Of Bowling Alleys and Libraries

Few things smell like pure democracy more than bowling alleys and libraries. Well, maybe "smell" is the wrong word. . . .

Consider the bowling alley. Before the first frame even begins, we've all donned someone else's shoes, ancient, ugly shoes obviously designed by blind monkeys working in deplorable conditions. And, while most of us can't bowl worth beans, we still find joy in hurling those well-worn balls down sleek, maple lanes. Plus, it's fun to dry your hands with that mini fan mounted on the return rack. You kind of can't believe someone ever thought up such a crazy thing. American ingenuity, indeed!

After each hurl, bowlers are rewarded with a well-deserved five or ten minutes of chit chat with our competitors, the topic typically being weekend plans or a new bawdy joke. And name one other sport that practically requires the consumption of burgers and beers.

Even the vernacular of bowling seems proletarian--spare as in "Brother, can you spare me a dime?," gutter as in "Get your mind out of the gutter," and strike, as in "Goodyear workers went on strike at midnight last night." Bowling even has turkeys, JUST LIKE THANKSGIVING! And, I suppose, with a divorce rate hovering around 50 percent, one could make an argument for the American roots of "split" as well.

Bowling alleys typically are rife with mostly talentless but contented Americans, some of whom play on teams with funny names like Bowl Movement, Split Happens or The Bowling Stones. In fact, I've found that the only sad people in a bowling alley are those who wear gloves, bring their own shiny balls and bowl alone. To me, they have a creepy, post-"Thriller" Michael-Jackson glow about them that gives me the heebie jeebies.

As for libraries, it's true that they, too, have their fair share of bad shoes and creepers, especially if, like me, you call Bennett Martin "home." But I would not trade one pair of worn-out Hush Puppies or one unshaven newspaper maven for all the library cards in the world.

Why? Because I believe there is no more powerful leavening agent in the world than a library, and the down-and-out patrons of the downtown branch are proof of that. Where else but in a public library can a person--any person--walk in with questions and leave with heaps of reliable answers, all for free? Where else but in a library can a person find free tax help, endless piles of construction paper and markers, videos and music, books and computers, all laid out for the taking?

Indeed, when it comes to libraries, the only impoverishment is in those who are not present there.

If I had my way, visual dictionaries would flash images of libraries when the words "democracy" or "access" or "equality" popped up. That is why I think Lincoln can nary afford to close its library doors even one minute longer. In fact, I could make a reasoned argument that, especially in tough times, public libraries should be opened longer and funded even better, so that they can be rife with opportunities and resources, both human and inanimate.

A true democracy would have 24-hour libraries and bowling alleys, two places where people could go to work and play with each other and not have to worry about what to wear.