2005 05 -- Two Whistles and a Horn

Two Whistles and a Horn

Whistle I

Growing up, my family spent idyllic summers at South Lake Tahoe. Since my father’s occupation was in education, he had the summer “off” and found a job as Supervisor of Tahoe Meadows both to supplement the family income and provide a nice vacation. We children would hike, play in the sand at the beach, do chores, find friends to play with, climb trees, and generally waste time playing cards, skipping rocks on the lake, swimming in the cold clear water or rowing in the family row boat. Three times a week we also played an organized baseball game at a baseball diamond full of trees, wildflowers and other hazards such as wasps and the hot Sierra sun. On alternate mornings, dad taught us swimming in the cold clear Tahoe water. With a few exceptions we had no responsibilities.

Our family lived in tents. We carried water drawn into buckets from a hand pump near the lake to a small shingled cottage with a pit toilet in the corner and wood stove for cooking. For warm showers, dad fixed up a bucket with a spigot and hose hung from the rafters over a large wash tub. Mom cooked up some hot water on the stove to mix with the cold water. We stood in the wash tub—lathering up and rinsing off with the minimal water flow and minimal privacy as well.

Life seemed truly eternal at the lake. There was no sense of urgency from day to day. Often we would lose track of time. Not mother. She knew when we needed to come in from our blissful reveries and sit down as a family to eat lunch or dinner. So when it was time to come in from our play, mother would blow on a three pitched whistle. I know neither where the whistle was obtained, nor where it is today. But it was effective.

The whistle was silver in color, probably chrome steel. You blew into a single round hole which opened out into three pipes which were joined together in a way which could not be inspected. It was essentially a bundle of three hollow metal sticks about ten millimeters in diameter and eight, ten and twelve centimeters long. Each pipe had an indented slit common to tin whistles which faced outward near the blow hole. The pitches I remember were a major third and a fourth: G—B—E. It was pretty loud, as we could hear it (if we wanted to) clear down at the end of the block. Not hearing the whistle was not an acceptable excuse for not coming home, as mother’s rule was, “Frank you aren’t supposed to go beyond where you can hear me call”.

Perhaps it was intended as a conductors train whistle or work supervisor’s call to shift workers. Probably purchased at the five and dime store for 20 cents, it had a life of at least 20 years and (probably much longer) in calling us children to lunch or dinner. Let’s see: Amortized over its useful life that comes out to a cent a year…Is that how they coined the term penny whistle?
Whistle II

Another whistle my parents used was a bird call starting on any pitch and descending a minor third in a quarter—eighth-eighth note rhythm: C—A-A. This call came from a bird, the Black Capped Chickadee which is common in the Sierra around Lake Tahoe. The Audubon Field guide, describes it’s call: “The rapid, nasal chicadee-dee-dee instantly identifies it”. The male call usually leaves out the last dee.

The bird is quite small, but has had a big impact on our family. It would be impossible to list the times when I’ve heard both the bird and what has become the Bliss family whistle through the generations. This call has been summoned up by our family in many places throughout North America, Canada, Europe and New Zealand, instantly identifying the whistler as a relative.

Usually, the original is about an octave higher than our renditions using our pursed lips. That is presumably due to the Chickadee’s diminuitive size. And we only use the female version of the call.

I have never heard of any other family which has had such a distinctive call. Never have I been in the grocery store, hardware store or public square and heard other than a relative use it. Whether summoning a spouse or errant child, the black capped chickadee whistle has become a family trademark currently extending to four generations.
Horn

As a high school student at Berkeley High School, I had the afternoons available for several activities. First there was swim practice. We swam under the tutelage of Mr. B. In those days, there wasn’t the stigma of the naked body. In an all—male indoor pool, we went straight from the showers into the pool in the buff. If you haven’t done that, I recommend it, as it is an exhilarating feeling to have the water flow over your body unencumbered by a swim suit. We worked hard for an hour or so every afternoon, then showered off the chlorine residue and dressed. And of course, we wondered if the girls followed the same routine. (I learned later that they didn’t).

I got my books out of my locker and then headed straight for the Berkeley Public Library, two blocks away. The Berkeley Public Library main reading room is spectacular. The ceiling must be forty feet high. With high windows opening to the east, the light in the afternoon was perfect for studying. Just in case the natural light was not adequate, the fixtures hung down twenty-five feet from the ceiling. The globes were ivory frosted glass, providing a diffused effect ideal for reading. The tables were solid oak, as were the carefully shaped chairs. The polished hard wood almost seemed soft. If you did make a sound, because of the high ceiling, it was lost in a sort of diminuitive echo which was certain to not disturb your neighbor.

To this day I cannot remember what I studied there. All I can remember is that wonderful full experience of peace and calm after an energetic day.

Every school day started at 5:45 a.m. We started our music practice at six, had breakfast by seven and were off to school by 7:15 a.m. At the other end of the day, it was our family’s practice to have dinner together promptly at six. Mother and dad strategized how to make our family dynamic such that we would understand and value the family time that having meals together provides. Therefore, punctuality was an important factor. Since dad worked on the south side of town, the library was downtown, and home was on the north side of town, it made sense that he would pick me up at the library at 5:45 p.m.

You have already read the description of the library and can imagine how easy it would be to lose track of time. This was in the early sixties, so calling on a cell phone was not an option. Parking in front of the library was for loading and unloading only, so dad couldn’t just park the car and come in to find me. So we arranged that he would honk the car horn. The problem was that others would do the same, so our horn had to be distinctive.

As a Boy Scout, I learned morse code. The letter B (as in Bliss) sounds long—short—short—short. So that was our family car horn call. Only now I realize that it’s almost the same rhythm as the Black Capped Chickadee!
©Frank Bliss 2005 All rights reserved.20050501