From the moment I entered the hushed, sacred precinct of the Brownsville Children's Library in Brownsville, Brooklyn, back in the mid-1930s, I have been a passionate advocate of the public library.
My most profoundly joyous memory is walking through the crowded, noisy, aroma-filled atmosphere of Sutter Avenue, between rows of pushcarts selling anything edible and wearable, on my way to that vine-covered magic castle of books. It was like crossing a moat from the reality of a contemporary world of struggle and strife, to a paradise of storytelling, which opened infinite possibilities and aspirations in a young boy confronting a strange and scary future.
