24 February
MILINET: A Warm-Fuzzy Story
Contributed By: Capt V. R. Bush, USN(Ret)
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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 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 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. 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.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today? Why not pass this on, I just
did.
Love and Light to you and may you too sing in other worlds when
it is
time!
Author unknown.
Best Wishes,
VRB
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