photograph courtesy special collections, university of memphis libraries
J.C. Levy conducts an “interview” with a baby elephant at the Memphis Zoo, for one of his “Dial ’n' Smile” messages.
Joe Crockett Levy — everyone called him “J.C.” — enjoyed making people happy. Born in Amory, Mississippi, in 1906, when he moved to Memphis he set up a kiddie-sized “amusement park” at the Mid-South Fairgrounds, with a miniature Ferris wheel, merry-go-round with tiny cars and motorcycles, and motorboats puttering around a shallow pool. He later relocated everything to the Memphis Zoo, where the rides were a popular attraction for almost 40 years.
One day, sitting in his office on South Cox, Levy left a funny message on his answering machine while he went to lunch. When he got back, he discovered dozens of people had called — just to hear his message — and Levy began Dial ’n’ Smile. Anyone calling 278-2370 heard a cute poem, funny story, weird sounds — whatever struck his fancy.
“Little things pop into my head,” Levy told the Memphis Press-Scimitar in 1980. “I like the odd sort of things. Some people call them poems, some call them rhymes, and some just call them terrible.”
“I write a lot of my poems or verses late at night,” he told the Press-Scimitar. “Often I wake up with an idea and write it down. Then I try them out on my wife at the breakfast table. If she runs for the bucket, I think maybe I have a good one.”
— J.C. Levy
Just one example: “Once I met a bullfrog down by the pond. The bullfrog said, ‘I wonder what’s in the beyond?’ And then he jumped, and he jumped, and he jumped away. And now he must know what’s in the beyond. Because I heard he croaked today!”
Levy never made a dime off Dial ’n’ Smile, and estimated his phone bills were $5,000 a year, with 25 answering machines in his home. He eventually recorded more than 2,000 messages, many of them accompanied by roars, bellows, shrieks, and other sounds made by the animals at the zoo (such as the baby elephant here).
“I write a lot of my poems or verses late at night,” he told the Press-Scimitar. “Often I wake up with an idea and write it down. Then I try them out on my wife at the breakfast table. If she runs for the bucket, I think maybe I have a good one.”
He once estimated he had received more than 20 million calls. His wife, Hazel, told reporters, “He wanted it to go on forever,” but Levy died in 1997 at the age of 91. Don’t even bother calling 278-2370 today. A recording says, “The number you have reached is no longer in service.”
