Noise pollution comes in all forms. Here in the village, we endure the shrieking of train whistles where the railroad crosses Old Liverpool Road. Our ears have become inured to the rumble of semi-trucks on our roads and the roar of jet planes overhead.

The howling of Harley-Davidsons and the shrill sirens of emergency vehicles — one a sound of engine pleasure, one a sound of personal pain — both turn our idyllic village into a cauldron of cacophony.

Yes, thundering vehicles can be vexing, but the noise that really annoys me now is the one emanating from all the squeaky doors.

Tulip Street squeal

Last week, I swung by Café at 407 for a cup of Colombian, but as I flung open the front door, I was greeted as usual with a grating squeal. Tulip Street was suddenly filled with the high-pitched sound of grinding hinges.

At lunchtime, I ambled over to Nichols’ Supermarket on First Street to order a hot pastrami from my friends at the deli counter. First I had to pass through the front entrance where the outer door wails like a banshee. Thankfully, the exit doors allow you to pass back into the parking lot in sweet silence.

I wandered over to Emerald Cleaners around the corner at 309 Vine St. to pick up my heavily starched white-striped shirt and — sure enough — the door bleated aloud like a trumpeter calling racehorses to post. Unlike Nichols, which separates its entrance and exit doors, at Emerald I had to hear the hinges’ discordant horn again on my way out.

White water caterwaul

Later that night, I stepped out for a couple cocktails at the new White Water Pub on South Willow Street. I’m learning to make my entrance through the patio and in the back door because the front door squeals like a stuck pig.

In the interest of improving a new business’s chances of thriving, I actually mentioned this disconcerting door to the owner, the general manager and any bartender who would listen. They all had a hard time hearing me over the entranceway’s constant caterwauling, but manager Dave Caramanna claimed that he actually wants the front door to squeak!

“When you’re a bartender, you don’t want someone coming in without you knowing about it,” he explained. “Whenever my staff hears that door squeaking, they know right away that they’ve got a customer coming into the bar.”

Sounds like a rationalization to me.

Restroom racket

So I moseyed over to Liverpool’s longtime landmark of leisure, The Retreat, for a nightcap. The restaurant’s doors remain relatively quiet there. No surreptitious warning system like Dave C. has installed at the White Water! If The Retreat staff worries about anyone, they must be concerned about guys stumbling out of the barroom men’s room. Not long ago, The Retreat completely remodeled the inside of the pissoir, but never did a thing about its screeching door.

Come on, people! I know you have some canola oil in the kitchen or some WD40 in your car or something somewhere you can use to silence those hinges.

Please, give our ears a break!

Village Hall rehearsals

From sour sounds to sweet sounds:

Normally the Liverpool Community Band rehearses Monday evenings under the direction of saxophonist Vince Iarossi at the American Legion Post 188 on Cypress Street. On Sept. 10 and Nov. 12, however, the band will practice at the Village Hall, 310 Sycamore St.

Did you know that local dentist Mike Romano plays tuba with the community orchestra? His dental practice is out on Morgan Road, but Mike lives in Liverpool right across the street from the Village Hall.