Somewhere on the journey from Baltimore to St. Peter’s Church Road, we cross the digital divide. We may not feel it in our ears, the way we do when we crest Blue Mountain at Starrett’s Gap or Waggoner’s Gap, but it’s no less dramatic.

Here’s what the digital divide means, in practical terms, to a working writer. In Baltimore, sitting at the 100 year-old woodworking bench that serves as my writing desk, I have access not only to DSL service, which is what we have, but, if I wanted, even faster internet access by way of our cable TV provider. From where I’m sitting right now, I can also “see” four wireless networks in addition to ours. Good thing I don’t like to spy on my neighbors…

Whereas, on St. Peter’s Church Road, we have access to zero networks. No cable. No broadband. We do have a dial-up telephone connection, but navigating the Information Superhighway with a 56K line is like watching your fingernails grow. Only slightly less fun.

Boo hoo, you say. You’ve got broadband in Baltimore, and you’re complaining about not having it in Perry County, too? How much internet access does one man, or one family, need? Isn’t the point of getting away from it all, uh, getting away from it all?

Yes and no. We do like getting away from the instant access, instant gratification lifestyle of telephones, Blackberries, and cable television. Actually, any kind of television. We don’t have one on St. Peter’s Church Road, except to watch DVDs on.

But we’ve come to take high speed internet access as a given. As a writer, I use the internet all the time for research, including for columns like this one. We consult the internet—judiciously—on health matters, both for us and for our basset hound, Brooke. We shop from the convenience of home. We stay in touch with a far-flung network of friends by email. We use long-range weather forecasts to help us decide when to plant our garden. We download sheet music. We follow our curiosities. We get advice on building sheds and restoring pinball machines. We know whether we’ll be able to kayak on Shermans Creek, thanks to the creek level gauge published by the National Weather Service. We file our taxes through the internet, then obsessively check our bank account online to see whether our tax refund has been deposited. We read the New York Times—not to mention the Perry County Times!—online, saving trees in the process.

The internet can be a tremendous force for good, especially in areas where people are underserved by doctors, libraries, and stores. It can help alleviate loneliness. And I don’t mean in terms of providing a dating service. Although it can do that, too.

The Pennsylvania State Legislature, in its infinite wisdom, has mandated 100% broadband coverage for the entire state. The only catch is that the phone companies have until December 31st, 2013 to provide that coverage.

There is a policy in place designed to hurry things along, called the Bona Fide Retail Request plan, which puts the burden on the customer to get 50 fellow customers, or “25% of the retail access lines in your Carrier Service Area” (just try getting a definition of that!), to promise to buy a year’s worth of broadband SHOULD the company deign to provide it. And even if you manage to persuade 50 of your closest neighbors to fill out and submit the form, the phone company then has a whole year to comply with the request. Once they’ve approved it. Which could take who knows how long.

“It’s expensive to run the fiber optics to these remote rural areas!” the phone companies like to complain. “And we’ll never make back our capital investment, since there are so few potential customers.”

In 2008, Embarq had revenue of over 6 billion dollars, and cash flow of over 1 billion dollars. The company is on track this year to complete a merger with CenturyTel, another gigantic phone company, which promises to make it even bigger and richer.

Oh, and did I mention that Embarq already receives government money to extend broadband to rural areas? And stands to get more money from the federal government through the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act?

Over 100 years ago, there were a lot of complaints about a newfangled service called “Rural Free Delivery.” Private mail carriers were threatened by it. Town merchants worried that free mail deliveries would reduce the number of trips farmers took to town. “It’s too expensive!” cried opponents of increased government spending.

But RFD was wildly popular. And successful. It stimulated economic expansion. Roads were improved to make mail delivery easier and safer. Services were improved. Goods from Montgomery Wards and Sears poured into territories where there were no “bricks and mortar” stores. People in remote areas no longer felt so remote.

Can you hear me now, Embarq?

This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 14 May 2009

For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com