Local traditions are a great way to enjoy the holiday spirit, no matter how strange they may seem.
This afternoon, I listened to a 15-minute-long rendition of “God Bless America” as played by a steam whistle.
It was… strange.
An eerie, haunting, and kind of mournful sound. The steam whistle brings to mind days of early risers and efficiency, of men in overalls walking to the factory with lunch pails in hand.
Yet the only time citizens of York, PA (within a 5-10 mile radius) hear this call from days past is on Christmas Eve, when the steam whistle at the New York Wire Co. plays carols conducted by Whistlemaster (yes, that seems to be an official job description) Donald Ryan.
Today, I listened to the practice session for tomorrow night’s concert. Having totally forgotten about this annual ritual since I heard it for the first time last year, I was really spooked when I heard the high-pitched wailing from afar, and wondered if either 1.) a neighbor kid was whining somewhere, 2.) a lost dog or a pack of wolves was howling, or 3.) someone’s saxophone practice wasn’t going so well.