Begone, bulky metal cabinet!

Once upon a time, there was a library without a librarian. As tends to happen in such tragic scenarios, the library morphed into a meeting room. While books lay rotting on the shelves and shelves themselves rotted, faculty meetings began to be held there at the behest of Prince Cipal, who was drawn to the unused room by its intellectual aura. Teachers complained about having to squeeze into child-size chairs and strain to hear Prince Cipal's proclamations from the far end of the rectangular room, but as his minions they had no choice. Prince-Cipal did order the music teachers--tech support to set up a vintage audio system in a black metal cabinet which enabled his voice to resound throughout the library. It also allowed for great festivities in the library. Teachers began holding the annual Hispanic Heritage and African-American Heritage luncheons there. The library became famous for its party-like atmosphere twice a year, but lay fallow the rest.

One day a stranger entered the library. It was--they whispered with apprehension--a newly minted librarian hired as a result of new state regulations. Prince Cipal nearly had her beheaded since she was hired while he was away on summer vacation, but she held her ground. So he simply barked at her to go take care of the library but always keep it available for meetings and luncheons.

The librarian surveyed the bibliographic chamber with horror--it held no office for her. Her magic materials would have to be housed somewhere behind the circulation desk. To her relief, once she rearranged the books, she found some ancient but sturdy bookcases in this area. But the largest and most spacious one was blocked by a monstrous black supply cabinet--a useful item to be sure, but one that in its current place blocked the Great Bookcase. The librarian attempted to move the cabinet. It was too heavy. She conjured up a custodian to help her. But he shook his head. "This closet cannot be moved," he informed her somberly. "It is not that it is to heavy for me. After all, I am a custodian--I possess the physical power to move anything in this school. It is not my arms which prevent me from moving this behemoth. It is Prince Cipal."

You see, he explained, the cabinet had specially drilled holes for the sound system, and the sound system was needed for faculty meetings and ethnic heritage luncheons. No, the cabinet would have to stay right where it was. The librarian sadly made do with squeezing her lesson plans, puppets, toys and binders into milk crates and under her desk.

For two years this sad state of affairs continued, but changes were afoot. One day in Year Two, Prince Cipal retired from the throne, to be succeeded by a young prince who did not treat his staff like serfs. In a magnanimous gesture of good will and wisdom, he began holding faculty meetings in the much more spacious auditorium. In Year Three, the Hispanic Heritage Luncheon began being held in the music room, with its superior sound system and easier access to the cafeteria kitchen. The African American Heritage Luncheon would continue to be held in the library, with the blessings of the librarian since she believed in the library as a place for celebration. But she had a new plan, and a new boombox to play music.

It was time. Time for the cabinet to be moved. One day in Year Three she emptied it and gently placed the sound system (after all, it was an antique) atop a corner shelf. The cabinet did not depart the library, however. The librarian found use for it in the storytelling corner. Today, it is a repository for story related toys, puppets and prizes, as well as her bagged lunches.


And the librarian finally has her own, professional area. No office, but she doesn't mind. She can now walk behind the desk without tripping over boxes and folders. The library looks much neater. Behind her are neat, organized rows of her materials, which she uses daily to bring the magic of reading to her students.

SOMETIMES THE SMALLEST OF CHANGES CAN MAKE AN ENORMOUS DIFFERENCE.