Remember Those Live Phone Operator Voices?

Author Unknown

The days of the old black phone connected to the wall, or sitting on table connected by a cord are almost over. Even if you still have a dial up phone, it's probably working off a main station with a cordless phone. I would guess that 99% of Americans today have cell phones. Those of us old enough to remember those days may be able to relate to this story.

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 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 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, 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. Is your name 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 Wayne 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?

Here is a classic Operator call. One of my alltime favorite
artists, who died just as he started to be recognized.
Operator by Jim Croce

I have a similar memory. I grew up in a house with 8 kids, and I was the youngest. So everyone kept me off the phone. Except one time when I was alone and dialed O. It was 56 years ago, and I was about 8 years old. I remember asking if the lady could tell me where my Dad went. She told me to ask my Mom. I told her she doesn't like him anymore. She asked me his name, and after a moment or so, she told me she didn't find anyone with that name. She then asked me some questions to see if she could help. Eventually I told her that I watched some men in a black care take him away, before we moved, and I haven't seen him since. We did have a short conversation. She was in the middle of explaining how sometimes adults don't get along and one has to leave. About that time my Mom came into the living room. She was upset and told me I was to hang up and stay off the phone. So I was forced to hang up. I had forgotten all about it, until I read this. Amazing story. Oh how I miss live people in this digital World we live in, where all phone menus are automatic recordings. You can never get a live person anymore. Anyone who remembers those old days, will have their own memories I'm sure. A few years late I learned where my father went. It was a of information my mother made sure no one told me. I was like 10 or 11 when I finally learned where he went. I remember sneaking into my oldest brothers room to read his superman comic books. When he came in I hid in the closet. That's when I overheard him and another brother talking about Dad. That was the first time I heard anything from anyone about my father since he left. Turns out he went to prison, and the men in the black vehicle were detectives who came to arrest him. Eventually I learned he had committed incest with my sisters, and was sentence to 14 years. At that age I no idea of what the word meant, and I knew even less about the physical and phycological damage it had done to my sisters. Oh, eventually I would understand, but at 11 I was clueless. Until I read this story, I had all but forgotten about asking the operator for information on my dad.  Today I look back and, while I understand their desire to protect me, they actually pushed me away from them. I grew up feeling like an outsider, like there were always things they kept from me. Jokes, stories  and just a stand offish attitude towards me that eventually led me to leave when I was 16. To this day I don't have a tepid relationship with my brothers or sisters.