“They saw it firsthand—and did nothing.”
I wasn’t planning to speak.
I’ve been to a couple of board meetings since I was terminated on January 8th, but I stayed quiet. Not because I didn’t have anything to say—but because after almost a year of being completely shut out—no communication from the director, no acknowledgment from board members after I raised concerns about a toxic work environment—I honestly didn’t know what would happen if I did.
Last night, I decided it was time.
I barely got ten seconds into my statement before a current staff member—someone still working in that building—started screaming at me. Not interrupting. Not disagreeing. Screaming.
An employee who experienced that same behavior just a day prior showed up last night and resigned on the spot because she couldn’t take it anymore.
And what did the board do?
What did the director do?
Nothing.
They sat there and watched it happen. They got to see it firsthand—the kind of behavior I had raised concerns about—and there was no intervention, no accountability, no response.
Then it got worse.
Another community member stood up and said she knew “exactly why we were terminated” and that I “got what I deserved.” When I asked her what I did, she said, “It’s personnel related and I can’t say.”
So I’ll ask the question again here:
How does a member of the public have access to that kind of information?
Because if she truly knows, that raises a much bigger issue.
And again—no response. No correction. No concern from the board or director.
At one point, someone in the audience asked to record the meeting and was told by the director that it’s “no longer allowed.” I’m still not convinced that’s even legal.
The entire meeting was chaotic. Disheartening. And honestly—validating in the worst possible way.
Because everything I experienced behind the scenes? It didn’t stay behind the scenes.
This post isn’t about that library. That story comes later.
It’s about what leadership should look like.
Because after a night like that, the contrast becomes impossible to ignore.
For this second installment of Library Voices: Unfiltered, I spoke with Jessica Wilkinson, Library Director at Crete Public Library in Nebraska, serving a community of about 7,000.
And what struck me immediately is this: leadership doesn’t have to look like chaos. It can look like intention. It can look like support. It can look like actually showing up for your staff.
Jessica wears a lot of hats—which, if you’ve worked in a small library, you already understand.
“I do all the budgeting, programming for adults… scheduling, city council meetings, board meetings…”
And then:
“I joke that I’m also the gardener and janitor when the situation calls for it.”
It’s a lot. More than most people outside the field realize.
“People don’t understand that I don’t just sit around all day and read.”
And honestly—that line alone could be its own post.
But what really stood out to me wasn’t just how much she does—it was how she thinks about the impact of that work.
“Everything I do has a purpose. At the end of the day, I want to see the joy on people’s faces when they walk into the library.”
That word—purpose—feels important.
Because when leadership is grounded in purpose, it shows up everywhere else.
Take her adult craft nights.
They’re simple. Low-cost. Capped at 15 people. Always full.
“They take place after the library is closed, creating a more relaxed atmosphere.”
“I choose crafts that don’t require me to lead the entire time… it encourages conversation and connection.”
And then something interesting happened:
“I originally started adult craft nights because adults were interested in a teen program… now the teens want to do the adult crafts.”
That kind of crossover doesn’t happen by accident. It happens when people feel comfortable. When they feel like they belong.
But let’s talk about something less visible: advocacy.
Because while one library board sits silently in the face of dysfunction, another director is out here fighting for every dollar.
“My budget is always being affected and I have to fight for everything that I get.”
“I can justify every line item with data and strong reasoning.”
Because the reality is:
“Libraries are often viewed as services that do not generate significant revenue.”
So the work becomes proving your value—over and over again.
And when funding doesn’t grow?
“Our programming and book budgets were the only areas where cuts could be made.”
Let that sit for a second.
The very things that bring people in—the programs, the collections—are the first to go.
And yet:
“Without the Friends of the Library… we would not have been able to continue offering programs at all.”
I also talked about something that doesn’t get enough attention: access.
In Jessica’s community, about 40% of residents speak a language other than English.
“It can be especially challenging to communicate… when one of our bilingual staff members is not available.”
She shared a moment that stuck with me—a Spanish-speaking patron trying to sign up for free tax assistance.
“I did my best… but I struggled to communicate effectively.”
A bilingual staff member stepped in and helped. Problem solved—for that moment.
But it highlights something bigger:
Access isn’t just about having services. It’s about whether people can actually use them.
And then there’s the space itself.
What does it feel like to walk into the library?
Jessica is reimagining her children’s area—not with huge funding, but with intention.
“We’re making a more welcoming environment for pretend play.”
They added a play fire truck.
“It’s already been used by 30 kids… I can just hear the laughter every time I’m at the desk.”
That’s the goal.
“We want to get kids off screens and using their imaginations.”
For teens?
“We moved the teen room to a more secluded area… we want them to feel safe, meet up with friends, and relax.”
A safe space. A place to belong.
The exact thing that disappears when leadership fails.
And this is where the contrast becomes unavoidable.
Because after what I witnessed last night, I keep coming back to something Jessica said about workplace culture:
“If any staff member finds themselves in a difficult situation with a patron, I expect them to come to me for support.”
Support.
Not silence. Not avoidance. Not watching it unfold and doing nothing.
“I have too much respect for my staff… to remain in a situation where they are being berated or yelled at.”
That’s leadership.
She also said this:
“Staff should be able to leave work at the end of the day without carrying the job home—that is my responsibility as the director.”
Imagine that.
A workplace where leadership actually absorbs the pressure instead of creating it.
We talked about burnout, too—because how could we not?
“I try to make a conscious effort to keep work enjoyable.”
Small things. Treats. Puzzle breaks. Time off.
But also:
“Being a director means helping to carry the workload… so no one feels overwhelmed.”
It’s not just about perks. It’s about structure. About intention. About not letting your staff drown.
And through all of this, there’s a bigger point.
Libraries are constantly evolving.
“We always have to reinvent ourselves to fit the mold of what our community needs.”
But here’s the problem:
“I wish the entire public would understand that.”
Because too often, they don’t.
They don’t see the advocacy. The behind-the-scenes work. The emotional labor. The constant balancing act.
They don’t see what happens when leadership fails—and they don’t always see what it looks like when leadership gets it right.
So I’ll end with this.
Last night showed me exactly what happens when accountability disappears.
This conversation showed me what’s possible when it doesn’t.
“Libraries are so much more than books.”
“You have to love people.”
“It’s one of the most meaningful careers you can have.”
This is Library Voices: Unfiltered.
The good. The hard. The reality of the work—and the people shaping it.
And if nothing else, this series is a reminder:
It doesn’t have to look the way it did last night.
And if you’ve got a story to tell, I’d love to hear it. Fill out the form HERE to be considered for this continuing series.
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