Some might call it fact checking, others might call it the strange and obsessive misdeeds of a deeply evil person, but I had to go to the Dowling High School Media Center (that means library) on Monday. You see, I am trying to get my friend to break up with her boyfriend. And a few weeks ago, I stumbled on some fresh meat to feed my quest. He told her he was 35 when they met (she is 27), and that he just turned 36. But one night, the boyfriend was out smoking with my new squeeze and mentioned that he had graduated from high school in 1987, which would actually make him 39. "Squeeze," I asked. "Are you sure he said 1987?" Yes. He was sure. Well, which was it? Why would he lie? And if he were going to lie, why lie about such a little amount? I had to know. And because I love information, I turned to the library.
The Des Moines Public Library does not carry the yearbooks for Dowling, because it is in West Des Moines, and the West Des Moines library does not keep the yearbooks either. A week ago, I called the Dowling Library to ask if they had yearbooks, but I was told they were packed because they had recently moved locations. I called again on Monday, September 29, and found they were unpacked, and I asked if I could come and take a look.
Getting into Dowling was easy enough. I explained that I needed to use the library, signed in, and got a "hello, my name is" type pass. I went to the library, smiled at the gal behind the counter, and she showed me to the yearbooks. She mentioned that I could not take them out of the library, though. I did not need to, so that was fine. Then, I found what I was looking for. A senior picture from 1988, which would make the boyfriend around 38. We were both wrong. All I needed was some documentation.
That's when things got really weird. I asked if I could use the copy machine, and the gal said no, that they had said that I couldn't use the copier and the helper gal said they said I couldn't photo copy. I asked if I could take pictures and she said that she didn't know. I prefer to beg for forgiveness than to ask permission, so I whipped out the camera and went ahead and took some shots of the the pages. Then, the head librarian came galloping over to me, yelling, "You can't take pictures! You can't take pictures." I said okay, put the yearbooks away, and packed up the camera. She didn't ask me to delete them, so I didn't.
As I walked out, the yelling librarian offered, "Just so you know, you probably won't be able to do this again."
"Why?" I asked. "The Des Moines Public Library has all the yearbooks from Des Moines high schools."
"The front office is just weird about these things," she replied. And, then, I left.
Why though? Why not let people look at the yearbooks. I had sold this mission as a "fact checking" job I was doing for a writer, and if I were actually fact checking, that is probably what I would have done. It is not as if these people are under age; they are all in their late 30s. The yearbook is published every year and it is not private information that students attended a school. I could have bought a student directory at the greeter's desk for five dollars if I had wanted to. Do they have the secrets of the grail tucked away in the yearbooks, or are they just afraid of the bad press that may be associated with people poking around in long forgotten publications? Just as with the boyfriend, this mission lead me to more questions than to answers; mysteries were disinterred, rather than resolved. Which, I would argue, is one of the many beauties of this particular quest.
As I walked out, the yelling librarian offered, "Just so you know, you probably won't be able to do this again."
"Why?" I asked. "The Des Moines Public Library has all the yearbooks from Des Moines high schools."
"The front office is just weird about these things," she replied. And, then, I left.
Why though? Why not let people look at the yearbooks. I had sold this mission as a "fact checking" job I was doing for a writer, and if I were actually fact checking, that is probably what I would have done. It is not as if these people are under age; they are all in their late 30s. The yearbook is published every year and it is not private information that students attended a school. I could have bought a student directory at the greeter's desk for five dollars if I had wanted to. Do they have the secrets of the grail tucked away in the yearbooks, or are they just afraid of the bad press that may be associated with people poking around in long forgotten publications? Just as with the boyfriend, this mission lead me to more questions than to answers; mysteries were disinterred, rather than resolved. Which, I would argue, is one of the many beauties of this particular quest.
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