“If you want me, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow," so said the incomparable Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not.
Mom taught me how to put my lips together and blow except that it was a bit more complicated than that. Learning to whistle included curling the tongue and placing the tip on the back of the bottom teeth. It was hard to learn, but, with practice, I soon was able to make the tiniest little whistling sound, and before too long, I could whistle a tune.
We all liked to whistle. Dad would whistle along while listening to Broadway hits like “I Whistle a Happy Tune” from the King and I, “My Favorite Things” from Sound of Music, or “What Do the Simple Folk Do?” from Camelot. It took years of practice before I could whistle complicated melodies like Dad could, but what fun it was when a particular riff was mastered.
While visiting business associates of Dad’s in St. Louis around the time I was 12 years old, we all went to see the St. Louis Cardinals in a game against the Cincinnati Reds. Johnny Bench was the catcher for the Reds at the time so everyone was pretty excited. Everyone, that is, except me. All I could think about was how boring and stupid a stinky old baseball game would be. I sat in my seat trying not to be too antsy, when something happened--the Cardinals got a hit or someone scored--and Dad’s business associate, who was sitting next to me, jumped up, put his fingers to his lips, and whistled long and loud to signal his approval of whatever play had just been made.
“How did you do that?” I blurted out to him, suddenly very interested in this new kind of whistle.
He sat back down and showed me how he had made a circle with his forefinger and thumb. I made a circle with my forefinger and thumb. “That’s right,” he encouraged. He then showed me how he placed these fingers up against the tip of his tongue. I placed my fingers against the tip of my tongue. He then explained that I needed to push my tongue back with my fingers and “bite” my fingers with my lips leaving about the same amount of space open like regular whistling. I studied his mouth, his finger placement, and tried to imitate what I saw.
He further encouraged, “You keep trying. You’ll get it.”
I kept trying. And trying. And trying. And whoa! I little sound came out. I adjusted my fingers and kept trying. A bigger sound came out. Dad’s friend looked down at me and said, “By George, I think she’s got it.” His quoting from My Fair Lady made me laugh. By the seventh inning stretch, I had it all figured out.
When we stood, the man said, “I can teach you an alternate way if you like.” I liked. He straightened out his index and middle fingers on both hands. I did the same thing. He then placed them on the tip of his tongue, forming a “V,” and pushed back on his tongue to make almost exactly the same shape with his mouth over his fingers as the first whistle. He then whistled like you would if calling for your dog to come. This time, it only took me a few tries before a mastered this whistling style as well.
I don’t do it very often, but whenever I whistle in the style I learned at that St. Louis Cardinals game, people look in amazement. I’m pretty sure they’re wishing they could learn how. So, just ask me sometime. I’d be happy to teach you.
No comments:
Post a Comment