700s: Art

114

700s: Arts

Meetings & Dreamings 710 Civic & Landscape Art

I woke up in River Bend as if from a fever dream. Out on the balcony, mug of mud in hand, I re-oriented myself to the landscape. Fishing trawlers, oil tankers, freighters of foreign registry and winding chains of barges in their daily parade. Like a Daguerrotype from the past, a riverboat came paddling around the bend, wreathed in coal black smoke, saluting our town with a shrill steam whistle blast. A hand-painted sign attached to the railing on the Texas deck fluttered in the breeze: VOTE for INITIATIVE #2 SAVE the Magnolia!

Tourists on board taking pictures made me think of my ferry ride with Rachael. I would have to e-mail her from the library to find out what happened next. But according to my dayplanner, it was time to start working on the next issue of riverrun. Slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder, I set out on my bike. Early in the morningo, rolling down quiet streets past empty warehouses and stevedore shacks to Wally’s Wheat World.

781.66 G8543 Grand Funk Railroad

A rich mix of scents poured through the screen door. Inside, the heat and humidity was enhanced by a roaring ghetto blaster encrusted in years of flour dust and cranked to full volume.

Around the sides of a long wooden table a raggedy-ass chorus of workers were kneading loaves of bread and singing along:

115 We’re an American Band We’ll come into your town Help you party it down We’re an American Band!

—Hey, it’s the deserter, said Bourke, smiling his familiar weary smile at the head of the table.

Bourke had been working since three a.m. His eyelashes, eyebrows, and military-cut hair were dusted with fine flour, as was his apron and camouflage t-shirt and cargo pants.

—So you finally came dragging your sorry ass back, just like we always knew you would, said Justina. A graduate student at Keystone College, Justina wore a pirate-style red bandana and supplemented her income by selling hand-made jewelry at street festivals.

—I’m just here for an ad, I said. Where’s Wally? We need it by next week or he’ll miss the Fall issue.

—Wally is out scouting new locations, said Bourke. And he says the offer still stands, if you want to manage the southwest branch bakery.

—You know how much I liked working here, I said. But I can’t handle golfing with Wally after work.

—Or working under close supervision, said Justina.

The oven timer tripped its warning buzzer, stopping all conversation. Bourke pulled on his rasty old leather mitts and leaned on a lever, opening the oven door, releasing a burst of heat.

Six shelves jammed full of baking bread rotated like a Ferris wheel in a furnace. With a flick of the control stick, Bourke slowed the rotation, paused it level with the deck, and dragged out a

116 strap of four bread pans. Banging the pans against the shelf’s steel edge to loosen the loaves, he dumped the steaming loaves out across the cooling rack.

—Break’s over, said Bourke. Back on your heads.

—Tell Wally I’ll be back, I said.

—Thanks for the warning, said Justina.

727 Buildings for education and research

After that, it was uphill all the way to Keystone College. The institution had grown in fits and starts along Highway 61 as, over the decades, River Bend’s core deteriorated. Lecture halls, athletic fields, and student housing sprang up among gas stations, fast food franchises, and factory outlets.

The Communication Building was my primary objective, but I stopped first at the English Department, a restored carriage house next to the Agriculture Department, behind the barn.

A hand written note was thumb-tacked to the front door: Steve: GET OUT NOW! It’s my room and you know it.

Jeff Walking around to the rear of the house, I quietly let myself in to the kitchen. There were flowers in a vase on the table and a teapot gently simmering on the stove. I put the folder marked FICTION in Jeff’s mail box, and the folder of NON-FICTION in Steve’s mailbox, with notes attached to each about our deadline for the next issue of riverrun and thank you very much for your time. Leaving a stack of our most recent issue on the counter top, I exited by the screen door, careful lest it slam, and got back on my bike.

117

742: Perspective

Gearing down, I started peddling up to Dr. Mephistopheles’ aerie, high among the architectural statements clinging to the bluffs overlooking the river. What a view. From that perspective it seemed anything was possible. The Communications Building was itself a kind of statement, bunkered into the hillside, camouflaged and self-effacing. If not for the microwave tower on its roof, you’d never guess anything was up there.

On the roof was where I found Dr. Mephistopheles, setting up a web-cam concealed by shrubbery.

—Check it out, he said, typing commands onto his laptop keyboard: It zooms and pans.

Imagine what kind of surveillance KeyCo could do with this.

—Jeez, Frank, that is so cool. How the heck do you get to be Professor of Cybernetics, anyway?

—I’ve just always been good with my hands, I guess, said the professor, holding out both hands and turning them over. It’s a gift. That, and being in the right place at the right time.

—Like with this KeyCo deal.

—Mmm-huh, he absently agreed.

Frank was panning the camera across River Bend, pausing over the historic town square, inching along the modest brick buildings until he found the newest, shiniest, glass and steel edifice, and at its gleaming pinacle, the mayor’s office. Then he started zooming-in.

707 Education, research, and related topics

Keystone College had agreed to host a community website and Dr. Mephistopheles was in charge of making it happen. All the technical details about linking our library to their website

118 and publishing riverrun on-line were way over my head. But to people like Jamie, Barney, and Stanley, it was a game and a competition to stay ahead of the curve. In all this, I was merely the messenger.

After stashing the technical documents in my bag, it was a long coasting ride downhill back to the library basement where three bins of mail awaited my arrival. Using a handtruck, I wheeled the bins to the elevator, pushed the UP button, and rummaged through the mail on the long, slow, ascent.

The elevator door rolled open onto the second floor like a curtain raising on a familiar stage with a new scene. Everything was beige, modular, and plastic, with broad padded uniform surfaces. Everything was interchangeable, but the people were still the same.

Barney and Franny were sitting side by side in plush swivel chairs at a command post with matching PCs. —Hold the door! said Evelyn, rolling a cart of Saturday Evening Posts around the corner as the alarm trilled its feeble warning and the door rolled shut.

Another thing unchanged was the Kardex, squatting toad-like in the middle of all that bland office furniture. Spilling over on top of the Kardex, piles of periodicals awaited my return.

—Welcome back, Jeremiah, said Evelyn. Sorry about not keeping up with the magazines while you were gone, but it’s not in my By Statements.

—She’s no longer just an Assistant Librarian, said Franny.

Evelyn cooly buffed her nails on a sleeve then lifted her lapel so I could read the badge attached to it: Evelyn Wood Information Broker

119 —The pay is the same, said Evelyn, but now I’m working with Barney and the guys in IT. —Magician’s Apprentice is what it should say on her badge, said Barney. But they wouldn’t let us do that.

Rolling the truckload of mail bins over to the Kardex, I sat down and set to work. Buried among magazines, junk mail, and manuscript submissions for riverrun was a registered letter for me from the Office of the Mayor. Inside was an invitation to attend the next meeting of the River Bend Redevelopment Board. Another letter invited me to serve on the board of a local arts advocacy group so new they didn’t yet have a name but whose members I was well acquainted with. But the most meaningful letter to me that day was an invitation to join the Mississippi River Writers. Then there was nothing else to do but start checking-in magazines.

—Why are we still using the Kardex? I complained to the world at large. Surely if KeyCo can do everything else in the world, they can come up with a reliable serials module.

—I doubt that’ll ever happen, said Franny. Serials are by their very nature inconsistent.

They skip issues and create special issues, merge with other publications, go out of business, then start up again with new owners and a different format.

—You’d need a program that allows for random behavior on a regular basis, said Barney.

—You mean on an irregular basis, Evelyn pointed out.

—Bottom line is we need the Kardex as our insurance policy, said Franny, in case the KeyCo deal doesn’t pan out.

That was when I became aware of an odd noise coming from one of the cubicles; a mechanical-whirring and then the sound of paper shredding. When I peaked over the top, there was Bill, patiently feeding a stack of documents into the slot at the top of a tall black box.

120 —It’s a KeyCo thing, Bill said with a shrug. All departments must have paper shredders.

—How’s it go?, I asked.

—Put your paper in here and it falls out in strips into the wastebasket, said Bill.

—Don’t you have to turn it on?

—It’s always on.

—Funny, said Evelyn, still waiting for the elevator. Libraries used to be about preserving information.

—Libraries are about preserving knowledge and wisdom, said Bill. But you can’t save everything.

—I think there’s a difference between discarding…I said.

—De-acquisitioning, you mean, said Bill.

—Whatever, I said. There’s a difference between tossing out the trash and shredding it.

—We’re not shredding everything, said Bill. Just financial records. Personnel files.

Certain classified documents you don’t need to know about. And patron records, for confidentiality.

—Dang!, said Evelyn. We’re gonna need a bigger wastebasket!

—Probably we could mount it on a fifty-five gallon drum, Barney said.

—Hey, where’s my bulletin board? I said, suddenly noticing a cubicle where my desk used to be.

More than just a place for messages, the bulletin board had been an organizing principle, a refuge of free association among words, ideas, images, current events, and thoughts for the day: all the raw ingredients that went into creating riverrun.

—I think I saw it out by the dumpster, said Franny.

121 —Didn’t you get the e-mail on that? said Bill.

—Everybody got your e-mail! said Evelyn. With your dream attached?

The elevator door rolled open and she scooted inside, chortling merrily.

•

•

•

It took most of the day, but I finally got all the magazines entered into the Kardex and set out for patrons to use. When I went down to Administration, I managed to catch Helena alone in her office and I showed her the invitations I had received.

—The mayor wants me to attend a meeting, I said. There’s a writers group that wants me to join, and a non-profit group is asking me to serve on its board.

—Congratulations, Jeremy! This just shows the impact you’re having with riverrun. And riverrun is making the library look good by association.

—Well, great. But if I join these groups, is it all volunteer? Or is there some way I can be paid for my time?

Helena didn’t want to make decisions for me and was reluctant to reveal what she knew.

But I got her to name names and be honest and specific.

—It would be very beneficial for the library if you attend the RDA meeting, Jeremy, Helena concluded. I’d like to go myself, but I’ve got too many other meetings already. Tell Bill you’re representing the library and will be paid on library time. But this arts advocacy group?

What’s art got to do with libraries?

Helena was closely scanning the prospectus and list of names endorsing the group.

—Do you know these people?, she asked.

—We’ve been meeting at the art museum, I said. We’re working on a unified calendar of community events. The next step is to set up a website with links to concerts and art shows.

122 —Mrs. Vanderplast is on this list! Helena said with a little laugh. She used to be on the library board. Always a reliable donor to our development fund. Adam Zand is in this group, too? There’s some heavy hitters here. But who’s Sybil Seriatim?

—Sybil is the woman who started Nexxus. You know, the free monthly magazine?

—Oh, really? That’s her? What’s she really like?

—Well, Sybil is pretty intense.

—So I have heard.

—But it’s Sybil who is getting all these people to work together. She’s amazing. I’ve gotten to know her because we cover the same events and distribute at the same locations.

—Well, whatever she’s up to it can’t be too bad if Mrs. Vanderplast in on board. Just do what you think is best, Jeremy. I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time. Now, what’s the deal with the Mississippi River Writers?

—It’s an honor to even be asked, I said. But attending meetings might be a problem.

They have them up and down the river, from Grand Rapids, Michigan to New Orleans. Their annual event is called The Confluence and this year it’s in Oxford, Mississippi. What should I do? I said, handing Helena the glossy tri-fold pamphlet.

Helena scanned the paper, flipped it over, glanced at the verso side, neatly re-folded it, and handed it back.

—Why don’t you become an associate member? Helena said. Maybe trade the membership fee for an ad in riverrun? Arrange a soiree at our library? You guys could all meet in the Eight-hundreds.

It was always hard to tell with Helena when she was joking. These kind of meetings and decisions were affecting my dreams.

123

755 Religion & religious symbolism

I was in a mass of people outside in a field in a vast space and we all felt something come over the crowd. Looking up, we discovered that it was Jesus, floating over us like a float in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Then I went back to running all over town. There was this woman I met, a writer something like Rachael. She says something smart, then runs off toward the street and jumps into the front seat of a taxi/bus heading uptown.

I jump into the back of the vehicle, among the immigrants and working class. There are dark-skinned natives speaking strange dialects and sharing drugs. Gradually I work my way up to the front just as the woman gets off at some kind of educational institution in a nice neighborhood. She goes inside and I follow.

It’s a newspaper/university. The woman is one of the writer/teachers and I’m wandering the halls after hours meeting people coming in and out of offices.

She leaves messages for me, but when I come back to her office, she’s never there. So I’m writing a message for her on an old scarf, a gift from another woman, long ago. I’m dubious about my motivations, and I’m running out of room to write on this scarf.

Then it’s daytime again and everybody’s back in their offices as I’m running errands around town and it’s on the news and official: Jesus Christ appeared to a large mass of people recently. His presence was first felt, then seen, floating over the people in a vast and peaceful space, floating horizontally, arms stretched out, white garments drifting up cloud-like into the atmosphere.

124 We’re all watching this on television and in the papers and on the internet. Everybody everywhere is talking about it. It’s the greatest story in the history of the world. People find it hard to believe, but it’s in all the news media, so it must be true.

—Oh yeah, I say. It’s true. I was there.

Then I wake up, late for my next meeting.

Social Capitalists @ Work 706 Organizations

President:

Sibyl Seriatim, publisher/editor Nexxus

Vice-President:

Argentina Robinofsky, freelance writer/publicist

Treasurer:

Jim Boulevardier, retired, an art patron

Scribe:

Jeremiah DiAngelo, editor of riverrun

Other members in attendance at the meeting held on July 19, 1996, at the River Bend Art Museum: Suzee Marimeko, fabric artist Carly O’Connor, Performing Arts Dept., Keystone College Mrs. Vanderplast, Director, River Bend Art Musem Adam Zand, President, River Bend Business Association.

—First item of business is still the problem of a name for our group, said Sibyl, with a chiding look around the conference table. We’ve had several meetings, and there’s still no consensus on what we should call ourselves.

—That’s the only thing there is consensus on, said Jim. —When we adjourned last month, we got to what was it? What’s it say in your notes, Jeremiah?

125 —Beaux Arts.

—Right. And that’s so last century, you know? said Sibyl. Which is what River Bend needs to get over, or why else are you guys always ragging about it when I come around every month for the calendar? And by the way, the deadline is today, so I can collect your stuff after the meeting.

Sibyl was a woman of parts, earth-tone outfits, and long, straggly, prematurely white hair.

She had served twenty years with the U.S. Coast Guard before ending up stationed in River Bend, managing traffic jams on the Mississippi. Cashing in on her retirement benefits, Sibyl was now publishing and editing Nexxus: River Bend Arts & Altemrnatives.

—How about Beaux Esprits?, said Argentina, marking the place with her finger in a dictionary. A bel esprit is a wit or genius, and two or more together would be beaux esprits.

This suggestion was well received. Argentina, a special events coordinator, always had the noblest goals for our nascent group. She was delicate and dark-skinned with a short shock of hair died firey-red.

—B. E., Sibyl said, trying out the sound of it.

—We could have BE-ins, said Argentina. Spontaneous art happenings.

—And our meetings would be BE-ings? Suzee wondered aloud. Suzee was from Seattle and did things with fabric and colors like you would not believe.

—Eat more beans, is what mom always said, Jim observed. It’s the musical fruit!

Jim wrote the “Man About Town” column for Nexxus. He used to do something with arbitrage, until it became illegal. He had a lot of time on his hands and enjoyed hanging out with artists and writers.

126 —Beaux Esprit Group? said Carly. As usual, Carly was keeping to the agenda and watching the clock. It was a long drive from Keystone College and there were always academic meetings she could be wasting her time at.

—The acronym would be BEG, said Adam, and I’m guessing that’s not the image we want.

Adam carried the biggest day planner of us all, bound in leather. He always wore a suit and tie and scuffed, brown wingtips. Adam’s office was located in the otherwise vacant River Bend Ferry Building. Nobody was more invested in redeveloping River Bend than Adam.

—What about Arts Alliance? I suggested.

—AA? Are you kidding? said Adam.

—We’d be first in the phone book, Suzee pointed out.

—Think of the calls we’ll be getting if people get us mixed up with the other AA, Carly sighed.

—We could double our membership instantly, I said.

—Probably a lot of membership overlap already, Jeremiah, said Jim, with a meaningful glance at Sybil and a few others.

—Maybe we should table the discussion until our next meeting? Sybil suggested. And get on to our next item of business, which is the website.

—I saw Dr. Mephistopheles this morning, I volunteered. He said he’ll have a demo for our next meeting.

—We should meet on campus then, Carly said. I don’t suppose you have an internet hook-up, do you, Mrs. Vanderplast?

127 —Are you kidding? Mrs. Vanderplast said, laughing heartily. We’re still upgrading gas lamps to electricity. They have grants for that kind of thing, do you suppose?

—That’s what I want to know, said Sybil. How do non-profit groups get that groovy grant gravy?

—First of all honey, Carly said, you need to file your five-oh-one-cee-three, establishing that you are, indeed, a non-profit group.

—You need that, and a lot of social capital, said Argentina. That’s one thing we all have plenty of.

—We’re a social capital society is what we are, said Suzee.

Suzee could be relied upon for grand statements like that, speaking half to herself, as if trying out an image to see how it looks.

—Social Capitalist Society? Adam incredulously replied. Scary sounding name, don’t you think?

—How about Social Capitalists @ Work? I suggested.

—Sure, said Argentina. Anything with an @ sign is cool this year.

Sybil started banging her little gavel on the podium, saying: —People, people, people! Forget the name! It’s not important. What’s important is that it’s happening.

Once again, we ran out of time before reaching consensus on what to call our merry band.

It didn’t seem to matter. We knew we’d run into one another again in our small town. There was a commonly shared feeling that our time was now and Sybil was making it happen. It wouldn’t be true to say that what happened at the Deep River Blues Festival was all Sybil’s fault. In the sequence of events involving the whole city of River Bend, she was merely the catalyst.

128 The meeting adjourned. We all checked our dayplanners, exchanged press releases, flyers, and business cards then we dashed off to our next scheduled meetings.

713 Landscape architecture of traffic ways

—River Faire is all about the seven hundreds, said Marian. And the more you know about the seven hundreds the more you’ll understand what River Faire means for the future of River Bend.

Marian blushed, catching her breath. There were about a dozen of us milling at the Park & Ride, and a guy from the Forward-Progress taking pictures. It looked like something positive might be done with the ruined land donated by the railroad. Whether or not it could it be accomplished in time for River Faire ’96 was the question.

—You see how I get about the seven-hundreds, Marian resumed. They’re vital. Art is life. Where’s there’s life, there’s hope. Instead of this, she said with a dismissive wave at the defoliation and ruin along the Mississippi shoreline.

Some arrived late, others left early. It was a hot day and a long hike. Mayor Matt was there with his crew. Sybil was distributing copies of Nexxus and signing up volunteers for the Deep River Blues Festival. Most of the art advocates showed up, along with Steve and Jeff from the college and some U.S. Forest Service guys, one of whom was a lady.

It had been Marian’s idea to meet here and have our planning session en plein aire. She led the way in designer jeans, jogging shoes, and an old River Faire t-shirt, striding out along the rough trail paralleling the railroad.

—We want a landscaped pathway along the river, said Marian. We want views and we want fresh air. We want benches along the way to sit and rest and enjoy the view.

129 —Your basic covered shelters, said Adam Zand. Your Jobs Corps kinda deal. Maybe get some Boy Scouts out here working on Eagle Scout projects?

—Learn all about it in the seven-seventeens, said Marian. Look under Structures.

—Suppose we slap up a gazebo? Said Mayor Matt.

—Landscape architecture?, said Marian. That’s your seven-twelves. Seven-thirteen is the riparian landscape we’re walking through now. Look around. You see nothing but sevenfourteens and seven-fifteens: your water features, your woody plants. And on to the sevensixteens: herbaceous plants, such as kudzu, violets, woody nightshade.

719 Natural landscapes

The railroad tracks continued northward while we followed a path across a narrow isthmus to Dead Head Point. It was wild, choked with wild huckleberries and half swamp. But there was definitely a shelf of usable land that could conceivably be cleared for an audience of thousands. And there was that promontory where you could almost picture musicians tuning up.

Thus was born the Deep River Blues Project: A Multi-Media Production. It was Sybil’s idea first, but we were all implicated in what went down. The deal was sealed when Sybil said a film crew was signed-up to make a documentary of the three-day festival. And the whole project could be publicized for free on our community art website.

After poking around and seeing that it would be totally cool to have a music festival here, we agreed to meet again at Mayor Matt’s office to finalize plans. Then we split up and went our separate ways. Some people continued on up the tracks. Some turned around and headed back to town. Some wandered around Dead Head point, skipping rocks across the river. And there were some few who had brought along food and drink for a picnic in the tall grass.

130 753: Symbolism, allegory, mythology, legend

—So who are you? said Derrick the Dude.

—I’m Marian, the fine art librarian.

—Yeah, I know you’re fine, said Derrick the Dude, but who are you?

—Marian Madley, she said, reaching out to shake hands with the Dude. Fine Art Department, River Bend Library.

—Jeez, I love your vision, said Derrick. I want to be part of that.

—Well, what’s your vision, honey? Said Marian, pushing back a lock of hair that seemed somehow animate with its own determination to drift around her head, penumbra-like, in the golden light of the setting sun.

—My vision is to save the Magnolia. Re-float the boat. Bring back them good old days of riverboats and freedom. The awful Sunday afternoon lonesomeness of the Mississippi River, as Huck Finn describes it.

—God, I love a man who can quote Mark Twain, said Marian, heaving a sigh and laughing at herself, for her own stupid vulnerability; or at the smooth moves of Derrick the Dude, it was impossible to say.

—Perhaps we could continue this conversation elsewhere?

—Let’s not, and say we did.

751 Techniques, equipment, materials and forms

Jamie was holding up translucent sky-blue sheets of paper with rippling text flowing like water.

—Check it out Jeremy! She said, letting the sheets float on the breeze like a cape on the wind, like the sheets on my bed.

131 I woke up with a start. There was a song in my head and it sounded like Deep River Blues.

At work that day, I told Jamie about my dream, and I asked if she could link the on-line edition of riverrun to the website for the Deep River Blues Festival.

—Sure, I could link it to their ad. You guys should make a CD of the music and sell it online, said Jamie with a laugh and that double-daring look in her eye.

—We could publish a book about the festival, I said, with a CD inside.

—Ride the wave, Jeremy!

E-mail & Innuendo Something eternal about the stillness of the library I hesitated to disturb when I got off the elevator on the second floor early one morning. Catching a glimpse of motion over by the windows, I recognized a rotund figure miming a scene. It was Mr. Bojangles, our resident storyteller, practicing his routine.

I waited till he was finished before turning on the lights and one-by-one, the beep-beepbeeping pcs. We had twenty by then, emitting a chorus of reassuring tones as they came on-line.

I usually arrived early as possible so I would have time to catch up on e-mails and stories for riverrun.

132



KeyMail© Date: August 5, 1996 From: JeremiaD@riverbendlib.io.ut.us To:

RachaelR@hotmail.com

Re:

What next?

Dear Rachael, All my letters were returned and my e-mails to your old address bounced. When I called, they said you don’t work there anymore and left this forwarding address.

You wouldn’t believe what’s happening here and I need someone to talk to about it honestly.

Last night, as I was closing, Tippi was almost but not quite exposing herself. I can’t deny, it is a turn-on. Why are men like that? Why doesn’t she take her act to San Francisco? But security cams are everywhere now and she’s not stupid.

Meanwhile, Derrick the Dude is over in Fine Arts pitchin’ woo at Marian the Librarian. He’s the man with the plan to resurrect a historic riverboat and turn it into a floating casino. It’s on the ballot now as Initiative #2, a 20 million dollar bond proposal.

Marian is ostensibly helping him research river boat legend and lore but what I really think they’re doing is canoodling in the stacks.

But it’s Initiative #3 that’s really scary. Were you aware that KeyCo is part of a larger corporation that owns and operates for-profit prisons? Well, it was news to me, too. Now they want to build one in River Bend. According to their projections it’s going to cost a cool twenty mil.

133 What is it about that magic number? Did some consulting agency somewhere decide that is the optinum number for public acceptance?

I don’t know, but I sure hope our flyer is better than theirs. I am sending all 3 flyers as .pdf attachments so you can decide for yourself.

Well, the doors are open now and they’re letting in the masses. The lights are on, computers are humming, let freedom ring.

763 Lithographic processes

—Where’s Bill? I said, noticing that everybody was present for our monthly staff meeting, except the head of our department.

—Didn’t you get the e-mail? Evelyn asked.

—Jeez Jeremy, said Franny. You really are out of touch.

—Bill no longer works here, said Barney. He got a better offer.

—Franny’s the new department head, Evelyn announced happily.

—Bill was de-acquisitioning what he should have been saving, said Franny, with a sigh.

He didn’t like the way things are going here and he jumped ship.

—Oh crap, I said. Did he discard the old riverruns?

—No, not those, said Franny. Bill says they might be the most valuable part of our collection. And what do you suppose he means by that?

—Beats me, Evelyn said, but whatever you do, don’t throw away old Life magazines.

—They were duplicate copies! Franny said, rolling her eyes.

—Like money in the bank, according to Helena, Barney coolly observed.

—Other libraries will pay top dollar for those, said Evelyn.

—Maybe sell ‘em on e-Bay, said Barney, thinking out loud.

134 —The library is not about losing money anymore, Franny concluded. And Helena said that until further notice, I’m in charge of our department.

—Bill has moved on to a better world, said Barney. He’s a library director now, plus he gets room and board. What do they serve in monasteries, anyway? I mean besides bread and wine?

—Bill is directing the digitization program at the monastery now, said Franny. You know the one with the vineyard and wine tours? He was researching his doctoral thesis and ended up volunteering at their library. When the Abbot found out he was available, well…they got a grant and put him on the payroll.

—I don’t think Bill was working out so well visa-vie the matriarchy here anyway, said Evelyn. Present company excluded, but most guys don’t.

—I believe the correct term is gynocracy, Barney said, rule by women. I suppose the good side of living at a monastery is no more conflicts with the ladies. Only downside is, there’s no sex.

—Oh, I think Bill’s got that department covered, said Evelyn, touching her pearls, discretely smiling toward Franny.

791.4372 B : Batman feature film

The less we saw of Cody the better was our policy at Adult Services, second floor north.

Preoccupied with planning construction the 21st Century Library, Cody would drop by at random intervals for bouts of One-Minute Managing. Then he would fly off like Batman to clandestine meetings, balancing budgets with his bare hands. When Cody was gone, life went on much more smoothly, and what he didn’t know about was probably for the best.

135 I doubt he even noticed at first when I rescued my bulletin board from the dumpster and attached it to the only space in the building not made-over by KeyCo: hanging on the wall inside the staff elevator. It would be a way for co-workers to stay in touch, I was thinking. Something to read on those long boring rides. Encourage frank and open discussion while generating story ideas for riverrun. But that’s not how the administration saw it. An escalating volley of e-mails flew back and forth and soon enough I was called to a meeting in the Board Room.

—Hostile Work Environment is what we’re talking about here, said Trixie. Your bulletin board is undermining the authority of the managers.

—Hostile Work Environment? I dumbly repeated. That’s exactly what it’s been like here since KeyCo took over. I thought libraries were supposed to support intellectual freedom.

—Intellectual freedom is intended for library users, not for staff!, Cody snapped.

—What about my First Amendment right of freedom of expression?

—Hanging an effigy of Cody in the elevator is not a First Amendment right, Jennifer explained in that serious tone she used, wearing those serious black rectangular glasses, black pageboy framing her pale round face.

Jennifer was one of the new KeyCo people on our staff. I think she took over Nancy’s job. Whatever happened to Nancy?, is what I was wondering. Maybe Nancy transferred to the KeyCo facility with that ocean beach where Helena and Zelda had staged the virtual teleconference. It seemed entirely plausible, and I couldn’t think of anybody more deserving.

With these tangential thoughts racheting through my head, I made an attempt to explain my actions.

—It was a Batman action figure somebody left in the Computer Center, I said, in a calm and rational voice. All I did was put Cody’s nametag on him and pin him to the bulletin board.

136 —That’s not funny, Jeremy, said Cody.

—That’s sad, said Trixie.

—See, this is what we mean, said Jennifer.

—That’s your passive-aggressive way to get back at authority figures, Jeremy, said Trixie.

—Hostile-Work-Environment, said Jennifer, tsk-tsk-tsking.

—What it comes down to is Anger Management for you, buddy, said Cody.

—You’ll thank us for this later. Believe me, Jeremy, said Trixie.

—It’s for your own good, said Jennifer.

—Being an angry white man is nothing to be ashamed of, Jeremy, said Cody.

—Sure, I said. That’s why the library gets group rates, right?

760 graphic arts

Woke up from a nightmare at three in the morning. Got dressed and biked down to the bakery. Justina was in the back, pouring a fifty pound bag of brown sugar into a giant steel bowl containing pound cakes of butter. Setting her feet like a Sumo wrestler, she picked up the steel beater with a grunt, hooked it onto the rotor, set the speed for low, and pressed the ON button.

Whop, whop, whop went the beater against the sides of the bowl.

—He’s not here, Justina said.

—I know that, I said, but I can’t sleep. Where else can you go around here at three a.m.?

The door to the flour mill opened with a cloud of dust and the roar of the grindstones.

Bourke came out and dusted himself off.

—You know he’s not here, right? said Bourke.

—He knows that, said Justina. He’s just like a bad penny that keeps coming back.

137 —Shit For Brains didn’t come in today, said Bourke, so I’ve got to feed the flour mill. If you want to mix a one and three quarter batch of honey whole wheat I wouldn’t mind at all.

—Do I get paid for this? Or am I a volunteer, like they do at the library?

—You’re a hired consultant, said Bourke.

—Oh, goody! said Justina. And you can help me make bread sticks. You’ve got the magic hands.

Justina weighed out four pounds of bread dough, smushed it down into the dinner roll cutter, clamped down the lid and leaned on the lever, dividing the dough into twenty-four pieces.

Taking one piece in each hand, we faced each other across the kneading table, racing to roll each section into a acceptably uniform sticks of dough.

—So, what’s new in desk top publishing? said Justina.

—Pagemaker Four Point-Oh for Windows, I said, it’s changed my whole life. Anybody with a pc can do layout and design. It’s all about these little windows.

Setting out break sticks into a rectangle, the sticks of bread dough under my hands were just like the frames around the text boxes on the desktop. I smelled bakery scents, heard the roar of the flour mill, felt the heat of the oven, and then I woke up.



KeyMail© Date: August 30, 1996 From: RachaelR@hotmail.com To:

JeremiaD@riverbendlib.io.ut.us

Re:

What next?

138 Hi Jeremiah, I’m writing from the atrium of the San Francisco PL and I must say, you’ll be doing well if your 21st Century Library is half as grand as this lalapalooza. Too bad they had to toss the books to make way for all these pcs. The upside is that I can use their free wi-fi to jump start my publishing venture.

Yes, there are angels, and in California they are called venture capitalists. I have my own Mrs. Vanderplast now. Or she has me. Somehow we fill a need in each other and that’s why it’s called a joint venture.

Sorry I can’t reveal the name of our home design magazine at this time because of contractual obligations. You’ll recognize our first issue when you see it, probably early November, in time for Xmas shopping season. It was good seeing you in New York, despite your abrupt departure. If you’re ever in the Bay area, do let me know.

754 Genre paintings

Elevatored upstairs to the electronic din of the Computer Center. Talked to Marvin about scheduling the next issue of rivverun and negotiated costs with the Forward-Progress. They only have enough of the good paper stock for one more issue and we’ll have to cut it down to sixteen pages.

Checked my e-mail and found the memo from Cody re: the memo from Trixie, re: the memo from Jennifer, concerning Chatlines, and what is our Policy for dealing with Patrons talking to each other over their partitions? Is that a Privacy Violation, or what?

139 I printed out a copy of my By Statements with the new KeyCo standards attached and then it was my turn for a quarterly performance review with Cody and Franny in Cody’s office where I noticed there were no pictures on the wall. Everything was very beige and impersonal as we negotiated; reviewing the past six months, scheduling everything to be accomplished through the end of the year.

—I got your e-mail, I said.

And it went downhill from there. Franny sat quietly on the side, clutching her stomach, afraid to speak unless Cody or I asked her directly.

—Another thing that’s going to have to change, said Cody, is your working habits. Jeez, Jeremy, you’re out of the building more than you’re in. You need to manage your time more effectively. Learn to use the phone and e-mail like a normal person. Come to work on time and go home after work like everybody else does. There are liability issues.

—Lie-ability issues? I said. Yeah, I’ve got plenty of issues with people who lie.

—Bottom line is, Cody grimly smiled, no more working on your own time. Just get your job done in the time that’s available. Work smarter, not harder.

790 Recreational & performing arts



KeyMail© Date: August 15, 1996 From: Stacey Cartwright To:

All library staff

Re:

River Faire

140 River Faire ’96 is almost underway! The Planning Committee is finalizing plans and heading out to the river parkway to survey the site so everything runs smooth and not like last year. Although the weather certainly was a factor with the tents blowing over. Fortunately, there was no loss of life or property damage. But let’s not cry over spilled lemonade. :) So PLAN AHEAD for weather and if you can find a parking spot which is always a factor so you can arrive at YOUR SCHEDULED BOOTH at YOUR SCHEDULED TIME!! ;> Stacey C.