Delphos, Ohio

Once I reached the first Ohio Carnegie on my agenda in Wauseon they started coming every twenty-five miles or so.  With none open so far I plop down at the entry of each for a spell using its WiFi, provided it doesn’t require a password.  Wauseon actually offered its password (bookemdano).  The WiFi was strong enough I could sit on a nearby bench.  

It was a rare Carnegie with an entrance at sidewalk  level.  Most have several steps (symbolically ascending to knowledge). The two-story building had a glassy addition to its side.  It was providing curbside pickups, but I arrived after its hours of operation so couldn’t have a word with a librarian or a glimpse of the interior.

My time at each library firmly implants an image of its majesty, which I carry as I pedal to the next and then is replaced by the latest, though not for good, as any can pop up at any time, always giving me a wave of pleasure.

My approach to the next Carnegie in Maumee took me through several blocks of homes, several of which had signs out front saying “A Hero Lives Here.”  I’d been seeing “Heroes Work Here” banners in front of care facilities and hospitals and food processing plants, but these were the first to identify where heroes lived.  It might have been that Maumee was a larger town than most and had a greater percentage of heroes, as it was on the fringe of the metropolis of Toledo. I was spared going into Toledo as I had visited its three Carnegies on a previous trip when I gathered all those in Cleveland and then along Lake Erie to Toledo.



Maumee’s Carnegie sat in a sprawling park.  It had had a couple of extensive additions, totally blocking its original entrance, putting the new one on the opposite side of the complex by its large parking lot.  A sign by the bike racks advertised “WiFi Zone.”  I was the only one taking advantage of it, but two cars pulled up while I was there to pick up books.  The books were placed just inside the entrance on a table, so there didn’t need to be any human contact in the transaction.  

The library was a block from the large Maumee River, which flows into Lake Erie.  I was able to follow it for fifty miles to the Carnegie in Defiance, easily the best cycling of the trip on a lightly traveled secondary road.  I passed through Napoleon and was able to drop by its classic Carnegie, which I had previously visited in April of 2014.  It is well-maintained and unmarred by additions.  “Carnegie Library” is chiseled into its facade, though it no longer serves as a library, rather storage for the new nearby library.

I had my best campsite of the trip in a forest along the river.  I’ve been in a forest every night so far, but all previously had been within range of habitations with the danger that a dog might sniff me out and in such tight bushy quarters that I didn’t have room to raise my tent and shake out what debris had gathered in it when I took it down in the morning. I severely gashed my shin on a fallen log I hadn’t seen at one such campsite saturating my sock with blood.  I’m still smarting from the wound.  This was the first campsite without deer making their presence known with their snorting version of a growl.  

I was able to fill my water bottles at a park area along the river.  As at the Walmarts, the drinking fountains were turned off, but the rest rooms were open, though a sign in front of them warned, “For emergency use.  Not recommended for general use.”  There was hot water as well as cold in the rest rooms, and a soap dispenser, so I could thwart the virus.

The Defiance Carnegie was right on the banks of the Maumee at its confluence with the Auglaize overlooking the remains of Fort Defiance, built in 1794 during the Indian wars in the region.   It took its name from the general who built it, Anthony Wayne, who proclaimed, “I defy the English, Indians and all the devils of hell to take it.”

The Tudor Revival building with a red sandstone facade was flanked with jarringly modern additions.  But two large trees somewhat obscured them and the grandeur of the original so dominated the additions, they could easily be ignored.  Still I couldn’t wipe them from my mind’s eye as I cycled on to Paulding for its Carnegie.

The Paulding Carnegie was the first of these travels with a plaque out front tracing its history as the first Carnegie to serve an entire county, earning four times the usual $10,000 grant for small towns.  

As so often happens, the plaque bungled the numbers of Carnegies, both world wide and in the US.  The actual numbers are 1,679  in the US and 2,509 world wide.  The plaque was way off with  1,946 and 2,811.  

One of the memories I carried on to the next Carnegie in Delphos was of a guy cutting the grass at the library on a riding mower flying the American flag.

I had to verify I had the right address for the Carnegie in Delphos as the library at 309 West Second Street bore no resemblance whatsoever to a Carnegie.  But the address was correct, as this was another of those Carnegies that had been totally swallowed up by its additions. Only the backside revealed the original brick of the building.  The additions had no character and were bland standard fare.  A neighbor at his barbecue said that when the library was redone a statue of a soldier on a pedestal that had been out front was also removed and transplanted to another park.

Along with all the images of Carnegies I have been transporting, I’ve also been lugging a heavy heart.  Two faithful readers of this blog since it’s inception have passed since my return from Brazil, Charlie in Everett, Washington and Robin in St. Louis, though not from the virus.  They were friends and supporters for decades who often replied to my writing. I am at a loss knowing that I won’t be hearing from them during these or any of my travels to come.