Learning About Mythology

Or, a trip to the library

Barbara Rose Rust is a Cape Girardeau native writing vignettes about her childhood for her children and grandchildren, considering her growing up was very different from theirs. This is the second in a three-part series in which she shares these anecdotes with TBY readers, too.

My dad was an amateur astronomer. He loved going to Fairground Park — now Capaha Park — at night before bedtime to show my sister and me the Milky Way, Orion’s Belt and other constellations. He would relate stories of the gods and goddesses to us, telling about how they were flung into the skies by Zeus or whomever, to roam the skies forever.

We only lived one block from the park, and I am sure those nighttime walks were a way to get two little girls to use up what energy they had left so they would go to sleep and stay asleep. I loved the fairytales, and one night, he borrowed a telescope from the science department at SEMO and set it up on the hill where the bleachers are now. It was August, and since there was little population west of the park at that time, there was little ambient light to interfere with star watching.

This night, Dad got us up at about midnight, which was very unusual. We walked barefoot in our nighties to the park — us, not him — where the telescope was waiting to take us into the heavens. It was a different time, when you could leave a large, expensive telescope set up in a park and not have it disappear. I am guessing I was less than 10 years old, so it would have been in the early 1940s. I can remember vividly how the night sounded and smelled: the sounds of locusts filled the air, and you could still smell the hot cement sidewalk and feel its warmth with your bare feet. The night was cooler as we got to the park, and the grass was silky cool to our bare feet. I remember it as a very pleasant experience because houses got very hot in the daytime and even with an attic fan, they could be quite ovenlike at night. This was before air conditioning, and though every window in the house was open, it was not very comfortable inside.

This experience and the stories he told about Greek mythology sparked an interest in me on the subject. I was accustomed to going to the public library in the summer to check out four books a week, which was all that we were allowed to take. Can you imagine your first grader getting on a public bus at Park and Normal — it stopped right in front of my house and cost a nickel one way — and getting off in front of the Petit N’Orleans, walking a block south to the library and making a return trip the same way? As I said, times have changed.

Dad read us stories often, and one time before I was to make my library trip, he recommended I get a book called “The Golden Bough.” I don’t remember the author, but it is an old classic on Greek and Roman mythology.

I made my trek to the library, got my three books, went to the ladies at the desk and said, “My dad told me to check out ‘The Golden Bough.’” Well! This question caused some fuss and flurry behind the desk. The two women had an animated consultation. Finally, one came to the desk, peered over at me — I was only six and therefore, little — and told me this book was in the “adult book section,” so she would have to check with the librarian, and the librarian was busy. I am sure she thought that big word and the fact I would have to wait would intimidate me enough for me to leave.

In those days, the adult book section had an entirely different meaning than it does now. The library was divided into a children’s section and the adult section. If you were under 10, you were not allowed in the other section without a parent. Since I knew that rule, I said I would wait for the librarian to get “The Golden Bough” for me. I was very happy to stay in the library and wait. I loved reading, and to make me wait in a place filled with books was wonderful. Plus, my parents wouldn’t turn a hair if I missed a bus. Busses ran every 30 minutes, and it wasn’t unusual for me to stay at the library for at least an hour or longer.

When it became obvious to the ladies behind the desk that I wasn’t leaving, there was nothing to do but summon the librarian. Her name was Ross Lloyd Kriegler. She dressed in black, always, and was constantly shushing people. One did not speak above a whisper or make any undue noise in the library. Actually, the library was quieter than most churches, and like most churches, had its own hallowed air. The Cape Girardeau Public Library was her castle, and she ran it like an officer in the Gestapo. It seemed as if she resented people borrowing books from “her” library. I hated having her at the check-in desk when it came time to return my books. I was afraid she would examine a book and find it damaged in some way. In later years, I have found that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

At any rate, Miss Kriegler finally appeared and told me I could not have the book I requested because it was not a book for children; it was an adult book. I don’t remember being bothered by the refusal and just took my books, got on the bus and went back home. Later, my dad wanted to see what I had brought home and was surprised to see that “The Golden Bough” was not among them. I told him She wouldn’t let me have it because it was in the adult books section. With that, my dad said, “We will see about that.”

I don’t remember if he left for the library right then and there or if he left the next day, but he came home with “The Golden Bough,” which he and I read together. It had fascinating stories and line drawings of the gods, goddesses, sprites and nymphs, with all of their parts. Sometimes the nymphs were bare from the waist up and occasionally someone like Pan would be prancing around, body facing front, without any pants. How could he wear pants? He had goat legs! These drawings were just pencil sketches — simple and quite pure, actually — but anatomically correct, which I am sure was the reason the librarian thought the book unfit for a child. These drawings compared to today’s would be Disneyesque by comparison. Even Disney is more graphic than these now!

I do not know what my dad said to the librarian — knowing him, I could probably guess. However, I do know from that day on, I could check out any book in that library, regardless of which side it was on.