Rita's Reflections: The Whistler knows when it's time to stop – Monroe Evening News

One summer, I was determined to learn to whistle. My older brother, Dennis, can whistle loudly without using his fingers. I tried and tried all summer to master what he made look so easy. All I got for my effort was frustration and spittle down my chin. Ick.
Practice makes perfect, and practice is what I did. Despite not getting the hang of the fingerless whistle, I still learned to whistle several different ways.
I can whistle very loudly using my first two index fingers. Without a dinner bell that particular whistle comes in handy. My whistle once stopped a dog from running into the road. One time, I whistled loud enough to get the attention of a man wielding a chainsaw and stopped him from dropping a tree on the very thing he was trying to avoid, his barn roof.
My ventriloquist whistle is my favorite. I can whistle very clearly without moving my lips. Naturally, study hall seemed a perfect place for a recital. 
Greg sat in front of me. Without moving his lips, Greg could mimic the sound of a cricket! Mr. Elliot was getting irritated thinking there was an actual cricket making a disturbance. As a nature lover, I thought the cricket added ambience. I kept picturing the cricket doing a song and dance, much like Jiminy Cricket.
Mr. Elliot was the study hall teacher and the band director. He wore his glasses at the end of his nose and always looked half stoned peering over them. And not to sound disrespectful, but he dressed like he forgot to leave his ’60s looks behind when we entered the ’70s. Not that I have ever resembled any kind of fashion maven. Or, not looked half stoned for that matter. 
Mr. Elliot loved the band Chicago. So, despite not having great taste in threads, he did have great taste in music. Many times, Mr. Elliot’s halftime shows featured Chicago’s music. The horn section never failed to fire up the Summerfield Bulldogs and the packed stands of football fans. 
Not to be outdone by Greg’s cricket chirping, I started whistling Chicago’s hit “Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?” while not moving my lips. Mr. Elliot looked up and asked who was whistling. The cricket stopped chirping. Then the whistling stopped. Greg looked up and all around the room. Then I looked up and all around the room. 
Several minutes later, with heads lowered, the cricket started chirping again. Then the whistling joined in. A minute or so later, fearing I would get busted, I stopped whistling. Jiminy remained a solo act the rest of the school year.
Whistling while working on an assembly line relieved boredom. In the exterior sealant department in the paint shop at Mazda, now the Ford plant in Flat Rock, I used a paint gun to apply sealant to the seams of the hood, trunk and doors of cars. Hello carpal tunnel.
My work space was a 12-foot area that I walked back and forth on steel grates applying the sealant. It was monotonous work while requiring skill to keep pace with line time.
Dave worked on the left side of the car, and I worked on the right. Dave was an excellent whistler. We would take turns whistling songs from the ’60s and ’70s, and the other would try and guess the song title and the artist. It was great fun and a good way to pass the time.
My youngest grandson came to me one day all excited. “Nonie, I can whistle!”
I smiled as I listened to his “whistle” which to me didn’t sound anything like a tune I could name. LJ was so proud. I told him it was a good start and to keep practicing. Dave was a very worthy competitor. I couldn’t help wondering if he could have named that tune.
Rita Zorn is a wife, mother, grandmother and lifetime Monroe County resident. She can be reached at [email protected].

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