One Book, One Bettendorf

I believe in public libraries.

My love of public libraries started when I was a child. My mother, who only went to school through eighth grade, had the wisdom to take me to the Berlin, Wisconsin, Public Library. It was a Carnegie Library with two long flights of steps, one outside and one inside, before you reached the main (the only) desk. Behind that desk was Miss Safford, who registered me for a library card. Number 3670.

As soon as I was able, I went to the library by myself, every day in the summers, less often during the school year. Miss Safford retired and Miss O’Connor took over. She recognized me as a Reader with a capital R. When I had read everything in my age level and below, she began bringing out books from the adult section for me. Then, even though I was only thirteen, she let me into the adult section. Miss O’Connor was my kind of librarian; the kind that will bend the rules in order to nurture a reader.

Well, time passed and I chose librarianship as a career. I learned that there is a large community of people who also believe in public libraries. For example, one day a few years ago, I met a woman in the lobby of the Bettendorf Public Library. She had recently donated to the Library Foundation and I thanked her. “I thank you,” she said. She told me she was a Hungarian immigrant and had grown up in Chicago. “We were poor,” she said, “but I never FELT poor because I could go to the library and get whatever I wanted to read.” If you want to be thanked a lot for the work you do, become a librarian. People will love you for helping them find a book or piece of information.

Yes, I believe in public libraries. They were a haven for me as a child. They are a free resource everyday for countless people. They nurture reading. They are a fundamental ingredient of this democracy.

Faye Clow

I believe in the power of words. Words, whether from the mouths of friends, family, acquaintances, or even strangers, have the power to build people up or tear them down.

As leader of a 6th grade Girl Scout troop, I witnessed the beginnings of something I painfully remembered from my past. It was the practice of girls, struggling with the angst left by puberty, attempting to break down others in an effort to validate themselves. Over the years I had used a lot of positive techniques to encourage the girls’ self-esteem. Still, as junior high approached, I began to see behavior - and words - that troubled me.

I selected a few scouts and placed beads in front of each one, explaining that they represented beauty, intelligence, and talent. The object of the game was to get the most beads. I ridiculed one girl’s outfit, then took a bead. I teased another about a failed test, then took a bead from her. The insults continued until I reached the last girl. I told her I wouldn’t take away any of her beads. Instead, she would have to take away a bead from another girl for me and say something mean to her, as well. This was all done with an air of fun and the girls laughed throughout the exercise, but their eyes spoke differently. Though they clearly knew my behavior was wrong, it was also clear that they had seen it before… maybe done it before.

After counting my beads, I declared myself the winner. The girls didn’t agree. They also didn’t believe that I took away the others’ beauty, intelligence, or talent. They did acknowledge that I took something else. I took away their self-esteem. Though all of my comments were false, we discussed how deep inside each girl might be wondering: is it true? What you hear often becomes what you believe.

Then I took out a big bucket of beads and explained my core belief: there is enough beauty, smarts – whatever the coveted trait - to go around. They are not finite resources, nor is self-worth or happiness. You don’t have to take from someone. In fact, the best way to get a bead it to give one away. Positive words empower both the receiver and the giver. This I believe.

Janene Murphy

I believe in the healing power of a child’s smile. I didn’t always. In fact, at one point in my life, I didn’t think there was anything powerful enough to heal my pain or take away my sadness.

In 1997 my husband and I were expecting our first child. It was a normal pregnancy, and everything progressed as planned. Then, three days before my due date, I went into labor and realized I hadn’t felt my baby move in several hours. Our worst fears came true in the hospital when the doctor told us our baby had no heart beat and would be stillborn.

Oddly enough, I had been prepared for almost every other adverse pregnancy outcome, because at the time I worked for the March of Dimes. I knew about miscarriage, premature birth, and birth defects. But, even though I worked for an organization dedicated to prenatal and infant health, I don’t think I ever contemplated stillbirth.

The grief and guilt I felt when my son died was overwhelming. There were many days when I simply didn’t want to get out of bed or leave the house again. But, I did. It wasn’t easy. Anything could reduce me to tears: the birth a friend’s baby, passing a baby boy on the street, even a pretty sunset or a song on the radio.

The hardest thing was not finding a “reason” for our son’s death. We consulted several specialists at top notch institutions, none of whom could give us an answer. And so, we made the gut-wrenching decision to try again. Getting pregnant again was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done. After all, there was nothing we could do differently this time around. And so, for the next nine months, I lived in fear.

When our daughter was born, a month early, but healthy and very much alive, I started to feel a bit better. And then one day, she smiled. That simple, perhaps even involuntary act changed my life. For I believe everything good is reflected in a child’s smile: love, innocence, curiosity, joy, hope. It’s all there, you just have to look.

It’s been eleven years since our son died. Our daughter was born and then another son. Whenever the pain of losing my first born bubbles up to the surface, I seek out my children. Being perceptive, they always know when I’m feeling sad. “What’s wrong mommy?” they’ll ask. “I’m thinking about your brother today.” “Don’t be sad mommy. You have us and we love you.” Then they smile and their smiles make me feel whole again. Their smiles have the power to heal the world. This I believe.

Marcia Z. Bannon

I believe in having hope.

We are proudly on the verge of change with new hope in the upcoming 2008 Presidential appointment with an exciting and historic decision of possibly electing for the first time as our Commander-in-Chief either a woman or an African-American.

This takes me back thirty years to 1978 when, as a college student living in San Francisco, I was fortunate to have shared on-going discussions with human rights activist and Board of Supervisor member Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in the United States. Harvey’s talks and chance meetings proved a constructive influence on me. They helped me to instill confidence and pride as a young gay man.

One afternoon, while at an impromptu lunch meeting in San Francisco’s Castro district, Harvey discussed with me how fear, especially fear of change, of new ideas, and of social and ethnic diversity, could be used as a nasty and quite effective tool to wrongly influence, discriminate, and mislead public opinion when manipulated in the wrong ways and minds. Harvey further remarked that in such terrified and often hate driven minds; fear could produce dangerous and even deadly results.

Tragically the boundless energy, wit, compassion, intelligence, frankness, and hope of Harvey Milk would be silenced by five bullets in San Francisco’s City Hall (along with Mayor George Moscone), from the gun of a hate driven, insecure, and fearful assassin one dark morning in late November of 1978.

Harvey continually talked the talk and, more importantly, he walked the walk for human rights and the ongoing dream of diminishing the barriers of prejudice and discrimination in our country.

Harvey Milk was not perfect nor was he a saint. Then, this is true for us all. What Harvey strived to be was a good citizen and friend to all of the many diverse and wonderful “uses” out there.

These “uses” include the many diverse races, nationalities, social classes, as well as spiritual denominations which together makeup our nation. It would be grand if we would always continue to follow Harvey’s inspiring philosophies from the 1970s.

Even in 2008, as our country is once again poised in witnessing history in the making on a national level, I am confidant that with one advancement (or one election) at a time towards change, that we can proceed significantly in eventually representing a greater contingency of the numerous, wonderful, and diverse “uses” in our United States. I certainly believe this!

I sure wish that Harvey Milk could have been around today to witness this upcoming presidential election. He would have loved it! And, who knows? Perhaps Harvey Milk also would be vying for President either in 2008 or in the not to distant future.

Even though we cannot live on just either one alone, I still believe it is essential in having both dreams as well as in preserving hope in our present day as well as for our future.

Michael Thomas Masters

Last year my husband and I up-heaved our family, leaving my parents behind—who were practically live-in babysitters of our three children— and moved to Bettendorf, Iowa.

My husband and I are both Canadian; he grew up between Quebec and Ottawa, Ontario, and I lived in the East Coast town of New Brunswick right up until University graduation

While growing up, beaches and ocean views were virtually a summer play ground for me and my siblings. We used to take the ferry over to Prince Edward Island every summer. Those island days were spent tiptoeing along the ocean shores and poking jellyfish out of our way with long sticks like some childhood version of Russian roulette.

With this childhood background, I could not imagine raising my children in the Midwest of the good ‘ol U.S.A. However, my husband works for Deere and it was a great opportunity for him and our family, so we packed up our belongings and moved here after a hurried two-day spree of house hunting

Following a very tearful good bye at the airport— where I will never forget the heart-wrenched look on my father’s face as he said good bye to his three grand babies— and many flights later, we finally arrived in our new home of Bettendorf This is where I learned my most profound belief: Being surrounded by decent people can make even the most foreign of circumstances feel like home

As we watched the movers begin to unload our belongings into our new home, we were immediately surrounded by teams of neighbors welcoming us. All of a sudden our driveway was like a summer BBQ gathering! With everyone saying their introductions, offering playgroups with their children, offering babysitters phone numbers, and even a sweet couple bringing us cookies. Immediately we felt like we were home.

We have made lifelong friendships since moving here. Now, when I look out at the Iowa corn horizon and miss the ocean view, I simply imagine the corn to be shifting sand dunes, and the blue sky beyond becomes the ocean— because with good friends and a little imagination, you can make anywhere feel like home.

Shelley Little

This I believe, that peace and freedom is the natural desire of all human beings.

I grew up Jewish in New York City. On television, I watched newsreels of the liberation of Nazi Concentration Camps, the terrible horror as mountains of naked bodies were bulldozed into trenches for mass burials. A friend’s mother was a camp survivor complete with a number tattooed on her forearm. She was skinny as a rail and afraid to go out. All this just couldn’t be real, but it was. I visited her apartment and played with her son. She was a happy woman watching her son playing with a friend in the peace and security of America. She was happy that life was better for him than it had been for her. I believe that the single most important matter for all peoples is the wellbeing of their families, not their material possessions.

In New York I saw lots of good people, going about their lives in the intense privacy that comes with the anonymity of the crowds. I recall during the great East Coast Blackout, I was an ROTC cadet at the time and a few friends and I pitched in to help. We led folks to safety out of darkened subway trains, and we directed traffic at major road intersections. Later in life, I came to the Quad Cities. There were floods and I helped fill sandbags along with co-workers on the Arsenal. Nobody ever asked for a thank-you, they were just doing what was right. I learned ‘Love Thy Neighbor’ isn’t just a concept or a cliché; it’s a way of life.

I joined the American Civil Liberties Union and served six years on their national board. We debated policies on Civil Liberties, and thru the give and take of those debates, I realized their importance. Once the ACLU agreed upon a policy, there was an irreversible movement to those ends. I learned that the rights we defend today would one day be looked upon by our children as just the natural order of things and that they would imagine America any other way.

I saw the great hope for real peace in the world as President William Jefferson Clinton brought old adversaries together at the peace table and hands were shaken and agreements made and peace flourished. I also saw failures as George W Bush pulled back from hard won agreements, thumbed his nose at the world and brought us into an unnecessary war.

I realized that the natural progress of humanity has been towards increased freedoms and decreased conflict. At times there have been backslides, mostly when cynical leaders have used hatred and fear for their own political purposes and self-aggrandizement. Still, throughout all history, freedoms and liberties have increased, bigotry has decreased and conflict has been looked upon with more and more disdain.

This I believe, people are inherently good. That is the natural condition of mankind. I shall take this optimism to my grave, secure in the absolute certainty that I am right. To believe anything else would be unbearable.

Arthur J Heyderman