Twelve Angry Librarians

I already disliked Gavin Fong intensely for his pseudo-intellectual superiority and his rude comments about our professors and their intelligence. I had managed to keep my hands to myself on those occasions. That day, however, I felt no such restraint.

In my memories of the incident, a roaring in my head blocked out other sounds. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry in my life. I dimly remembered dropping my lunch bag and briefcase on the table before I grabbed Gavin Fong by his hair and jerked him away from my wife.

He screamed and let go as he found himself stumbling backward into the next table. Before he could recover, I had my face in his. I think I said to him, If I ever catch you near my wife again, I’ll beat you into a bloody pulp. Or some similar macho threat.

Several of the young women seated nearby clapped, and one of them poured a cold drink over Gavin’s head. He sputtered as the liquid and ice hit him, and then he yelped when he slipped and landed hard on his rear.

I stood over him and glowered. He looked up at me with loathing—and fear. He never said a word in response. He got up, shot me the bird, and walked away.

After that he never came near Jackie, and he steered a wide berth around me. Jackie scolded me later for overreacting, but I wasn’t repentant at the time. I knew she tried her best to stop him, but he was too aggressive. My temper took over, and I let it. I felt embarrassed later on by my own aggression and violent behavior. I could have handled the situation more calmly, but I didn’t. Lesson learned, however.

I wondered what Gavin thought he had to gain by threatening to reveal this incident to Forrest Wyatt and members of the search committee if I didn’t recommend him for the job. Did he seriously think I would let that stop me from giving my honest opinion of him?

If he did think that, then he would be deeply disappointed. The incident didn’t reflect well on either of us, but I wouldn’t shy away from telling my side of the story. I certainly ought to have more credibility with the search committee, most of whom I had known for some years, than a rank outsider like Gavin Fong could.

I was tempted to reply to Gavin’s e-mail with two words. The first word would be a verb in the imperative—and not a nice verb—followed by the word you. That was my temper’s idea. I knew better though I was itching to do it. He brought out the worst in me.

My response to Gavin could wait. I looked at the other two messages that arrived along with his. One of them was from Randi Grant, and I clicked on it.

Charlie my darling, how the heck are you? Marisue and I are delighted that we’ll be seeing you soon. It’s been way too long. Dinner would be great. You’d better know a fabulous restaurant, one with a superb wine list. You know the two of us love us some wine.

Now, about that waste of space otherwise known as Gavin Fong, I will have plenty to say. In person, though, not in an e-mail. Au revoir, cher Charlie!

I couldn’t help but grin while I read Randi’s message. I could hear her voice in my head. I couldn’t wait to see her and Marisue again—and not because they had dirt on Gavin.

The other e-mail came from a researcher in Louisiana who wanted to come to the archive to delve into the personal papers of several Athena families prominent during the antebellum and post–Civil War years. He gave two sets of dates when he could make the trip and asked if I could accommodate the request.

The dates were for two-week stretches, one in early July, the other in early August. While I served as interim library director the archives were closed. I had no staff member to spare to open the archives for scholars. I had three vacant positions that were on hold until a new director was hired, and those openings left two areas understaffed. The proposed dates were three to four months away, however, and by then I could be back at my desk upstairs. I knew Forrest Wyatt wanted a permanent director in place before the beginning of the fall semester, but if I got the job, the archives position would have to be filled.

I hated to deny the researcher. I was familiar with the collections he wanted to examine, and I knew they were both rich with details of local history and daily life in Athena for a period of over sixty years. After mulling it over a few minutes, I wrote back to the man that the August dates would be best. Somehow I would see that he had the access he needed, no matter what happened with the director’s job. Laura’s baby would be close to two months old by then, and she and Frank would probably be in Virginia.