Information Please.

When I found this information please text I was very surprised.
I noticed the similarity of the story and that it had happen to other people.
It surely does bring back memories of my childhood.

The text of this page is the very same kind of thing that happened 
to me as a very young boy in my very small home town of
Augusta, Kansas.

     When I had troubles, I used to call our local " Information Please "
(In the late 1930's and early 1940's),
and I also talked to a dear lady that was so kind and sweet to me.

But, what a great lost.

I NEVER DID KNOW,  WHO SHE WAS OR HER NAME.

"Information Please" 

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 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. "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 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 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, then 
said the usual things grown ups say to soothe a child. But I was 
un-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, 
"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 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 
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," 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 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. 
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. 
Whose life have you touched today?

This Web page was created on January 25, 2002
This page was updated on September 23, 2002


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