A beloved book and a $2.4m library facelift

Saturday, 13 June 2026

Dr Richard Swainson runs Hamilton's last DVD rental store and is a weekly contributor to the Waikato Times history page.

OPINION: Students of the ever-evolving Garden Place will be aware of recent changes afforded the Hamilton City Library. Any who, like myself, were forced to negotiate scaffolding in the earlier part of the year, unsure of where the entrance to the facility was or indeed if it were open at all, have enjoyed some relief both outside and inside the building. The loud sounds associated with contemporary library services have now reverted to whatever computer game is being played, or the full-throated running commentary of those Hamiltonians not otherwise troubled by paid employment or the need to be any particular other place. If nothing else the new light show outside will provide a distraction to these reprobates as they lounge around devising new strategies to pass the time, be it panhandling, showering in the fountains or extended periods of slumber. We must give thanks that toilets within the library at least offer options beyond what remains of Garden Place vegetation, though I suspect that nocturnally the latter are used in the manner of the proverbial pooch caught short. We have all been grateful for a tree once or twice in our lives.

I offer no aesthetic judgement on the new frontage. Waikato Times reportage tells me that mana whenua were consulted and I note in passing the improbability of the Hamilton City Council electing to upgrade a 50-year-old building when other facilities on their books of similar vintage were reduced to rubble, largely on the grounds that if a structure has exceeded a half century it is past its use-by date.

What I find of equal interest is the cost of upgrade vis a vis the contents of the building. Ratepayers have contributed $2.4 million. In as much as this money was spent to secure historic collections and actual books I have no issue whatsoever. A library is the last civic property one would want to leak. The wisdom of letting in 'more natural light', another reported justification, would seem less straightforward. Doesn't light damage books? It does in my domicile.

Beyond the staff themselves, the books are the thing. Before moving on in a more critical spirit, I would like to pause briefly and acknowledge a personal debt of gratitude to the librarians on the top floor, skilled researchers all, who have proven immensely helpful collaborators of late when exploring aspects of the city's past. To flirt with cliche, they are the library's greatest asset. In fact, I would go further: they are the HCC's greatest asset.

That aside, I do want to talk about books. Apparently the library lays claim to 140,000 'items', the majority of which, I presume, are said volumes. It sounds a very impressive figure but I strongly suspect that it was once a lot higher. If we judge the collections by what we can see, empty spaces would seem to dominate in parts of the building where once there were shelves and shelves of highly valuable material.

When I say 'highly valuable' I am not necessarily talking about the market or resale price. The cultural worth of holdings outweighs such mercenary considerations.

Here is my example, a story that I have been holding onto for some time but one that really bothers me.

I arrived in Hamilton in 1985, discovering its library whilst a university student. Inevitably, I would prioritise the film section. There was one particular book that I always gained pleasure from finding, opening and rifling through. The Movies, Mr Griffith and Me was the personal memoir of Lillian Gish, one that offered a first-hand account of the formative years of silent American cinema.

Over the decades that followed I would continue to seek out this tome. It became the great constant in my relationship to the library, an old friend to be visited or consulted after viewing a D.W. Griffith or Lillian Gish movie not hitherto enjoyed.

One day, around two years ago, I noticed that the stack section on Level Two, once full of vital and interesting volumes pertaining to the seventh art, appeared rudely denuded. My heart sank. Where had all those books gone? Surely no one could have been so foolish as to dispose of Lillian Gish's autobiography?

The shelves were searched in vain. I consulted the catalogue. The library computer betrayed no knowledge of either the 'Father of American Film' or the 'First Lady of the Screen', as Vanity Fair dubbed Gish in 1927.

Bracing myself for an unpalatable conversation, I approached a librarian, explaining my quest and providing a back story. I could not discern any empathy in the response engendered. When I pressed this person to give me direct answers, she curtly informed me that the Gish book had been sold or, even worse, destroyed. When I inquired as to why a library, a repository of cultural knowledge, a place of learning and research, should indulge in such vandalism she shrugged and half-hardheartedly stated that to 'make room for new books we have to sell off the old ones'.

This argument, such as it was, failed to convince. The aforementioned shelves were not overflowing with recently purchased, cutting-edge stock. Content was thin. Moreover, the room itself had clearly had shelving removed. In comparison to even the recent past, it looked empty.

Hardback copies of The Movies, Mr Griffith and Me listed on eBay average well over $50, with several in excess of $100. One would hope that in the interests of the Hamilton ratepayer that if an idiotic and unjustifiable decision were made to dispense with a book that had graced our library for over forty years at least a profit could be realised. Or did they sell it in some kind of fire sale, for 50 cents, as indifferent to the market as they were to the screen education of Waikato citizens?

Books, not pretty light shows, are the lifeblood of a library. Rather than remaking the frontage, why could not a small portion of the $2.4 million have been used to save my old friend?