{"id":54,"date":"2020-04-22T20:12:08","date_gmt":"2020-04-22T20:12:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lakeandhomes.com\/blog\/?p=54"},"modified":"2021-11-13T18:34:20","modified_gmt":"2021-11-13T18:34:20","slug":"information-please","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sandpointrealtyidaho.com\/blog\/2020\/04\/22\/information-please\/","title":{"rendered":"Information Please"},"content":{"rendered":"

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 \u2013 her name was \u201cInformation Please\u201d and there was nothing she did not know. \u201cInformation Please\u201d could supply anybody\u2019s 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\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. \u201cInformation Please,\u201d I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.<\/p>\n
\u201cInformation\u201d
\n\u201cI hurt my finger\u2026\u201d I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
\n\u201cIsn\u2019t your mother home?\u201d came the question.
\n\u201cNobody\u2019s home but me.\u201d I blubbered.
\n\u201cAre you bleeding?\u201d the voice asked.
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I replied. \u201cI hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.\u201d
\n\u201cCan you open your icebox?\u201d she asked. I said I could. \u201cThen chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger,\u201d said the voice.<\/p>\n
After that, I called \u201cInformation Please\u201d 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
\ncaught in the park just he day before, would eat fruit and nuts.<\/p>\n
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called \u201cInformation Please\u201d 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, \u201cWhy 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?\u201d<\/p>\n
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, \u201cPaul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.\u201d Somehow I felt better.<\/p>\n
Another day I was on the telephone. \u201cInformation Please.\u201d
\n\u201cInformation,\u201d said the now familiar voice.
\n\u201cHow do you spell fix?\u201d I asked.
\nAll 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.<\/p>\n
\u201cInformation Please\u201d 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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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, \u201cInformation, Please.\u201d Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, \u201cInformation.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t planned this but I heard myself saying, \u201cCould you please tell me how to spell fix?\u201d
\nThere was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, \u201cI guess your finger must have healed by now.\u201d
\nI laughed. \u201cSo it\u2019s really still you,\u201d I said. \u201cI wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wonder\u201d, she said, \u201cif you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.\u201d 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.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease do,\u201d she said. \u201cJust ask for Sally.\u201d
\nThree months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered \u201cInformation.\u201d
\nI asked for Sally.
\n\u201cAre you a friend?\u201d She said.
\n\u201cYes, a very old friend,\u201d I answered.
\n\u201cI\u2019m 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.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before I could hang up she said, \u201cWait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWell, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
\nLet me read it to you.\u201d The note said, \u201cTell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He\u2019ll know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.<\/p>\n
* Anonymous<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/body>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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