The "I Know A Story...Knowing Everyone's Business On Town Party Line

It was an ordinary day.  About 5 miles north of Lancaster lies this little town of Oregon, with a dozen houses - including two very attractive Victorian houses - a church that seats about a hundred people, a hotel that originally was a stagecoach inn, a two-room schoolhouse, and a stone mill powered by a dam and millrace.  This is the town from which Oregon Pike got its name.  Telephone communications were somewhat crude in those days, and most telephone customers had a "party line."  In Oregon, the party line could handle up to eight customers, although most didn't have more than six.  That means that six customers could hear what any of the other five customers were saying.  To identify which customer a phone call was for, there were different rings.  The phone could give a long followed by a short ring and pause and then refer the same signal.  Or it could be a short followed by a long, or any combination that could be recognized.      The customer was supposed to answer only those calls that were intended for him or her.  Other customers who were not quite certain might answer to determine if it was for them.  When any customer picked up the receiver, anyone on the line could hear a click and could also hear a click when the phone was hung up again.  Telephone customers could buy a private line if one was available.  Or they could get a line with only two or four other customers, if available.  These all cost more.  And some people loved their party lines; they would sit and listen to the news and gossip of Oregon.  My mother-in-law lived in Oregon and knew of one customer, in particular, who was famous for listening in to the conversations of others.  Everybody on the line knew her by name and actions.  One day my mother-in-law was talking on the phone and heard the "click," which was not followed by the hang-up click.  She knew.  After a while, she said, 'Mrs. ***, it's for me.  Please hang up."  Nothing happened after several repeat of the request.  Finally, a voice said: "Ach, sit net Mich."  "Oh it's not me.").  The author of this story lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.