COLUMN: The Hum

I wear many hats here at the paper, including this silly column. But one hat I've never tried on? Investigative reporter.

I'm okay with this. We have an amazing staff of people who do that sorta stuff. Occasionally I pass them in the hallways. They always look like they're running late for something important. Frankly, I don't need that kind of stress in my life. But last Friday night, I maybe felt what it was like to be one of them for a few minutes.

It was 6 p.m. and I'd just gotten home from the office. Normally, my house is full of sound. There's always a TV on. Quite often, there's a stereo blaring at the same time. If that's not enough, I've usually got the comforting steady buzz of an air purifier running. Without its reassuring lullaby, I stand a chance of being able to hear my own conscience, and no one wants that, least of all me. 

But that night, I was in a rush. I had a DJ gig later that night, and I was woefully unprepared. As I ran around the house grabbing laptops and prepping playlists, I heard it. WHIRR-RRR-RRR-RRR-RRR-RRR. Somewhere outside, there was a weird industrial noise. It was loud enough to hear from inside the house.

I live in Rock Island, and I'm used to her delightful urban symphony: Police sirens. Freight trains. Lawn mowers. People who spend three quarters of the year souping up their cars for those two magical months they can drive around going "RNN-RNNN-RNNNNNN!" at stoplights hoping to impress the .001% of the populace who somehow think that's cool. And let's not forget Rock Island's favorite game: Was-That-Fireworks-Or-Gunshots?

But this? This was different. This was a noise I'm not used to hearing the outside world make. "Weird," I thought to myself, "it must be a street sweeper or something." You know, because street sweepers are such a common occurrence at 7 p.m. on dark wintry weekend nights. Regardless, I shrugged it off, turned the TV on, and went about my prep work. But I forgot to turn the air purifier on -- and an hour later, when the TV went quiet for a second, I realized the outside noise was still noising.

"What the...?" I said in my best responsible adult voice while cracking open the back door. The mystery sound was permeating the whole neighborhood. It was deep, ominous, and definitely mechanical in nature, with a pulsating WHIRR-RRR-RRR like a giant fan or motor emanating from parts unknown. I texted a friend who lives six blocks away: U HEAR THIS WEIRD NOISE OUTSIDE? She did. I texted another friend who lives six blocks in the other direction. He was hearing it, too.

My mind suddenly flashed to a few years prior, when I was driving back solo in the pitch middle of the night from a late Chicago concert. My only comfort during that commute was the infamous late-night radio show Coast To Coast AM, the wayward home for conspiracy theorists and lovers of all things that go bump in the night. That evening, the entire show was devoted to The Hum.

Around the world, people have reported hearing persistent and invasive mechanical-sounding hums. One of the most famous instances happened in Taos, New Mexico, where multiple residents in the 1990s reported hearing a pervasive droning noise of unknown origin. In 2011, Canadian officials actually asked the U.S. for help in determining a mysterious noise plaguing the residents of Windsor, Ontario. The source was never determined.

The internet is rife with theories about The Hum. Youtube is full of purported audio recordings of it. Some claim the hums align with underground gas pipelines. Others say it might be an effect of low frequency radio signals. Some think it's the Earth's shifting faultlines. One extremely weird website purports the noise is generated by the mating rituals of something called the "Midshipman fish," an erotic display I think we can all agree is left best unseen.

Of course, the wilder corners of the internet are convinced it's some sort of evil government experiment. Some claim The Hum causes autism and is responsible for sociopathic behavior. A few hums are purported to sound like blaring trumpets, which of course had caused people to speculate it's a sign of the Apocalypse. And there's always the internet's go-to answer for everything unexplained: ALIENS. I like to think I'm more level-headed than to assume a weird noise is clear proof of extra-terrestrials, but I can't lie: at one point when I was looking out my back door, I instinctively looked up, half-expecting to see the Parliament Mothership about to abduct me to Planet Funk.

I guess that's when my journalist instincts kicked in. I had a few minutes, so I dropped everything, grabbed my keys, and set off determined to find the cause of the hum. For the next half hour, I drove around Rock Island, employing the best scientific methodology I could muster: pulling over, rolling down my window, and listening.

After thirty minutes attempting to triangulate the source of the phenomenon with all the cunning street smarts I could muster, I can confidently conclude that the sound was coming from: somewhere. I honestly couldn't figure it out at all. Best I could tell, it was somewhere along the river on the west end of town. I rolled down my window once more for a full analysis of the situation -- and my window wouldn't roll back up, which obviously means THE GOVERNMENT HAS SECRET CHIPS IN ALL OF OUR CARS TO DEPLOY WHENEVER ANYONE GETS CLOSE TO THE TRUTH. 

Regardless, it was too cold for conspiracy theories and I was in no condition for Arctic investigations, so I went home and fixed my car window in the comfort of my garage. By the time I got home from the DJ gig, the noise had subsided. I swear I heard it again tonight as I got home from work, only much quieter. 

My foray into investigative journalism concluded with neither bang nor whimper, but with a hum. If anyone really knows what our Hum was, I'm all ears. Otherwise, by my best guess, it was a noisy barge. Or the government. Or aliens. Or weird fish doing unspeakable acts under the river. Back to you, Geraldo.