I decided to write about something different tonight. First, I would like to be clear about it.
I never met Sally, never heard her voice or saw her image. She died, if she really existed, over 50 years ago.
More below.
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I first learned of Sally Saturday, reading a 2015 issue of Reader’s Digest. The story in which she originally appeared became a Reader’s Digest Classic story, published for the first time in that magazine in June of 1966. Written by Paul Villiard, it told a story from his childhood. When he was very small, and home all alone, he hurt his finger. With no one to help or commiserate, he dragged a footstool to the old telephone high on the wall. “Information, please.”
And, sure enough, someone was there. To listen, to care, to sympathize, to advise. To provide information, in a way Googoo never could or would, to future generations.
Gratified by the fine help, the young boy started calling more regularly, with questions about anything under the sun. One time, his pet canary died. Disconsolate, he called information to see if his phone friend could help. She understood his broader concern, and addressed it, saying, about the departed canary: Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.
When he was nine, the young boy’s family moved across the country, breaking contact and causing him to reflect on his conversations with his mentor and friend.
Years later, en route to college, he found himself once again out west, and he dialed Information Please once more. Immediately, she was there, and they reconnected with a memory only the two of them shared. And he told her what she had meant to him during those early years. Surprisingly, to him, she told him how much the calls meant to her, as she never had children. And he learned her name for the first time, Sally.
He had to leave for school but would revisit the area after first semester, and made plans to call again, asking for Sally, if he did not get her directly.
So three months later, he called. A different operator answered, and asked if he was a friend. When assured that he was, she broke the bad news, that his friend had been ill for quite some time and had passed away a few weeks before.
But she had left a message for him.
Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.
And he did.
Yes, of course I realize that stories like that will have an impact like that, as, surely, would the author of any such story. Maybe it is real, maybe it is not. But the impact, for me, is real, as even tonight I cry warm tears for the passing of a sweet woman I never knew.
For me, the kind of relating described in the story IS real. People connect on real and sometimes deep levels, even without ever really meeting. And people give real gifts of love and wisdom, even to people they never knew and never would know.
In their way, I think, such gifts of themselves constitute 'singing in other worlds.’
And, as for what I felt and feel with the story, those are what I think of as the best part of myself. Sensing and honoring the love and caring shown by others. Dwelling for a few moments in that goodness is not a bad thing, and will not distract me from the things I need to do and will do.
I hope it is much the same for you, in these less innocent, more trying times.
Oh. Should you wish to read the full story of Paul and Sally, it may be found online. Here, for example.
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