When I was a little kid, growing up in that small New England town, by age six or seven I had personal access to the local library. There were two distinct libraries – a kids’ and an adults’ – in one building: the main library which faced the village green, and the children’s annex which ran along the block behind it. To this child, it was a beautiful building, a kind of brick neo-Georgian. The adults’ library was the larger and more imposing. This child never ventured inside since it was for adults or older people (and therefore somewhat intimidating), and very grand. The children’s library (which to me was simply The Library) was in a small, less grand, but nevertheless solid and substantial.

The house I grew up in was very old, barely rescued from shambles that my improvising mother and father found it in. It was, however, in a lovely neighborhood with a nice piece of land attachedIt was hardly grand, or even substantial by normal standards although the drama inside was thick with agitation. Therefore public buildings away from all that made a deep impression on me, and still do. They reflected a sense of security of the community, continuity and tradition that was missing in my own childhood domestic experience.

The bank, the post office, movie theaters, the church were impressive and deeply reassuring works of man that my imagination gladly took shelter in. They provided fodder for the child’s fantasies which always took flight when entering one of these buildings. The Library, however, was most remarkable and special because it was specifically for “kids,” like me. Its rooms were ample, warmly heated (unlike the family house) and very quiet. Shhh; there’s wonder in a child’s solace. And full of books! There was also a scent about the place, about the books, that was redolent with stability, security and great big worlds outside the little town and my wee life.

I think the librarian’s name was Miss Wolcott. She was, to this child’s eyes, a very patrician looking woman with an aura of certain but tender authority and kindness. And a soft, quiet voice. Shhh. I can still hear the thumpf-ing of the bookcovers as she closed them after stamping the card inside the cover.

On Saturdays during wintertime, there were marionette shows in the basement (also warm and imposing) of the Library. More magic, more flights of imagination, more solace stolen from harsher realities. I can still recall the deep and rich colors of the marionettes’ costumes and how they stood out and away from all the other color in my life. There was the promise of tomorrow.

I am recollecting this because it all came back to me last night when I went to a cocktail party that was hosted by Erica Jong, her daughter Molly Jong Fast and myself for the New York Public Library “Cubs” at Erica’s and her husband Ken Burrows’ Upper East Side apartment. The New York Public Library Cubs is a program aimed at raising funds for the “branch” libraries.

Every year in New York more than 5 million children use the Library for the same reasons that I did, to greater or less degrees. In many branches in the neighborhoods, the library is a comfort from the harsher realities of growing up in New York especially in circumstances marked by deprivations that many children must endure to survive. The Library is a friend. The Cubs program works to improve those libraries, be it with more books, more programs for the kids after school (a very important issue in today’s workaday world where both parents are often at jobs) and even improving the physical plants or the equipment.

Molly and Erica Jong

Libraries and books are as important to the health of the individual and the community as heat, shelter, food and health care.

They rescue and restore the delicate spirit, and especially for children in need. And there are lots of them out there. Every child rescued is a ray of light onto a better community for all of us.

You can easily join the Library Cubs Program with a gift of $1000, or you can contribute whatever you can and wish to the program to ensure the availability of resources for children at the New York Public Library. The result is incalculable: a child today may someday have the profound pleasure of recalling those childhood days in the safe and comfort zone of the libraries you assisted.