Whee-oo-wheet!

It happened in the summer when I was 14 years old. My cousin Stella was visiting our grandparents in Butte, Mom had enlisted her to spend some time with my sister and me while she left town with my two younger brothers. Stella was a California girl: blonde, beautiful, witty, and all-round fun. She didn’t treat me like a little kid, despite a seven-year gap in our ages. I was privy to all kinds of girl talk, and I learned things that my mother would not have thought to tell me. I adored Stella.

One night my dad took us to a circus that had come to town. We were watching the show under the big top when Stella put two fingers in her mouth, and let out the loudest whistle I had ever heard, especially from a girl! I begged her to show me how to do it.

“Ok, but you have to be prepared to get spit up to your elbows!” she warned me. I told her I didn’t care, and she showed me her secret. “Make a circle by touching the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, put it on the tip of your tongue, and blow like you’re trying to whistle a tune. Keep practicing until you have sound come out, then blow harder and harder to make it loud.” She demonstrated, and I practiced. After a few days, a shrill whee-oo-wheet came from my mouth. Soon it was deafening. Stella was so proud.

I perfected the whistle, and didn’t hesitate to use it. I could get my siblings’ attention in the noisiest of circumstances. When my boys were playing sports, they knew I was in the stands as soon as they heard the tell-tale whistle.

There was a music teacher at John and Joe’s elementary school named Mrs. Paige. Mrs. Paige was, shall we say, tiny. Sixth graders towered over her, and if she took the choir to a shopping mall or nursing home, she sometimes had trouble getting their attention. More than once she turned to me and asked, “Mrs. Luzzi, would you whistle please?” It never failed to bring the troops to attention, and I would point them toward a grateful Mrs. Paige.

On July 3rd, I watched a spectacular fireworks display in Butte with my brother Dennis and his family. My niece Caitlyn has always perched on my lap during the show, and although at age 10 she is still a wisp of a girl, her age and pride have probably brought about the end of this tradition. As the last boom echoed off the Continental Divide, we all cheered, and I let fly a mighty whistle. Caitlyn looked at me in awe, and said “teach me how to do that!” I showed her, and made her promise to practice, especially when she drove here from Montana with her dad and brother to stay with us for a week. I hope my brother will forgive me some day. I told Caitlyn all about Stella, and I even told her about Mrs. Paige. She couldn’t imagine such a tiny teacher, or that my whistle could be so helpful.

It’s also tradition that we go to a Mariner’s game with the little Murphys when they come to Seattle. Caitlyn was so proud that she could whistle, although it was still a dainty-little-girl whistle. I took her for a walk after a few innings, and much to my delight, we ran into Mrs. Paige. She confirmed my whistle story, giving me Stella-like status with my niece. The Mariners won the game and all was well in our summertime world. I’m so happy I could just whistle, and I can't wait to tell Stella.