Authored by Roger L. Simon via The Epoch Times

When I was a kid in New York, the 96th Street library was a focal point of my life. Even though I was perpetually losing my library card and amassing fines for overdue books I didn’t want my parents to know about, it (as well as the movie theaters on 86th) was my home away from home.

It had also, I was given to understand, served the same function for the young James Baldwin (although Wikipedia cites the 135th Street library in Harlem) and other esteemed writers of the past and had a history of spawning authors, something even then I dreamed of being.

It was also a place for stimulating the mind as only books can.