Ponderings #53

Dear fellow travelers,

  This is another nostalgic pondering, so triggered by an article I received which I have included at the end.

  This refers back to the time when the old telephones were used.  When you actually dialed a number, not pushed a button.  I worked in management during that time for the local telephone company and we were assigned duty positions to cover during strikes.  I was assigned to "Information".  This is when operators were women only;  before male operators, 911, automation and obviously the Internet.

  The "Information" voice was the "go to person" who knew everything.

  The first time I had strike duty with only five minutes of training, I was lead to my stall, where a large telephone directory was located  and frequently requested calls were posted on the wall,  then given a headset--and I was on duty.

 I remember my very first call--

"I want "the Chickens"? I don't go to work today."

Say  "WHAT"???  no chickens listed,  but then  my spelling is still not the greatest. 

"The Chickens"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  he kept repeating!!

My friend who had been on duty a few hours longer, heard me and began pounding on the glass partition.  She was hollering the name of a company downstate, a big chicken plant.   Well--  one down.

  The calls kept coming, everything from what was the weather, to fires, car accidents, and then when I thought two hours had passed,  it had only been ten minutes.

I couldn't find the numbers,  my neck was in a knot.  but some callers did actually ask for telephone numbers but I still couldn't find them easily.

 I do remember a women calling who didn't want to live any longer,  and I walked her thru her finding her own telephone book,  giving me her doctors name and number, and then hers. and then I took a break,  which were strictly regulated.  and I called her doctor. (this was not the normal procedure, but then I was not a regular operator.)

  We worked 12 hour shifts,  for however long the strike lasted, usually three weeks or so.  I remember praying the regular "Information operators" got every penny they were asking for,  if not more.

  Time moves on and..

  Now we have male operators.  DIRECTORY ASSISTANCE (not Information)  and automation, 911 for emergencies,  and the Internet for the weather,   but to me I must admit I do miss the voice of the women who knew everything,  except when they were on strike......

   Here is the promised inspiration from the other side of the line.  from a grateful caller.

ENJOY:

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 Pete, 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.

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 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,

I  hurt my finger a long time ago.
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.

Have you listened to anyone today?

Just Pondering on helpfulness

 

     Rev  Linda Patton,   ENTC

  http://Ponderings-everyday-spirituality.blogspot.com