Until a couple of years ago, you might have found Jerry (J.B.) Young of Sherman Avenue (WA4WWH in the amateur radio world) equally at home broadcasting from his living room or suspended from the 53-foot radio antenna tower in his backyard, a structure he put up himself. At 67, J.B. has given up climbing towers, but over the years he's been up and down many of them, including the time he had to rescue a fellow amateur who'd climbed up, passed out, and was suspended several dozen feet in the air by his safety harness.
To many of us, climbing (let alone erecting) such towers would be daunting. To J.B., it's all part of his favorite hobby, despite the fact that he's been totally blind since the mid-1960s. "I bought my first tower," he said, "and put it together myself because I couldn't get anybody else to do it." He explained how he sought help for the logistics from one of his sighted friends. "He worked the ground and I climbed. After all, if you go up a tower, there's no way to get lost up there!"
J.B. is part of a worldwide network of folks often called "hams," (though no one is sure of the origin of this nickname). There are more than two million amateur radio operators worldwide, 650,000 of them in the U.S. Male and female, young and old, hams come from all walks of life, including famous amateurs such as country singer Chet Atkins, news broadcaster Walter Cronkite, and former New York Gov. George Pataki.
J.B. received his initial amateur radio license in the mid '70s and now holds an Extra Class license, the highest of three class levels currently granted by the FCC. He also is president of the Bluegrass Amateur Radio Society (www.bluegrassars.org), a lively group of enthusiasts that meets the first Monday of each month at 7:30 p.m. at the Red Cross Building (1450 Newtown Pike) and gathers at other times for contests called field days, a yearly swap meet/social event called a Hamfest, and to serve the community in a variety of ways.
Amateur radio operators are a self-policing bunch, and strict adherence to the rules is expected and enforced. Except under very special circumstances, one must have a license in order to be on the air, and in order to get a license an operator is required to take a written exam and (depending upon the license class), to demonstrate proficiency in Morse code. Like other communications media, amateur radio is assigned broadcast frequencies by the FCC. Individual operators are further constrained by the size of their antennas, the class of their licenses, and sometimes even by weather conditions.
Upon making contact, each operator identifies him or herself by a call sign, a unique series of letters and numbers. Some hams also choose to use their call letters as their vehicle license plate IDs, and each state offers a provision for them to do so.
Many hams pride themselves on the number and range of contacts they've made, exchanging contact confirmations called QSL cards with others across the country or across the world. Those who embrace this facet of the hobby sometimes paper the walls of their "shacks" (the location of a ham's equipment, even if it's only a corner of the family room) with QSLs they've received. These 3" x 5" cards, usually custom-designed to reflect the personality of the sender, add yet another dimension to the voice on the other end of the mike.
Other hams communicate strictly by Morse code, and still others are drawn to the intricacies of the equipment itself, which according to Bill DeVore/N4DIT, now includes capabilities that "not long ago were the topic of science fiction novels and Hollywood movies." However, regardless of their primary interest, most amateur radio operators are far more than dedicated hobbyists; they also serve as a little-known community resource. For example, using their own equipment, members of the Bluegrass club have provided logistics and safety communication for such events as the Walk for Diabetes at Keeneland and the Multiple Sclerosis Walk at the Kentucky Horse Park. This holiday season, as in years past, members of the club will take hand-held portable equipment to the Children's Hospital at the University of Kentucky on Dec. 13 and to Shriners Hospital on Dec. 14, so the kids can talk directly to "Santa" over the airwaves. And who will be the voice of the North Pole? None other than J.B. Young, his white hair and matching handlebar mustache a perfect complement to the goodwill and dedication that help create a special day for these very special kids.
Perhaps the place where amateur radio is most needed is in time of national or local emergency. On 9/11, during Hurricane Katrina, in Lexington during the ice storm, hams were there, supplementing communications when needed and sometimes providing the only communications when other methods failed. The Division of Environmental and Emergency Management (DEEM) of LFUCG works with hams through ARES, the Amateur Radio Emergency Service, both during preparedness exercises and for actual emergencies.
Most recently, the Fayette and Madison County groups participated in a CSEPP exercise (Chemical Stockpile Emergency Preparedness Program) for the Bluegrass Army Depot, and several years ago, J.B. took part in an exercise designed to test the city's preparedness should a bomb explode in downtown Lexington.
Local ham Tom Mansfield/KG4TND, the emergency coordinator for ARES and the first point of contact for DEEM, said in time of emergency the hams are "mobile and willing to go." Go they do, manning stations at area hospitals, setting up at shelters, lending their expertise and their equipment to the task at hand. Pat Dugger, DEEM director, calls them "a huge asset," an asset that most of us have perhaps, at one time or another, been the beneficiary of without even knowing it.
This Christmas Eve marks the 100th anniversary of the first voice transmission via radio, when Canadian Reginald Fessenden broadcast holiday music and good wishes to shipboard radio operators in the North Atlantic. A century later, hams are still spreading good cheer throughout their communities.
J.B. says he often warns newcomers to avoid equipment malfunctions. "Don't let the magic smoke get out," he says, and perhaps there really is some magic in there-the magic of camaraderie, public service, and just plain fun enjoyed by a dedicated group of people with a hobby that has lasted a century and is still going strong.