
I was maybe ten at the time and a frequent library goer. The hometown library in the town where I grew up was nothing more than a converted farm house with an addition added on to the back and the librarians who worked there surely knew my brother and me by name. For as often as I was in there, my most vivid memory involves not finding what I was looking for.
I remember it was summer, it was sunny, and warm and my brother and I were trying to kill off a few more hours and stave away boredom in the middle of one of those long, drawn out summer afternoons. So we went to the library because we could get stuff there for free and it was air-conditioned. To this day, I have no idea why I asked for what I asked for, but I had a very specific subject in mind.
Up to the counter I strode, put my hands on the desk in front of the librarian, and asked, “Where can I find a book on Jack the Ripper?”
I think you know where this conversation went and our librarian didn’t waste time in going there. I was too young to be asking about such material, but they did have some books on ghosts that I might like. So what I ended up with was not Jack the Ripper, but a book of Edgar Allen Poe. My brother and I passed the day in our town park reading Poe’s stories to each other.
More after the jump…

























