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phone.txt
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1997-04-16
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135 lines
The Day the Telephone Bug Bit
-- by Richard Pence
Those big phone outages of recent weeks have had me feeling a
bit guilty over what's been happening.
You see, I remember exactly how all this started. Back in
1950 I was a novice seahand aboard a cruiser based In Philadelphia,
barely six months out of high school and fresh from the plains of
South Dakota.
One Friday night in November, we were granted shore leave at
the end of a two week training cruise. Homesick and seasick, I
headed immediately for the row of pay phones that lined the dock.
Depositing a carefully preserved nickel (remember?), I dialed
"0." The following is a roughly verbatim account of what transpired
after the Philadelphia operator answered:
"I'd like to place a station to station collect call to the Bob Pence
residence in Columbia, South Dakota," I said in my best telephone
voice.
The Philadelphia operator was sure she had heard wrong. "You mean
Columbia, South Carolina, don't you?"
"No, I mean Columbia, South Dakota." I had tried to call home once
before, and I was ready for that one.
"Certainly. What is the number, please?" I could tell she still
didn't believe me.
"They don't have a number," I mumbled. I'd tried to call home before,
and I knew what was coming.
She was incredulous. "They don't have a number?"
"I don't think so."
"I can't complete the call without a number. Do you have it?" she
demanded.
I didn't relish seeming like even more of a bumpkin, but I was in the
Navy and I knew authority when I heard it. "Well ... the only thing I
know is ... two longs and a short."
I think that's the first time she snorted. "Never mind. I'll get the
number for you. One moment please."
There followed an audible click and a long period of silence while she
apparently first determined if, indeed, there was a Columbia, S.D.,
and then if it was possible to call there.
When she returned to the line, she was armed with the not-insignificant
knowledge necessary complete her task.
In deliberate succession, she dialed an operator in Cleveland, asked
her to dial one in Chicago, asked Chicago to dial Minneapolis, and
Minneapolis to dial Sioux City, Iowa. Sioux City called Sioux Falls,
S.D., and the operator there dialed one in Aberdeen, S.D. At last,
Aberdeen dialed the operator in Columbia.
By this time, Philadelphia's patience was wearing thin, but when
Columbia answered, she knew what had to be done.
"The number for the Bob Pence residence, please," she said, now in
control.
Columbia didn't even hesitate. "Two longs and a short," she declared.
Philadelphia was set back for an instant but valiantly plowed on. "I
have a collect call from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, for anyone at
that number. Will you please ring?"
"They're not home," said Columbia, again not missing a beat.
Philadelphia digested this and decided not to press the point.
Instead, she relayed the message I'd already heard. "There is no one
at that number, sir. Would you like to try again in later?"
Columbia quickly interrupted: "Is that you, Dick?"
"Yeah, Margaret ... Where are the folks?"
Philadelphia was baffled, but her instincts told her to look out for
the company. "Sir, madam ... you can't ..."
Margaret ignored her. "They're up at the school house at the
basketball game. Want me to ring?"
I knew I was pushing my luck with Philadelphia, so I said it likely
would be too much trouble to get them out of the game.
"No trouble at all," said Margaret. "It's halftime."
Philadelphia was still in there trying to protect the company. By this
time, though, she was out of words. "But ... but ... " she stammered.
I caved in to Margaret, mainly because I didn't want to have to start
over later. "All right."
Philadelphia made one last effort. Mustering her most official tone,
she insisted: "But this is a station to station collect call!"
"That's all right, honey," said Columbia, "I'll just put it on Bob's
bill."
Philadelphia was still protesting when the phone rang and was answered
at the school house.
"I have a station-to-station collect call for Bob Pence," Philadelphia
said, certain that Ma Bell had somehow been had.
"This is he," replied my father.
"Go ahead," whispered an astonished Philadelphia.
I'm glad I couldn't see her face when I began my end of the conversation
the way all Midwesterners do:
"Hi, Dad, how's the weather?"
"Jeez," said Philadelphia and clicked off.
Now comes the confession. I have it on good authority it was the next
Monday morning that AT&T began to automate phone service. And now look
where we are.
July 16 {Philadelphia Inquirer}, on the editorial page.
Richard Pence is a Washington, D.C., writer and editor. He wrote this
for the {Washington Post}.
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