Back in 1930, when Herbert Hoover was president, the Depression
was deep-set and Prohibition promoted friendly bootleggers.
Back in 1930, when Herbert Hoover was president, the Depression was deep-set and Prohibition promoted friendly bootleggers.
I was 9 and in the fourth grade at Sacred Heart School, a three-story, gloomy structure call Old Dark House by some. The teachers were nuns who wore black dresses and stiff white hats. They had the gift of importing knowledge to young minds in spite of thick skulls.
While my folks were visiting the Sullivan’s on West Street, I kicked around out front and saw a square frame with wire zig-zagging through it. Affixed to a pole, it protruded above the roof of a large house across the way. I crossed over for a better look. A voice arose from the garden.
“It’s an antenna I invented for shortwave reception. That’s my room behind the little balcony under the peak. Let’s go up. I’ll give you a tour.”
His name was George Jean. There was a long bench wall-to-wall across the window. Covered it was with electronic parts. In the center was a fixture with wire coming to it.
George Jean explained. “This is a shortwave radio I built to pick up ham-operators. Works best after dark.”
He showed me the various parts explaining their functions. When I had to leave, he gave me a handbook.
Behind our home on Chappell Road, squatted a two-room cabin next to the windmill. The front was for storage. The back would become my shop. With dad’s help, it soon had two sturdy tables, shelving and electricity.
An antenna was stretched from the barn to the tankhouse, a groundwire from a waterpipe. The challenge now was to collect necessary materials.
I had a Saturday job mowing the lawns for Mrs. Brown who lived down the road. She paid me $1.50 a week. I asked her about an odd item in the toolshed.
“It is a battery charger,” she said. “You may have it if you like.” It was a start.
That afternoon my dog, Old Wolf, and I pulled my wagon to Tiffany’s Garage. I asked the shop foreman if he had a used six-volt car battery. He showed me a clean one worth $5. I only had 50 cents. A voice from the door said: “Sold for 50 cents.” It was Gile Tiffany grinning as he put it in the wagon.
What a day. Wolf and I went down the middle of the street between the concrete lamp posts and home.
Monday after school, I went into Colburn’s Radio Repair Shop. The proprietor was a quiet, tight-lipped guy. He asked if I was Larry O’Neill’s off-shoot. When I told him yes, he said I could call him Hank.
“Hank, my aim is to build a one-tube radio. I was hoping you might have some used parts I could have.”
“Sure. Everything but the tube. Should get a new one, O-1A type or better. Go see Stewart Van Buskirk for that. Tell him I sent you. When you return, the rest will be ready.”
Mr. Van Buskirk’s shop was at Monterey and Fourth. He had a used 6D 47 which tested good and had more gain than an O-1A. “You may have it,” he said. “New ones are $3.5.”
Hank Colburn showed a faint smile when he examined the tube; then drew a sketch showing how to use it. “Do you have earphones?” he asked.
When I said I did not, he said to try Gunnel’s.
Gunnel’s Secondhand store was a huge barn of a building across from Tiffany Motors. On the window was sign reading: If we don’t have it, it hasn’t been invented yet. The earphones were a buck.
With the soldering iron, my mother got with Green Stamps, I was able to begin the project. First obstacle was frustration. Never saw so many loose ends. Parts scattered all over the table. Needed a “first effort.”
When my dad came home, he stepped inside to see the action. Seeing my plight instead, he said, “Sometimes a new endeavor is hard to start.
“Hank gave you a metal chassis and a piece of baklite for the front. Drill holes in the front for the switch, volume control, station selector, and earphone plugs; then secure it to the chassis. I’ll bet the rest will become clear.”
Well it did, but not in a flash. Took many hours.
When the last connection was soldered, I began trembling with anticipation. Then slowly attached the aerial and ground, put the tube in its socket, hooked up the batteries, and plugged in the earphones. With the earphones in place, I closed the switch and turned up the volume. Tears welled in my eyes when the tuner produced silence, not even static, just deep silence.
After regaining my composure, I phoned Hank Colburn who chortled and said, “Not unusual for a novice. But listen, I’ll bet you a milkshake at Dan’s that the B battery is hooked up backwards.”
Back to the shack I flew and sure enough, Hank was right. After making the correction, I got KGO, KQW, KPO, KFRC in the Bay Area, KSL in Salt Lake City. I laid awake all night.
Monday after school, I went to Dan, The Greek’s where I got two milkshakes to settle the bet. On my way out, Hank said, “Keep up your interests. Keep learning. You will never regret it.” I never have.
Epilogue: It was 10 years later when I had completed half my junior year in pre-med school at Santa Clara University that bombs were unloaded on Pearl Harbor. Many of us tearfully retired.
When my debt to the school was paid, I enlisted in the Signal Corps and was sent to Electronics School for nine months as a civilian, then to basic training during a Sacramento summer.
When specialized training was to begin, Captain Streeter dropped a bomb. Morse Code operators were short in the South Pacific. Our entire company was switched from technicians to communications. No matter; in two years, the Big Job was done.
When Hank Colburn enlisted, he became an officer by direct commission for his superior knowledge in electronics.
