I was never an excellent whistler like my father or little
sister, but even I could pucker up enough when she disappeared in the wilds of the vast two-story five-and-dime. Our family’s signal was a two-tone third -- sol-miiii—a piercing yoo-hooo. Sometimes, wandering around the store, I’d hear
different whistles – some other family's attempt to gather wandering siblings.
So whatever happened to the Family Whistle? Did your family have one? Would my
grandchildren even know what it was? Now,
I suppose, they whip out cell phones to call each other. Or – oops, I’m behind the times again – they just
text: MEET IN PARKING LOT 10 MINUTES,
OK. I wouldn’t know – can you text a
question mark?
Now I’m left with a cheerful song running through my head --
“The Whistler and His Dog.” It’s one of
the first songs I remember hearing on the radio (we’re talking 1920s here) and it
featured a fine whistled solo. For the Victor red label recording from more than a hundred years ago -- try https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FDtVe04Z5I.
Wikipedia says the composer played in John Phillip Sousa’s band.
This label is from a different recording, but His Master's Voice does bring back memories.
This label is from a different recording, but His Master's Voice does bring back memories.
The Boss and I still have a Family Whistle. I'm not musically adept enough to render it in do-re-mi or any other written medium, but I'll whistle it for you when next we meet. It's a great help in keeping track of each other in big-box stores, since I refuse to use a smartphone. (The last thing I need is a phone that's smarter than I am. I have an antique flip-top cell phone that's for highway emergency use only.)
ReplyDeleteAnd funny you should mention the Romanovs, since I was trying to fall asleep by counting doomed Romanov grand duchesses instead of sheep just last night. Great minds running in the same direction, as usual!