The land line was a life line and a party line in 1943 Spokane

We were thrilled! We had our own telephone at last! No longer must we wait anxiously to see if Mrs. Nichols, our landlady, would summon us when a call came to her phone on the landing of the house we shared. These calls were increasingly difficult as it was necessary to juggle the phone while trying to avoid having our nether parts licked by Sandy, her morbidly obese dog. It had to be a pretty important call to make up for that situation.

We had moved from the upstairs apartment to our own tiny rental house next door in Spokane in the summer of 1943. Mrs. Nichols was still the landlady, but Sandy couldn’t get at us as easily. It was a terrible house. We trapped 18 mice in the basement the first week. My mother actually converted the tub in the only bathroom into a bed for my early teen-age years – making it very difficult for my father to clean up when he returned from his work at the aluminum rolling mill. He was pretty grumpy. I never worked out why. But never mind, we had our own telephone.

My father hated the phone and refused to talk on it. To his view, the phone had caused him nothing but trouble. An acute observer, he said that when I talked to boys I rotated my left ankle, so if he saw any ankle twirling, I had to hang up immediately. I was 13 by then and a little cause for ankle twirling would have been welcome. But no.

Telephones used to be different. People made calls on them. And when the phone rang, we dropped everything to answer it. No caller could be allowed to get away. It might be very important. It wasn’t as if they could leave a message, after all. They might never call again.

Of course, we had our own distinctive ring we needed to listen for before lifting the receiver. The phone seldom rang though because the other parties stayed on the line all the time, providing background narrative about the neighbors and neighborhood. They would seldom relinquish the phone no matter how heartrending the plea.

In fact, the voice of God didn’t cut much ice with this group. One day the church across the street from our house caught fire and my 10-year-old brother came running in crying, “Look Mom, Holy Smoke!” Really. And you wonder why I turned out the way I did.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that we were able to get the party liners to hang up so we could call the fire department. Still, that telephone, hanging on the wall with a very short cord, gave us freedom. We could call the fire department. We could call the police.

It was a big day when my Grandma Franco finally got a phone on her Oregon ranch. “Statchu?” she’d say, “Is that you?” Grandma Franco effortlessly baked 40 loaves of bread in her outdoor oven every Monday, but the English language defeated her. The addition of the phone opened her world. She became a popular but puzzling guest on local radio call-in shows.

When my husband was in Korea and Viet Nam, we treasured the chance to talk, no matter how briefly, often losing the connection before the last I love you could be shared. Those calls were what held the family together. The telephone line was our lifeline.

I don’t know just when it happened, but somehow the phone has become an intrusion, certainly not appropriate for interrupting birthday celebrations or calling for anniversary good wishes. According to a Wall Street Journal article, millennials now see the phone as “an interruption.” Etiquette now seems to demand that you first email or text to be sure a phone call is appropriate.

There has to be a workaround, doesn’t there?

My experience is that if you combine expertise and enthusiasm, there’s no way to keep great things from happening. That’s more or less how I happen to have six kids.

So I’ve learned to send text messages, though I frequently send them to the wrong person, but I figure I get points for the attempt.

I’ve been texting the grand kids and the great grands. Every once in a while, they answer. Sometimes it takes a couple of days, and most times, texts are just a few words, but I think I see some hope.

Only yesterday I got a text from my grandson away at college, and sure enough, the message was only four words.

But one of the words was “love.”

Where to find Dorothy this month

9 a.m. Jan. 8 and 22: Coffee Chat (and Change the World), a Zoom virtual event. Special guests, resources and fun.

2 p.m. March 4: The Zoom Book Doctors. A panel of published authors gives tips for getting a book from idea to print.

Register for these events at https://mygenerationgap.com Questions? Email Dorothy@mygenerationgap.com

Also, catch Dorothy’s podcast, Swimming Upstream Radio Show, at https://itsnevertoolate.com

Contact Dorothy at 800-548-9264 or Dorothy@itsnevertoolate.com