Mary Titcomb, Isabella Alden, and the Quest for the Unreachable Reader

While April 15 marked the celebration of National Library Outreach Day, many long-time book lovers still remember it by its original name: National Bookmobile Day. No matter the name, it’s a day to celebrate traveling libraries and the dedicated people and organizations that deliver great books to people who can’t get to bookstores or libraries on their own.

Bookmobiles were the brain child of Mary Titcomb, a visionary Maryland librarian who devised a plan to reach readers who lived in rural areas so remote, they were unable to visit a library. In 1905 Mary loaded as many books as she could into a horse-drawn wagon, and set off to deliver books to isolated areas of the county.

Maryland librarian, Mary Titcomb.

Drawn by two horses, the first book wagon was designed by Mary herself. It had shelves on each side with doors that opened outward for easy browsing, while the interior was packed with additional cases of books to replenish the stock on long journeys.

At first she laid out 16 routes that covered 500 square miles of territory. Sometimes the wagon was out one day, more often two or three. To drive to the most distant outpost of the routes took four days round-trip.

A bookmobile at a rural Minnesota farm about 1920 (courtesy of Minnesota Digital Library)

Her program was an immediate success and its fame quickly grew. In 1912 Mary replaced the horse-drawn wagon with an automobile, which allowed her to not only complete the routes more quickly, but add additional routes as well. Soon she began setting up book “stations” in some areas, where residents could borrow books and return them after reading. Then, on a set schedule, a book wagon would deliver a fresh inventory books to replace those already read—a routine that was the precursor of our current system of library branches.

While on her routes Mary visited farms, remote cabins, and homes of invalids. In some cases, she found that only the children in a home knew how to read, so she helped families select books written at a level so the children could read to their parents. In other districts, men who knew how to read outnumbered the women and children. For these and each area she visited, she made notes and returned with books that suited the residents.

A bookmobile at a rural school in 1920.

In different newspaper accounts, Mary reported that the most requested books were practical and educational on topics like truck gardening, fruit raising, poultry culture, and domestic science.

Books on religion were also popular, “with a preference for those of a devotional nature.”

About 75 percent of fiction she delivered was juvenile, which she said meant “the books are read by both parents and children.” Susan Warner’s novel The Wide, Wide World was a favorite, as were other religious fiction titles. And since Isabella Alden’s novels were staples in public library systems across the country at that time, there’s a strong possibility the library outreach movement brought Isabella’s novels along on those bookmobile deliveries.

A bookmobile serving soldiers stationed in Kentucky, 1917.

It’s not hard to imagine that rural readers would have identified with the characters in Isabella’s books, like Esther in Ester Ried’s Namesake. Imagine being a young girl living on an isolated farm, opening a book to find Esther Ried Randall—a character whose life mirrored her own. Like the reader, Esther lived far from the bustle of the city, yet she harbored a dream of going off to college as an independent young woman. How much that book would have inspired that young girl to follow her educational and spiritual ambitions!

Or imagine a young boy with a penchant for getting into trouble and how much he would have identified with the main character in Isabella’s novel, Tony Keating’s Surprises.

In many ways, Isabella’s books (and others like them) were the only window some readers had on a larger world of instruction, culture, and good taste. Isabella’s skill for using stories to explain God’s love and plan for salvation ensured that traveling libraries delivered more than just entertainment—they delivered spiritual nourishment, as well.

A busy bookmobile in 1927.

Isabella’s books and Mary Titcomb’s outreach program were a perfect pairing. Both women were dedicated to making sure that God-given talents and wholesome reading were not restricted by geography or social standing.

For the girl dreaming of college or the boy seeking a better path, Mary Titcomb’s book wagon was more than just a vehicle; it was a lifeline that brought the world—and The Word—directly to their gate.

Isabella’s novel Ester Ried’s Namesake is available on Amazon.

Or click here to read Tony Keating’s Surprises for free.

Miss Marion’s Thanksgiving Day

This week, as we approach Thanksgiving, we’re sharing a lovely poem Isabella published in The Pansy magazine in 1886. “Miss Marion’s Thanksgiving Day” is about a wealthy but lonely lady who looks across the hills at the local almshouse and finds her purpose.

MISS MARION’S THANKSGIVING DAY

Two big houses broad and high,
Outlined against an autumn sky.
Set on two hills, the houses stand,
One grim and cheerless, one fair and grand;
One teems with life throughout its walls,
One silent in all its stately halls.
One is of wood, and one of stone,
Each set in broad acres all its own.
One is the almshouse, gaunt and gray,
One the beautiful home of Miss Marion Ray.
Black and white drawing of two hills separated by a road. On top of the left hill is a gaunt two-story wooden building with rows of plain windows. On top of the right hill is a beautiful Victorian-era mansion with turrets and porches, and perfectly landscaped trees and shrubs, surrounded by an iron fence with an ornately scrolled iron gate.
Miss Marion Ray—her kith and kin
All to their rest have entered in.
Now she dwells with servants in lonely state,
In the mansion behind the iron gate.
A lady tall, and sad, and fair,
With a quiet face and a gentle air—
A sweet, worn face, and hair of gray,
Was the lonely lady, Marion Ray.
Sometimes in the night, when all is still,
She has looked at the lights on the other hill,
And wondered much if it were sadder fate
To live in the house with the wooden gate.
But something happened, the other day,
That has stirred the heart of Miss Marion Ray:
A mother went out of the almshouse door,
Went out of it to go back no more;
Went out to be buried under the leaves,
While the wind of November moans and grieves,
And left a wee blossom with eyes of brown,
To the tender mercies of all the town.
Miss Marion has thought of the baby's fate
Till love and pity have grown so great
She has opened her Bible there to see:
"As ye did it to Mine, ye did it to Me;"
And so, on the morn of Thanksgiving Day,
In the early morn, when the sky is gray,
At the almshouse door a carriage stands,
With shining horses in gleaming bands;
And into the eyes of the little child,
The sad-eyed lady looked and smiled.
On the silken shoulder the glittering head,
Then —"I love 'oo, lady," the baby said.
Gathered close to the hungry heart,
The child and the lady never to part—
Carried home to the mansion grand,
The proudest and richest in all the land.
Never a pauper, the lovely child
Into whose face the lady smiled.
"Done to the least it is done to Me."
What grander honor on earth could be?
Oh, a sweet and joyous Thanksgiving Day
Has come to the home of Miss Marion Ray.

The heart of this story—and of so much of Isabella’s work—is the quiet call to charity, the simple act of extending kindness to those in deepest need.

What do you think? Does this poem illustrate Christ’s instruction from Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”?