Read Online Dead End Street by Sheila Connolly - Free Book Online

want to see it and were looking the other way. In other words, a lot of our members and donors. Tyrone and Cherisse had no doubt wanted to recruit me as an ally, and they were right to do so. We could help, if the project they had described was going to go on.
    Which of the two had been the prime mover, Tyrone or Cherisse? They had made a good team, because they approached the problem from different directions, and each of them was in a position to know the real issues. But alliances between the City and private organizations were rare. What had brought them together? What were the specific details about the project they had most likely intended to pitch to me, if our tour hadn’t ended in disaster?
    By the time I was done wading through this thought process, it was time for the meeting I had asked Eric to arrange. I marched down the hall to the modern boardroom (far less formal, but also less attractive, than the former boardroom on the ground floor) and walked in to find the majority of the staff was already assembled—and they burst into applause at my entrance. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    â€œThank you, I think. I didn’t do anything but duck, but I seem to do that pretty well.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Felicity Soames, our venerable head librarian, asked. “The news reports were kind of vague.”
    I launched into a brief description of the visit by Tyrone and Cherisse the day before, which had culminated in thetour of the dying neighborhood, and the events that followed. When I was done, our relatively new registrar, Ben, asked, “What were they hoping to accomplish, dragging you down there?”
    â€œBen, I think they wanted to drive home the point that that part of the city was once a vital neighborhood, and now it’s a disaster area. I’m sure you all know better than I do that we’re talking about a large area within a short walk of some of the nicest and most visited parts of town.” I turned from Ben and looked at each of the others around the table. “Before you start protesting, I know that it’s not our responsibility to take on all the problems of the city of Philadelphia. We’re scrabbling to keep up with what goes on within these walls. And we’re not in any way a political organization. But we are the keepers of the city’s history, and we can provide a wealth of information about any part of the city. I think that was all Tyrone and Cherisse wanted, although we never had a chance to get to the details. And maybe they were on the right track: we should be more proactive about it, instead of waiting for some of the activists out there to stumble over us. I’m betting that a lot of those activists are not among our regular patrons. But we as an institution need to broaden our reach and increase our visibility if we’re going to survive.” I stopped, surprised at myself. Where had that speech come from?
    Latoya Anderson, our vice president for collections, who happened to be a black woman, had come in while I was speaking. I was trying hard not to sound racist, and many of the neighborhoods of the city had flourishedunder a wide range of ethnic groups, but I knew Latoya could be prickly and occasionally defensive.
    I was pleased when she said, “I think you make an excellent point, Nell. I know in recent years we’ve focused most of our energies on keeping this institution viable, financially and physically, and that’s an ongoing challenge. But we may have lost sight of our mandate along the way. We do have an obligation to all populations in this city, both past and present, and this might be an excellent way to fulfill that.”
    I smiled at her. “I’m happy to hear you say that, Latoya. Look, everyone, I haven’t had time to think this through since yesterday, and it may come to nothing, but I’d love to hear your ideas on the subject. Feel free to spitball. I hate to say it,