Dr. Strangequiet, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Shush

I have always prided myself on not being a "typical" librarian, often conscientiously bucking the stereotypes. No buns in this hair, no glasses on chains, and I try to stay relatively up-to-date on fashion trends, with the exception of tattoos, piercings, and unnatural hair colors. I have always cultivated a relaxed library atmosphere where students feel comfortable expressing themselves and interacting with each other and the staff. 

In the three libraries for which I have worked prior to my current one, "busy" has been the word of the day, every day. In my first, a large research university, some of the upper floors were reserved as quiet study space while the main floor with its circulation and reference desks, offices, new books and government documents was a large and noisy beehive of activity, especially at the daily "Ten-O'Clock Break," a fifty-minute time when no classes were in session, loud bands played on the plaza outside our front doors, and students rushed in to return books and take care of their fines. The second, at a suburban community college, was a beehive on a smaller scale. Ours was the only continuously open computer lab on campus, and it became our primary reference area. We librarians flitted from student to student, answering questions and giving research advice wherever a hand was raised. The third was at a tiny rural community college nestled between the Ozarks and the Great Plains.  The library there was a one-person show and I was given a lot of autonomy over the environment. Students there used it as a communal space to meet and work in groups, and once again the lab was a beehive of activity, with the lone librarian flitting from student to student, often giving three or four different research consultations simultaneously. 

Then, I landed at my current college, a medium-sized community college in a large city. I did not expect this one to be any different. Was I ever surprised!  The staff all made sure to whisper in public areas and chastised anyone who did not follow suit- including me! At first I thought they were just being unreasonably librarian-ish. I soon came to realize, however, that the staff's obsession with the noise level was not theirs. It was driven by the students, as a few dirty looks told me when I accidentally spoke above a whisper. I discovered that our students value the silence since it is the only place that they in their hectic lives can get it. Two-year college students in urban areas are usually adults and quite driven in their pursuit of education, knowing as they do what life without an education is like. They have no patience for the juvenile antics of university students, and dive into their studies every minute they can. They insist on an environment conducive to study and contemplation and they demand silence. 

My motto as a librarian and academic is "Students First, Always." How can I deny my students what they need just because I don't want to be a stereotype? The answer is that I can't and still be a good librarian. So, against my nature, I have learned to whisper and tell the few unruly students to zip it. I do try to avoid the stereotypical "shush" and say things like "Whisper, please!' and "keep it down."  I no longer worry about coming across as a stereotype. To a certain extent, that's what my students want me to be, and I'm only too happy to oblige.