I decide to spend the day at the Philadelphia Central Library. I‘ve been working on my family history for the past ten years. I wanted to search the census records for the period of time between 1900 and 1920. I’m in the process of researching my father’s side of the family.

I know that my father was an only child and had been raised from the age of seven until he was sixteen at Girard College. During that time Girard College was a residential boy’s school. The only requirement being that one of their parents was deceased. His father had passed away when he was five from uremic poisoning in 1916.

It’s a beautiful crisp autumn day, so I decided to take the high-speed line over to Philly.  I arrive about a half hour before the library opens. I  walk around the corner to grab something to eat for breakfast at Whole Foods first.

I buy a small container of yogurt, and green tea. Whole Foods is a fabulous food store but they’re  pricey. It cost almost six dollars for these two items. I eat the yogurt quickly as I hadn’t eaten any dinner the night before. The tea is very hot so I sip slowly. It’s delicious. I’m something of a tea connoisseur. At any given moment I can name fifty different brands and types of teas.

Unfortunately, very few people seem particularly interested in hearing my list. Although some have suffered in silence as I listed them in alphabetical order. I know that they don’t want to hear it, but somehow, I feel compelled to tell them. I see first their eyes shift from right to left looking for a way out of the conversation. It isn’t really a conversation more of a monologue.

I give them very little chance to break away. I keep talking at break neck speed. I see their eyes glazing over. I know that they aren’t listening anymore. But still I persist naming my favorite teas, or pies, or ice cream. I have a list for just about any subject.

I decide to walk across the street to the Book Corner a used bookstore operated by the Central Library. It’s filled with used and donated books. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I also collect books. Books fill every inch of space in my two-bedroom apartment.  They are stacked on and under tables and chairs.  They also live under my bed and on the side of my bed, that I don’t sleep on.

People have told me that I’m a hoarder of books. I disagree, I‘m a bibliophile. I love the feel, smell and touch of old books. My favorite books are art books with full color plates of art, every type of art and every period of history.

I’m a collector of many things, mostly useless facts that no one wants to hear or know about. I almost purchase a book on Jasper Johns one of my favorite abstract expressionist artist. But I talked myself out of it. Since I already had this self-same book at home in one of my piles.

I start walking up the street behind the library and I see something on the sidewalk. I quickstep up to it and lean over and pick it up. It is a watch, a beautiful watch.

I don’t own valuable jewelry myself, but I certainly recognize quality when I see it. It’s gold, a women’s watch, with a mesh watchband. There are twenty-eight small diamonds surrounding the watch face. There is a small stone on the stem of the watch. I think a blue Topaz. I turned over the watch and looked on the back there is an inscription.

It reads: To BLJ, from JPO, and then some words in French. My high school French is somewhat rusty. I graduated quite a few decades ago. I decide to type the French phrase into Google translator when I finally get into the library.

I arrive at the library. I fly up the wide steps and push open the beautiful ornate bronze doors. I’m never disappointed when I enter the library. It has been recently remodeled. The first floor is amazing. The new entry floor is gleaming marble. There are all new showcases. I look in each one and study its contents. This one contains the most beautiful African sculptures. They are like Haiku to me, so few words, but they speak volumes.

Oh, and I see a notice that declares that there is going to be a visit from an author. I definitely will sign up for that. I’ll purchase a copy of her book and have it autographed by her. I feel slightly buzzed being around all this beauty, and the thousands upon thousands of stacks of books, on every subject.

I should have been a librarian, but I wouldn’t have gotten any work done. I would have been reading all day instead of whatever librarians are supposed to be doing. Besides I have observed that librarians are a bit on the strange side. They are either very quirky or annoyed by visitors. If I worked here, I would be probably a little of both and get fired after a month.

I check my pocket to see if my treasure is still there. It is, but I know that I will check my pocket many times just to be sure. It is one of my quirky traits, excessive checking on things. Checking to see if I really locked the door or turned off the iron or didn’t accidentally run over a cat that I thought was a bump in the road. I ‘m just cautious that’s all.

I enter the main book room next to the entrance. I rush over to the computer and go onto the Internet, Google translator. I type in the phase Mon amour éternel. It means my eternal love. God, that is so romantic. The poor soul that lost this must be heartbroken. Imagine losing such a wonderful keepsake.

I almost start to cry right there in the middle of the library. I imagine what it must be like to have someone promise their eternal love. I have never had that. I want it. It is almost a physical ache. And now I know it is probably too late for me.

Still, I keep my eyes open you never know what might happen. I want to find a way to return the watch to the owner but I don’t know what to do.

I approach the man who works at the main information desk. He’s one of the standoffish types, very formal. I ’m not certain but I believe he has some type of vision impairment or he just can’t endure looking into anyone’s eyes.

“Hello, could you tell me if there is a lost and found ?”

He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence in any way. He starts typing on his keyboard. Perhaps he has a hearing deficit as well. I repeat my question only louder. Nothing.

Then somewhat abruptly he says, “No book by that name but several containing that subject matter. Let me print it out for you. ”

“What? No, no you misunderstood. I am asking if the library has a lost and found? You know you find or loose something and check to see if anyone turned it in, or you find something and turn it in. ”

“Go to service desk they might have an answer for you, I do not. ”

“But isn’t this the service desk?” I roll my eyes to the heavens. It’s lost on him. He has dismissed me from his mind. I no longer exist in his world. In my opinion the library has made a poor choice when they placed him in the central hall information desk. He should be sitting in the subbasement somewhere filing something.

I walk over to the main room again and over to a librarian. There are only two librarians now, since most of them were replace by an automated check out system. I wait patiently in line, until it is my turn. I repeat my question. “Do you have a lost and found department?”

“Sir this is the check in or check out department. You need to go to the service desk and ask Mr. Beaumont he will be happy to assist you.”

“But I did speak to Mr. Beaumont. He didn’t assist me. He sent me to you. What do you suggest now?”

“Perhaps you could ask Charles, at the exit to the library. He is the guard that checks all books as you exit the library.”

“Charles, thank you I will speak to him.” I walk over to the library exit and Charles is sitting looking through a large stack of books that an older gentleman is checking out.

I have seen this man before. He looks like an aesthetic or perhaps the English actor who is tall and thin who plays some sort of magician in Lord of the Rings. He has very long shiny gray hair, down to his waist.

I have often seen him when I visited the art department of the library. He always keeps to himself. He is surrounded by books. He spends the day taking notes in a leather notebook. I patiently wait my turn. Finally, I step up to Charles.

“Hello, can you tell me if the library has a lost and found?” As I’m waiting, I check my pocket again to make sure the watch is there.

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

“I am not looking for anything, I found something.”

“Well I can’t help you with that, other than you can write it down. Here write down what you have found on this form and a contact phone number or email. I will give them your information.”

“Alright, let’s do that.” I finally feel like I am making some headway. I give Charles my information. “Thank you, Charles, you have been very helpful.”

I head over to the elevator, push the button for the second floor and wait as it slowly makes its way down from the third floor. The doors slide open. They remodeled the elevator too and it looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. I step inside. Somehow it has not lost that urine smell it always had. I hold my breath until the doors open to the second floor.

I make a right turn down the first hall, through the literature and find my way into the art department. Oh crap, I think what am I doing here I meant to go to the records department and study the census. I head to the elevator and back to the records department.

I arrive safely, I step up to the desk and ask the librarian to help me find the census for 1900-1920. She is very helpful. I look at the records which are digital copies of the original census books. However, the books were all hand written in script and somewhat difficult to read.

I spend the next three hours looking through them, meeting with some success. I find the record where my father is listed as an inmate of Girard College. An inmate, as if he were a criminal in prison. This upsets me so much, that I turn off the machine and decide to head home.

I buy a hotdog from the vender on the corner, such a cheerful fellow. “Thank you.”

I walk towards the bus stop that will get me to the high Speedline. I arrive at the Speedline intact.  I believe I checked my pocket about fifteen times, before I get on the train.

I notice that my stomach is starting to feel a little queasy and by the time we get over the bridge to the Camden stop, I know that I have gotten some kind of food poisoning from the hotdog. I rush off the train and am forced to use the public facility.

Dear god I hope will I be able to make it home! I do, but just barely. I take some medicine for my stomach. It doesn’t really help. I spend the next ten hours in the bathroom. Finally, I start to feel better. I go in the kitchen. I feel so empty. I decide to have some Earl Grey tea, and dry crackers.

I check my email, to my surprise I have five hundred emails. I open the first one. Bill declares it is his watch and he wants it back. I open the next ten. They are all the same. I realize that I have made a mistake in describing the watch. Chivalry has died and so has my trust in humanity. I will put the watch away or perhaps donate it to some worthwhile Charity. I think of the woman who lost her watch and say a silent prayer for her. She has lost something that was close to her heart and so have I.

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