Most nights a serenade of racing motors and squealing tires plays a tune of follow the bouncing beer bottles that keeps time with the activities of the nearby dance clubs. Not long after bars empty the monster concrete sweepers clear the parking lots for the local YMCA to start their rumblings. Some weekends they keep away the curse of silence by greeting the rise of the sun with trailer house sized speakers that play aerobic music to encourage the runners in their latest "-athalon" event.

Keeping the tempo of all this cacophony is the representative bird of the neighborhood. This remarkable creature is known to most by its generic name, the car alarm. Residence of these environs, however, have come to refer to it as the Lakewood Lark.

At one time the Lakewood Lark was renowned for the addition to security its song of alarm provided for its keepers. Regretfully, its proliferation has forced its enemies to gain a familiarity with its habits that has allowed them to defeat its purpose. Indeed, the Lakewood Lark has become more like a sentinel that alerts distant burglars of cars in congregation.

After five break-ins in eighteen months I have finally given up arming my alarm. I also have given up replacing my car radio - again - for the fourth time. Still problems persist. The last time thieves entered my car the doors were not even locked but the lack of a radio to steal must have really ticked them off because they shattered two windows instead of one and the ingenius lock that secured my newly replaced spare tire in the trunk only succeded in attracting a knife puncture to an unrepairable spot. We have very zealous theives. In a group cry after that latest attack a half dozen of my neighbors expressed minimal shock that their alarms had not alarmed them. A good thief, it seems, knows how to silence the lark before it gets to the second bar of its tune. A call to the police to inform them of a theft results in nothing more than instructions to wait by the phone for a clerk to return your call.

Rather than relegate the Lakewood Lark to uselessness, however, some of the more creative patrons of the local establishments have found new uses for their songs. On the way in to dance some, usually women, have taken to announcing their arrival by waking the larks to life with butt bumps against the parked cars as they pass by them. If they are successful in creating a particularly harmonious orchestration they yelp along with quite the loud and mirthful guffaw. It has become something of a new musical game.

But nowdays, the real value of an alarm seems to be helping a driver find a car. In the mornings one of the first things many of the aerobic togged women do when exiting the Y is trigger their alarm. After an early morning workout it is still not quite light enough to see well, and well, it just feels safer to walk across a parking lot in this neighborhood when there is an alarm howling. At night when the parking lot is too full and the mind is too sloshed to remember the wheres of earlier parking, whipping out the long distance trigger solves the dilemma. The Lakewood Lark comes to the rescue to guide the way - unless of course, it happens to be closing time when too many are singing at the same time. The increase in custom alarm variety is on the verge of alleviating that problem from the late night repertoire.

The resourcefulness of the Lakewood Lark truly is amazing. Just when their original purpose seemed lost they have continued in earnest to find new ways to serve their human masters by chasing away the demon quiet.