by Kelly Reeves
2-2-0-1-8. That was the phone number to my grandmother’s house at Route 6 Box 90, in Tyler, Texas. Ma Bell later added a 5-9 prefix that had to be dialed first, and much later added the area code.
We thought that was entirely too many numbers to dial to make a phone call, and it was. Successfully dialing ten numbers on a rotary phone while standing up in the hallway was a real feat. You had to dial a 1 before the area code and number if it was a long distance call, making it an 11 number sequence. You’d always get 7 or 8 numbers spun around the dial before you short-stroked the next one and had to hang up and start all over, or just give up.
Today, every human being from 2 years old to 102 has a phone in their hand, or at least within arms reach, 24 hours a day. If you happen to leave it for a minute, you panic until you get it back in your hand. Folks that don’t want to visit, but do want to pass on some information, can send a text message, immediately, at their every whim. How did we get to this point? Do we really need to be this accessible?
My grandmother’s little brick house had one telephone. It set on top of the phone directory and yellow pages on a little chest-high wooden shelf built into the wall of the hallway. If you wanted to make a call, you had to be standing in the hallway to do it. There was a little homemade stool in the hall under the phone shelf that you could sit on, and it allowed the kids to reach the phone if necessary.
The telephone was used when necessary, but it wasn’t something that anyone in the house spent much time on. I remember Nanny rocking in her chair in the living room, or standing at the stove cooking, when the phone would RIIIIIIIING, RIIIIIIIING. The sound of the internal brass bells could be heard all over the property. She’d say, “Reckon who that is?” “I don’t know. Want me to answer it?“ I’d reply. “No. Ever-who it is isn’t calling you.” she’d say. “Well, are you going to get it?” I’d ask after about 18 rings. She replied, “They’d hang up ‘bout the time I got there.” That was it. The phone quit ringing and no one gave it another thought. No one ever got into a tizzy because they couldn’t get you on the phone, they just tried again another time. “Caller ID” had not yet been invented. The only way to know who was calling was to answer the phone.
The telephone had its place and purpose, but it certainly was not as important to any of us in those days as it is today.
Once in a while the phone would ring really late at night …. like 8 o’clock. Nanny would say, “What kind of nut would be calling this time of night? It better be long-distance.” Long-distance calls were charged an extra fee, but were cheaper after 7 o’clock in the evening. She’d try to answer those because it was most likely out of town kinfolks. This was an economic decision. If they called, it was “on their dime.” It was much more cost effective to answer their call than it was to call them.
The telephone had its place and purpose, but it certainly was not as important to any of us in those days as it is today. If Nanny had a lot to say to someone, or some real catching up to do, we’d load up in her ‘68 Chevy Impala and go visiting. Visiting meant we would drive to someone’s house, completely unannounced, and sit on the porch and talk. This visit continued until the grown folks ran out of things to say. The out-of-town kinfolks got a cursive handwritten letter mailed to them, via the U.S. Postal Service, and they responded with the same. A letter was much more cost effective than a long-distance call.
Those cold winter mornings when the kitchen window was covered in sweat and frost made it impossible to read the outdoor thermometer. No problem. You could call Time and Temperature at 592-8111 and a lady would tell you the current temperature and official time. What if you couldn’t find a needed phone number in “the book”? You dialed “0” and waited for the operator to pick up. “Operator. Can I help you?” You simply told her the problem and she found the number and would give it to you, or connect your call for you. The operator was a living, breathing, Googler.
There weren’t any salesmen calling. No one called you about your car warranty, or to take a poll, or to politic for someone running for office, but once in a while you didn’t want to chance the phone ringing. Times like during your afternoon nap, or the Lawrence Welk show, or M.A.S.H., or The Waltons. In these instances, you’d simply take the receiver off the hook and set it down. It would honk at you several times but it didn’t last long. If anyone called while the phone was off the hook, they got a busy signal and hung up. You were free to enjoy your nap or TV show uninterrupted. It was the airplane mode of the 1970s.
As a kid, I spent several weeks each summer with my great-uncle Dave who lived at Shelby Beach on Toledo Bend Reservoir. We spent the days catching fish, and the nights running fox hounds. Uncle Dave cranked his Honda 3 wheeler for me and sent me to the marina nearby. He said, “Go in there and ask the clerk to tell Mr. Bailey that we are turning the hounds out at Boles Field at 9 o’clock tonight.” “Yes sir.” I replied, “but why don’t we just call Mr. Bailey?” “Well, he ain’t going to be in the house to hear the phone ring, but he is going to go to the marina at 4 o’clock to get a Hershey with almonds and a Coke. He does that every day.” Sure enough, when we arrived at Boles Field there was Mr. Bailey waiting for us. These men had no need for a cell phone. Heck, they didn’t need a land line; and were the happiest fellows I ever knew.
The days of the land line, the original social network, are basically gone. Now, we find ourselves tied to a mobile phone that goes everywhere with us. We are easily accessed, tracked, or messaged. We have email, voice mail, video calls, internet access, unlimited video games, and who knows what else in the palm of our hand at all times. We’ve been brainwashed to believe that we NEED all of this. I, for one, believe we would all benefit from some cellular downtime and a return to the land line OFF THE HOOK. I hate that mine is the last generation to know the frustration of Friday night prank calls, or the satisfaction of slamming a receiver down on the cradle after a particularly aggravating call. That is something that cannot be replaced by today’s technology.
