In every school, there are rooms that hum with a different kind of energy—spaces where the volume lowers, the pace softens, and the noise of adolescence settles just enough for something meaningful to happen. In Galesburg CUSD 205, those spaces are the libraries, stewarded by two women who understand that their work is far more than shelving books or scanning barcodes. It’s about belonging. It’s about curiosity. It’s about the long road from learning to love reading, and the even longer road from loving reading to discovering who you are.

Dawn Malcolm, the junior high and high school librarian, has lived nearly every chapter an educator can live. She began as a paraprofessional in 2000, earned her degree in her thirties, became a sixth-grade science teacher, moved into the Churchill library, taught eighth-grade science, transitioned to a technology position, then returned to the library—the role she always loved most. “It’s the librarian,” she said without hesitation. “That’s me.”

Her path wasn’t linear, but it was intentional. A principal noticed her talent early in her PTO days, encouraging her to become a paraprofessional. That suggestion lit the fuse. After raising two boys and navigating the beautiful chaos of youth sports and family life, she headed back to college, finishing courses at Monmouth after doing early gen-eds at Carl Sandburg. It wasn’t simple, but it was right. “I enjoyed going to college,” she said. “I enjoyed classes.” The family shifted, adapted, adjusted—then grew stronger.

She eventually returned to the district full-time, and when the library position opened, she knew instantly: that’s where I belong. The district’s tuition reimbursement program helped her earn the certification she needed, and she dove in. That was years ago. Now, the space she curates at Galesburg Junior Senior High School is part workshop, part refuge, part literacy engine—and entirely essential.

“We do a lot more here than just check out books,” she said. Research skills, media literacy, quiet study zones, collaboration with English teachers, curriculum support, book talks, book clubs, lunchtime ‘Books & Bites’ gatherings—her library is a living, breathing academic hub. It’s a safe space not just because it’s quiet, but because Dawn has deliberately shaped it that way. Some students come to read. Some come to study. Some come because the cafeteria feels overwhelming. Dawn welcomes them all.

Across town—and across grade levels—Ronnie Parrone builds the early foundation for everything Dawn tries to preserve. As the district’s K–6 librarian, Ronnie meets young readers where their worlds still sparkle. She rotates through the elementary schools each week, leading book clubs, supporting reading specialists, and helping students locate the books, genres, and authors that will become their companions in the years to come.

Her route to library science began at SIU Carbondale, where she landed a job as a student worker in a medical library. Her supervisor saw something in her—a spark, a curiosity—and famously whispered the suggestion that changed her trajectory: “You should be a librarian.” It wasn’t the kind of advice students typically hear, but it landed exactly right.

Ten years of library experience later, including time as a high school English teacher, Ronnie now occupies a role that sits perfectly at the intersection of her interests: literacy, instruction, and helping young people stretch their imaginations. She guides students through research tasks, partners with English and social studies teachers, and fields requests from students and staff alike. She knows which books are buzzing in the hallways, which graphic novels unlock reluctant readers, and which topics spark entire classrooms.

And she understands something essential: early reading predicts everything.

At the elementary level, Ronnie sees the magic firsthand—kids clutching handwritten stories inspired by Warriors or Wings of Fire, young authors brimming with worlds they haven’t even learned to diagram yet. She urges them to read for fun, to visit the Galesburg Public Library, and to choose books that delight rather than intimidate. She builds confidence page by page.

Dawn carries that baton forward. Research shows that reading for pleasure often dips in junior high, just as academic reading ramps up. Dawn fights that slide with intentionality: biweekly checkout rotations, themed book talks, seventh- and eighth-grade book clubs, and a high school club supported through the district’s 21st Century grant—where students not only read but get to keep their books. “We try to broaden their horizons,” she said. “That’s what we’re here to do.”

Between Dawn and Ronnie, Galesburg’s libraries form a kind of ecosystem—early spark, adolescent growth, sustained curiosity, and, ultimately, the understanding that reading isn’t a school requirement; it’s a doorway.

Students may not always articulate their appreciation directly, but both librarians feel it. A hello in a grocery store. A former student remembering a favorite class. A young writer proudly unveiling pages of a self-made fantasy novel. A reluctant reader returning for the next graphic biography. These small acknowledgments accumulate into something real: proof that what happens in these quiet spaces echoes far beyond them.

Because in the end, libraries still matter in 2025—not because of the books alone, but because of the people who help students see themselves in every shelf.