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I even bought a good, solid HF rig and built some antennas, but I’ve made a grand total of one QSO - a brief chat with a ham in Texas from my old home in Connecticut on the 10-meter band.

Oh, sure, I bought a couple of Baofeng and Wouxun handy-talkies and lurked on the local repeaters. The next part of my ham story is all-too-familiar these days: I haven’t done a damn thing with my license. But as my circumstances changed, the idea of working the airwaves resurfaced, and in 2015 I finally took the plunge and earned my General class license. My ham ambitions remained well below the surface as life happened over the next 40 or so years.

But I lost interest, probably because I was an adolescent male and didn’t figure a ham ticket would improve my chances with the young ladies. Brown taught me a lot about electronics, and very nearly got me far enough along to take the test for my Novice class license. He had the traditional calling card of the suburban ham - a gigantic beam antenna on a 60′ mast in the backyard – so they figured he could act as a mentor to me. With little to guide me and fear for my life as I routinely explored the innards of the TVs and radios in the house, they turned to the kindly older gentleman across the street from us, Mr. I was about 12 at the time, with an interest in electronics that baffled my parents. My amateur radio journey began back in the mid-1970s.

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