Monday, June 29, 2026

"Learning is for Everyone": Altoona's Library Service for People with Disabilities

This month, when I was doing a site visit at the Altoona Area Public Library (AAPL), I began my research with 10 boxes of material that had been pulled together into a Library Records Collection. Near the end of my first day, I was weary from reading a decade's worth of trustees meeting minutes. But I wanted to continue working if I could stand it, so I opened a box of scrapbooks. On top was a brown, string-bound volume with an intriguing title: "Our L.I.F.E. History." After flipping through the first few pages, I realized I'd found a treasure-trove of pamphlets and news stories pertaining to an innovative outreach program for people with disabilities. I was so engrossed that I remained in the library until closing time!

Scrapbook of Altoona Area Public Library's
L.I.F.E. program Photo by the author.

Among various social movements that took place in Pennsylvania during the 1960s-1970s, it could be argued that one of the greatest revolutions took place in the area of disability rights. First, the U.S. government began to require that facilities and programs receiving federal funds be accessible (see the 1968 Architectural Barriers Act and the 1973 Rehabilitation Act). About the same time, changes began in the educational realm, starting at the state level where the primary responsibility for schooling resides. Ever since 1874, Pennsylvania'S Constitution had required our state legislature to maintain a "thorough and efficient system of public schools" for all children aged 6 and over. However, this didn't necessarily include kids with disabilities. Those who were deemed "uneducable and untrainable" could be shunted toward state hospitals and other institutions that were focused more on controlling them than helping them. In 1971, several families took their school districts and other agencies to court (see PARC v. Commonwealth). Ultimately, they obtained a consent decree which required the state's education system to evaluate children with disabilities and place them in publicly-funded educational settings. Another important case, Halderman v. Pennhurst, challenged cruel conditions at a Pennsylvania state hospital. The plaintiffs successfully argued that confining residents there had violated their constitutional rights. These and other landmark decisions helped set the stage for additional federal actions. In 1975, for example, the U.S. Congress passed the Education for All Handicapped Children (EAHCA) Act (later called IDEA) that required all states to provide free, appropriate education in the "least restrictive environment" for every student. IDEA was one of various national laws that opened up schools, public facilities, job opportunities, and more for people with disabilities.

Unsurprisingly, public libraries that received federal funds or were closely allied with school systems sought to improve their services for blind, deaf, and other people with disabilities. However, AAPL was early among them. At the time, Altoona had a significant population because Blair County was home to Hollidaysburg State Hospital and residents were being integrated into surrounding communities. An estimated 3,000 people in the area had intellectual disabilities (see Forer and Zajac, pg. 6); additional youths and adults had other special needs. 

At present, I am not sure who originated the idea for AAPL's L.I.F.E. Center, but the earliest mention I have found so far is in the December 1974 meeting minutes of the library's board of trustees. They note that Matthew Kane, a recently-hired Head of Reference, informed the trustees that he planned to pursue a Library Services and Construction Act (federal) grant to fund a specialist to focus on serving patrons with disabilities. At first, some board members felt this was "unnecessary" because "other organizations are trained for handling services to the retarded." Kane pushed back, however, apparently arguing that there were informational gaps that the library could and should fill. A few months later, AAPL won a 1-year grant that covered a full-time coordinator, a part-time clerical assistant, and collection enhancements for the coming year.

At the time, people with intellectual disabilities were often called "mentally retarded," and words like "handicapped" and "impaired" were used to describe people with other disabilities. These terms, which we now understand as demeaning, appear often in AAPL's historical documents. However, L.I.F.E.'s operating philosophy revolved around "mainstreaming," an effort to *include* people with disabilities. At first, L.I.F.E. was an acronym for "Libraries Initiative Freeing Experiences"; over time, the mantra became "Learning is for Everyone." In addition to the typical literacy and recreational opportunities that libraries offered, L.I.F.E. intended help its clientele become better integrated across all aspects of everyday life in Altoona and Blair County. As described verbatim in a booklet written in the late 1970s by L.I.F.E's coordinators, their goals included: 
  1. "Serve mentally retarded [sic] persons of all ages and abilities by providing a collection of multi-media materials which they can borrow and that are best that are suited to their special needs; providing appropriate programs in which they can participate and find enjoyment;  and providing situations in which they can interact comfortably with other regular patrons.
  2. Serve parents, teachers, and advocates of retarded [sic] citizens by providing a multi-media collection on all aspects of mental retardation; providing a parent resource collection of instructional materials materials which which will help them them teach specific skills and concepts at home to their retarded children; providing an information-referral service; and providing programs in cooperation with the local chapter of the Pennsylvania Association Retarded Citizens to help parents of retarded children with their many special needs.
  3. Serve the general public by providing access to information on all aspects of mental retardation [sic] including career opportunities in this field; and providing a forum in which normal children and adults interact with the retarded, and through which their attitudes and misconceptions will hopefully be changed."
From September 1975 through the Spring of 1976, Anne-Marie Lehner (later Forer) was L.I.F.E.'s coordinator. A special education teacher who was pursuing a library science degree at Drexel, she first focused on preparing a space and acquiring appropriate materials. In particular, she purchased what were then called "high-low" (high-interest, low vocabulary) books developed for adults with emerging or limited reading skills. She also obtained parent training materials, as well as films, puzzles, toys, games, and posters that could be enjoyed by young children with intellectual and developmental disabilities. When selecting them, she focused on simplicity of format, clear and uncomplicated directions, durability, and other qualities needed for shared public use. In addition to checking recommendation lists that were available at the time, Forer and her successor Mary Zajac visited other libraries and talked extensively with local organizations and parents about their needs.  

Altoona's L.I.F.E. Center officially opened on November 18, 1975. Initially staffed on weekday afternoons, incoming donations and volunteers later enabled it to extend its hours to include Monday nights and Saturday afternoons as well. An article in the Blair Press provides the most detailed documentation of what the center looked like during its first year. As shown in the image below, the center was located on the library's ground floor, adjacent to the Children's Department. Measuring about 13 by 30 feet, it was the size of a "large living room" and was carpeted like one. In addition to book shelves, cubbyholes at one corner housed kits and toys. There were also a large playhouse and multimedia stations. As reported by Matthew Kane at monthly AAPL's board meetings, L.I.F.E.'s users steadily increased: during the first month, it offered 2 dozen public programs which attracted more than 200 participants, more than 50 of whom registered for library cards. Special education classes from McKinley School, and groups from the Altoona's Children's Center, Easter Seals, and Social Rehabilitation Center, visited as well.

A full-page article about L.I.F.E. in the Blair Press, June 2, 1976. From the Our L.I.F.E. History Scrapbook, Altoona Area Public Library, Library Records Collection.

When Lehner (Forer) resigned to focus on her studies in Philadelphia, the project was taken up by Mary Zajac, another special education teacher who worked with teens at McKinley. Joining the effort near the end of a 1-year grant, it seems that Zajac was more focused on delivering public programs and securing additional funds so that L.I.F.E.'s work could continue. A series of "Parent Training Workshops" focused on different-aged people during each session, starting with preschool children. Each week for six weeks, language development, behavior management, self-help skills, and other topics were presented along with resources to help caregivers learn more. Free sign language courses, taught by volunteer Reverend Jack Emswiler, pastor of the Christ Second Lutheran Church, were offered as well. On the fun side, a series on Harry the Dirty Dog not only included read-alouds, but also a multisensory opportunity to meet Harry himself. There were also "Learn a Hobby" craft activities where attendees could try rock painting, stitching, and woodworking. The creativity of staff and volunteers was impressive. For example, one promotion they developed was the "Lifesavers Club" -- by obtaining a borrower's card and borrowing 10 items from the center, a L.I.F.E. user could receive a roll of Lifesavers candies or a Lifesavers lollipop. 


L.I.F.E. public programs in August 1976, as listed in AAPL's newsletter. 
From the Our L.I.F.E. History Scrapbook,
Altoona Area Public Library, Library Records Collection.

Public appreciation for L.I.F.E. resulted in some important donations and publicity. One of L.I.F.E.'s most important collaborators was the Pennsylvania Association for Retarded Citizens (PARC, now the ARC of Pennsylvania) which provided a $100-per-week stipend (about $600 in 2026 dollars) for a clerical worker who helped with basic public services and collection upkeep. The Altoona School of Commerce's Student Council also contributed, providing a $500 gift (about $2,800 in 2026 dollars). Due to the pathbreaking nature of L.I.F.E.'s work, Zajac was invited to speak at library conferences and other events. Perhaps for that reason, she teamed up with Anne-Marie Forer to author Library Services to the Mentally Retarded [sic]. Published by AAPL and the State Library of Pennsylvania in the late 1970s, the booklet included a description of L.I.F.E. and offered practical tips on collections and programs for people with intellectual disabilities. Aware that Altoona's program represented a "maximum effort" that most public libraries couldn't afford, Forer and Zajac recommended reaching out to local service organizations to learn about the size and needs of one's local population, then picking one age group or demographic to start with. Including children with disabilities in the library's regular story times, and reaching out to special education teachers as well as elementary teachers, were the most basic ways of including everyone. Self-education about current terminology, legislation, and resources was also important, they advised. These and other recommendations were so valuable that Forer and Zajac's booklet was forwarded to the U.S. Department of Education and distributed to hundreds of libraries nationwide through the ERIC microfiche service (see ED 165728). 

Mary Zajac (third from the left) was the 2nd Director of L.I.F.E. Here, she receives a donation from Tyke Rhodes (far right) and other members of the Altoona School of Commerce's Student Council. From the Our L.I.F.E. History Scrapbook, Altoona Area Public Library, Library Records Collection.

Unfortunately, despite L.I.F.E.'s successes and connections, AAPL encountered difficulty sustaining the center after the LSCA grant terminated. In 1976, the Altoona Area School District cut the library's budget, causing a cascade of problems that nearly resulted in AAPL losing its state aid. As the library sorted out its financial woes, Zajac applied for another grant which was initially approved by the State Library (the administrator of Pennsylvania's LSCA programs) and would have supported the center through June 1978. However, SLP pulled back the funds because of AAPL's ongoing budget deficits. Overtures to Intermediate Unit 08 (responsible for special education in Blair, Bedford, Cambria, and Somerset Counties), PARC, and other regional organizations were unsuccessful. Thus grant-funded staff were released in June 1977. In 1979, a new grant enabled AAPL to hire a temporary Director of Special Services, Elaine Hilsinger, to oversee L.I.F.E. and other efforts the library was making to reach blind, deaf, and homebound customers. However, when funding ceased in June 1980, she was laid off  as well. In between grants, Matthew Kane and other AAPL staff kept the center running using college students from various workforce development programs. He also recruited volunteers, especially through Altoona's Retired Senior Volunteering Service. However, L.I.F.E. never resumed the busy schedule of class visits and public programs that had been achieved during its first year. Judging from board minutes, it appears that as time passed, Kane's attention was redirected toward implementing and upgrading information technologies in other areas of the library. In Fall 1988, all L.I.F.E.'s books and audiovisual items were moved to other parts of the library and it became simply a "special area" within the children's department. 

In reflecting on L.I.F.E.'s promising start and its unfortunate demise -- a story that I've seen paralleled many times within other libraries trying to reach historically marginalized populations -- I see a wider concern that I want to explore and think about further. While these stories are fascinating and inspiring, I have to admit that from where I currently sit, the notion that temporary federal and state funds can "stimulate" ongoing local and private investment in public libraries simply doesn't pan out in a lot of cases. At all 6 of the libraries I've researched for my current project, most grant-funded service initiatives for non-white, aged, disabled, and other underserved customers disappeared after a few years. Importantly, as was the case in Altoona, this was not because of a lack of trying on the libraries' parts. And yet, a lot of library funding mechanisms, as created by national and state government officials, are steeped in this probably-fallacious idea. Further, because of the wonderful things that libraries can accomplish *when funded to do so*, professional and public expectations have increased, when, truthfully, the resources necessary to realize those hopes only materialize for those institutions that have the ability and energy to dollar-chase year after year. When other prerogatives arise -- such as the opportunity/need to automate library operations arose in Altoona (and everywhere else) during the 1980s/1990s -- fundraising for specialized services can fall to the wayside. Perhaps some librarians and their customers are consoled by the thought that something for a little while is better than nothing at all, ever. But this consolation may be a distinction without a difference if people with disabilities, or other historically-ignored groups in our communities, are left to go without far more often than they are served. If funders really want everyone to be welcome in libraries, they've got to put more permanent moneys where their mouths are. 

For more about AAPL's L.I.F.E. program, see:
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Saturday, June 27, 2026

"A Vote of Confidence": Altoona's 1982 Library Telethon

When I was growing up, one of my family's end-of-summer rituals was to watch the MDA telethon, a fundraiser hosted every Labor Day weekend by comedian Jerry Lewis. Because of Lewis's deep and wide connections within the entertainment industry, each MDA telethon featured live performances by several generations of talent. So, over the course of 2 days, my grandparents could toe-tap to Frank Sinatra, my Mom and Dad could boogie to the Bee Gees, and I could enjoy En Vogue. Lewis's hilarious "schticks" and his explosive joy when the tote board revealed how much money he'd raised also made the MDA telethons memorable TV moments.

Jerry Lewis's fundraisers are only the best-known of many charitable telethons that took place across the United States from the 1950s through the 1990s. Recently, I uncovered an award-winning library example when I was researching the history of the Altoona Area Public Library. Designated as a "provisional" District Library Center in the early 1960s, AAPL faced daunting challenges in meeting the state's requirements. In addition to achieving basic standards for state aid to municipal libraries, as a DLC, it received extra funds to provide enhanced services to public libraries and library patrons within Blair, Huntingdon, and Bedford Counties (and it complied with the many strings attached to that money. Largely because of the state's demands, it built and moved into a new building in the late 1960s. AAPL also did the legwork necessary to obtain substantial appropriations from the Altoona Area School District and Blair County Commissioners. The library proved adept at pursuing grants, tapping workforce development programs, and utilizing volunteers. Its Friends of the Library group generated thousands of dollars annually, especially through used book sales. The library also organized or benefitted from a wide variety of one-off fundraisers, including a car wash, a softball tournament, donation cans at IGA and Sheetz, and a cut from every sale of a Big Mac on a designated "Library Day" at McDonalds.

Nevertheless, during the 1970s and 1980s, a perfect storm of declining populations in Altoona and Blair County, added to soaring expenses, produced financial crises. Not only did fewer residents mean less local tax revenue, but state and county funding formulas that were based on population meant less money distributed to AAPL. In particular, rising labor costs and the astronomical expense of emerging technologies outpaced government appropriations. Even after cutting staff and collections budgets to the bone, AAPL typically started its financial years with "deficit" budgets tens of thousands of dollars in the red. In the months that followed, trustees, employees, and advocates hustled to obtain sufficient income for the library  or else it could face layoffs and closures come summertime. 

In April 1982, AAPL was nearing the end of its fiscal year and it was still more than $22,000 the hole. In the past, trustees and staff typically met this type of shortfall through cutting the library's opening hours and through salary savings from vacant positions, but further cuts would mean the it may not meet standards and could lose its state aid. Fortunately, a local DJ named Steve Austin (the on-air name used by Greg Banks) approached the head of AAPL's Media Center, Maxine Rhodes, with the idea of raising funds through a telethon. While such an undertaking couldn't be arranged in time to address the library's year-end difficulties, everyone recognized that it could help them avoid a future one. In late July, AAPL Director Patricia Connell met with Austin and Dolly Ickes, Manager of Warner Cable; efforts proceeded from there. Austin rounded up music entertainers, Garry Delph served as producer, and Dee Riley, who produced the Miss Pennsylvania Show, developed a fast-moving program schedule. Also behind the scenes were Dick Hall of Morgan Signs, who coordinated advance publicity and got every radio and TV station in the area to steer viewers to Channel 13, which would televise the event. Hall also designed and constructed the studio set. Marge Helsel, publisher of the Altoona Mirror, wrote a supportive editorial and the paper's reporters covered fresh developments. Ken Brubaker, who had recently retired from Warner, assisted with technical aspects. Everyone gave freely of their talents and resources -- the only costs were about $100 for a newspaper ad and $6 for a post office box. Although the group set an ambitious goal of $33,000 (about $112,000 in 2026 dollars), no one could predict how successful they would be. The telethon was said to be Altoona's first-ever.

On November 20th, 1982, from 1:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m., host John "Big John" Riley of WTAJ-TV introduced performers and speakers. The telethon's programming consisted of PSAs about the library, interspersed with interviews with Altoona personalities and various types of entertainment. A second-by-second script, still available in AAPL's administrative office files, shows that 1-minute spots showcased the library's reference services, toddler story hour, periodicals collection, media center, art exhibits, meeting spaces, and "odd services." There were also promos for the Friends' book sale and the library's newspaper recycling drive (another ongoing fundraiser). There were performances by the Altoona High School Band, Keith Junior High School Band, the Altoona Symphony, the Deborah Anthony Dancers, the Keystone Chorale (now Blair Concert Chorale), the Spoon River Band, the Suzuki Violin Group, and the Sweet Adelines (now the Altoona Chorus). Other performers taking the stage included Skip Sigel (a dancer) and Todd Sparks (a vocalist). News reports mention gymnasts, magicians, a puppet show -- even Ronald McDonald showed up! Teams of volunteers from the AMBUCS, Chamber of Commerce, Jaycees, Junior Women's Club, Kiwanis, Lions, Quota Club, Rotary, and other service groups, all coordinated by Rick Beiswenger, staffed the phone lines. Concurrent with the telethon at the Penn Alto Hotel, there was a collection booth at the Logan Valley Mall and community members soliciting donations from door-to-door. 

The set of AAPL's November 20, 1982 telethon.
Photo published in the Altoona Mirror, November 22, 1982. 

By any standard, AAPL's telethon was a great success. More than 900 people made donations ranging from 50 cents to $1,000. In all, their generosity amounted to $28,500, eliminating the library's budget deficit for that year. What's more, Altoona gained state and national recognition. In 1983, the American Library Association and reference book publisher Gale Research teamed up to establish a new Financial Development Award to recognize innovative library fundraising efforts. Winning the award resulted an additional $2,500 for AAPL and kudos in a book that ALA published to spread the word about the successful library fundraisers.

AAPL's 1982 telethon is a wonderful example of a community coming together at a crucial moment of need. As the trustees noted in their December 8, 1982 meeting, it was a "vote of confidence" in director Patricia Connell and the library. 

For more information see:

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Monday, June 8, 2026

"A Court Encounter": Librarian Janis M. Lee, A Mass Murder, and Defending the Privacy of Library Records

On a Wednesday afternoon in 1985, just before Halloween, a young woman named Sylvia Seegrist strode into a Southeastern Pennsylvania mall. Using a semi-automatic rifle, she fired repeatedly at random people before she was subdued by John Laufer III, a shopper who found himself in her crosshairs. According to an November 3, 1985 article in the Philadelphia Inquirer, he initially believed that the incident was some kind of prank, but thankfully, he didn't take chances. He took the gun away from her, sat her down inside a shoe store, and kept her at bay until a mall security guard handcuffed her. Anyone who was still at the Springfield Mall in the moments that followed owes Laufer a debt of gratitude, because while Seegrist had already killed 3 people, wounded 7 others, and traumatized countless dozens, she could have harmed even more. 

Although authors and documentarians tend to focus on other aspects of the story, this week I learned that this case has a place within Pennsylvania library history, as an early, high-profile test of Pennsylvania Act 90 (1984). As it turned out, Seegrist was a frequent user of Swarthmore Public Library in the months leading up to the shooting. In fact, she had visited SPL less than 2 hours before she headed to the mall and unreturned books were still outstanding on her account as police were investigating her crimes. Recently signed into law by then-Governor Dick Thornburgh, Act 90 was a revision to the state code, asserting that circulation records containing personally identifiable information are confidential, and cannot be shared unless ordered by a court for a criminal proceeding. So, as Seegrist was brought to justice, the library and law enforcement had significant new terrain to navigate. 

The library connection is the focus of a series of articles published in the Pennsylvania Library Association's Bulletin, where I found out about it this week. At PaLA's 1987 Annual Conference, SPL Director Janis M. Lee and Swarthmore Borough Attorney G. Guy Smith delivered a panel discussion that the Bulletin editor described as "the best program any of us had witnessed anywhere." Lee's and Smith's commentary was so timely, important, and compelling that it was printed serially across three issues (February, March, and April 1988). It was also picked up by the June 1988 edition of American Libraries. 

Reflecting on my many years in libraries, I am inspired by the mix of personal empathy and professional resolve Lee seemed to show in situations that would be profoundly stressful, even for the most seasoned and cool-headed among us. Swarthmore is a small community -- about 6,000 residents -- thus within the borough Lee had connections to one of the victims and knew others who were close to the tragedy. Beside the fact that Seegrist was a patron in her library, Lee had been a patient of one of the people (a doctor) who was killed. She knew others who were shopping at Springfield Mall and had fled for their lives when the shooting took place. Her husband, a police officer, provided crowd-control at the scene during the aftermath. 

As I read Lee's account, the pressure that she felt was still palpable more than 30 years after the fact. For months, she fielded questions from criminal investigators, the District Attorney's office, and Seegrist's defense team. Because Act 90 was so new, they weren't aware of it, and, caught by surprise, their reactions ranged from disbelief to hostility. They treated Lee with "disdain and even animosity," as though she was an "obstacle" and the privacy law was an "inconvenience." Journalists who should have understood a thing or two about confidentiality turned out to be "relentless" in their pursuit of information about reading materials that might have reflected the shooter's thoughts or influenced her actions. In fact, one reporter from the Inquirer was so aggressive, buttonholing staff in search of answers that Lee wouldn't provide, that Lee sent a written complaint to the paper. She understood that Seegrist's behavior and the items she borrowed weren't just matters of curiosity -- weighed as evidence, such details could help the court determine Seegrist's guilt or innocence. Careful about unfairly giving either side the advantage it was looking for, Lee continued to educate them about library regulations.

In early November 1985, Lee wrote a memo to her staff, reminding them to read procedural information that she had posted inside a cabinet door at the circulation desk. What's more, she demonstrated significant ethical leadership as she explained the importance of implementing Act 90. Among other things, she wrote:

Above all, the law protects the patron's right to read whatever he or she chooses and to have those choices kept totally confidential ... This can be as serious as the case of Miss Seegrist or the most innocent of situations such as who has the latest James Michener bestseller ... Act 1984-90 protects all patrons of the library, and it is our responsibility as agents of the library to do everything in our power to uphold the law and support the civil rights of those we serve. That includes a child reading about birth control, a parent researching child abuse or divorce, or a mentally disturbed person reading about crime and violence! In spite of a Philadelphia Inquirer reporter's opinion to the contrary, all are guaranteed protection whether they quote-deserve it-unquote or not. (Janis M. Lee, "A Court Encounter," PLA Bulletin, January/February 1988)

When a court order finally came in February 1986, it clarified some matters, but this wasn't the end of Lee's ordeal. Her description of testifying in court is vivid and thought-provoking. Speaking overall about her encounters with lawyers, she warned that they "hammer at you until you are confused. They try as hard as they can to get you to say things you don't want to say. They ask you questions rapidly, one after another, hoping you won't have time to think and will blurt out just what they're looking for." After months of dealing with them, Lee had believed that she was well-prepared for Seegrist's trial, but then, while she was waiting to take the stand, she encountered 2 child witnesses who bore scars from being shot. Heartwrenchingly, the kids asked to see her wounds and showed her theirs. It was also hard for Lee to look Seegrist in the eye, despite the difficult library patron she had been and the heinous deeds she'd committed. Lee felt as if she was "betraying [Seegrist's] right to privacy in spite of all [she] had been through to protect it." Although Act 90 provided clear direction on how to handle questions about the library materials, other questions, such as Seegrist's general demeanor or the reference questions she'd asked, weren't covered by Pennsylvania's law. At the end of her day in court, Lee couldn't unsee the little girls' "big, sad eyes" or the bullet wounds on their bodies. And yet, she also felt like a "traitor" for sharing information about Seegrist, however truthful or legally-admissible it was. 

At this stage of my research, I can't say how much space I will give this story when I eventually start to write about Pennsylvania libraries during the 1950s-2000s. If I do include it in a journal article or a book, I'd want to do more digging first to ensure I've included perspectives other than Lee's, verify and update what I've learned, and find out how much the Seegrist case influenced library practice in the 1990s and beyond. But even if this episode ends up on the cutting floor, it's something that I will carry with me into my professional practice. Up until now, the topic of confidentiality in libraries has been  something (too) straightforward and impersonal in my mind -- something I learned about in graduate school, a test question I knew the "correct" answer for, but something that I had never really grappled with or felt my way through. Having read Lee's "A Court Encounter" series in PaLA Bulletin, I am much more aware, if not prepared, for the social and psychological strain that a confidentiality case can cause. That's just as important as knowing the rule of law and professional codes of ethics. Trying to serve everyone equitably within our communities, librarians stand in between offenders and victims, feeling for both sides even in circumstances where we cannot officially take the side of either. 

Speaking about the Seegrist case two years after the shooting, Lee expressed gratitude for Act 90, her professional involvement in PaLA that had made her aware of it, a board of trustees that supported her efforts to uphold the law, and a city solicitor who provided useful advice when she needed it. But I am thankful for her, for sharing her story in the Bulletin. She provided me with a real-life model of how to respond if this type of violence happens in my town and the police and press come knocking at my door. Janis M. Lee passed away in 2023, but wherever she is, I hope she can sense my appreciation for what she did.

 

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