FrumCA

The Black Telephone

Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.

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, 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?

Longshadow Loc: Audubon, PA, United States

rmalarz Loc: Tempe, Arizona

I'm with Longshadow on this one.
--bob

Jim Plogger Loc: East Tennessee

This a wonderful story that actually brought tears to my eyes. I am 75 years young and I remember that phone. We didn't have a phone but my aunt did. We visited her often. I was always fascinated to see her lift the receiver and speak into it. Thank you for that heart-warming story. It made my day.

Wallen Loc: Middle Earth

usnret Loc: Woodhull Il

Great story indeed! All I remember is that our phone # was Clear brook 84632 and I was forbidden to call Eileen Murphy who lived two miles away as that was a long distance call,, or so mom said.

1Feathercrest Loc: NEPA

This is a heartwarming tale of an earlier, gentler time. The innocence of the time has been displaced with a crude, mallet-like reality that will never pleasurably replace the lost childhood memories of our youth.

docdish Loc: Saint Petersburg, FL

My grandson, who is just 2 years old, grabs my phone and asks Siri questions. Not the same though.

yssirk123 Loc: New Jersey

Earnest Botello Loc: Hockley, Texas

Great story, thanks, FrumCa.

Redmond Loc: Oregon

I remember sitting on the top stair of the cellar stairs, with the door closed, so I could have some privacy when using the phone...That was as far as the phone cord stretched. We also had four other family's using the same line. Those were the days my friend.

Dannj

This has been floating around for a while... may have even popped up on this forum.
The point, however, is valid. We never know how important the simplest gesture, a kindness shown, might be to someone. 👍

tomad Loc: North Carolina

Thank you for posting that wonderful story.

GeneV Loc: Lampasas, Texas

Great story. It brought back memories when we lived in Darmstadt, Indiana (about eight miles north of Evansville). We had one of the big hand-cranked phones way up on the wall. The "phone lady" lived about a half mile down the road with the switch board in her home. Our ring was one long and one short. Sadly, our house no longer stands. It's now a bank. The general store is now a shopping center. Time does march on.

GeneV

neillaubenthal

I’ve heard that story numerous times...and if true it is pretty cool. However...I’ve always wondered if it was early true.