The Art of Calling on Friends

In the mid-sixties, well, in Windsor, Ont. on Isabelle Street in the mid-sixties anyways, the way to call on your friends in grade-school years was to do just that. Go to their back door (never the front - it was associated with and only for grown-ups,) and start calling out the appropriate name of the kid you wanted to come out and play. And so, after dinner, you would wolf down your Whip n' Chill dessert, run outside and across the street and call on your friends.

The years before puberty were periods of constant running, packing an entire evenings worth of activity into the hours between six o'clock and 9:00 when you had to go in. There wasn't even time to waste on television - you had till the late hours of dusk and the street was your playground. If you were older you got to stay out an hour after the streetlights came on.

I remember calling on Paul so vividly because I didn't often go over to his place without the Reynolds brothers - even though they lived just next door to him and he was immediately across the street from me.

There was a trick to calling on someone if you didn't want to come out looking like an idiot. The person's name had to have at least two syllables for it to be properly called. To call on someone was to use a cross between a shout and a song, a combination that could spring quite naturally from any kid's voicebox. In those years before puberty, a call could have a very musical, sweet and innocent tone to it.

You would stand outside their backdoor and shout the first syllable and sing the next. Or you could sing them both. What was essential though, was that it have two syllables, the last one ending in a 'y' otherwise it would come off sounding very flat and half-hearted. A name like 'Lar-ry' or 'Bob-by' would be perfect, but a 'Paul' would just not do at all. You could add the necessary 'ie' or 'y' to the end of it, but it seemed absurd to me and totally inappropriate to do that with Paul.

Paul Campbell was the undisputed coolest AND strongest kid in our neighbourhood. Not that he was a bully or a punk or anything. It was simply understood that he was the strongest. Although the Reynolds boys knew him well enough to stand in his backyard and call for 'Paul-ie,' I could never bring myself to do this. It seemed kind of demeaning and a bit too familiar. And as a newcomer to the neighbourhood, I wasn't about to go calling on the acknowledged strongest kid on the block something that sounded incredibly effeminate and babyish to me.

Instead, I settled for 'Pa-aul,' which of course fell flat every time. But as I said, I didn't often call on him solo and would let the Reynolds do the calling whenever I went with them.

One particular night after supper, as usual, I bolted from the house and called on the Reynolds. They weren't home so I bopped next door to see if they were at Paul's.

"Pa-aul! Pa-aul!"

This went on for a good two minutes. I was sorry it had. Mister Campbell finally realized that wasn't going away and came to the door.

"Oh, it's you Peck."

Al Campbell was one of those types who always call you by your last name. You could be ninety or nine months, but as long as you were of the male sex, he'd always call you by your surname, just like a phys-ed teacher. Actually, he'd been in the army. That's how Paul referred to it - 'in the army' - so I knew he hadn't been in the war or did any killing. Still, I found him intimidating.

"What do you want?"

"Is Paul home?"

"No, he's out, you can probably find him down to Bill's Confectionary."

I gave this matter some thought, uncertain about whether or not I wanted to go all the way two blocks down to Bills.

I was pivotting on the toes of my P.F. Flyers about to take off down the driveway when - "Hey Peck, how come you're always so serious?"

Al's having a little fun with me here. He's been smiling since seeing a frown cross my face as I was puzzling over the trip down to Bills. He also thinks I'm either too shy or quiet for my own good and like any good boot-camp sargeant wants to do something about it. And like anyone who had ever been in the army, he could also smell fear.

"What's on your mind Peck?"

I was not accustomed to carrying on two-way conversations with adulsts and this one was making me quite uncomfortable.

"I bet it must be something awfully important, eh?"

I hemmed and hawed for a bit, hoping something intelligent or witty would come to me.

It didn't. Instead, I sputtered out the first self-deprecating fact that came to me - just so Al wouldn't think I was stuck up or a sissy.

"Not really. I don't even know what the Viet Nam war is about." As I ran down the driveway, I could feel my face getting redder as I heard Al chuckling away like crazy.