Author's Note: There are times when the thrill of acquisition is he most
memorable thing about getting a new piece of radio gear. As the thrill of
ownership slowly fades, the memory of the adventure of acquiring it sometimes
becomes the most lasting and pleasurable experience. The author would like to
share the experience he had finding, buying and hauling a ton of military
surplus radio gear across the width of a continent.
My fascination for collecting and restoring old radios must have something to do with my first childhood memory. In my first home in Tucson, Arizona 1 was attracted to the softly glowing dial of our cathedral radio. I remember crawling back behind the set to see if I could find the man talking inside. Sticking my face deep inside the back, I remember seeing the pilot light. It looked like a little fireplace reflecting off the shinny vacuum tubes. It was like a doll house inside, but warm and cozy and it smelled real nice. Well, fortunately, my mother must have found me in time to snatch me out of there because I am here to tell the rest of this story.
It was many decades later and years ago that I saw my first Navy RBA, RBB, and RBC radio sets. I had just taken my Boy Scout Troop to their bunks for an overnight sleep over on the Battleship USS Massachusetts in Fallriver, MA. Having some free time, I naturally headed straight for the ships' radio room. There they were! Massive, black and gray with big control knobs and with those softly glowing tuning dial windows. Suddenly, I got that same feeling in the pit of my stomach that I get thinking of that early childhood memory of that cathedral radio! I knew then and there that no matter how long or what it took, I HAD to have them! Returning home, I immediately renewed my subscription to Electric Radio and placed a free "wanted"' ad for a set of these receivers.
A year or so passed but I never forgot about those receivers. There had
been only a few responses to my ad. None serious. People must have thought I was
a dealer and not willing to pay top dollar for these radios or maybe it takes a
long time for readers to get around to reading the "wanted" ads! Then, last fall
I got a call. George in Jackson, Mississippi, had read my ad and called to tell
me he had them and the price was right! Unfortunately, they were 1500 miles
away- deep in Dixie. For many months George and I kept in touch. As we grew to
know each other (a critical requirement to doing business in the South), he told
me that he knew of a lot of other military gear that could be available. Besides
the two RBAs, RBB, RBC, several power supplies and cables, he was willing to
part with a BC610, TCS12, TCS-14 transmitter, BC-348, BC648, two TBYs, R-388,
several BC-221s, and many, many other things. Unfortunately, all of it was 1500
miles away. I checked all the usual ways hams got stuff shipped to them and
nothing made sense. Even bulk ground freight did not work since everything would
have to be crated and put on pallets. It was simply too much work, cost and too
far away to go pick up in my van. I would have to get innovative here. I then
thought about my friends- one in particular, "Old Buzzard" John, K1KHP! Besides
being a concert organist and a pilot, he is a long haul truck driver and an avid
boatanchor collector himself He also makes trips to his second home in Florida.
It became clear I had found a solution and a partner!
John and I
quickly struck a deal. I get the navy receivers and the BC610 and he gets first
bid on everything else for swinging through Jackson to haul everything on his
next trip from Florida to New England. We set D-Day for January 21, 1998, a day
after a business meeting I had in New Orleans, LA and he would be returning from
Florida. I would drive up from New Orleans and meet John in Jackson to load up
and then fly home while he hauled the stuff up by land. After weeks of planning
and helping him find a military M880 truck to pull his home built double axle
trailer, we were all set. He was off to Florida and I was off to New Orleans.
The Great Dixie: Boatanchor Haul began!
It was 9:30AM Wednesday, January 21 when I finally woke up in New
Orleans. I had badly overslept! (My alarm clock had been no competition to the
late hours I had spent the night before in Pat O'Brien's tavern in the French
Quarters). An hour later I was out of New Orleans speeding up I-55 across Lake
Pontchartrain towards the Mississippi state line. Our battle plan had been for a
pinchers movement on Jackson. I would come up from the south and John would come
from the east to converge on George and his pile of boat anchors at high noon
that day. Soon after crossing the state line, I stopped to eat and call my
telephone message service. I pulled into a Kentucky Fried Chicken (I figured the
chicken had to be very good this close to Kentucky). As planned, John left me a
voice message. To my surprise, he was already in Jackson! Like Custard at the
Little Big Horn, John had gone in alone! He was now positioned to pounce on my
pile of boat anchors without me! I also noticed he did not sound very well at
all. (He had been fighting the flu). With my chicken-to-go under my arm, I
jumped into my car and started to leave just as two police patrol cars with
lights flashing pulled in front blocking me! I soon realized the police cars
were escorting a 5 MPH funeral procession. Judging from the unending line of
cars everybody in McComb, Mississippi must have known the departed. I was late!
John was early and I was blocked! I did the unthinkable. Turning on my
headlights and smiling, I slowly headed into the funeral procession. Some fine
folks smiled back and nodded their approval as they let me in line thinking I
wanted to show my respects too. I am SURE they had a very low opinion of my
Yankee ingenuity as I cut back out of line a minute later to get back onto the
interstate!
Thoughts of voodoo hexes put on people like me doing things like that occupied my mind as I speeded up the interstate. Fortunately, I managed to reach the Jackson city limits without getting stopped by a trooper along the most famous stretch of speed traps in the South. However, the sky clouded up. It got dark. It started to rain and now a lightening storm began like only a southern winter storm can do. (This is where all that lightening static comes from that we hear on those cold, clear New England winter nights). I spent a lot of time searching in the storm for George's house. I began thinking about that voodoo hex again. Finally, I found the house! Parked outside was John's M880 truck and trailer. John was sleeping inside the truck along with a bunch of his cats. At least I knew John had not pounced on my pile of boatanchors yet. It was then that I really started worrying about John's health and whether cats really do devour their masters when they die. I went in out of the rain to meet George and his lovely wife and their strange menagerie of cats and dogs. Having a similar set of strange pets myself, and thinking of John's cats, I wondered if this pet ownership was characteristic of serious boatanchor collectors? George and I spent the better part of the afternoon in his warm parlor discussing different radio gear and experiences. Meanwhile, the storm outside increased in fury. The lawn became a lake.
John finally staggered in and it was clear he was in bad shape with
flu and cold symptoms but he insisted on not seeing a doctor. So, after a while,
we headed outside to finally see the boatanchors we had come so very far to get.
The rest of that afternoon was a blur of activity dashing around town in the
rain going from this storage shed to the next collecting the gear.
What
initially made it difficult was that John's 20-foot long trailer was already 3/4
full of stuff he was hauling up from Florida. Everything from organ pipes,
furniture and of course, boatanchors were in the trailer. Several times we had
to stop and unpack and repack to make more room. The first shed had the RBA,
RBB, RBC receivers, power supplies and cables all by themselves. At last! There
they were! Gray and black and a little scuffed up but complete with no missing
knobs or broken meters! We loaded them first with plenty of padding and tarps
over them. (John's trailer had developed a considerable leak in the roof). The
next series of sheds were packed with all kinds of stuff. George knew pretty
much where everything was but it was quite a trick getting it all out and up
into the trailer in the increasing rain and darkness. John was starting to cough
real bad Finally, we came to the last shed containing the BC610. By that time we
were soaked with rain and sweat. Our arms were numb with fatigue and cold and I
seriously wondered if it was worth it. (We are all in our 50s). It was not easy,
but somehow we managed to get that BC610 into the trailer without losing any
toes, fingers or slipping a disk. A quick exchange of cash and we were heading
back to the motel. Unfortunately, none of the available parking areas were big
enough for the M880 and trailer. We easily solved that problem by parking across
the street in the empty parking lot of some law offices. I wondered how those
lawyers were going to deal with that when they came to work in the morning! At
that point, John and I were beyond caring!
One of the things I had promised George and his wife was to treat them
to dinner that night. She was not about to let me out of that promise no matter
how tired, wet, grubby, stinky (and sick) we were! So, off we all went to the
restaurant. It turned out to be very nice and very formal. It was built open
inside so everyone could see anyone who was anybody including us who looked like
nobody. With white marble Greek columns, it rivaled the best. We were soon
seated and settled down to big portions of steaks, potatoes, wine and coffee
oblivious to the stares we were getting. Strangely, our conversation did not
center on radios. We had had enough of radios that day. George's wife seemed to
appreciate that too. Even John perked up out of his cold and flu symptoms. He
had planned to sleep in his trailer that night but that was a recipe for
pneumonia so, in between dinner courses, I called the motel and got another room
for him. Later that night we said our good-byes and John and I headed back to
the motel. The wheezing in John's chest told me he was getting very close to
pneumonia!
The next morning I was up at 5:00AM to catch my plane ride home. I
gave John a call and told him I felt bad leaving him in his condition. "You
gotta do what you gotta do," John wheezed. An hour later I was sipping a bloody
mary as I gazed out the airplane window at a beautiful sunrise above the clouds
that only a plane traveler sees. I was really feeling guilty leaving John
behind. I figured he only had a 50% chance of getting back alive and my ever
seeing my boat anchors again! Oh, well, I did my part. Little did I know at that
very moment, John was meeting up with George again to go check out another pile
of boatanchors that morning! They had planned this caper while I was away from
the table making that telephone call to the motel the night
before!
No word from John the rest of the week as I expected since
he was on the road. By the next weekend I started wondering. He should have
called by then. I started to imagine the worst. An M880 truck, trailer, John and
over a ton of mangled radio gear and a few cats strewn along the side of some
lonely road! I could just imagine the state troopers trying to figure that one
out and calling the National Guard to dispose of that military gear! Saturday
morning saw no John checking into The Old Military Radio Net on 3.885 MHz.
Later that day I got my answer when my wife woke me from a nap asking:
" Honey, there is an ugly military truck with a weird trailer and a strange man
in our driveway. Do you know anything about this?" "I'll go check." I mumbled as
I tore down the stairs to help John unload my beloved boatanchors! After
greeting John and hearing of his considerable experiences getting back,
something caught my eye. Drops of water were dripping out of his trailer. I knew
all about that water. That was Mississippi rain that had traveled 1500 miles to
finally fall on my New Hampshire driveway! Somehow, I had the funny feeling that
all might be forgiven about my indiscretion at that funeral procession. Maybe
the voodoo hex was off! Maybe not! An incident occurred when we used an old oak
door as a ramp to unload the BC610. Halfway down the ramp there was a protracted
crack, as the door split cleanly in half. Fortunately, the BC610 settled slowly
onto the driveway and was not damaged. I now probably own the only BC610 that
has ever broken down a door!
Well, things settled down after this great haul. I spend my extra time
down in my basement restoring those navy receivers and scrounging parts for the
BC610. Even my dog knows I really live in the basement now. My wife is getting
used to seeing the BC610 in the spot where I used to park my car in the garage.
A few weeks ago I got another telephone call. It seems somebody else finally got
around to reading my "wanted" ad in Electric Radio. Yes, you guessed it, RBBs,
RBCs, power supplies and a garage full of other military boatanchors for sale
out in Syracuse, NY! My wife was thrilled when I suggested we visit Niagara
Falls this summer for our 28th wedding anniversary. I wonder if she will be
understanding when we take a detour to Syracuse to meet up with John, his M880,
trailer and his cats to load up some more boatanchors?
NM1H moving the 610 to the basement for restoration.
Setting main
body on to the power supply.
Some fine Navy equipment
Tune into the "Old Military Net" on Saturday AM from 0500 Hrs to 0700 Hrs (3.885 Khz)and hear BC-610's and many other military radios . Run by W3PWW Ted.
Tune in on "The Grey Hair Net" every Tue at 2000hrs and hear BC-610's and all types of vintage gear, frequency is 1.945Khz.
End.
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