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My little liberated microphone ...as making history, at least for us . .. 30 As '¥'IC signed off, I found myself staring at my beautiful microphone with the bright green cord. Why not? Why not try some voice on these guys ? Having no modulator of any sort, the o nly answer was to make up a crude version of FM known as loop modulation. In short order I'd rigged the mike inductively to the wavcmcter, whi ch I placed ncar the grid end of the tank coil. But not too ncar. There was lots of rf floating around. A tentative " hell o test" into the mike made the wavemctcr bulb fl utter in sync and the plate milliammeter wi ggle a few mills upward. It was a durn good thing there were no television sets around. Now to fi nd a guinea pig for my experiment. A CQ DX on CW brought quick response from EB4BC in Antwe rp, Belgium, who reported us loud and clear. "Sure, go ahead with fane," he replied, when I told him of my wi ld modulation device. So I let him have it at some length, watching the li ttle wavcmcter bulb twinkl ing with my words. Then I switc hed back to him. " You ta lk too fast, old man. Don 't understand English well. Please say a few words in French ." Fortunately I was able to comply, which brought for th an excited "fine business," ... • • fSJ! I , I / wi th many CW exclamation points. For some time I continued with him , watching the snow coming down in great sheets outside. This fone business was really fascinating - one could say so much more in a given amount of time. Also, my little libe rated mi crophone was making history, at least for us. Several other club members had joi ned me by now. We were all amazed at our success and anxious to get some really big DX on voice. The Belgi an sta tion was about 3,400 miles away. What about Africa - or even Australia? So we sent out a CQ DX on voice, repeating several times. "Calling Africa or Australia," I sang into the mi ke. It was a superb bit of optimism that had us all but breaking up. And then, suddenly, there was FD-A3Z in Capetown, South Africa, calling us. He was on CW with a good strong signal. We 'd worked him before on 40 meters. He was about 7,800 miles away. Real DX. " You r voice lo ud and clear in Capetown," he said. "Congratulatio ns. First American amateur voice signal ever heard here! Glad to work yo u again." We than ked him, giving hi s report - and explained what the modulator lash-up was. About then t noticed a thin wisp of blue Apparently NU1S W, The Phillips Academy Radio Club, was hot news back in April, 1927. Param ount Newsreel took this shot ofjohn Murray (at the famous purloined microphone) for showing in movie theatres nationally. To the right is a General Radio WOllt'meter. To the left is our low power transmitter, an 852 self-excited Meissner job. The cam eraman insisted on hanging that crazy, obsolete switch and huge old RCA helix coil on the "Wall for "artistic effect. " The double deck receiver lash-up has a honey coil job on top, which REL (Radio Engineering Laboratories) built especially for us, designed and donated by the late fabulous Henry B. j oy ( W)8 IA, 810, IAHM, KFKIV, at that time president of the Packard Motor Car Company. Beneath it is an Aero regenerative receiver, both units battery operated, ofcourse, since there were no oc powered sets in general use at that time. - •
smo ke rtsmg up from the microphone. Hurriedl y we turned it back to him. He reported everything fine up to the tail end o f our transmissi on. " Bad disto rtion then set in," he said, "and your transmitting frequency really jumping arou nd." When I turned o n o nce more to reply, blue smoke gushed fro m the mike. If this conti nued, the carbon grains would solidify in a ball. Quickly shutti ng off things, I moved the wavemeter a bit further away and detuned it slightly. Then, hol ding the mike by its shaft, I banged the dayl ights ou t of it o n the bench. "You 're out of your m ind: ' one of the boys said. " You're going to bust that thing:' So, I gave it a couple more whacks to show I knew what I was d oing, then swi tched o n the transmitter. "Calling FQ-A3Z," I said. " Are you st il l th ere ?" " Lovely," he came back in his CW, "just lovely. But your voice much weaker now." Then, all of a sudden, I felt as if someone had slammed me in the back o f the head wi th a wet doormat. I began to ache allover and broke out in a cold sweat. Our 2nd o p, Bob Schirmer, signed off fast with the South African. " You'd better get down to the infirmary right away," he said. " You're red as a beet." It wasn 't easy. Ho wever, he managed to help me walk the half mile and tu rned me over to the head nu rse, Mrs. Mc Kiver. She took one loo k and had me guided to a first floor bed . I never could have navigated the stairs and was by now, they reported later, not making any sense. My temperature was 105.4 0 • Emergency wo rd got the school doctor on hand in jig time . He co uldn't find a nyt h ing wro ng e xce p t my hi gh te mperature . Fortunately, it was not . . tncreasmg. Dr. Page was not no ted for his sense of humor. A serio us- minded little guy , he had three pet phobias: With no ur gi ng at all , he was ready at any given moment to preach on the vi cious evi ls of tobacco, alco hol and coffee. Mrs. McKiver told me later that my greeting, when he showed up at my bedside, was hardly liable to put him in a good mood. " Hello, sweetheart:' I said. " You got a cigar on you ?" He surveyed me coldly for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. " You been drinking?" "Sure, Doc, that's right. May be I need a cup of black coffee. No sugar, please ." He seemed to ca tch on, turni ng to Mrs. McKiver. "This boy's del irious. I've got to find out what he's been up to." He sat down on the edge of the bed, grasped my wrist and took out his watch. " What have you been doing today, young man ?" " Just so me rad io experimen ts you wouldn 't understa nd - and flo at ing ou t over the South Atlantic Ocean o n a dreamy cloud, sweetheart, and going like hell about 186,000 miles an hour." Dr. Page looked at Mrs. McK iver. " Cool compresses on his forehea d, please. I' ll be back later. " Then he prescribed a mild seda tive. In almost no time I was o ff in a fevered sleep whic h lasted for several hours. When I o pened my eyes he was back agai n, shaking a thermometer. I was no w just about normal - but with a jagged headache. While I was fl oating around o n my cloud, he'd bee n doi ng some hasty consulting wi th two o ther local doctors and had even called the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston. " You r trouble has some thing to do with rad io currents, " he said. "Somehow your system has absorbed a dangerous dose of these radio frequencies - givi ng you an artificial te mperature which could have killed you if you'd gotten much more of it." Then I explained the tests we'd made and th e smoking microphone. His careful questioning brought out that my hand had been o n portions of the unshielded micro phone cord and also had held the shank of the telephone for an unduly long time. I'd just been overly exposed to a force I really didn 't kno w anything about. " I believe," he co ntinued, " if you were about to co me down wit h any o f a num ber of differen t Illnesses, you have killed the bugs, luckil y not yourself to boo t. A rise in temperature is nature's way of co mbatting unnatural intrusions and infecti ons. In yo ur case, there was only one bug invol ved , a rad io bug - you. You 'd better be more careful." His advice was well taken. Dr. Page was a lot more thoro ugh than I had imagined. It was no t until several years later that the med ical profession was experimenting with artificially induced rad io frequen cy fevers to . help in alleviating certain infections, no tably pneumonia. A New York doctor told me that a govern me nt hospital had achieved sign if ic a n t re sults in th is respect. Furthermore, it had been determined th at there was a definite cu t-off po int beyond which the human system could not ta ke these artificial fevers, somewhe re in the neighborhood of 106° . Just a few more QSOs that afternoon would have cooked my goose, some what the same way that the microphone with the beautiful gree n cord got cooked. 50--0-0 •. . the next tim e you sec a telephone with a beautiful green cord sitting on the curbstone, I suggest you leave it there. - All of a sudden, I felt as if so meo ne had slammed me in the back of the head with a wet doormat ... • Just a few more QSOs that afternoon would have c o o k e d m y goo se, so mewhat the same way that the microphone with the beautiful green co rd got cooked . . . 31
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