Dear Ms. Swift,
My name is Amanda Charleston, and I’m the current librarian at the Casa Griago Public Library. I’m writing to lend my support—wholehearted, overdue, and full of dusty bookmarks—to the idea that Robert Hines and the Family Inn deserve a place in one of your songs.
I first met Mr. Hines the summer before my senior year of high school, when I worked at the Family Inn. At the time, I thought I was just taking a summer job—stripping beds, sorting laundry, and occasionally helping to restock the “Happy Family Hour” juice bar that Robert had insisted on replacing the motel’s original beer-soaked vending corner.
But that summer turned out to be one of the most formative experiences of my life.
I watched Robert do what I now recognize as community-building, though he never called it that. He fixed broken doors with one hand while handing out gentle advice with the other. He never judged the guests who were struggling, even when others in town whispered about the Inn’s history. I saw him sit with a couple in the middle of a parking lot argument and calmly talk them down—not with lectures, but with kindness. I saw him leave out children’s books in the lobby “just in case someone wants to start a new chapter.” One of those books had my name in it, and when I told him I wanted to be a librarian someday, he said, “Then you’re already helping rewrite the world.”
I went off to college and, eventually, came back—not because I had to, but because I wanted to give something back to the town that raised me. I now run our small public library, where we’ve started a “Voices of Casa Griago” storytelling circle. Robert was one of the first to attend, not as a featured speaker, but to listen. That’s the kind of man he is.
He’s also a devoted fan of yours. I’ve caught him quoting lyrics—usually mid-custodial chore—more than once. I think your songs gave him courage in quiet moments, the kind of courage that shows up in steady hands and long-term commitment, not dramatic speeches.
Robert Hines may never be famous, but he is beloved. And his story—about redemption, resilience, and juice boxes—is worthy of being heard. If anyone could turn it into music, it’s you.
With admiration,
Amanda Charleston
Librarian, Casa Griago Public Library
Former Family Inn Summer Staff, Class of 2017
My name is Amanda Charleston, and I’m the current librarian at the Casa Griago Public Library. I’m writing to lend my support—wholehearted, overdue, and full of dusty bookmarks—to the idea that Robert Hines and the Family Inn deserve a place in one of your songs.
I first met Mr. Hines the summer before my senior year of high school, when I worked at the Family Inn. At the time, I thought I was just taking a summer job—stripping beds, sorting laundry, and occasionally helping to restock the “Happy Family Hour” juice bar that Robert had insisted on replacing the motel’s original beer-soaked vending corner.
But that summer turned out to be one of the most formative experiences of my life.
I watched Robert do what I now recognize as community-building, though he never called it that. He fixed broken doors with one hand while handing out gentle advice with the other. He never judged the guests who were struggling, even when others in town whispered about the Inn’s history. I saw him sit with a couple in the middle of a parking lot argument and calmly talk them down—not with lectures, but with kindness. I saw him leave out children’s books in the lobby “just in case someone wants to start a new chapter.” One of those books had my name in it, and when I told him I wanted to be a librarian someday, he said, “Then you’re already helping rewrite the world.”
I went off to college and, eventually, came back—not because I had to, but because I wanted to give something back to the town that raised me. I now run our small public library, where we’ve started a “Voices of Casa Griago” storytelling circle. Robert was one of the first to attend, not as a featured speaker, but to listen. That’s the kind of man he is.
He’s also a devoted fan of yours. I’ve caught him quoting lyrics—usually mid-custodial chore—more than once. I think your songs gave him courage in quiet moments, the kind of courage that shows up in steady hands and long-term commitment, not dramatic speeches.
Robert Hines may never be famous, but he is beloved. And his story—about redemption, resilience, and juice boxes—is worthy of being heard. If anyone could turn it into music, it’s you.
With admiration,
Amanda Charleston
Librarian, Casa Griago Public Library
Former Family Inn Summer Staff, Class of 2017
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