A Persistent Search: The Bonds Once Connected by Phonebooks Are Now Gone

Phonebooks... If you ask the younger generation, their reaction is, "What's that?" You know, that thick, yellow thing! Right, right, it was called the Town Page, wasn't it? That's the one. Oh, come on, you really don't know?

Stop the useless resistance and come out already.

Indeed, that is an old story now, Maruo-kun.
But there was a time when having your home number listed in this phonebook was a kind of status. Being listed in it was like a dream come true! It wasn't like today's climate where people are all about "Personal information! Protect personal information!" Instead, when you needed something,
it was common to look it up in the phonebook.

That star of the show, the phonebook, is now gone.
If you look into it carefully, the paper "Town Page" phonebook (a list of phone numbers for companies and stores) is scheduled to end its distribution nationwide at the end of March 2026.
Listing personal information is out of the question. In other words, this paper Town Page, which served so well in helping people find others, has already vanished from this world.

Then I can't find my friend's contact information anymore, can I?

When it comes to searching for people today... SNS like Instagram and Facebook are mainstream. Come to think of it, a rock band I was a huge fan of and listened to often when I was a college student called B-DASH (now disbanded) released a work with the tricky name "Big Black Store (Call Me)" as their 3rd album. I was surprised by this. I heard that the vocalist GONGON named it because he wanted his friend "Daikokuya" to contact him (and he actually did contact him later), and I remember being impressed that there were such ways to search for people.

While recalling such things, there is a story about a search for a person conducted by my mother with great persistence.
The origin of the story seems to be an event on a shuttle bus to the driving school she attended when she was a college student. My mother was chatting away with an older woman who happened to be sitting in the seat next to her. I should mention that they were meeting for the first time, but my mother doesn't have "shyness" in her dictionary.
During that conversation, it turned out the woman had two elementary school-aged daughters and was looking for a tutor to help them with school studies and homework.
My mother happened to be liked by the woman based on her vibe and the university she attended, and she was scouted to come to their house. My mother just answered "Sure" on the spot, left only the information that her name was XX (surname only), and parted ways that day without even exchanging phone numbers.

Why didn't you give her your phone number?

I know, I know, Nagasawa-kun. I asked my mother the same thing.
But she just replied airily again, saying she got so absorbed in the conversation that she parted ways without giving the crucial phone number.

As for how this story progressed after that, this woman actually used the phonebook to call every single person with the surname XX that my mother had left behind, and managed to find her.

I found you, XX-san! Oh, I'm so glad!

Oh, Ms. So-and-so! (You were the one who called) This is the third house! Oh, I'm so glad. That's what she said in a bouncy tone of voice.
The woman was lucky in the end to have reached my mother's house in just three calls, but my mother's maiden name is relatively popular. There must have been many other candidates she could have kept calling after that. This must have been a victory of that woman's tenacity.
And so, my mother was able to safely start her part-time job at that person's house.

However, people of today!

Do you have this passion to achieve something through tenacity? (In the style of Mr. Fukudome asking, "Do you want to go to New York?")
Don't you go into giving-up mode too easily?
I think we must not forget the tenacity of the woman who found my mother, which would put even a detective to shame. Hang in there, young people.

As I write such a heart-warming story, I think I will whip my middle-aged self into working hard.

The author's winter journey continues.