Hey, there! It’s your old internet pal Ted, popping in with a confession: it’s been way too long since I last wrote about tornado sirens. I can hear my analytics groaning since this is probably the post where my views take a nosedive, but I don’t care. There’s just something about electromechanical sirens that flips a switch in my brain. They’re loud, awkward, and a little ugly. So am I!
Electromechanical sirens were invented around the turn of the twentieth century. Although many were first used at rural fire departments, municipal governments bought them in spades during the Cold War. Last I counted, Delaware County has more than thirty of them! What remains of Muncie’s original batch of elderly Federal Signal Thunderbolt 1000s are my favorites.
Today, though, most of the area’s sirens are boring Federal Signal SRN-2001s, which replaced the Federal Signal’s complex Thunderbolts in 1988. SRNs are by far the most common outdoor warning sirens in Indiana and perhaps the entire country.
I was killing time on a recent Friday when I glanced at the clock and saw it was 10:51. That’s when it hit me: Delaware County tests its warning sirens every Friday at eleven! I shot up out of my chair, suddenly very aware that this was something I absolutely couldn’t miss on a day off work.
The nearest siren wasn’t an old Thunderbolt, Banshee, or Model 2, but the boring SRN-2001 at the Muncie Elks Golf Club. Nevertheless, I hopped in the car and made a beeline for it. I looped through the parking lot, scanned the landscape at every angle, then finally spotted the white siren. It stood high on a pole in the middle of everything, quietly waiting its turn to cut through the late-morning calm.
Federal Signal’s 2001-SRN sirens may be common, but they’re no joke: rated at a blistering 125 to 130 decibels at 100 feet, they feature a raspy voice that’s instantly recognizable just about anywhere. Even knowing that, I wasn’t quite ready for what came next: the siren wound up fast, snapped fully online, and began to rotate! I’d been lying in wait and filming for a couple of minutes, but no amount of anticipation prepared me for the sheer, chest-rattling volume once it let loose toward the window of my car.
When it was over, the snowy parking lot I’d pulled into slipped back into its ordinary Friday quiet as if nothing had happened. That’s always the strange magic of these tests: for thirty seconds or so, a piece of hidden infrastructure demands full attention! Then, it gradually disappears back into the background.
Maybe that’s why I keep chasing them. Sirens are loud reminders that there’s an entire layer of machinery waiting patiently for the moment it’s truly needed. Even the boring SRN-2001s have a presence and a purpose, and standing beneath one as it spins to life is a visceral way to remember that.
Two thoughts:
– I’m dead and dying at the fact that one of them is called a Banshee. Even if you have a serious emergency message, would you want a freaking banshee to deliver it?! Or maybe just, like, a really loud bird?
– I think your story about call-center protocol for testing belongs here because, again 💀😆😆😆
A lot of them have crazy names. Banshees, Screamers, Thunderbolts, Thunderbeams.
I’m always up for reading about a siren! I miss the old electro-mechanical sirens on emergency vehicles, which I believe made for a better warning than the purely electronic ones do.
I’ve got a couple more old Thunderbolts in the queue to post, so be on the lookout for those. Also, as best I can tell, this type of modern siren is all Marion County currently employs.
I might be among the youngest to remember electromechanical sirens on emergency vehicles. At least I think I do.