Shouting Distance

We all shouted a lot when I was a kid. A shout loud enough to cover a city block was my sisters' way of summoning me home: “Bobby, supper!”. My repeated shouts would summon a friend from his house to play, or they brought somebody to the door to tell me he was not home or could not come out.


We had telephones, of course. I believe I memorized our telephone number as early as I knew the world has numbers: Nestor 3679. Perhaps the fact that the first phone connection I remember was a party line (2 families, same phone number) made us conservative about its use, but I was pretty young when we got our own line. I certainly could telephone a friend who did not live within shouting range if I did not wish to walk far enough to put him in range. Usually I walked.


A sister or my mother might call a friend's home if I did not show up in response to a few shouts from the back door. Shouting was first choice, however; they could summon me without knowing my whereabouts.


The shout system worked well for both kids and parents. Yet, it is hard today to believe that we really did all that shouting. Often, I would stand less than 20 feet from a friend's front or back door and shout his name, “Oh, Genie!”--repeatedly. I can't explain why I did not simply walk up to the door and knock. I know I seldom did so. I preferred to shout.


I don't remember that anybody complained about the shouting nor that anybody ever talked about it. Parents did often instruct us to "Stay in shouting distance!” to limit how far we kids could roam when an important event was pending, such as supper or a family departure.


For me, though I hold a few equally correct definitions of "neighborhood" from my youth, it is “Shouting Distance” that defines the most intimate neighborhood beyond the walls of my home. Yet, I still surprise myself each time I remember that, indeed, we shouted a lot when I was a kid. 


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footnote from my sister:

Bob, do you recall the Stickney family who lived directly across the street from us? One day Mary Kay Stickney, and some other neighborhood kids were all playing on our porch. We were playing hospital. So when Mrs Stickney yelled out the front door for Mary Kay to come home, I yelled back, " She can't - she has a broken leg. " Poor Mrs Stickney took a moment to figure out that all was well with her daughter!!! But you are right, we all yelled. No one knocked on the door, no one used the phone that I can remember. And I must admit that my mom liked to listen in on the party line so I had to tiptoe around when she did that. Alas. Lessons of youth!


(c) from date of posting, by Bob Komives, Fort Collins