Thirteen of the fourteen libraries still stand, the only loss the Woodland Branch to fire in 1957. Five still function as libraries, four serve as office space for organizations that provide community social services, three are boarded up and closed and one is an African American Museum seeking funds to renovate and reopen. I had a fine day bicycling nearly fifty miles from one to another under a cold drippy sky.
I began my rounds at the Amtrak station at seven a.m. after seven-and-half hours aboard the Lake Shore Limited across Indiana and Ohio. I had a seat to myself, so was able to sprawl out and get some sleep. The train station is just across a main highway from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which has a prominent spot on Lake Erie blaring rock and roll from speakers around the clock in its large plaza. A plaque out front explains that the term "Rock and Roll" was originated by a local disc jockey, Alan Freed, in 1951 to describe the up tempo black rhythm and blues records he played on his nightly "Moon Dog House Rock and Roll Party" show.
From the museum I headed to the eastern end of the city and into East Cleveland for a bonus Carnegie for the day, making up for the one that burned down. Its grandeur was somewhat undermined by a large glassy addition to its left called the Debra Ann November Learning Center. At least "Carnegie Library" remained above the original majesterial entrance.
The traffic was tame and not excessive all day long, maybe thanks to the extra-long state-of-the-art buses, some of whom had fast lanes all to their own, such as Chicago's traffic commissioner has been trying to introduce on Ashland Avenue. But the minimal traffic was probably mostly due to the declining population of the city and profusion of abandoned buildings and empty lots, epitomized by the saddest Carneige I've ever come upon--the Superior Branch, that at one point had been rechristened as a "Learning Bank." It was one of three of Cleveland's Carnegies designed by Carnegie's son-in-law, Henry Whitfield. It was the last built in the city in 1920.
The others he designed had more flair. The presently closed South Branch had the look of a castle.
The Quincy Branch was more recognizable as a Carnegie. It has been renamed the Langsten Hughes Center and houses a clinic and health and education center and had an expansion to accommodate them.
Several of the Carnegies were basic, almost bunker-like, buildings. The only distinguishing feature of the East 79th Branch were its large windows, but they had their luster diminished by a thick metal grating to protect this present Alcohol Rehabilitation Center.
The post WWI Brooklyn and Jefferson Branches, among the last Carnegie bequeathed, were near clones, designed to be turned into turned factories if they were no longer needed as libraries.
But they had both thrived and were buzzing with patrons in the early afternoon even before school let out.
One of the librarians at the Brooklyn Branch, Laura, was a great Carnegie enthusiast and bubbled over at my quest and that I had traveled via Amtrak with my bike, something she has been eager to undertake. She was ecstatic that I had already seen nine of Cleveland's Carnegies and was equally enthusiastic describing the four that awaited me. She hovered by the window where I left my unlocked bike concerned that it might disappear, a common occurrence at the library. I hadn't bothered to lock it figuring I'd be in and out in a couple of minutes and that bike thieves wouldn't be lurking in the rain nor likely to try to ride off on my overloaded bike. When she took me to see a back room with a fireplace, she asked one of her cohearts to keep an eye on it. No one I have asked has been able to explain the circumstances of a main artery through the city being named for Carnegie, whether it was due to his library benevolence or if he had business interests here. Laura didn't know either, but she gave me the name of the history librarian at the Main Library who could well know or find out.
Carnegie Street passes within a block of the Sterling Branch, which still functions as a library and a "Safe House."
The Lorraine Branch, built in Greek Revival style, also had a sign in its window designating it as a "Safe Place."
The West Branch had even more architectural flair. It's hint of a wedding cake gave me a double wow. First upon sighting it and then when I entered and saw its commodious central room. It had a bike book pertinent to the region--"Pedaling to Lunch--Bike Rides and Bites in Northeast Ohio."
The Miles Park Branch, sitting on a slight hill with a long promenade through a park leading to it, was perhaps the most distuished of the day's Carnegies.
Even though it no longer served as a library, but rather for housing and economic development, it's original circulation desk remained in its stunning rotunda.
When it closed as a library in 1987 it was briefly a museum, which the Hough Branch has become, though it is presently closed as it seeks funds to reopen. It was one of the first African American Museums in the country. The once magnificent building from 1907 was in sorry shape with boarded up and broken windows.
The St. Clair Branch was a monstrous two-storied red brick building with some ornamentation along its roof line. It is now the Goodrich Gannetg Neighborhood Centef.
The Broadway Branch is a unique ten-sided building with a large rotunda. It's location where St. Clair Avenue angles into 55th Street allowed it to have gallant entrances from both streets. Unfortunately, it is presently vacant after once being a restaurant and I could only peer in at its spacious interior.
I finished my rounds at the huge downtown library that any city could be proud of. Laura's friend Terry didn't have an answer for how a main thoroughfare through the city came to be known as Carnegie, but he did tell me about a book the library had by Mary Ellen Armentrout on the state's 111 Carnegies.
The library also had a wealth of books on bicycling, included two I had been trying to track down and several others I didn't know of but would have kept me in town for several days of I'd had the time. Perhaps the greatest discovery was "A Year in the Saddle" by Giles Belbin that listed a significant bike event for every day of the year. There was also a bike memoir by the very literate Tour de France chronicler Graeme Fife, "The Beautiful Machine," that I didn't know about. None by Les Woodland though, the prolific writer on cycling lore, who I've been trying to contact for years, as he frequently mentions grave sites of Tour champions. Just this past week I connected with him and thus has begun a wonderful correspondence. He told me where the second Tour winner is buried. It is on my way to Cannes.