Why Iowa, As A State, Sucks An Astonishing Amount of Ass

Many people, caught in the grip of the worst economic fiasco since the great depression, are hurting. They're out of work, they're piled high with debt, and they're terrified about the future. Oh, I almost forgot one thing, they're also fucked if they're unfortunate enough to live in Iowa.

Let me give you an example from my own life. As a librarian, I make slightly more than jack squat. As a recent graduate from a Master's program I am also piled high with student loan payments I can barely make. Yet, my "friends" at the Iowa department of revenue, ever eager to seize on an opportunity to close the sate's budget gap, have found me to be one of many poor rapees in a position to be robbed at pen-point. While I made almost nothing last year I was still forced to pay hundreds in to the state to cover my tax "debt". And just today, after auditing a two year old tax return, my useless excuse for a state government is hitting me up for over $120 more.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those people that feels that just because we have a state full of police notorious for harrassment and unexplained shootings that we shouldn't have to pay taxes. Nor am I one of those misguided fools who thinks that a state that provides some of the most meager educational benefits alongside some of the shittiest labor laws can't legitimately tax its citizens. I don't even think that, as a citizen in a state that has displayed nothing but open contempt for me, I shouldn't carry some of the load. After all, oh what a load it is.

I mean, Iowa is a state on the move. So much so that millions of its best and brightest have been moving steadily to other states for years now. Here in Iowa, the state that took the lead in the area of cloning bans, we're usually a step ahead. About the only intelligent political movement in our state of late has been the legalization of gay marriage, though if "luminaries" like Chris Rants and Steve King had their way, we'd imprison homosexuals, experiment on the elderly, and tax people who don't own a bible. Iowa is the backwater of states. The state that time forgot. Our medieval legislature along with its legions of gutless, scumbag bureaucrat minions has long ago given up the pretense of decent government, just as it long ago gave up any pretense of giving a damn about the steady brain drain going on in this once great state.

For my own part, I'm convinced. Hopefully the economy will improve a little soon so I can begin my new "fuck Iowa" policy by moving far away and denying the pile of smoldering detritus that we in iowa laughingly refer to as "our government" any more of the money I make. Money I make not because of, but in spite of, their efforts.

And man will that feel good.

In Memorium for Kathryn Jean Skhal

On June 16, Kathryn J. Skhal, Clinical Education Librarian at Hardin Health Services Library and Assistant Professor in the Internal Medicine department of the University of Iowa, died suddenly. There are more details about her death that I could convey, but I'd rather not. I'm going to talk about her life.

Kathy Skhal was a tremendously accomplished librarian, highly respected by her students and peers alike. A quick perusal of her CV on Hardin's website shows an impressive array of professional publications; the fruits of her combined talents for research and instruction. She was a frequent and sought after lecturer on topics of medical librarianship, both at the University and by other organizations. I remember having the pleasure of attending one of her presentations on judging authority for medical websites at the Iowa Library Association annual conference in 2007. She made what could have been lip smackingly dry material terrifically engaging with demonstrations and humor. I personally was trained on a number of topics by Kathy when I worked at Hardin Library. She was always patient with me; something I appreciated because there are plenty of things I'm pretty thick about. She was also always friendly toward me; something I appreciated because at times I can be a royal pain in the ass. In fact, as I think back, I recall her as one of the most cheerful people I've ever met. And people like that are a rare treasure in this grim world.

To really put a perspective on the kind of person she was, maybe I should tell a story. See, there was one day during my tenure at the Hardin reference desk when, in a fit of bumbling not unlike me, I accidentally gave some joker calling from some state office or another Kathy's home number instead of her work number. When it was brought to my attention that I had done this I immediately felt defensive and sullen; a direct result of a deeper feeling of shame and stupidity. It was an honest mistake, but one of the sort that I would be pretty annoyed about these days if it was made by one of my work-studies. As soon as I gathered my few wits I knew I needed to apologize to Kathy.

I ended up seeing her later that day and immediately belted out an embarrassed apology for the incident. She played the whole thing down completely and, as I continued to jammer on, made light of the fact that I had supplied a piece of her personal information to somebody that, for all I knew, could have been the Tylenol killer's less stable brother. I suddenly realized that, not only was Kathy being unbelievably cool about the whole thing, but she could tell that I was flustered and she was trying to make me feel better about it. CLASS ACT. And yes, ladies and gents, that last sentance was in all capitals for a reason.

Kathy Skhal will be missed by a lot of people, and in the end that might be the best measure of the sort of life a person has lived. She made a tremendous impact on the professional lives of her students, but that pales in comparison to the impact she had on the personal lives of those who knew her. She leaves the world a better place than it was when she came into it. And so, while it is entirely proper that we mourn our loss in her passing, it is more appropriate still that we show our gratitude for the tremendous good fortune we enjoyed in having her as a teacher, a colleague, and a friend. Be at peace, Kathy Skhal. You've earned it.

A Thrilling and Largely Truthful Account of the '08 Flooding

I was in Library School at the time. The University of Iowa was gripped by dread. You could smell it, wafting through the aftershave and sweat of every harried TA, and taste it in the increasingly tainted drinking water. No one knew how high the water would crest. One night I found myself down near the English Philosophy Building, where the city had posted a truck and a squat, bored looking employee. He was keeping an eye on the bridge over the Iowa river and he eyed me along with it, giving me a shot of suspicion as I approached. I asked him if the bridge was still open.

"For now. But who knows how bad this is going to get."

I looked down at the water, which was now flowing hastily through the pedestrian tunnel that, in better times, had provided a means for everyone to walk underneath the lazy traffic on the bridge. Sticks and detritus swept by in the current, looking ominous and authentic. I decided that the water had an urgent look to it that I didn't like. A sort of fluidic factory work. Made me sweat just looking at it.

The next day I spoke to my stepmom on the phone and she wanted to know if I was okay. I told her I was out of the flood plain. My student job was at Hardin library and, given the local geography, if that went underwater then eastern Iowa would be an inland sea. When they closed the main library my summer classes were rescheduled, and I was inconvenienced repeatedly, but I’d have to be an even bigger prick than I actually am to complain about that. I was lucky.

Cedar Rapids wasn’t. It wasn’t until later, when I got a job and entered the Linn County Library Consortium that I got a chance to really see how bad the libraries up there had been slammed. The public library will still be in the recovery process for years, and the African American and Czech collections won’t be far behind. The members of those teams are some extraordinary folks, especially given FEMA’s relative uselessness in the early period of the recovery. The Cedar Rapids public library was declared an inessential service by FEMA, which meant that they didn’t qualify for relocation reimbursement. A particular irony given that, in the Westdale mall FEMA office, a place swamped with the desperate and careworn, officials were sending people upstairs to the temporary Public Library offices so they could get help filling out their paperwork.

The flood shut down several of the University libraries. As a result, we got swamped up at Hardin. We got inundated. Early on it was renewal time for the grad students; a situation finally ameliorated by a less than timely mass autorenewal by the University of all check outs. One gal brought in about seventy five books comprising one suitcase on wheels and the arms of two unfortunate male friends. All renewals. The extra manpower from the temporarily defunct library units made the situation better, but it didn’t take me long to start getting burned out. I hate production work.

For most of the period I was paired up with a worker from the Main Library named ---. --- was a smart, cheerful African American guy who I looked forward to talking to during the day. The fact that he tolerated my often disjointed ramblings on any number of subjects couldn’t help but endear him to me. As helpful as he was initially, the University soon decided to add some ancillary paperwork to the duties of their displaced workers, and as a consequence I then found myself largely handling the brunt of the rush. After that the desk was often jammed up; the fruits of a bean-counter mentality.

The Main Library that had delivered this poor soul into my vociferous radius was closed due to flooding in the basement. I had been part of the army of volunteers that worked for hours to transfer books from the basement to the upper floors before we were forced to leave by the University of administration. As one of the wider bodies in the group I spent my first hours running (yes, in some cases literally running) books upstairs via elevator and two-wheeled cart. After I was displaced from this job and it looked like things were winding down, I ran across one of my fellow students from the Library graduate program. She was an older lady, named ---, who I generally got along with and who could be generously termed as possessing a “strong personality”.

“I’ll hang out for a little bit yet,” I said, “but they’ve stopped some of the groups and it looks like they have more people now than they need. I think I’ll head out in a few.” I said this all with a look of sincerity that belied the fact that my attitude was a reflection of the fact that I was tired as hell and had started to think uncontrollably about a cold beer or six. A few minutes later --- found me again.

“They’ve got some spots over here”, she insisted helpfully, guiding me over to a human chain that was ferrying books up a stairwell, one by one. I’m still trying to think of a way to repay her generosity. The whole thing lasted for another hour and a half or so before we were finally kicked out of the building by facilities. In the end the Main Library just got a couple of inches of water in the basement and the only real casualty was the shelving. Still, it was a noble effort. I asked repeatedly, in the days that followed, why the University had continued to store books in a basement next to river known for periodic flooding. The answer I finally got was funding. The U of I was building a multi-million dollar replacement to the still serviceable fieldhouse at the time (the grounds of the new construction also flooded while the fieldhouse did not, being on about the same level as Hardin) but it refused to cough up the money needed for more off-site storage for the University’s invaluable collection. I suppose all large institutions are short-sighted, but the University of Iowa is famous for this kind of stupidity. When I was finishing my BA they were screaming about budget shortfalls and begging for help from the alumni association while making seven figure land purchases in nearby Coralville.

According to FEMA the 2008 flood was the fourth worst natural disaster in our nation’s history. Two of the disasters that topped ours were Hurricanes, which I find a little impressive. It’ll be something the library community in particular will talk about around here for a long time. It’ll be the yardstick, along with Katrina, that other natural Biblioclasms in America are measured against. After the 2004 disaster libraries in Asia began to work on systems, including “twinning”, to mitigate such damage in the future. Hopefully we’ll learn from their example.