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 and the shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with
fascination when my mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an
amazing person and 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-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 didn't seem to be any sense in
crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked
around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at thestairway,
The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool 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 a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off
a 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 that my pet
chipmunk, which 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, then
said the usual thing grown ups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable.
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, you
must remember that there are other worlds to sing 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 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 somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new shiny 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 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 about 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 be 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 of her over the years and 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 in the last few years because she was sick. She died
five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you
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.
Never underestimate the impression you make on others. Whose life have
you touched today? Why not pass this on, I just did!
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