Never underestimate the impression you may make on others...
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones
in our neighborhood. I remember well 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 used to talk 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 anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-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 didn't seem to be any
reason 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?" "No," I replied.
"I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your
icebox?"
she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece 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 had
caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called
"Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened,
then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child.
But I was un-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
tossing in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone.
"Information Please." "Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small
town in the Pacific northwest. When I was 9 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 tall, 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.
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 half an 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
still 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 other 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," "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 I still say there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally
meant.
- Anonymous-