The Man that Killed Prank Calls, Pissed Off the FCC, and Changed Everything
The Petty, Forgotten War Over Caller ID
Before phones were little dopamine slots we carried in our pockets—before everything was tagged, filtered, and pre-sorted—we had mystery.
The phone rang, and you answered. That was the deal.
Could be your girlfriend. Could be your bookie. Could be a stranger asking if your refrigerator was running. You didn’t know. That was the point. The phone was chaos. And we loved it.
Then came Caller ID—a tiny screen that told you who was calling before you picked up.
And people lost their damn minds.
The Guy Who Killed the Prank Call
In 1968, a Greek-American engineer named Theodore Paraskevakos was working at a utility company in Alabama when he had a wild idea: What if phones could transmit more than just voices?
What if they could share data?
He invented the first system for what we now call Caller ID—filed a patent in 1971, built a prototype by ’73. The tech was solid. Ahead of its time. Too ahead, maybe.
Because that little screen didn’t just show a number. It changed the rules.
The Telecom Mafia Wasn’t Having It
The Bell System (a.k.a. Ma Bell, a.k.a. the cartel that ran all phones in the U.S.) wasn’t exactly thrilled. If people could screen calls, they might stop answering them. Less talk, less money. Caller ID wasn’t a feature. It was a threat.
So they buried it.
For nearly two decades, Paraskevakos’s invention sat in corporate purgatory while the phone giants quietly tried to figure out how to monetize it—or kill it completely.
When It Finally Launched, People Freaked Out
By the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, regional phone companies began rolling out Caller ID. And the backlash was swift, loud, and extremely weird.
Privacy watchdogs called it surveillance. Religious groups said it was unholy. California banned it. Like, actually banned it. For a while, knowing who was calling you was considered a violation of the caller’s rights.
Some people wore it like a digital scarlet letter: Oh, you’re one of those Caller ID people.
The Death of the Prank Call
Ask anyone over 40 what the golden age of prank calls was and they’ll say: The Jerky Boys. Crank Yankers. Bart Simpson looking for Al Coholic.
Then Caller ID showed up and murdered the prank call in cold blood.
And people were pissed.
Comedy clubs complained. Fans mailed letters. The FCC actually received formal complaints that Caller ID was destroying crank call culture. A record exec once described it as “an existential threat to prank calls as an art form.”
Somewhere in Washington, a poor aide had to type up “Sizzlechest” into an official memo.
You Had to Pay to Stay Anonymous
Here’s where it gets slimy. AT&T and other phone companies, smelling blood in the water, started charging people extra to block their own Caller ID info. So if you wanted to remain anonymous—like in the good ol’ days—it’d cost you.
Caller ID blocking became the first in a long line of pay-to-keep-your-privacy scams.
They broke the system, then sold you the pieces.
Where’s the Guy Who Invented It?
You’d think Theodore Paraskevakos would be a tech billionaire, drinking ouzo on a yacht called Data Transfer. He’s not.
Like most inventors who dared to get ahead of their time, he got credit—but not cash. He assigned his patents to Boeing. The telecoms got rich. He got a plaque and a handshake.
He’s still alive. Quiet life in Florida. No yacht. No Caller ID empire. Just a brilliant guy who saw the future—and watched other people profit from it.
The Legacy
These days, Caller ID is just wallpaper. Most people don’t even look at it anymore. Spam blockers do the dirty work. We don’t answer unknown numbers. We barely answer known ones.
But for a while, that tiny screen was a revolution. It didn’t just tell you who was calling. It killed surprises, sabotaged comedy, and turned every ring into a negotiation.
And the guy who started it?
He just wanted you to know who the hell was on the line.
Sometimes, that’s all it takes to change the world.
And ruin a perfectly good prank.