Creating a Kid-Led Hall of Fame for Books

I remember being a third grader and learning for the first time about the Newbery and Caldecott medals. I picked up a copy of Where the Wild Things Are in the school library, and there it was: a shiny gold sticker. I was mesmerized. I asked my librarian what made that book so special. She told me it had won a Newbery Medal for excellent storytelling. Then she pulled out a copy of Owl Moon, where a shiny gold sticker stuck to the book like a hug. This, she said, was a Caldecott Medal winner for the most beautiful illustrations. Basically, she told me, books with these medals were the best of their kind. “Oh,” I thought, “it’s like winning an Oscar, but for books.” I was hooked. Right then and there, I decided to read every Caldecott and Newbery medal award book I could find.

When I started teaching, I remembered that conversation with my elementary school librarian. I thought, “Why should adults have all the fun?” I wanted my students to experience the excitement of recognizing books they thought were the best. And just like that, the Hallbery Awards were born and continued twice a year for over 15 years. (Why Hallbery? Because my last name is Hall.)

Setting up the Ceremony

The concept was simple: I created a bulletin board with fancy lettering and attached picture frames to it. Each frame contained a piece of paper with a question mark, waiting for the cover of the book to take its place.

We held two Hallbery Award ceremonies each year: one right before winter break and another right after spring break. I set up categories like Best Chapter Book, Best Nonfiction Book, and Best Humorous Book. Students could nominate any book they felt deserved a Hallbery Award by writing its title on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Once a book got nominated, simply by having the title on the paper, other students would rush to read it. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a book; it was a contender.

My classroom books were flying off the bookshelves like Black Friday TVs. Reading became a treasure hunt for students to find words that connected with them and illustrations that made them feel like they were part of the book. On ceremony day, we framed the covers of the winning books and displayed them along with their category so it was clear which had won. 

The moment of glory: Awards Day

Picture it: Students arrived in their finest attire, which, in third-grade fashion, ranged from actual dress clothes to a suspiciously formal hoodie. Desks disappeared, replaced by elegant tables with tablecloths. Nameplates marked the students’ places. And at each spot? A dignified plate with a doughnut. Nothing says prestige like a powdered-sugar mustache. Next to each plate was a fancy ceramic coffee cup filled, of course, with water. I had purchased all the cups and plates from any store with the word “Dollar” in front of or behind its name. Most of those stores switched over their stock at the end of summer, so I scooped them up on clearance.

The awards ceremony was a grand affair. Two student presenters, microphone in hand (plastic, of course—I’m not reckless), stood at the podium, taking turns presenting the awards:

Me: “Our next award will be presented by Samantha and Jessica.”

Cue music—simply search “award ceremony intro music” on YouTube.

Samantha and Jessica (channeling their inner Oscars presenters): “We are here today to announce the Hallbery Award for Best Humorous Book. And the nominees are…”

Suspense. Drama. Possibly some doughnut crumbs falling to the floor. Finally, they opened a sealed envelope. The winner was announced to thunderous applause, which in a third-grade classroom sounds like clapping, cheering, and someone accidentally knocking over their ceramic coffee cup. What made the moment even better was that the winners weren’t always big-name authors or famous illustrators. Sometimes, it was a quiet, overlooked book that stole the show. Some of our most obscure Hallbery champions included Water Dance, by Thomas Locker, and Turtle Spring, by Deborah Turney Zagwyn—titles that might have gone unnoticed if not for a student who saw something special and shared it with the class.

After the ceremony

But the celebration didn’t stop there. The winning book earned a Hallbery Award Seal—a sticker I made myself using Canva, proving that arts and crafts are just as essential as a teaching degree. That book then sits in the glow of the classroom spotlight, forever marked as a student-chosen favorite. The book’s cover was printed off and hung on the Hall of Fame bulletin board in place of the previous question mark paper, where it stayed for the entire year, basking in pride.

One year, the class decided to write letters to the authors to let them know they had won a Hallberry. Now, I half-expected to get the literary equivalent of a polite golf clap—maybe a form letter from an intern. But no. We got real, heartfelt responses from actual authors who were genuinely thrilled. Some wrote back with gratitude; others sent fun stories about their books. Imagine how my students felt, knowing that their voices mattered, that they had the power to make an author’s day. The letters, handwritten by such authors as Jan and Stan Berenstain and Tomie dePaola, took their rightful place on the Hall of Fame board next to their book covers.

That’s the magic of the Hallbery Awards. Of course, it was about celebrating books, but more important, it was about empowering kids. They weren’t just readers. They were literary critics, decision-makers, and part of something bigger. And if that doesn’t deserve a gold sticker, I don’t know what does.