Post by JACOB K on Sept 18, 2007 5:19:10 GMT -5
A LITTLE INSPIRATION
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
Petty, 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
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 ever
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
as 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.
- Author Unknown
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
Petty, 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
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 ever
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
as 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.
- Author Unknown