Chapter 19 –
At least I didn’t get arrested
The walk up Canal Street was uneventful. I am not sure what I might have expected after the speech we had all just heard. Should party faithful be driving cars up and down the street cheering their new President? Should people who had voted for other parties – the majority of Louisianans – be huddling some place plotting to retake their country? Whatever was going on, all I could see was normal foot and car traffic, with maybe a few more soldiers stationed outside public buildings. The extra soldiers were also out front of the library. These books were being really well guarded. There were a dozen soldiers on the front steps and in front of the main doors. As I started up the steps, one of the soldiers stepped directly in front of me.
“Your papers, please.” Funny, he was saying “please,” but it didn’t sound like the “please” and “thank you” our mothers taught us.
“What papers would you like?” He was standing on a step above me, but I was tall enough to still look him in the eye – which is what I did.
“I need to see proof of your citizenship.”
“My American passport is back in my hotel. Would you like to see something else?”
“Americans aren’t allowed here. This is for Southland citizens only.”
“Really? Do you have secret books in there?”
“You will leave now, or you will be arrested.”
“Before you arrest me, please call Andre Guillard, the director of the library.” We were still eyeball to eyeball and I could see him react when I mentioned the name of the director.
“He is a very busy man.”
“If you will tell him Professor Murphy is here, I think he will find time to speak with me.” The soldier made no reply. We continued our stare down a little longer, and then he moved toward the door.
“Do not move from this spot, or you will be arrested,” he said as he left. I remembered a time when strangers greeted each other with simple phrases like, “Hi, how are you?” Oh well. I stood and waited. I was tempted to climb up one stair just to see what would happen, but the impulse passed. About ten minutes later the soldier came back, stood exactly where he had stood before, and resumed his stare down with me.
“You will remain here. Director Guillard will see you when he has time.” The time turned out to be about two minutes. But it was a different Guillard who descended the stairs to me. Stiff, formal, he stopped two stairs up from where I stood. When I held out my hand, he ignored it.
“Professor Murphy, this library is closed to non-citizens.”
“I was hoping to find some additional materials in the archives.”
“The archives are closed to non-citizens as well.”
“But..”
“There are no exceptions. The library has been gracious in the past and given you access to a few historical documents. You should be grateful for that access. The words of our founding fathers have been preserved with great effort over many years. You were lucky to have even temporary access to such documents. You should appreciate what you were given.” And that was all for him. Guillard turned and walked back into the library without another word or gesture. I stood dumbfounded. Was this the same man I had spoken with just a couple days before? What in the world was going on?
In the meantime, the soldier was leaning closer and closer to me. “Now you will leave, American, or you will be arrested.”
So I left. I walked back to the hotel, completely baffled – and disappointed. What kind of historian keeps people out of a library? It is against every fiber of our character. Usually we are trying to drag them in. And what did he mean I should be grateful. I was, of course. I had learned much at his library. I did appreciate what I had been given. And then, there was something about the way he had said that. I should appreciate what I had been given. What was he saying?
I admit to being a halfwit. I went back to the hotel, had an early dinner, and sat thinking about my encounter at the library. Yes, Guillard was on a committee of the Heritage Party. Maybe he was a true believer. Even educated people can be talked into racism and general thuggery. But I didn't see that in Guillard. Proud of his heritage? Yes. He had every reason to be. But supportive of a movement based on racial distinctions? No. So why was he being such a jackass?
Maybe he was only pretending. Given the current political climate, who could blame him? If so, what was he telling me? That I should stay away? That message came through loud and clear. That I should be grateful for past library use? Of course I was. What was his last line? I should appreciate what I had been given? Did he know what Margaret had given me? Is that what I should appreciate? So far, I had read one of the diaries. It was interesting, but probably more important to the family than to history. I had yet to look at the second diary. It was still buried among all my emails. Maybe it was time to take a look.