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(back to page 4)
Hello, Operator
The next morning after his usual thirty to forty-five minutes of coughing, Oswald lit his first cigarette, picked up the phone, and called the number on the brochure.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that number is invalid. Are you sure you have the right number?"
"I know it's the right number. I'm looking at it right now."
"What area code are you trying to call?"
"Well, I don't know. It's the Woodbound Hotel in Lost River in Baldwin County, Alabama."
"Let me connect you with information for that area." In a moment another operator answered. "May I help you?"
"I hope so. I'm trying to reach the Woodbound Hotel."
"Just a moment, sir, I'll check that for you right away." This operator had such a thick southern accent he thought she must be joking with him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have a listing for a Woodbound Hotel anywhere in Baldwin County."
"Oh. Well, where are you?"
"I'm in Mobile."
"Is that in Alabama?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever heard of a place called Lost River?"
"No, sir, I haven't."
"Is there a listing for anything down there?"
"Just a moment. Let me check that for you.... Sir, I have a listing for the Lost River community hall and one for the post office. Would you like me to connect you to either one of those numbers?"
"Yes, let me try the first one. They might be able to help me."
Not five minutes earlier, Mrs. Frances Cleverdon, an attractive, slightly plump woman with white hair as soft as spun cotton candy, and her younger sister, Mildred, had just entered the back of the community hall through the kitchen. It was 72 degrees outside and the hall was hot and stuffy, so they opened all the windows and turned on the overhead fans. It was the first Saturday of the month. Tonight was the monthly meeting and potluck dinner of the Lost River Community Association. They were there early to deliver what they had made for the potluck dinner and to get the place ready for the evening. Frances had brought two covered dishes, one a green-bean casserole, the other a macaroni and cheese, and several desserts.
Mildred, who had prepared fried chicken and a pork roast, heard the phone ringing first but ignored it. When Frances came back in from the car, Mildred said, "Don't answer that. It's probably Miss Alma, and we'll never get her off the phone."
After another trip to the car for two cakes and three pecan pies, the phone was still ringing.
Frances said, "You know she's not going to give up," and picked up the receiver one second before Oswald was going to hang up.
"Hello?"
"Hello!" he said.
"Hello?" she said again.
"Who is this?"
"This is Frances. Who's this?" she asked, in the same southern accent as the operator.
"This is Oswald Campbell, and I'm trying to find the phone number for a hotel."
"Well, Mr. Campbell, this is the community hall you've reached."
"I know. The operator gave me this number."
"The operator? Where are you calling from?"
"Chicago."
"Oh, my!"
"Do you happen to have the number of the Woodbound Hotel? It's a health resort that supposed to be down there."
"The Woodbound Hotel?"
"Have you ever heard of it?"
"Yes, I've heard of it ... but it's not here anymore."
"Did it close?"
"Well, no. It burned down."
"When?"
"Just a minute, let me see if my sister knows." Frances called out, "Mildred, when did the old hotel burn down?" Mildred looked at her funny.
"About 1911, why?"
"Mr. Campbell, it was in 1911."
"In 1911? You're kidding!"
"No, they say it burned right to the ground in less than an hour."
"Oh ... well ... could you give me the name of another hotel I could call?"
"Down here?"
"Yes."
"There isn't any."
"Oh."
(continued on the next page)
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