An Alarm in the Night: A Reminiscence

When I was a little girl, I was very aware of the sounds in my world. If I heard something I couldn't identify, I'd ask my mother or father what it was. There were lots of sounds to know. I became familiar with train whistles and the sounds of trains switching, factory horns, church bells, even (when the wind was right) clankings and crashes from the junk yard a few miles away: the original heavy metal. These were the sounds of everyday life, familiar and reassuring. Then there were more unusual sounds. Sonic booms were still allowed over residential areas when I was small, and I understood that when I heard one an airplane had just "broken the sound barrier". When sirens wailed, the police, fire department, or an ambulance were on their way. These always made me a little uneasy, knowing something was wrong somewhere. But there was another siren that scared the living daylights out of me no matter when I heard it -- but especially in the night. They called it the Wildcat.

The Wildcat! It was the fire alarm at Commercial Solvents, a chemical company located a few miles from my house. This was a siren unlike any other I've ever heard, in all my years: an eerie, spine-chilling wail that slid uuuuuuuuuuuuup the scale, then doooooowwwn --
EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeooooooooOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEE....
-- up and down a few times, then a series of short blasts, then back to the undulating wail. My parents explained to me that fires are particularly dangerous where chemicals are kept, so Commercial Solvents had an alarm that the fire department could instantly recognize and respond to. The short blasts indicated the department number where the fire was. What they didn't tell me, but I realized many years later, was that the Wildcat also alerted the nearby residents that there was a fire at Solvents, and it might be a good idea to turn on the radio. If the fire were to get out of control, we might have to evacuate due to possible explosions or dangerous gas escaping. They didn't tell me -- but I picked up on their carefully controlled tension in these times, and it doubtless added to my dread and horror of the Wildcat.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, when Dad and I had dropped Mom off downtown for her weekly shopping trip and were on our way back home, he said to me, "How'd you like to see the Wildcat?"

SEE IT? Oh HELL yes! I didn't say that, of course, I was probably six or seven; but my eager response assured him that I liked the idea. I had goosebumps, I was on the edge of my seat! We drove to a big brick building, a typical boxy factory-type place with a wide empty parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. This was Solvents? Home of the mysterious, dangerous chemical potions? I'd expected something more along the lines of Dracula's castle. About halfway between a side door of the building and the parking lot stood a tall pole, like a telephone pole, and on it was mounted a grey metal box about the size of a cereal box. Wires ran up from the box to a smallish siren at the top of the pole.

"That's it," said Dad.

I looked... and looked.... Man, it didn't look scary, but just knowing what it was -- even though I knew better, I half expected it to burst out wailing and blow my hair back but good. "Can I -- touch it?" I asked.

"If you want to."

.... "Will you come with me?"

Well of course he did, and with my big strong daddy to protect me I walked right over to the pole and touched my small hand to the box. "The Wildcat," I whispered, as a chill ran up my spine.