The Old Library (part one)

Today we find our hero contemplating citrus fruits in one of his favorite Florentine hangouts, the little island in the Boboli Gardens. It's June, and the citrus tree collection is out on the island, and Art Guy's dear friend, Harold the great blue heron, is stalking around between the embroidered parterres. How cool it would be to own the garden as a Medici, and walk out to the island to sugar some lemons for a royal snack.

Our hero's cell phone wakes him from his trance.

"Pronto," says Art Guy.

"Mr. Guy! It's your old friend Gus. Remember, we went to boarding school in Bumsville. Listen, you gotta help us! They're gonna tear down the old library and someone has to tell these developers how significant this thing is. It aught to be a National Landmark, and they want to destroy it!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," says Art Guy, "When is the demolition planned?"

"In 18 and a half months!"

"That doesn't give us much time to make a difference; I'll be there tomorrow morning."

Within 12 hours, Art Guy has found his passport, spoken to the right people, and booked a budget flight with only 2 changes and one train ride to Bumsville, North Carolina. As he steps off the platform and onto Main Street, our hero takes in the urban fabric and general architectural trends of the city, looking for clues. An important colonial port town, accessible via the Bums River, the place is made mostly of Tudor houses, spotted with some Victorian neighborhoods. The town center is bustling with ma and pa businesses beginning their days; the river and rail line has kept this place as a strategic cultural crossroads, while they've avoided chain activity and degradation by keeping out the highways. But the suburbs are spreading, and newer architecture is sprouting up where old Tudors have burnt to the ground. The developers have finally found this little known North Carolina heaven.

Art Guy grabs a copy of the Bumsville Gazette at the coffee shop but doesn't find anything on the demolition of the "old library," which our hero, for the life of him, can't remember ever going to. He always used the school library. After the coffee grows cold, our hero decides to call Gus.

"Gus, where's the old library? For the life of me, I just can't remember..."

"Oh it's at 3rd and Old Oak Lane, I'll meet you there. So glad you made it in one piece!"

10 minutes later, they stand before it. It's a colossus. Reminiscent of DC's FBI building, it's a masterstroke of late 1960's Brutalist architecture. Rectangular concrete slabs puncture the atmosphere, including an over-sized roof that gives the library an edge of cumbersome monumentality. The windows are tinted black.

"Ahh...there she blows," says Gus.

"Wow, these things really had a hayday in the States," says our hero. "Only now are they beginning to get torn town. They usually go without a murmur from the public."

"We have to stop them!" Gus says.

"Stop who?" says a tall oily-haired man behind them.

"The developers. They want to demolish this historic building," says Gus.

"You mean me. I'm in charge of this project, and it's due to happen in just 18 months. There's no stopping us now." says the oily-haired man. He grins and pulls on a cigarette.

Art Guy begins sketching in his moleskine. "What if the city hall votes it down?" our hero says.

"Before they even bring it to the floor, you'll need at least a hundred signatures from civilians who don't want that modernist disaster to be blown to smithereens." The oily-haired man can't help but laugh like a vampire. He then coughs twice on his smoke.

"You know what's a disaster?" says Gus. "It's people like you sticking your money into the cracks, when these issues aren't part of your daily life."

"Well, I won't deny I have a lot of money. But in my experience, sticking dynamite in the cracks is a lot more effective."

"I'll tell you where to stick your dynamite..."

"Alright," says Art Guy, "We'll work on those signatures. Good day to you, Sir."

"Let's go back to my place, Mr. Guy," says Gus, "and have some intelligent conversation."

That night, our hero and his concerned colleague look through the phone book for the numbers of people Gus knows well enough to convince.

"I have a suggestion," says Art Guy, "for when you call them."

"Yes, anything, that's why I asked you to come down here!"

"Okay," says our hero. "When you say, 'they're going to tear down the old library,' to your friends, and they can't remember what old library you're talking about, don't elaborate. Just tell them it's the old library."

"But what about it's historical significance? Surely, I should tell them that."

"Uh, yeah, okay. Tell them it's part of a significant art movement that was implemented in historic sections of Washington DC and Boston."

"Should I tell them what it looks like?"

"God no."

(to be continued...)