The Telephone

Another technology that defined our lives was the telephone, or “phone” for short. By the 1950s almost all families had one, and it was the major method of communication. 

A solid, heavy base with rubber “feet” to protect the furniture, and a rotary dial numbered 0 through 9, was topped by a handheld receiver shaped to fit both to the ear and mouth.  This receiver was connected to the base by a curliqued cord which could stretch and retract easily.  The base was connected to the wall by a line that the phone company installed when you ordered the phone, and this in turn ran to the outside of the house and then to telephone poles which could be seen lining every street in the city.  This telephone technology defined the landscape of America in the 1950s and 60s.

Why do I spend time describing a telephone?  Because our experiences with the telephone shaped how we lived our lives.  Before the telephone, people “showed up” at their relatives’ houses.  My father continued to do this, much to my chagrin!  As we would pull up to an unsuspecting household in the family car, he would quip, “Put more water in the soup!  Put more crackers in the meatloaf!”  With the advent of the telephone, however, people gave notice they were coming and made plans ahead of time.

The telephone shaped our dating experiences.  My mother describes how she got dressed up for dates.  But for me, a lot of my “dates” were spent talking on the phone with my boyfriend, dressed in shorts and t-shirt, while tangling and untangling the telephone cord.

People had “party lines.”  In other words, they shared.  If you picked up the receiver and heard someone talking, you could either: a. eavesdrop (fun but not polite!), or b. ask them nicely if you could make a call now.  Usually they cooperated by saying their goodbyes to their friend (which you pretended not to hear) and hanging up.  Occasionally people were not cooperative.  My mother tells the sad story of her party line refusing to let her take a call.  She later found that her mother had passed but the Nursing Home was unable to reach her in time.

Telephone numbers were part of your identity along with your name.  Children were taught their phone number before they went to kindergarten.  I still remember the phone numbers of my childhood:  323-6019 (my mom’s); FA5-1060 (my dad’s); and 323-4868 (my dad’s office).  The “FA” stood for “Fairfax” which was the local exchange of “3-2.”

People today miss out on the emotions that the telephone could express.  “Hanging up on someone” was a very satisfying expression back then.  If you were angry with a caller, or frustrated with the call, you could simply bang down the receiver.  On the other end, they heard the “Bang!” and … message received!

Another emotion that finds no expression today in telephone conversations is nervousness.  Nothing channeled shyness or reticence more effectively than twirling the telephone cord.  And, since it always got tangled up after several calls, it was so satisfying to dangle the receiver and “untangle” it.

As telephone technology became cheaper and more widespread, many families had more than one telephone.  My sister and I played a game that was always fun.  One of us would dial the phone, but dial our own telephone number.  The second telephone would ring in the other room, and sis would pick it up.  Then we could “talk to each other on the telephone” even though we were in the same house.  This was good for endless hours of entertainment.  Or, one of us would dial our own number, and when our parent answered the phone in the other room, we would very quietly press our hand over the mouth receiver and listen to them saying, “Hello.   Hello.  Who is this?” – click.

I could go on and on about the way current cell phones have changed our behavior compared to the older telephone technology  -- we planned ahead, we got directions from people ahead of time, we had more privacy, you could find anyone though the phone book—but I’ll stop here.

I’ll end with the most positive telephone experience I ever had.  My father had a law practice and his secretary, Mrs. Closson, answered his calls. (Remember, there were no cell phones—only one office phone for both business and private calls.)  As a child my sister or I would often call him about some simple matter, and no matter what, Mrs. Closson had been instructed to put us through.

“Attorney Adrian’s office.”

“This is Lorraine.  Can I speak to Dad.”

“Just a minute, Lorraine.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Baby, what’s up.”  Muffled background noises of adults talking.

“Are you in an appointment?”

“That’s fine.  How are you?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.  I’ll call back later.”

“No, no.  How are things going?”  And he would chat with me while he made his clients wait!

I was always chagrinned that I was interrupting an “important” attorney conference, but I got the message loud and clear over the years: 

I was important—my Dad took my calls.