I realize that, even if the old bell was a rude interruption, you don't know what you have till it's gone. A clanging bell can change from a brutish annoyance to a fond memory. Remember the final bell of the school year, dismissing us for summer vacation? It was one of the best sounds in the world; the giddy clamor of freedom.

I do realize that in light of Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa's school grab, and the ongoing grind of President Bush's educationally crippling No Child Left Behind policy, losing the bell is a relatively small matter. Still, Canfield's parent association is struggling to raise money to keep teachers' aides in the classrooms, so it's not nothing that the Los Angeles Unified School District is spending money changing its ring tones. But that's not really what has me upset.

The bell is quickly becoming an endangered sound. The jangle of telephones has been usurped by digital bleeps and tunes; church bells are now digitized, prerecorded gongs or a selection of inspirational songs. The dinner bell is a quaint memory for a few old-timers. I guess I'm just sorry to see another piece of the physical world disappear — the part where sounds are made by objects hitting each other. Something is slipping away, and I want to sound an alarm. I have to ask for whom the bell tolls.