So we arrived early, very early. Almost 2 hours early. We went into the library's café', had a cookie, a piece of chocolate cake (inserted into the bottom of a small paper bag, frosting and all), and a raspberry yoghurt. Afterword, we learned that a membership at the Philadelphia free library only costs $15 (non resident, worker, student of the city), but none of the branches are anyplace we would be on a regular basis. So, we found our way down to the basement, toured the dozens of Book Week posters (quite interesting), and went into the auditorium as soon as they opened the door. We must have been in the first 10 people to have a seat.

So, an hour out from Kate DiCamillo's presentation, we're sitting in the auditorium (front row right). We wait and read her books. The big event is only 10 minutes away. Suddenly, an ear offending, cranky alarm sounds. We look up (in mild alarm) to see a flashing light on the fire alarm above the emergency exit in front of our seats. After a bemused pause, we get up, gather our things and head out the emergency exit right in front of us. A guy comes quickly through to stop us and sends us out the more crowded back entrance (real concern for the patron is so touching). We make our way out.

In the lobby, the poor girls watching the book sales table are standing by their post, hands over ears, making sure their wares are intact while the crowds crowd around the main exit. The mass moves slowly because the security guards are checking bags as people leave. I guess it is true that if the library is burning down, you still don't want folks to steal the books. So, eventually we make it outside. The very focused and efficient security guard moves us off the steps, off the sidewalk and across the street where we stand and wait and watch the buliding.

The guard dutifully keeps pedestrians from crossing in front of the dangerous building (next to the cars parked there). There we stand as the fire truck and later a police car drives up. There we wait, drinking soda and eating chips in front of the underpass and near the Shakespeare Memorial. Finally, 45 minutes later, we are allowed back in.

DiCamillo is brilliant. Her "speech" was a story about her bouts with pneumonia as a small child in Phila, leading to the family's move to Florida, in turn leading (presumably) to her pronounced southern drawl.  She described how missing her dog led to characterizing Winn dixie, and how a conversation with a boy led to Desperaux being assigned large ears. Her stories grow incrementally (rather than organizationally) out of colorful and dynamic characters.

The talk and signing, though long and interupted unexpectedly, was an organic lesson in sensitivity and writing. Another entertaining and enriching signing.