Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Everyday People, 2: A Tale of Two Libraries (a start)

Two communities—easily reachable from my home—on either side of a state line are recognizable as deeply different, in their libraries (as just one measure)

Subsections below:
An innocent question brings an important desideratum to light
Computers in Library ABC (in New York)—including flukes
Library XYZ, in a locality with a more New Jersey tone
Computer features at XYZ—surprisingly state-of-the-art

[Edits 1/27/16. Edits 1/28/16.]

I knew I wanted to do a series headed “Everyday People,” which I started in December; and well before this, I had a notion to do a mini-series headed “A Tale of Two Libraries,” which originally wasn’t going to be under the “Everyday” rubric. But I decided to fold the earlier idea into the more recent one, in part just to get going on entries that are other than film reviews and reflective things having to do with career and local-economy issues.

This libraries mini-series will, in part, be a look at local community behavior. But it also will go a distance to describing the cultures of two different states, New York and New Jersey, which differences may tie in to some observations I can make that are relevant to the cultural and mood-related atmosphere surrounding the 2016 presidential race. (That probably sounds more ambitious than I’ll end up being.)

For instance, consider what some across the U.S. may have wondered, “Is Chris Christie’s allegedly brash style something that eventually will be germane to constructive work in the White House?”—whether he gets there as a member of the Cabinet if another Republican wins the White House (which would be my bet for him) or as president himself. Well, interestingly, the two libraries I am thinking about include one in New Jersey where there is enough of a difference in manners between the people you often encounter in that community and another in New York State (where the other library I’ll profile is) that I would not be stretching too far to say that the New Jersey “in your face,” sort-of “militant-mediocre” style is something that may reflect a more-at-large, brewing ferment that, though New Jersey by and large might not vote Christie into a White House slot, may (from throughout the U.S.) still be responsible for some unexpected way the electorate chooses its president this year.

From a far different angle (having little to do with the zeroing in on the cultures of the two libraries that I’m planning to focus on), I’ve thought with increasing cogency in recent times that one cannot understand the culture of New Jersey (especially northern), whether in the work world or in other publicly-exposed parts, without understanding the petty mentality. Pettiness is so much part of the interpersonal fabric here that, if one starts out trying to be as un-petty as possible, then if one were to get anywhere with one’s career here, one ends up (as a sort of “a fortiori” matter) adopting petty methods just to, so to speak, keep one’s head above water.

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I will look at the two libraries along a few general lines: (1) the infrastructure that characterizes each, especially the computers the public can use, as is suited to my professional work (and, sometimes, how others deal with them); (2) the manners and other nature of the people in each location (whether among likely patrons of the library or amid townspeople in the immediate area); and (3) such curious aspects of daily life as the occasional presence in the library of a group of “adult day-care” people (especially autistic people), shepherded by one or more social workers, ostensibly to get the disabled folk some salutary time out in the larger world.

For this first entry, let me look at one of the main reasons I come to these libraries, and then look a bit at the libraries as different cultures: particularly in the computers (and certain resources in the form of books). But I will make passing comments on the local social tones (and these will be covered in future entries, too).


An innocent question brings an important desideratum to light

One time at the New York State library that I go to, a young man—a higher schooler, it seemed, and by no means an AP Scholar type—asked me, why do I come here? Isn’t there a library in my own town (because somehow it came out that I am from New Jersey)? This struck me as a dumb question (for one thing, plenty of New Jerseyans come to this New York library; it’s a few minutes over the state border), and I forget what I answered him. But I knew I’d been coming here for a darned good set of reasons (which it was OK I didn’t have in the front of my mind to tell him).

It was sometime later that one of the key reasons (on whatever motivation I had it) occurred to me, for possible future use. Not that this is a practical concern the vast majority of the time, but the New York library has a good supply of legal reference books. And I realized that all of the public libraries I most often go to have good sets of legal books (in definite contrast to the libraries I opt confidently not to go to).

When I was mired in the Bauer lawsuit in 2008, I especially liked to go to the municipal library in the borough of Butler, N.J., which is in Morris County. I had been going to that library for my personal reasons for years, starting around 2002 or so, one reason being that it was on my way home from various locations of work down Route 23. But in 2008, its legal books were among the most helpful sets I could have located (and it contained editions [from the publisher Westlaw] of the New Jersey state court rules—an edition of which I eventually was allowed to take home for myself when the library replaced them with a new edition).

Somewhat sadly to me, I haven’t gone to the Butler library as much as I used to, in recent years. This is part of my new habits of daily life (going on for a few years now), which partly rely on driving as few miles as possible—and the Butler library is a longer drive from my home than either the New York library (call it, for this series, “Library ABC”) or the New Jersey one (call it “Library XYZ”) that I still often go to.

This other New Jersey library, XYZ, which I will talk about more, and which is also in Morris County, also has a decent set of law books, though (as a simple matter of walkabout fact) I haven’t had to rely on them as much as in Butler.

And interestingly, it is shocking to me that in Sussex County, my home county, the library in my town of Vernon is almost completely devoid of useful law books. Even the central county library in Frankford Township, which used to have a fairly decent legal section (though some of its features, like some crude online facility, weren’t too helpful), has been dismantling its legal section in the past several years (basically, in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis).

And even the Sussex County courthouse (starting about a couple years ago) got rid of a large number of its volumes in the law library there. Meanwhile, helpfully, the county college, in Newton, N.J., has had a not-bad set of legal books (especially case-law “reporters”), which I also relied on (for case law information, in particular) during the Bauer suit of 2008.

But overall, Sussex County seems to have engaged in a campaign of “dumbing down” its libraries in terms of its legal-book holdings, to the point that I would almost never go to any of the county’s libraries (outside of the county college) for any law-book purposes. Morris County, in the Butler library and in the other one I’m to discuss (and of course Morris County has many municipal libraries), has far better infrastructure that treats patrons like adults in having legal books for public use (whether these are court-rule things, volumes of state statutes, or Nolo Press books for the layperson [as a pro se litigant]).

(I could explain my situation of how I use public libraries for legal purposes even further: for instance, in 2008, I found that different libraries were good for different resources, and in making best use of your time, you scheduled your stops there accordingly. Each has its own quirks as to what legally related holdings it has. For instance, Library ABC in New York doesn’t have court-rule books [for New York State], and I incidentally found in 2008 that for this sort of thing, you had to go to the county administrative building in Goshen, N.Y., where they have a legal library attached to the courthouse and related facilities there. I actually went there to do some research pertinent to the Bauer lawsuit in 2008, and got some info about a Google-related suit, though that info [and any other substantive info I got there] wasn’t really important to my work in the suit. But I was glad to make an acquaintance of that library—which in recent years has been harder to get access to, because the building was damaged by one [2011?] of the recent warm-weather storms we’ve had in the general area.)

I would go even further and say that one Sussex County library, in Wantage Township, seemed on its computers not even to allow ready access to Google. This plus the paucity of legal books means to me that Sussex County is not a place where—as I combine my practical reasons for going, into one bundle—I would go to use the library for almost any purpose. (I could make other generalizations about Sussex County that are based on my less-than-fully-satisfied experience of it since the early 1970s, including a sly characterization of it as “Excuses County,” but girlfriend, let’s not go there right now.)

To me, a library is (as a matter of principle) valuable because, IN PART, it has legal books that implicitly treat patrons like adults. This is like a public establishment that (if I may extrapolate from western-U.S. culture in the 1800s) has a gun on the wall so that, in case of invasion by horrible “evildoers,” you can grab the gun, lock and load, and be ready for flinty action. Same thing with legal books. Encounter some crooked legal shit intruding on your life? Have to hit the ground running with some legal response (when you have no money to pay an attorney)? No need to call an attorney, in my case. Get to the library and hit the legal books. For the pro se citizen defending his civil (or other essential) rights (in the world of “free-floating” litigation), it’s the “concealed-carry” option, as opposed to situations literally requiring guns (which I am not a fan of, anyway).

But the law books, fortunately, are not something I have lately had to value a library by in seeking to consult them in a pressing case. My main reasons for going to a library include such homely tools as the computers and the photocopiers. So let’s turn to these. (And this series won’t usually be as nerdy as the following may seem.)


Computers in Library ABC (in New York)—including flukes

First of all, Library ABC (in New York State) is only about seven miles away from my home, one way. Library XYZ in New Jersey is about 15 miles away, one way. They are, for better or worse, the two libraries I prefer to go to so often for my “work weeks.” (More can be said about the topography of the area, as helps shape my decisions on why I go to the libraries I do.)

It’s ironic that the New Jersey library is actually further from my home than the New York; meanwhile, going to the New York location means my driving up and down a steep hill on Barrett Road, which crosses the state border (and passes through what is now a state preserve) and which very-nearby locals are quite familiar with. The drop in elevation as you take this road is roughly 800 feet. No such drop occurs when I go to the New Jersey library.

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Library ABC, as apparently is the case with all libraries in the Ramapo/Catskills network of which it is a member, has public computers that you sign into by entering your library ID number (yes, I have a card for this library; it costs $75 a year, for an out-of-community person). You then are on a time limit, two hours per person per day (though the library staff can extend your time at your request, and per their discretion). It is something like being on a taxi meter. So, because of the time limit, I have a sense of working here of needing to be organized with my time, to get done what I need to (in the order appropriate for the day), to not be interrupted by my time running out….

Of course, I can always extend the time (the staff is good with me about that), but given the time-limit situation in general, I try to be compliant by not spending more than two hours at a time on the computer here, too often. (Sometimes, but not often, this can be a matter of other people waiting to use the computer.) (The main season in which my spending more than two hours on the computer would happen, fairly often, is the summer, when I have seasonal freelance work that can total more than two hours of solid—if not continuous—work a day.)

Another nice thing is that the computers in the Library ABC are arrayed so you have some level of personal space, if not complete privacy. You don’t seem to “sit on top of one another,” which actually is more the case at the Library XYZ (in New Jersey).

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This (at Library ABC) is all when things are running well. In a period from about November 2014 to maybe midsummer 2015, there was a freakish situation at Library ABC of the possibility of a given computer suddenly dropping you from the electronic signup that you’ve duly already gone through—you would be suddenly closed out (without your two hours being up, often by a long shot), and in the process you lose new, unsaved content that you had already typed into whatever documents you had open at the time (while the versions saved on your Flash drive were OK). This—not instigated by anything fluky you did—could happen for some larger-systemic reason that no one on the library staff seemed able to figure out (more on such attempts at mitigation below).

This periodic problem started happening following when the library had changed to a new system of computers in November 2014. With the old computer system (which also had a signup mechanism), which I had used for at least three years, this problem hadn’t happened.

Over a period of at least eight months, the dropping from the signup happened to me about a dozen times, at least. Sometimes (in a several-day period) it happened more frequently than at other times (several-day periods). Early on, it was frustration-making, but I quickly learned to do things like save changes in documents more often, as not to lose content if I was suddenly bumped off the signup. (This problem, of course, happened to other people, too. And as many times as various of us patrons pointed out yet another occurrence of the problem, the library staff—when they did not sometimes, on a given day, seem in talking with you to overlook or deny the problem a bit, as happened early on—could only deal with it [I’ll be summary here] in an ad hoc, pragmatic, and never conclusive manner.)

An IT department outside of the library’s physical plant, meant more for the overall library network, was consulted on this issue now and then, but I don’t think they really pinpointed the source of the problem. There was be a situation with me, once, where an IT person would be (not in the library itself) “live” from his or her remote office, able to monitor the function of my computer while I worked on it, but this was a little like trying to stop by and watch when a mouse ambled into your kitchen at night, which you could never predict. Suffice it to say that, in the several months this problem was apt to happen, I would schedule when I appeared at Library ABC based on how much, for a given project, I wanted to deal that day with the drop-from-the-signup problem, versus dealing with the pause-giving characteristics at Library XYZ (and of course other reasons for going to one town versus the other would also be in play; I’m good at scheduling my locations for multiple purposes).

I had thought this problem had finally disappeared (sometime in later 2015, maybe by about September), but it reoccurred to me, once, this month (January 2016).

By the way, the computer system here at ABC is a sort of “client/server” system, as far as I understand; there are individual desktops with apparently a full desktop’s worth of hardware, but some aspects of the software (I don’t think all) seem to depend on (emanate from) some central server. The signup function does seem to be a central-server matter, but why the dropping-offs from the signup—which happened only one computer at a time—were happening, I’m not sure. (As you can tell, I’m not a programming person. I can feel out some aspects of the nature of a problem without knowing exactly what it is, similar to being able—with an automobile—to distinguish an ignition problem from a fuel-pump problem, without knowing how to fix it.)

Library ABC also uses Firefox for its browsers, which has its pluses and minuses (as far as their interaction with some products of Google I use). This choice of Firefox is a library-system policy.


Library XYZ, in a locality with a more New Jersey tone

Now let’s start to look at the Library XYZ, in New Jersey, which is located in an area close to a military research facility, as well as some state preserves (with the per-chance presence of various bears that wander through the area) and other charming semi-rural features. This is in a township that may seem to the casual eye a pretty rural area, but because (as one measure it might take too long to explain, to those who don’t get this) it is close to Route 23, a major artery leading from Sussex County and nearby townships in other counties (Passaic and Morris) to the more urban areas (and higher-paying jobs) to the southeast, there happen to be no small amount of people living here who have fairly decently paying jobs (white-collar, often).

I mean, Sussex County alone is famous for having about 60 percent of its workforce needing to commute out of the county to get to work (which is usually white-collar). This is fairly true, also, of the Morris County township at hand, which is one of that county’s townships closest to Sussex County (discussing this sort of economic stuff on a fine-grained level is something I hadn’t anticipated getting into; for one thing, I don’t have stats for this Morris County township the way I can for Sussex County). But there is, as a broad feature, a definite uptick in socioeconomic level among the people at this Morris County location (as is certainly suggested by the tone of behavior, which I can strongly attest to) compared to, say, Vernon Township, which (at several miles away) is among the neighboring townships in Sussex County to the north.

Now, not all people in this Morris County location are highfalutin’ white-collar types. There are definitely blue-collar types here. But these latter, I think it’s fair to say, are types who mainly work for service-economy type companies. This township does not contain a huge number of workers of the industrial, mining, construction, or similar segments. So, you could encounter people that might be a little rude because they’re blue-collar types, but they could also have a certain arrogance about them, because they are entrepreneurial types (or otherwise in demanded-on service jobs), and their income level isn’t bad.

And this phenomenon also coheres with the more at-large New Jersey manner of being “in your face,” along with posing (to you, the onlooker) the implicit question of “Where do you stand, O dubious one?”  That is, to the extent this town reflects New Jersey personal style, this manner is very much more evident in this particular New Jersey town, even within rambling-bear territory, than you see in the more placid New York State area (containing Library ABC) that I go to, to the north.

More exactly, the “in your face” stuff is more prevalent in the Morris County town among the blue-collar types, less so among the white-collar; the people here are generally nice, but it’s interesting how there is such a difference in tone between them and the people near Library ABC, along the lines of New Jersey style.


Computer features at XYZ—surprisingly state-of-the-art

Despite the New Jersey tone being present here—and sometimes when planning for a day’s outing, I do take into consideration how much I want to deal with the New Jersey tone versus the nicer upstate New York tone—Library XYZ’s computers in some ways are clearly superior to Library ABC’s.

For one thing, XYZ’s do better printouts (including of color), and the printouts are cheaper (by 33 percent, for both color and B&W [correction: 15 cents for B&W and 25 cents for color at ABC, 10 cents for everything at XYZ]). There is no electronic signup at XYZ, which sometimes can be a major determinant of whether I go there on a given day. XYZ also offers the option of using Explorer browsers versus Google Chrome browsers; for my purposes lately, the Chrome browsers can be better than anything else available at XYZ or ABC.

XYZ also has a better hookup—high-speed, maybe top-of-the-line fiber optics or some such thing—while ABC’s is a little more rickety (I won’t go into further details on this latter, because my phone service is through the local telecom entity that probably provides Internet access to Library ABC, and I generally am satisfied with this telecom company for what I usually seek from it regarding my home account).

Library XYZ also seems to have recently changed some (if not all) of its computers to using a Microsoft Office suite that is no longer on the individual computers but is in some outside, “cloud” configuration—which I have some reservations about (and I’ll leave discussion on this aside).

As you can see, there are some advantages with the XYZ computers over the ABC. The biggest drawback, by far, also parallels some aspects of how the community is there, in general. When you work at one of the dozen or more computers at XYZ, you seem to sit on top of one another, almost literally. Especially in the summer, when I have a high volume of freelance work—but when local kids are out of school and they gravitate to the library to play games on the computer, or such—this can be a grubby, somewhat distracting, privacy-eroding situation.

Also, when I work at Library XYZ away from the computers, I can use a “study carrel” I often sit at, and there is a certain amount of privacy. But here, there can be limitations.

The “in each other’s lap” flavor of working at Library XYZ can perhaps best be appreciated when I talk about how the “adult day-care” folks sometimes (led by one or two social workers) come in and “occupy themselves” for an hour or so. This will be covered in a future entry (and a version of this can happen at Library ABC, also).

Be patient with this series. It will take me time to get out.