THE OLD PHONE

[Judy Harder]

THE OLD PHONE
     
A MUST READ!!!

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,
"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
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.

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. So don't miss
the ride and have a great time going around you don't
get a second shot at it.


I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you
enjoy it and get a blessing from it just as I did
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