Losing the Land Line

I've had a telephone in the house since I can remember. Lift the receiver and be greeted by a gentle hum of connection to the outside world.

It was a big, heavy thing with a dial on the front. Pick up the hand set, hear that buzz of the dial tone, poke your finger tip, or the eraser end of a wooden pencil, or whatever is handy, into the corresponding hole and turn it clockwise to the little metal stop. Release, while the dial slowly returns to the original position, and repeat for all seven numbers. The phone company counted the pulses and connected to the call to that number. A seriously modern convenience when having an Operator make the connection was still an option. Then came the push button phone. "Touch Tone". We had one for our family room when I was a teen. Light Powder Blue. Leased, like all phones, from the phone company. It cost extra, too, for that fancy service. It sure helped when re-dialing to be "the Tenth caller" on the radio contest. Then dials went away and people could just go BUY their own phone at a store. Convenience!

There were many times that phone numbers were considered only four digits, too. Well, long distance was a luxury, and everyone that you would call would be in the same "exchange", so all that was needed was the last four numbers. "Say, Russ, what's your number over there?" one might say. "1983" might come as the answer. Very easy.

When my grandmother died and the house was sold, my dad disconnected the phone number. It was a sad day to think that someone else could now have that number. It had belonged to one family for over forty years. My other grandma still has her same number, as do my mom and dad. Even though street addresses may change, the phone numbers may not. It's almost as if it should be retired, mounted, and hung on the wall in the family room.

We've moved a few times and had to get different numbers so it's not the same for us, but my dad is considering pulling the plug on his phone number now that they are "snow birds" and use their cellular phones. That will be difficult for me. I learned that number before I began Kindergarten - "4871". All through school, and afterwards, dialing that number, learning the first three, then later adding the "area code" when travelling. Dialing that number late at night when my car ran out of gas. Dialing that number from out of town to give them my estimated time of arrival or information on a schedule change. It's written on many things like books and memorabilia and other such junk. Just like that "special" other person's number that was dialed so many times for late night conversation. These numbers meant a connection, not only a physical, wired, one, but an emotional and psychological one as well.

Yes, when we moved to our current home we had to get a new phone number and, like my life before, everyone's "exchange" is the same so we could pretty much get by on the last four numbers. But quickly and ruthlessly our communications changed.

First the telephone company decided to allow a jumble of ten numbers to stand for a telephone number instead of the organized plan that it once was, allowing both the exchange and the area code systems to run amok. Cellular phones, number portability, free long distance: pretty soon it all became just a string of digits. It's an address on the communication network boulevard. It cheapened the thing in that now it was a force to be reckoned with; and to forget, well, even one digit... Things just got serious.

Now, there are any number of home phones, cell numbers, work numbers, or other digital sequences designed to initiate or respond to a communication request. It's a huge financial commitment now, too. Some cell phone bills are larger than car payments. I've had them larger than our first HOUSE payment. For a communication network. For a phone. For a PHONE! Wires are now a legacy system. Copper is costly. Fiber optics. Bandwidth. It's a huge shift from the day of the dial tone and rotary phone. It's been a short life for me so far, and the fact that change has happened isn't the problem. And even the sentimental ramblings of a mis-placed late cycle baby boomer aren't what's important. See, I've cut the cord, now, as well, and I'm more than a little afraid.

I'm afraid I may go spinning off into space like Major Tom on some one-way odyssey, and that when I'll need to call 911 I won't be able to do it. When I want to call someone to report my power outage, I can't. When I want to call and check on neighbors during a weather crisis, the cell tower will be out. I don't trust the cell service. I don't trust my high-speed wireless connection. I have ALWAYS trusted the telephone. I may be so afraid that I'll eventually have to have one reconnected. After all, the numbers, all ten of them, that we taught our children is now "disconnected or no longer in service".