When I was about 10 years old, my pal Darryl M. lived across the creek from my home. Darryl and I would walk across a narrow foot bridge to play catch or just hang out. Darryl’s telephone number was CLearbrook 3-75_ _ . Sometimes I would call him. We’d chat. And hang up.
One bright day, I called Darryl’s number. (Ring) (Ring) (Ring) And a woman answered “Hello.” I said “hello is Darryl there?” Sounds pretty innocuous. Eh? Well it was the wrong number. This woman began screaming into the phone “you #$&*$X. . . you have the wrong $%@&@X number!” I sat there listening. Mouth open. Mesmerized. I realized I’d dialed a “7” instead of a “6.”
I got on my bike and rode over to Darryl’s. Darryl answered the door and I pushed inside. Grabbed Darryl, picked up the phone and said “listen to this. . . .” And I dialed the wrong number again. (Ring) (Ring) (Ring) And a woman answered “Hello.” I said cheerfully “hello is Darryl there?” And she began screaming again. This was really something special. We shared the “wrong number” with our pals. It seemed entertaining (at the time) and we all learned new four letter words in the process. Mind you — these were the days before caller ID. . . . .