The
Old Phone
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, "Paul
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 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 Paul?" "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.
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