When I was a kid, I read a lot of books. I read from the school library during the school year and went to our small town library during the summer. When I would go into the library with my mom, she would always stand and talk to the librarian while I hunted for books. They were old friends. When I brought my selections to the desk, the librarian would pull out the cards and write my name on them. She’d known me since I was born. It was different when I went to the public library in Coffeyville. No one knew me. The card was orange and had a little metal rectangle stamped with an identification number. The librarian had typed my name on it with an old manual typewriter. My first library card! Somehow it feels right to me that we begin our quest here in Coffeyville.