One ringy-dingy ...

Frankly, I'm too old to learn how to use a new phone system. But as I look out into the newsroom just outside my office, I can see ominous stacks of brown cardboard boxes imprinted with a brand name that screams "computerized audio communications device."

Most everyone around me is thrilled that the newspaper is getting a new phone system. After more than 14 years, I'm barely getting the hang of the one we have.

On the bottom of the phone on my desk is a pullout gizmo that lists all the things my phone -- my old phone -- can do: Speed dial, conference and transfer, call waiting, camp on, voice mail, group pickup, callback and recall (there's a difference?) and privacy.

Out of that list, I have managed in just more than 14 years to master one: voice mail. And sometimes I screw that up.

OK. I can retrieve voice-mail messages. But what if I want to send a message to someone else? I carefully follow the prompts. I push buttons right and left. The message does not transfer. A computerized voice insists "That option is not available. Please return to the main menu."

Got it. How do you return to the main menu?

I have a fear of phones. To be more precise, I have a fear of a ringing phone. I chalk that up to the days when a phone call meant something bad had happened, usually the death of a relative.

Here I am in my somewhat advanced years, sitting in my recliner at home, and whenever the phone rings I literally jump. I am anxious about what I am about to be told, what sad news I am about to hear. I pick up the phone. I push the button to talk on the phone. I say "Hello."

Nothing.

I have pushed the wrong button. Again. Hint to telephone designers: All those buttons look alike.

Moreover, there's a good chance that I have tried to answer the phone by pushing buttons ... on the TV remote.

There. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'll bet some of you have done it, too.

We did not have a phone in the farmhouse on Killough Valley in the Ozarks over yonder until after I went to college. As I've told you before, when we needed to use a phone we drove nine miles to town and went to the telephone office on Main Street where Virginia, the switchboard operator, would take down the number of the party you were calling, probably in St. Louis, plug a line into the switchboard, tell the long-distance operator the number we were trying to reach and then send us outside on the sidewalk where there was a pay phone which would ring as soon as the call went through. After you hung up, you would go back into the telephone office, and Virginia would tell you how much you owed.

As if the modern telephone devices we have at home and at work aren't enough, our TV at home flashes the name of every incoming caller. But it doesn't always make sense. Like the time the phone rang and the following appeared on the TV screen: ICHOLS, JUL. Do you know anyone named Ichols? I asked my wife. No, do you? she replied. Let's don't answer it, I said. And this is where our phone fear takes over.

What if one of the boys is in the hospital and this Ichols person is calling from an emergency room somewhere? We better answer just in case. So I answer the phone, expecting the worst possible news.

"Hi, Uncle Joe. It's Julie." It's my wife's niece calling from Oregon. After we hang up, I figure out the TV was on zoom when the call came in, cutting off both ends of the caller's name.

That's how I feel about a new phone system at work. I know for a fact that it may be months or even years before I stop cutting off important phone calls because I've pushed the wrong buttons.

Bob Miller, the editor, came by the other day and asked if I needed a laptop computer. I thought about it, for about five seconds. That's how long it took to realize how many buttons there are on laptops. No thanks, I said, just as the phone rang. Let's see, Do I push "Voice" or "Ring"? And does it matter?

R. Joe Sullivan is the editorial page editor of the Southeast Missourian.