In 1967, Pacific Northwest Bell ran full-page ads in the back of Seattle magazine announcing a marvel of modern living: the “Trimline Wall Model” telephone. Some of the copy was breathless—“A phone so compact it fits your life!”—and the photography was a dream in avocado green and sun-washed gold.

Part of the Trimline’s magic is restraint. It didn’t try to do everything; it simply did its one job beautifully. You answered it, you spoke into it, you hung it up. The Trimline didn’t monitor your steps, order groceries, or tell you “Dave Schultz has made a new post.” It was a tool that became quite by accident, really, an object of desire. For all of our obsession with sleek glass slabs and voice-activated assistants, there’s a case to be made that the Trimline nailed “human-centered design” before that phrase ever entered a product brief.

And here’s the twist: you can still find them. Here’s mine. We plug it into the wall, and it works even when the power is out. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I’ll still be able to call my mother. It’s a reminder that any design achievement must also be useful. The Trimline Wall Model wasn’t just a phone. It was, and still is, a conversation starter. Literally.