It
was April in New York City. I was on my way home from the regular
weekly breakfast with the Queens County Bagel, Bowling and Spark
Club.
These
were the halcyon days of kid-dom on the cusp of adulthood. I had my
General Class ticket now for about two years. Got my acceptance
letter from college and it was six months before anybody would hear
of Sputnik. Life was good.
As
I walked home from the bus stop, I was thinking about getting on the
air today and rolling up a few new states for my WAS. I needed South
Dakota and my old buddy Ralph from the QCBB&SC said there were
only three active hams in the whole state. I could see that South
Dakota was going to be a real challenge.
I
climbed the front steps two at a time, walked through the front door
and headed directly for my basement ham shack. I am halfway down
the hall when I hear my old man say, “Where are you going?”
Any
kid who has reached the age of five, immediately recognizes the peril
in that question. It’s not a question really, it more a
combination of Red Alert, General Quarters and Take Cover
simultaneously.
I
turned around to see the old man advancing toward me. He was upset.
I tried to think of anything I did or failed to do in the last
twenty-four hours. I aced my Physics quiz, took out the trash last
night, and didn’t leave any wet towels in the bathroom; check,
check, check.
He
was about two feet away when he stopped, thrust a letter in front of
me and said, “What’s this?” His hand was shaking so much, I
couldn’t read the envelope at first but it looked very important.
Eventually, the oscillation decayed enough for me to see better. It
was one of those business window envelopes with no stamp. The top
right-hand corner of the envelope contained the words, U.S.
Government Official Business!
The
old man was really wound up; like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
He’d lived his life avoiding entanglements with authority. He was
4-F for the draft in WWII, voted at least once in every election and
was an associate member of the Police Benevolent Association. Any
unexpected things that had to do with “Official Business” made
him very nervous.
Desperately,
I tried to think of something that would get him in such a lather. I
had gotten my draft card six weeks ago. Maybe this was the dreaded,
“Greetings from Uncle Sam” letter. Then I noticed the return
address; Federal Communications
Commission, Washington, DC.
I
stopped breathing. The FCC! This was worse than getting drafted.
Looking through the window of the envelope I could see the paper
inside. A pink ticket!
The
envelope was torn open. At the top of the page, I could see the
words, Notice of Violation!
He’d already read it and assumed the worst; a life sentence for
me at Leavenworth. I was doomed!
Flight
was the only response I had. I grabbed the letter and ran for the
basement. I read and re-read the notice several times. Cold sweat
was dripping off me.
The
letter said that my signal had been observed operating at a frequency
out of the band at such and such time and date. It demanded I
explain what happened. That I take immediate steps to prevent this
from happening in the future and that I report those steps to the FCC
within 30 days. No wonder the old man was upset. Single handedly, I
had brought the wrath of the entire federal government down on our
home.
I
pulled out my log and started flipping pages; hoping this was a
mistake. Some other guy with a similar call sign, maybe. The time
in the letter was around 2 AM. Was the FCC really awake that late?
I
ran my thumb down the logbook pages slowly, hoping against hope.
Yikes! There it was. At the alleged hour, I had been on the air.
What could I do? “The old man was right, you’re going to
Leavenworth “, said the voice in my head.
That
night I’d logged several calls to DX stations who were calling CQ
on the other side of the 20 meter band edge. The last entry in the
log that night was a guy in VK-land that I had finally managed to
work. I was so excited, I almost woke the old man out of a sound
sleep to tell him. I must have strayed too close to the band edge!
Maybe
I’ll just throw myself on the mercy of the court. “Your
honor, I’m just a kid. I didn’t know I was committing a crime.”
“I fell in with a bad crowd; they dared me to do it!”
In
a panic, I called my old buddy Ralph on the land line. Ralph was a
charter member of the QCBB&SC. He knew everything about ham
radio. He had been a ham so long that he said Marconi was his Elmer.
After
an eternity of rings, he answered. Without giving him a chance to
say hello, I unloaded on Ralph in one single breath. When I finally
finished, Ralph calmed me down and assured me that I was not going to
Leavenworth. “Yeah kid (everyone was a kid to Ralph), I got my
first pink ticket in ’36”, he said softly, as if someone were
listening.
What
a relief! My old buddy Ralph, the greatest Elmer of all time had
gotten at least a couple pink tickets and he was still walking around
a free man. There was a ray of hope for me!
I
could swear he was grinning on the other side of the phone. The
voice in my head said, “Yeah, they’ll probably confiscate all
your radio gear instead.”
It
was only two years earlier that I went to the FCC offices in
Manhattan to take my General exam under the watchful eye of Lurch,
the examiner. I still remember the big bullpen where the FCC guys
worked. They were all dressed alike too; white shirts rolled up to
the elbow, black ties and black pants. It was the official FCC
uniform. I didn’t know what would be worse; just quietly going
off to Leavenworth or having a squad of FCC men in black show up at
my house in front of all the neighbors!
“Listen
kid”, he began; his voice had a way of piercing through the QRM in
my head. “You just need an accurate marker for the band edge. A
crystal calibrator. You can pick one up at Harrison Radio for about
ten bucks.”
I
could hear Ralph take a deep breath. He’d been a chain smoker for
twenty years, so his inhale had a signature wheeze, just like a good
CW operator’s fist.
Then
he continued, “The dial markings on your VFO ain’t worth the
plastic they’re printed on kid. So, when you are chasing DX, don’t
get any closer than three kc to the band edge marker, no matter
what.”
“Hey
Ralph”, I said “What about the letter I have to write? What
should I say?” Ralph started in again, “Listen kid, just tell
them the truth, you’ll be fine. See you later kid.” And then
there was a click.
I
sat for a long time; thinking. The U.S. phone band ended at 14200
KC. Most of the good DX was always just below that great divide. We
worked split back then, running full carrier double sideband AM,
pushing as close to the band edge as we dared, calling for that rare
station we needed.
I
wasn’t willing to give up a whole three kc of band, if I didn’t
need to do it. Maybe I could just turn down the mike gain. Just
listening to twenty meters some nights it was easy to see how
everybody pushed the limit. Still, I was willing to do or say
anything get back in the old man’s good graces and the FCC off my
back! Finally, the beginnings of a diabolical plan began to form in
my head. If I played my cards right, I would solve my FCC problem
and then some.
To
be continued
Reporting
from the Dark Side,
Ron
Litt, K5HM
