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<p>Â So where's the "rest of the story"?<br>
</p>
<pre class="moz-signature" cols="72">Bob W5UQ</pre>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">On 12/31/2021 1:39 PM, Rick Hiller via
BVARC wrote:<br>
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cite="mid:AC31A111-329F-405A-B800-C865F81EA0F6@gmail.com">
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Just Chevy vs Ford.....<br>
<br>
<div id="AppleMailSignature" dir="ltr">Sent from my i-Thingamajig</div>
<div dir="ltr"><br>
On Dec 31, 2021, at 10:12 AM, Gary Sitton via BVARC <<a
href="mailto:bvarc@bvarc.org" moz-do-not-send="true"
class="moz-txt-link-freetext">bvarc@bvarc.org</a>> wrote:<br>
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<div class="moz-cite-prefix">Â Â OK, I'm stupid but why Harvey
Wells? I actually have an</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix"> old H.W. Z-Match Balanced Tuner
which I restored and plan</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix"> to use on a big loop whenever I
get one up on my small lot.</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">I did get an O.O. notice in the
'50s of severe chirp on 20<br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">mtrs using a surplus ARC-5
transmitter. I just ditched the</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">rig and got a Heath Kit VFO which
was much more stable.</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">Later while in CA as WB6NDY in
the early '70s a nearly</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">Ham complained of my key click on
20 mtr CW. I fixed the <br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">cathode keying circuit with a
resistor and capacitor in my <br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">restored old 90 watt transmitter
and all was well.</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix"><br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">73, Gary K5AMH<br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix"><br>
</div>
<div class="moz-cite-prefix">On 12/29/2021 10:09 AM,
k5hm.ron--- via BVARC wrote:<br>
</div>
<blockquote type="cite"
cite="mid:019801d7fcce$66fd5560$34f80020$@gmail.com">
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center"><b>The Great Harvey Wells Caper<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center"><b>Part 1 – The Pink Ticket<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.   <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.  <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.Â
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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?â€<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was about two feet away when he
stopped, thrust a letter in front of me and said,
“What’s this?â€Â 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, <i>U.S.
Government Official Business!</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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, <i>Federal Communications
Commission, Washington, DC.</i> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The envelope was torn open. At the
top of the page, I could see the words, <i>Notice of
Violation!</i>  He’d already read it and assumed the
worst; a life sentence for me at Leavenworth. I was
doomed!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Flight was the only response I had.Â
I grabbed the letter and ran for the basement. I read
and re-read the notice several times. Cold sweat was
dripping off me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.  <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe I’ll just throw myself on the
mercy of the court. <i>“Your honor, I’m just a kid. I
didn’t know I was committing a crime.â€Â  “I fell in
with a bad crowd; they dared me to do it!â€<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.Â
He had been a ham so long that he said Marconi was his
Elmer. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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 ’36â€, he said
softly, as if someone were listening. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.â€Â   <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Listen kidâ€, 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.â€Â 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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.â€Â
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Â <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey Ralphâ€, 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.â€Â And then there was
a click. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Â Â <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center">To be continued<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"
align="center"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Reporting from the Dark Side,<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Ron Litt, K5HM<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif"><o:p>Â </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif"><o:p>Â </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue">73,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue">Ron,
K5HM<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:blue"><a
href="mailto:k5hm.ron@gmail.com"
moz-do-not-send="true"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue">k5hm.ron@gmail.com</span></a></span><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:blue"><a
href="http://www.qrz.com/db/k5hm"
moz-do-not-send="true"><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue">www.qrz.com/db/k5hm</span></a></span><span
style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:blue"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:blue"><image001.jpg><image002.jpg><image003.jpg><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Berlin
Sans FB",sans-serif;color:#4472C4">Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
Excelsior!</span></b><span style="color:blue"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Â </o:p></p>
</div>
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<pre class="moz-quote-pre" wrap="">________________________________________________
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<div dir="ltr"><span>________________________________________________</span><br>
<span>Brazos Valley Amateur Radio Club</span><br>
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<pre class="moz-quote-pre" wrap="">________________________________________________
Brazos Valley Amateur Radio Club
BVARC mailing list
<a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="mailto:BVARC@bvarc.org">BVARC@bvarc.org</a>
<a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="http://mail.bvarc.org/mailman/listinfo/bvarc_bvarc.org">http://mail.bvarc.org/mailman/listinfo/bvarc_bvarc.org</a>
Publicly available archives are available here: <a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="https://www.mail-archive.com/bvarc@bvarc.org/">https://www.mail-archive.com/bvarc@bvarc.org/</a>
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