Collect Call

August 11, 2014

Greetings from the coin return slot,

There are a variety of things that have quietly disappeared from our world, things that perhaps were once fundamental elements of our daily lives, but that today we don’t think twice about their absence.

Milkmen. Phone books.  Paperboys.  Polaroid cameras.  Door to door salesmen.  Record players. Telegram deliveries.  Typewriters.  Nuns.

Even just considering communication, technology has changed a host of things, wiping them out of our daily lives, and eroding them from our memory.

 

Rotary dial phones.  Spiral phone cords.  Calling information for a number.  Or the time, or weather.  Phone booths.  Party lines.  Answering machines.  Remembering your own phone number without looking at a device in your hand.

And something else that occurred to me today.   Collect calls.

When I was growing up the collect call was a more common element of communication.  It was a convenience for people in far flung places, or in the case of an emergency.  Perhaps kids away at college, or a travelling salesman, or an itinerant nun, could call home without the burden of putting numerous coins in the payphone. 

You simply dialed ‘O’, and a human person, usually a woman, would assist you.  You would tell them you wanted to make a collect call and they would dial the number for you.   Then there would be this tense exchange.  

The person being called would answer the phone and the operator would say ‘Collect call from Stanley, will you accept the charges?”  And if you were on the poor end of the connection, the caller, you would hold your breath and hope that they would say yes.

And the person being called would have this moment of angst, trying to decide if it was worth whatever the cost was to accept the charges.  Would they redeem the caller as a human being, or decline the call and establish the value of the relationship at $1.35?

Usually a surprise collect call was a stressful thing, because it was an emergency or bad news.  Someone lost their wallet, or was arrested, or had an accident.  Occasionally the collect caller was just cheap.  In any case, hearing the operator on the phone when you answered was typically not good news.

Today there is almost no reason to call collect.  Cell phones are pervasive, about 91% of the world’s population has one.  There are few places in the world that you you might go where you couldn’t call anywhere else in the world.  No phone booths, no coins, no need for operators or to panhandle on the phone line.

In this era, the collect call has become used mainly by people in jail.   So now if you get a collect call, it is likely to set off a different set of emotions than perhaps it once did.

I remember that when I was young the cost of phone service, especially long distance calls, was big deal.  Making or getting a long distance call was an event that spiked a surge of attention in our house.  A long distance collect call was even bigger.    

When I was travelling around the country, some thirty years ago, I found myself alone at the lip of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, looking across a blistering hot expanse of Nevada called the Little Mojave.  Even after thousands of miles of traveling by bicycle, I had this moment of loneliness and fear, wondering what price the desert would exact from me. It occurred to me that no one knew where I was, and if something happened they would have no idea where to begin looking.

And so I called home.  Collect.

On this day my parents were not home, and my older sister Dawn answered the phone.  I had a brief moment of anxiety.  The operator did her little routine and asked if she would accept the charges. 

My sister sounded unsure.   There was a moment of hesitation, perhaps a few seconds but it seemed considerably longer.  Maybe she didn’t know what to do, or didn’t understand that it was me calling, not some other person with the same name.  I could feel my Dad’s presence, fretting over the cost of the call.  I was suddenly aware of all of the rotten things I had done as a little brother.  There was crackling static on the line, that hissing noise that filled in the silence as the operator waited for an answer.  The time stretched out.

And she accepted.

I don’t remember all that we talked about on that call.  I don’t know if I told her that I was afraid, or if she said anything encouraging.  I am sure we were both aware of the ticking clock so it was probably not a long conversation.  But just hearing a familiar voice was comforting.  It was an uplifting moment I took with me as I soared down out of the foothills and into the furnace.  It was important enough it stayed with me for three decades.

I am glad to be able to talk to people I care about at almost any moment.  In some ways, though, the convenience takes away a little of the value.  Easy to take that connection for granted when there are virtually no barriers.  I think having been on the poor end of a collect call makes it easier to appreciate how lucky I am to be able to hear the voice I want at the press of a button.  Not suggesting you need to go looking for a pay phone, but if you are looking for a boost of gratitude, go stand in the hot sun with a little stack of coins and consider who you would ask to accept a collect call.

Hope this finds you saying yes,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith