In 1889, Galen
C. Moses, the son of Oliver and the nephew of William – the tin men of Bath who
established a foundry and a shipyard that helped pave the way for Bath Iron Works – donated
$10,000 dollars to build a library on a hill that would be free to all the
citizens of Bath, Maine. It was especially magnanimous because Galen did not
request that the library be named for the Moses brothers; rather, he let the
library be named in honor of the Patten brothers who had contributed so much to
Bath’s success as a city of world-class shipbuilders. The library, designed by
George Harding, with brick walls and a fairy-tale tower, would be completed in
1890 at a total cost of $15,000 dollars. In 1911, young readers on their way to
the newly established children’s room on the tower’s second floor would be
able to look out a Rapunzel-like window and spy the snow-white spire of the
Winter Street Church. Over the years, countless children, and perhaps some
parents as well, would visit the Patten and imagine sailing across the ocean on a Bath-built ship, traveling beneath the sea in a yellow submarine, flying through the clouds in an airplane, and riding through space on a rocket.
 |
| Signing books at the Guilford Memorial Library author event |
Today, April 13, is the last day of National Library Week, and at one o’clock I will be
giving a library sponsored talk at Cundy’s Harbor Community Hall because Karen
Schneider, the director of Cundy’s Harbor Library, invited me, and then scheduled and promoted
the event. What an appropriate
way to spend the last day of library week! Since launching my maritime novel,
Daughters of Long Reach, I have traveled
around Maine visiting dozens of libraries. Each library, from
Guilford to Wiscasset, from Orrington to Winslow, has reflected the spirit of
their community, and they have all impressed me with their efforts to foster curiosity, inform, share art, create community, support literacy, encourage
empathy and help young and old alike continue to find books that enrich their
lives.
Echoing the words of Saul Bellow’s, I have to “seize the day” and thank
our librarians, their staff, and volunteers for allowing the public to wander around
stacks of books in search of new and lost horizons. It’s astonishing how far you
will go when you start your journey at your local library. I think I was seven when I
started my first summer reading program in a New York library. The location was
temporary. The books were shelved in an old, decrepit house while the community
built a new, brick library. For every book I read that summer (mostly
biographies of women like Clara Barton and Florence Nightingale), I received a
sticker in the shape of a red brick, and I used my stickers to fill in an outline
of the library to come. It was an effective program; I remember the books I
read, and I remember the library my family helped to build.
 |
| A sailboat in the children's room of the Patten. Imagine! |
Whether a
library is new or old, whether it’s architecturally
interesting or plain, whether its three stories or one, chances are I'm going to cherish it because it is safeguarding our precious books and periodicals. If you disagree, consider reading
The Book Thief. I
suspect that story, set during Hitler's reign of terror, will convince you that books are
worthy of our protection. And I believe my local library, the Patten Free
Library, is an excellent guardian of an invaluable collection of books. This morning I’d like to extol the virtues of the Patten. After all, the love is in the details.
 |
| The Patten's new teen and tween space |
As a former high school teacher, I
have to spotlight the new teen and tween space. After a twenty-year hiatus from building,
the library board decided to remodel a corner of its non-fiction stacks for teen and tween
use at a cost of $330,000 dollars. The nautical-themed space has raised
seating in the style of a crow’s nest and offers a birds-eye view of the Kennebec
River. At the ground level, there are stacks of YA literature, charging stations, and easy access to audio and video equipment. The new corner is altogether
modern, vibrant and adolescent friendly.
 |
| Dahlov Ipcar's mural adds whimsy to the children's room |
The children’s room is an answer to
a grandmother’s prayer. Surrounded by Dahlov Ipcar’s tigers, lions and zebras,
it’s the perfect spot for storytime. As an added bonus, there’s a sunlit alcove
that boasts a sailboat and allows children to follow their imagination to Java,
Jamaica or Boothbay. In the summer, there are ice cream socials by the gazebo,
and in the fall and winter there are craft parties upstairs in the auditorium.
Whatever the weather, parents and children can learn, play and explore at the
Patten.
 |
| The elegant reading room at the Patten |
There’s also a quiet place where adults
can read and work; it is surrounded by history, like the paintings depicting the burning of The Old
South Church in 1854. And above the reading room, there’s a balcony that adds a
little mystery to the ambiance. Why is it there? What’s behind the balcony
doors? Searching for answers, I found Samantha Ricker, the director of
development, and she happily gave me a tour. I followed her up the winding
stairs of the nineteenth-century tower and discovered the truth: It’s a time
capsule. When I entered the upstairs room, I felt like I had stepped through
Alice’s looking glass. Samantha hopes that the library will someday raise enough money
to renovate the space and once again open it up to the public.
 |
| The mysterious second floor of the Patten's fairy-tale tower |
To that end, I wish all the library’s
fund-raising efforts are successful. Since National Library Week is ending, I
would like to ask for an extension. (One week is not enough.)
On April 27, the Patten Free Library is hosting “A Night at the Patten.”
Tickets are on sale now. They’re available online and at the library. If you live
in or around Bath, I encourage you to buy a ticket and support our future; if
you live elsewhere, visit your local library or check their event calendar and
participate. You've probably guessed that I’m a child of the sixties, so you won’t
be surprised when I leave you with a slogan from that decade: A brain is a
terrible thing to waste. I believe libraries do a lot to save our brains, and
they deserve our support. See you at the library!
