Every morning as I come to work I pass Schlow Library. Every morning as I pass Schlow mom tells me that she thinks of us when we were kids and used to go to the library when it was on College Avenue.
Schlow started in a wonderful house owned by the Schlows (ergo the name.) There were back stairs and cozy corners to sit and read. It was a magical place. I remember one room in particular. Down one set of back stairs there was a small room with built-ins. The “Wizard of Oz” books were on a low shelf. I used to sit on the floor and read. When it was time to leave, you would find me in there and we would go down the next flight of stairs to the check-out desk.
Mom always gave us enough money for a soda and a phone call.
One day Dan and I had spent the afternoon in the library, got our sodas and Dan made the call. Unfortunately he called the wrong number with our last dime.
My mom got a call from some woman who was laughing. Mom was ready to hang up but the woman apologized and asked her not to. When she was finally able to speak, she told my mom that Dan had called her.
The woman told Dan she wasn’t his mother Dan asked, “Does this mean you aren’t going to pick us up?”