The Noon Whistle

In Hatfield, when I was a boy, and in many small towns around the country, the siren from the volunteer fire department sounded at noon. For us, it was how you knew the public pool was open. The siren blew and the kids who worked the pool opened the doors and we came pouring in.



The siren helped us keep time, and I don't mean settting your clocks. I'm talking about the rhythms of life. The siren would sound and you say to whomever you were with, "It's noon." It didn't matter that the siren sounded every day, or that invariably, the person you were saying it to, knew damn well what the siren meant. But you said it anyway. And if you didn't say it, you certainly thought it.

If you had somehow lost track of time, you might pick your head up and tilt it slightly, like a dog hearing a high pitch, and you'd wait to see if it would be one siren blast, which would mean noon, or would it keep going, in which case it was a fire and you'd have no bleedin' idea what time it was.

The noon whistle is gone now. New people moved into the neighborhood and built big expensive homes where there used to be corn fields. A few of them got together and decided that the siren disturbed their peaceful abodes, so they had it done away with. That's progress for you.

Fortunately, the town I live in still has a small volunteer fire department, and just like the home I grew up in, it's just down the street. At noon everyday, the fire whistle blows, and everyday at noon, my dog howls right along with it. Sometimes, I have to cock my head and wait to see if there will be a second round, but it's usually just noon. And I smile since it's how I know everything is right with my world.