I was raised in a household that valued education.  But, being a blue-collar household in a largely blue-collar community, luxuries were in short supply.  Sure, we had some books around the house – my big sister’s complete set of the Nancy Drew mystery series comes to mind – but not many, and certainly not the latest hot literary fiction or New York Times bestsellers.  (Or the New York Times, for that matter.)

Fortunately, however, our community had a public library.

For most kids of my (baby boom) generation, who came of age before computers and e-readers and tablets, the public library was the place – and usually the only place – from which books were readily available.  The library was where you went for (non-televised) entertainment, or to research a subject for school, or, at the risk of sounding terribly old-fashioned, to better yourself.

When not playing Little League baseball, I spent many a summer afternoon on my bike, riding cross-town with my library card in my pocket, to check out the latest offerings from Ray Bradbury or Robert Heinlein, or awake to the talents of past masters like Arthur Conan Doyle and Edgar Rice Burroughs and Rex Stout.  Little did I know that by these mundane voyages of discovery, I was planting seeds that would, over forty years later, germinate into a mid-life literary career.

But my fondness for libraries is more than just a childhood reverie, because libraries seem to have followed me throughout my life.  In law school, for example, I spent two years working part-time at the Boston College Law School library, learning the rudiments of library science while helping my sleep-deprived, hyper-caffeinated classmates cope with their never-ending deadlines.  (This was not, by the way, as dull a job as it sounds, since the library was where my fellow students gathered on most nights, and working the reference desk was akin to tending bar at the hottest club in town.)

I should not have been surprised, therefore, when, as a young attorney living in Pasadena, California, libraries again reentered my life.  This occurred in 1982, when a group of civic leaders approached the firm in search of a young (read, inexpensive) lawyer willing to help launch a public charity whose mission would be to renovate and restore the iconic Pasadena Central Library building – a Moorish gem at the heart of the Pasadena civic center, designed in 1924 by fabled California architect Myron Hunt (whose other commissions included the Huntington Library in San Marino and the California State Capitol in Sacramento.)

After first incorporating and then obtaining tax-exempt status for the Pasadena Public Library Foundation, I wound up serving on its board of directors for over twenty years – including five years as its president – right up until my retirement from practice in 2006.  During that time, I had the satisfaction of seeing our mission completed, and the pleasure of working closely with several wonderful library directors, one of whom – Luis Herrera – would go on to serve as president of the U.S. Public Library Association.

And so, against that broader backdrop, you can imagine how thrilled I was to be invited – as an author, this time – to appear on two guest panels at this year’s annual conference of the American Library Association, which will take place June 21 – 26, 2012 in Anaheim, California.  Specifically, I’ll be on the “Pop Top” Stage for ALA’s annual Mystery Day on June 23, where I’ll participate in a one-on-one conversation with author Deb Coonts entitled Laugh or I’ll Kill You, and then I’ll later appear on a larger panel with Kelli Stanley headed Location, Location, Location.

I’m doubly thrilled to be attending the conference this year, in which my old friend Luis Herrera was honored by Library Journal as its Librarian of the Year.  I’m looking forward to seeing Luis, and to rubbing elbows with his colleagues, librarians of every stripe – the same selfless public servants who, on a daily basis, do so much to enrich the lives of our communities.  And if given the opportunity, I’ll try to remind them that, at a time when budgetary constraints and information access otherwise dominate the modern librarian’s agenda, it is through the simple beneficence of introducing a young boy or a young girl to the wonders of books – to the joys of reading and literature – that they will continue to change the world.