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LanaG 
12:06am, July 27, 2009
THE OLD PHONE
THIS WAS ONE OF THE 'GOOD OLD DAYS' WHEN PEOPLE REALLY CARED ABOUT EACH OTHER
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 thro bbing 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 thePacific 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 ha lf-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 call 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?
Why not pass this on? I just did....
Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.
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.
I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it and get a blessing from it just as I did.
THIS WAS ONE OF THE 'GOOD OLD DAYS' WHEN PEOPLE REALLY CARED ABOUT EACH OTHER
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 thro bbing 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 thePacific 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 ha lf-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 call 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?
Why not pass this on? I just did....
Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.
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.
I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it and get a blessing from it just as I did.
Comments
This was just wonderful,...it actually gave me chills, thanks so much for posting it! Love you, Judy
JudyWI
A beautiful journal, I can relate to. I was three and a half when we received our first phone & placed on a desk. I recall my only being able to step on my tip toes to see this wonderful gadget. Any purchases my Mother made were second hand. Having it handed down to me, my husband refinished it. You can imagine all the color's found as he was stripping away. It's a beautiful walnut wood It still is one of my favorite pieces........Thanks for sharing, truly an inspirational entry.....Hugs, Pat
tomtom
Thank you for this...I found it nostalgic and sentimental with a message of hope. It made perfect sense to me as a child that there were actual people singing in the radio....I guess we all were quite literal in our understanding of things as children. Love, Dale...Brandon's Mom
Kingsdaughter
Thank you for sharing this. Hugs, Belinda
BinkyH
I loved this.......thanks for sharing. Hugs, Kim
KimRW
That is a great story. Progress is hyped up to be so great these days, but I swear, we could use a lot less progress, and a lot more of this old time stuff that I also was blessed to be a part of. At my house(we were outside of thy city, and even outside of the little town. We were country folks too. WE had a phone that we shared on what they called a " party line " with 8 other people.I am not sure how many houses that it consisted of. I do not know if it was 8 households, or what. There were diffrent rings for each house. Like one house answered to 2 lomg rings, and anpther to 2 short rings, and so on. Us kids(even my Mom sometimes) could not restist listening a few extra minutes than was necesarry when we'd pick up and the nieghbors were fightiing or somebodies kid was in trouble. We could find out our friends got grounded before the kid even knew! We knew when the boys down the road set fire to their barn sneaking ciggaretts. I know we were awful for doing that and now we would probably get sued . But back then it was all in fun. Most people listened to us the very same way, and everyone knew it. I am 56 yr. old. I mean I am not exactly a dinosaur yret, but boy how the world has changed. love to all,Peggy
grndmudder
that was wonderful. thank you, love, donna
misshimsooo