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Acknowledgements I acknowledge being deeply implicated as everyone else in this chronicle of events which took place circa 1996 concerning River Bend Public Library and I’m only sorry that I had to leave so many people out. I acknowledge using names from popular fiction to protect the innocent, the guilty, and myself; writing as I am, under the Federal Witness Protection Program. I acknowledge falling in love with Marian the Librarian while watching The Music Man on television more times than perhaps may have been healthy for an impressionable boy surrounded by singing, dancing sisters. I acknowledge singing along with the songs on the red vinyl Music Man LP as we did chores, washing dishes, windows, walls, and vacuuming carpets with the big brown Kirby, expertly wielding every one of its attachments. Without adult supervision, working together, and singing along is how I remember it. Mom was out running errands and Dad was at the office or on the road or at a sales convention. Dad was a travelling salesman, much like those carpet baggers on the train in the movie. “You’ve got to know the territory,” he would agree while they sang and danced. It was all about knowing your customer base and staying in touch. Sitting around the Christmas tree stuffing envelopes with company calendars was another of our family traditions. I acknowledge no conscious memory of prior imprinting when I started working at the library. Only after completing this manuscript did I recover my memory of an early infatuation with lady librarians. I acknowledge taking detailed notes during meetings in the library, at public hearings, in boardrooms and in backrooms, at bars, and during parties; and I recall more than once looking around and wondering why nobody else was writing this stuff down, because something was