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Inspirational
Stories
Other
World to Sing In
When I
was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones
in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened
to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen
with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I
discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived
an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please"
and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please
could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal
experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my
mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool
bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer,
the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying
because there was no one home to give sympathy I walked around
the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at
the stairway.
The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged
it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in
the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please"
I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or
two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I
hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears
came readily enough now that I had an audience. "Isn't
your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's
home but me," I blubbered." Are you bleeding?"
the voice asked. "No," I replied. "I hit my
finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open
the icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip
off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,"
said the voice.
After
that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where
Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me
my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day
before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then,
there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please," and told her the sad story. She
listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child.
But I was not consoled.I asked her, "Why is it that birds
should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families,
only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must
have sensed my deep concern, for she said sweetly, "Paul,
always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone,
"Information Please." "Information," said
in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?"
I asked.
All this
took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When
I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston.
I missed my friend very much. "Information Please"
belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never
thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table
in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments
of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of
security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding,
and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few
years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down
in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who
lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I
dialed my hometown operator and "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard
myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell
fix?"
There
was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I
guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed,
"So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if
you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your
call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look
forward to your calls. "I told her how often I had thought
of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again
when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do",
she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three
months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered,
"Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you
a friend?" she said. "Yes, a very old friend,"
I answered. "I'm
sorry
to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had
been working part-time the last few years because she was
sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before
I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say
your name was Paul?" "Yes." I answered. "Well,
Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you
called. Let me read it to you." The note said, "Tell
him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant
Never
underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose
life have you touched today?
-Richard
D’Andrea Dover
Thank
you, you are doing great job
I was
in New York the other day and rode with a friend in a taxi.
When we got out, my friend said to the driver, "Thank
you for the
ride. You did a superb job of driving."
The taxi
driver was stunned for a second. Then he said, "Are you
a
wise guy or something?"
"No,
my dear man, and I'm not putting you on. I admire the way
you
keep cool in heavy traffic."
"Yeah,"
the driver said and drove off.
"What
was that all about?" I asked.
I am
trying to bring love back to New York," he said. "I
believe it's
the only thing that can save the city."
"How
can one man save New York?"
"It's
not one man. I believe I have made that taxi driver's day.
Suppose he has 20 fares. He's going to be nice to those 20
fares
because someone was nice to him. Those fares in turn will
be kinder
to their employees or shopkeepers or waiters or even their
own
families. Eventually the goodwill could spread to at least
1,000
people. Now that isn't bad, is it?"
"But
you're depending on that taxi driver to pass your goodwill
to
others."
"I'm
not depending on it," my friend said. "I'm aware
that the system
isn't foolproof so I might deal with ten different people
today. If out
of ten I can make three happy, then eventually I can indirectly
influence the attitudes of 3,000 more."
"It
sounds good on paper," I admitted, "but I'm not
sure it words in
practice."
"Nothing
is lost if it doesn't. It didn't take any of my time to tell
that
man he was doing a good job. He neither received a larger
tip nor a
smaller tip. If it fell on deaf ears, so what? Tomorrow there
will be
another taxi driver I can try to make happy."
"You're
some kind of a nut," I said.
"That
shows how cynical you have become. I have made a study of
this. The thing that seems to be lacking, besides money of
course, for
our postal employees, is that no one tells people who work
for the
post office what a good job they're doing."
"But
they're not doing a good job."
"They're
not doing a good job because they feel no one cares if they
do or not. Why shouldn't someone say a kind word to them?"
We were
walking past a structure in the process of being built and
passed five workmen eating their lunch. My friend stopped.
"That's a
magnificent job you men have done. It must be difficult and
dangerous
work."
The workmen
eyed my friend suspiciously.
"When
will it be finished?"
"June,
a man grunted.
"Ah.
That really is impressive. You must all be very proud."
We walked
away. I said to him, "I haven't seen anyone like you
since
The Man From LaMancha."
"When
those men digest my words, they will feel better for it.
Somehow the city will benefit from their happiness."
"But
you can't do this all alone!" I protested. "You're
just one man."
"The
most important thing is not to get discouraged. Making people
in
the city become kind again is not an easy job, but if I can
enlist other
people in my campaign. . ."
You just
winked at a very plain-looking woman," I said.
"Yes,
I know," he replied. "And if she's a schoolteacher,
her class
will be in for a fantastic day."
- Art
Buchwald |
Cosmos
of Happiness
