TERRE HAUTE —
My Best Friend and I were stopped at a red light the other day. About a half-dozen cars whipped around in front of us, making a left turn. Four of the six drivers had a cell phone glued to one ear and were steering with only one hand on the wheel. One came so close to clipping our front end, I thought the driver might be trying to add to a collection of front bumpers.
Apart from the distraction of the conversation itself, having to steer with one hand seems a recipe courting disaster. Add to that the urgency of a distracted driver trying to beat the light’s turn from yellow to red. The prudent driver doesn’t push the pedal to the floor the instant he gets the green light. It may risk a toot from the impatient driver behind you, but he isn’t the one apt to meet a distracted driver in mid-intersection.
I guess it makes me something of an old poop, but I feel no need for a cell phone. Our sons seem to think we should sign on to mobile phoning, if only to assure contact with the outside world when we are on a trip. They may be right.
Still, I can remember having to lift the receiver off the cradle, crank like mad to rouse the operator, deliver yourself of the telephone number of the person you wished to contact and wait — patiently! — for the operator to work her magic by pulling and connecting what seemed to be an incomprehensible series of plugs and wires. It was so magical that a visit to the telephone office was part of a grade school field trip!
As a caller, you could almost guarantee that the callee would be home — women were in those days.
Maybe it was an improvement to be able to dial the wanted number yourself. It did seem to cut off contact with the operator, however, and she was often a source of whatever tidbit of news was making the rounds in Yorkville, a sort of while-you-wait news source.
Then there was the “party line” where your phone line was shared with one or more other phone subscribers. I’ve had cell phone addicts deplore the lack of privacy in a party line, meanwhile talking loudly in a room crowded with strangers. Those of us on a party line were sometimes inconvenienced, but in case of an emergency, one could request use of the line and the request was universally granted.
That courtesy is gone! Even if I don’t want to listen to the conversation at the next table, I must.
The private line, or even the party line, is as dead as the dodo, but surely safety and courtesy have survived. As one bumper sticker so succinctly put it, “Hang up and drive!”
Liz Ciancone is a retired Tribune-Star reporter. Send e-mail to opinion@tribstar.com.
Liz Ciancone
MS. TAKES: Urgent message: 'Hang up and drive?'
- Liz Ciancone
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I hope you won’t think I’m picking on small animals, but I’ve been thinking about Easter and the Easter bunny.
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I read in the newspaper the other morning that Punxsatawney Phil is being hauled into court and charged with falsely predicting an early spring. I am volunteering my services as counsel for the defense.
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The problem with expecting a groundhog to predict the arrival of spring is that there are groundhogs scattered all over the country. The Pennsylvania groundhog may not see the same kind of weather as the groundhog out here in Dobbs Park. In this way, false hopes are roused and the groundhog loses credibility as a meteorologist.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Not every other name smells sweet as a rose
It was either Romeo or Juliet who said, “What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
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LIZ CIANCONE: Innocence appreciated when you’re growing up
I grew up rather stupid. I didn’t realize it at the time. Neither did my teachers who seemed to think I had “promise.”
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I’ve been following plans for celebrating “The Year of the River” with interest. Rivers have played such a role in my life that I’ve celebrated a good many rivers. The Wabash River is merely the most recent example.
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I was asked the other day why I write about dogs I have known, but never about cats. “What’s the matter?” they asked, “Don’t you like cats?”
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LIZ CIANCONE: Sharing the family history
My Grandmother lived with us. Ed and I were eager audiences for her family stories about the Cooks. Mom also shared her memories of growing up with three brothers.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Do we want our privacy or not?
We Americans are a strange bunch. We insist upon our right to privacy, yet we neglect few opportunities to parade our personal business in public.
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I’m told that a pun is the lowest form of humor. I guess that typecasts me! I love them, but then, I like any type of word play.
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LIZ CIANCONE: For now, justice is served in Bball Hall
News this past week brought justice of a sort. The folks who decide these things have declined to pick anyone to be enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame this year.
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There has been lots of reporting lately about how long movies are becoming.
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I am a creature of habit. I like to know what I’m doing and I need to know how to do it. That’s why I am annoyed when corporate America seems determined to drag me, kicking and screaming into the age of Internet.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Everyone has a favorite holiday
I suppose everyone has a favorite holiday. My guess is that, for most of us, that holiday is Christmas. It's a holiday with a miracle no matter how old we get.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Christmas season puts time back into focus
It’s a funny thing about time. It can speed along so that you cannot believe that your kids can possibly be old enough to have good sense, or it can drag its heels while you wait for that first grandchild or while you are saving up for something really special.
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Why is it called "Black Friday"?
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LIZ CIANCONE: Have we lost the meaning of holiday?
I’ve been considering a lost-and-found ad to see if anyone knows what’s happened to Thanksgiving.
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I’m a pushover for live theater. But movies? Not so much. For me it’s like the difference between canned peas and those picked fresh from the garden. Movies even COME in cans.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Maybe the Cubs will win it all next year
I was relieved to have the World Series ending before the snow flies. Heck, it didn’t even last into November this year.
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LIZ CIANCONE: Holiday decorating better when personal, simple
I fear that I am becoming an old poop!
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