The Tone is no More

I had completed reading an old favorite from my D train days, the New York Post, delighted that "Page Six" was thriving. I don't see the Post much and the new little sundry place in my building was carrying it. I couldn't resist . I guffawed at the nasty double meaning headline announcing the 12 million inheritance by Trouble, the dog that belonged to the late Leona Helmsley. (My cat is named Trouble. Alas, she won't be receiving such an inheritance upon my demise.) I used to work at one of the Helmsley buildings back in 1980, on Madison and 42nd Street, all marble and ornate polished brass, including the elevator doors.  The Post and my memories brought me back there. Then I switched to the LA Times. And to another memory. It used to be that if you wanted to know the exact time, you called, well, "time", and a soothing voice would say, "At the tone, the time will be 10:39 and 30 seconds". I think it was the same woman's voice throughout the nation, but it sounded personal to me. Sometimes I'd call it, just like this. I hadn't thought about that in years. And how my dad, when fooling around with me, used to say, "I am going to call the little girl down the block, Susan Ann Oliver" and he'd dial and I'd grab the phone and it'd be "time". Got you dad, there is no Susan Ann Oliver. (Actually, he got the name from an actress popular in the 60s; here comes that Star Trek connection again; she was the heroine in the very first pilot, The Cage!). The voice is being stilled. No one needs to call "time" anymore, with precision clocks, panel TVs, computers. At the tone, the time will be past.