An Open Letter to My Fellow Citizens of Denver, Colorado, and the Great Nation of the United States of America.

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Greetings, Friends and Fellow Americans,

I am Lorraine Devonshire of Denver, Colorado. I was born to Lawrence and Sally Devonshire, still married and pillars of the Denver community—my father as an accountant and my mother as a real estate agent. We love each other, we love our community, and we love our country.

But all of these things, to one degree or another, are at risk.

I am a librarian at the Hadley branch of the Denver Public Library, and word is that our branch is about to be closed. Furthermore, the entire public library system is at risk. Our local library may seem like a little thing to lose, but it is the next soldier to fall on the frontlines on the battle against ignorance. It’s not just a building but a citadel—a fortress to protect the vaults of history. One of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World was the Library of Alexandria, and when it was burned, our species lost untold treasures—secrets which now must remain locked, for all time.

I know that this is Denver, not ancient Alexandria, and that one small building won’t reduce the overall canon of knowledge we’ve accumulated. I don’t mean to overstate it. But the fall of the public library is another sad event in the same chain which links the book burnings of the nineteen-fifties, the suppression of dissent in Europe only decades before that, and the long and gruesome history of tyranny and iron rule that our country, the United States of America, was meant to undo, once and for all.

But our country has taken a turn, away from liberty and freedom of thought, away from education and science and ecology. Social services are disappearing one by one. The public library may seem like a relic, and maybe it is. But it’s a relic of a time when the government cared about its citizens and provided for them, a time when we all had our place in the family of mankind.

And what benefit will there be to closing this library, and all public libraries thereafter? A small amount of money will be transferred from one column to another. No other public services will benefit, as they’re also being gutted. And where does that money go?

That’s really all I ask, friends, that you give this some thought. You may not have visited your public library recently, but maybe you should. When was the last time you held a book in your hands, stumbling upon books you didn’t even know existed? Remember the smell of those paper pages; remember the thrill of youthful discovery? That’s something the internet cannot offer. That’s something our children and all of America forevermore has a right to enjoy.

What can we do? Write to your congressman and ask for some relief. I have created a petition on the website: . Tell the people we pay to run our cities that we’d like to keep our libraries, our histories, our futures.

Thank you for your time and attention. I remain in your service,

Lorraine Devonshire

Sally Devonshire shook her head and took a sip of her martini, her red hair freshly dyed. “I don’t see what you have to gain, dear, that’s all.”

Lorraine wasn’t sure how to answer, and she didn’t really want to be in the position where she had to. “I had to do something, Mom. It’s the library!”

“I told you to choose a more practical career path. You could have stuck to that court reporting like I told you, you’d never be out of work.”

“I’d never be out of the courthouse either,” Lorraine said. “All those crimes, testimonies, people lying under oath, sobbing and breaking down… No, I couldn’t do that every day of my life, Mom. Would you?”

Sally shrugged, draining the last of her martini glass. “I’m in real estate, dear. What do I know?”

Larry pulled his newspaper down from in front of his white face and graying brown hair. “Take a stand; I’m proud of you, honey!”

Larry’s enthusiasm and broad smile was genuine. If there was one thing about him, he always believed in taking a stand for what you believe in.

“Thanks dad, it means a lot… Maybe you can get Mom to see it from our perspective.”

Sally shook her head. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble, that’s all.” A sick little nausea curled in the corner of Lorraine’s belly. I know Mom’s just being her usual pain in the ass, she couldn’t help think, but she’s probably right this time. “Couldn’t you just have signed it anonymous?”

“I… I guess I could have. But then who would have paid attention?”

“Nobody,” Sally said. “That’s the point.”

“That ain’t how we roll, is it, baby girl?” Larry remarked.

Lorraine couldn’t help but smile, setting a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Thanks, Dad, your support means a lot.”

Larry smiled. “You know I got your back, Lo’.”

The next morning, Albert Jenkins wasn’t nearly so supportive. He threw the copy of The Denver Post on Carmen’s little desk in her only slightly larger office. “What were you thinking, Lorraine?”

Lorraine tried to ignore Carmen’s angry glare and focus on Albert, their mutual boss. “I thought I might raise public awareness—maybe enough people would send letters, sign my petition, and we could save the library. Isn’t that what we all want?”

Albert shook his big, round head. “Of course it is but…there are protocols, channels; you have to follow certain methods—”—”

“Bureaucracy, you mean,” she said. “But that’s just what’s going to get us all canned, and run the whole public library system into the ground.”

“This is no way to deal with it,” Albert said. “I’m afraid you’ve left us with little choice.”

That nasty little nausea curled in Lorraine’s stomach. “You mean…I’m fired?”

“Of course you are!”

Carmen couldn’t seem to keep herself from saying, “Mr. Jenkins, please—”

But Lorraine asked simply, “What’s the difference? We’re all canned anyway.”

“But your benefits,” Carmen said, turning to Albert. “Can’t we just pretend this never happened?” But a slow shake of Albert’s head told Carmen and Lorraine what his only answer could be.

Lorraine looked around at the place which had been her childhood refuge, her adult safe harbor, and her latest source of heartbreak. “Soon enough, we’ll all be able to pretend that none of this ever happened. Our children won’t even know the word library.”

“Times change, Lorraine,” Albert said. “It’s always better to go along. The tree which survives is the one which bends in the wind, and doesn’t allow itself to be broken by it!”

Lorraine’s lips twitched; she struggled to hold back words that needed to be heard, words she needed to say. But before she could answer and digest the information, several hard knocks fell on the little office door. Lorraine, Carmen and Albert turned to see the door quiver a bit under another cluster of knocks.

Albert called, “Come in!”