Illustration by Jean Tuttle

After 20 wonderful years as a teacher librarian, I’ve gone over to the dark side. I’ve become a suit—an administrator—and the very worst kind, a district IT administrator! (Cue Darth Vader’s theme song.) Before you turn away in horror and disbelief, here’s a quick tell-all from the Evil Empire. I’m going to share some shocking (and instructive) secrets from the Death Star of Administration, explaining why principals should be your best friends and colleagues. I’m also going to stop using Star Wars metaphors.

My fade to gray didn’t occur overnight. I have worked as an instructional technology facilitator in Vancouver’s (WA) public schools since 2008. During the first three years, I was also Skyview High School’s full-time teacher librarian. Then, in 2011, my role changed: I spent half of my time in the library and the remaining half in the IT department. Depending on the day of the week, I was either “The Man” or I was working for him. And despite enjoying the opportunity to blame myself for whatever was wrong either with management or with teachers, in 2012, I was finally asked to make a choice between those two options. I think you’ve heard about receiving an offer you can’t refuse….

While I still see myself as a teacher librarian, last July, I became a real-live administrator with a spiffy title—manager of instructional technology and library services. During the last few years, I’ve been able to reflect on many of my own beliefs and assumptions about working with administrators. As a former teacher librarian, I’m also well aware of other perceptions that teachers have regarding management. Speaking now as a teacher—and not as a manager—I’ve come to realize that the reality is far more complex than a simple equation of us vs. them. Teacher librarians have far more in common with principals than we realize. I’d like to share some ways to find common ground with our friends in the corner office.

When I was in grad school, Joyce Petrie, my wise and now long-departed professor at Portland State University, explained in detail how library administration and building administration are a lot alike. She was right. Now, speaking from experience, I teach my University of Washington graduate students that school librarians often have more in common with principals than with their fellow teachers. Why is that? Like principals, we manage budgets, purchase materials, evaluate employees, and make executive decisions, ranging from selecting materials to determining instructional outcomes. Unlike many teachers, we know virtually everyone in the school by name and maintain positive working relationships with all of them. We also excel at putting a wide variety of district policies and programs into practice. Most importantly, like principals, we’re often the only ones in our schools who do the jobs that we do. I often hear teacher librarians say that they feel misunderstood, isolated, and even lonely in their positions. Empathy check: Do you think principals just might feel the same way?

If it hadn’t been for my many wonderful teaching colleagues, I wouldn’t have been the 2012 Washington State Teacher of the Year. But it all began with my Skyview High principal, Kym Tyelyn-Carlson. Over the course of five years, our professional friendship evolved beyond library advocacy and became a two-way exchange between educators who both cared deeply about the success of our school. We discussed everything from staff socials to strategic planning. When she called me into her office in May 2011 and told me she was nominating me for teacher of the year, it was less about my librarianship than it was about her perception of me as an educator. Well beyond my library role, I had become a trusted confidante, consigliere, and colleague. Kym isn’t an exception. I’ve enjoyed good and frequently great relationships with the six principals I’ve worked with during the last two decades. I’ve always seen them as allies rather than adversaries.

Before addressing the opportunities for media specialists to connect with principals, I’d like to dispel some common misconceptions. First, there’s a widespread belief that building and district administrators always think the same way. More often than not, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Get a principal to talk off-the-record, and you’ll find out for yourself. Despite the mysterious district meetings and the inscrutable binders on their shelves, principals struggle with translating district policy into practice as much as we do. In more than one meeting, I’ve heard them express frustration, uncertainty, fear, and powerlessness in the face of the same issues that teachers confront. Like other educators, building administrators are concerned about daily challenges such as poverty, student readiness, literacy, fear of violence, and assessments. In addition, many district policies and programs are often created with insufficient input from or consultation with building administrators. Like many teacher librarians, principals are the ones who must explain and train faculty in the policies and practices created by managers like me.

And what of the conspiracy theory that administrators are “all in it together”? Ask any superintendent: they’d retire and die happy if they could only get their administrative leadership teams to plan, work, and lead based on an authentically shared set of values and priorities. Even the highest-functioning educational administrations grapple with issues of nurturing and maintaining social capital—communication, relationships, leadership, and sustainability. Just like individual schools, district programs and departments work with specific challenges, leadership models, and cultures.

Are there bad principals? Yes. And bad teachers? Of course. Are there tyrannical administrators and administrations? Yes, probably. Do administrators circle the wagons when challenged? Yes, in the same way that teachers and librarians do when they’re threatened. Do administrators meet in secret to devise evil plans? Unlikely. I have found that most district conspiracy theories are often conflated with honest mistakes, incomplete planning, imperfect implementations, and/or poor communication. Speaking for my district, our leadership team cares deeply about students and it respects and values teachers and staff. We work very hard to get it right. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we could have done better.

This is where teacher librarians come in. By cultivating strong relationships with principals and even district administrators, we can strengthen library programs, not to mention improve schools and districts. I am wearing a suit because of relationships with both teachers and administrators, built on shared work, planning, and success. Here is a quick list of ways to create those relationships, even when you’d think it might be impossible.

Seek out win-win opportunities. Identify what keeps principals up at night and then offer to help. Right now, three big trains are barreling down the tracks—Common Core, new teacher and principal evaluation systems, and 21st-century student skills. In addition to running a school, principals are accountable for these vaguely defined and game-changing reforms. Choose one, learn as much as you can about it, and then offer to help your boss. Join them on district or regional teams. Offer to provide leadership in your building. You’re likely to be surprised at just how enthusiastically they say yes.

Give before you receive. Teacher librarians often conceive their relationships with principals as quid pro quo, beginning with the question “What will you do for me?” rather than, “What can I do for you?” Pay it forward with the goal of building trust, rapport, and a valuable relationship. Many years ago, I took up an offer by our former chief information officer to lead our district’s library automation project. I had a vested interest in the job being done right, and she wanted the implementation to go smoothly. Thanks to our partnership, the project was a success. A few years later, she asked me to join her team as an instructional technology facilitator.

Bridge the gap. Because of our hybrid roles, teacher librarians can effectively bridge the artificial divide between teachers and administration, and promote communication, collaboration, and advocacy between and across various roles and functions. In the same way that my recent leadership role blurs the definition of “The Man,” teacher librarians can provide unique building and even district leadership. Teachers often grapple with crossing a line by appearing too supportive of administration. As a teacher librarian, I never saw a line because my job was different. I necessarily had to see things from a systems perspective that included not only building administration and teachers, but also district interests. That’s why some of our teacher librarians currently lead a district task force to develop a digital citizenship program. They are working with administrators to develop a systemic digital content strategy, and they’re participating in state and district groups connected to the Common Core. Like principals, the best teacher librarians see the big picture and can build partnerships that ensure success.

Identify successes. Most teachers hesitate to call attention to their work or to be praised for it. But principals always want to be able to share good work with parents, peers, and their bosses. When teacher librarians see innovation, creativity, and greatness in the classroom, they should share those stories with the principal. Principals appreciate the ability to see and value success in others. More importantly, they value hearing about good things beyond the library program. In addition to building rapport with your principal, everyone wins. Teachers get the recognition they deserve. The principal better understands the great work that’s going on. And the school may well get some praise at the district’s next meeting. As a proponent of creativity in the classroom, I made it a point to highlight innovative teachers who dared to emulate Apple and its slogan “think different.” More often than not, Kym would nod in agreement. In those moments, we were of one mind, not about libraries, but about great teaching.

My friends and colleagues keep checking up on me and asking how I like my new job. I tell them it tastes like chicken. To me, the only significant difference between what I’m doing now and what I’ve done for years as a teacher librarian and an instructional technology facilitator is that there’s a different title below my name. Sad as it might seem, that changes a lot in my relationships with others, both among teachers and administrators. To many teachers, I’ve gone over to the dark side. To some administrators, I’m now part of the club. But here’s the reality—there’s no dark side; and there’s no key to the executive washroom. Thankfully, my teacher librarian colleagues still see me (and themselves) for what we are—occasionally lonely, frequently misunderstood, and loving the jobs that we do. Just like principals.

Mark Ray (Mark.Ray@vansd.org) is the manager of instructional technology and library services at the Vancouver (WA) Public Schools.

Marcus Lowry, teen librarian, Ramsey County (MN) Library and
Leslie Yoder, digital literacy and learning specialist, St. Paul Public Schools.
Photograph by Thomas Strand.

Last spring, when school librarian Leslie Yoder heard that young adult author Francisco X. Stork was available to visit Boys Totem Town, a residential program for incarcerated teens in St. Paul, MN, she pounced on the opportunity. Although Yoder lacked the necessary funds, she instantly knew who to turn to—her partners at Ramsey County Library.

For the last two years, Yoder, a digital literacy and learning specialist with St. Paul’s public schools, has teamed up with Ramsey’s teen librarians—and the outcome has been a win-win for both the librarians and the kids whom they serve.

Thanks to Ramsey teen librarian Marcus Lowry, who found the funds for Stork’s visit, the acclaimed writer spoke at a local high school and to dozens of Yoder’s enthusiastic students about his novel Behind the Eyes (Dutton, 2006), which deals with a reform school. “Our students don’t get to meet the people who write the books,” says Yoder.

When Lowry and fellow young adult librarian Amy Boese visit Boys Totem Town, they are weighed down with bags of books and eager to do what they do best—booktalking and spearheading a weeklong technology workshop. “It’s really energizing for us to go there,” says Boese, who also works with three other school districts. “They are always superpolite and have good questions.”

Although the Institute for Museum and Library Services (IMLS) and the American Library Association’s (ALA) Public Library Data Service Statistical Report don’t keep track of the number of joint-library projects, Yoder, Lowry, and Boese are among a small group of school and public librarians nationwide who regularly work together. Like many rewarding collaborative projects, theirs usually begin with a modest idea, in this case, offering booktalks to kids in a correctional facility. But behind every successful school and public library partnership, explains Lowry, there’s also a strong personal connection and a shared vision. “It almost always has to start with one personal connection,” he says. “It’s the one person that sees that mutual value—that we serve the same kids.”

Teaming up in Minnesota: Aaron Blechert, a media specialist at Irondale
High School, and Amy Boese, a teen librarian at Ramsey County Library,
with students in the school library.
Photograph by Thomas Strand.

It’s also sound fiscal sense for school and public libraries to pool their limited resources, says Jeffrey Roth, the New York Public Library’s vice president of strategy and finance. “We’re in an era that institutions need to look and see who they can partner with and strategically use each other’s assets,” he says.

That’s a strategy that the Metropolitan Nashville Public Schools (MNPS) and Nashville Public Library (NPL) have worked to perfection. Although sharing public library collections with public schools is fairly unusual, that didn’t stop these two creative partners from thinking outside the box. During the 2011–2012 academic year, when Nashville’s budget-strapped schools were hurting for resources, the public library reached out a helping hand and loaned the city’s 54 middle schools and high schools 97,000 items—everything from books and DVDs to CDs and Playaways to entice reluctant readers and struggling English-language learners.

As a result of the impressive partnership, which is called Limitless Libraries, Stephanie Ham, NPL’s project coordinator, says the public library’s circulation stats have soared by an unprecedented 60 percent. And on the school side, MNPS’s lead librarian, Kathleen Bennett, couldn’t be more pleased. “This model is just fantastic and the benefits are great,” says Bennett. “What the kids get is wonderful open access to lots of resources.” (For more on Nashville’s Limitless Libraries, click on this link.)

The relationship between schools and public librarians is a critical one. Even before the recent recession, few school libraries could match the buying power of a large branch or a mid-size public library system. And during these troubled economic times, school librarians and their budgets are often among the first items scratched from public school budgets. That’s a compelling reason why Wisconsin’s School District of La Crosse and the La Crosse Public Library are exploring the possibility of sharing school and public library databases. “From a fiscal perspective, we’re starting to balance our resources so we are not duplicating online services,” says Vicki Lyons, the district’s director of technology and library services.

Still, successful school and public library partnerships can be a tough act to pull off, say many librarians and educators. Some of the typical roadblocks include a lack of time, vision, or resources; difficult personalities to deal with; and a scarcity of support from higher-ups. That may explain why less than one-third of school and public libraries coordinate book and other material purchases, according to School Library Journal’s first public library spending survey (see “It Takes Two,” May 2012, ow.ly/gekWY). When it comes to homework assignments, only nine percent of public libraries work directly with schools.

The emphasis on standardized testing can also be a barrier to working together, especially when kids are pulled out of the classroom to visit a public library. If the benefits of a joint effort aren’t obvious, says Rachelle Nocito, a content specialist for the School District of Philadelphia, many teachers and principals begin to worry that these activities will negatively impact test scores. “School districts are judged on our students’ achievement,” explains Nocito, whose district is piloting a program with the Free Library of Philadelphia. “It’s really important that when we step out of our building to do anything, its purpose definitely aligns with the reading program and social studies curriculum or science curriculum.”

But that doesn’t mean that school and public libraries should hesitate to work together. Susan Ballard, president of the American Association of School Librarians, a division of ALA, encourages school and public librarians to reach out to one another and other community groups. “No one can do anything on their own anymore; it’s simply not possible,” Ballard says.

At the moment, ALA’s Interdivisional Committee on School/Public Library Cooperation is working on ways to bring media centers and public libraries together on issues such as preventing “summer slide”—when kids lose many of the reading gains made during the school year—and implementing the Common Core standards. “If you’re not collaborating, why aren’t you collaborating?” Ballard asks. “The end result improves services for kids and makes them better researchers and lifelong learners.”

Students, of course, aren’t the only ones who benefit from a collaborative program. “Great partnerships let you reach out dynamically and work with a wide variety of partners within the school and public library,” says Marge Loch-Wouters, coordinator of youth services at La Crosse Public Library. She should know. Loch-Wouters has been building partnerships with local Wisconsin schools for more than two decades. “Great partnerships don’t put you in a box,” she says.

Buffy Hamilton doesn’t need to be convinced that joint-library ventures make a world of difference. Hamilton is so bullish on them that she recently left her post at Creekview High School, in Canton, GA, where she ran an award-winning library program, and joined the Cleveland Public Library’s (CPL) staff. School and public libraries “have much more in common with their visions and goals than we might initially think,” says Hamilton, who will be CPL’s liaison with Cleveland’s public schools. “We’re working on these parallel paths, and we can find a way to interact and pool our collective resources and talents to accomplish those goals.”

The following collaborative projects are a sampling of what’s happening around the country. Each of these dynamic programs has its own distinct approach, but they all have one thing in common: they’re making a genuine difference in kids’ lives and in the communities that they serve.

Denver, CO

In 2006, when residents of the Mile High City voted to raise the sales tax to support full-day kindergarten and early childhood education, the Denver Public Library (DPL) and the Denver Public Schools (DPS) knew it was the perfect time to extend their partnership, which, at the time, primarily placed library volunteers in the classroom to read to kids. With the help of a two-year, $476,000 Library Services and Technology Act grant, the two organizations banded together, in 2007, to teach children’s librarians, media specialists, and teachers about the latest advances in early childhood education. Children’s librarians who specialized in infant and toddler brain development shared their knowledge with teachers, and educators, in turn, brought public librarians up-to-date on the workings of the adolescent brain. “It was a new way to collaborate,” says David Sanger, DPS’s director of library services. “We formed professional learning communities, and those have still continued.”

Although the grant ended in 2009, the partnership is still going strong. These days DPL, DPS, and local nonprofit groups and agencies, such as Head Start, are working together on a number of projects for children from poor families. School and public librarians are also sharing their respective approaches to improving literacy and serving the city’s many English-language learners, who make up 34 percent of Denver’s K–12 students. Both groups are also discussing how best to share their resources, including, says Sanger, how to get their catalog databases to “talk to each other.”

Their efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Denver’s 5 By 5 Project, which was created to support early childhood development, was inspired by these school and library partnerships, says Carol Edwards, DPL’s comanager of children’s and family services. The nonprofit organization, whose goal is to make sure that young kids have at least five cultural experiences by the time they start kindergarten, provides free admission to the city’s top cultural venues, such as the Denver Botanical Gardens and the Colorado Ballet, to nearly 3,000 Head Start and Early Head Start families. Plus, the library also offers free after-school camps for children of families in need. “It’s something that wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been talking to each other,” says Edwards.

This month, DPL joined communities, such as Louisville and Boston, where one card serves as a student’s ID and library card. My Denver Card will also give kids free access to city parks and recreation services, and there are plans to expand its benefits to include the city’s transit system, says Jennifer Hoffman, manager of DPL’s books and borrowing. Hoffman says she anticipates issuing 30,000 cards. “We’re just trying to make it easy for a student to access us,” she says.

Portland, OR

To reach out to parents and students in east Portland, Multnomah County Library’s (MCL) Midland branch staff worked with educators at the Fir Ridge Campus (FRC), the David Douglas School District’s alternative high school. Their mission? To find teens who were eager to become library tour guides.

But these tours aren’t your average orientation sessions—especially when they’re conducted in Russian, Vietnamese, and Mandarin, the languages spoken in many of the young volunteers’ homes and neighborhoods. The aim of this innovative school-library project, says FRC’s librarian Deb Wheelbarger, is to attract parents who live in east Portland’s diverse and poor neighborhoods to bring their kids to the library and introduce them to its resources.

Student-guided tours are just one way that MCL has teamed up with its five area school districts. Another outreach program, Multnomah’s School Corps (staffed by Jackie Partch, Kate Houston, Peter Ford, and Gesse Stark, all of whom have MLIS degrees), offers local teachers curriculum support, which includes issuing them special library cards (so they can check out more books for longer periods of time), school visits to talk about research skills and library services, and “Buckets of Books,” which, as its name suggests, come brimming with books on commonly taught subjects, such as Oregon history, Pacific Northwest Native Americans, and insects and spiders, says Suzanne Myers Harold, MCL’s adult literacy coordinator. The library also brings visiting authors to local schools and works hard to bring students from the county’s high-poverty areas to theater productions and special events, including an awe-inspiring visit with the Portland Trailblazers, the city’s National Basketball Association team. “Through this collaboration with Multnomah County Library, we’re able to speak for them, and they for us,” says Wheelbarger. “I love the Multnomah County Library. It’s one of the most accessible libraries in the country.”

New York, NY

When the New York City Department of Education (NYDOE) realized there was a great way to work together with the New York Public Library (NYPL), Queens Library, and Brooklyn Public Library to get more learning resources into teachers’ and students’ hands, it couldn’t wait to get started—and MyLibraryNYC was soon launched.

Funded by a $5 million grant from Citigroup, the four-year pilot program, which gives students and teachers access to literally millions of additional materials, lets kids search their school and public libraries’ catalogs simultaneously from any computer that has Internet access. From the very start, the program, which began in 2011 with 84 schools and 50 NYPL branches, opted to take a potentially risky tact: to encourage kids to take advantage of their libraries, students would not be fined if they failed to return materials on time.

A recipe for disaster? Not at all, says NYPL’s Roth. In fact, almost 100 percent of the borrowed items have found their way back onto the library’s shelves. Best of all, students are scooping up more books. “The kids in the pilot were three times more likely to have a book checked out from their local library, and school library circulation essentially doubled,” says Roth. “The New York Public Library and the Department of Education already had a great relationship, but this has taken it to another level.”

Now in its second year, MyLibraryNYC reaches 250,000 students in 400 public schools, offering them access to 17 million books, videos, and recordings. And by 2015, the program hopes to include all 1.1 million of the city’s public school students, says Richard Hasenyager, NYDOE’s director of library services.

As part of the pilot program, NYPL will deliver books and other materials that meet the Common Core State Standards to participating schools. Groundwork is also being laid in all three public library systems to work more closely with school librarians and curriculum specialists so that their collections will support the state’s Common Core Standards.

NYPL estimates that MyLibraryNYC will cost $6 per student annually in direct and indirect costs, which include shipping the materials to schools and library branches. The public library systems pay for shipping and staff training, and the every school pays the roughly $800 annual fee charged by library resource vendor Follett for its Destiny catalog and BiblioCommons, which developed the catalog’s software and online interface. (Follett is giving those school libraries a $150 discount on Destiny.) School libraries that haven’t joined the pilot will pay $650, says Leanne Ellis, NYDOE’s coordinator of library services.

This year, the pilot added the Queens and Brooklyn public libraries and expanded to 207 school libraries that now serve 296 schools, says NYDOE. Although schools have to foot part of the bill, when you stop to consider what kids are getting in return—access to “the greatest books ever written by man,” says NYPL’s Roth—it’s a real deal.

Queens Library sees MyLibraryNYC as a launching pad to expand its librarians’ ongoing work with schools in the borough. “What can be done to help the kids, to support the teachers, to ensure kids have a strong start in reading and literacy and a place to go and their parents, too?” asks Bridget Quinn-Carey, the library’s chief operating officer. “Those are the wonderful things that libraries can do.”

Monterey High’s freshmen take advantage of computers in the Monterey Public Library teen zone as part of a joint venture between the school and library.
Photo courtesy of Monterey Public Library and Monterey High School.

Monterey, CA

To help its incoming freshman beef up their critical thinking skills and boost their tech know-how, the Monterey High School (MHS) turned to a familiar partner, the Monterey Public Library. The two teamed up to create a class called 21st Century Learning Skills. Aaron Sanders, the MHS history teacher who helped kick-start it, and Ben Gomberg, a librarian formerly with the Monterey Public Library, worked together to create the course’s project-oriented assignments, which have included creating websites that explore the coastal town’s history and comparing employment information that kids found on Craigslist with data provided by the U.S. Department of Labor. Supported by a $5,300 IMLS grant, their aim was to give 130 to 150 freshmen (out of a class of 1,100) the skills they needed to succeed in school and in life, says Sanders.

As part of the class, students made four separate visits to the public library (located just a block away), and Gomberg, in turn, made the same number of classroom visits, offering presentations on topics such as copyright and privacy, evaluating websites, and using library resources to prepare for college and careers.

How’s the new course working out? According to MHS’s principal, Marcie Plummer, students who took the class had fewer D’s and F’s, absences, and discipline issues than their nonparticipating peers. Roughly half of the kids in the class reported using the public library in their free time and about a third of them also used it to do schoolwork from other classes, says Gomberg.

Students in the pilot program have also learned how to be advocates for their own learning and how to evaluate their approaches to school so that they can improve their academic performance. “Personally as a teacher, I saw them having huge gains in that area,” Sanders says. “They were not afraid of having conversations with their teachers.”

Philadelphia, PA

How do you improve 146,090 kids’ information literacy and critical thinking skills? If you’re the School District of Philadelphia (SDP) and the Free Library of Philadelphia, you join hands to create a dynamic pilot program that pairs third-grade teachers with children’s librarians from nearby branches.

How does the program work? Six times during the last two months of the school year, instead of taking part in their school’s daily requirement of 90 minutes of reading, about 200 third graders take a short walk to their local public library, usually no more than a couple of blocks away. The purpose of the visits? To research the history of Philadelphia and their neighborhoods.

Upon returning to their classrooms, groups of three or four students dive headlong into the resources they discovered at the library and begin to create their own projects, says district content specialist Nocito. Although it’s impossible to predict what these inspired students are likely to cook up, one thing’s for sure—it’s always interesting.

Sarah Stippich, a children’s librarian at the Blanche A. Nixon/Cobbs Creek Library, remembers the day when the Free Library’s 25-foot-long, state-of-the art Techmobile visited Anderson Elementary School and its third graders were introduced to iPads. “They were digitally mapping our neighborhood,” says Stippich. “They were really into that, not only the technology part of that, but being able to look at their neighborhood and say, ‘Oh, that’s where I live.’”

Some classes combine their walks to the library with physical education, and their students strap on pedometers to count their footsteps, says Betsy Orsburn, the Free Library’s chief of the Office of Public Service Support.

Although it will take at least three years to gather enough data to evaluate the pilot, says Nocito, the initial assessments indicate that students are making connections between their schoolwork and library resources. Their teachers also reported developing moderately strong to strong informative partnerships with public librarians.

Nocito would like to improve on the instructional aspects of the pilot program. Ideally, she’d like to see a 10-week local history project that touches on different curriculum areas, such as science and language arts, and then follow up with an assessment to see if students’ gains continue on in fourth grade. “We’re under scrutiny,” she says. “Our students are going to be held accountable for their visits to the Free Library.”

The pilot program originally began in 2011, when the Free Library offered to help city schools that didn’t have a librarian or a school library, says Joe Benford, the Free Library’s chief of the Extensions Division. “It really is a way to try to cement library instruction and information literacy in the school district curriculum,” says Benford. Although more than 100 of Philadelphia’s 249 public schools have school libraries, only 46 schools have certified librarians. “The school librarians are almost nonexistent,” says Benford. “What we’re trying to do is prove this works and works as a model for the future. We just wanted to see if we could collaborate with the school district, and we have.”

Even though the pilot program appears to be working, there are limits to what it can accomplish. Stippich, who works with three third-grade teachers at Anderson Elementary School and with seven other schools and 12 child-care centers, says it’s impossible for her to offer everyone the level of service that she gives to those in the pilot program. “I can’t be the librarian for everyone,” she says. “This has just convinced me even more that they need more school librarians.”

Freelance writer Marta Murvosh is an aspiring librarian who often writes about libraries and education. You can find her at www.facebook.com/MartaMurvosh.

Meet the latest tech superheroes: school librarians. According to School Library Journal’s 2012 School Technology Survey, media specialists are leading the charge to bring new media, mobile devices, social apps, and web-based technologies into our nation’s classrooms.

So far, the results have been pretty impressive: 87 percent of school librarians report that they’re in charge of their library’s technology, with 60 percent adding that they’ve also introduced it into the classroom. Furthermore, 44 percent now serve on their school’s tech team, and in these budget-troubled times, when many library positions are on the line, that role may mean increased job security. In fact, 55 percent of the elementary, middle, and high school librarians that responded to our survey say that their tech skills have increased their value in administrators’ eyes.

What are many librarians’ biggest challenges? Not surprisingly, money and time—from the funds necessary to upgrade existing technology to the time needed to teach students how to use these tools. Case in point? Erica Braverman, a media specialist at Lindenwold School 5, an elementary school in New Jersey, says it’s tough to find time to make sure kids know how to use the latest technology competently. “Students need to learn how to use technology before they can effectively create with it,” writes Braverman. “It’s like learning to drive a car: if they don’t receive the proper instruction on how to drive, they will crash! We don’t want any Web-based crashes! But the time to teach students how to use the tools is limited, and classroom teachers have so much to teach as it is, it’s very challenging.”

Another trend we spotted? The number of schools creating one-to-one programs, in which each student is issued a tablet, a laptop, or some other digital device, has risen from 21 percent in 2011 to 27 percent in 2012. The use of tablets has especially soared, with 26 percent of librarians using them with students and teachers in 2012—more than double the 10 percent that reported using them in 2011. “We are in phase one of a one-to-one initiative putting netbooks in every student’s hands,” explains Laura Schachet, a media specialist at Webber Middle School in Fort Collins, CO. “They also make videos using flip cameras in a Web 2.0 class.”

Kids are also taking advantage of free Web-based resources, including Animoto, Google Docs, and Wordle; video equipment and software; digital subscriptions; and interactive whiteboards; plus photo equipment and software. And in the coming year, media specialists expect to see even more tablets, ereaders, apps, and ebooks on campus.

The use of ebooks, in particular, continues to climb, with 47 percent of media specialists saying they’re currently using them, up from 31 percent last year. Students are also reading digital books on a variety of devices—whether that’s the 63 percent who are perusing titles on library computers, the 17 percent who are reading on tablets, or the 21 percent who are fans of dedicated ereaders.

Mobile devices are also playing a larger role in learning, as 23 percent of schools are now allowing students to use their own devices in school—compared to a measly 13 percent in 2011. And in high schools, where students are more often encouraged to whip out their smartphones, the use of mobile devices has spiked from 29 percent of schools in 2011 to 49 percent today.

Nearly half of all schools have turned to social apps for classroom learning. The top app? Edmodo, a site that enables students and educators to network, share, and collaborate online. Launched in 2010, the platform is now used by 18 percent of school librarians to support teaching and student learning, followed by Google+, Delicious, and GoodReads. Where’s Facebook? Dead last, with a mere seven percent of respondents using the social network with their kids.

School librarians are also having an easier time gaining access to websites and apps. Sixty-nine percent have successfully negotiated with their administrators and school district to unblock YouTube, 66 percent have gotten the green light on blogging sites, and 30 percent managed to get Twitter unlocked. Only eight percent of media specialists report that their school’s filtering program “is severely restrictive.”

With purse strings still tight in most places, 78 percent of school librarians have opted for free apps—almost double the 42 percent who were using them in 2011. They are “the number-one tool used by librarians with students and teachers,” according to our survey, and an additional four percent of media specialists plan to incorporate tools such as Google Docs, Glogster, and Prezi into their lessons next year.

Not only do many media specialists find these apps budget-friendly, but also many, like Sabrena Wetzel, a librarian at Chicago’s Josephine Locke Elementary School, have noticed that their students have fun using them. “I used an online continent site to review where we wanted to send Flat Stanley, and…they had to figure out the continents,” writes Wetzel, who uses popular stories and technology to help her second graders learn about geography. “They really enjoyed it.”

And that may be the best outcome of all.

Illustration by Victor Juhasz

Join the authors for a Twitter chat, Thursday, October 11, at 9 p.m. EST hashtag: #sljdewey

Pushing between snack time and reading group, Zack, a third-grade boy, ducks into our school library while another class is beginning to check out books. “Sue, do you have anything about making stuff with paper?” asks the third grader.  Around him, a dozen nine-year-olds independently browse different sections that are marked by large, kid-friendly signs, such as “Scary,” “Animals,” and “Adventure.”

With only a moment to spare, the librarian suggests that Zack look above the shelves for the big “Making Stuff” sign, and then search the labels under “P” for paper. A few minutes later, he’s grinning at Sue, holding not only a book about origami, but also one on sewing that he snatched from a nearby shelf. “That was easy!” he boasts. “And I found more things I want to do, too!”

Zack’s “Aha!” moment is the kind of discovery we like to call orchestrated luck—and it’s the inspiration for a unique system that we’ve developed to encourage more independent and empowered seeking in our library. Here at the Ethical Cultural Fieldston School, a private preK–5 school in New York City, we’ve gotten rid of the Dewey decimal system and created a new library system that’s tailored to the needs of our students, staff, and curriculum. Thanks, in part, to whole-word labeling, child-friendly categories, and visually compelling signs, our kids are now amazingly optimistic about finding what they want. In fact, they keep telling us, “Wow, you’ve really organized the library!”

Our post-Dewey system, which we’ve affectionately dubbed Metis (after the clever, crafty mother of the Greek god Athena), puts things together in a way that encourages kids to move easily from one idea to another. Zack’s natural and simple segue from paper craft to sewing would probably never have happened with Dewey: it would have entailed a jump from 735 to 646. That’s a big reason why a small but growing number of school and public libraries—from the Perry Branch Library in Gilbert, AZ; and Burke High School in Omaha, NE; to the newly opened Carmel Elementary School in Clarksville, TN; and Darien Library in Connecticut—have ditched Dewey, or at least have escorted the 136-year-old system partway out the door.

Has Metis made a difference? Absolutely. During the past year, in our middle-grade library (for kids in grades three to five), we’ve seen dramatic increases in circulation—including around 100 percent or more in our “Sports,” “Countries,” “Humor,” and “Mystery” sections, and a spike of 240 percent in “Machines” (which includes the military and transportation). And in those always under-used sections like “Languages” and what we now call “Community” (sections of the 300s in Dewey), we’ve seen a jump of more than 300 percent. The early grades library, for preK through second-grade kids, has seen similar gains in areas such as “Humor” (87 percent), “Scary” (148 percent), and “Adventure” (110 percent).

Students aren’t the only ones who are enjoying the ease of navigating our collection. “I love your new system!” exclaims one of our kindergarten teachers. “I can find what I need for my classes in no time,” says another. And parents are also appreciative. “My child loves choosing a book to read with me every morning,” reports the mother of a young boy. “We usually start in ‘Machines’ and can find what we want without help. He’s even begun to branch out a bit and is asking for books about space now!”

Winter of our discontent

Certainly there was no lack of order back in the old days, in 2010, when we still used the Dewey decimal system: our shelves were labeled and organized; the online catalog was accessible; students were taught the basics of searching from the earliest grades. So what made us switch?

Our discontent with Dewey arose after years of confronting train books in the 380s and transportation items in the 620s; crafts scattered throughout the 600s and 700s; pets stuck next to cooking; and double-digit Dewey numbers for our extensive folktale collection. More important, we had the sense that for all the energy that we and our students were spending on teaching and learning Dewey (all those scavenger hunts and online library games), even our most advanced students still struggled to navigate smoothly from their initial request through the catalog to the item’s correct place on the shelves. So much effort was expended on this process that we felt as if our library was focused on finding materials rather than actually using them, and at odds with the emphasis on inquiry and critical thinking skills found in the American Association of School Librarians’ “Standards for the 21st-Century Learner.”

Once our objections to using Dewey became clear to us, the problems we’d been working around for years became intolerable and we began questioning everything. “Is Dewey and the curriculum focus that it demands leaving us behind in the 20th century?” we asked ourselves. “Why are we using decimals in a children’s library, when they don’t learn that until fourth-grade math? And why are our picture books arranged by author, when most children are more interested in the content than in who wrote the book?” By January 2011, we knew it was time to say good-bye to Dewey.

Ditching Dewey

With a palpable sense of terror and excitement, we set about creating a new system. We knew the task was huge, and we had no idea if we were up to it. The process involved a great deal of thinking, talking, and pushing at one another’s arguments to try to find flaws in them. Questioning our long-held assumptions generated a wave of almost superhuman energy that propelled us into the massive undertaking ahead.

With some sleuthing, we discovered the work of Linda Cooper, a professor at New York’s Queens College Graduate School of Library and Information Science, who had researched the way that kids categorize information. Taking a cue from her methodology, we asked our fourth and fifth graders to brainstorm the contents of their ideal library in terms of categories or topics. It was from a request during one of these sessions that we got the idea for and name of our new crafts category, when a student innocently asked, “Can you please make a section on making stuff?” These sessions helped us hone our 26 “main categories,” counterparts to Dewey’s 10 main classes.

We also gave small groups of third and fourth graders carefully selected stacks of books and asked them to organize them in a meaningful way, and then to explain their reasoning. We discovered that many students wanted books on flying animals to be lumped together, and almost everyone wanted items on aquatic animals to be grouped together—penguins with sharks, dolphins, and seashells. Ultimately, after consulting with our science teachers, we decided to adapt their terminology, and we formulated animal subdivisions that approximated scientific classifications, while making some exceptions: “Aquatic Animals,” “Birds,” “Bugs,” “Reptiles,” “Mammals,” and “Prehistoric.”

Our kindergarteners and first graders were asked to make some sophisticated choices about sports biographies and animal books by moving to one side of the room or another in response to specific questions, such as, “Does Derek Jeter belong with famous people or sports?” or “Should this book on whales go with the mammal books or with books about other aquatic animals?” (Jeter sensibly went with sports, and whales with aquatic animals, despite the fact that our students were aware that the Yankees shortstop is famous and that whales are mammals.)

We also measured some of our young library users’ attitudes. We asked our first and fourth graders how they felt while they were searching for a good book, and how they felt when they had trouble finding a title. Our first graders didn’t hold back; their responses were emotional and surprisingly succinct. “When I can’t find what I want, I feel aginy [sic],” wrote one young boy. He wasn’t the only one, affirming that we had to make our students’ library experiences much better.

Articles of belief

As we worked on developing ideas about categories and subcategories, their order, call numbers, and visual labels, we kept a few principles in mind. These principles became our navigational tools. Our system had to be…

Child-centered: it had to start from a student’s point of view and use appropriate language for our users.

Browsable: the order and the sections and subsections had to be clear not only to librarians, but also to students, faculty, and parents.

Flexible: it had to be capable of being adapted for use by a range of ages and be capable of evolving over time, as the world changed and our collection grew.

We also knew that we wanted a system that allowed our students to be as independent as possible—and that meant our spine labels needed a major overhaul. For starters, we wanted to make sure that the labels had a strong visual component, so that students could easily tell what section they were in—this was especially important for our youngest learners who may lack reading skills. To accomplish this, we hired a graphic designer to create a subject label for each main category—for instance, a tennis racket hitting a football for “Sports” and an image of gears for “Machines.” These labels are a huge hit with everyone. They clearly identify what the book is about, and they’re so visually engaging and child-friendly that they’re often the first things our patrons comment on.

We also knew that the use of any kind of code had to be minimal, if at all. Consequently, we decided to use whole language in our call numbers and on our spine labels. So, for instance, instead of 793.57 GUT, a corresponding label now reads “Sports–Baseball,” and 818 HAL has become “Humor–Jokes.”

The grand plan

After several months of dissecting ideas and piling books into groups, we started to see the big picture and established the following plan:

Primarily, we’d use alphabetical order. Although younger students struggle with this, it’s a skill that’s taught in the earliest grades, and reinforced in classrooms, with print dictionaries and encyclopedias.

Because alphabetizing the main classes by name would result in an order that wasn’t very helpful (as in “Adventure,” “Animals,” and “Arts”), we decided to assign a single letter (A-Z) to each of our main categories. This is the only code we use in our system, and it has enabled us to create a flow and logical order for the entire library space, with, for example, “Machines,” then “Science,” leading into “Nature,” then “Animals” and “Pets.”

Within our main categories, we use mostly an alphabetical arrangement for the subcategories, which gives students a clear, intuitive order when browsing, and allows for maximum flexibility and adaptability in terms of future changes to and the expansion of our collection. In a few cases, alphabetical order wasn’t helpful, and we opted to place a number before the subcategory so that the shelves have a logical order. For instance, in “Countries,” we’ve arranged books by eras: “1. Ancient,” “2. Medieval,” and so on.

Fairly early on, we made the crucial decision to give up the idea of creating a system that classifies books as precisely as Dewey does. Instead, we opted for something we call “categorization,” based on some of the ideas developed by England’s East Sussex County Library in the 1980s. We’d put books in helpful categories, like “Languages” or “Mystery,” and dispense with author Cutters on the spines. After all, most students don’t care who wrote a book on volcanoes, they just want to find the topic, so the writer’s name isn’t especially helpful. (Putting the first three letters of the author’s surname on the call number is useful if you want to know exactly where a book is on the shelf, but it’s unnecessary if you keep your subcategories browsable.) Overall, this meant that many times we’d have more books—say, 15 books in “Nature-Disasters”—with the same call numbers than we did with Dewey. We figured it was our job to keep those categories manageable and of a helpful size. We did use author Cutters in “Picture Stories,” “Fiction,” and “Verse,” where subcategories are larger or the author’s name is an important factor in selecting a book, especially for students and teachers in the upper grades.

While we were at it, we also decided we’d break some rules when it came to dealing with fiction and nonfiction. Since we often talk to our students about evaluating online information and critical thinking, we thought that mixing together fiction and nonfiction titles would lead to some interesting teaching opportunities and conversations about books. In addition, it would help us categorize the growing number of books that occupy that grey area between the two. (For years, we’d been trying to explain to kids why the “Magic School Bus” series was in nonfiction when it’s obvious to any five-year-old that Ms. Frizzle isn’t real.) We decided that, particularly in the lower-grades library, we’d interfile fiction and nonfiction, and clearly indicate the difference on the spine by using a red dot for “imagination” or a blue dot for “information”—our terms for fiction and nonfiction. A lot of students, who love being able to find all sorts of items on the same shelf, also urged us to add a purple dot to identify books that straddle both categories, but so far, we’ve resisted that temptation.

Springing forward

Over the next several months, we had time to test, ruminate, and get a good feeling for what would work as separate categories. We consulted with the science department about our animal classifications and with the guidance department about the best word to represent learning differences, as well as disabilities such as blindness, so that our terminology aligned with our curriculum. With summer 2011 rapidly approaching, we decided to test some of our theories while we still had a captive audience.

We put “Holiday” picture books and nonfiction books together and every title we found that fit the notion of “Scary” into separately labeled areas. (This arrangement turned out to be a huge kid-magnet, and we couldn’t keep those shelves filled.) In the upper-grades library, we already had our Dewey fiction area labeled by genre, but now we separated the titles into smaller sections, such as “Adventure,” “Fantasy,” and “Sci-fi.” Kids who’d previously had trouble choosing a book for independent or pleasure reading loved this new and easier-to-navigate arrangement.

During spring break, we tore apart the nonfiction sections (300s, 600s, and 700s) and worked on creating subcategories for “Machines,” “Community,” “Ourselves,” and “Making Stuff,” putting stacks of books on carts, and reorganizing the shelves in a rough way. Some of the first categories we worked on were synthetic, in that they gathered together books from various parts of Dewey. The “Mystery” category, for example, includes books about spies (327), puzzles (793.7), crime (360), the unexplained (001.9), and codes (650), and “Making Stuff” features books on models from the 620s, cookbooks from 640, books from many sections of the 700s, and guides for writing poetry from 808. Our circulation immediately soared, especially in the noncurricular areas, such as “Making Stuff.” And even with the old Dewey labels still on our books and rough signs on shelves, one of our third graders, who’d asked for help in the last few moments of class, had no trouble finding a magic book, because she understood how to look under “M” for magic in the “Making Stuff” section. “That was so easy,” she declared, “I don’t know why I even needed to ask for help.”

Summer of love

The end of the 2010–2011 school year found us pulling apart the shelves. With our alphabet floor mats strewn across the rug, we began piling up picture books in the lower-grades library, and dissolving what remained of the Dewey order in our upper-grades room. We ordered custom picture labels for each category and laid in a stockpile of dots, stars, and spine-label protectors. Book by book, we determined whether it was fiction or nonfiction. We wrestled with the problems inherent in making some of the longer whole-word designations (such as “USA–African Americans–Civil Rights”) fit on a spine label. Then, after the books had been assigned to their new categories, it was time to reassign call numbers in the catalog, print labels, and relabel every single item in the library. We sorted all day and reclassified all night, getting the next section ready for relabeling.

Fortunately, we had a lot of help from our community. Several high school students came back to work on our assembly lines, stopping briefly, every now and then, as they came across one of their old favorite novels. More than three dozen volunteers, including parents, faculty, administrators, and kids, helped out. They joined our family members and a few stalwart friends in removing old layers of labels bearing years of Dewey workarounds. It took us six weeks to tackle our 20,000-volume collection, but it was truly a cleansing experience for all of us.

A new beginning

As September 2011 approached, we made posters using our subject-picture labels, put up shelf signs, introduced our faculty to the new system, and got ready to roll it out to our students. Some teachers preferred just a printed outline, while others worked with us to get a feel for the new sections. In our introductory student sessions, we encouraged kids to explore the system. While a handful of students who had been relatively comfortable with Dewey expressed some discomfort with the new arrangement, the vast majority was thrilled by the change.

During their very first class in the upper-grades library, our third graders were easily able to find humorous fiction, scary fiction, basketball, and animal fiction on their own, leaving the librarian free to talk to students about fractured fairy tales and whether or not Gail Carson Levine was a good choice—and then quickly help another student find an appropriate audiobook.

Since then, we’ve seen kids navigate the new system with ease and speed, locating materials independently with just a sentence or two of explanation from us. Students who’d struggled to find a good book to read independently are suddenly choosing books from multiple sections with simple prompting. Books on inventions, science experiments, and children’s play scripts that had languished for years are now flying off the shelves. And nowadays, we spend checkout time talking to kids about the next book they might like to read rather than helping them find a joke or magic book.

Parents are also thrilled with the new setup. They’re now able to help their kids find books, and that sense of accomplishment has translated into a greater appreciation of our library and its services.

The faculty response has been positive, too. While teachers who knew exactly where to go to find their old favorites were at first a little disconcerted by the changes, they soon discovered that the new system provides opportunities to quickly find new resources. That probably explains why teachers are now visiting the library more frequently. It’s not uncommon for one to rush in during a prep period, looking for picture books on bullying or sharing (topics that were formerly scattered all over the picture book and nonfiction sections with Dewey), and walk out with everything they need within a few minutes, rather than spending a half hour or more moving from catalog to shelf and back again.

Where to, next?

Is there really a “happily ever after”? We think so. We only just finished up the “tale” end of cataloging our collection, and we still have some rather ungainly call numbers in some of the history sections. We’re working on improving our signage, and we’re finding new ways to fine-tune the services we provide. We’ve also set up a website at www.metisinnovations.com to encourage our colleagues in the library world to share their ideas.

Change is hard, but the new system has been a boon for our students, faculty, and parents, and it’s boosted the library’s standing in our school and community. Having moved away from an old system of organization that demanded that a significant portion of our teaching time was spent on simply finding books, we’re now able to concentrate on talking with our students about books, as well as teaching them critical thinking and assessment skills. In this 21st-century world of rapidly changing technology, we want our library to play a central role in our school and community. We’re finding that our new system supports the library program so well that we are better able to collaborate and support the schoolwide curriculum. We know our new system isn’t perfect, but we’re definitely on the right track. And to think it all started when we waved good-bye to Dewey.

From the left: Librarian Tali Balas Kaplan, Assistant Librarian Andrea K. Dolloff, Librarian Sue Giffard, and Technology Librarian Jennifer Still-Schiff teach at the Ethical Culture Fieldston School in New York City.

Illustration by Travis Jonker; Photography by Craig van der Lende.

Last year, we rolled out an ereader lending program in my fifth and sixth grade school library, and I plan to share here the ups, downs, and what-to-look-out-fors we encountered along the way. We’ll talk planning and implementation of the program—but first, a bit of background. Let’s hop into the librarian time machine (fashioned from an old card catalog I found on Etsy) and go back to August 2011….

Background

Each year, my school district offers an Innovation Grant to employees. Teachers interested in implementing a project, using unique or innovative components and with the goal of benefiting students, are encouraged to apply. For my secondary school colleague Amy Huyck and me, an ereader lending program was a no-brainer. Our reasons were these:

• It would allow all students access to this fast-growing form of technology, especially those who would not otherwise have access due to socioeconomic status.

• It would generate excitement for reading. A bit of hype never hurt, right?

• Ereader features (adjustable fonts, highlighting, note-taking) would benefit all students, and particularly those with visual impairments.

• Other schools were seeing positive reactions to their ereader programs.

We outlined these benefits in our program goals, put together a time line for reaching them, and sent the whole thing to the powers that be.

If this were a cooking show, this is where I’d put the grant application in the oven and pull out another application with the word APPROVED written on top. That was an exciting email to receive. Now might be a good time to mention that if you’re an educator looking for grant opportunities, FableVision has a nice list you can subscribe to for free.

The grant allowed us to purchase 10 ereaders, warranties, cases, and a selection of ebooks to spread among our fifth and sixth grade and middle and high school. I would have three devices under my watch. While this isn’t a huge number, it gave us the chance to get a handle on things before expanding the program.

Planning

Let’s move on to a headline: “Ownership of E-Readers, Tablets Almost Doubles in One Month.” Last holiday season, in the span of 30 days, we went from 10 percent of the population to 19 percent of the population owning some form of ereader. The digital reading explosion is staggering to consider. If the whole “ebooks eliminate cover shame” thing is true, the time to get into the trashy romance novel biz is now.

OK, so you’re feeling like you’re ready. You want to start offering ereaders to students. First, some things to think about.

Research

• Georgia school librarian Buffy Hamilton has been sharing her valuable ereader program insights on her blog: Here and here.

• ALA Techsource posted the slides from an excellent webinar on ebooks in K–12 libraries (hosted by the aforementioned Buffy Hamilton)

• School Library Journal published Audrey Watters’s article titled “The Truth About Tablets.” For my money, it’s a must-read on the topic.

• No Shelf Required 2 (edited by Sue Polanka, ALA Editions) is also an excellent way to learn more.

Grade levels

Before beginning an ereader program, you should ask yourself which grade levels the program is for. I work in a district where grades are grouped by building, so I have a K–2, a 3–4, and a 5–6 school. Considering the limitations of the device, the cost, and the intended use, it seemed like beginning with fifth and sixth graders was the place to start, along with middle school and high school students.

Cost

When looking at a program dependent on electronic devices, dollars and cents immediately come into play. If no grant opportunities are working out and your library budget is tight, write up a proposal and submit it to your administration. Those looking to stay current may be willing to fund your program.

The beauty is, the prices of standard ereaders are coming down so quickly, cost is fast becoming a nonissue. Folks are already wondering if the Kindle will be free in the near future. For a while, Nook was free with the purchase of a digital subscription to the New York Times.

Basically, the day is fast approaching when you’ll be getting ereaders as junk mail. “Not another ereader!” you’ll moan. A national Do Not Send Me an Ereader list will be created to fight off being bombarded by ereader-device spam in your mailbox.

But however you ante up the funds, don’t forget to factor in the following costs when budgeting:

Permission

We require a permission slip signed by a parent or guardian before checkout (email me for a copy of the one we use). From a school district standpoint, this is especially important if the device has Internet access (folks tend to get very permission-y when the Internet is involved). We’re circulating Nook Simple Touch ereaders, which don’t have an advertised web browser, diminishing this issue. Work with your school district technology director to see what’s acceptable. Permission slips can turn into legal jargon in a hurry, though, so push for clarity and brevity.

Accessibility

Before they started circulating, we made sure to turn on password protection for downloads. Each device is tied to a credit card, which makes it easy for an individual to order books but could be a problem when offering them for general checkout.

Once the ereader is checked out, where are students allowed to take them? Some options:

Teachers

Aside from individual students checking them out, another possibility is to load up some books for use in classrooms for literature circles. It’s likely if you did this you’d want to get enough to outfit a whole classroom. If one or two groups have ereaders and other groups do not, there could be mutiny.

But, which device to choose? (See “The Devices,” below)

Ebooks

So, with planning complete and the device chosen, now comes possibly the most important piece—what books to offer and how to get them on the devices?

For me, the trickiest part of the program is in the management of ebooks. If there’s one thing that would open up more libraries to lend ereaders, it would be a way to manage any number of devices from one account. Frustratingly, that’s not the current reality.

To manage devices individually, you need a separate account—with a unique email address—for each one. Should librarians really have to create shell email accounts just to offer Kindles or Nooks to eager students? The alternative—which we went with due to lack of a better solution—is one account for up to six ereaders, sharing books across all devices. Barnes & Noble does offer a “managed digital locker” program, but you need to purchase 25 or more devices to qualify and then have to work through B&N to manage the ebooks. Not ideal.

If appointed Ereader Czar, my first actions would be to eliminate Digital Rights Management (DRM) that blocks ebooks from working across platforms, and then demand that ereader makers offer the ability for users to manage all their devices from a single account.

Adding to the complexity are traditional book jobbers and publishers offering their own ereader platforms. Follett has Follett Shelf, Baker & Taylor has Axis360, and Mackin has VIA. All of these offer on-demand access to ebooks for iPads and other tablet computer-style ereaders. OverDrive, the popular public library ebook provider, also offers a school library solution—for a princely sum. My school district will be kicking off a 1:1 initiative this year at the middle school and high school level using iPads, and we are experimenting with Follett Shelf. It will be interesting to see how this affects the circulation of our traditional ereaders.

Looking at traditional ereaders like those we have, you can go a couple of ways with how you offer ebooks.

Something else to consider is giving students the ability to check out books from the public library on the device. This is an excellent way to strengthen the partnership between school and public libraries while also giving students more freedom in what they choose to read.

Whichever option you choose, one thing we realized early on is that we wouldn’t be able to track individual ebook checkouts on our Nooks— there just isn’t a good way to do it. Our approach is to catalog the device and not worry about which titles are being read. The ebook platforms I mentioned earlier (Follett Shelf, et al) do allow for ebook checkout data—another aspect to consider when creating your program.

In the wild

This is the best part—sending the ereaders out into the world. As permission slips came back and the wait list grew, it became clear that we needed more devices, so I added two, bringing our total to a larger yet still modest five ereaders. Be sure you don’t forget the hype. We set up a display in the library announcing the new program. I got on our school’s daily video newscast for our school and let students know how to sign up. We offered a stack of permission slips front and center, alongside a page showing the covers of all the books they would have access to.

It had to happen. About three weeks in, we had our first damage—the power port at the bottom of one ereader was broken, making it impossible to charge. With the protection plan, this was not a problem. I brought it to the nearest Barnes & Noble, explained what had happened, and left the store 10 minutes later with a replacement. It’s a beautiful thing when you expect a hassle and you are met with nothing but smooth sailing.

One trend we noticed was that the ereaders were in much higher demand in my fifth- and sixth-grade school than they were at the middle school or high school. We noticed that older students often already had ereaders.

After the first round of checkouts, we received some questions about how the things worked. We decided to create a simple, one-page how-to for students checking out ereaders. This helped to address student FAQs immediately.

We made the executive decision to not circulate power plugs. With a one-week checkout, battery life has held up—and in cases where it didn’t, students could bring the device to the library for a couple of hours during the school day to top it off. Just be sure to do a full recharge before sending the device out again.

Looking back on the year, I know a couple of things. I know the goals we outlined in our grant application—providing access, generating excitement, and offering a more customizable reading experience—were all met. I know we encountered more difficult decisions than anticipated. I also know we’ll be looking to expand to lower grade levels this coming school year. A modest beginning is still a beginning. I’m glad we started.

This article, modified from a series of posts on Travis Jonker’s blog 100 Scope Notes is just a glimpse of the smart thinking Jonker shares there. We’re pleased to announce that Jonker and 100 Scope Notes will be joining SLJ’s blog network, which includes A Fuse #8 Production by Elizabeth Bird and Joyce Valenza’s NeverEndindSearch. Coming soon!

Illustration by Janet Hamlin

Over the past five years, I’ve returned to the New York neighborhood in which I met the children whom I first described in Savage Inequalities, Amazing Grace, and other books I published in the 1990s. The neighborhood is called Mott Haven. It’s the poorest section in all of the South Bronx, which is the poorest Congressional district in America.

I wanted to answer the questions many readers ask: What happened to these children? How many were unable to prevail against the obstacles they faced? How many have survived? And, among the ones who did survive, what were the ingredients of character—and what were the opportunities provided by their schools—that made it possible for them to win some glorious and unexpected victories?

Not surprisingly, easy access to good books—and, more to the point, a plentitude of books to satisfy the curiosities and stir the latent interests of the very wide variety of children that I met—turned out to be decisive. And this, of course, is where libraries come in.

In my new book, Fire in the Ashes, I catch up with all those kids, many of whom I came to know when they were only six or eight years old. They talked to me about the struggles they went through, which were often hardest in their adolescent years. Most are in their twenties now. As they look back on their formative years, they speak repeatedly of books that first awakened their appetite for reading—by which I mean real books, books that children read for pleasure, as opposed to the mind-dulling textbooks and those dreadful pit-pat phonics books, “aligned,” as the experts compulsively remind us, with state examinations. Most of the kids found those books immaculately boring.

No matter their level of education, the most successful of these children had, I think, much better taste than those adults who set the rigid standards that have been imposed upon our public schools (and with the most severity, upon our inner-city schools)—standards that require emotionless and robotic modes of learning but don’t open children’s minds to our culture’s treasures.

These kids instinctively rebelled against the narrow test-prep regimen that, even before No Child Left Behind, had started crowding out a love of learning for its own sake. Few of them did well on state-imposed exams, but many read voraciously, and became proficient writers as a consequence; the books they loved, however, weren’t the ones mandated by the number crunchers who were caught up in the labyrinth of the testing mania.

In their early years, many tell me, they were drawn into a love of reading by the soft and tender writings and lovely drawings, so much like pastel tapestries, of one of the greatest and most subtle children’s authors of our time, Eric Carle. (They weren’t attracted to Dr. Seuss. Their preference was for beauty over cleverness.) Before long, those kids who were the most exploratory started reading charmingly enticing books like Kevin Henkes’s Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse and, a few years after that, Lois Lowry’s beautifully transcendent works, including Gathering Blue, which remains a favorite among many of those children to this day.

One of the kids who captured my attention from the start, to whom I’ve given the pseudonym of Jeremy in my latest book, told me he was writing his “first novel” at 13, and that he was “circling” Charles Dickens, but wasn’t certain he was “ready for him yet.” I thought he was. So he made a deal with me. He would read A Tale of Two Cities if I would read Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula. We both kept our promises. He conceded later that he got the best part of that bargain.

His favorite author at that age was Edgar Allan Poe. He loved the narrative poem “The Raven” and quoted from it whimsically and playfully. When a large bird flew above our heads one day, he pretended to be frightened. “Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore,’” he solemnly intoned. He also liked Poe’s stories. He told me the plot of “The Tell-tale Heart” and was astonished to hear I’d never read it.

Where did Jeremy find these books? I wish I could say he found them in his middle school’s library, but this, alas, was not the case. His middle school, underfunded as many inner-city schools are, had nothing that a good suburban school would consider a real library. (This governmental parsimony at the cost of libraries is even more the case today, in the wake of two recessions, when one of the first steps taken by our cash-strapped inner-city schools is to lay off school librarians.)

Jeremy found the books he loved, not in a school library, but—he was blessed in this respect—in the private library of a neighborhood poet, who recognized his special gifts and let him dig into the books that filled his living-room shelves, from floor to ceiling. The poet tempted Jeremy, moreover, to go beyond what his school, on the basis of his test results alone, regarded as his “modest reading level” by introducing him to snippets of the poet’s favorite writers, which included British authors as imposing as John Milton.

Most of the other kids weren’t so lucky. A few of them attended schools that had decent libraries and full-time librarians. Others were fortunate enough, after slogging through the literary wastelands of their mediocre middle schools, to win scholarships to good New England boarding schools in their later secondary years. These were schools where rich and ample libraries were viewed as indispensable and were also pleasant and inviting places with soft lighting, comfortable chairs, and little nooks and crannies where a student might curl up at one end of a sofa and delve into a book he liked for hours.

Jeremy was one of those who got into this kind of school in his 10th-grade year. The first close friend he made there, a talented woman with a gift for reaching out to adolescents, was the school librarian. Before long, he was working part time as one of her assistants.

By this point, he was reading works by John Keats and William Wordsworth, Robert Browning, Christopher Marlowe, John Donne, and the 17th-century metaphysical poets. In the following years, he read the plays of Strindberg, Ibsen, and O’Neill, after having read O’Neill’s great predecessors in the Greek tragedians. In his senior year, he galloped through Shakespeare’s plays, and he questioned me a lot and teased me when he came upon a character I’d forgotten.

“You wrote your college thesis about Shakespeare, and you don’t remember Bolingbroke?”—or Falstaff, or whomever it might be.

He went on to a first-rate college, not the kind that has now replaced the arts and letters with “practical” job training, which is too often deemed to be appropriate for youngsters who have grown up in the ghetto. He immersed himself, not in the utilitarian, but in what he loved the most. Literature and the modern theater was his field of concentration.

This was a boy who hated tests in public school and managed to fail most of them. A neighborhood poet and a school librarian and, later, the Barnes & Noble in New York’s Union Square, which he liked to frequent, were Jeremy’s salvation.

What does this story and the others in my new book tell us about libraries and, in particular, those within our public schools?

First of all, no matter what the economic ups and downs may be at any given moment, public school libraries in destitute communities need not just sufficient but extravagant funding. If there’s a single thing our state and federal governments could do to stir up a love of learning in our poorest children, it would be to take a good big chunk of the massive sum of money that’s now being wasted on the testing industry and use it, instead, to flood our students’ lives with the joys and mysteries of authentic culture—and not only Western culture but, in the case of, for instance, Hispanic children, their culture, too.

I don’t mean to suggest that history or science should be shortchanged, or books of practicality, or writings that are simply fun for kids to read even if they have no literary value. But if we care about the children of the poor as much as our own children, we ought to emphasize the highest possible aesthetics. Kids who live in grim and dreary neighborhoods have an even greater need for all that can endow their minds with grandeur than children who are privileged enough to live in grand and lovely places. Exalt their minds. Don’t cheat them with banalities that simply “keep them reading.” I can hear a lot of little girls in fifth grade screaming at me when I say this, but I still feel a pang of sadness about kids who grew up on “The Baby-Sitters Club” series but to whom no one ever introduced The Secret Garden.

This brings me to librarians again. If I had the power, I’d redirect another big chunk of the money that’s now enriching testing corporations and make certain that every inner-city school has its own full-time librarian, and one whose passion about books is contagiously exciting to young people. Jeremy shouldn’t have had to go to an affluent school to find a sensitive librarian who was paid enough and given the resources to spend hours of her time leading him to books, and tempting him with others, that didn’t simply give him data for his assignments, but expanded his horizons by nourishing his literary yearnings. School librarians like that woman would be celebrated in a wise society, and no myopic politician with a fiscal knife in hand would dare say they’re extraneous to learning.

Finally, I think school libraries ought to be delightful and congenial places. I wish that we could get rid of those plastic chairs and overhead fluorescent lights that make too many of these rooms in low-funded schools about as intimate as Walmart. School libraries for wealthy children frequently resemble living rooms. When I walk into the libraries of inner-city schools and see a group of children filing in beside me, I often get the sense of something “dutiful” about it all instead of something joyful and exalting. I wish the kids could sit at maple tables with reading lamps that have lampshades made from handsome fabrics. I wish the space were beautiful. If we think of libraries as places where we give our kids a feast of learning, the place we serve that feast should be worthy of our offerings.

I’ve said this before to school librarians, and recently to a convocation of school architects: aesthetics count. Beautiful surroundings refine the tastes of children. Flat and mechanistic settings bleach out their mentalities.

“Well, of course,” the bureaucrats will say (they’ve said this of me many times before), “Jonathan’s a dreamer. He thinks that poor kids ought to get what the sons of presidents and daughters of important business leaders get when they go to private schools like Andover and Exeter. He thinks that inner-city kids deserve that kind of money. He thinks that they’ll be grateful for those maple tables. He thinks they’ll dig into those books and be excited by the opportunity to read them.”

It’s true. That’s exactly what I feel. I don’t think this nation plans to give that kind of opportunity to more than a handful of the children of poor people at any time in the near future. It would take a sweeping change of attitude about potential, and too easily unobserved precocity, among the children who are viewed today as outcasts of American society. It’s just a dream, and I frankly doubt that I will see it realized in my lifetime. Still, I like to fantasize that someday we will turn that dream into reality.

Jonathan Kozol’s new book , Fire in the Ashes: Twenty-Five Years Among the Poorest Children in America, will be published by Crown on August 28 .

Illustration by Giselle Potter

It was 2001 and I was a year out of college, my dream of becoming a photographer neatly scrapped due to the slightly sobering fact that my photography skills, not to put too fine a point on it, stunk. Library school seemed a given at that point in my life, and I was determined to follow what I had always thought was my lifelong ambition: becoming an archivist. I wanted to conserve books. Never mind that I’m as gentle with rare materials as a cat with a dead mouse; I was determined to see it through.

That resolve lasted until I took LIS 721 Library Materials for Children on a lark. Despite the fact that I was pretty sure I didn’t like kids (a suspicion that proved to be poorly founded), just a couple of classes with Professor Heidi Hammond were enough to turn me off the wayward path of conservation and onto my true calling—children’s librarianship. After graduating in 2003, I left the College of St. Catherine in St. Paul, MN, and soon discovered that New York City was the place to get hired.

At the time, landing a children’s librarian job was tricky but surmountable. These days, of course, it’s significantly more difficult. Between budget cuts and systems that reinvent the very definition of what it means to be a librarian, the word of the day for us must be “flexibility.” Still, in the end, it’s entirely worth it. Children’s librarians are the very backbone of the public library system, creating the readers who’ll grow up

to support the system with their tax dollars. As for school librarians, they’re often the first and sometimes the only librarians whom children will ever encounter, providing services for comers of every background.

I’m going to go out on a wild limb here and assume that many SLJ readers have a pretty little ALA-accredited library degree tucked safely away in their closet. But for those of you who don’t or hope to have one soon, let me guide you through the profession’s trips and traps. Let’s look at what you’ll need to know, where you’d like to go, what you can expect in terms of pocket change, and what the future holds. Everyone else, come along for the ride.

Where would you like to work?

As a children’s librarian, your choices basically boil down to four possibilities: working in a public library, a private library, a public school library, or a private school library. Librarians in each work with children but serve them differently. A school librarian’s days are chock-full of classes, leaving little time for her own work (and what little time remains is often booked by teachers who think the media specialist has nothing better to do than help them). A public librarian must balance storytimes and other programs with class visits and the after-school rush, as kids with working parents race through the door to claim computers and table space.

The public vs. private school question is an ethical and a financial challenge. Recent Pratt library school graduate Allison Bruce put it best when she explained that for her it comes down to working “for an impoverished population and risking failure and burnout, or continuing to serve a population that I don’t feel particularly needs my skills.” To some degree, children from families of every income level need a librarian, but those with fewer advantages particularly benefit from having one in their lives. Then there’s the question of hiring. While public school libraries often require additional education degrees, private schools don’t have such restrictions and can pay more. Hiring practices in public libraries vary according to location. While big cities like New York, Toronto, and Los Angeles have put the brakes on hiring, right now, suburban library systems seem to be advertising for new librarians. As for private children’s libraries, they’re rare but wonderful beasts. Imagine working for a children’s library housed in a museum or a private children’s literary collection that’s owned by a university. It can happen, but you have to be open to the possibility.

What it all boils down to is the fact that you’ll have to look in a variety of places. New York Society Library children’s librarian Carrie Silberman found her position through the American Library Association’s (ALA) website. Though she’d studied to be a school librarian, her new job allows her to “create a modern children’s library within this historic institution.” The trick is staying flexible about where you end up. As another new graduate from Pratt, Danielle Kalan, says, “This job market requires it…. I’ve noticed a trend away from total specialization in library school, since students want to be more broadly employable.” So while you may prefer working with children, stay open to young adult librarianship, archival librarianship, or working with adults. The job you get today may just lead to the job you want tomorrow.

Mad skillz

Which is to say, there are classes that you’ll be glad you took. I’ll level with you. In grad school, I took a total of two classes directly related to children’s librarianship. These consisted of a class on literature (the one I credit with my vocation change) and another on programming. At the time, I had no idea that many of the other classes I happened to take would prove useful, including:

Reference and online services. Recent Pratt graduate Mahnaz Dar says, “The most important course I took was Information Services and Resources, which taught me how to reference sources and conduct reference interviews with patrons. It seems like the one skill that almost every librarian will use, and it was extremely valuable to me to really think about evaluating reference sources. Because I want to work as a school librarian, helping students conduct research is a big part of what I’ll be doing, and this course taught me to think critically about sources in a new way.” These classes sometimes offer help with managing a children’s reference desk, which may come in handy when you’re faced with a tow-headed five-year-old who wants to know where he can find “the orange book.” As Professor Hammond says of the skill that they don’t teach but that we all wish we had, “Mind reading would be helpful.” In lieu of that, try a reference course.

Management of libraries and information centers. Managing a library system may be the last thing on your mind when all you want is to just get hired. Yet you’d be amazed how easily a children’s librarian can slip into the role of manager. Why’s that? Jill Rothstein, manager of New York Public Library’s 67th Street Branch, says, “The same skills that make a good children’s librarian—dedication, energy, innovation—are important, along with understanding how to communicate with different personalities in staff and management, the ability to motivate others, and the ability to keep track of lots of balls in the air.” Remember, keep an eye on the future, even as you try to find a job in the present.

Cataloging. Don’t believe me? Then take it from newly minted school librarian Allison Bruce who says, “I wish I had taken a class devoted solely to cataloging…. I am finding that I’m teaching myself a lot of cataloging on the job and am sure that there are major elements I’m missing as I go.”

Serials management. Whether it’s dealing with the latest print issue of Ranger Rick or the digital edition of Kirkus, a course in serials will give you all the information you’ll need when deciding how to allocate your limited budget and what formats to consider.

Law. OK, I’m kidding here. I’ve found the law librarianship class completely useless. Sorry, law lovers.

While you’re considering potential courses, don’t shy away from those that test your prejudices. Whether it’s taking a class on young adult literature when you’re sure all teens are the devil’s spawn or a graphic-novel course when you couldn’t care two bits about the comic format, taking courses in areas you dislike or fear can only allay those worries and give you the preparation you’ll need. Consider, too, taking classes outside of your graduate program. As Steve Zampino, a teen librarian at Stamford, CT’s Ferguson Library, points out, “Being able to speak Spanish, or another foreign language used by a significant number of a library’s patrons, can be a big help on the job.” These days, multilingual librarians have a significant leg up on the competition.

Also pay attention to what’s new. Today’s innovation just might be tomorrow’s norm. Professor Hammond recommends keeping up with ebooks, ereaders, iPads, and apps, as well as social networking sites and cyber safety. New grad Danielle Kalan says the information technologies class, a core requirement when she attended Pratt, is extremely relevant to her work, especially the basic Web-design skills she learned. “These are the skills that are going to set recent graduates apart as desirable applicants, skills that those who were library students even 10 or 15 years ago won’t have,” she says. They’ll also give you the ammunition you need to justify your job. And when it comes to applying those skills later, find librarians in the field that you can look to for guidance. For example, if you want to be a public school librarian and you don’t currently worship at the altar of Buffy Hamilton, a. k. a. The Unquiet Librarian, now’s the time to start.

It’s all about personality, baby

My mother always said that they should give out degrees in social work alongside degrees in library science to folks going into public library work. Basically, if you’re going to deal with the public, you need to consider how your personality gels with the profession. Work in a public library and you’ll find out some valuable things about yourself. When asked what makes a good children’s librarian, Steve Zampino suggested that “diplomacy and empathy…can be very helpful when dealing with kids, teens, parents, and teachers in a variety of situations.” Don’t feel particularly diplomatic or empathetic? Have a short fuse? Figure out now what might cause you trouble later.

Surprisingly, the rewards outweigh any unpleasantness. Helping a tiny tot find a copy of Strega Nona will get you through an irate mom who demands that you burn your copy of In the Night Kitchen any day of the week. Above all, know thyself. If merely answering the phone gives you stage fright or you don’t much like people, any people, then perhaps front-desk work isn’t for you.

What’s the going rate these days?

Naturally, you’re going to want to know how much your average children’s librarian makes. I don’t think I’ll shock anyone by noting that few folks retire in their 40s, thanks to a lucrative life behind a reference desk. According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, in 2010 the median salary for any librarian was $54,500 per year or $26.20 per hour. (For more information, see SLJ’s first public library spending survey and Library Journal’s 2011 “Placements & Salary” survey.) Here’s the good news and bad news about job prospects. The bad news is that while the “employment of librarians is expected to grow by 7 percent from 2010 to 2020,” that’s slower than the average for all occupations. The good news is that while there are limited positions available in the early part of the decade, the prospects will sharply improve as older librarians retire. That’s all well and good, but how does it look for children’s librarians? Well, according to SLJ’s 2010–2011 school library spending survey, librarians who work in the educational field also have a good and bad scenario. Tiny budgets, additional duties, and limited hours are some of the problems you might encounter. On the plus side, the survey showed that media specialists’ salaries went up by 10 percent, book collections have grown, and it appears that painful budget cuts are at last ebbing.

Finding a job

Happily, in spite of every economic downturn, library jobs still exist. Unfortunately, the number of applicants per position is sky high. That means you’ll need to explore unconventional places for employment. “I try to keep up with various listservs,” says Mahnaz Dar. “For example, there’s Pratt’s listserv, and I’m also on the Hudson Valley Library Association’s [an organization for librarians working in independent schools] listserv. However, most of the actual jobs I hear about are from people I know who have told me about opportunities at their libraries.” Joining a library as an intern, a page, a clerk, or a volunteer can give you first dibs when a job opens up. Plus, librarians will sometimes bend over backward for an employee they know over an unknown applicant.

Connect!

The children’s librarian who works in a bubble is just asking for trouble. If you think you can ignore networking just because you work with preschoolers, think again. With public library cuts looming and school boards axing media specialists, the time to meet, collaborate, and learn is now. Public librarians need to reach out and meet up with local school librarians, public and private. Build relationships with these people, and you’ll get your hooks into students who might otherwise never have stepped foot in a public library without a gentle little push. Likewise, a school librarian who connects with a public library can discover that the relationship yields all kinds of unexpected rewards. For example, one Manhattan public school of my acquaintance cultivated a partnership with its local public library. When the school librarian fell ill and was out on leave for several months, the public library sent multiple children’s librarians to the school to read to the kids on a regular basis. Build a bridge, and you’ll have many reasons to cross it.

Another way to connect is by joining a professional organization consisting of like-minded folks. There are the usual suspects like ALA, the Public Library Association, and the American Association of School Librarians (AASL), which all help you find your tribe. Consider thinking outside the box—join organizations that connect to your world but in ways you’d never imagine. For example, I’m a member of the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators as well as the United States Board on Books for Young People, both of which give me insights into the crop of new books for children in the States, as well as children’s books found worldwide.

It can be done!

No matter how daunting the outlook seems, there’s hope. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but I believe that even if all other forms of librarianship were to crumble to the ground and wash away with the tides, children’s librarians would remain standing. New parents and children appear every day. They need your opinions, your thoughts, your recommendations, and your help in finding the best books, websites, apps, and materials out there. Some people say that where there’s a will there’s a way. I say that where there are children there will be librarians, by hook or by crook. Now go out there and help those kids, tiger!

I’m on my way to visit Susan Cooper on an unseasonably warm day in mid-February. As my car cruises along, about 45 minutes south of Boston, low tide reveals miles of untouched marshland. I drive across a short causeway, creep down an unpaved lane, and suddenly I’m staring at the exquisite home that Cooper built a couple of years ago. My first thought is that I’ve stumbled upon the Grey House, the setting of Cooper’s first children’s book, Over Sea, Under Stone. With its soaring cathedral ceilings and wraparound windows that frame the wetlands, the space is filled with warmth and light even on a winter’s day. It seems like the perfect place for the 77-year-old writer to conjure up some more of her magic.

In June, Cooper will receive the 2012 Margaret A. Edwards Award, an annual lifetime achievement honor sponsored by SLJ and administered by the Young Adult Library Services Association. It’s about time. Cooper’s books have beguiled young readers for more than 40 years, and the award committee singled out for praise her most popular work, “The Dark Is Rising,” an epic, five-volume fantasy series comprised of Over Sea, Under Stone (1966); The Dark Is Rising (1973); Greenwitch (1974); The Grey King (1975); and Silver on the Tree (1977, all S & S/Margaret K. McElderry Bks.). The settings are contemporary England and Wales, and Cooper draws on Celtic and Arthurian legends to portray 11-year-old Will Stanton and his friends as they struggle against the terrifying powers of darkness. The series features two of Cooper’s trademarks—beautiful writing and superb storytelling—and if you haven’t read it, be forewarned: once you start, it’s nearly impossible to put down.

Cooper was born and raised in Buckinghamshire, in southeast England. While working as a reporter and feature writer in London for The Sunday Times, in the late ’50s and early ’60s, she spent her spare time writing Over Sea, Under Stone, which quickly caught the attention of legendary American editor Margaret K. McElderry. The two became lifelong friends and worked together on the “Dark Is Rising” series and many other books. Cooper began to write screenplays in the early 1980s with actor Hume Cronyn, and the two married in 1996.

I talked to Cooper about her remarkable journey as a writer, and later, with her daughter Kate, we looked at some of McElderry’s photographs and papers. As executor of her late editor’s will, Cooper was getting ready to ship the collection to its new home at Princeton University’s Cotsen Children’s Library.

What did you like to read as a child?

Assorted folktales and myths, I think—and John Masefield’s The Box of Delights was the enchanted room that I could go into and shut the door. I read E. Nesbit and Arthur Ransome, but this was wartime, so I was driven to what was on my parents’ shelves, and that included a 20-volume set of Dickens in very small print. Bad for my eyes, but very good for my sense of story.

What did you study in college?

I went to Oxford, Somerville College, and did a degree in English language and literature. We had lectures by C. S. Lewis on Renaissance literature, and Tolkien on Beowulf—he’d always start his series with a great shout of “Hwaet!” in guttural Anglo-Saxon. The two of them managed to halt the Oxford English syllabus at 1832, so there was a huge emphasis on early works by Spenser, Chaucer, Sir Gawain, the mystery plays, Malory and all his sources, above all Shakespeare. I soaked it all up like a sponge; I didn’t miss the Victorians a bit.

Were you working on your own stories?

I was already writing short stories. I edited the university newspaper, and decided a writer could only earn a living in journalism, so I went knocking on doors on Fleet Street and was lucky enough to get a job as a reporter on The Sunday Times—initially for Ian Fleming, who had a column called “Atticus.” Ian had just started writing the James Bond books; he was tall and handsome, with sexy hooded eyes, and a long cigarette holder in which he smoked far too many cigarettes. I was scared stiff of him because he was so sophisticated, but he was lovely. So was my life as a reporter, interviewing anyone from dockers to prime ministers and stars like Gary Cooper and Cary Grant. Great training for a writer, all that variety.

I lived alone and wrote in the evenings. I wrote a heavily autobiographical novel and an agent told me I should think of it as “apprentice writing”; and although I wanted to kill him, he was absolutely right. So I wrote a futuristic adult novel called Mandrake, and after that I found that Ernest Benn, who had published the E. Nesbit books, was offering a prize of £1,000 for “a family adventure story.” I hadn’t intended to write children’s books, but since I was earning about £800 a year at the time, this sounded great.

Tell us a little about the story.

I invented three children, Simon, Jane, and Barney Drew, and put them on a train to Cornwall, where they were met by a tall uncle with gray hair, their Great-Uncle Merriman. But by chapter three the book had become a fantasy, with Merriman as a Merlin figure, so it became useless for the competition. I didn’t care, I was having such a good time with it. Everything I was soaked in starting pouring into the book—the early literature, the Arthurian legends. I called it Over Sea, Under Stone. It was published by Jonathan Cape, but by that time I was living in America.

Why did you move here?

My newspaper sent me here for four months in 1962. I met a professor of metallurgy at MIT called Nicholas Grant, 20 years older than me, and he started turning up in London. We were married in 1963, to my editor’s horror, and off I went at 28 to be the stepmother of three teenagers in Massachusetts.

Did you keep writing?

I went on writing, but mostly nonfiction—first a book about the USA, Behind the Golden Curtain, which led to the only time I shall ever have my picture in Time magazine. They hated the book. Then a biography of the English writer J. B. Priestley, who was an old friend.

How did you meet Margaret McElderry?

Margaret had bought the American rights for Over Sea, Under Stone from Cape, so we’d corresponded. I wrote a novel called The Camp, based on my wartime childhood, but my agent couldn’t sell it. I sent it to Margaret and asked what was wrong with it, and she wrote back, “Nothing, but it’s a children’s book, and I want to publish it.” So we met for lunch in a Greenwich Village restaurant with a tree growing up out of its basement area, which I shall never forget, and she published the book as Dawn of Fear.

You wrote The Dark Is Rising, the second title in the series, eight years after the first book. That’s a long hiatus. What made you pick up the story again?

Nick and I were cross-country skiing one day in the woods, branches sticking up out of the snow looking like buried antlers, and I suddenly wanted to write a book set in snow like that, but in England, about an 11-year-old boy who wakes up one day and finds he can work magic. Sitting up in my study in Winchester, Massachusetts, for some reason I reread Over Sea, Under Stone, and I thought, Hey, this new story is linked to Over Sea—and Merriman is in it—and there are five books… And I wrote down the next four titles, four very rough outlines, and the last half page of the very last book, which I actually used when I got to Silver on the Tree. The next six years were wonderful, professionally. I knew where I was going.

I was very homesick, and every inch of The Dark Is Rising is where I grew up. Sometimes I sat in the sunny British Virgin Islands, where we had a little holiday house, writing about snowy Buckinghamshire. It doesn’t matter where you are geographically, of course, because you’re living in the landscape of your mind.

Did you send Margaret ideas for books or finished projects?

I don’t send things till I think they’re finished, but I never know whether a manuscript is any good. With The Dark Is Rising I sent her a nervous letter saying, “This is a very weird book, I’m afraid, it’s called The Gift of Gramarye and it’s rather long.” She wrote back saying that she loved it, but that we should change the title in case children thought it was about grammar. My editor at Chatto and Windus in England told me that The Dark Is Rising was the longest book they had ever published. It was only 216 pages—imagine.

Of course, fantasy novels weren’t the flavor du jour back then.

Margaret was a wonderful, supportive editor. We trusted each other. We did have huge battles about punctuation, and I drive copy editors mad to this day. I punctuate as if the prose were music, for the rhythm and sound of it. So when proofs came from Margaret with commas and semicolons altered, I put them all back again. Margaret would sigh and say, “Have it your way.”

Before long we became close personal friends. I miss her. She would sometimes turn something down, but if she knew there was a book I wanted to write, she would wait until I had finished it. She had an almost mystical respect for the imagination, and that gave her writers tremendous artistic freedom. “Whatever time you need,” she would say.

You’ve also written adult books, essays, short stories, and screenplays. You’ve never allowed yourself to become pigeonholed.

I was, and am, happiest writing the books published for children, but, well, I was just a writer. We were in the British Virgin Islands after The Dark Is Rising came out, and I was told I had a phone call. So I got in my little boat and went over to the island that had a phone, and Barbara Rollock at ALA told me that The Dark Is Rising was the only Honor book for the Newbery Medal. I’d never even heard of the Newbery Medal. I went back and said to Nick, “Nothing important—my book just missed winning some prize.” Then Margaret called, so I went back in my boat and she told me the facts of life.

The Dark Is Rising was the only Newbery Honor winner in 1974, and two years later, The Grey King won the Newbery. Suddenly, loads of people wanted to talk to you, but you rather adroitly avoided them.

I’m a shy person—if I’d been born more outgoing I’d have rejoiced in the talking. After Nicholas and I split in 1980, I was on my own with joint custody of our two children, Jonathan and Kate, and I needed to earn more money than children’s books will give you. But I didn’t have to go on the road because I became a screenwriter, by accident. I’d met the actors Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy, and after I finished Silver on the Tree Hume and I collaborated on a play for the two of them, called Foxfire, set in Appalachia. Hume was making a film with Jane Fonda and she read the play. One day when I was visiting the set she said, “Have you ever read a book by Harriette Arnow called The Dollmaker?”

I said, “How funny, my editor’s been trying to get me to read that for years.”

So Margaret didn’t disapprove when Jane hired Hume and me to write a screenplay from that wonderful big Appalachian novel. I enjoyed it; respectful adaptation of a novel is carpentry, reshaping an existing story for the new medium. I did rewrite the ending, which made me deeply nervous until Jane got a letter from Ms. Arnow saying, “The ending seems to me entirely natural.” The Dollmaker became a three-hour TV film; Jane got an Emmy, Hume and I won the Humanitas Prize and an Emmy nomination. So everyone thought I was a screenwriter, and for the next 10 years I wrote screenplays and children’s books alternately, and was solvent.

You also did some writing for baritone and early music pioneer John Langstaff and his Christmas Revels, which are now performed worldwide.

Yes. Margaret was also Jack’s editor, and one Christmas when she was staying with us we went to the magical, myth-haunted Revels and she took us backstage. Jack shook my hand and said, “But I’ve read your books! You should be writing for the Revels!” So I did, for the next 20 years—songs, plays, poems, you name it. Jack was a marvel—I miss him, too. Candlewick just published a book I wrote about him called The Magic Maker.

But the books were my real love, all this time—my two Boggart books, which were great fun, a string of picture books, one of them with my dear friend Ashley Bryan, and most recently two time-shift fantasies, King of Shadows and Victory. Margaret had retired, so I worked on Victory with Emma Dryden, equally happily.

What compels you to write?

Telling a story—that’s what we’re all about, isn’t it? Every chapter should make you want to know what happens in the next. A novel is a necklace of linked beads. Just the way it was for the earliest storytellers, trying to keep the audience listening around the fire and not wandering off.

What does winning prizes like the Edwards mean to you?

I have mixed feelings about prizes, because the choice is inevitably subjective and there are always a dozen other books or people equally deserving. But I’m deeply grateful. It changes your life, that wonderful reassurance that you’re doing the right thing and that you know how to do it. An award is a life belt; in any rough seas, you have it thereafter, keeping you afloat.

So can we hope to see another book soon?

It’s called Ghost Hawk, I just finished it. I haven’t a clue whether it’s any good.