An Alarming Incident
—Gary Burnett, ’80 – Las Vegas, Nev.
The fall weather was particularly inviting this October day in Provo, and I was rushing down the stairs just inside the main entrance on the north side of the Lee Library. I was fully aware that as the semester progressed, the weather would chill and the necessity of burying myself in the library would make reading on the grass while the sun kissed my face a fuzzy memory at best.
Halfway down the last flight I glanced up from watching my feet fleetingly touch each step to notice the most striking young woman talking to some fortunate tall, handsome fellow not far from the bottom of the stairs. Her dark hair was thick and beautiful. Her olive complexion gave her blue eyes a translucent quality.
When those diaphanous eyes made contact with mine on the final few steps, I nearly tripped. My pulse quickened. But, what was I to do? She was preoccupied in conversation. I couldn’t just stick my nose between two people I had never met and say to her, “If I were you, I would come outside and talk to me, right now.”
Stopping at the glass exit doors, I paused and looked back. What if amongst a student body of so many thousands, I never saw her again? If I just walked away, I would kick myself later.
At the time, library security consisted of an electronic detection system, which caused a metal bar to lock into place and an alarm to sound if a book had not been properly checked out and demagnetized. The metal bar locked to prevent any nefarious book thief from escaping.
Although the light in my head is dim, it popped on. I quickly introduced myself to the student at the security desk. My supplication was simple, “If that beautiful girl with the dark hair and blue eyes exits in this direction, would you please push the button to sound the alarm and lock the metal bar to prevent her departure?”
Just then she turned and began walking alone toward the exit. Hallelujah! My new acquaintance at the security desk frantically asked, “What do we say to her when the alarm goes off and the gate locks?”
“I don’t know,” I blurted. “I’ll think of something.”
Although she was slightly embarrassed by the unwarranted attention, whatever I said at that point was persuasive enough to warrant a name, telephone number, and subsequent June wedding.
Best Stash
—Rebecca M. Wallace, ’93 – Alamogordo, N.M.
As a student, I did research for a religion professor at the HBLL. He had a tiny office just off of the fourth floor reference desk. While bringing food into the library was strictly prohibited and rather forcefully enforced by the staff, this professor had the best stash of candy and snacks that would be the envy of any convenience store!
Many were the days when the only lunch I had came from the M&M’s bag cached deep within the recesses of an old desk. What I wouldn’t give for a munch with that dear man right now!
Beyond the Card Catalogue
—Natalie Vail Schild, ’94 – Rancho Santa Margarita, Calif.
Where should I start? During the ’91–’92 school year, I was hired on as a shelver in the HBLL. One of the tasks I was assigned on the first day was to walk the stacks on the fifth floor to look for misplaced books or debris. As I was walking the area of the bound periodicals, things were going great. I picked up a few books that needed to be reshelved and a few discarded pieces of paper. As I was walking down the last row, I noticed a magazine shoved in between the bound books. I took it out and to my surprise it was a 1979 Playboy magazine! As anyone could imagine I was not quite sure what to do. Did the BYU library subscribe to this periodical? I decided to ask my supervisor. She didn’t know what to do either. I was sent downstairs to the head librarian’s office to check with her. I was invited into her office and was asked to sit down. She was quite taken aback at what I had discovered. She did make a point to inform me that the magazine I had found was not one of the magazines to which the library did subscribe. What a first day on the job!
Later that year I had transferred to the first floor, the dungeon. It was early December, and a young man whom I had carpooled with over the Thanksgiving holiday had taken a liking to me. To protect the innocent I won’t use his name, but I will say he was quite a gregarious guy. If he was on the south side of the foyer and you entered on the north, you not only could hear his laughter, but actually feel it resonate through the hallway and your body. One morning I was shelving books in the old Dewey Decimal section of the first floor. My admirer had been successful in locating me. I chatted politely with him for a little while, but tried to let him know I needed to return to my shelving. He obviously didn’t get the hint.
As my admirer continued the conversation, his loud whispering started to disturb students who were studying. I would continue to shelve the books, as he was talking and look to the end of the aisle where there was a young man studying in a carrel. Finally, our eyes met, and I mouthed the words “Help me!” A few moments passed, and the young man came up to me with a few numbers scribbled on a piece of paper. He asked if I could help him locate a book. My admirer offered to let me get back to work and excused himself. My rescuer and I walked around to the next aisle. All I could do was thank him over and over. I asked him his name, so I could name my first born son after him. He said it was John. John, wherever you are, once again, I thank you.
Last but not least my scariest experience working in the library happened during the last week of winter semester. I was organizing books to be reshelved. There was a young guy walking around the area, looking a little lost. I asked if he needed help locating a book. He said no, but kept on lingering. As the hours passed, I kept shelving books. I noticed he was still walking around. I started to feel uncomfortable as if I was being watched. So I asked my supervisor and another shelver to check out this guy who was lingering around. I returned to my cart and started putting the books back on the shelf. A few minutes later my fellow employees approached me. They said that they had notified the campus police because they felt this guy was stalking me. Now I was really terrified! My supervisor took over my cart, and the other shelver escorted me upstairs. By the time the police arrived, the stalker had left the library. What a way to end the school year!
A Certain Book on a Certain Shelf
—Wendy Rowbury Rogers, ’89 – Lehi, Utah
When John and I started dating at BYU after our missions, he made the comment that we could only see each other on the weekends since he was so busy with his studies. Well, that only lasted the first weekend! After that we arranged to meet during the week in the library for “study dates.” We had a certain book on a certain shelf on the first floor where he would leave a note saying what floor he was on and where I could find him.
We used that book to leave cards, notes, and all sorts of goodies. Fifteen years and six children later, I recently took my daughter to the “new” library to do research for a history fair project. That particular shelf and books are gone, but the wonderful memories of our “study dates” in the Harold B. Lee Library remain!
One of the Cushiest Jobs on Campus
—M. Jane Galvin Elliott, ’87, Berthoud, Colo.
I was one of the lucky students who worked in the library from about 1980 to 1983. I started out in stacks shelving books and quickly moved to checking and sorting. During finals one year, books were being returned faster than we could get them checked in, sorted, and sent back out to the shelvers. One night I awoke from a nightmare, which stemmed from that exact situation. My dream consisted of taking the books that were backed up to the fifth floor and flinging them out the window, so we did not have to deal with them. As we know in reality, the windows don’t open. The next day I told my boss, he laughed and suggested I cut back on some of the overtime hours I was working to get a break. Another break he gave was to let me do exit guard duty. This eventually led to being the next rung up the ladder.
Working as an exit guard was a great position—if it was slow we could read or study. Everyone I knew considered it one of the cushiest jobs on campus. Sometimes it got very boring. Nevertheless, it was a fun place to sit and people-watch. The best part was sitting guard on the south end where a supervisor could not watch you. On the south end, it was easier to chat with friends as they came through the gates or even get someone’s attention by purposely locking the gates as he or she was trying to go through. In addition, if you were hungry it was easy to sneak a snack in. Eventually, I went to the main desk and was a desk clerk and then supervisor.
Of course as a supervisor, I could cause anxiety to friends and put blocks on their ID cards, so they couldn’t check out library materials. Or I could do the opposite and clear or minimize fines. Most friends learned that we would occasionally stretch the rules. When it was locker and carrel sign up time, everyone was my best friend, hoping I could snag a spot for them. Early morning shifts were a killer: if you stayed up late the night before for whatever reason, then making it on time was a challenge for the seven a.m. shift, so I preferred the evening shifts. I worked a couple of closing shifts during the week and one on either Friday or Saturday night. The funniest part of working late nights and closing was giving the closing announcements before they were prerecorded. Some nights it was very difficult to get through an announcement with out messing up or cracking up in someway. Of course if the first announcement was messed up you could count on coworkers and friends to be in your face to make the final announcement even harder to do. It was like Saturday Night Live in the HBLL. While locking up, we had to have our friends wait outside while we waited for stragglers to come through and unlock the doors to let them out and relock, so no one else could come back in. There was always one or two who had fallen asleep; they left with imprints on their faces and a sleepy stumble. So very rarely I got off shift on time; it usually entailed a 20 or more minute wait. That is when you learn who your good friends are. All and all it was one of my most favorite times at BYU and the best job I had as a student.
Disturbance Free Zone
—Virginia Parrish Tran, ’96 – Roundrock, Texas
For the two years I was at BYU, 1990 to 1992, the HBLL was my favorite building on campus. I lived with rowdy roommates. So whenever I needed quiet, I would walk to the library’s first or second floor and stretch out in some rarely walked down aisle to read in peace. Sometimes, I admit, I simply fell asleep. Thankfully, I do not remember anyone ever waking me. That was so wonderful. I also loved the fourth floor special reading room. I wasn’t a professional researcher, but I loved the idea that by just leaving my ID at the counter and signing in, I could have access to delicate, old books and papers rarely available to the rest of the world.
I felt privileged. Best of all, I knew that no one would disturb me or interrupt my work. I appreciated the library staff especially for being so kind and helpful. Now that I have three young sons, I often dream of being a student again. If I could go anywhere I wished on an all expense paid vacation, I would choose to go to the HBLL again and read for at least a week!
Foot Assault in the HBLL
—Brian Carroll, ’97 – Dallas, Texas
As a freshman at BYU, the HBLL quickly became a place of funny memories for me. After my first round of exams, I realized that I had to actually study in order to get the grades I needed. My only choice was to enter the glass doors of the HBLL and dive into my overpriced textbooks. It took me a few weeks of carrel hopping before I actually found the carrel I liked to study in. The carrel was in a group of three that had another three carrels facing each other. In order to truly get into the comfort of studying, I usually took off my shoes and made myself at home. One particular day, I was deep in study when my foot began to itch. I rubbed it up and down the leg of the carrel to get some relief. That did not help. By this time it really began to itch, so I rubbed it even farther up and down the leg of the carrel. Magically the leg of the carrel moved away from my foot.
I quickly looked underneath and saw a leg moving away from where I was scratching my foot. I slowly stood up and inched my head over to the carrel facing mine. As I gave a sheepish smile, a girl on the other end looked at me in total disgust. She quickly gathered her books, adjusted the big red bow in her hair, and whisked away after giving me an evil look. Thinking that she would find the blue coats (those wonderful security guards), I also gathered my things and found another carrel to finish my studying in. I spent the next few weeks looking in the “Police Beat” for a story of “foot assault”, but it never made it. For the remaining three years I spent at BYU, I couldn’t help but laugh whenever I walked past that carrel.
Get a Life!
—Rebecca Hancock, ’94 – Orem, Utah
It was my first year living away from home. I was searching to find myself in my new-found freedom. I hung out with my roommates and friends in the ward, all who were freshman. One Friday night while crossing campus, we saw all of the people studying in the library. We laughed at them, the nerds with no social life. One of the guys had an idea. We went into the library down to the first floor and waited until right before midnight when they played music to announce they were closing. As the music started, we ran through the library yelling at the top of our lungs, “get a life”, “go home,” and other such phrases.
We only got through the second floor before we had people giving us dirty looks, so we ran out of the building laughing when we reached the third floor.
I have to laugh at myself because when I reached my fourth and fifth years at BYU, I found myself studying late into the night, even on Fridays! How my perspective had changed. Where were crazy freshmen when I need them to remind me that I needed to have a life?
Good Habit, Bad Meeting
—LaResa Sanders Darrington, ’87 – Dillon, Mo.
I actually have two memories from my days at BYU and using the library. The first happened during two of the four semesters I took German classes. Every Friday we had a test. During the two-hour break before my class, I would sneak a peanut butter bar and a carton of apple juice down to one of the lower floors. Finding a secluded spot off in the corner, I would eat my “lunch” and study for my weekly test. It was one of my favorite study places and habits.
The second memory is not so happy. I was supposed to meet my roommate in the children’s literature section to study physics during finals week one semester. She was late, and when she showed up, she acted real strange and hyper. Not being exposed much to people who drink alcohol, I was stunned to find out later that she had been extremely drunk. It became a difficult situation to resolve later, but the memory of that incident in the library is one I will never forget.
The Graffiti Wall
—James E. Lewis, ’75 – Sylmar, Calif.
In 1975 and 1976, when the original library addition and renovation were being built, it was necessary to put up a temporary wall to cut down on the noise and dust. I don’t know who started it, but some very interesting graffiti and artwork made its way onto those walls. Many students spent hours putting up their contributions. My last two days at BYU after my finals were spent putting my farewell thoughts and designs on that wall.
I just turned 50, and I often think back to my BYU days. Everything from tooling through Heritage Halls in my souped-up ’54 Chevy trying to get acquainted with the young ladies to three wonderful years in the Elms Apartments with the greatest bunch of characters anybody would want to know.
Library Games
—Katie Iverson Baird, ’99 – Cedar Park, Texas
I love the Harold B. Lee Library. It’s one of the things I’ve missed most since moving away from Provo in January. My fond memories of the library began my freshman year when my roommates and I discovered that at 11:45 P.M., they played the theme song from Hawaii Five-O before closing the library. We used to talk my brother into driving us over to the library around 11:30 just so we could be there for the song. Sometimes after going to movies at the Varsity Theater, we would walk over to the library hoping to catch the song before they closed for the evening. One night we got brave enough to surf on the tables on the fifth floor, and we managed to do it without getting caught!
To liven up our study time in the library, my roommates and I would find fun things we could do to keep us alert. Some nights we would decide it was “Slipper Night” and all wear our slippers to the library. Other nights we would wait for those studying near us to take bathroom breaks, and we would flip the pages of their books just to watch their reactions when they returned. Sometimes when we turned the pages, we would leave a piece of candy on the new page we had turned to. We loved the subtle, baffled looks they gave as they tried to find the culprits.
I had a favorite carrel in the fifth floor (no, I was never kicked out of it by the graduate student to whom it was assigned) and once arranged to meet my boyfriend (now husband) there. When I arrived, he was nowhere in sight, but my carrel had a note on it telling me to head to the second floor to the maps section. He sent me on a treasure hunt around the library, and I finally met up with him back at my carrel on the fifth floor.
But my favorite memory of the library was the night our security guard friend sneaked me and my roommates up to the mysterious sixth floor. For years we had longed to go up there and see around. He took us in late one evening (we were in our slippers), and we saw the book binding area and the employee break room. They even have a vending machine up there (for those of you who thought there was no food allowed in the library!). We bought candy bars and drinks to “legally” enjoy eating in the library.
I did actually study there, too, but my fondest memories were of the fun games we created to make studying a little less tedious.
A Lifetime Study Partner
—Karen Cox, ’92 – West Jordan, Utah
In March of 1991, I got up the courage to ask a cute boy from my German class to join my study group. He said yes! Our study group met in a tiny study room in the library. This particular young man turned out to be quite flirtatious. I am sure the rest of the study group rolled their eyes a few times at our first exchange. After that, we spent many a late night studying in the library—without the study group. We even danced the hula on a table top to the Hawaii Five-Otheme played every midnight to remind students to LEAVE the library.
We have now been married almost eight years and have two young boys. My husband Kerry continued on in German and will shortly complete his PhD in German Literature at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. He is currently the system administrator at KSL TV and Radio in Salt Lake. We started our own company, GNUware.com, together last March. We just purchased a new home in West Jordan, Utah. I will always have fond memories of the (old) library at BYU.
Little Note at the Library
—Vickie Dickerson Woodard, ’79 – Glendale, Ariz.
Memories of the library? Oh, yes! It started one afternoon in October 1974. I was helping a friend move a very large rubber tree into his apartment! We were having trouble getting it through the door and woke his roommate. His roommate started voicing (loudly, I might add) his objections to being awakened and came barreling around the corner from his room. He was venting steam, when I looked up at him. Suddenly the steam evaporated! It was instantaneous for us both!
We spent hours at the library because this was our designated meeting place. We studied in every nook and cranny, knew every area on every floor. Sometimes we studied, napped, (always) ate snacks (apples were too loud we found!), typed papers in the typing lab, but most of all we passed notes reminding each other to get studying!
One note he passed me was a card (business size) with the articles of faith on one side and his name, mission name, and address on the other.
I saw that he was at first hesitant to write on it (as I later learned it was his last one); then he smiled a little, wrote, and passed it across the table to me. On it were three words—I Love You!
That was the first time he told me that he loved me! I don’t remember at all what I did. I just remember that poignant moment when I read those words.
We have been married 24 years this August and will be at BYU for the CES Conference for our anniversary. Also, Mark’s mission reunion is that same week (at BYU), it has been 26 years.
Side note: We have four children. Our second child, 19 years old, is at BYU-Hawaii and is dating a returned missionary; she tells us most of their dates are at the library!
Memories of a Night Stalker
—Cindy Mizer, ’96 – Gahanna, Ohio
I worked in the HBLL during the winter semester of 1977. I did janitorial work from five to seven in the mornings, so I was one of the “Night Stalkers” on janitor patrol who sleepily roamed the campus before daylight. What I remember most about graduate students and the carrels was occasionally finding one of them asleep when we came into work! The first time it happened, one of the other janitors found a student sound asleep and ran looking for our supervisor, who then escorted the poor soul outside. Another time, the student awoke before he was found, got up, and tried to leave the building unnoticed. What he ended up doing was setting off the building alarms, automatically summoning university police, and scaring all of us workers!
One of my favorite memories of the library is during the renovations that went on in the library during the mid-seventies. On one floor, there was a wallboard partition between the “old” and “newer” parts of the library. A lot of students began putting graffiti on this wall, and it became an attraction. What was great was that it didn’t have vulgar or stupid stuff posted. It was filled with jokes, cartoons, and clever remarks. It is a real tribute to the students at BYU that they could create something funny and uplifting in a forum that could have been used for rude and negative remarks. I guess that is part of what makes the BYU experience so unique.
Our Matchmaker
—Sara Hilbig Turman, ’97 – Los Angeles, Calif.
I found true love in the old Harold B. Lee Library. I was studying for fall semester (1994) finals on the fourth floor of the library. My future husband, Marc, was also studying for finals but on the fifth floor. I decided to take a study break and walk up to the fifth floor. At the exact same time Marc decided to take a study break, and our paths crossed as I was coming up the stairs to the fifth floor. Marc and I happened to be in the same ward, but we had never met. We only knew each other’s names . . . or so I thought. Somehow I had misunderstood his name to be Matt, and each time I would see him at church, I would say, “Hi, Matt,” and he was too sweet to correct me.
I was corrected by my roommate one day when she said that his name was Marc. I made a mental note not to get it wrong the next time I saw him. Well, the next time I saw him was that coincidental meeting in the library! I called him Marc; we talked for awhile and began dating the following semester. One year later we were married in the San Diego Temple in December, and we now have a two-month-old son. I plan on sharing this story with our children to reinforce the benefits of studying in the library because to me the Harold B. Lee Library will always be our matchmaker!
She Remembered My Name
—Wes Mashburn, ’92, JD ’95 – Los Angeles, Calif.
My wife, Janine (class of ’93), and I have a special memory of the Harold B. Lee Library. I first met my wife in the fall of 1986. We were freshmen and assigned to the same family home evening group. Throughout my freshman year I wanted to ask Janine out on a date, but, the bookworm that I was, I was too focused on studies and a little too shy to ask her out. After our freshman year, I went on a mission and lost all contact with Janine. I returned to BYU in 1989. I often thought of Janine and even thought I saw her on campus several times from a distance. I just couldn’t get her out of my mind. I didn’t know it at the time, but Janine left for a mission in 1990. Shortly after she returned from her mission in 1991, she saw me on the first floor of the HBLL (east staircase). To this day she does not know how she remembered my name, but she called it out to me. I turned and immediately recognized her, although I did not remember her name. Ironically, she was with her roommate from our freshmen year, whose name I remembered. Anyway, I wanted to ask Janine (by this time she reminded me of her name) out on a date, but heaven forbid I be late for class, and so I rushed away after a brief conversation.
For the next several weeks I beat myself up, realizing the golden opportunity I had just missed; I kept trying to figure out how I could track Janine down. Then in the middle of the night one night, I woke up and remembered I had kept my freshman ward directory. I knew the directory would have her last name, and I could call BYU info and get her number. I rummaged through an old container and found the directory. But there were two Janines. Fortunately, I remembered Janine was from Kansas, so when I saw the Janine from Kansas in the directory, I knew I had the right one. The next day I called BYU info, got her number, and asked her out on a date. The rest, as they say, is history, and we were married approximately 10 months later. My wife and I will always be grateful that she somehow remembered my name that day in the library, or our paths may have never crossed again.
Reverence for the Building
—Jon B. Fish, Orangedale, Calif.
I was discharged from the military on 2 March 1972. Our third child had been born on 23 February, the week before. Though my wife and children left ahead of me, we all ended up at Wymount Terrace and married student housing within a few days of my discharge. From then until the end of the winter semester in December 1974, I held two jobs and went to school full time. Shauna babysat two other children so that we could make our way through college.
I frequently studied at the Harold B. Lee library during that 30-month period. I often did my studying between classes or at the end of the day before heading off to an evening of work again so that there were no distractions from the noise and confusion of the children at home. Because I was in the HBLL regularly, I enjoyed some delightful experiences. One day, in the basement bowels, digging for a church history class assignment, I went into an aisle being used by Ivan J. Barrett, a professor of religion at BYU. He had taught seminary in Hurricane, Utah and was in the stake presidency there when my father was a young bishop in that stake in the late 1940s. It turned out that Brother Barrett and I were looking for the same book. While sharing the information contained therein, we discussed at length his observation that my maternal grandmother “was as close to being like Jesus as any person I ever knew.”
Another day in the library, I walked toward what appeared to be an empty carrel only to find a girl I had liked a great deal in grade school seated there. We had not seen one another in more than 15 years! Though I was happily married and never inappropriate in my actions toward her or any other woman, we ended up sitting there and whispering to each other for an hour. We gave each other the low down on our families, parents, etc., and finally ended our library hour by saying, “I’ve got to get home and study.”
During my pre–Vietnam era freshman semester of college (Sept–Dec 1966), the library was a place to simply check out the girls. Many a quick line was used therein.
Looking back on that now, I laugh at how incredibly young and foolish we were. “So, do you come here often?” “Do you ever tutor others?” “What’s your major?” “Is this space occupied?” (with umpteen others available nearby) “Is this the bookstore?” and so on and so forth. We were quite uneducated in those days. The HBLL is probably where we should have spent even more time studying textbooks—not girls.
During the winter of 1972 I was invited to pursue the baseball team project by Coach Glen Tuckett. I wasn’t very good but good enough to be invited—though I’d been a fairly good high school player and had played on an old-time semipro team in Canada (causing no grief with American NCAA rules) a year or two earlier. I’d go to the library and take out a weathered baseball from the briefcase and work my hands and fingers over and over across the seams, trying to see in my mind’s eye how to “cut” a slider or how to snap off a better curveball. I even tried to extend my fingers, for a sort-of-split-finger sinker, there in the library. Former Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher, Vernon Law, was the pitching coach at BYU. He was more than willing to share his knowledge of the game. Because I had no one to “catch me” outside in the real world, I simply tried the visualization game in the out-of-the-way places of the HBLL—all the while pouring over the next day’s lessons for Alton Thygerson’s health class, Elliot Cameron’s Book of Mormon class, or Glenn McKellar’s English class. But if I knew I had Hugh Nibley the next day, I often prayed and meditated alone in the HBLL.
My wife and I went to the temple one night. When we came home our babysitter said to us, “President Lee died!” We couldn’t believe our ears or our eyes when we turned on the television. The next day while I studied in the library, I realized it had never, ever been that “deathly silent.” The reverence and respect that was shown for the building bearing his name was quite uncanny.
Short for Standards
—Nancy Donahue, (attended ’61 to ’63) – Temple City, Calif.
I was a freshman at BYU in the fall of 1961—the beginning of the ’60s, and the J. Reuben Clark Library had just been finished. I enjoyed my time in the library and remember one afternoon studying on the third floor, leaving my books and papers at a desk to retrieve a book from the shelf. When I returned, a note was left by my purse criticizing me for my “overly” short skirt; the person also added “It is awful short for ‘standards’; however, would you like a date sometime?”
I looked around and saw no one—needless to say, I also wore a longer skirt in the library from that time forward. I know this is kind of silly, but I have never forgotten that note!
Library Surfing
—Darren Holman, ’87, Los Angeles, Calif
When I attended BYU in the mid-980s, I was a diligent student and would regularly be at the HBLL until closing at 11:00. I almost always studied in the same general area of the fourth floor, and there were a number of other students that regularly studied in that area as well.
At the stroke of 11:00, the announcement on the PA system indicating the library was closing was followed by loud music, the purpose of which I assume was to force all of us bookworms to stop studying and go home. The music played was the theme to the television show, Hawaii 5-0.
As soon as the music started, all the regulars in our area of the fourth floor would hop up on the tables, hang ten, and start “Library Surfing.” I did this nearly every night with a changing group of “regulars” for several years. It was a great, stress relieving way to end the day.
Two Beautiful Women in the Library
—Arnold Loveridge, ’68, MS ’70, Long Beach, Calif.
For those of us who lived in Springville and commuted daily to the University, the Harold B. Lee Library (of course it was the J. Reuben Clark Library back in my day) was like a second home. Our only real alternative was our cars. So the Library became our home away from home. For my particular Springville crowd it was the second floor, turn left from the stairwell, and first group of tables on your right. Many of us appeared around 8:00 or even earlier and would often still be there at 5:00 in the afternoon. We would spread our books and papers out to reserve the tables for fellow commuters who would be arriving later. It was almost like going to work with a very open office and regularly scheduled meetings called classes.
The second semester after returning from my mission, I met Carolyn, the woman who would become my wife 10 months later. She was my sister’s roommate, a Heritage Hall resident, and a gorgeous brunette. My sister Revabeth, four years my junior, a stunning blonde and one of my closest friends, had somehow convinced my folks that she could live on campus while I had to brave the weather and traffic of Ironton hill each day.
So it became a regular sight to see Carolyn and me or Revabeth and me studying together at a table on the second floor of the library. Now Carolyn, Revabeth, and I had very different majors (education, biology, and math, respectively), very different classes, and hence very different schedules. The three of us were never at the table at the same time.
But what most people saw was Carolyn and me or Revabeth and me. Carolyn would leave, and five minutes later Revabeth would arrive. An hour later Revabeth would leave only to be replaced five minutes later by Carolyn. Each might (and often did) bring me lunch or a candy bar or some other goody. As long as we didn’t make a mess, eating in the library was not forbidden even if it wasn’t encouraged. Public display of affection was discouraged so the most that occurred between me and either woman was maybe a quick hug, some whispered words, and friendly eye contact.
The Springville crowd knew what was going on of course. They knew my sister, and many of them had met Carolyn. But one of the non-Springville regulars finally couldn’t take it any more. He approached me during one of the rare times when neither woman was there and asked, “How do you do it? You have two lovely, charming girlfriends, each of whom appears enthralled with you. And yet you’ve got it rigged so they never run into each other. Aren’t you playing with fire?”
It had never occurred to me until then how it must have looked. And even when I assured him that one of the women was my sister, he guessed the wrong one.
My wife Carolyn (’69) and I have raised six wonderful children and are currently enjoying our four grandchildren.
Viva the HBLL
—Joseph Bentley, ’65, Corona del Mar, Calif.
On a Sunday night the first week in February 1964, I moved into a Provo basement apartment with four roommates, following a mission and military duty. The first thing I remember seeing was a gorgeous fair-haired girl in an elegant light blue suit, bending over the sink washing dishes in our basement kitchen. She came to our place after Church on a date with one of my roommates. Smitten by both her beauty and benevolence, I couldn’t take my eyes off her all night.
At the end of the evening, I offered to chauffeur her (and my roommate) home—in order to see where she lived. When he left town the next day for two weeks, there was ample opportunity to mow some grass. Within a month, while studying together in a private room at the back of the HBLL, we were discussing my prospects of law school and hers of graduate school.
I casually noted that marriage was one way we could clarify our respective futures: she could put me through law school; then I could put her into a grad degree. When I said, “Well it is possible, isn’t it? Each of us should marry sometime, right?”—and she didn’t answer with something like, “Listen, buster, I’d rather play tonsil hockey with an out of work circus clown than spend my life with you”—I knew there was at least a chance. From that time until today, neither of us ever had more than one date with anyone else. And before the end of 1964, we were married. Viva BYU! Viva the HBLL!
Writing Janet
—Bob McKeen, ’86 – Farmington, Utah
Unlike the stereotypical boy-meets-girl-in-the-HBLL, I found love in a way that would please even the strictest librarian: in silence and solitude.
During the fall 1979 semester at Ricks College, I had a religion class with a student nurse named Janet Bird and quickly sensed that she was unlike anyone I had ever met. Though I had no idea why, I resolved to find out. Unfortunately, different schedules and majors conspired to keep us apart. When Janet left Ricks after that semester, she was still just a name. Although I soon forgot about her, our paths periodically crossed thereafter, always unexpectedly, always superficially, always briefly.
Some two years and three or four encounters later, I was walking to work at the MTC when, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I went by way of Deseret Towers, a route I intensely disliked. Along the way, who should I meet but Janet. Before I could even say hi, she excitedly announced that she was leaving on a mission to Peru in two weeks. She had just taken her parents to the MTC for their mission and was heading back to Idaho when she ran out of gas on Ninth East, found herself a few dollars short, and was walking to the MTC to borrow some from her parents. Though disappointed at yet another “near miss,” I also sensed that she was doing the right thing and would be an outstanding missionary. Since I already had plans to visit Rexburg, her last weekend would also be our first—and final—date.
As that date drew to a close, I only regretted that there would be no encores. At that point, the thought came to mind that I could always keep in touch by writing. To that, my logic-driven, engineering-dominated brain responded that that had to be the silliest, most ridiculous thought I’d ever had. Forget about how impressive she was; between a mission and graduation, we were heading far and wide with no prospect of ever meeting again. Besides, writing to a missionary was foolish, counterproductive, and a waste of everyone’s time. Engineers solve problems; they don’t chase farcical pipe dreams!
So what did I say? Something along the lines of “when you get to the MTC, get me your box number, and I’ll write you a letter or two.”
Two weeks later, I ran into Janet, now “Hermana Bird,” got her number, and wrote a letter, carefully confining it to her mission, school, and work. A week later, she replied, thanking me for the support and encouragement. Even though logic said that I was wasting my time, writing Janet seemed like the thing to do, so the next day, I wrote again and never missed another week.
I quickly discovered that the HBLL was the perfect place to write, usually on the first floor, preferably at a carrel, often while eating a candy bar or similar “contraband” smuggled in through my backpack. I also soon learned that no matter how tired or stressed out I was from school, it always left me rejuvenated and ready to resume studying. It seemed as if the more I tried to support and encourage Janet, the more the support came back to me, many times over. And the more that happened, the more we became aware that, slowly but surely, something was developing between us. Ironically, by focusing on the tasks at hand and resisting the temptation to worry about the future, the future took care of itself far better than if I had spent endless hours trying to choreograph every step.
When I left BYU (for good, I thought), Janet was halfway through her mission, and I had written 15 to 20 letters from the HBLL. Even though I often wrote her thereafter from San Francisco State University, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t that writing had lost its appeal, quite the opposite. Rather, SFSU’s library seemed small and lacked the quiet, isolated, subterranean ambiance of BYU.
Shortly before Janet left Peru, several unforeseen events brought me back to BYU. Simultaneously, she made plans to work at Utah Valley Hospital. Once again, our paths unexpectedly crossed. This time, however, it was anything but brief. Nine months later, we were married. Three years later, we finally left Provo for good. Sixteen years, six children, 10 moves, and two continents later, I’m still discovering what it is that makes Janet so wonderful—thanks to the HBLL.
