Electrons Spinning In My Head

On a scorching summer day in a small California desert town, I accompanied my mother to the hardware store. I left with a portable transistor AM radio for me. It cost $9.95 plus tax. Thus began a lifelong love affair with anything radio-related. I was 11 years old.

It was a transient time for us. Most things familiar were 1000-plus miles behind. We had moved from a Texas border town and meandered through southern Arizona, stopping only briefly in Phoenix and Tucson, finally landing in Blythe. Six of us -- two adults, three dogs, and I -- shared two-bed cinderblock motel rooms for many months. They were far from comfy quarters.

At night I plugged in the hard-plastic, flesh-colored earphone, turned on the radio, and drifted off into an ocean of sounds from what I thought then were far-away places: Salt Lake City, St. Louis, Chicago, and even my former hometown San Antonio. Rock, pop and country music peppered the dial. Friendly, soothing voices reaching out to long-haul truckers became my virtual friends, too. Even Wolfman Jack made regular contact from XEROK in Ciudad Juarez in Mexico.

As comforting as my little radio may have been, it provided an even more compelling keyhole for my natural curiosity. I wondered why evening brought distant stations to my bedside only to disappear into the static of daylight. I wondered why turning the transistor set in different directions improved or worsened reception. I wondered what was inside and how it worked.

I suppose my wonderment was obvious. The following Christmas, I received another radio, this one with a single shortwave band. Suddenly my horizons expanded across the globe. Other radios followed as gifts, perhaps the most memorable a beat-up National Panasonic given to me by an aunt, who had taken it in payment for a debt. Shortwave listening became an earnest hobby. Every new station I heard brought tremendous excitement. I struggled for months to snag a low-power Indian-language station in the mountains of Mexico. Late one afternoon as the sun set, I heard faint music drifting in an unfamiliar tongue. I strained to hear. I could barely make out the station ID, but it was unmistakable. Got it! And then the signal faded away.

I tuned in and regularly sent reception reports to broadcasters, even the big ones like the BBC, Radio Nederland, Radio Peking, Radio Moscow, and Radio RSA from South Africa. Every station I added to my log became a new achievement. Over the years I collected an impressive array of verifications (QSL cards), propaganda, stickers, pennants, and more. The postman marveled at the international correspondence filling up my mailbox.

Eventually I wanted to do more than listen, and I studied for my amateur radio license. I was licensed in 1981 as KA3HIY. I quickly discovered the joys of Morse code (CW) and gained proficiency while passing traffic, and at the same time I worked by day surrounded by the most sophisticated electronics and computing facilities. In the past 25 years, ham radio has afforded me countless opportunities to find gratification and support when other areas of my life did not.

Radio for me is a special thing. It has helped me to survive physically, mentally, and professionally by offering constantly evolving avenues for exploration. Through it I have learned considerably more about the world around me than any number of books could teach. I have made many friends through it. I have used radio as an avenue to serve my community as well as helped others in distant lands. I have built a career on it. There is nothing like it.