Re:Information Please... PLEASE READ IT !!!!!

July 8, 2008

Please do READ This Story !!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 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 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?" 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 inconsolable. 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 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 asked. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm

sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has 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," I replied. "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?