Breakfast in Scarborough

Now known as Pape/Danforth, Danforth Library joined the Toronto cityscape in 1928, the same year as Runnymede branch did (and with the same price tag of $100,000). Pape/Danforth’s Tudor Revival style was an expression of Chief Librarian George Locke’s desire to make the building resemble a ye olde English shoppe: “The front facade is decidedly English in character, the lower part being carried out in stone and the upper in half timber work and stucco panels, with projecting bays surmounted by gables” (quotation cited on page 28 of Margaret Penman’s A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983).

More than a year before the library officially opened in 1929, Dr. Locke spoke to the Toronto Telegram on the topic of new branches: “You cannot make grown people good but you can make them more interesting . . . We are trying to make them more interesting by building libraries” (1 February, 1928). Was this statement a polite way of calling early 20th century Torontonians boring? Maybe George Locke was tired of them complaining about too much fiction in the libraries. And if Locke had found his fellow citizens more charming, would he have pushed to have more libraries built?

I wonder if social scientists of the day were able to prove that witty conversation around Toronto dinner tables had increased in proportion to the growing number of libraries. With 99 libraries at present, we have no excuse to be dull!

Although Pape/Danforth must look quite different on the inside from when Dr. Locke knew it eighty-two years ago, I think he would have approved of the cheery rectangular swathes of space and sections of wooden flooring. While long and narrow, the two floors of the building manage to avoid claustrophobic overcrowding. For instance, the lemon yellow walls on the east side of the main floor made the children’s section seem quite spacious. Tucking books under a long window seat also saved space, making room for an olive-green cushion structure shaped like an amoeba. I was also fond of two stuffed dragons I spotted. They occupied a windowsill each, scaly ears peeled for stories about their cousins.

On the west side of the main floor was a square of wide-planked floorboards that were pleasant to clomp upon. Standing on this stationary wooden raft near the computers, I studied some artwork by Otilia Gruneatu Scriuba. Centaurs, fire, curls of column-tops, and a fit male form filled the canvases. (More of his paintings were on display on the wall beside the landing between the lower and upper floors).

A few paces away from the computers was a sunny reading lounge blessed with a bay window overlooking Pape Avenue. I appreciated the luxurious width of the bay windowsill; it seemed to be a sill for its own sake, celebrating its intrinsic value instead of being pressed into service as a bench or shelf.

Opposite the bay window, a collection of objects in a display window caught my eye. An artistic hand had arranged a red shawl, some bamboo, a glossy necklace, and some books in honour of Asian Heritage Month. I liked this built-in shadow box with extra angles for more intrigue.

When I walked upstairs, I found another bay window directly above the one on the main level. Its sill was also very generous. In fact, it was so generous that one reader had pulled up a chair close to it and was resting her feet on the white sill. I hoped that she wasn’t going to leave footprints on the historic sill or a brown ring from her portable coffee mug. Quelling my inner gremlin of disapproval, I shifted my focus to innocent shelves that offered materials in Chinese, Greek, and French. A strong showing in ESL and Adult Literacy also impressed me.

As I walked towards the Quiet Study Room at the back, I noticed a young patron sitting crossed-legged on the sill of a smaller bay window on the south wall. This particular seated tableaux didn’t bother me because no shoes were involved. On the contrary, I actually appreciated how she inhabited the space unconventionally, adding interest to the visual impact of the room.

I spent a few moments in the restful Quiet Study Room with its dove gray walls and dim light. Equipped with a sink and a small wooden puppet theatre, this room held lots of possibilities for coffee-fueled meetings and entertainment for the pre-coffee set.

Before I left Pape/Danforth, I took one last look at this popular and well-utilized branch. A kind employee at the information desk interepreted my gaze as one of the “Where can I find something?” variety and asked me if I needed any help. Shaking my head no, I thanked her and descended the stairs feeling pleasantly acknowledged. What I really wanted to know, though, was if my visit had made me more interesting!

This morning I was thinking about which library to visit next for the blog. Way back in 2007, my first posts were more like notes than paragraphs. Before I sign off on the library blog project for good, I’d like to expand these early posts and add a few pictures. The following are the branches which await a second visit: Parliament, Saint James Town, City Hall, Toronto Reference Library, Lillian H. Smith, High Park, Leaside, Agincourt, Highland Creek, Port Union, Morningside, Cedarbrae (post-renovation), Guildwood, Cliffcrest, Bendale, McGregor Park, Victoria Village, Albert Campbell, Dawes Road, Main Street, Beaches, Jones, Pape-Danforth, and Riverdale.

Some branch descriptions need to be separated into individual posts, and others require more editing and expansion. The libraries that fall under these categories are Barbara Frum, Bayview, Fairview, Don Mills, Flemingdon Park, and Burrows Hall.

Finally, I’d like to do a post each on the two special collections at Lillian H. Smith branch.

No beaches for me this summer unless they’re near Beaches Library!

The April 2010 edition of Shelf Life, Toronto Public Library‘s on-line newsletter, has a short article about my library blog. Check it out!

George Herbert Locke was the Toronto Public Library‘s second Chief Librarian, a position he held from 1908-1937. According to Margaret Penman’s A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, the dynamic Locke defended the presence of fiction in the library system, created National Story Hours for children, and gathered materials in Russian, Yiddish, Italian, and Lithuanian for new immigrants (22-23). Penman believed that Locke’s greatest achievement was “the establishment of an integrated branch system . . . that provided for interrelated services in all parts of the city of Toronto” (24). Thank you George Locke for making my library quest possible!

A few weeks ago, Locke branch greeted me when I emerged from Lawrence subway station. A solidly handsome building, it was a fitting memorial for a man once described as a “strong, straight-grained, sinewy Irish-Canadian, six feet three inches tall, two hundred and sixty pounds” (19). Judging from George Locke’s picture, I could see how this “outstanding example of manhood at his best” (19) might have quickened the pulse of a few maiden librarians. (From 1883 until the late 1950′s, female librarians were not allowed to keep their jobs after they got married. A Century of Service further describes how these hard-working women were perceived as “vestal virgins tending the flame of literature and dancing around the figure of the chief librarian” (38)).

There were no dancing librarians, vestal or otherwise, on the day that I visited this sturdy stone branch. Sturdy didn’t translate as stodgy, though, for the outer solidity enhanced the interior’s classical openness. Flanked by steadying wooden columns, the central circulation desk was a calming focal point after entry. The entire floor resembled a gracious box with three sections side by side, all connected and flowing through space. If Locke Library were a dance, it would be a Viennese waltz performed by an elegant but not snobbish couple in their sixties.

To the left of the main desk was the Children’s/Teens Collection, which was blessed with a wooden seat beside a bay window that overlooked Lawrence Avenue. A large overhanging structure attached to the ceiling hosted eight parrots who faced away from the street. Each bird was swinging from the upper ramparts on individual stands, fine spots to observe library traffic below. Lower down on the structure were some toy animals who were hanging on for dear furry life. These precarious creatures included Skooby Doo, a lion, some bears, and a lone ape. The centerpiece critter was a toy Canada goose which soared higher than the rest; it hadn’t been forced to grasp the edges of the aerial trellis with its beak. More stuffed animals, including a jolly giraffe, led a less challenging existence on top of bookshelves.

The last fun feature of the young people’s area was an inviting nook in the northeast corner. With a large round window and lots of picture books, it captured a fairy-tale mood, making it the perfect setting for listening to the magic phrase “Once upon a time.”. On the quiet afternoon of my visit, an adult discussion was in progress in the story-nook; the debaters used lots of words with “isms” instead of referring to wise woodcutters and devious wolves.

When I crossed over to the other side of the library, I found the Adult Collection to the right of the circulation desk. Unleashing my natural window-seat affinity, I made a bee-line for a bay window that mirrored its equivalent on the south side. Then I nestled into the warm corner where the window bench met the wall, enjoying the afternoon sun on my left arm and shoulder. (I wanted to sing with John Denver, “Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy”, but I didn’t). Adding to my contentment was the sight of a large pine tree and its fellow living beings in Lawrence Park and Ravine.

Turning my attention back inside, I liked how the sunny spaciousness felt like a continuation of the park view. My fellow readers seemed to share the peaceful spring mood. One young patron had propped a giant skateboard beside his armchair before settling down to work. Others were absorbed in the newspaper or their laptop screens.

Relinquishing my warm spot, I walked among the shelves to discover that ESL was solidly represented, but there wasn’t an extensive multilingual collection. At this branch, the largest one was the Children’s French Livres in the north wing. I couldn’t be disappointed for long though, especially when I spotted my third window seat of the day, totally delighting me. I enjoyed gazing out the bay window at Yonge Street and looking down at the shadows on the seat. Easily amused by objects in sunlight, I photographed Kaffe Fassett‘s Glorious Interiors resting between diamonds of light and shade.

I wanted to spend a lot more time on the window seat, but there was an appointment to keep, and the excuse “I was late because I was taking pictures of library books on a window seat” would not fly. Though short, I treasured my second visit to this calm centre of down-to-earth elegance at Yonge and Lawrence.