The Party Line

I remember a pure, pristine and peaceful time when people didn’t carry their phone in purse or pocket. None of our leading luminaries envisioned a day when you would carry a phone on your person. Had you suggested it, you would have been a candidate for a white sport coat with wrap around sleeves. Your lodging would have been a rubber room. It seems we didn’t need to talk as much then as we do now. Until the late 40’s and early 50’s our communication choices in Bill Arp were limited. You talked to folks at church, the store or sent a penny post card. For more serious communication a letter, requiring a three cent stamp, was sent. That all changed when Ma Bell came bellowing into the community draping her rubber coated wire over the shoulders of the utility poles. She made it possible for us to talk to Douglasville, Fairplay, Winston, Lithia Springs and every other niche of the county. To call outside the county was long distance. The clunker phones were heavy enough for boat anchors. They were owned by Southern Bell. Color choices were black, black, and black. Our fist service was an eight party line. That’s eight families using one line. It’s like having one line with eight extensions. Each party had a different ring to distinguish their calls from the other seven. Our ring was one long and one short. It was common practice for everyone on the party line to listen in when anyone else got a call. There was proper protocol to be observed when listening in on someone else’s call. You never picked up the receiver till the ringing stopped, indicating they had answered. You didn’t just jerk it up either. You gently lifted the receiver. You didn’t breathe into the phone or make any noise. All knew everybody else was listening but etiquette dictated that everybody pretend nobody was listening. One person on our party line---I’m using a fictitious name to protect the guilty---was Charlie. On rare occasions Charlie was guilty of being sober. When Charlie was drunk he didn’t use proper “listening in” decorum. Charlie would get on the line when Mama was using it. He would pick up and start dialing. Mama knew who it was. “Charlie, I’m using the phone now. Hang up please. You can have the line in a few minutes.” “Ish that you Mrs. Beard? He would slur. “Yes it’s me now get off the line please.” “How’s Mr. Beard dong these days?” “He’s fine. Now get off the line and let me talk.” “I ain’t seen him since Buck was a calf. He still work at P.F. Goodrish?” “Charlie, you know he works at B.F. Goodrich. Now please get off the line. “How them boys doing’?” On and on it would go. The person Mama was talking to had to wait while she coaxed Charlie to quit interrupting. When Mama’s wheedling didn’t work she would detonate her lethal weapon. She would blast him off the line with the Bible. When he was drunk, the Bible made him cry. She would begin quoting it to him---it didn’t matter which book, chapter, or verse. “Charlie, did you know the Bible says…” He would blubber, “I gotta go Mrs. Beard” and hang up. The Good Book has kept many from taking up drink. It’s strengthened others to over come the addiction. But Charlie’s the only one I ever knew who got off the party line because of the Bible.

by Neal Beard, a retired pastor living in Douglasville, Georgia. He writes history / humor about the rural northwest Georgia community where he grew up in the 40s and 50s.