The Old Phone
A boy's journey with his friend,
“Information
Please”
When I was
quite young, 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 appreciate 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, did you say your name was 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 him
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?
Life is a journey, NOT a guided tour. So don't miss the ride, and have a great
time going around - you don't get a second shot at it...