‘Yo-oh Richie, yo-oh Rich!”
It was roughly, a major third — with the “yo” maybe a middle ‘E’, the “oh” a middle C sharp, and back to ‘E’ at “Richie.” That’s often what I’d hear through the door or window of our bungalow on Clarence when one of my friends from the block wanted me to come out and play. We didn’t ring doorbells (until we got older), didn’t knock on doors. We just stood outside and sang that little seven-note tune, rhythmically using, first, if it fit the guy’s name, the two-syllable Richie or Tommie, followed in the second callout by the one-syllable Rich or Tom (or Jim, Mike, Ken or John).
The moms at home accepted this way we had of seeking each other out. Were she the one to first respond, Mom would open the door or speak through the window to the calling friend standing on the front sidewalk: “He’ll be out in a minute.”
“OK, thanks, Mrs. Kordesh,” my buddy might say.
This simple tuneful way of calling each other out didn’t coincide with us singing together much beyond the greeting, except when we had to in school. And then we were often more reluctant to belt out what Sister Mary Electa or Miss Partlo was having us learn with the rest of the class for Mass or for our annual performance for parents in the gym.
In fact, we didn’t think of our callout as singing at all. None of our moms acted like it was cute or endearing in any musical way. But it was music and because it was, I think it came across with more affection and more energy than merely a door knock or ring followed by “Is Jimmy home?”
Where is the music in how we reach out to each other today? There is that one-note, high C that announces a new text’s arrival on my iPhone. For calls, many musical ringtones are available for purchase: rock, pop, reggae, hip-hop and others. But while they are musical, those tones merely announce incoming calls which could be from anyone – a friend, a business, a political fundraiser or a scammer. And there’s nothing particularly personal about them.
While writing this piece the other day, I called my friend Tom. He lived a few blocks from me on Grove when we were kids.
We’ve updated with the times. He has me in his contacts, so my name flashed on his phone’s screen as the ring tone activated. He answered, “Hey, Rich.” I said something like, “Hey man, how’s it going?” And after a little chat, I asked him if he remembered the sing-song way we had of calling for friends from outside their homes over 60 years ago. He did and proceeded to sing that old seven-note line back to me.
Besides phones, other contemporary ways of reaching out also employ electronic instruments. When I go to pick up my granddaughter from her mom on Friday mornings, I press the assigned number on their condo building’s intercom. The speaker rings. Kristen says, “Hello?” I say, “It’s Rich.” Holding Tessa last Friday as she picked up my call, I heard my daughter-in-law say to the little one, “It’s Beepa!” I heard Tessa squeal. Kristen then relayed, “OK, I’ll let you in.” Not formally music, but her happy comment to Tessa and the 1-year-old’s response struck an inner note in me, enriching the moment.
We might not always be able to sing, but there are ways to be melodic or soothing with tone or timing as we convey our desire to be with each other. What is music, anyway? Mirriam-Webster.com defines it as, “vocal, instrumental or mechanical sounds having rhythm, melody or harmony.”
How can musicality enrich our way of saying, “Can we get together?” By expressing it with the right volume and timing so that one’s interest is truly heard and felt. By enunciating it so that the practical as well as spiritual or emotional desire are conveyed. By being attentive to the context so that one’s words, gestures and expressions are in harmony with the setting, or at times appropriately discordant with what might be a difficult moment.
Despite the technology we have to tap, it’s on us to be the composers.
Rich Kordesh grew up in Berwyn and is a longtime resident of Oak Park.