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. |
BOOKMARK!
LOL, they probably are. I can see them trying to go to court to garnish her wages in 20 years for the back rent. LOL
Your rotary phones will still work! (I restore them for fun.) You can still slam down the receiver. I cannot, alas, connect you to the “Information Please” lady.
Actually, analog phones were powered off gigantic lead-acid batteries at the central office. That's why they worked even if your power went out. Eventually the lead-acid batteries would discharge too, but that would take days.
Growing up they had the “411” number which was meant for information. It was intended of course to get phone numbers for people or businesses you wanted to call. But we kids would call them and ask them questions like “who was the president in 1820” or “where did I leave my house key” and things like that. The operators on the other end usually had a good sense of humor about it. Usually.
How many cookies did Andrew eat? ANdrew 8-8000!
That was a fairly good movie. I was forced to watch it with my wife. I did only because I have always liked Sandra Bullock.
Talk about hormonal problems. LOL
My Grandparents refused to do that.
Too funny. I forgot until you mentioned it.
That’s the operator must have had a slow moment to be able to call back.
My Mom would put a dime in my sneaker. When I was ready for her to come pick me up from the pool, I would ring three times & hang up (and get the dime back). That was the signal
Until I recently moved to Idaho in 2019, we had the same number for 30 years.
Really?!!!
I'll bring one back the next time I visit mom.
From what I recall, there is nothing at the end of the wire. Would it then be connected directly to the jack box?
If I wanted to know the temperature in Los Angeles or some other place, I would just call an operator there and they would always tell me. And I don’t remember ANY man being an operator!
I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, but growing up I recall WAlnut 6-2043. I was born in 1960. I think the use of WAlnut must be from way back in my very young memory listening to my parents use it.
I’ll be 82 in August. I enlisted 2 weeks before my 18th birthday and my parents had to sign for me. Then while in Japan I requested a transfer farther south. In order to get it I had to extend my enlistment 11 months, which I did in a heartbeat. My 4 years in the Army was a great experience. Wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Wow, interesting. My time was “73” to “76” Army. Mannheim Germans, then Ft Banning GA.
I dropped out in the 9th, at 16. My Mom tried to enlist me, but I barely looked 16, so they said no. I then decided to join the traveling Carnival show because I was not going to go back to school. After the Summer was over I turned 17 and joined on my own accord.
No, I think it was 12 and 12. I never knew of any other operators; just Nettie and Ordella. I think Nettie was an “old maid”, but Ordella was married and had a daughter. It was a neat little town. Mostly Scotch-Irish. Right on the Mason-Dixon Line. I was told that when Billy Penn parcelled out the land, he intentionally put a strip of Scotch-Irish Presbyterians along that section of the M-D Line as a buffer between the Germanic Lutherans farther north and the Catholics just across the line in Maryland. My great...grandparents came from Germanic Switzerland in 1750 and were granted 50 acres of land 20 miles north, in the middle of York County.
17 years old...working the 8-2 Graveyard shift AT&T Long Lines at 185 Franklin Street in Boston.
I talked down a suicide at 1:00AM...There was no 911 back then, so he dialed “0” and got me.
I had a Butterfield 8 number in my younger days when I lived on the Upper East Side. Hated to move and lose that number.
Even though I was moving to Murray Hill.
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