Information Please

(nice story)
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 I 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 unconsoled. 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 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 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. 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 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 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. My name is Paul," 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.
  
  ~Author Unknown~