Our landline was out last week. Again. As always, the company said it would be three days before a tech would address it. We have to have a landline because cell coverage is iffy out here. Not many people have my cell number because half the time it’s not even on, and certainly isn’t carried on my person. Our house was pretty quiet for a few days. Nice not to have a bunch of calls for donations. You’d think that with most of us struggling to buy groceries and keep the lights on, politicians would try to fix the economy rather than hoping to pick our pockets.
In the community of my childhood, the telephone line was built and maintained by the neighbors it served. When the phone went out, husbands were sent out to discern the trouble and patch it. Repairs happened quickly; the women missed listening in on everyone’s conversations. In our family, money was spent only on necessities, and a phone didn’t qualify, so we missed out on a lot of gossip.
If our neighbors wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t on their line they called the Central office in town, which was in Davitt’s harness shop. Mrs. Davitt would connect you to the number, listen to your conversation, and tell you when three minutes was up if it was a long-distance call. Most of those calls were long distance, because only a few residents in that small town had a phone. My mother called her parents in Omaha from that place, but only in the evening because rates were cheaper then. Her father worked for Bell Telephone but he was frugal too, and since she reversed the charges, their calls were kept to three minutes. Even in the city, phone numbers contained words or letters. I still recall my grandparents’ number—Walnut 3050. When I married into a family who lived near Valentine, their number was 33W1.
Country phones were party lines, and every family had a different ring. When we finally got one at the home place, after my kids were born, ours was three longs and a short. By the time you answered, any sleeping baby was awake. You knew everyone else’s ring and if you wanted to know what was going on with that family you picked up quietly, and held your hand over the receiver to listen in. You thought social media was new, didn’t you?
Shopping was different then too. Mr. Lefler had the grocery store. You handed him the list and he went around getting each item off the shelf, slicing the bacon or cheese, and bringing it to the counter where you stood visiting with another customer. Kids pointed out the jawbreaker or candy bar they wanted in the glass case, and he fetched it out and took our nickel. We handed him our dime before getting a pop out of the cooler, and if we stood there to drink it and left the bottle, we got three pennies back.
There were a couple of places to buy clothing but the selection was limited to work clothes, overshoes, and such. Other things we ordered from Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward. I generally had just one pair of shoes. Mom drew around my foot on a piece of paper and told them to send a size larger, so the shoes would last the school year. Children were entertained for days with Christmas catalogs. Early version of Amazon, I guess. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile do your best. Somebody might like it.