Beverly Hills Public Library, Beverly Hills, California

I was feeling a little unsure about the library list I'd put together for the L.A. area, especially after having my sensory circuits burnt out by Pasadena's library, so I did a search and found this short and sweet article. I updated my list a bit, but put a star next to the Beverly Hills Public Library. The "White Room" children's section sounded absolutely crazy, so obviously I had to see it.

Before heading over to Beverly Hills, I made my failed attempt at the main L.A. library downtown. Unfortunately, the construction chaos around the building (and my growing frustration), killed any drive I had to keep circling to try and find a space to park, so I used the time at the next stop light to tell Google Map Woman to head on over to Beverly Hills.

My route took me down Wilshire Boulevard which was an ever changing landscape of shiny business, clean lines, degrading to squalor, dead spaces, old lots, then commercial spaces starting sketchy and ending in Beverly Hills where, as you would expect, everything was clean, ordered, and opulent.

Being the rude W'erin, all I could think of was 80s pastel movies like Down and Out in Beverly Hills, Troop Beverly Hills, the Beverly Hillbillies, and, of course, the "Rockin" theme music to Beverly Hills 90210. In my head, I knew I was being a bit of a snot, but it wasn't an entirely unpredictable thought process for a person who grew up with little to no money. Until fairly recently, I've struggled with the feeling that I did not fit in...anywhere. As a child, I went to six different schools during the elementary years, which I think set me up to never quite feel at home in whatever space I happened to land. Horace Mann Middle School was such a hostile environment that the alienation became a normal state of being. Everywhere I've lived or worked, same thing, different reasons.

So, it was a comfort to drive into Beverly Hills knowing I did not belong--this time, for certain, without anyone telling me of course you do, or you have friends you ass, or it is all in your head. (All of which are "very nice" but also a form of emotional abuse, best intentions or not. Invalidating someone else's feelings--and, by extension, the reason they have them in the first place--is seriously not cool.) In Beverly Hills, you do not belong. Nope. Nope. I don't care if you are human. Or even an American Human. Sorry. You don't belong. (And never will.)

The great thing is: They can't make you leave. It's a free country, eh? Especially when governmental services are in play. Which means I could park in the lot (free for 2 hours, afterward you pay), walk into the library, and use it for as long as I wished, until closing at least. To be clear: The whole experience was nothing but positive from start to finish. Every person I engaged with was friendly and helpful. But what helped me (and any remaining mental blocks) more than anything was disarming the idea of not belonging. Going in knowing you are not Beverly Hills material means you have nothing to prove. The tension disperses and you can just go about your business, be productive, buy a white chocolate pretzel from the Fudge Shoppe, and leave.

I'll write about it in the next entry, but this is the point that must be made, here and now, and set in stone forever, amen: The difference between the Beverly Hills Public Library and the soon-to-be-visited San Bernardino Public Library is night and day, and not just because they are aesthetically different: One was welcoming, the other was not. Beverly Hills didn't give me a lollipop and lei me the minute I walked in the door, and Beverly Hills did have indigent folks sleeping in chairs here and there. When I met eyes with the library staff, they smiled warmly, and when I found my place to settle down it was crowded with others who were also working, reading, or playing on their laptops. San Berdardino was a different matter altogether: hostile, isolating, and ultimately a place where I could not stand to work.

I guess this is where we get into the argument, What is the Purpose of a Library? There's no denying one community has massive amounts of money to spend on services while the other clearly does not. There will be a disparity; it cannot be avoided. It is just too bad that some communities have libraries that have slipped below the acceptable line between service and servitude. I'll get into it more later.

The Beverly Hills library is quite striking in places, though the general vibe is definitely all kinds of 1980s. There is a reason those movies were circling in my head, because the overall pastel, Miami Vice aesthetic was impossible deny. Look at the stacks and shelving in general and you will see that pale blue, peach, and gray so indicative of 1980s fashion and design. The overall effect is not overbearing--it is more of a mellow suggestion, a whisper and a wink. I loved it.

The children's area was indeed as weird as I hoped, especially in terms of the I Want to Be an Apple Store whiteness that instantly reminded me of 2001: A Space Odyssey when Dave goes on his "Trip" through the psychedelic kaleidoscope and ends up in his own, freaky White Room. It's such an odd choice for a kids section of a library . . . even more so for the Beverly Hills area, where no doubt middle America assumes children are wrapped in plastic and kept Brillo clean until they go to Harvard. It also reminded me of those department stores of long ago, especially the fancy ones. Wichita once had a store called Henry's, which was one of the anchor stores in the mall--it was very high end and everything was white . . . as though it dared you to try to mar its lovely surfaces. Something no one would ever do for fear of punishment, Hell, or banishment, who knows. I wonder if that's how the Beverly Hills kids feel in this all-white atmosphere? Or is it just another day in the Apple Store?

My absolute favorite part of this library was the view over the main floor from the area directly above. Look at those lines. And all those delicious books.

I am glad I ran across that article and got a chance to see the Beverly Hills Public Library. The staff was professional and courteous, the majority of the patrons were there for a purpose, and the ones who weren't minded their business and let the rest of us do likewise. The only distraction was a Local Personality (he had to be, there is no question) that would swoop in and demand the attention of a woman sitting at the table catty corner from mine. They looked like they were related, maybe brother and sister, tall and gangly, in their 60s with white, flowing hair. She looked very BH, all in black, with thick, round rimmed glasses, bejeweled but not overstated, and seriously at work at her laptop. He was . . .  extraordinary. By any standards on any coast. On earth. He was like . . . a Neon Newspaper about Arabian Nights designed by Betsey Johnson who're all Suddenly Seeking Susan. Extraordinary. He was wearing about six pairs of glasses. He was quietly hissing and agitated. But library agitated. It was all very dramatic, but I still have no idea what the deal was. He appeared about three times while I was there, sweeping in and out in such a manner you would swear a wave of glittery, drunken Tinkerbells were tumbling behind him in his wake. Magical.

The library was great, too.