Through my (music) student years, I worked at the Sibley Music Library. It might be too late to study for a library science degree now.Otherwise, I would love to work there. One of the best kept “secrets” is a note left by a former student worker. It a secret, only because the note is posted in a room without public access, and those who can get into the room probably don’t care about it. I had a chance to sneak in this room the other day, and snagged a picture of it.

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To whom it may concern:

I am working in the basement of the “old” Sibley Music Library. My job is to pack all this junk into nice clean boxes so that it can be moved to the “new” library which is currently under construction xxxxx across the street. (across Gibbs street that is.) My guess is that no one will look in any of these boxes again until long after I am gone. If you happen to have the misfortune of being the one whose assigned task is to unpack these boxes, I wish the best of luck. And I certainly hope that you’re not looking for something in particular! At this point I’ve packed many boxes of sheet music, and about 100 larger boxes of music and books. If you are the one who must unpack them all, I suggest that you first try to locate our “packing Log”—it’s a spiral bound notebook, dark pink, and has my bosses name xxxxxxx on the front: L. Goldberg. It won’t give you any detailed information, but it may help you to know how xxx many of what is actually there.

A little description of this place will give you any idea of this current library. The basement here, where our “storage areas” and overflow vault areas are located is about as secure as your great grandmother’s back porch door. It xxxx is also very unsafe. There are pipes and beams everywhere, and one can only very rarely stand up. The equipment around here is pretty horrible too. This typewriter is on its last legs. At the moment, it’s experiencing great difficulty with it. This note is just for gags anyway. Today, I’ve been sitting around typing this note simply because I have no dusting clothes to wipe off thesedirtyrotten, moth eaten disintegrated books. My boss want to get them, but she’s very late in getting –Oh well.

All together, there will probably be about 300 hollinger boxes when I am finished packing. Most of it, I suspect, will never see the light of day again. However, if you do find this note I wish you well and hope that your job is not as grubby and useless as mine.

If you think that I’m going to sign this you are crazy. (You could probably find out, if you’re a decent detective.)

July 1987