----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Bill Stahl" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <Undisclosed-Recipient:;>
Sent: Sunday, March 19, 2006 5:17 PM
Subject: Fw: Fw: the phone]


>>
>> THE OLD PHONE -- 
>>
>> When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our 
>> neighborhood. I remember 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 talked 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 anyone's number and the 
>> correct time.
>>
>>
>>  My personal experience with the genie-in-a-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 seemed no point 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?" the voice asked.
>>
>>
>>   "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
>> "Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
>>
>>    I said I could.
>>
>>    "Then chip off a little bit 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, and then 
>> said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not 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, "Wayne 
>> 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 in the now familiar voice. "How do I 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 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 a half-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 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 call 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 Wayne?" "Yes." I answered.
>>
>>
>>        "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 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....
>>
>>
>>       Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you 
>> long for.
>>
>>
>>      Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour.
>>
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