A man goes into a sub shop — let’s call it Subdays — and finds that they have his favorite deli meat there. Liverwurst. He’s thrilled to find it served and goes back to that sub shop frequently. But one day, he’s in a different area and goes into another Subdays shop and finds that liverwurst is not offered there. They have hummus, but no liverwurst. He’s annoyed at this inconsistency and writes to the head of all Subdays expressing his aggravation. (Stay with me here.)

The president of Subdays can basically do three things. She can thank the man for his opinion, but let him know that the Subdays franchises are run independently and can serve what they choose to serve. She can commission a survey of customers and franchises on the feasibility of serving liverwurst and hummus at Subdays, and turn the data into a sophisticated algorithm showing in which locations liverwurst and hummus should be served. Or she can order the Subdays franchises to stick to the original menu with no substitutions or ethnic variations. Oh, and menus should be displayed four inches from the cash register. (Almost there.)

Now suppose that the managers of the various Subdays earned their graduate degrees in delicatessens. How would they respond? Maybe they’d chose to run a deli in an office building, where they’d have some guidelines, but not so many hard rules. Maybe they’d take their degrees elsewhere — supermarkets perhaps, or entirely unrelated businesses.

Without fitting the analogy too tightly, this is where the public library system finds itself today. They want professional librarians trained to make decisions, but the greater library system holds onto the power. The problem may be less prevalent in smaller library systems, but as the number of branches in a system grows, so does the need to exercise more control over collections, policies, and initiatives. If there is a goal of more consistency for the sake of the patron — and at some level, for the sake of the employees — what happens to the librarians trained to run the show?

Well, some of them leave. The school system can offer a huge competition for librarians who want more authority in their library, with the bonus of better hours and summers off. The most energetic librarians may find the public library system too stifling, and look for work where the fold of the brochure doesn’t need to be a matter for committee. The new graduates may skip the public library altogether and use their degrees in business.

In my large, suburban (unnamed) library system, centralized ordering for books and media seems essential. The job would be too big for any particular branch. However, ordering by the numbers results in some waste and lost opportunities. For example, my branch will get new Magic Tree House books because other libraries had worn-out copies, or because the two-year ordering cycle for the Magic Tree House series indicates that it’s time. But our branch gets lots of donated, new copies of books in this series — certainly enough to replace old or lost copies. Perhaps we’d rather use our funds in this area to replace other titles instead, and in doing so, become more involved in the process.

Brian Kenny, Editor-in-Chief of School Library Journal, recently talked about the issue of centralized ordering in his December editorial. As he says, “There’s no greater experience for new librarians than being responsible for buying front-list titles. It engages them in a continuous learning process as they grow familiar with the review literature, publishers, and trends, on the one hand, and their community and its evolving needs on the other.”

A larger library system can become overly dependent on administration initiatives based on research instead of front-line experience. Even small decisions turn into matters for committee, not individual librarians or managers. Again to offer a true example, while it can be helpful to have a “Lost and Found” policy that covers the entire library system, it also slowly chips away at the authority of professional staff.

The library’s connection to the county or city government can add extra layers of bureaucracy and control. That fold of the brochure issue I alluded to before is real. Our government has determined the acceptable brochure folds allowed by the agencies under its jurisdiction. Single-page flyers are fine, tri-folds are taboo. The paper airplane fold is cause for immediate dismissal. (Okay, I made that one up.)

Consistency does provide benefit and comfort. To return to the Subdays analogy, you know what you’ll find at each sub shop, whether as a customer or an employee. But in submitting the hummus to surveys and the liverwurst to public polling, we’re leaving out not only the diversity of the library, but also the power of making decisions that makes a job feel worthwhile. The public is important, no doubt, but there should be a balance between the desires of a demanding public and the needs of an educated staff. Ultimately, the customer will want both specific services and excellent staff. He’ll want to have his liverwurst and eat it too.

Posted by: Pam Coughlan