Speaking of jukeboxes (as we were last Sunday), the most amazing jukebox story in the country comes out of Pittsburgh.
In that city, Helen Reutzel, 59, owns and operates what is believed to be the last remaining ''live'' jukebox service in the world.
It works like this: In a tavern or a restaurant, a customer will drop a quarter into the jukebox. But the record to be played is not actually in the jukebox. When the coin is inserted, a ''ding'' is heard in the studio of Telephone Music Service--Helen Reutzel`s company. Telephone Music Service is connected to the tavern by telephone lines.
The customer in the tavern picks up a telephone on top of the jukebox. Miles away, in her studio, Helen Reutzel picks up a telephone, too. The customer tells her what record he wants to hear. Helen Reutzel finds it in her library of more than 100,000 records. She puts the record on a turntable in her studio. It is piped over the telephone lines and is heard in the tavern.
''My father, Bill Purse, started the Telephone Music Service in 1929,''
Reutzel said. ''At one time, our clients included 120 bars and restaurants in the Pittsburgh area. After my father died, I took over the company. Now I have only eight taverns and restaurants who still use the service. But I`m trying to keep it going.''
The studio of Telephone Music Service is open between 2 p.m. and 2:30 a.m. daily. Each tavern has a loose-leaf binder with a listing of
approximately 2,000 songs that can be played. But customers are urged to request any song that they may remember from any year. Reutzel probably has it.
''During the evening, the calls come in non-stop,'' Reutzel said. As she was explaining this to me, there was the sound of a ''ding.'' Then another
''ding.'' She excused herself and picked up the telephone.
It was a patron of a tavern called Karoline`s, who had dropped two quarters into the jukebox and wanted to hear ''The Marine Hymn'' and ''The Hawaiian War Chant.'' Reutzel found the records, put the first one on, and then returned to our conversation.
''Services like ours were very common all over the United States prior to World War II,'' she said. ''Today, people are used to automatic jukeboxes. Most of the time, when someone goes into one of the eight taverns where we have our jukeboxes, they have to be instructed on how to use the jukebox. They can`t believe that they`re supposed to talk to someone and request their song.''
Although it would seem impossible to keep track of all 100,000 records, Reutzel has them all numbered, and can find them in rapid fashion. ''Take
`Cowgirl in the Sand` by Neil Young, for example,'' she said. ''That`s No. LPY8. `My Girl` by the Temptations is No. D338. `El Paso` by Marty Robbins is No. BG221. If I don`t know where a record is by heart, I`ll just look it up in my card file.''
When there are dull moments in the studio--when patrons in the eight taverns aren`t calling--Reutzel manages to keep herself busy.
''I run the sweeper, or I clean the records, or I file new songs,'' she said.
Just then there was another ''ding.''
Reutzel said into the telephone, ''Joe Walsh? He has a new record?
What`s it called?''
She listened to the answer coming from the customer in the tavern.
''The song is called `Confessions`?'' she said. ''I don`t have that. How about `Rocky Mountain Way`? That`s by Joe Walsh, too.''
Apparently that was a satisfactory compromise, for Reutzel removed `Rocky Mountain Way` from the rack and piped it over to the tavern.
''People like my service because it`s personalized,'' Reutzel said.
''Anyone can drop a coin into an automatic jukebox, but how many people can actually talk to someone far away and order any record they want? One woman, for example, said she wanted to hear `Summertime.` I told her that we had 15 records called `Summertime.` So she started singing it to me. I told her that the song she wanted was called `In the Summertime.` She said, `Oh, yeah! That`s it!` She said that it used to be her father`s favorite song.
''Now tell me . . . could you do that with a regular jukebox?''