Foreshadow: Reflections of an African American School Librarian

I found a small seemingly private room called the Communications Library on a huge college campus in the Midwest. It was tucked in the right corner of an old historical building where glistening concrete floors smelled of Pine Sol. The Communications Library became the answer to my desperate search to find a job to help defray the cost of college expenses. It was intimate, peaceful, and uneventful, yet it was also inspirational, exciting, and at times even odd.

As an 18-year-old African American woman in 1988 I was naive, unable to fully comprehend the significance of working in a  library. I was a first-generation college student, and certainly my parents did not have stories of working and learning simultaneously. The thought of making a living as a librarian had never occurred to me until…

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