dangling at Vivian’s collar. From Nell and Judson’s home near the base of Mount Pisgah, she headed down B Street toward Bennett Avenue. She dodged a feisty horse pulling a wagon at the corner of Bennett Avenue and stepped up onto the boardwalk. So far, life in Cripple Creek was nothing of what she’d expected. Bank robbers and lawmen. Shop owners who thought her too costly, too young, too weak. Well, she’d show them they were wrong.
“Good day, ma’am.”
Vivian looked up into the face of an elderly gentleman doffing a derby.
“Sir.” She returned his smile and continued on her way to Third Street.
Although Vivian wasn’t fond of the idea, work as a telephone operator would give her a lot of opportunities. And she couldn’t sit around doing nothing while waiting for Mrs. Ondersma’s business to thrive.She needed to go where the job opening was. She could do just about anything for a time if she knew it was merely a steppingstone.
The Colorado Telephone Company office sat on the west side, across from the Third Street Café. A blue metal factory-made storefront and gold lettering on the glass door embellished the two-story brick building.
Vivian drew in a deep breath and wrapped her gloved hand around the doorknob. As Father would say, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so she entered.
A woman rose from a small desk and tucked a sprig of gray hair under the circle of braid that clung to the back of her head. “May I help you, miss? ”
“I was told there is an opening for an operator.”
The woman looked Vivian over and tugged the banana-yellow pinafore straight on her bright orange linen dress. Surely that wasn’t a required uniform. If so, Vivian already knew this wasn’t the job for her.
“Your name?”
“Vivian Sinclair.”
“Have a seat on the bench there.” She looked past Vivian at the wooden deacon’s bench against the wall. “I’ll let Mrs. Hartley know you’re here.”
When the woman dressed like a fruit basket had disappeared through an open door, Vivian seated herself. A chorus of pr-ring, pr-ring, pr-ring overpowered the muffled female voices emanating from the other side of the wall. She looked through a stack of magazines on a side table until footsteps drew her attention back to the door.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Vivian looked up into a smiling face and stood. “Yes.”
“I’m Mabel Hartley, the manager here. Someone told you we needed another operator?”
“Yes, my sister, Nell Sinclair … I mean, Mrs. Judson Archer.”
Recognition registered in Mrs. Hartley’s gray eyes. “She’s come here for donations to the benevolence fund. I am short one girl.” She glanced toward the open door. “If you’ll follow me, we can go to my office and discuss your qualifications.”
Mrs. Hartley was about Vivian’s height, but fleshy. A cacophony of bells and chatter filled the room they entered. Vivian followed Mrs. Hartley past three young women seated at desks in front of panels covered with holes and flickering lights. Thankfully, they all wore different patterns of dress in various colors. No uniform. She could do this.
The operators pulled cords out of the table in front of them and plugged them into the holes with lights next to them. Vivian was sure she’d heard the words “Who are you calling?” twelve times between the door and the narrow steps in the corner of the room.
Upstairs, the manager’s office was modest but neat and clean. Mrs. Hartley pointed to a wooden office chair and then seated herself behind the oak desk. Vivian folded her hands in her lap.
“You saw the operators at the boards?” Mrs. Hartley asked.
“Yes ma’am, I did.”
“Then you saw that our work here is rather clear-cut. A telephone operator receives incoming calls and directs the caller to the intended recipient.” Mrs. Hartley opened a drawer. “You think you could do that?”
It sounded easy enough. “I would do my best.”
“You’re young and bright. I say we give it
“Good day, ma’am.”
Vivian looked up into the face of an elderly gentleman doffing a derby.
“Sir.” She returned his smile and continued on her way to Third Street.
Although Vivian wasn’t fond of the idea, work as a telephone operator would give her a lot of opportunities. And she couldn’t sit around doing nothing while waiting for Mrs. Ondersma’s business to thrive.She needed to go where the job opening was. She could do just about anything for a time if she knew it was merely a steppingstone.
The Colorado Telephone Company office sat on the west side, across from the Third Street Café. A blue metal factory-made storefront and gold lettering on the glass door embellished the two-story brick building.
Vivian drew in a deep breath and wrapped her gloved hand around the doorknob. As Father would say, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so she entered.
A woman rose from a small desk and tucked a sprig of gray hair under the circle of braid that clung to the back of her head. “May I help you, miss? ”
“I was told there is an opening for an operator.”
The woman looked Vivian over and tugged the banana-yellow pinafore straight on her bright orange linen dress. Surely that wasn’t a required uniform. If so, Vivian already knew this wasn’t the job for her.
“Your name?”
“Vivian Sinclair.”
“Have a seat on the bench there.” She looked past Vivian at the wooden deacon’s bench against the wall. “I’ll let Mrs. Hartley know you’re here.”
When the woman dressed like a fruit basket had disappeared through an open door, Vivian seated herself. A chorus of pr-ring, pr-ring, pr-ring overpowered the muffled female voices emanating from the other side of the wall. She looked through a stack of magazines on a side table until footsteps drew her attention back to the door.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Vivian looked up into a smiling face and stood. “Yes.”
“I’m Mabel Hartley, the manager here. Someone told you we needed another operator?”
“Yes, my sister, Nell Sinclair … I mean, Mrs. Judson Archer.”
Recognition registered in Mrs. Hartley’s gray eyes. “She’s come here for donations to the benevolence fund. I am short one girl.” She glanced toward the open door. “If you’ll follow me, we can go to my office and discuss your qualifications.”
Mrs. Hartley was about Vivian’s height, but fleshy. A cacophony of bells and chatter filled the room they entered. Vivian followed Mrs. Hartley past three young women seated at desks in front of panels covered with holes and flickering lights. Thankfully, they all wore different patterns of dress in various colors. No uniform. She could do this.
The operators pulled cords out of the table in front of them and plugged them into the holes with lights next to them. Vivian was sure she’d heard the words “Who are you calling?” twelve times between the door and the narrow steps in the corner of the room.
Upstairs, the manager’s office was modest but neat and clean. Mrs. Hartley pointed to a wooden office chair and then seated herself behind the oak desk. Vivian folded her hands in her lap.
“You saw the operators at the boards?” Mrs. Hartley asked.
“Yes ma’am, I did.”
“Then you saw that our work here is rather clear-cut. A telephone operator receives incoming calls and directs the caller to the intended recipient.” Mrs. Hartley opened a drawer. “You think you could do that?”
It sounded easy enough. “I would do my best.”
“You’re young and bright. I say we give it
Similar Books
