Corliss' Challenge
Corliss Grimes was a professor of library science at Syracuse University, in upstate New York. She passionately believed that librarianship was a way to build a better world. So, when a grant opportunity came her way to propose a way for librarians to think "boldly, out of the box," she was ready and eager to put her ideas into practice.
Using funds from this grant, she set up Corliss' Challenge, where all presidential candidates would be required to spend a day with a panel of librarians -- and would receive a group rating from the librarians. Corliss' Challenge was created to ensure that in a knowledge economy, the leader of the Free World would have strong knowledge credentials. Every year, questions in this challenge would be different. In the first year, presidential candidate were given two hours to answer one of these two questions: 1. List 20 books that changed your life -- or -- 2. List 12 authors who changed your life. Knowing that they would be facing Corliss' Challenge, many politicians seeking the White House might have some second thoughts.
Corliss' Challenge quickly became a topic of national debate. Political strategists scrambled to prepare their candidates, scouring book lists and biographies in a desperate attempt to predict what would impress the panel. But Corliss Grimes had something more profound in mind than just quizzing politicians on their reading habits.
The panel she assembled was no ordinary group of librarians. These were experts in fields ranging from information literacy to digital archives, from rural libraries to global knowledge systems. Corliss chose them not just for their book smarts, but for their ability to sniff out authenticity — they could spot a well-rehearsed script from miles away. Candidates were warned: sincerity mattered more than polish.
In the first year, the candidates nervously shuffled into the ornate reading room at the Syracuse University library, a setting chosen for its grandeur and symbolism. Some of them looked visibly uncomfortable, glancing around at the towering shelves filled with books, as though the spines themselves were judging them.
The questions were deceptively simple, but the way each candidate answered revealed a lot more than their literary tastes.
One candidate, Senator Frank Maddox, took the "20 books" route. He rattled off a list that seemed too perfect—classics like To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, and The Great Gatsby. When pressed by the panel to explain why these books had impacted him, his responses were canned and rehearsed. One librarian gently asked, "Senator, what was your favorite passage from 1984?" Maddox hesitated, blinked a few times, then fumbled his answer. It was clear he hadn't read it in years, if at all. The panel made a note.
Another candidate, Congresswoman Dana Levy, took a more daring approach. She chose the question about authors and listed 12, starting with Octavia Butler and ending with bell hooks. The panel listened intently as Levy spoke passionately about how these writers had shaped her views on race, gender, and power. When asked how these perspectives would influence her presidency, she didn't miss a beat. "A president's job," Levy said, "is not just to lead but to understand. We are living in a time when diverse voices must be at the forefront of our policies. These authors taught me that."
By the end of the day, it was clear who had risen to Corliss' Challenge and who had faltered. Senator Maddox received a lukewarm score, his performance met with polite smiles but little enthusiasm. Congresswoman Levy, on the other hand, left the library with a glowing recommendation from the panel.
News outlets were quick to pick up the story. Some pundits mocked the exercise, calling it "elitist" or a "gimmick." Others praised it as a refreshing change from the usual sound bites and empty rhetoric. Corliss herself appeared on late-night shows, where she defended the challenge with her signature wit. "If you can't think critically about the world's knowledge, how can you think critically about the world's problems?"
As the years went on, Corliss' Challenge became an integral part of the campaign trail. Candidates who once dreaded it began to embrace it, using it as an opportunity to showcase their intellectual curiosity and depth. And while some continued to stumble, others found that spending a day with a group of librarians was more enlightening than they had ever imagined.
By the third year, the Challenge had expanded to include a round of discussions about the future of information in the digital age. Candidates had to propose policies on everything from public access to knowledge, to misinformation, to the role of libraries in an increasingly polarized society. It was no longer just about personal reading habits—it was about the future of knowledge itself.
And so, Corliss Grimes achieved what she had set out to do. In a world where information was power, she had made sure that the most powerful person in the world would have a deep respect for it. Candidates could no longer coast on charisma alone; they had to engage with the ideas and knowledge that shaped society.
As Corliss sat in her office, watching a clip of the latest debate where the candidates passionately discussed digital literacy, she smiled to herself. Her challenge had become more than just a test—it had become a movement.
The panel she assembled was no ordinary group of librarians. These were experts in fields ranging from information literacy to digital archives, from rural libraries to global knowledge systems. Corliss chose them not just for their book smarts, but for their ability to sniff out authenticity — they could spot a well-rehearsed script from miles away. Candidates were warned: sincerity mattered more than polish.
In the first year, the candidates nervously shuffled into the ornate reading room at the Syracuse University library, a setting chosen for its grandeur and symbolism. Some of them looked visibly uncomfortable, glancing around at the towering shelves filled with books, as though the spines themselves were judging them.
The questions were deceptively simple, but the way each candidate answered revealed a lot more than their literary tastes.
One candidate, Senator Frank Maddox, took the "20 books" route. He rattled off a list that seemed too perfect—classics like To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, and The Great Gatsby. When pressed by the panel to explain why these books had impacted him, his responses were canned and rehearsed. One librarian gently asked, "Senator, what was your favorite passage from 1984?" Maddox hesitated, blinked a few times, then fumbled his answer. It was clear he hadn't read it in years, if at all. The panel made a note.
Another candidate, Congresswoman Dana Levy, took a more daring approach. She chose the question about authors and listed 12, starting with Octavia Butler and ending with bell hooks. The panel listened intently as Levy spoke passionately about how these writers had shaped her views on race, gender, and power. When asked how these perspectives would influence her presidency, she didn't miss a beat. "A president's job," Levy said, "is not just to lead but to understand. We are living in a time when diverse voices must be at the forefront of our policies. These authors taught me that."
By the end of the day, it was clear who had risen to Corliss' Challenge and who had faltered. Senator Maddox received a lukewarm score, his performance met with polite smiles but little enthusiasm. Congresswoman Levy, on the other hand, left the library with a glowing recommendation from the panel.
News outlets were quick to pick up the story. Some pundits mocked the exercise, calling it "elitist" or a "gimmick." Others praised it as a refreshing change from the usual sound bites and empty rhetoric. Corliss herself appeared on late-night shows, where she defended the challenge with her signature wit. "If you can't think critically about the world's knowledge, how can you think critically about the world's problems?"
As the years went on, Corliss' Challenge became an integral part of the campaign trail. Candidates who once dreaded it began to embrace it, using it as an opportunity to showcase their intellectual curiosity and depth. And while some continued to stumble, others found that spending a day with a group of librarians was more enlightening than they had ever imagined.
By the third year, the Challenge had expanded to include a round of discussions about the future of information in the digital age. Candidates had to propose policies on everything from public access to knowledge, to misinformation, to the role of libraries in an increasingly polarized society. It was no longer just about personal reading habits—it was about the future of knowledge itself.
And so, Corliss Grimes achieved what she had set out to do. In a world where information was power, she had made sure that the most powerful person in the world would have a deep respect for it. Candidates could no longer coast on charisma alone; they had to engage with the ideas and knowledge that shaped society.
As Corliss sat in her office, watching a clip of the latest debate where the candidates passionately discussed digital literacy, she smiled to herself. Her challenge had become more than just a test—it had become a movement.
(This story is donated to the public domain.)
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He/Him/His
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"We must reinvent a future free of blinders so that we can choose from real options." David Suzuki
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