How Earl's Phone Changed the World

This appeared on Sunday, June 3, 2007

Roger Lerch, perhaps my favorite teacher, told us students in his Modern European History course at Walnut Hills High School in Cincinnati, Ohio, back in September 1974, that the world had changed more in the past 150 years than it had in the previous 2,000.

And at the time, he hadn‘t even ordered a sandwich at Wawa without ever having to actually speak a single, solitary word.

The memory of Mr. Lerch, and of his remark, came to me upon the visit to the Daily Local News of Molly Morrison, the president of the Natural Lands Trust and former head chef and chief bottle washer on the fifth floor of the Chester County Courthouse, the aerie of the commissioners and their staff.

I hadn‘t seen Molly in a long while, and she hadn‘t been to the Daily Local News offices in a decade or more. So with others in the room, our reunion led to a series of memories about past tribulations between the newspaper, me, Molly and, of course, Commissioner Extrordinaire Earl M. Baker, Molly‘s original patron.

The story we both remembered and liked the best was the saga of Earl‘s car phone.

The year being 1984 or so, mobile telephones were something new to the landscape. And Earl, being a man who craved communication of any kind, (He once told me the sentence he least liked reading in the newspaper was: ”Baker could not be reached for comment.“) decided he needed one. So he got the county to ante up.

For us in the press, it seemed the story of a lifetime. A phone for his car? Who did Earl think he was — the president of the United States?

So we took the ball and ran with it. Story after story, day after day. Who else in government had car phones? Who did Earl talk to on the thing? What were the Chester County taxpayers shelling out for him to jabber whilst cruising down the Schuylkill? We even got a cartoonist to draw a picture of a Princess Phone on wheels, with Earl‘s photo superimposed on the dial.

The phone itself was — so I have heard — enormous, bigger than a small dog and about as easy to manipulate.

And today? Governments hand out taxpayer-funded cell phones like politicians used to hand out lollypops. If the Daily Local News were to opine on the nonessential nature of government-paid cell phones, readers would look at us like we were publishing from the planet Neptune, not Lionville.

So I thought about how times had changed, and how technology has sped up so incredibly that something which was shockingly unnecessary 20 years ago is today considered hopelessly out of date — like Earl‘s massive car phone.

The next day, I found myself standing in line at the Wawa wanting to order a sandwich, and being completely ignored by the deli staff. I noticed a screen or two near the counter and realized that ordering now had to be done by means of a touch menu. Within a few moments I had my salami with provolone paid for and in a bag and out the door.

But I had not spoken a single, solitary word to anyone involved in the process, nor did they expect me to.

And that, Mr. Lerch, makes me yearn just a little for the days before the world changed.

The Readers Speak

This appeared Sunday, July 2, 2006

(Editor's note: For those of you who don't get around West Chester too much, the names of the judges on the Court of Common Pleas who made the commissioner's decision are artfully hidden in this column. The person chosen was ex-Commissioner Patrick O'Donnell.)


So I didn't get the job.

Surprisingly enough, in choosing who would become the next minority commissioner in Chester County the Common Pleas Court judges decided to go for someone whose qualifications seem to include actual experience in the position instead of someone, like me, who has vision, verve, vitality and a semi-valid security pass to the courthouse (expiration date July 1.)

But rather than wallow in self-pity, I say let's go to the mailbag and see how the readers reacted to my campaign!

Dear Mr. Rellahan:
I don't like your ideas. I don't like your jokes. I don't like your photo. Frankly, I don't like you, and don't think you should be put in any position of responsibility. Oh, and my parents don't like you, my husband doesn't like you, and I'm pretty sure my dog has grievous misgivings.
Paula O.
West Chester.

Dear News Editor:
If we're going to have a slightly overweight Irishman with facial hair sitting in the chair as minority commissioner, I think that at the very least we should have one who was educated in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
Howard F. R. Jr.
North High Street

Dear Mr. Relish-ham:
Stupid, is what you are. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Believe me, I talk to lawyers all the time and I know stupid when I see it. And you can't cure stupid.
Robert S.
Big House with a Clock

Hey Rellahan:
You think you're funny? You think you could get a judge to give you a job just because you might get them a 30G iPod? I say you're brazen! You gotta go 60G U2 version to get anywhere with that crowd.
Anthony S.
Don't Call Me,
I'll Call You

Dear M.P. Rellahan,
Does the "P" stand for "Perfectly Clueless"? I don't care what my cousin Tom says about you, I don't think you should even be allowed in the courthouse without clearance from the Department of Homeland Security.
Jacqueline C.
Nowhere Near You

Dear Sir:
What we need in this county are more people who wore the proud uniform of the military of the United States, preferably the Marine Corps.
Semper Fi!
Thomas G.,
West Chester

Dear Mr. Rellahan:
I don't know you, but everybody I work with says it would be a disaster that would call for intervention by the Federal Emergency Management Agency if you were appointed minority commissioner. And from what I know, most of them have never been wrong.
Rusty G.
Between Gay and Market

Dear Mike:
You're the finest, bravest, most lovable man I ever met. But you can't quote me. Sorry.
John H.
West Chester

Dear Rellahan:
Nyahh, nyah-nyah, nyaahhh, nyahh!
Patrick O'D.
Fifth Floor