Readers’ Corner: Taking Books to the Street

bookmobileMost people who read as children have fond memories of the bookmobile. One had normally thoroughly ransacked the age-appropriate shelves at the local public library and the thin offerings in the school itself. So having an RV pull up with an appropriately stern librarian with some new offerings (or at least the old offerings newly presented) was manna from heaven.

In Portland, Oregon, a phenomenal little nonprofit group is taking that idea in an entirely different direction. Street Books is a small band of dedicated booklovers who spend a few hours each week bicycling books around to the city’s homeless population. From the Times writeup:

The Street Books project is nothing if not messy. The librarians — the three salaried employees, including Ms. Moulton, are paid $60 a week for a three-hour shift — fill their carts based on their tastes and their patrons’ tastes.

Diana Rempe, 48, a community psychologist who recently completed her Ph.D. and pedals the bike one afternoon a week, stops at a day-labor assembly site on the city’s east side, where many Mexican and Latin American men gather, waiting to be hired. So she loads up on books in Spanish. (Her proudest book coup, she said, was getting a hard-to-find book on chess moves in Spanish for two Cuban players.)

You can donate money here, or email them and ask about donating books that people have been asking about.

Media Room: Portland Ghost Basement

basement1

One of the major hubs for fiber-optic cables carrying the Internet to most homes and businesses in the Pacific Northwest is located in the basement of a building in Portland, Oregon. Nothing terribly surprising there. Except that one Cabel Maxfield Sasser went down there and took some photographs of the walls:

The roar of the presses that ruled these rooms has been replaced, just as we all suspected, with the calculated silence of the conduit that carries our data. This data, in fact. These very photos.

basement2Sasser imagines that this room was once where the printing presses for The Oregonian were located, and that as pages came off press, the workers yanked the occasional one off and plastered them on the walls.

According to Poynter, this explanation is probably not very likely. Which leaves the question: who scribbled these notes on the wall and left these ghostly images of women staring out at us? And why does the silence of the Internet resonate so strongly with the (imagined) roar of those old ink-and-paper presses?