Some people say “the good ol’ days weren’t so good.” I’m here to tell you, they are wrong.

In the good ol’ days, like 1987, we didn’t have cell phones. At least they weren’t a common household item. Cellular phones in 1987 cost about as much as a Ferrari and were the size and weight of a toaster. They didn’t fit very well inside our purse. They didn’t make toast.

Most everyone in 1987 had touch-tone dial phones that sat on desks or hung on the walls. We almost always answered the phone every time it blasted its loud jangle. We didn’t have caller i.d. and we never knew who might be calling. The thing is, in 1987 you could still hope for a fun phone call.

Back then, a man named Ed McMahon appeared in television commercials. As a representative for a company called American Family Publishers, Ed rang the doorbell of unsuspecting winners of the company’s sweepstakes. When they opened the door, he handed the person a check for five-million bucks or more. The commercial would show actual people who Ed McMahon had already surprised at their door. The person shrieked in sheer delight at the realization they had just become one of Ed’s recipients of wealth. Ed presented the check (the size of a beach towel because the real, regular-sized check would be given later) to the flabbergasted, glazed-eyed person, usually attired in a bathrobe and floppy slippers while sporting bed hair. The instant multi-millionaire always squealed at the top of his or her lungs while jumping up and down with messy, bouncing bed-head, “I never thought in a zillion years you would ever come to my house, Ed.”

I tell you this to explain why we answered our phones in 1987. We never knew if Ed McMahon might decide to call us on the phone instead of knocking on our door. I reasoned, like others, if he doesn’t find you at home, then of course he would give you the courtesy of a phone call.  I imagined he would probably announce, “I was at your door with a check for five-million bucks but since you weren’t home, I’m calling you with good news for your bank account.” Ed wasn’t the only reason we had high hopes every time our phone rang. Radio stations back then often called random phone numbers to award the person who answered with a trip for two to Hawaii or the Bahamas. Every phone call held the potential of newfound riches. “Hullo?” we would say and wait breathlessly for Ed, or a radio disc jockey, to say, “Congratulations! You have won ten-million dollars, …or five nights in Maui.”

But today, in 2018, we don’t answer our phones with the same excited anticipation. In 2018, we know who’s calling before we answer. Generally, it’s not anyone hoping to bestow us with lots of money. We now have robo calls. These computerized calls rob us of the satisfaction of shouting at the annoying caller, “Do you realize you called at dinnertime?” It keeps on yakking no matter what you say. Call it names. You’ll discover it doesn’t care. It wants you to get health insurance or to vote for a certain candidate or to give your family the blessing of a lifetime by having yourself cremated. If you hang up on a robo caller, it doesn’t hurt its feelings. You can expect the robo caller to call back very soon from a different phone number.

In 1987, we didn’t have robo calls. We had telemarketers, but they didn’t call very often and never at dinnertime.

Since telephones hung on the wall or sat tethered by cords to our desks, it wasn’t easy to misplace them. We never had to backtrack our steps in search of our phone. We didn’t need to return to the restaurant where we had lunch. We never had the restaurant manager hand over our phone, dripping wet, while saying, “Sorry, it went through the dishwasher.”

In 1987, we didn’t lug our phones around town. This kept us from knowing the personal business of strangers. But today, in 2018, we hear it all. While waiting in the check-out line at the grocery store, the lady in front of us bellows into her phone, “Yeah, the divorce is final. Caught them again. That jerk. I’m done with him and his hideously-ugly girlfriend.”

Strangers kept quiet about their personal life in 1987. We didn’t know a lot back then. We didn’t have answering machines or voice mail. Thus, we had no idea who called us if we didn’t answer the phone in time.

It sent us on a spiral of wonderment... Who called? Maybe they’ll call back? Please call back. I have to know. Maybe it was Ed! Was it Ed? Maybe I just lost a million dollars! Maybe I just missed winning a trip to Hawaii. And I need a vacation so badly.

You see? Today we know who called. Even if they don’t leave a message, we see their phone number lit up on our phone’s screen.

 

Life in 1987 held an exciting mystery we no longer enjoy.

And that’s why the good ol’ days were good.

 

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***Due to security and financial purposes, no photo of Ed McMahon appears in this blog.