The Last Green Flash

Party Lines The phone rang. Two rings, followed by a pause, then another two rings. “Don’t answer that, Keith. It’s not ours.” It was my mom reminding me not to answer when it was two rings. That was the Smith’s ring. It was 1950. We lived in Ireton, Iowa. Named after Henry Ireton, an English general in the parliamentary army during the English Civil War. The son-in-law of Oliver Cromwell and the signer of the death warrant for King Charles I. Population 573, although my dad said they must have double counted. Ireton, Iowa, where phones were party lines, where we shared a single line with other homes, and in our case with Mr. and Mrs. Smith. During and after World War II the telephone lines were expensive and not readily available. This was especially true in rural areas where we lived houses and farms were far apart. Like us, many families could only afford to have a phone if it was a party line. Since we shared a phone line with the Smiths, they could pick up the phone and listen to our conversations. Of course, we could do the same. And when my parents weren’t home, I did. It was a rotary phone. A brand new one too. Shiny black, metal, with a faceplate showing numbers and letters. A prominent wheel on the faceplate, with ten holes, each just large enough for a fingertip to spin the wheel clockwise to the finger stop. And finally, it’s large handset with the earpiece at one end and the speaking piece at the other, resting in its cradle atop the phone. My parents were so proud of our new Western Electric 302 rotary phone. It even had a special place on the tall side table in the living room. I suspected they put it there so any visitor would easily notice it and, of course, admire their prize possession. There were certain rules, unwritten of course, when it came to the phone. Limit your time on the phone. Do not dial if the phone is in use. Hang up if the other party has an emergency call to make. And, of course, don’t listen in to the other party’s conversation. Months passed. School was out for the summer. Kids were up to their usual shenanigans, one was listening in on party line conversations. I was no exception. Dad was at work and mom was visiting a friend in the next town. We had no television, although dad said it would be the next big purchase after he had the car repaired. We had a large bulky radio, which we would gather around in the evening. The Lone Ranger was my favorite. Lawrence Welk, and the champagne bubbles, not so much. So, the only entertainment in the afternoon was playing with my dog Tippy, and you guessed it, eavesdropping on the party line. The phone rang. Two rings. It was for the Smiths. An older couple. Mr. Smith, a traveling salesman, was on the road most of the time. Some said he had a mistress in Illinois, others said it was his nagging wife. My dad said it was probably both. But whatever, he was gone a lot. I waited for about a minute. Then slowly, ever so carefully, I picked up the heavy headset and put it to my ear, remembering to clamp one hand over the mouthpiece so I wouldn’t be heard. “Do you think it’s possible?” It was Mr. Smith’s voice. Rough and horse. Just like his personality. Scary as well and not much for jokes. It was no wonder that their house was one to avoid on Halloween night. “If you have the money, anything is possible,” was the reply from an unrecognized man. “I need to think about it.” “I understand, but don’t think too long as my offer is only good for 24 hours.” “Why is that? Only 24 hours?” “Because I need to leave town after.” “Oh, you’re that busy?” “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe how many husbands are ready to do what you want. Some wives too.” “Jesus, I had no idea.” “And of course, they all want it hush hush. They certainly don’t want to arouse any suspicion.” “No, no, I don’t want that. It must seem natural. Not suspicious.” “And that’s why you’ve contacted me.” “Yes, your number was given to me by an out-of-town acquaintance. Said you were one of the best.” “Oh.” “Yes, by someone I know in Illinois.” “Name?” “Sorry, I told the lady … er, person, I wouldn’t involve them in this matter. Too messy you know.” “Well yes, it usually is. Potentially very messy. But then again, it depends on how you want it done.” “Of course, how it’s done. I assume we can discuss that?” “If you want to, we can, but most clients would rather not know. They leave that up to me.” “Yes, I can imagine not wanting to know how it will happen.” “Yeah, most think it’s better not to know, at least in advance.” “Give me 24 hours to think about it. Can you call tomorrow at this time? My wife has an appointment and will not be here.” “Sure thing. Tomorrow. Bye.” “Bye.”