Waiting with great expectations! Thanks Leslie, AD5WB > On Dec 29, 2021, at 10:09 AM, k5hm.ron--- via BVARC <[email protected]> wrote: > > > The Great Harvey Wells Caper > Part 1 – The Pink Ticket > > 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. 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 > > > > 73, > Ron, K5HM > [email protected] > www.qrz.com/db/k5hm > > Excelsior! > > ________________________________________________ > Brazos Valley Amateur Radio Club > > BVARC mailing list > [email protected] > http://mail.bvarc.org/mailman/listinfo/bvarc_bvarc.org > Publicly available archives are available here: > https://www.mail-archive.com/[email protected]/
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