SALLY, a heart touching story. My fav. one:Inspirational Stories and real life Incidences.

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in
our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to
the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too
little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination
when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived
an amazing person - her name was Information Please and there was
nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody's
number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one
day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the
tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The
pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying
because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the
house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway
- The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and
dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in
the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the
mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came
readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip
off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."
After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her
for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had
caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called
Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then
said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was
unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and
bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers,
feet up on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul,
always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then
when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I
missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old
wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the
tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.
Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood
conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and
perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I
appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have
spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in
Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between plane, and I spent
15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.
Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown
operator and said, "Information Please".
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well,
"Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying,
"Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?'
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess
that your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you, I said. "I wonder if you have
any idea how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I
never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked
if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice
answered Information and I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" "Yes, a very old friend." "Then I'm sorry to
have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few
years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But before I
could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was
Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down, Here it is
I'll read it 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing
in. He'll know what I mean'."
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.

And do you know that now in life , I strive for one thing and one
thing only.
To be remembered as someone like Sally was.

A kind word with a compassionate voice is sometimes all it takes to
change someone's life forever.