An old spy wonders

 Dear Solveig,

It was as forbidden as rubber-necking on our party-line. Everybody did it. First off, rubber-necking or listening in on other people’s conversations, was, of course, frowned upon. But it was great entertainment if you were bored and had no tv. An internet of random gossip in the 50s that stretched from farm-to-farm on one skinny wire. 

So why did the phone company introduce the “snooper button” on the 1958 or so models, that encouraged you to listen in without being heard? Sort of a half-mute button that let you listen with impunity to your neighbor's personal soap opera without ever being detected? Instructions were to pick up the phone, and if anyone was using it, politely hang it up, and let them finish their private conversation. Simple party-line etiquette. Yeah, right.

But that’s not what I’m wondering about today. Our gifted mother used to give lessons in the music room, keeping the big sliding oaken door shut, while her student sat at the grand piano and plunked out that week’s private lesson. Took about a half hour and then the next student filed in. Mom worked from home, long before it became popular.

Meanwhile, their parents, siblings or others would sit idly in our combination living-dining-waiting area. This room was closed off by a four-panel oak door, latched from the kitchen side, where six kids washed, cooked, churned butter, ate or did whatever else needed to be done. It was not spacious.

That dividing oak door had a shrunken panel in it that was slightly smaller than its opening, leaving a crack, a slit, just wide enough to spy on the people waiting in the living room. It was forbidden to look through it of course. Everybody did it, of course. It was great entertainment, especially when two adults were having a personal conversation.

Maybe not everybody could do it. So Solveig, my little sister, I was wondering? Were you ever tall enough to peek through the forbidden crack? Did you ever use a stool? I know that big Susan Ahlberg was just tall enough to look through from the other side, as a very tall blond alto junior, taking voice lessons. I know she peeked at us washing dishes once.

I have no idea why this question comes up 70 years later, but I was sorting through some memories and this question arose. Please help.

Your six foot brother, Stan.

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This morning, Solveig responded:

Enjoy the entries and passage-of-time perspective. Have an answer to today’s question, but am too exhausted to battle further with Mr Google who has verified my email address twice and phone number once with passcodes, but still doesn’t accept me. 

So I answer directly:

As a child who was seen and not heard, I specialized in observation.  Did I observe thru a crack in the door?  You betcha!  Got some of my first data on how people interact if they aren’t Rolfsruds. How? By pulling over the nested pair of benches tucked under the fold-away table on the yellow-speckled linoleum in that small room of many functions and stepping up for a live reality show. 

Another source was Mama Jo Elness’ phone conversations. I would position myself nearby when she picked up the receiver on her wall candlestick phone. I learned sophisticated phrases like “By the way” and “the wall has ears.”  Mama Jo was savvy to her quiet borrowed child and when her conversations got interesting, she switched to Norwegian. I understood why and I knew there were secrets I’d only learn if she told Papa Si at night when she didn’t see me listening. 

Helped me get a BA degree in Human Growth and Development with an emphasis in Behavior Modification. 

Good source