One morning recently, I stood on the corner of Sumner Avenue and Randolph Street talking with the city’s head forester, Ed Casey, about the new trees being planted along the thoroughfare. As we talked, a man drove up and shouted, "Is there a library around here?"
In a very friendly manner, Casey strode up to the driver and carefully explained exactly how to get to the Forest Park branch library. Turn around, he said, make a left, and so on. I gave this a moment’s consideration as I probably would have given instructions to go straight, and make a semi-right at that confusing intersection, and then a jog right and left again over to Garfield Street. That’s the thing about navigating in Springfield; there’s really no one right way to get anywhere.
The man drove off and apparently found his way to the library, because a while later, after I had walked over to the post office, he came in there, too. "Is the library open?" he asked the room in general, which was populated by two US postal workers behind the counter, myself, and maybe one other person. I looked outside, across the street, at the library.
"I don’t know, is there a sign out?" I asked the man. From my location, I couldn’t see the sign, which, if it were there on the front door, would have been obscured by all the scaffolding cluttering the front entrance.
"No, I mean is it open, or is it closed for construction?" the man persisted.
"Oh, that’s just decoration," I said, getting a chuckle from someone behind the counter. "Look," I pointed, "there are some people coming out now. It must be open. You’re in luck. Are you from out of town?" The man, donned in a dashing fedora and sporting a lot of bushy facial hair, nodded. "Where from?"
"Colorado," he answered.
"Welcome to Springfield," I said.
"Thank you. Where can I park for the library?"
"It doesn’t have a lot. There are some empty spots over there. Wait, where are you parked right now?"
"Right here," he said, indicating the post office’s lot. "I was hoping that maybe if I asked…"
I turned to the postal worker currently scanning the box I was picking up. "Where can he park for the library?" I asked.
"Just stay there," the worker breathed. I wondered how often this happened.
"Thanks!" the man said, his young face crinkling into a smile, and he bounded out of the post office.
"He’s from out of town," I told the postal worker. "You just gave Springfield a boost."
"It needs it," he replied.
