“Sanctuary” — A story about Sharon Davis, Branch Librarian for the Harrison County Library System

What makes a kid want to grow up to be a librarian, anyway? What kind of stuffed-shirt environment could produce such an ana… uh, such a banal desire? And where did the rumor start that librarians are sexy? Well, I guess if you can’t come from well-bred stock, the best you can hope for is this well-read stock. I just happen to know a little history about one particular librarian. When she was just a wee lass of four living in a poor Mississippi Delta town, she would walk the one-quarter block to the library every Saturday holding her Mom’s hand, dragging her Mom all the way. This ritual soon became one where the child’s independence was growing by leaps and bounds (much of which could probably be attributed to the filling of her head with all those books) and her mother would phone ahead whereupon a librarian would come out of the front door and the child would cross the street all by herself to the library to be ushered in by her beloved guardian. Who knows what went on behind those doors. When she was done with loading up on books, the librarian would phone Mom and Mom would meet them at the corner and walk the child back home, but of course, Mom was not allowed to carry the books. They were the sole possession of the child.

The child was starved for material to stimulate her vivid imagination, partly due to the fact that her mother had cut the cable off because the child and her father were madly addicted to television. Mom was sick of the early deterioration that was being brought about by MTV and HBO and the like, and so now they only received what their puny antenna could pick up and PBS was the strongest signal, so the child did at least have Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and what was that thing with Conjunction Function? Anyway, as I said, the child was starved. Turns out later we learned that too much visual stimulation from television destroys our ability to imagine visually the way we are able to do whilst reading. But at the time, it was just aversion therapy. How was anybody supposed to deduce that a lifetime addiction had set in at the age of four? And like all places that harbor and foster an addict’s fancy, the library became “the sanctuary”. The child’s bonds with the library formed with the word itself whose letters were boldly plastered to the building, to the smell of the paper and ink and glue that mixed with the almost imperceptible human scent that lingered from every hand that had ever held every book, to the hushed sounds in which actual thoughts of oneself, other current occupants, former occupants and writers themselves could be picked up by the Geiger counter of an anticipating, hungry mind in this Zen-like silence. Even the lack-luster of the well-worn, flat commercial carpet seemed to cry out “Welcome back, my dear friend” with a luster all its own. Oh, yes, even Quasimodo himself could find sanctuary here. So you see, the child was not just addicted to books, she was be felled by the entire mystique of “the library” which itself must be uttered in a whispered tone.

Back to the child’s real life. What real life? Her father was a cop and her mother was a bookkeeper. They didn’t have much money. Neither one could talk about their jobs because that kind of information was not discussed. They didn’t have a social life. They didn’t have a lot in common and worked different shifts. Once a month they fought over the bills, or rather the lack of money to pay the bills. She was an only child with unhappy, overprotective parents who both loved her dearly although they differed over the proper ways to show it. She lost her beloved family pet, a sweet shy Missy-gog when she was six, and her mother attempting to replace it, inadvertently backed over the new little sheepdog with the child in the car. Alone again and traumatized, to boot. But along with her love of books, the child developed an uncanny ability to relate to older people, yes!, old folks. She fancied that visiting the old folks’ home would be fun. They adored her as she did them. No one knows what kind of transference occurred between them, but it would be safe to surmise that the child was wise beyond her years because of, well, you guessed it, all those books! In school, she bonded more easily to teachers than her contemporaries. While she was a bit over-developed intellectually, she never lost her sense of humor or her love for animals or her ability to connect to people on that real and personal level. Just when she hit her teens her parents broke up. She had been uprooted numerous times by now and wound up on the Mississippi Gulf Coast which was considerably more cosmopolitan than the Delta. I don’t think that her being sexy has anything at all to do with her wanting to be a librarian. But then again, I’m one of those people who think that intelligence lends itself to two outstanding sidelines – having a great sense of humor and being incredibly sexy. Being beautiful didn’t hurt the situation.

The child grew up, married, had children of her own and between working and raising children and a stint overseas while her husband served in the military, somehow managed to pursue her childhood dream of becoming a librarian. She graduated with honors Master in Library Science on May 13, 2005 and with good fortune and good recommendations landed the job of her dreams as branch manager of the Biloxi library on Pops Ferry Road in Biloxi just three months before Katrina hit. Both her Mom and Dad were at the ceremony though they only nodded and said Hi to each other, but both were never so proud of anyone in all their lives.

Life hands out mixed fortunes or misfortunes that must be met head on. Her mother, now divorced for the third time had decided to move back to the Coast just five weeks before Katrina. She had landed a good job in Gulfport and found an apartment on the beach just a few blocks away from her daughter and grandchildren. The storm changed that. Her mother moved away retreating to Jackson. Her husband’s parents’ home was destroyed by the flood waters and she and her husband took them into their small home with two children, spending countless hours helping them rebuild. Just when she thought she was getting her life back together, her father passed away from a sudden massive heart attack. Everything that her life represented, including the library system, her sanctuary, was heavily hit in a short breath-taking, mind-boggling attack of misfortune. Sanctuary only exists in the imagination and in the heart and if there are two things that Sharon Davis has, it’s imagination and heart. What she needs now is your help. From the time she was four years old she had a dream. So many people have come together to help, from the Gates Foundation to the sponsors of this website to each individual contributor. Please be aware that every contribution you make monetarily or of books, makes an indelible impression upon this librarian. I know, because she has shared it with me and as you may have guessed by now, I am her mother. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Irma Goodwin