Turning a family gift into a countywide library system

Editor’s note: Last month, Dave Brumback, great-great-grandson of J.S. Brumback, shared the story of his family and his ancestor’s dream of a library that belonged to the entire county. But a dream alone does not build a public institution (see story here). This month’s article looks at what happened next: the laws, levies, negotiations, and shared commitments that turned a family gift into a living, countywide library system.

By Dave Brumback

Laws, Levies, & Learning: From Heirs’ Proposal to County Library

Turning J.S.’s gift into a county institution required more than architecture. It required argument, compromise and yes, the slow work of politics. His heirs wanted the library to serve every township, a county resource rather than only a town memorial.

That idea raised practical questions that could have sunk the project: Who would own the building? Who would pay the bills? How could remote farmhouses receive books as easily as a downtown storefront?

What followed was neighborhood politics at its best, citizens rolling up their sleeves and figuring things out. Township trustees, school boards, church groups, and farmers’ associations all had a seat at the table. Some argued for modest levies; others feared burdening farmers. They negotiated small levies and inter-town lending arrangements that spread cost and benefit. A county library also needed trained staff, standardized circulation records, and procedures for branch rooms, traveling collections, or rotating stock to serve rural borrowers.

I remember my older relatives describing those meetings like a relay race: one group proposed a compromise, the next took it further, and a legal scholar shaped it into text that would hold under changing governments.

The result wasn’t the triumph of a single mind but was an institutional compromise: private seed money planted into public soil and bound with public commitments so the work could continue long after one family or board had moved on.

Covenant in Stone: The Contract That Built a Community Anchor

J.S. Brumback died on December 14, 1897.  While he never saw his dream come to fruition, he had laid the groundwork. His final wish, surrounded by family, was that his heirs complete the agreement and build the library from his estate. Through their love for their father and a shared vision of his dream, they agreed to use their inheritance to make his dream a reality.

When they finally wrote the agreement, they were determined the gift would be a living thing. The City of Van Wert donated the land, a quiet parcel in a wooded park, making the location public before a single stone was set. I still imagine city elders walking the plot with J.S.’s Heirs, the soft sound of leaves as if the maples endorsing the choice. That land donation turned a private memorial into a shared place and asked the county to become partner in care.

The contract reads like a checklist for a generous machine. J.S.’s heirs provided the building and an endowment, the Ladies’ Library Association offered books and furnishings, and the county agreed to accept and maintain the whole. On paper it looks like legal choreography; in life it is a covenant that divided responsibility so no one hand could take the library hostage.

Governance was intentionally mixed. They did not want the library to be the private preserve of heirs or a single political faction. Trustee appointments were spread across county officials, representatives of the donors, and the Association that had tended the books. It was a humble design, public oversight tempered by the founders’ intent; a blended guardianship meant to keep the library rooted in the whole community. Over time state law and practice clarified mechanics, but the founding idea was simple: shared guardianship.

Funding and maintenance were written down because they had seen what happened to beautiful buildings without backstops. J.S.’s estate funded construction and an initial endowment; the contract contemplated modest, continuing county support, a levy so the place would have fuel each year. In family stories it was always framed plainly: “We give you the house, you keep the hearth warm.” That recurring civic duty, routine taxes and careful stewardship, turned a one-time gift into a durable public service.

And the protections were more than legalese; they were an ethic. The contract obliges the county to “faithfully carry out” the library’s purpose and to use library funds for library work. The wording was not intended to make the building untouchable; it was meant to make its purpose sacred. The gift was entrusted to public stewardship with a legal expectation: the library remain open, free, and available to all county residents, its collections circulated, staff trained, and funds devoted to its mission.

So, the covenant in stone is a covenant of hands: city hands that gave the land, family hands that gave the means, Association hands that gave the books, and county hands that took on the care. When I walk past the building today, I don’t see a mausoleum; I see a place still in service, warmed by the persistent choice of people who every year decide the lantern is worth carrying. That is the legacy I inherit and the promise I tell.

The Lantern Today: Why It Still Matters

When I tell this story now, it’s not merely nostalgia; it’s a map. The same design choices my great-great-grandfather and his neighbors made – marry private seed money to public duty, write obligations into law, build shared governance, and locate the library on public ground – are exactly the measures that help a community turn a one-time gift into an institution that lasts.

Today’s challenges appear different: a digital divide beside the old book gap, pressure on local budgets, and new needs for workforce training, broadband access, makerspaces, and early-childhood programs. The remedy is the same. A county library that is legally protected, publicly funded, and governed as a shared trust can be more than a stack of books; it can be a broadband hub, a place for job training, a quiet room for students, and a trusted convenor for civic life. These are modern lamps for the same lantern J.S. lit.

The Brumback model still matters because it treats knowledge as infrastructure, not ornament. Infrastructure requires maintenance, modest annual commitments, and clear governance so it cannot be diverted when budgets tighten or fashions change. It requires trained people who can translate resources into real help, the librarian who teaches digital skills, the outreach worker who brings a trunk of books to a one-room school, the trustee who insists the mission be honored.

So, when I stand by the library today, I see more than stone and a family name. I see a pattern other communities can follow: private generosity anchored by public responsibility, legal care that converts sentiment into service, and routine choices that keep a lantern lit. The question today is whether we will treat knowledge the way J.S. did, as something to be passed along, tended, and defended. If we do, the lantern will keep traveling from hand to hand, ensuring J.S.’s gift is preserved for generations to come.

Note: The Brumback Library model described above quickly became the standard for local libraries across the United States and earned its designation as The First County Library in the United States. Today there are approximately 9,000 public library systems in the U.S., with many operating as county-level entities or serving multiple counties. Including branches, bookmobiles, etc., the number of locations exceeds 17,000.  J.S. Brumback’s gift can arguably be considered one of the most impactful, and far-reaching, Progressive acts in history…albeit by an intensely conservative and religious man. 

“The County Library” is available at all Brumback Library locations, including on its website brumbacklib.org.

The Lantern Continues: February at Brumback Library

If the Brumback story teaches us anything, it’s that a library only lives as long as people continue to use it, shape it, and show up for it. This February, that legacy continues through the following programs and community opportunities at Brumback Library.

The Winter Reading Challenge continues through February 13. Patrons can turn in a raffle ticket for every book completed or listened to between January 1 and February 13 for a chance to win prizes.

The Brumback Community Survey is open through February 9. All members of a household are encouraged to participate, whether or not they regularly use the library. Survey responses will help guide library planning and services for the next three to five years.

Brumback Library is also pleased to welcome Rayne the Therapy Dog, who will visit the library on the first Monday evening of each month, beginning February 2.

A new program, Tech Time with Kaden, is launching this month as well. Patrons can sign up for one-on-one help with basic technology needs, including setting up apps, troubleshooting devices, and learning digital basics in a supportive environment.

A complete and up-to-date list of events is available on the library’s website at brumbacklib.org. Patrons are encouraged to check the online calendar regularly for program details and scheduling updates.