This story is especially for sheepish who worked as a telephone operator, but a good lesson for all.

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 l 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 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 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 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 asked.

"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.

(Anonymous)

NEVER underestimate the impression you may make on others!

-- Notforprint (Not@thekeyboard.com), January 15, 2001

Answers

Love it! Like I believe once you cross paths with some one they become part of you and you them.

-- renee oneill{md.} (oneillsr@home.com), January 15, 2001.

Thank you, that is a beautiful story to remind us how important we can become to each other even if we don't meet in person. Love knows no constraints.

-- Laura (gsend@hotmail.com), January 15, 2001.

Such a lovely story! How wonderful to know that are words of kindness and true caring can stay with someone for a lifetime. It is very sad however that hurtful ones do the same.

-- Shau Marie (shau@centurytel.net), January 15, 2001.

Sweet....thank you for posting this.

-- diane (gardiacaprines@yahoo.com), January 15, 2001.

(...tears welling up in my eyes....)

Thank you for such a beautiful story! I will remember this one for sure...

-- sheepish (WA) (rborgo@gte.net), January 15, 2001.

Thanks Notforprint, sharing this with us has made this a somewhat better day.

-- Phyllis (almostafarm@yahoo.com), January 15, 2001.

Thank YOU! That was really nice. I'm gonna copy and paste it on another board I go to.

-- john leake (natlivent@pcpros.net), January 15, 2001.

"Not" you beat me to the punch, err, keyboard. My daughter in law sent me this one, forwarded from her step mom in Hawaii, and I was going to post it here also. It really does make you stop and think of the impression and effect you have on the lives of others, and they on yours. Thanks! Jan

-- Jan in Colorado (Janice12@aol.com), January 16, 2001.

Thanks greenbean man [ sorry cant help it] Loved the story. My grandmother was a operator in the seattle tacoma area about 50 years ago and retired from at@t.

-- kathy h (ckhart55@earthlink.net), January 16, 2001.

That is so beautiful! Makes me cry.

-- snoozy (allen@oz.net), January 16, 2001.

Thank you so much for posting this.

-- Tina (clia88@newmexico.com), January 18, 2001.