I was reminiscing recently with my longest-standing friend. We met when she was four and I was five, through our mothers, who were friends. We lived a block apart, so she went to James Whitcomb Riley Elementary School, too.
I thought I remembered our lovely old school building perfectly: the creaky wooden staircases, the tiny upstairs library alcove, the kindergarten room at one end of the building with its piano, and the principal’s office at the other end.
But she reminded me of the long-forgotten bell which lived in a tower up top. Its dangling hairy rope allowed Mr. Brown, the custodian, to ring it. He clanged the thing every school day morning, warning the start of school. It let any laggers know they’d better walk faster or pedal harder if they didn’t want to be tardy.
I loved its sound, because it let me know another day at school, which I loved, was about to begin.
Thinking about that old bell made me remember other sonorous bells I’ve heard in my life. Much as I loved its rich sound, the one in Salzberg’s clock tower kept us up all night, bonging every 15 minutes. Does NO ONE living in the heart of a European city wear a watch?
The bells I remember most fondly, however, are right here at home. The Netherlands Carillon, a gift to our nation, is literally music to my ears. Its bells sometimes ring out lovely melodies, like “Beautiful Dreamers,” but with Mighty Joe Young nowhere in sight.
One summer evening, our family visited the Carillon’s open house, climbing the many steps to watch a musician on the keyboard, like a piano made of wooden soldiers. He explained that he had traveled all the way from Europe to play the concert, since there were few qualified musicians here in America. He even let us try a few of the dowels, using either the punch method or the stroke method.
I’m glad to say that the bell-tower scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” never entered my mind, nor did Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, “The Bells,” strike a chord.
Back on the ground, my husband and I sat on our blanket while my daughter tried out new roller skates on the many walkways, skating in time to “Skaters Away” which floated from the tower. It is etched in my mind as the perfect summer evening.
It’s reassuring to know that we Old Schoolers can have fond memories of things besides our childhoods.
Reach columnist Carol McEwen at carolwrites4fun@gmail.com.
