How the Library Influenced Your Life

The Makings of an Obsessed Story Teller

By Karean Williams

In the early 1950s, when I was a six grader, Andrew Carnegie’s libraries were as prominent in the communities of Western Pennsylvania as the corner convenience stores are today. I grew up in a village called Woods Run. Because Woods Run Elementary only went to the third grade from the fourth to the sixth grade I had to walk almost two miles to Halls Grove Elementary which every one called Halls Grove. My homeroom teacher Mrs. Fassel a kindly lady, who never seemed ruffled by the antics of the sixth graders, was the school’s librarian too.

One afternoon after recess, as she hummed quietly to herself, she drew the shades at the large windows, the ambience of the room changed to a warm amber hue. Then, she slowly walked to the bookshelves. My eyes followed her as she ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. "Bingo!" -- When she happened upon the exact book; then, she removed it from the shelf. As she walked slowly back to her desk, she leafed through the pages. She settled in her chair, adjusted her eyeglasses, and seemed to prepare to tell us a secret. What she did next caused my young mind to take off to another dimension which released a sense of excitement that has never left me. "Today," she announced, "I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain." After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess, and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the warm sunny days of Tom and Huck’s antics in Hannibal, Missouri. I would dream about them when I slept. And, if given a quiet moment, I would daydream about them too.

To make matters worse, when she finished the Mark Twain stories, she started to read Greek and Norse mythology. She made the gods Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive. To this day the sound of thunder and lightning scares me to death. I still imagine the gods are fighting with each other as they throw bolts of ligtning just to keep us earthlings humble. Needless to say, I was totally obesssed with the stories and addicted to her ways of reading--weak to the knees.

Then one day, after she had gotten me addicted to her reading ways. She stopped just like she had started--abruptly. It seemed as though I was the only one who started to whine in the class because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. Bluntly, she told me, "Get a book and read quietly to yourself!" I simply stood in front of the bookcase, and starred at the books, and pouted in defiance; I was weaned to quickly. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me to the plays. Then, "You might like this," she mused as she handed me a play and purposefully walked away. She left me holding a book that felt so heavy, and it, along with my heavy dejected heart, caused my body to slump like Quasimodo’s. I don’t remember the play, but I was quickly addicted again, this time to the images that played on the stage in my head. At first, I read the book, laboriously. Then, Bang!-- I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down. I read every one in her library and thristed for more. I could not get enough of the images that played out their tales in my head. Lastly, she enticed me with Homer and the Greek tragedies I was totally smitten.

Then one day, Mrs. Fassel told the class, "Today, we are going for a walk." To my surprise, when we crossed Brighton Road and entered a little yellow brick building, it was the Woods Run Public Library. The librarians who worked there gave each of the kids an orange library card. Oh, I thought I had hit the "Irish Lottery." I could not believe that I could just flash my card and get a book--for free. I was so proud of my library card I would flash it every where as though I was the only one in the world with a orange library card--although every one I knew had one. I must have been really obnoxious because my mother had to tone down my library card enthusiasm.

Now I know that because of Mrs. Fassel’s reading ways, firm hand and sense of a child’s innate talents along with a host of librarians who have traipsed through my life. They have all inspired me to be the college teacher and story teller I am today. Karean

Summer Time and The Living Is Easy

"Summer time and the Living is Easy" is one of my mother’s favorite songs. As summer is approaching, I have started to think of the fun things I did as a child. What are some of the ways you enjoyed the summer.

In the early 1950s, we lived at Number 8 Monhagen Street, Woods Run, PA across the street, the wall furthest from the Ohio River, was the Western Pennsylvania State Penitentiary. Monhagen was sort of a dreary sort of dirt street with a row of 15 houses, no trees, no grass, no flowers, lots of sun. I use to know every family and how many children were in each family too. However, the penitentiary was very promenient in the lives of the people in the community. Mainly because we lived by the sounds of the whistles, the early one to get up for school and work, the noon whistle was for lunch, the five o’clock was for dinner, and the nine o’clock whistle to be at home or in bed depending on your age. If you were late for any of the whistles, believe me it meant trouble.

During the summers, we use to wait for the sun to go down behind the prison so that a shadow was casted over Monhagen; then, you could hear one of the kids screaming-- "BASEBALL, BASEBALL!" You knew that the kid had a ball of some sort--soft, hard, tennis, rubber. We couldn’t keep a ball too long because if it got popped over the prison wall, it was lost forever. Every once in a while a ball would come back, so we would do our little "boogie woogie" dance and yell our thank you’s as loud as we could. I really think it depended on which patrolman with a gun was walking the wall while we were playing.

The loud announcement --"BASEBALL, BASEBALL" was for any one who wanted to play ball. Kids would come from every where to play. Before we chose the team, we would size each other up to see if we had enough good players to put together a good game. Then, we would choose our teams I am a strong hitter, so I was pretty popular my nickname was "Candy Campinelli" after the famous ball player Roy Campinella. You know, I was proud of my distinction--"Heavy Hitter", but I have never been a fast runner, so we had to have someone on our team who was not a good hitter but could run fast. They usually would hit before me because if they got to first or second base I could hit and bring them home. We had a great time.

We would play for hours or until the first five oclock whistle blew; then, every one would pick up his or her belongings and run for home. You had to be at the dinner table by 5 o’clock before the last 5 o’clock whistle blew, or you just might miss dinner or not be allowed to sit at the table. Every one knew the rules.

After dinner we would gather together on some ones front or back steps and "shot the bull" or talk about our game. In the movie Dances with Wolves Kevin Costner got tired of the Native Americans telling the same story over and over again about the buffalo hunt, but I truly think all people do it. Because we would tell the same story over and over and embellish on it; then, "lie, lie, lie" about it, I would demonstrate my hit or how "Little Junior" caught the ball that made our team have the highest score. We didn’t keep records too well, I never knew how many innings we played in a game because we played as long as we could and relished every minute.

Once it seemed as though most of the kids were at camp or away at their grandparent’s house in the South for the summer, so the team’s pickings were really slim. As a result, we had a team where I was the captain and the other team’s captain picked all the strongest kids for his team. The argument was that I was the "Heavy Hitter," so the weak team would win any ways. I didn’t think it was fair, but I let my arrogance check in and took all the weakest players. I played so hard that it was the worst game I have ever played in my life; of course, we didn’t win. We all talked about the easy win for the team of strong players, who were usually the weakest ones, and I told them that I would never play a game like that again. The game was so boring and no fun at all. Needless to say, after that day we never had a game like that again. We learned that in order to have a good team a team must have weak and strong players, so that a weak player can have an opportunity to shine as well. We all need each other. In the scheme of things and in life, it was a lesson well worth learning, and it has served me well throughout my life. All because of a baseball game where all the weak players were put on one team, and all the strong players served on another---boring. "Summertime and the living is easy, so hush little baby don’t you cry." By Karean Williams

The Games We Played as Children

When I was 15 years old our family moved from Woods Run to Kilbuck Township just north of Pittsburgh. We lived on Camp Horne Rd. Our house was in the hollow of this township. Since we no longer had a street to play baseball, our dad constructed a volleyball court for us in the side yard. We would play volleyball or madmitten until it was so dark we couldn't see.

Because of the isolation of our new country living, my five sisters and I had to resort to board and card games. That first summer we were all still at home. I don't know who or how we got started playing cards. Because we didn't have any real money, we used different color beans to stake our games. One day we were playing gin rummy, and we got in to a mean fight. We were making so much noise, and it must have sounded as though we were killing each other because my mom ran out on the front porch and yelled, "Stop, Stop this nonsense... you are not playing with money or for blood you are playing with beans, BEANS." "I swear you all are going to kill each other over BEANS." We all took a deep breath and started to really laugh. But, we still continued to play with the beans as though we were playing for blood. I guess that competitive spirit has served the family well over the years. Just a thought. By Karean Williams