Posted on 03/29/2021 11:36:20 AM PDT by OneVike
The days of the old black phone connected to the wall, or sitting on table connected by a cord are almost over. Even if you still have a dial up phone, it's probably working off a main station with a cordless phone. I would guess that 99% of Americans today have cell phones. Those of us old enough to remember those days may be able to relate to this story.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
“Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No, "I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, "Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her,
“Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,
“Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone,
"Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice.
"How do I spell fix?" I asked
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute. Is your name Wayne?"
"Yes." I answered.
Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said,
“Tell Wayne there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
I have a similar memory. I grew up in a house with 8 kids, and I was the youngest. So everyone kept me off the phone. Except one time when I was alone and dialed O. It was 56 years ago, and I was about 8 years old. I remember asking if the lady could tell me where my Dad went. She told me to ask my Mom. I told her she doesn't like him anymore. She asked me his name, and after a moment or so, she told me she didn't find anyone with that name. She then asked me some questions to see if she could help. Eventually I told her that I watched some men in a black care take him away, before we moved, and I haven't seen him since. We did have a short conversation. She was in the middle of explaining how sometimes adults don't get along and one has to leave. About that time my Mom came into the living room. She was upset and told me I was to hang up and stay off the phone. So I was forced to hang up. I had forgotten all about it, until I read this. Amazing story. Oh how I miss live people in this digital World we live in, where all phone menus are automatic recordings. You can never get a live person anymore. Anyone who remembers those old days, will have their own memories I'm sure. A few years late I learned where my father went. It was a of information my mother made sure no one told me. I was like 10 or 11 when I finally learned where he went. I remember sneaking into my oldest brothers room to read his superman comic books. When he came in I hid in the closet. That's when I overheard him and another brother talking about Dad. That was the first time I heard anything from anyone about my father since he left. Turns out he went to prison, and the men in the black vehicle were detectives who came to arrest him. Eventually I learned he had committed incest with my sisters, and was sentence to 14 years. At that age I no idea of what the word meant, and I knew even less about the physical and phycological damage it had done to my sisters. Oh, eventually I would understand, but at 11 I was clueless. Until I read this story, I had all but forgotten about asking the operator for information on my dad. Today I look back and, while I understand their desire to protect me, they actually pushed me away from them. I grew up feeling like an outsider, like there were always things they kept from me. Jokes, stories and just a stand offish attitude towards me that eventually led me to leave when I was 16. To this day I don't have a tepid relationship with my brothers or sisters. | ||
Now that’s a memory. My grand parents did not have a phone. So we used to go to the local phone company office to make a phone call to visit with relatives. And we could see the operators plugging in the wires to make the calls.
“And it cost an arm and a leg to call long distance”
And long distance wasn’t necessarily long distance, it was a change in carriers. My high school girlfriend lived about 10-15 miles away from me and calling her was long distance. I got my butt chewed on a regularly basis because of the phone bill.
I remember when people traveled far from home, they would place a "collect call" to let their family know they arrived safely—and the family would say, "No" to receiving the call. That way, there was no conversation, but also no long-distance charge. It only worked within the U.S., though.
I remember getting off the ocean liner in Southhampton, England in the summer after senior year and the first thing I thought was, "Hot damm! I don't have to call home to let my folks know I got here safe!"
My 104 year old neighbor had a phone she still rented from AT&T. That was about 10 years ago. I’m sure she has passed away since and AT&T probably sent a bill to her family.
Look what they are selling for on eBay:
You haven't lived until you have a summer job collecting bills for Ma Bell! Wish they had paid commission instead of a salary, though!
"606,please"
"Connecting, tell your grandmother I said hello, Doug"
"I will, Mrs. Holt"
Ring...ring...ring
...yes such call was normal when I was a kid.
Yea, tapping end call when your mad, just doesn't have the same effect.
Well, even with the dropping of mnemonic exchange numbers, area appropriate exchang numbers can result.
As an example , moving back to NYC to the Upper West Side my new exchange was 666-nnnn....can't get more spot on than that....
I had to explain "boardinghouse reach" to my pastor at a church dinner. Then I had to explain "boardinghouse."
That's wonderful that you remember them by name. Did they each work an 8-hour shift, and there was no one during the night? or did they work 12 hours apiece? Could there have been a third person you never knew because you were asleep?
Damn...how old are these people.
I had a woman working for me once who had been an operator for 47 years. Same office. Same job.
Nicest woman in the world. But slow as a sloth in a business based on “efficiency.”
Just don’t talk on it during an electric storm. 😁
Remember that?
One Ringy Dingy . . .
Seconds later, to my shock and dismay, the phone rang. My mom took the call. Uh, oh.
Turns out the operator was amused, and the two of them had a good laugh. Whew!
Party lines. Dots and dashes - or shorts and longs. One full turn of the crank was a long/dash, and a half-turn was a short/dot. Our first phone had the earpiece and mouthpiece on a single, hang-able receiver. You knew everybody’s call signal. And if too many people picked up to listen in, the signal would be so weak the talking parties had to shout at each other.
There were several good-looking/popular high-school girls on our line (two were my sisters), and they’d tie up the line until some old farmer picked up and told them to get to hell to bed!
Calling long-distance was a special process. I recall there being a signal - a community call sign - where everybody on the line would pick up so somebody could ask for half an hour or so to make a long-distance call. That was the way to call for help when fires and accidents were reported, too.
That all changed when the rotary dialed phones came along. My folks had the same phone number from about 1960 to about 2006/2007.
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