Imagining A Louisville Without Libraries And Museums

By Alisha Proffitt 

Imagine a Louisville without museums or libraries. The absence would be more than empty buildings; it would be a cultural and educational void. A city missing vital parts of its soul. 

Without libraries, access to free knowledge and information would become significantly more limited. For many Louisvillians, especially those in underserved neighborhoods, the public library is the only place to access books, the internet, tutoring, job resources, and safe, quiet places to study or reflect. Without libraries, students would struggle to find the resources they need for school projects, adults without home internet access would lose a lifeline to job searches and online learning, and children might never be introduced to the joy of reading. The Louisville Free Public Library’s programs (ranging from GED prep and ESL classes to resume help and children’s story time) simply wouldn’t exist. That means the pathway for upward mobility would be blocked for many. 

The Western Branch Library, in particular, tells a powerful story. As the first public library in the U.S. staffed entirely by Black Americans for Black Americans, it became a place of empowerment during segregation. Librarians like Rachel Davis Harris didn’t simply organize books, they organized hope. Without her legacy and without that space, how many dreams would have faded in silence? 

Now, consider a Louisville without museums. No Speed Art Museum. No Frazier History Museum. No Muhammad Ali Center. Without these institutions, Louisville would lose its connection to its own story. Museums house not just artifacts, but memory. Without them, history fades, culture erodes, and our identity disappears. 

The loss would hit hardest in schools and among young people. Field trips to museums often mark a child’s first encounter with art, science, or history in a tangible, memorable way. Without that exposure, many kids might never find the spark that leads to a passion for history, art, or science. It’s not always what’s on the walls or behind the glass, it’s how those exhibits inspire questions, conversations, and imagination. 

Art, and the access to art, saves lives every single day. I’m reminded of an interview I once saw with actor Bill Murray, where he shared an experience that illustrates this truth. At one of the lowest points in his life, Murray found himself on the verge of suicide. In a moment of despair, he wandered into the Art Institute of Chicago. There, he stood in front of a painting, The Song of the Lark by Jules Breton. The image depicts a young woman working in a field, with the first light of morning rising behind her. She doesn’t appear to have much, yet the sun still rises for her. Murray described seeing that painting and thinking, “Well, there’s a girl who doesn’t have a whole lot of prospects, but the sun’s coming up anyway, and she’s got another chance at it.” That painting convinced him to keep going. It gave him hope. It saved his life. This is the power of art. It speaks when nothing else can. 

The economic and social toll would be pretty significant, too. Museums and libraries provide jobs, not only for curators and librarians but for support staff, educators, security, and maintenance workers. They also drive tourism, bringing visitors from all around to experience Kentucky’s unique stories. Without these institutions, Louisville’s tourism appeal would shrink, local businesses would lose traffic, and an entire ecosystem of arts and culture would begin to crumble. 

In short, a Louisville without libraries and museums would be a less curious, less connected, less compassionate place. These institutions don’t just educate, they humanize. They remind us of where we’ve been and point us toward where we could go. Without them, we’d still be a city, but we’d be a city with far less heart. And so, I would like to encourage our readers to support and keep these most precious cornerstones of our community in mind, especially as we approach a time in our history when they are being increasingly disregarded and even deemed “unnecessary.” 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” 

- Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings