Spokane’s Attic Librarian ‘Walks A Fine Line’ To Keep Historical Documents Accessible And Safe

When Nancy Compau goes to work, she brings the dead back to life.

Compau runs the Northwest Room at the Spokane Public Library with a scholarly air and a grandmotherly touch.

She is Spokane’s guardian of rare documents, maps and photographs. She champions the forgotten pioneers who settled the area in the late 1800s.

“This is such a rare collection,” she says, surveying her climate-controlled vault. “What’s so neat is, this is a public library. Anybody can have access to it.”

Other library employees tag her “the tiger,” for her habit of pacing the length of the Northwest Room, keeping an eye on people using the materials.

She’s not shy about enforcing her simple rules: No pens. No bags, not even purses. No small children. “I’m a grandmother. I love children,” she says apologetically. “I feel just terrible, but I don’t want them in here.”

Many people just don’t grasp the true meaning of the words irreplaceable, priceless, one-of-akind. Compau does.

In addition to 10,000 books, Compau has letters and scrapbooks kept by the people who pioneered this area, maps drawn by explorers and photographs of the original Spokane settlers and the Native Americans who were already here.

“You have to have those vigilant qualities,” says Library Director Dan Walters. “We are not a museum. We want to share our materials with the public, but preserve them for others, too. It’s a fine line to walk.”

In all her years as the tender of documents in the Northwest Room, only once has anything been damaged - last year while she was on a break, someone cut a page from a rare directory.

Compau would recognize the culprit if the woman had the guts to come back. The woman was researching her family history and wanted to make a copy of a page in the oversized book. Because the book was fragile, Compau said no.

When she returned from her break, the page was gone. Compau has rehearsed what she will say if she ever sees the woman again. “I’ll probably get in trouble, too,” she says.

When the 2-year-old library was being planned, Compau asked for flat tables in the room, not study carrels. That way she can see what people are doing.

She does have some flat tables. But they are tucked in the back of the room, an area not easily policed. So she keeps the lights off over the tables to discourage people from using them.

“I bet I sound just like the image of a stuffy old librarian,” she says. “I hate that.”

Compau is the last to complain about the room. Except for the study carrels, she is delighted beyond words every time she comes to work.

“You should have seen the old place - it was hideous,” she says.

In the old Sears building, Compau worked in a cubicle. Most of the material was stored in the basement.

The new room is climate- and humidity-controlled, separate from the rest of the building. In between the spacious vault and the bookshelves is a workroom.

“They asked me to design the ideal room, and then they gave it to me,” Compau says.

Historian is a third career for Compau. After working for the airlines and teaching deaf children, she raised her family.

She returned to college for her master’s degree in history at age 50. She started work at the library in 1986.

Library Director Walters applauds Compau’s work. He is proud of the collection and eager to show it off.

“Our collection is particularly rich,” Walters says. “The Northwest Room is a terrific service we can offer the community.”

While Compau talks about explorers, missionaries and fur traders as if they were people who ride the bus to work with her, her real love is common, often nameless people.

There’s Quietsa, a Native American man whose name means “green blanket.” His granddaughter came in a few years ago to do research. She mentioned that her grandfather never had been photographed.

Compau found a picture and the family had it copied.

Then there’s Auntie Celine Rogers, an African-American laundry woman with a big heart. She nursed sick orphans she found while making rounds to her customers.

Through her charity work, Rogers contracted a virus that eventually killed her.

“So many people contributed so much to this area,” Compau says. “I wish we could tell every one of their stories.”