Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 2, 1994 TAG: 9410220002
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
``Well look at you, Denise. Isn't that pretty?'' Ware says, fingering the fabric. ``I tell you, I couldn't do that. And you just figured it out from the book?''
Pardue nods proudly.
As Pardue thumbs through another book, Libby Markham slides a jar of sourdough starter across Ware's desk. Ware hands her a stack of bread-making books, and the three women talk.
Markham is worried about her college-sophomore daughter, who's homesick at Old Dominion University. Pardue's worried that her rows of patchwork stars won't fit together.
Sitting at her small mobile desk, Paige Ware takes her reading glasses off and listens to it all. There is no sign here that says, ``The Doctor Is In,'' but clearly she is.
In one hour, Ware will entertain a string of people who come together at the country-store parking lot to return books, check out more books and talk about their problems and joys.
Before the day is through, she will have diagnosed a skin rash for one woman, advised another to hire an aide for her bedridden father, consoled yet another about a relative's recent stroke.
She will have doled out Sydney Sheldon, Danielle Steel and R.L. Stine like prescriptions at a pharmacy. She will have cajoled and commiserated, listened and laughed.
By the end of the day, she will have made a difference in people's lives.
\ In an era when the Information Highway has little to do with libraries on wheels, the bookmobile perseveres. Ware's Ford Econoline holds just 4,000 books with no lap-top, no card-catalog files and, alas, no bathroom.
``You have to have a trained bladder to do this job,'' Ware, 51, says during a recent eight-hour route.
For 15 years, she's driven the back roads of Botetourt, helping kids with homework, picking out large-print books for the elderly, memorizing who reads which authors and introducing them to new ones after they've exhausted their favorites.
She knows that Steve Foscoe likes Indian romance, that his sister Betty Rapp prefers historical novels. She knows that retired nurse Betty Sayers will read as many mysteries as she can get her hands on - 20 books a week, and even more in the winter.
``I used to work night duty, and I still have nights where I don't sleep, so I read,'' Sayers says.
A dozen people come to return and check out more books at a stop west of Iron Gate: a pick-up truck full of kids, a few children who walk from nearby houses, several adults who drive from miles away just to linger in the van's doorway and talk.
``Steve been here yet?'' Betty Rapp asks, referring to her brother.
``Been here and gone,'' Ware explains.
The two women discuss Rapp's impending gallbladder surgery, then Rapp shows Ware the mysterious rash on her stomach. She thinks it's shingles.
``Looks like chiggers to me,'' Ware says. ``You been out in the field?''
``We did have a cow get loose last week, and I was out chasing it,'' Rapp explains.
Someone else recommends painting clear fingernail polish on the rash. To keep the swelling down, Ware swears by soaking a brown paper bag in vinegar and baking soda, then plastering it on the rash.
Rapp takes it under advisement, scratching her belly as she leaves.
Chiggers. Ware's convinced.
\ There are still books in the Fincastle library with Paige Ware's scrawling childhood signature. When she was little, she read every children's book the library had, paying special attention to those on careers.
The one she recalls most vividly was about a bookmobile librarian. ``She was out in Wyoming, and she falls in love with this mountain man and has a perfect life,'' Ware explains. ``And of course he's this good-looking Prince Charming.''
Paige found the Prince Charming - her upholsterer-husband, Richard - and the career, too. Driving the bookmobile toward Oriskany recently, she recalled her introduction to Botetourt's back roads: Her father, a postal clerk, used to take the family on Sunday drives along the same windy roads she maneuvers today.
She keeps a cellular phone on board to keep in touch with the office in Fincastle and her husband, who worries when the weather turns rough. Her patrons worry, too, enough to call her the minute snow hits - and tell her to stay home.
``Steve noticed last month I had a knot on my tire, then he made sure the next time I had new tires. He wasn't gonna let it go,'' she says of Foscoe. ``And Miss Lemon up on the hill there, she's up in her 70s and she doesn't even come to the bookmobile. But she'll walk down the hill in the snow to tell me to get back down the road. She keeps her eye out.''
When the county offered Ware the job as head librarian seven years ago, they told her she could assign bookmobile duty to someone else. She refused to take the job unless they allowed her to continue driving.
Take the job and do what you want, they told her. She did.
Targeted to rural people who couldn't get to libraries, the first bookmobile hit the roads of Maryland in 1905. Originally a horse-and-wagon operation, it served community stores and post offices, turning them into monthly "deposit stations" where people came to borrow books.
City libraries now take bookmobile vans to nursing homes, child-care centers and to the house-bound. But in counties like Botetourt, the institution hasn't veered much from its original course. ``I'd say 90 percent of our people can get to a library if they want, but this is a convenience - to keep people reading.''
Ware isn't a book snob; her favorite author is John Grisham.
``To me, reading is important, not only for your education, but for an escape. It doesn't hurt to imagine you're a hero, you're beautiful, or you're rich. The world is a hard enough place to live in. Why not live somebody else's life for a while?''
Bookmobiles are on the rise because people crave intimacy, she says. ``They know who's there, there's no computer to figure out, and they don't wanna have to look for stuff.''
The moving library has stabilized in recent decades, after suffering a decline during the '70s from 2,000 to 1,000 units. According to national spokesman John Philip, bookmobiles remain the best way to reach the 70 percent of Americans who aren't library users - many of whom are very old or very young, bewildered by modern libraries, or read poorly.
``On a bookmobile, you can stretch your arms out one way and touch every book on the truck,'' he says from his office at the State Library of Ohio in Columbus. ``You know the person at the desk.
``It's like when the bank manager recognizes me at the bank, I feel good about it. And I don't think that's as insignificant as we tend to think it is.''
Adds Ware: ``People in stores are too busy to talk; they're not out to listen to your problems. We have people who come and check out books. And we have people who come in for companionship - they don't care whether they read them or not.
``Where else can you get this kind of service? We don't ask them for anything - only their address, and we have had homeless people, too. I had a regular bookmobile patron for years who lived in a tent.''
\ Linda Myers calls herself Paige Ware's "assistant." She doesn't get paid for reminding her friends to return books or bring in their library cards, but that's exactly what she does every other Monday at the Tinker Mountain Goodwill Industries stop in Troutville.
``I don't want this, Miss Paige,'' Linda says, handing her back the children's book ``Nathan & Nicholas Alexandra'' in favor of ``Wake up Vladimir.'' Ware had picked out the books for Linda, as she does for several of the mentally handicapped employees at Tinker Mountain workshop.
``Who is Mr. Givens?'' interrupts Harriet Johnson, showing Ware the cover of ``Financial Self-Defense,'' by Charles Givens.
``He wrote about money and saving money and how to buy stocks,'' Ware explains.
``Oh, lawd, I don't need that.'' She checks out three Star Trek books, a Bible and a dictionary instead.
Margaret Kulp, a workshop employee who has lived on her own for three years, asks Ware for a book on cats.
``Did you go and get yourself a cat, Margaret?'' Ware asks.
``Oh Paige, she's yellow and has the most pretty green eyes. I mean, beautiful! This morning she put her paw right here on my face trying to wake me up.''
Margaret's face sours suddenly. She explains to Ware that she hasn't told her mother about her new cat, Mrs. Garfield. Like a little girl who's gotten her ears pierced - and waits till after the fact to ask Mom for permission - she's nervous about the reaction she'll get.
``You tell her everyone needs a companion,'' Ware says.
Margaret nods her head, then cracks a smile.
by CNB