A while ago, I had occasion to mention that librarians were among my favorite people. I didn’t go into any details except to say that when I was about 11 years old, a librarian commented on the heaviness of the books I was checking out, and because I thought she was referring to their actual weight, I showed her the satchel I had brought along. I was a couple of blocks away before it occurred to me that she was referring to the mature nature of the material, and I was truly impressed that she hadn’t busted out laughing. Heck, it even struck me as funny in an embarrassing sort of way.

But that was 65 years ago. My point was that in all that time, I have never had occasion to change my high opinion of the profession, although by now I have dealt with several hundred of her colleagues in different towns and cities. They never seem impatient or short-tempered or rude, or any of those other things we have come to expect from the people we’re compelled to deal with. It’s almost as though they’re raised and trained on another planet and are only transported to earth after they’ve been perfected.

It was back in the early 50s that I first fell in love with public libraries because I had fallen in love with literature. Up until that time, I had certainly been aware that they existed, even apart from the small one at my grammar school, but they had nothing to do with me. But it was then that I happened to read John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” and that literally changed my life.

Understand, I wasn’t totally illiterate at the time. But my reading was pretty much confined to books that either had “Oz” or “Dr. Dolittle” in the title. But when one of my older brothers took me along to see a reissue of John Ford’s 1940 film, I decided to read the source material, and the die was cast.

From that point on, I was never to see one of those little brick librarybuildings without experiencing a sense of wonder and amazement. Say what you will about the human race, any species that can dream up something as splendid as public libraries isn’t totally worthless. There are very few things, and none that come readily to mind, that compare to them. Artichokes aren’t bad, but they’re a hell of a lot of work. Sunsets are nice, but they’re unreliable. Puppies are cute, but they make a mess. But, where public libraries are concerned, there’s simply no downside.

A library card combines all the best attributes of a passport and a genie’s lamp. For openers, librarians are unfailingly kind and helpful. If they weren’t, considering the pittance they’re paid, they’d have gone into some other line of work, such as being meter maids or clerking at the DMV.

For another thing, libraries, themselves, are convenient and trouble-free. It’s not just that they’re usually within walking distance of your home, either; if one branch doesn’t have the book you want, they’ll quickly get it from a different branch and hold it for you. If you don’t think that’s a big deal, I guess you never tried returning a movie video to a different Blockbuster when that outfit was still in business.

On top of everything else, it’s all free. The only time a library charges you even a dime is when you neglect to return books or tapes on time. And even then, the cost is so nominal that the obvious purpose of the fine is to remind us to do the considerate thing next time, not to punish us for having been thoughtless this time around.

Andrew Carnegie, born into a poor Scottish family, is a special hero of mine, and not only because he was short. He once wrote, “A man who dies rich, dies disgraced.” And so, in the final years of his life, he gave away a third of a billion dollars to good causes, with about twenty percent going to Britain and the rest to his adopted country, America. A part of that generous legacy was the endowment of nearly 3,000 libraries across the United States.Talk about a gift that keeps on giving.

If it were up to me, his would be the fifth head up there on Mt. Rushmore and his birthday, November 25th, would be a national holiday.

I regret that I can never hope to repay the debt of gratitude I owe the gentleman. I can only say, thank you, Mr. Carnegie. For, owing to your beneficence, from the first time I stepped foot in a public library, I knew I wouldn’t have to die to get to heaven.

This is to remind us that no matter how the election turns out, we’ll all — Democrats, Republicans and even those pinheads who wasted their time voting for Gary Johnson or Jill Stein — still have something to be grateful for this coming Wednesday.