"Dorothy, I'm so glad to see you. I saved a book especially for you." It was the voice of Mrs. Luex, the librarian at the neighborhood branch library that my mother, Dorothy, visited regularly in Union, New Jersey, where she grew up in the early 1940s. Mrs. Luex reached down under her desk and pulled out that special book and handed it to my mother with a smile that seemed to say that the librarian had been waiting all week just for her. The library in her part of town was located in a storefront nestled among several small businesses, including a delicatessen, dry cleaners, and drug store.
Born into an African American working class family with grandparents who migrated from the South with limited educational opportunities, my mother didn’t recall ever seeing either of them reading a book. At age 11, my mom was old enough to walk to the library all by herself and Mrs. Luex had become one of her favorite people in the whole wide world. She was perfectly round – round body, round face, and hair that was pulled back neatly into a perfectly round bun. She was always welcoming and pleasant. To think that she would select a book just for Dorothy made her feel very special. Whatever she selected would be read along with the books my mother selected on her own.