In a sunroom off the master bedroom he had a desk set up with a transmitter, a receiver, an amplifier and a bunch of other accessory gizmos. In ham lingo, he was my "Elmer", the one who introduced me to this great hobby, Amateur Radio.ĭick invited me up the street to see his station (he called it his "rig" and it was in his "ham shack"). I don't know if you remember your first friendship with an adult other than a family member, but Dick Freeling was mine. I didn't know then that one of the responsibilities of being a Ham Radio operator was advancing the hobby by encouraging young folks to get involved.īTW, the proper name is "Amateur Radio" there are dozens of stories of how it got to be nicknamed "Ham Radio" - I don't think anyone knows for sure which one is true. Dad wasn't too sure what that meant, but offered to call Dick, tell him I'd heard him and asked if he'd tell me about this nifty radio-thing. Dad said that Dick was a WWII veteran who had lost his sight in combat but was a "ham" radio operator. He was, after all, an adult (turns out, only sixteen years older than me) and I was a 14 year-old kid. He had two kids (one older and one younger than I) and I was only vaguely aware of him. He said, "Oh, that's probably Dick Freeling up the street."ĭick Freeling lived six houses up the street at 1822 Shadowlane:
When my Dad came home from work, I told him about my new listening adventure. He said his callsign was W5TIZ, his name was Dick and his "QTH" (whatever that meant) was Little Rock. It was fascinating and, I reasoned, the guy must be close by as he had a southern accent and was louder than any other shortwave signal I'd heard. At least I thought he was talking to someone else - I could only hear one side of the conversation. As I carefully tuned it in, it was some guy talking to someone else in some kind of jargon. So loud that you could hear it squawking away far up and down the dial. Shortly, though, the radio was rocked back on its cabinet by a very loud signal.
#HARVEY WELLS BANDMASTER FREE#
I remember sitting on the floor in front of it, reaching up and tuning back and forth listening to Radio Free Europe, Voice of America and other broadcasts in mysterious foreign languages. I don't remember how I discovered that you could click a switch and listen to shortwave radio - higher in frequency and a world away from the AM sounds of Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis. Just off the front hall in the living room was one of those gigantic floor-standing radios with a walnut case. The neighborhood was extremely "Ozzie and Harriett" but I loved it. I grew up (if "grown up" is what I am) in Little Rock, Arkansas.
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