Michael Guillebeau - MAD Librarian - You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Library

So, the tables were covered with food today, and the benches were covered with workers grabbing a quick bite so they could get back to work, homeless men getting a good meal, and moms bringing their kids out to see their future going up before their eyes.

There was a small wooden platform on the edge of the new MAD that was set up so kids could hammer a nail or turn a wrench, and get their picture taken showing them helping build the MAD.

That is, when the kids could elbow their way past the city fathers and every state politician and wannabe from three states that were getting their pictures taken at the table, usually wearing hard hats to show they were working. Pictures taken, and then gathering around the tables for free food.

“Y’all coming back for lunch?” asked Bentley, ignoring the mayor and Serenity.

Barnes, the councilman from the wealthy district up on the hill, snorted. “‘Course. I’m going to do my volunteer work every day at seven a.m., noon, and seven at night.”

Serenity thought about the value of the volunteer work this crew performed at the food lines and picnic tables but bit her tongue and said, “Liberated’s going to cover the tables with desserts at midnight tonight.”

Barnes grunted. “I’ll volunteer at midnight, too. God, I hate overtime.”

The mayor hadn’t touched his plate of pork barbecue and potato salad. He was wearing his top hat and coveralls, swearing he would wear nothing but coveralls until the MAD was finished.

A man with gray hair and a still strong build came up and set his tray down.

“Mr. Molcut,” said Serenity. “You’ve been working pretty hard since before I got here.”

He took a sip of coffee and gave Serenity a long look. “Important to keep your hands on your community.”

“Paul’s done that,” said the mayor. “Since he retired as head of one of the big aerospace companies here, he’s been involved behind the scenes of nearly everything.”

“I like staying busy,” Paul Molcut said. “Keeps me in touch with all of my old buddies in the business world. And, out in the fresh air like this.” He swallowed the last of a sausage biscuit. “Serenity, you ought to get together with us. A bunch of us community-minded folks get together for our own church service early on Sunday mornings at the Catholic Church. As important as you’re becoming, you ought to join us.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He wiped his mouth, emptied his coffee cup and stood up to go back to work.

The mayor leaned into the center of the table. “You boys ain’t listening to me. I said there was a delay.”

Serenity said, “Looks like it’s going great. First floor went up yesterday. One crew’s adding the second floor today while another finishes the first. That’s the plan: one floor a day. Snap the floor in place today, volunteers and workers complete the interior of that floor tomorrow while the next floor is added. Seth says we’re an hour or so ahead.”

“Not a delay in the building.” The mayor patted her hand. “This isn’t something you need to worry your pretty little head about, Ms. Hammer. This is real… statesmanship… for statesmen.” He turned to the other men who had their heads down in their plates. “Got a call first thing that said our good government money’s held up.”

The heads came up. One or two paused in mid-bite with their mouths full of food, which wasn’t a pretty sight.

“What do you mean?” said Bentley, spitting crumbs.

“I mean that the contact called me early. Said there was a delay, and we wouldn’t get our money today. Might not get it at all this time. Said there was a problem, might take them a few days to get it fixed. Might not get it fixed at all.”

Barnes said, “At all?”

“I think he’s just throwing his weight around. You know how he is.”

Barnes put down his fork. “No, I don’t. He only talks to you. I haven’t talked to him since I was recruited for the job. They can’t cut off my money. I’ve done everything they asked.”

“Well, they say it’s not coming.”

“This is serious. I got a payment coming up on the lake house.”

The mayor said, “Said we might have to get used to it.”

“We need to tell him who’s the boss here,” Barnes said, “We run this city.”

The table was silent.

Another councilman, the quiet one, said, “We knew when we started taking this money that these guys were probably crooks.”

Barnes stiffened. “There is nothing illegal about this. The Good Government Fund is a dark money PAC, legal under Alabama law. Remember when the old governor got caught with his pants down, was paying his honey with money from a dark PAC so nobody could tell who the donor was, or how much he paid?”

“Still crooks, even if they’re legal crooks.”

“Or businessmen,” Barnes muttered.

SERENITY LEFT the statesmen to their work and walked into the new MAD.

“Hey,” said Burroughs. “You can’t be in here without a hard hat.”

Seth Burroughs was smiling, which was not something he did often or well.

“I’ll get one,” said Serenity.

“Wait here.” He walked off.

Serenity stood in the doorway and looked around at the big empty cavern. Men were crawling over it like ants. Half the walls were already covered with wallboard while men and women spackled, taped, painted, wired and plumbed.

Serenity saw through the mess, though, and saw what it could be. Would be. Something new and powerful for the people of Maddington. Not home, not work, but a place as welcoming and productive as either, making both home and work stronger. Up front, where she was now, there would be a welcome area where a person would be greeted by a librarian who knew everyone’s name, and would help people find what they needed. And, if someone didn’t need help, off to the right was the coffee shop and bakery with tables to sit and read or work, or meet with friends, book clubs or business groups. To the left, a small bar and grill would be open evenings. And—if Serenity could hold on to the money—all of them would run on a pay-what-you-can basis.

A place for everyone. Help for everyone. Open spaces, inviting spaces.

A place to grow.

Maybe. Or maybe just a rusting hulk with my grave out back, Serenity thought.

Somebody bumped her from behind.

“Hey,” said Doom. “Nobody should have a smile as big as yours this early.”

“That’s the first-floor smile. Wait until you see my seven-story smile.”

Doom nodded. “I look forward to it. Six more days.”

“If we can hold the fort that long.”

“Fort-holding is our new job?”

“Hold the fort while we build the shining city behind it. That’s why we’re divvying things up.”

“You want Joy to be in charge of holding the old library together and me to set up things for the new library so we’re ready to transition, while you fight the war?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m packing new programs into as many places as I can in the old MAD to get them up and running, ready to move into the new MAD, but we’re running out of room. What do you think about renting a couple of trailers for overflow?”

“Don’t rent, buy. When we’re done, we’ll put them around town as little pocket libraries and help centers.”

“Good idea. We can put a couple of them in the poor areas.”

“Rich areas, too. I want garden clubs and bank presidents to rely on the MAD, too. They need to stop feeling like libraries are something they have to pay for to help others. Keep me posted. I’ll be spending most of my time here getting the MAD built. And trying to protect the money.”

“Keep Bentley’s hands off this.”