Pine Plains library to seek crucial budget increase

From left: Library director Alexis Tackett, intern Hannah Johnson, and library assistant Annie Mallozzi at the Pine Plains Free Library.
Photo by Elias Sorich

PINE PLAINS — Come November, voters in Pine Plains are likely to see a question on the ballot asking them to increase the budget of the Pine Plains Free Library. The library plans to ask for $166,900 through a mechanism called a Chapter 414 initiative, after a chapter of education law passed in 1995 that allows libraries to pursue voter-directed funding.
This will create a special library tax and assure that the library will get a certain amount of funding each year that is not subject to increase or decrease by the town. And if the library needs to increase its budget again, it will have to run another Chapter 414 initiative to do so.
Currently the library receives a budget of $99,500 from the town of Pine Plains which, after grants and fundraising, puts its total budget at $148,000. That amount, according to both Alexis Tackett, director of the library, and Claire Gunning, president of the library’s board of trustees, is inadequate to meet operating costs and community demand.
Already, the library is having to make use of funds set aside for emergencies, planned Americans With Disabilities Act-accessibility improvements, and community space upgrades to meet its operating costs. For this year alone, Tackett shared the library had to use $30,000 of that money to keep afloat.
Unless the library is able to secure an increase in funding, Tackett and Gunning indicated that it will have to undergo drastic changes to its hours, offerings, staff and programming in as little as three years. What that would look like, according to Tackett, is a reduction to 20 hours per week, becoming a single-staff library, and a slashing of programming.
These changes would result in the library’s failure to meet the New York state minimum standard, as well as the loss of its connection to the Mid-Hudson Library Association, both of which grant the library access to resources, databases and other amenities.
In the current phase of its initiative, the Pine Plains Free Library is collecting signatures of support, which must total at least 108 in order to make it to the ballot. To Gunning, at this stage, supporting the initiative is primarily about supporting the democratic process.
“Signing this does not guarantee you’re voting yes, it’s just saying that we get to vote on the question,” said Gunning. “But the hope is that we don’t break everybody’s heart. If the town keeps funding us in the same way, we won’t be able to continue to do our jobs. That’s the reality.”
A common necessity
Far from an uncommon step, according to Rebekka Smith-Aldrich, executive director of the Mid-Hudson Library System, over half of the libraries in the Mid-Hudson system use the Chapter 414 mechanism to get their funding. Those initiatives are successful roughly 95% of the time—and Smith-Aldrich has advised over 100 of them during the course of her 25 years at Mid-Hudson.
“I really worry about the libraries that don’t have voter directed funding,” said Smith-Aldrich. “We really see that the libraries that don’t have [it], they just fall behind every single year. When they’re able to make their case directly to the voters, and say, ‘Look, this is what community demand is for the library, this is how much it costs to do that work, do you find that reasonable?’ 97% of the time voters say, ‘Yeah, that makes a lot of sense to us.’”
The Pine Plains Free Library is one of only two libraries out of 26 in Dutchess County that do not have voter-directed funding. And though the library is not permitted to spend any money in pursuit of the initiative, putting its budget to a public vote represents a significant commitment of time and energy on the part of the all-volunteer board, and other volunteer groups like the Friends of the Pine Plains Library.
If they aren’t successful this year, Gunning stated they will just have to try again the next.
Regional success stories
The Clinton Community Library in Rhinecliff is close to Pine Plains in terms of its size and demographics, and in 2017 and 2022, it pursued voter-directed funding initiatives to roaring success. According to Carol Bancroft, director of the Clinton Community Library, those efforts were “a lot of work for the board and staff” but deeply necessary, as the library had previously gotten its funding through a “patchwork quilt” of grants, town funding and fundraising.
What that patchwork method meant for the Clinton Library was funding insecurity—when grants were depleted, the library would take a serious hit to its programming capacity.
Receiving $115,000 in 2017 and $149,800 in 2022 through voter-directed funding, the Clinton Library was able to ramp up its programming, build support and goodwill in the community, and solidify its role as a gathering space for the town. In 2017, 60% of voters voted “yes” on the initiative, and in 2022 that support increased to 73%, an indication of the success the community has viewed that first initiative as having.
To Bancroft, the Chapter 414 process is both both labor-intensive, and yet ultimately fulfilling: “As a director, it can be frustrating. But it’s also very democratic. You put it to your community, and if they see the value, they say yes.”
Rising costs
The necessity for a library to pursue a Chapter 414 initiative can arise from any number of regional challenges, but it often boils down to the common factor of rising costs. Though the town of Pine Plains increased the library’s budget in 2017, 2019 and 2022, the increases were relatively small (from $96,550 in 2021 to $99,500 in 2022)—and in the intervening time, the Pine Plains Free Library has seen a dramatic uptick in usage.
If that alone weren’t enough, the rising cost of inflation, wages and price-gouging from publishers on digital assets have all contributed mightily to the Pine Plains Free Library’s funding insecurity.
To purchase a physical book to be used in-perpetuity, the cost for a library runs at about $14. For a digital copy of that same book, that cost is often closer to $60, which might make sense if that digital copy could be used by multiple people at the same time. But that $60 buys only one digital copy. If a library wants to lend that ebook to more than one person at a time, it has to purchase another $60 digital copy.
And books are just the beginning of a library’s digital asset woes—programs like Microsoft Word and Adobe as well as access to academic magazines or databases are often only available through yearly digital subscriptions. Moreover, costs for physical materials have skyrocketed.
As an example, the library’s copier, which is in need of replacement, cost $2,500 before the pandemic—now the same model costs $6,000. Ink for that model has also gone up, from $300 to $600. According to Tackett, these inflated costs stack up quickly and mean that the library’s current funding is essentially “the same equivalent funding we were at in 2013.”
While the voter-directed budget increase is directed largely at stabilizing the library’s funding sources, Tackett also indicated that the amount that’s being asked for is intended to increase the library’s offerings to meet community demand.
“If it passes, what people will see is the increase in hours that they’ve been asking for, they’ll see an increase in materials that they’ve been asking for, both digitally and physical, and they’ll see more programs and services offered,” said Tackett.
By way of hours, Tackett’s hope is to increase from 32 hours per week to 40 and to keep the library open on Mondays, bringing its open days to six per week.
What good are libraries, anyway?
If you were to think of a library, chances are you might imagine the libraries of yore, stacked with books and silent reading. And while books have remained central to libraries, as times have changed, what a library must offer a community has evolved.
Along those lines, to Smith-Aldrich, they are perhaps better framed as centers of information: “I think there’s a common fallacy that that the role of libraries is changing. But I honestly think that the role of libraries has always been the same, which is to be an educational portal for folks to understand the world around them. The problem is how information has been monetized in our society, and libraries have been on the frontlines of defending people’s right to access.”
Beyond that, to Tackett, a library is also a place where community member can come to get access to centralized resources in times of needs: “If somebody comes in and says ‘my house burned down last night, and I don’t know what to do,’ I can probably list four organizations right off the bat to get them in contact with. Libraries are often the first safety net for people, which can start funneling them into all the other economic safety nets out there.”
To Gunning, the ways in which a library can serve as a foundation to a community are often connected to those basics of survival.
“Food insecurity exists in our town,” said Gunning. “People might still have a house over their head, but they’re worried about feeding their children. People can’t always afford to go and just get what they need, whether it’s mental health, or help filing a request, or leaning how to use their cell phone, or getting access to internet. During the pandemic, people would come and park in the parking lot at the library to use the internet. Those are real services that people need.”
Gunning also emphasized the degree to which a library is not only a resource for those in need, but also an amplifier for community. The Pine Plains Free Library provides a wide slate of programming, from story hours for children to tech assistance and tech literacy training, and any of the other 300-plus programs offered annually. When those programs exist, Gunning stated, people come together and communities remain connected.
The board of trustees are available to discuss the proposed Chapter 414 budget initiative and take signatures. They’ll keep collecting signatures until they get past the 108 mark, with a safety goal of 200.
If they’re able to secure the requisite support, the library will then begin a public information campaign, which will culminate in a public vote on the November 2023 ballot.
Nathan Miller
Crews finish renovations at Veterans Park by spraying dirt off the new pavers and sidewalk in downtown Millerton on Thursday, May 7.
MILLERTON — Landscaping crews put the finishing touches on upgrades to Veterans Park in downtown Millerton on Thursday, May 7.
Workers had removed the temporary fencing and were spraying dirt off the brand new pavement Thursday afternoon. Scape-Tech Landscaping Technologies began the work on Monday, April 20, and predicted the work would be completed within two to three weeks.
Millerton Mayor Jenn Najdek praised the work, saying Scape-Tech's crews previously renovated Millerton's sidewalks.
"They're fast, efficient and easy to work with," Najdek said.
Renovations to the park included new brick pavers, replacement of a portion of sidewalk through the park, and replacing asphalt paving. Crews also power-washed the stone walls in the park.
Najdek said the work is mostly complete. The park now just needs grass to grow to finish its revitalization.
Funding for the renovations came from a combination of grants and cash reserves that the village maintains, meaning the village did not have to take on additional debt for the project.
Millerton News
Liane McGhee, a woman defined by her strength of will, generosity, and unwavering devotion to her family, passed away leaving a legacy of love and cherished memories.
Born Liane Victoria Conklin on May 27, 1957, in Sharon, CT, she grew up on Fish Street in Millerton, a place that remained close to her heart throughout her life. A proud graduate of the Webutuck High School Class of 1975, Liane soon began the most significant chapter of her life when she married Bill McGhee on August 7, 1976. Together, they built a life centered on family and shared values.
Liane was a woman of many passions. She found peace in the outdoors, whether she was taking scenic country rides, fishing, or walking her dog. An avid reader and a talented painter, she possessed a creative spirit and a caring heart that extended to all animals. Above all, Liane was most at home when surrounded by her family.
Liane is survived by her devoted husband of nearly 50 years, Bill McGhee. Her legacy continues through her three children: Joshua (Tanya) McGhee, Justin McGhee, and Jaclyn (Joe) Perusse. She was the proud grandmother of Connor, Calia, and Kennedy McGhee, as well as Lillian and Tillman Perusse. She is also survived by her siblings, Larry Conklin and Linda Holst-Grubbe. Liane was predeceased by her parents Martin and Lillian Conklin, and her brother, Robert “Bob” Conklin.
In keeping with Liane’s generous nature, the family requests that, in lieu of flowers, memorial donations be made to Hudson Valley Hospice (by mail to 374 Violet Ave, Poughkeepsie, NY 12601 or online at https://www.hvhospice.org/donate) or to the Millerton Fire Company at PO Box 733, Millerton, NY 12546.
A celebration of life will be held on Friday, May 8, from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. at Conklin Funeral Home, 37 Park Avenue, Millerton, NY.
Her family will remember her as the strong-willed and caring matriarch who always put them first. She will be deeply missed.

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Natalia Zukerman
Ten New Yorker cartoonists gather around a table in a scene from “Women Laughing.”
There is something deceptively simple about a New Yorker cartoon. A few lines, a handful of words — usually fewer than a dozen — and suddenly an entire worldview has been distilled into a single panel.
There is also something delightfully subversive about watching a room full of women sit around a table drawing them. Not necessarily because it seems unusual now — thankfully — but because “Women Laughing,” screening May 9 at The Moviehouse in Millerton, reminds us that for much of The New Yorker’s history, such a gathering would have been nearly impossible to imagine.
The documentary, directed by longtime New Yorker cartoonist Liza Donnelly and filmmaker Kathleen Hughes, traces the uneven history of women cartoonists at the magazine, from their presence in its earliest issues to their near disappearance by the 1950s. But the film does something more interesting still: it lets us watch these artists at work.
“The idea was talking to these women about their process and where their ideas come from,” Donnelly said. “You get to witness these women drawing in the film, and I draw with them.”
“Women Laughing” includes intimate conversations with some of the most celebrated and groundbreaking cartoonists at The New Yorker, including Roz Chast, Emily Flake, Sarah Akinterinwa, Liana Finck, Amy Hwang and Bishakh Som. Donnelly also speaks with Emma Allen, the magazine’s first female cartoon editor. During a dynamic roundtable discussion with 10 cartoonists, viewers also meet artists Emily Sanders Hopkins, Maggie Larson, Arenza Pena-Popo and Victoria Roberts.
“I will confess that it was what I was most worried about,” Hughes said of the technical challenges presented by filming 10 artists at work. “You have 10 people. That’s 10 microphones, six or seven cameras. We didn’t even have a budget for it, but our crew donated all the gear so that we could get it done.”
Hughes was relieved that not only did it work, but it became one of the most memorable parts of the film.
“Frankly, when you put people together and have them talk on screen, it can get tiresome quickly,” Hughes said. “So I’m glad that nobody listened to me when I said I didn’t think we should do this.”
For Donnelly, whose book “Very Funny Ladies” was the impetus for the film, the documentary offered dimensions the printed page could not. For Hughes, whose previous films have examined weightier subjects like economic inequality and gun violence, entering the world of cartoonists brought its own revelations.
“I really did think that the cartoonists were sort of in charge of what was in the magazine,” Hughes said, laughing. “That was probably the biggest revelation.”
What surprised her most was not just the structure of the magazine’s famously competitive submission process — cartoonists submit batches each week and face frequent rejection — but the sheer persistence required to sustain the work.
“It was inspiring to see the dedication everybody had to the craft,” Hughes said. “And how creative everybody is, not just in making the cartoons themselves, but in supporting themselves through it.”
An audience reaction that has surprised both Donnelly and Hughes is the laughter. By the time the filmmakers finished editing, they had seen each cartoon so many times that the humor had become technical material — questions of pacing, framing and sequence. The first public screening changed that.
“All the laughter really kind of blew us away,” Hughes said. “You forget.”
The audience response underscores something else the film makes clear: just how much skill lies behind the apparent simplicity of a single-panel cartoon. Donnelly noted that the form is “a lot harder than you think.” Like the cartoons it celebrates, the documentary values economy and precision. At just 37 minutes, its compact running time reflects that ethos.
“A lot of people have said it’s a great length,” Hughes said. “It’s almost like a cartoon version of a documentary.”
Donnelly appreciates the response she hears most often after screenings.
“You leave them wanting more,” she said.
Like the best New Yorker cartoons, “Women Laughing” says a great deal with remarkable economy, leaving audiences laughing and looking more closely at what appears, at first glance, deceptively simple.
“Women Laughing” will screen at the Moviehouse (48 Main St., Millerton) on May 9 at 7 p.m. followed by a conversation with Liza Donnelly, Kathleen Hughes and cartoonist Amy Hwang. Moderated by local filmmaker Pam Hogan. Tickets at themoviehouse.net
Natalia Zukerman
In “Your Friends and Neighbors,” Lena Hall’s character is also a musician.
At a certain point you stop asking who people want you to be and start figuring out who you already are.
— Lena Hall
There is a moment in conversation with actress and musician Lena Hall when the question of identity lands with unusual force.
“Well,” she said, pausing to consider it, “who am I really?”
Born Celina Consuela Gabriella Carvajal into a San Francisco family steeped in performance — her father a choreographer, her mother a prima ballerina — Hall was, by her own account, “born to be onstage.”
“Like a show pony,” she joked.
She trained first as a ballet dancer, studying in France on scholarship before abandoning that path for musical theater after seeing her sister perform in “42nd Street.”
Even then, identity was something inherited before it was chosen.
The Tony Award-winning, Grammy-nominated performer has spent much of her career moving between worlds: Broadway and television, rock clubs and film sets, musical theater precision and raw, unvarnished songwriting. Her latest solo album, “Lullabies for the End of the World,” is an intimate, autobiographical work that explores co-dependency, heartbreak and self-reckoning.
But for Hall, whose career includes a Tony-winning turn in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” a starring role on Apple TV+’s “Your Friends and Neighbors,” and acclaimed performances in film and television, the search for artistic identity has been unfolding for decades.
The record’s central themes — identity, authenticity, reinvention — are the same ones Hall has been sorting through for much of her adult life.
“It wasn’t until later that I started asking those questions,” she said from New York City, which she splits her time between and West Cornwall, Connecticut. “What do I want to represent? Who do I want to be? I was trying to find the authentic self instead of just going with the flow.”
The search began, in part, with an unlikely catalyst: a tonsillectomy.
When Hall was 26, surgery altered her voice just as she had joined the rock band The Deafening. “They would just play really loud and never change the key,” she said, laughing.
At the same time, Hall found herself confronting larger questions about purpose and artistic direction.
“I was going through that moment of, what do I really want out of this industry?” she said. “If I’m going to keep doing this, I need to have a purpose.”
Until then, Hall said, she had largely been defined by external expectations.
“I was always who I was told to be,” she said.
The surgery became a kind of reset, both vocally and personally. It also coincided with another form of reinvention: the decision to change her professional name.
“My real name is a lot,” she said.
People stumbled over its pronunciation. It was harder to remember, harder to place. “Lena Hall” felt streamlined, memorable. “It also just sounds like a rock star,” she laughed.
Hall, who is one-quarter Filipino with Spanish and Swedish ancestry, later grappled with whether changing her name obscured an important part of who she is. At one point, she said, she was advised that reverting to her birth name might improve her casting prospects as representation standards shifted.
She declined.
“That didn’t feel authentic,” she said.
Instead, Hall came to see the name change as less a departure than a continuation.
After making the change, she discovered that Carvajal itself was a family alteration, adopted generations ago in the Philippines.
“I’m still honoring my family, even in the name change,” she said. “I’m continuing that tradition.”
Her Filipino heritage remains central to how she understands herself, even as some parts of that history remain difficult to trace.
“I’m very curious to keep searching,” Hall said. “That side of my family is where all the artistry came from.”
Hall’s refusal to flatten herself into a single story or cultural identity is mirrored in her journey as a multi-hyphenate artist. She is, depending on the moment, a Broadway belter, a screen actor, a rock frontwoman, a conceptual songwriter.
Her current side project, the all-female Radiohead tribute band Labiahead, gleefully complicates the picture further, reframing familiar songs through a new lens.
“When women perform something written and performed by men, it changes it completely,” she said. “Nothing even needs to be said. It just happens.”
The same could be said of Hall’s own work.
Across mediums, she is an artist interested less in performance as display than performance as revelation.
Onscreen, she said, that often means doing less.
“The camera is literally on your nose,” she said. “You just have to think, and it picks it up.”
Between Celina Carvajal and Lena Hall, between ballet and rock, Broadway and Cornwall, Hall is making peace with multiplicity.
“At a certain point,” she said, “you stop asking who people want you to be and start figuring out who you already are.”
Natalia Zukerman
“A Love Letter to Handsome John” screens at The Colonial Theatre on May 8.
Fans of the late singer-songwriter Todd Snider will have a rare opportunity to gather in celebration of his life and music when “A Love Letter to Handsome John,” a documentary by Otis Gibbs, screens for one night only at The Colonial Theatre in North Canaan on Friday, May 8.
Presented by Wilder House Berkshires and The Colonial Theatre, the 54-minute film began as a tribute to Snider’s friend and mentor, folk legend John Prine. Instead, following Snider’s death last November at age 59, it became something more intimate: a portrait of the alt-country pioneer during the final year of his life.
What began as a simple gesture of gratitude evolved into a poignant meditation on friendship, artistic influence and loss, offering viewers an unusually personal glimpse of Snider at home in his quietest moments.
For Brad Sanzenbacher of Wilder House Berkshires, bringing the film to the Northwest Corner has been deeply personal.
“I’ve been a huge fan of Todd Snider and John Prine for 20 years,” he said. “I lived in the Bay Area before I moved here, and I would see Todd live probably at least four times a year — sometimes back-to-back nights. I was that kind of super Dead Head-type fan that was on tour.”
Sanzenbacher said he had the chance to meet Snider several times and attended the musician’s Catskills retreats.
“He was just one of those people that I really connected with strongly,” he said. “Like a lot of people, when he passed away, I was really shocked and devastated.”
When he learned screenings of the film were beginning to pop up around the country, he wanted to bring that communal experience here.
“I know there are a lot of Todd Snider fans everywhere who want closure on his life and maybe a chance to feel like they’re in the room with him again,” he said. “I thought it would be a really cool experience to bring the film to the community.”
The screening is part of what Sanzenbacher calls the film’s organic, fan-driven momentum.
“I love the grassroots movement of the film,” he said. “They were going to do two screenings and that was going to be it, and now they’re showing it all over the country because fans have reached out to say, ‘How can I bring a screening to my town?’ I feel really lucky we’re able to show it.”
He hopes the evening captures some of the camaraderie that defined the Todd Snider fan experience.
“One of my favorite things about being a Todd Snider fan was when you’d go to two or three shows in a row, you’d turn into a little caravan and make friends with strangers and become this community,” he said. “That’s kind of something I’m hoping happens at the film.”
The screening begins at 7 p.m. Friday, May 8, at The Colonial Theatre, 27 Railroad St., North Canaan. Run time is 54 minutes, with time afterward for audience members to gather and connect.

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