EDDY'S PAGE
by Eddy Robey M.A.

It was almost fifty years ago, yet I remember well my first sight of that magical place. A large city block, beautifully landscaped: with large oak trees, flower beds, neat gravel paths, and many benches on which to sit and enjoy a peaceful hour. At the far end of the park, there was a two storied, red brick building with the look of a comfortable home. A dozen stone steps led up to large, carved wooden doors with polished brass handles.

Through those doors, was a wooden desk, as tall as I. A friendly face smiled down and asked, "Is this your first visit to a library?"

Yes, it was. I nodded shyly, and a nice lady came out to show me around. The walls were filled with books, in cases about five feet tall. Above the books were paintings in gilded frames. The center of the room was filled with tables and cozy chairs, some of them just the right height for a little girl to sit.

The lady explained that, not only was I allowed to read the books, but that if very careful, I would be able to borrow them. I asked her how such a wonderful place come to be. She took me by the hand and walked me over to face a magnificent, stained-glass window. In the center of the window were many names and dates.

She told me that we lived in a very special place. In many countries, people did not have the freedom to read or speak as they wished. Many years ago, she said, there had been a great war. The men whose names were on the window had all fought and died so that children like me would be able to learn all the words we needed to become good people. Those men were the graduates of Los Angeles High School who had died in the First World War.

These days, it seems as though every event has an obligatory moment of silence. When those moments are announced, I remember my first day at the library, and smile because I know better.

The librarian taught me well. The way to celebrate freedom is not with silence, but words, millions of them. We can say what we like, when we like, in any language: because of the soldiers who fought to guarantee that freedom to us. We can speak without fear, and must allow that right to others.

I do not bow my head for silent moments, but stand tall: head up, shoulders back, and say Thank You to the spirit of those men. There is no more fitting memorial.