Old Age

Maxwell Bodenheim

In me is a little painted square Bordered by old shops, with gaudy awnings. And before the shops sit smoking, open-bloused old men, Drinking sunlight. The old men are my thoughts: And I come to them each evening, in a creaking cart, And quietly unload supplies. We fill slim pipes and chat, And inhale scents from pale flowers in the center of the square . . . Strong men, tinkling women, and dripping, squealing children Stroll past us, or into the shops. They greet the shopkeepers, and touch their hats or foreheads to me . . . Some evening I shall not return to my people.

Eileen

 

(read at meal of consolation after the services at Mt. Sinai)

Eileen-

 

    I confess I was worried when I heard Eileen Sever was going to sub in History and Genealogy in those golden times before Covid. I remembered her from my time at the West LA branch in the 1980’s as a force of nature when she ran a tight ship at Palms-Rancho. She seemed to me like a know-it-all with confidence to burn. It was rumored she could stand up to Penny Carr who scorched the behinds of many a branch manager as Principal of the Western region.

     It took five minutes into my first desk in History and Genealogy with her that by God she was a know-it-all in the very best librarian sense of the word. It is not that she had the personnel manual memorized or that she knew what all those databases did, but she knew the best way to be a reference librarian. Despite a mind like a steel trap, she was humble and gentle to the mixed crowd of patrons down on LL4. She nodded silently at those who thought THEY knew all the answers and then dug into books, vertical files, photographs, maps, newspapers and even card files. She then spouted citations proving the legitimacy of her answers. Eileen Sever with decades of experience asked lots and lots of questions of we veterans of the department. She even delved into Burke’s Peerage or the dreaded Army Map Service maps. She almost always started a reference interview by saying “that sounds like an interesting question” even if it was far from it. She helped the Antler Man, the Sultan of Brunei and Dr. Baker like they were visiting scholars.  She was born to do this job and her enjoyment in the chase for answers was infectious.  You tended to want to join in and throw in a clipping or random paragraph from somewhere just to be part of the Eileen show.  It was easy to sit back and watch her weave her magic when you were ten feet away trying to stay on your toes. If something proved her wrong, she laughed and made it right.

     It is impossible to calculate how many patrons Eileen sent out into the world smarter and more appreciative of our great library system. She enjoyed the desk so much she had to be forced to take breaks. Yes…a civil servant who refused breaks! She just did not want to miss anything. After 42 years on reference desks, I put Eileen in a select few of the master librarians I had the pleasure to serve with. Even this old dog learned plenty from her dedication. I am speaking for all the lucky staff who shared my department with her. That includes librarians, library assistants, clerks, messenger clerks, security officers and custodial folks who she treated like her equals.

The best part of her service is that she loved doing it and indeed one of the last sentences I ever heard her say from her hospital bed was “I love questions.”

     Lastly answering questions was not everything wonderful about Eileen Sever. We never really saw her as the little old lady librarian. She knew where all the bodies were buried and had the best library gossip ever. Plus, it went back decades. Yet, she wasn’t mean about it, but you know librarians are strange people and she embraced that fact with love. She liked men and mentioned the rare handsome guys in the system. She handed out compliments in bushels but did not suffer fools or foolish patrons. When you saw the name Sever on the schedule you knew you were in for a good time. In times like this it is common that we speak about those who we are mourning in glowing terms but in this case these paltry words don’t quite make it. I think of the words of the Jewish poet

'Tis a Fearful Thing By Chaim Stern

‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch…

  For your life has lived in me, 

your laugh once lifted me, 

your word was gift to me. 

To remember this brings painful joy. 

‘Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing, to love what death has touched.