Edelson finally relented, allowing the library and its supporters to spend Lu’s money as they wished. A celebration of the bequest was held on May 22, 2013. I went up to Southbury again, this time with Alice Quinn, the former poetry editor of The New Yorker, who filled me in on the resolution of the dispute. There would be no “draw down,” the selectman’s idea of using Lu’s money instead of the taxpayers’ to cover the annual book budget. The library would keep the money as discretionary funds, to be rolled over from year to year, and the town will continue to support the library despite the library’s being loaded.
The spacious parking lot was not quite full on this fine night, and the umbrella bagger was not in demand. It was the kind of amenity that I couldn’t quite picture Lu paying for (and she hadn’t; the Friends of the Library buys furnishings with proceeds from its yearly book sale). Catering was courtesy of the Naugatuck Savings Bank: a tasteful selection of appetizers, wine, dessert, and coffee. The tone was festive without being bubbly.
Shirley Michaels and Shirley Thorson, the head librarian, greeted us. I lurked on the fringes of a group where Ed Edelson was holding forth, at a high cocktail table strewn with party favors (ballpoint pens from the Naugatuck Savings Bank). When Michaels ascended the stairs to begin the formal proceedings, I ducked over to stand with Alice at the foot of the stairs and unobtrusively retrieved from my bag the prop I had brought along: Lu’s comma shaker, a relic dating approximately to the early 1960s.
The big moment was the unveiling of the plaque for the Lu Burke Circulation Desk. Alice had brought along a Webster’s Second Unabridged to donate to the library in honor of Lu, and there was a stand on the desk waiting to receive it. The dictionary opened to the page with “Life” as the guide word in the upper right-hand corner.
Michaels introduced Alice as Lu Burke’s colleague. Alice explained that her father had lived in Pomperaug Woods, and she recognized Lu there when she went to visit him. Neither Lu nor Alice was sure of the other’s identity at first, but the next time Alice visited she approached. Lu said, “So you’ve materialized.” I could hear Lu’s voice in that choice of words.
Then Alice introduced me. I had not prepared any formal remarks. While waiting on West Forty-third Street for Alice to pick me up in her Prius (the hybrid, which runs quietly and burns fuel efficiently, seemed like the perfect car for a poetry editor), I’d scribbled a few things down. We really do think of Lu every day at the office. I would have liked to ask her opinion about a spelling conundrum we had had that week at the office: whether or not to double the t in the past tense of the verb “to summit,” as in “Traditionally, the Sherpas summitted Everest each season before the Western clients on guided tours.” The Little Red Web does actually include this sense of “summit” as an intransitive verb (“to climb to the summit”), but I didn’t see it, possibly because I was thrown by the first sense: “to participate in a summit conference.” Our rule is to double the consonant if the dictionary offers it as an alternative. How could we assume it would be an alternative if we didn’t see it in the dictionary at all?
I knew this stuff wasn’t going to fly. I wanted to conjure Lu’s spirit somehow. I used to have to give myself little pep talks in order not to be afraid of Lu. She had made me cry on my first day in collating, when I not only could not find what she wanted but had no idea what she was talking about. I would tell myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong, and so I had nothing to fear. And if you kept standing up to Lu, eventually you won her respect. I also learned from her example not to be like her. I hope.
Then I held up the comma shaker. Although it was right there in my hand for everyone to see, I had to describe it, because the hand-drawn commas on it have faded over the years, and it was an object of some subtlety to begin with. I demonstrated its use by giving the air a generous sprinkling of commas. Then I embarked on a reminiscence about how the copydesk used to be near the elevator vestibule where Mr. Shawn would meet Lillian Ross and her dog Goldie when they left at night. I omitted everything about the relationship between Mr. Shawn and Miss Ross (she was his girlfriend), and the breed of the dog (an apricot poodle). I also left out the part about the time Goldie peed in the hall and I mopped it up. Mr. Shawn was grateful for my swift application of the paper towel. I imagined he admired my genetic predisposition to spring into the role of cleaning lady. He himself was, of course, unable to cope with the situation or stand by holding the leash while Miss Ross did the wiping up. I had a pretty shrewd idea that Mr. Shawn would have to accept my next “letter from a friend.”