(I ran across this column published in December, 1984 about telephone activity in our house when my kids were junior high age and was amused by the obsolescence of the equipment mentioned. Written at the dawn of the communications revolution shortly after the breakup of AT and T — that refers to the court-ordered divestiture of the Bell System finalized in 1982, not cellphone reception — about the only factor still relevant in today’s households with junior-high-age people is the need for a phone policy. Parents are still searching, I’m told.)

The last time I wrote in this column about the telephone in my house, I longed for the return of the old “Black Beauty” model which I had replaced with a push-button phone.

I complained that the push-button phone model had a mind of its own when dialing numbers. That column set the ball rolling. Scarcely had the ink dried when Dr. M. P. Meacham called with the offer of a genuine “Black Beauty.” …

Another friend came forward and donated yet another phone. His model was the white equivalent to the old “Black Beauty” with one unusual variation: “White Beauty” has a cord which is about 25 feet long.

Left with a choice, we piled the two new phones onto the same table with the old one and let them sit there together for awhile. Of course, we could only plug in one at a time and it was sometimes confusing.

Normally when the phone rings in our home, there’s a three-way race to see who’s going to answer. Sometimes the result of the race is head-splitting when it’s a tie. I probably told you earlier that part of the original phone’s trouble was that it had been yanked off its table by an overzealous respondent.

During the brief period that three phones sat on the same table there was one there for each kid to answer, and the lucky one actually answered the phone that was ringing.

There was some confusion, however, when I answered the phone with no help from the little people. I’d pick up one and say “Hello.” There’d be no answer, and the yet unanswered phone would ring again and I’d pick up and other receiver until I got to the right phone. If that sounds stupid, it is. But household efficiency has never been a goal we’ve strained ourselves to reach, and it was several days before three phones on one small table bothered us much. By that time, a distinct preference for one of those phones had been manifested by the junior-high-age person in our house.

Once upon a time, he’d mentioned that he’d like to have a phone in his room, and we snorted and gaffawed so much that he’s not mentioned it much since.

But with White Beauty’s 25 feet of cord for a tail, the phone now has mobility that lets it reach most of our house — including the room that the junior-high-age person begrudgingly shares with his brother.

Needless to say the boy has become quite a conversationalist as compared to when he formerly carried on all his phone conversations within the hearing of the rest of the household. Now, whenever we want him we have to follow the phone cord. It usually leads under a closed and locked door, either into his room or into our room, depending on the tolerance his brother has to being locked out of his room.

After these conversations, the phone is usually left where he last talked, and if he’s gone when the device next rings, which it does now with ever-increasing frequency, I have to follow the cord to find it.

My wife and I have forwarded several ideas for dealing with this new dilemma. The simplest suggestion to date has been to yank the thing from its plug whenever a conversation has gone on long enough. Somehow, though, that seems to disregard some of the rights to which the boy may be entitled.

A time limit, mutually agreed to in advance, has been suggested. However, the burden of timekeeping would fall on us as parents, and we’d probably not do that very well after the novelty wore off.

Which leaves us in search of a phone policy. In the meantime you can call me, but give the thing a few extra rings before you give up. I may have to follow the phone cord to the site of the previous conversation before I can answer. It may be in a closet or under a bed. But most likely it’ll give you a busy signal in the first place.

(Now that I’ve read it again, there’s another item in this old column that’s still not obsolete: Phones still occasionally have minds of their own.)