Yet, as I grew older, I came to appreciate those conversations with Information Please. How patient, understanding, and kind she was to have wasted so much time on a little boy!
A few years later, on my way to college, my plane landed in Seattle. I had about 30 minutes to change planes, so I talked with my sister on the phone, as she lived in our hometown again. Then, I didn’t know why, but I telephoned the hometown operator and said, “Information Please.”
I heard the small, clear voice again: “Information.”
I heard myself say, “Could you tell me the spelling of the word ‘fix’?”
There was a long silence. Then came the answer. “Now your finger isn’t giving you a pain, is it?”
I laughed. “So it’s really still you. Well, do you know how much you meant to me during all that time. . . .”
“Well,” she answered, “do you know how much you meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.”
“I’ve often thought about you over the years. Can I call you again when I come back to visit my sister?” I asked.
“Please do. Just ask for Sally.”
“Good-bye, Sally.” It sounded strange for Information Please to have a name. “If I keep chipmunks again, I’ll feed fruit and nuts to them.”
“Do that,” she said. “Have you explored that romantic river, the Orinoco yet? Well, good-bye.”
Just three months later I was back again in Seattle.
