Switchboard operators, the original 911
This story was written by my sister, Ruth Emmett Hughes, who liked to write, and like me, enjoyed local history and memories of our youth. She died four years ago this month. This little tale is in memory of her. She was four at the time and I was away at school in Creemore in Grade 1.
Block heaters were unheard of in the early 1940s. Our 1930 green Chev coup needed to be hand cranked in the winter months to get the motor in motion. Our father was often away during the week as he worked at Carmichael’s apple orchard. He would walk the four- or five-mile distance at the beginning of the week and again at the end to come home. This enabled my mother to have the car at her disposal.
It took considerable strength to turn the crank once it was inserted at the bottom of the radiator at the front of the car. The downsweep was faster than the upsweep, but the faster it could be turned the quicker the motor would turn over.
Cold weather made the grease and oil stiff in the motor and made cranking more difficult. Once the motor started to chug, a dash was made to the open door to adjust the hand choke, which regulated the gas.
The hand choke was pulled out before the cranking performance and it was important to act quickly as too much gas would flood the motor, delaying the engine starting. Helen had mastered the art of the hand choke quite early in her life and she did this while the adult cranked. I was not so mechanically inclined and never succeeded to be of any assistance.
The act of starting the car proved exciting with the grunts, the heave-ho and the dash to control the inner innards of the car.
One day my mother and I were dressed to go to Creemore. She prepared the car for take-off. A few turns of the crank resulting in it suddenly flipping the opposite way on her. As a result it broke her wrist.
The telephone was our link to the outside world. Our wall-phone needed two hands to operate it in order to reach Central.
Central was in Creemore with two female operators working the switchboard to transfer calls to different lines and places.
A black button on the left side of the phone was pushed in while one complete turn of the handle or ringer on the other side connected the person to the operator or Central in Creemore.
The ladies who manned the switchboard 24 hours a day knew all, probably through accidently overhearing conversations. They knew the unfaithful and when and how encounters were arranged, the deaths, births and other untold events that keep a small community alive and well.
How to operate the phone with only one hand was solved quickly by my presence. I saw myself as saviour in the situation. I either stood on tip-toes or on a chair and did as instructed to connect us with the ladies at the switchboard. The black button was no problem to push in but my ring to Central was slow and unsure. Central responded and when told of the situation proceeded to call Carmichael’s to bring my father home.
A trip to Creemore after my father arrived home produced a plaster cast on my mother’s wrist by Dr. Graham at his office. X-rays were not available nor other costly technology in a small community served by a family doctor.
The crisis was over. The ladies at the switchboard had directed and organized a desired outcome and a child felt important.
Central has disappeared replaced by wires and advances in communication technology. Even though they knew more than they were entitled to the operators always came through. They were the original 911 in communities. Now the concept is brought back by a more costly addition to our phone system.
