This story is not a part of my "Memoirs", but is a memory never-the-less.     

Recently I read a very well written article about the experiences someone had as a very young boy talking to  that 'voice on the other end' of an old wall mounted telephone.  That story brought back so many memories for me that I could have written the story myself.  If you wish to read it (and trust me, it will touch you!) then click on (sorry, the link is no longer active or was moved).

From earlier blog entries you would know that I not only grew up on a farm in central Illinois, but I was born on that farm.  We had one of those wall mounted telephones with the hand crank ringer on the side.  We didn't have electricity so it was powered by two rather large batteries which were replaced annually, and then used to power an old radio until there was no life left in them.

It was an amazing device.  Very early on I knew that you could talk to (somebody or something) through it, but 'only if it was an emergency'.  (Awesome!  Hey brother, did you know we could talk to someone on that thing?)    (Yeah, but only if it's and emergency!)  (Let's watch what Mom does the next time she calls someone!) .

Well, that time seemed to have never come.  That telephone was more of a wall ornament than anything.  Or we were always too busy doing something outside on those rare occasions someone did call or Mom called. 

As I continued to grow up, I began to know more and more about that telephone.  I found out that because of where our farm was located between two towns that we could call either town 'operator' - one long ring for one town phone switchboard, or two for the other towns' switchboard operator.  We could find out all sorts of things from either 'operator' like the time of day (needed because someone let the old wind-up clock run down) to what movie was being shown at the community house on Saturday night.  Or maybe "is anything going on at the high school tonight"?  Always a source for local information.

Once when we were concerned about a neighbor (whom we hadn't seen out working his farm for several days) we called the 'operator' to see if anyone knew anything of him only to be told "yes, I saw him down at the blacksmith shop, or hardware store  earlier today", or some such. 

Everyone around locally new the 'operator' by name in either town.  She was usually a single lady, and she lived there in the telephone office.  We always knew that if she didn't answer our 'ring' right away that she was doing some chore in her 'house' and would answer momentarily.

In an emergency all that was needed was to call the 'operator' and tell her what the emergency was.  She would take care of calling whomever was necessary.   (Operator, there are some cows out down the road from me.  They must belong to the Rademakers down the road a ways.)   (O.K.  I'll call around and see if I can find out who they belong to, and get someone out after them).

Anyway, I guess those days are gone for good.  Friendly neighbors.  Friendly telephone operators.   My paternal grandfather and friends and neighbors formed a community "Co-op" back in the early 1900's for the purpose of putting in a telephone system in that farm community.  They purchased all the material needed, set telephone poles, strung up telephone wire, and, in effect formed a local telephone company encompassing the two towns.  It was never intended to be a profitable venture.  From the early 1900's to about 1975 or 1980, they never collected a penny over and above actual cost.  But, they hadn't allowed for modernizing the equipment either.  So, by this time (1975-80) the equipment badly needed updating.  Almost no one from the original "co-op" was alive any longer.  The two towns got their heads together and came in to agreement that the best thing they could do would be to merge with a big phone company that would completely update the entire phone system within the co-op. 

And that was when a problem arose.  After recovering all their expenditure, the big phone company started making a profit from this little co-op community.  As it turned out, my oldest brother was apparently the oldest living descendant of our grandfather.  He was presented with a check for something like $68.00 which the big telephone company was required to pay.  Grandfather had a lot of descendants so splitting a check of that sum 35 or 40 ways compounded by generations (if all can be located) creates a problem.  My brother, in his wisdom, established a fund with the local florist.  That florist then in turn places flowers on the graves of our grandparents annually - from now till (?) .

Blessings, my friends

L e e