“More Than Books: A Lifelong Conversation with My Library”

I was born in New York State to Haitian immigrants who fled a dictatorship and came to this country seeking opportunity and a better life. For them, education and access to knowledge were sacred, tools for freedom and advancement. That belief shaped my earliest memories, and no place captured that spirit more than the first library I ever visited: the Finkelstein Memorial Library in Spring Valley, New York.

Growing up in a predominantly Jewish but beautifully diverse community, I was surrounded by neighbors from every part of the world, including Haitian, Hasidim (Jews), Iranian, Jamaican, Puerto Rican, Indian, Albanian, and Korean families. Inside that library, you could hear fifteen languages spoken on any given day. It was vibrant, alive, and full of possibility. As a young boy wandering those aisles, the library became my first window into a larger world. It was never just about the books; it was about discovery. I can still remember the smell of the paperbacks, The card catalog, the sound of the old checkout scanner, and how safe I felt being surrounded by stories that carried me far beyond my small neighborhood.

I also remember the very first presentation I ever attended there. I was about eight years old when a Jewish woman came to speak about her experience during World War II and Nazi Germany. She placed a lamp and a photo album on the table beside her and talked softly about her sister and how much she loved her. Then she said something I have never forgotten: “I take her with me everywhere I go.” As a child, I didn’t yet understand what she meant. But as she went on, she explained, through tears, that the lampshade and the cover of the photo album were made from her sister’s skin. I remember the room going completely silent. In that moment, I learned the terrible cost of hatred and the sacred importance of memory. That day at the library, I began to understand that the stories we keep, as painful as they may be, are what keep us human.

That experience left an impression that shaped how I view knowledge and responsibility. Over the years, libraries have evolved, but their purpose has not changed. Now, living in North County San Diego, I see that same spirit of discovery and humanity alive in every branch I visit. Whether it is a child curled up in the reading corner, a senior learning to use a tablet, or a family quietly studying together, it is all community in action. Libraries remain one of the few truly public spaces left where everyone belongs and knowledge is still free.

After more than two decades of military service, I turned my attention to civic life and public policy. During that transition, the library became a place of grounding for me once again. It reminded me that good leadership starts with listening, learning, and staying curious, the very principles I first learned as a young reader. I used its resources to study housing policy, legislative history, and community development. But what meant the most was not just the information I found; it was the feeling of connection I experienced every time I walked through the doors. I still feel like that little boy who felt that sense of awe, wonder and amazement of what an interesting and so very large place our world, and our universe really is.

I have watched library staff greet every person with the same warmth and patience, no matter who they are or what they are facing. In a world that can often feel divided and digital, that human connection matters more than ever. The library remains one of the few spaces where the playing field is truly leveled. It is where a young student, a retiree, or someone facing hard times can sit side by side and find what they need to move forward.

The library has also nurtured my creative and spiritual side. While I attended Nyack College and Alliance Theological Seminary, I learned the Greek, Hebrew and Latin. I studies Josephus, Tertullian, and Martin Luther's 95 Thesis. I have spent quiet mornings reading biographies, historical texts, and books on philosophy and faith, often finding unexpected lessons that guided my path in life and on to leadership. It is where I recharged mentally and could reconnect with what truly matters: knowledge, kindness, and service.

For me, the San Diego County Library is not simply a public institution. It is a living symbol of hope, equality, and lifelong learning. Every time I see someone walk through those doors, I am reminded that this place belongs to all of us. It is built from our stories, our curiosity, and our shared belief that community thrives when knowledge is open to everyone. That is why the library matters to me, and why I will always be grateful for the role it has played in my journey and in the life of this San Diego county I now proudly call home.