millionaires who endow art collections, museums, music and other cultural centers could become interested in establishing a foundation with the necessary funds that would pay the expenses of the kids?”

If I had the money I’d put it up. I can’t think of any experience that would do more to reaffirm a young person’s faith in our democratic system than a tour of Washington’s historic monuments.

But I’d hate to have to choose the top students.

Maybe contenders could be asked to write a 100-word essay on “Why democracy is best.”

At least, like the library contest, it would encourage writing.