A Defining Voice — QUALITY FLOAT

“Wittenberg University. How may I help you?” The traditional phone greeting seemed simple enough at the small, liberal arts college in Springfield, Ohio. Multiple times per day from 1980-2001, the voice of longtime switchboard operator Phyllis Eberts could be heard on the landline during her daily shift from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. The exchanges were often brief as Phyllis connected callers to the intended person or provided directions to campus. On other occasions, the calls proved longer and more involved as she assisted police and security. However, what never found its way into her job description actually made the biggest impact of all — her ability to comfort others and change lives.

You see, in those countless conversations, Phyllis learned the needs of the campus community and began to build incredible relationships with everyone. The last four digits of the switchboard extension were among the first to be memorized, and students in particular found a little piece of home away from home in Phyllis. She was someone they felt comfortable calling to ask everything from how to make mac-and-cheese or what detergent was best to use, to more personal inquiries involving life, love, and loss.

The switchboard’s physical location at the time — right near the entryway on the first floor inside the main administrative building, Recitation Hall or Reci as it’s called — also proved equally valuable as Phyllis would be the first person to greet employees, students, and guests, or say goodnight every evening. Whether it was the president coming to work each day, UPS dropping off a package, a prospective family prepping for a tour, or a student who wasn’t sure where to go, Phyllis shared her light with all. Even parents would call to talk with Phyllis. Her window to “Witt World” it seemed brought the world to Reci, and through it, lifelong friendships were made.

I first heard Phyllis’ voice in 1989 as a student in need of a number, but I didn’t actually meet her until 1998 when I joined the University’s staff. My office was also in Reci, so I would always stop by her window on the way home as I tried to get to know my alma mater from this new administrative vantage point. We would laugh and chat about everything it seemed, and through those talks, I learned a lot about Phyllis, including the fact that she always wanted to be a journalist and had actually been accepted to Northwestern University in the early 1960s. Sadly, she said she was never able to go as a result of some family dynamics, but that never stopped her dream of becoming a writer. As the months passed, she eventually asked if she could intern for me in University Communications. Here I was learning from her, but now she wanted to learn from me. I was so moved by her request and of course said “yes.” We agreed we would keep learning together.

I also discovered during this time that Phyllis was determined to get her college degree, which is one of the reasons the afternoon/evening switchboard shift appealed to her — she could take classes during the day. For the greater part of eight years, Phyllis engaged in classroom learning, soaking in every bit of knowledge she could and writing as much as possible. By 2000, her work had paid off and she proudly graduated with the class that year at age 56. I think the whole University celebrated with her on that special day.

A year later, Phyllis would bring her love of learning, deep connections at Wittenberg, passion for writing, and wonderful sense of humor to my office. Once there, her contributions would soon find their way into every issue of the Wittenberg Magazine from news pieces to longer features touching on institutional history and alumni success. She especially loved connecting with our alumni to hear their stories firsthand. Outside of researching, assisting with office operations, and writing, Phyllis also had a gift for humor, and she would often make our little office laugh. One such example was during a brainstorming session for a new planned giving piece. Phyllis, who had just celebrated her 60th birthday, said with the most serious face possible: “How about ‘Fill Our Bucket Before You Kick Yours.’”

Then there was the time the tables turned a bit, and a member of our tiny team and known jokester decided to pull a prank on Phyllis by leaving a rubber bat in her coffee cup. There was Phyllis going about her morning routine when she picked up her cup and let out a piercing scream that reverberated throughout the entire three-story building. People came running thinking she was seriously injured, and the colleague who pulled the stunt thought he killed her. As the collective community blood pressure returned to normal, laughter soon filled the air, but from that day forward, anything resembling a bat, bug, spider, or any insect with wings or legs never found its way onto Phyllis’ desk again.

A few more years of laughing, writing, and fun would pass before Phyllis decided it was time to retire at age 69. She never wanted fanfare or attention called to herself, which makes her impact all the more meaningful as it came from her heart, always. In her 32 years at the University, she was invited to alumni weddings, exchanged holiday cards with colleagues and the extended Wittenberg community, and stayed connected with so many friends. Even in retirement, she loved uncovering any story, whether through geocaching, vacationing in her favorite spot in the Smoky Mountains, or reading, and she never stopped writing in her head even when her hands gave way.

We lost Phyllis on Sept. 1, 2022 at age 78, and with her passing so went her vintage style of saying “Wittenberg University. How may I help you?” But really, it was she who helped us in ways far more powerful than what crossed a telephone line. Thank you, Phyllis. Rest in peace, my thoughtful, kind, and dear friend.