Tag: history

Wednesday Works: The Fate of the Telegraph Operator

When the telephone was invented, the telegraph operators found they were out of work. The whole process started slowly, a few telegraph operators at a time laid off over the first couple weeks. The majority of them all gone, the last few were the longest there.

And then, there was one.

His name was Gerald, and operating a telegraph was all he had ever known. His first instinct was to go to the boss, tell him there was some mistake. They couldn’t just let him go. He lived and breathed working the telegraph. It simply couldn’t be true that the telegraph was coming to an end.

His boss told him it was true.

“Go on, Gerald!” He said, in the middle of clearing out his office too. “You’re young, you’ll bounce back at the drop of a hat.” Gerald didn’t want to believe it. “Go on, take some time, see the world, experience the world that exists outside of the telegraph and find yourself.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start, sir,” Gerald answered. “This job is all I’ve ever known. I’m not sure I would want to learn how to use those fancy telephonics.”

His boss understood. “There’s so much more to this world than working. And there will be more changes besides the telephone coming our way soon enough. Just go, just live and you’ll find your way.”

Gerald, the last telegraph operator, bought a train ticket and never looked back. He rode the train all the way out west, and back east again. He saw all the sights he could, picked up work when and where he needed it. He learned all he could and met as many people as he could. He experienced life, and then when it was finally time to settle down, he sat in front of a computer to tell his story.

Wednesday Works: Returning The Past

Moving out of his current apartment and into a new house meant a lot of decluttering. The space he had lived in was small, but somehow over the years he had lived there, he had managed to collect a lot of junk. He found that particular item in his bookshelf, tucked between two massive textbooks he hadn’t used since his college days nearly a decade earlier.

On the outside, it was simply a book, the cover warn, but well loved, the sticker from the library blatantly obvious on the bottom of the spine. Yet another library book he had failed to return on time. He sighed and tossed it onto the couch, along with the other books he didn’t intend to keep.

As he did, a photograph fell out, withered with age, the subject in it a young woman in sepia, her dark lips in a large smile, her eyes bright. An artifact for sure, since the car she stood next to would be considered a classic in the current day and age.

For a moment, the photograph captivated him. What was it doing in the middle of a library book and how had he missed it before?

On the back, in faded pencil, written in a fancy script was just two words and a year.

My Love, 1942

From the words, written in a gentle hand, he knew someone was missing it. He made it his goal to find them, whoever it was.

17 years later

He straightened his tie as he looked up and the old aged building nearly crumbled by time on a side street of New York City.

After an exhaustive search, over nearly two decades, he had finally found her. The mystery was finally solved. He just had to knock on the door and meet her.

He took a deep breath and walked up the crumbling steps toward the door in need of a fresh coat of paint.

When he knocked on the door, a woman younger than he expected opened it. Much too young to be the girl in the photograph, but bearing a striking familiarity to her.

After years and years and an exhaustive search, he had finally figured out the woman’s name and tried to track her down through the years of history she had to have lived.

“I’m looking for Hilde,” He said, choosing to be brave and keep on the search for the answers he craved.

The younger woman’s face fell. “Oh,” She said. “So you don’t know.” She took a deep breath and her face tightened into a mask of no emotion. “She died last week.” She took another deep breath. “She and my grandfather both, which is kind of romantic, you know?”

“Oh,” He said, mirroring her tone. “Well, I found an old photograph of her, but perhaps you would like to have it instead.” He passed the old photograph her way.

The moment she saw it, her face lit up. “Gramma Hilde always did love her cars, it’s no wonder she would send it to Grandad when he enlisted.” She looked at the back. “His Loves, how fitting.”

For a moment, she seemed to forget he was there. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” She asked when she finally did look at him. “I’m sure Gramma Hilde has a picture in front of every car she’s ever owned, but this one I haven’t seen.”

“I’d like that very much.”