THE OLD PHONE

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 and called, "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=3F"

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, it's Wayne, 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 find it and read it to you."   And after a pause, "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....