Operator

I became familiar with Jim Croce at a rather young age, but I’ll readily admit this was only because our elementary school principal was named Leroy Brown, just like the main character in Jim’s #1 1973 hit, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.

There was no end to the humor there. Even my fellow third graders understood the irony that our Mr. Brown was gentle, quiet and mild mannered. We often joked, pretending that once you got into his office, behind closed doors, he was more like the rough and tumble character portrayed in the song. Fortunately none of us ever found out.

Jim Croce had many other hits that played a part to the soundtrack of my early childhood: Time in a Bottle, You Don’t Mess Around with Jim, I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song, and I Got a Name, to mention a few. I even recall my sisters playing a song or two of his on the piano. But it wasn’t until an experience thirty years after his tragic death in a 1973 plane crash, that I learned to appreciate the songwriting and talent of Jim Croce.

An Electrical Flashback

In the process of finishing the lower level of our house, I was running electrical wiring and installing switches and outlets one afternoon in the winter of 2003. It was a task that I really enjoyed. And while it required a certain level of concentration, a lot of the work was repetitive, allowing a portion of my brain to focus on and appreciate the classic rock I was listening to on our ancient boom box.

At one point I heard the opening chords of a song and immediately pegged it as Jim Croce’s Operator. I listened more closely than usual to the first verse:

“Operator, well could you help me place this call?
See, the number on the matchbook is old and faded.
She’s living in L.A. with my best old ex-friend Ray”

These first few lines caught my attention, so I paused and listened further. I once had a girlfriend that left me and immediately hooked up with one of my friends. So these words were hitting (a little too close to) home. I was curious to hear more about the singer’s experience. Next was the chorus:

“Isn’t that the way they say it goes? Well, let’s forget all that
And give me the number if you can find it,
So I can call just to tell ’em I’m fine and to show
I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well
I only wish my words could just convince myself
That it just wasn’t real, but that’s not the way it feels.”

Yep, I could definitely relate. In my earlier experience, at the age of twenty, I tried so hard to pretend it was no big deal, to tough it out after the breakup, as would be expected from a young guy with a full life ahead of him. I even tried to be supportive of the new couple, giving them my blessing.

“Operator, well could you help me place this call?
Well, I can’t read the number that you just gave me.
There’s something in my eyes, you know it happens every time”

My problem with trying to get over it was that this was the first time that I’d really been in love. And I had been totally overwhelmed with an assault of new and unfamiliar emotions. Then the “breakup,” and perceived double betrayal, led to another set of new and raw emotions. I was in way over my head. Try as I might to move forward, I only sank deeper.

“Operator, well let’s forget about this call
There’s no one there I really wanted to talk to.
Thank you for your time, ah, you’ve been so much more than kind.
And you can keep the dime.”

I came to the exact same conclusion. There was really nothing I had to say to my former girlfriend and friend. I clearly wasn’t over the situation, so it wouldn’t be appropriate to say “I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well.” It was best for me to continue on, without them in my life, and letting them live theirs.

But this is where the similarities between my experience and the song ended. If the new couple in my situation had been living in L.A. (or at least somewhere long distance, requiring an operator) I would have fared much better. Instead, we were all three living in the same college dorm together. So I had to face them every day. Usually more than once. My fresh wounds were constantly ripped open and not allowed to heal.

The final line in the song:

“No, no, no, no – that’s not the way it feels.”

Back in the lower level of our house, in 2003, I was still awash in memory-land when an abrupt transition to a loud commercial shattered my thoughts. I realized that I had stopped my work altogether, set down my tools, and sat perched atop a stack of drywall next to the radio. I had been completely diverted from my task.

I shook it off, refocused, and got back to my electrical work.

Building a New Perspective

I hadn’t thought about that “broken heart” experience for years, and I was intrigued to take another peek, this time without any emotional attachments. So many years later, I was (obviously) over the pain the experience caused. But a stirring of unexpected emotions made me realize that I felt a tremendous amount of sympathy for the poor twenty year-old kid that had to go through all that. He didn’t know it at the time, but he wasn’t yet socially and emotionally mature. He was completely ill-equipped to deal with the situation.

Only time would heal his wounds, which is a concept, of course, that can only be appreciated in hindsight.

Just a few months after my flashback, I was going through a box of stuff from my college years and stumbled upon a short letter written to me by my old girlfriend, shortly after she broke up with me. She was clearly upset about how hurt I was and felt bad about it. Funny, but I didn’t recall ever seeing or reading this note back then. Assuming that I did read it, I probably chose not to believe a word she said. But now it got me thinking about that experience from the other side of the equation. It probably wasn’t so fun for the two of them either. Huh.

I concluded this experience was a perfect microcosm of my teenage and early-adult years. I was grateful for the experience, grateful for the valuable life lessons learned, and grateful that I became who I am today because of those experiences. However, I was most grateful that it was all in the distant past.

Big thanks to Jim Croce for creating this lovely memory-provoking song, and for sharing his amazing talent with the world. In his brief career, he left us with a treasure trove of beautiful, heartfelt music. We can all so easily relate to his songs, because his subjects are always entrenched in the human experience.

Here’s a live version of Operator, performed by Jim and his long-time bandmate Maury Muehleisen. It was recorded, sadly, just months before the duo’s untimely death in 1973. Jim was only 30 years old, and in the prime of his career. Maury was only 24.