Went to visit the Rochambeau Branch of the Providence Public Library. The library was closed today due to the big storm that hit overnight, and will reopen tonight for my talk at 7 p.m. It’s changed since I went there. The library is about five blocks from my house in Providence. I remember when I first went in there. I was playing hooky from school to avoid a test and ended up getting chased by some kids. I hit behind the A& P, then made a break  down Hope Street, but didn’t quite make it.

I dove into the library, feeling a bit put upon, and there was Miss McCarthy, standing tall as a statue, glowering at me. She said if I was going to be there, I had to have a library card, which I did  not have. I loved the smell and feel of the rubber stamps they used on the date stickers, and the leathery smell of the books.  I was quite proud to get a library card.  It was the first thing I ever belonged to that merited a card. She warned me to be quiet, to clean up after myself, not to leave books strewn about, to return them promptly and never steal one,  and to behave. She was formidable.

She then took me to a shelf and gave me some stories and books by Mark Twain, and then two or three others, including one about a frightened boy who went on to become a great general – George S. Patton. I could not imagine then why she gave me this story. I came back a week later, and a stack of books was waiting for me to sort through. Miss McCarthy never asked a thing about me, or why I was there. But we somehow got quite close, nonetheless. She came to know me through the stories I loved and the ones I wrote for her. She gave birth to me as a writer. Wherever you are, Miss McCarthy, thanks, and I want you to know that am very sorry about the Hemingway book that I slipped out one day and didn’t return, because I couldn’t bear to part with it and couldn’t afford to buy it. I will pay for it. For years, I have imagined you will appear in the night with your handkerchief tucked into your blouse and ask where the book was.