A LITTLE INSPIRATION

A LITTLE INSPIRATION

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in ourneighborhood. 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 reachthe telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used totalk to it.Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived anamazing person -- her name was "Information Please" and there was nothingshe did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number andthe correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the- bottle came one daywhile my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool benchin the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer.The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in cryingbecause there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the housesucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.The telephone!Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to thelanding. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it tomy ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above myhead. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear."Information. " "I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tearscame 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 youopen your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little pieceof ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.

I asked her forhelp with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helpedme with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the parkjust the day before would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there was the timePetty, our pet canary died.

I called "Information Please" and told her thesad story.

She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothea child.

But I was UN-consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds shouldsing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heapof feathers on the bottom of a cage?"She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, alwaysremember 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 9years old, we moved across the country to Boston.

I missed my friend verymuch. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, andsomehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on thetable in the hall.As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations everreally left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recallthe 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 onthe phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what Ias 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 mehow to spell fix?"There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess yourfinger must have healed by now."I laughed. "So it's really still you,' I said. "I wonder if you have anyidea how much you meant to me during that time.""I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me." "Inever 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 Icould 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 workingpart-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeksago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say yourname 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 areother 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.