Doing it: migrant workers library

Martha Powers Williams

"What do migrant workers need with books? They don't have enough to eat, and can't read anyway." With this refrain in mind, we, Pat Rocca and I, took our "library" to the migrant store in Cranbury, New Jersey.

The store, open every Wednesday night from July through October, serves about 25 migrant camps in the area. It sells mostly clothes, and some sheets, blankets, kitchen utensils, and other basics, with prices ranging from five cents to a dollar. The store is located in the basement of the old Cranbury elementary school, which is now attached to the new school building and public library. During the heaviest part of the season there's a clinic in the new building, and also a dentist, a nutritionist, Food Stamp people, and representatives from Social Security, Family Service, Adult Education, and Visiting Nurses.

Having the store set-up made things lots easier for us than trying to visit the individual camps. The volunteers and board members who run the store were tremendously co-operative and gave us a lot of help.

Hurried preparation for our project involved numerous phone calls, collecting donated books, finding a book rack, acquiring pamphlets, magazines, and anything else we thought would be of interest. We took along a sign saying "TAKE WHAT YOU WANT. RETURN NEXT TIME." We also made several hundred flyer-bookmarks that announced the summer's programs and services and also the migrant hot line.

The first night we were there, we put up the rack on the grass by the entrance to the store, surrounded by boxes and bags of books we hadn't really had a chance to look over ourselves. Right away, six curious children wanted to see. "What is this, can I have this, how much does this cost, let me read to you." All six children had the same mother, 26 years old, unmarried. They were especially interested in the books with cats in them, as they each had either their own kitten or a share in one.

One 6-year old girl read two books aloud, then saw her sister still reaidng and said, "I don't have any more books." "Take a look in that bag," I said cavalierly. She pulled out Ways of Saying Grace, a donated book, opened it, saw pictures of people sitting at the table, hands folded, praising God for a glorious meal, and said, "This isn't a very good book."

Her brother Willy excitedly asks, "Do you have any baseball books?" Well, certainly, somewhere here in this chaos there must be one, but we couldn't find one and said that next week we'd certainly have something. To be asked for something specific when we had been warned nobody would be interested in reading, and not have it, was disconcerting. But, after all, it was our first night, we were very disorganized and not quite ready to roll. Next week we'd do better.

The kids went home, things quieted down, and we had a little time to stop and look over what we had. Insipidly sitting in one box was The Bobbsey Twins in the Land of Cotton: how the darkies like to pick cotton - they get fresh air, lots of exercise, and you can tell they like it because they sing all the time. Except for Rastus, who has a little run-in with the big-hearted Colonel, but eventually sees the way of virtue.

The next morning we rushed downtown and bought $70 worth of books, figuring we'd get the money back somehow, and even if we didn't we'd at least feel good. (Later on in the summer the store board, pleased with what we were doing, voted to give us $100, no strings.) Actually, a number of books that were donated weren't that bad, but few were positively good. The migrants in the area are 85% black, and very few books given to us were oriented toward blacks.

Along with the books, we brought magazines - about 60 copies of Jet all went very fast. Hot Rod, Motor Trend, and Ebony were also quite popular. These were discards from libraries and once they were gone, they were difficult to replace. Another popular item was the series on black history put out by Coca Cola. We started with 100, have 11 left. We got them free from Coke ("they are not comic books"), but have heard the series has been discontinued. Two things we never seemed to have enough of were coloring books and crayons. We had originally bought them for the kids to use there while their parents were busy shopping, but everyone wanted to take them home, so we brought a new supply each week.

The second week, there was Willy agian, along with his five brothers and sisters. Now we were ready, having bought four or five paperbacks having to do with baseball. Willy walks over and it's difficult not to pounce, saying, "Here, Willy, look what we have!" But Willy beats us to the punch with "Do you have any books about basketball?" "Well, Willy, maybe next week, but here are some baseball books." "Ah, baseball's a dumb game."

Along comes Calvin. Calvin is about 50, very thin, usually drunk. Everyone laughs at Calvin because he's such good fun although his eyes are cloudy and you can see his ribs. Calvin said, "Ain't no one gonna read them books. Books? Ha, ha!" Calvin had four teeth, that night anyway, and had come to see the dentist (who only does extractions) to have them pulled. The dentist wasn't there that week, Calvin's typical luck, but it seemed to me that four teeth were lots better than none. Calvin wasn't interested in our books, only in our presence, but if we didn't have books we would have had no excuse to be there.

We found that for many people we became an information center. They often wanted to know such things as when the clinic opened, when the dentist would be there, or which week the Food Stamp people would come. Since we were there every week in an obtrusive spot we were the logical ones to ask.

After the third week we decided to try showing films. At that time the clinic opened for the summer and there were more people, many with energetic and bored children, waiting for hours to see the doctor. After figuring out all the practical details about a room, projector, screen, lights, etc., we had to hold our film until the visiting nurses showed their childbirth film. In the middle, the machine broke, and that was that for the night.

Each week it was another hassle with the same practical details, but films did get shown. Red Balloon was a dud. We expected it to be, but everyone says everyone loves it and we were told that last year the migrant kids loved it. They did love Catch the Joy, a free-spirited dune buggy riding film, smooth and colorful with groovy music. An unexpected favorite was the one on birth control, again shown by the visiting nurses who had tried to usher out the kids and then decided it was ok, they'd get boreed. They were fascinated!

Although it was difficult for two people to manage the books and films all at once, and the problems of finding a place and equipment to show the films were quite frustrating, showing films seemed to us to be a good thing to work harded on next time. We had also wanted to bring friends to sing, play guitars, read stories, have happenings each week, but just the two of us couldn't handle it all. We felt that the main things was for us to be there every week, no matter what. But that was about all we could manage, with both of us working full time, and also being away at times on previously scheduled vacations. But, next year....

Pat found a large colorful poster in a supermarket that we displayed on the railing just to jazz things up. Many people wanted to buy it. So we brought out other posters we dug up here and there which quickly disappeared. If you're living on nothing and working hard, how nice to have a poster or picture that says a little un-basic necessity is a good thing.

One night, a rainy one when we had to stay in the hot, cramped, crowded store between men's coats and women's dresses, a man was stooping over some tied up Time magazines, another donation. I said cheerily, "Untie them if you like, help yourself." He asked me something I couldn't quite hear, and I asked him to repeat it. He stood up, looked me in the eye, and said, "Do you have any girlie magazines?" Embarrassed, I didn't know what to say. Embarrassed, because we librarians claim to serve people, yet buying a few girlie magazines, an obvious thing, had never occurred to me, and because once it did, only through this blunt request, I still couldn't bring my M.L.S. self to do it. I would suggest, though, to the more daring librarians planning such a project that it's definitely something to consider.

The second week we were there, Geoffrey appeared. A young teenager, Geoffrey would come to our book rack, thumb through car magazines, help entertain energetic three-year old Tony whose mother was shopping, help carry the rack and books in and out each night. If it began to rain, there was Geoffrey wanting to help move things. If no one knew how to run the project or turn on the lights, he suddenly appeared and though he didn't know either, had confidence he could figure it out and he usually did. Shy, ubiquitous Geoffrey with his gentle face. He was planning to buy a coat and boots, and stay for the winter. I hope he makes it.

Next year we plan to do the same sort of thing a little better, with a little more planning, a little more organization, and a lot more help from our friends. Hundreds of books, magazines and pamphlets were taken, a number of films distracted bored, waiting children, and we learned a lot. We have no earthshaking conclusions, but all those books, magazines, pamphlets, posters, crayons, coloring books, and films were used by people who would not have seen them if we hadn't been there. And, that's what libraries are all about, isn't it?