In a world that never stops talking, it’s funny how hard it’s become to get anyone to actually answer the phone.

I’ve spent a career helping organizations communicate more clearly — whether that meant running video over fiber across the rooftops of Washington Square Park, rolling out enterprise collaboration platforms or moderating panels about the future of hybrid work. But at home, if I want to reach someone in the next room, I might have better luck using smoke signals.

It wasn’t always this hard. If I think back to the phones of my youth, one thing stands out: they just worked. You could drop them, slam them or use them during a blackout — those old Bell System tanks always had dial tone. And people loved getting calls. If you’re of a certain age, just reading “Reach out and touch someone” probably brings the jingle right back into your head.

I kept a copper landline in my house for years, knowing it would survive a blackout thanks to its own power. But the service is no longer offered — too hard to maintain and impossible to get parts. Now my house runs on fiber, and when the lights go out, so does the dial tone. Cell towers? Maybe you’ll get 24 hours of backup battery during an outage — if you’re lucky.

When I got into broadcasting, communication had to be rock-solid. Wired headsets from companies like RTS and Clear-Com never failed — which is why the pros still use their modern equivalents today. Local theater? Not so much. In my 20s, some “cool” but cheap FM-based wireless headsets hit the market — push-to-talk, boingy metal antenna sticking out of your ear, prone to dropouts and so disposable we’d swap in fresh ones for every show. They weren’t great, but they fit the budget.

For longer distances, we ran fiber — real fiber. I once produced NYU’s graduation ceremony by sending five live cameras, audio and production communications a block away, over rooftops and through trees, straight into the university’s own studio. It worked brilliantly and saved them tens of thousands in production truck rental fees. Naturally, they stopped doing it that way after I left. Turns out the goal wasn’t to save money — it was to preserve vendor relationships. (There’s a communications lesson in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.)

Later, in my news radio days, we relied on a mix of landlines and 2-meter FM ham radios. For Y2K, we were so ready for the end of the world that we patched a walkie-talkie live on-air from Times Square — just to prove we could. The world didn’t end, but the backup plan was rock-solid.

At home, backup plans were different. Starting way back in the 1970s, I went full CB radio — base station, attic-mounted antenna, handhelds with a five-house range and a license (back when that was still required). I could reach across the city to similarly equipped friends if I had to. And I still can — the gear’s all there; but no one else is listening anymore. Everyone’s got a mobile phone, and calling is free. Better communications, less community.

But at some point, we all stopped asking, “Can I call you?” and started asking, “Why are you calling me?”

Therein lies the biggest shift of all. We’ve stopped using phones as phones. Voice calls are now for emergencies, parents or that one friend who still hasn’t figured out texting. Want to reach someone under 30? Try a text, a WhatsApp or a well-timed meme. Ask a Gen Z’er to answer a ringing phone and watch the existential dread set in.

Meanwhile, I’m still calling my wife or kids when I need something — like a caveman. The phone rings… and rings… until (if I’m lucky enough to have the call answered at all) I eventually hear: “Why didn’t you just text me?”

Because sometimes, talking is faster than typing. It’s safer while driving, too.

And that’s really the point. We’ve built amazing tools — copper, fiber, FM, video, voice, emoji — but none of them matter if the message gets ignored. Communication only works when someone’s willing to listen.

So maybe the best advice for today isn’t about platforms or protocols. It’s this:

If someone reaches out, answer the damn phone.