One day about 35 years ago I was in Litchfield, Illinois, my mother’s home town, doing genealogical research. At the public library there, I got to talking to one of the librarians, and I mentioned that I happened to be in possession of my mother’s high school yearbooks, and I wondered if the library would like to have them.
Without any enthusiasm at all, she said, “Oh, yes, we’ll take them,” which rather put me off, but I was tired of carrying those books around with me every time I moved, so I said I’d mail them to her when I got home. With what sounded like idle curiosity, she asked me what years they were from, and I told her they were from 1936, 1937, 1938, and 1939.
I thought the woman was going to leap over the counter at me, she was so excited. Well, excited for a librarian anyway. It turns out that the library had every yearbook from Litchfield Community High School from 1876 (or whatever it was) to the current day, which at that time was 1979, but they were missing four years – 1936, 1937, 1938, and 1939.
To make sure I would send them, she provided me with shipping materials, a label and the postage.
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