Back in 1967, Cuppa and I had only begun to go out just a few months before I headed off to university. My place of residence that year was in an old building with long halls. It wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was maintained and functional, and unlike the newer residences, the rooms were a good size. So, I was fine with the place as I was with the whole university experience, which I loved.
I had worked for a year after high school and was mature and motivated enough to really appreciate and enjoy higher learning. It was a nice campus, and my classes were relatively small, which worked well for me and how I best learn.
But I missed my Cuppa. We wrote a lot of letters back and forth, and I got home on most weekends, but I still missed her.
At some point I discovered that the school's telephone switchboard was located in my residence. It was the old fashioned kind but standard for its time. The operator would put the necessary plugs in the appropriate holes as they did in those days. I learned that the school had an open line to Toronto, and while it wasn't meant for frosh such as I, I could make use of it if I went down to the switchboard room, which I began to do with some frequency. Come eight or nine o`clock, I`d head downstairs and ask the operator if the line was free. More often than not it was, and he [sic] would let me dial Cuppa on the public phone in the switchboard room.
People were careful about calling long distance in those days. There were no long distance plans as there are now, and it was relatively expensive to talk across the miles, so making the trip downstairs was a way to save a few bucks and keep in touch with my sweetie.
I get all poignantly wistful thinking of those times on a Saturday morning forty-plus years later. Life was good. It still is, but you know what I mean.