Treasure islands at risk

Everything seemed familiar - the raised circular ceiling in the center of the wide-open room, the flood of daylight even on the dreariest February morning, the exact spot where my mother used to leave me for story hour on Friday afternoons.

Yesterday, the children were still there, dozens of them, singing in the small lecture hall, their voices seeping out among the stacks and tables as background music for the adults. And of those adults, there were many, paging through newspapers and magazines at well-worn tables, crouching before shelves for novels, gathered around the free computers. One well-dressed woman sat alone, her head in her arms, sobbing.

Amid the activity and familiarity, a thought came to me wrapped in dread: If the powers that be in Boston shutter library branches, as they warned they may do, this city will never be the same. The reality is, a library isn’t merely a building with books, but a place where all things are possible. Here in Roslindale Square, there are classic novels, anthologies of English poetry, travel books that take readers to exotic destinations, and history books that transport them to better times.

People’s lives can be pure chaos, but the library, with its impeccable stacks, provides soothing structure. The economy is tough, but the library is free. This city, any city, can beat down ambition, but the library, with all that literature, creates endless potential.

I stopped in front of a lone woman sitting at a desk in the middle of the room and asked to speak to the head librarian. “That’s me,’’ she said.

Her name is Catherine Clancy, and she said the branch is frequented by young couples, senior citizens, Haitian immigrants, unemployed men and women trolling the Internet for jobs, mothers guiding their children through the vast children’s section - you name it. They have toddlers programs and film programs and, in April, specialists will help people prepare for job interviews.

“I love this branch,’’ Clancy said. “I like the openness of it, having everything on one level, the sense of intimacy.’’

Does she think it will survive the cuts? She paused and said, “I can’t tell.’’

Her story is repeated in the 26 branches all across the city. It’s repeated in cities and towns all across the region.

Indeed, this many years later, I can conjure an image of the exact rack in the North Weymouth library branch where I discovered that L. Frank Baum didn’t just write “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,’’ but many other Oz stories, and that there were enough Hardy Boys adventures to take up a whole rack. Maybe they had Barnes & Noble stores then, but we certainly didn’t go to them.

Jeff Rudman is the chairman of the board of library trustees and the exact kind of person you want running a library system, thoughtful and full of integrity. Still, I cringed when he said recently, “We are overbricked, overmortared, and underwired.’’

On the phone yesterday, he explained they are $3.6 million in the hole, their budget down more than 20 percent over the past two years, largely because of state cuts. He repeated that they’re trying to push more services online, downloadable books and the like, but acknowledged: Branches “provide community, sanctuary, and repose. We have to strike the right balance.’’

As officials seek that balance, they should understand that, yes, the world is going digital, and, yes, the Internet will save money. But libraries, the physical spaces, are the great equalizer. You don’t need a home computer. You don’t need broadband. You don’t need an e-reader.

All that’s required is personal desire, and whether you’re 8 or 80, when you walk through the doors to the neighborhood library, problems give way to possibilities.

Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at mcgrory@globe.com.