We're On A Party Line

Ring. Ring. Ring.

In the early days of telephone technology the family telephone was on a party line. Due to a finite number of phone lines installed and available, nearby households shared a land line. The phone rang at each home for every incoming call. Each household had an identifying ring, one long and two short was ours. The phone company provided the telephones, heavy black ones with no rotary dial. To make a call you picked up the hand unit, an operator answered and you asked to be connected to your three digit number.

Mom and Dad had very strict eavesdropping rules. We were not allowed to listen in on other people’s calls. I was sneaky and nosey although the location of the phone made listening in prohibitive. I was persistent however so once in a while an unsupervised moment and an incoming call coincided. I’d pick up and listen in, a resulting a click on the line alerting the caller to the fact someone was listening. “Who’s there, who is this?” but I’d be very quiet and eventually the conversation resumed. Not for long though. I’d hear Mom walking my way, her radar alerted to sudden silence. I’d put the phone down very quietly and quickly find an acceptable activity, a picture of innocence.