"Nice talking to you, Bir!"
May 20, 2005
One of the great things about hobby of ham radio is
the camaraderie among the people which
transcends social status, religion, language and country. Radio hams from
anywhere are instantly on the same wave length when they meet in person. I had an experience while
serving in the U. S. Army's 82nd Airborne Division which exemplifies that camaraderie.
I
was a radio operator attached to the Headquarters of the 82nd Airborne
Division Artillery. Actually, my complete title was
'radio-teletypewriter operator' and I had my own truck with a box-like
radio shack on the back. In the radio shack I had the usual
transmitter/receiver combination as well as teletype machines and a
device which created tapes by punching holes in the tape. My job
specifications required a working knowledge of Morse code which I was
quite good at since I'd been a ham since I was eleven years old.
Because I was a ham and the equipment I had
could tune on the amateur frequencies, I would often attempt
contact with places nearby the homes of some of friends in my unit. Many
times I would contact amateur stations near someone's home and the operator
near their home would make a call to the parents, wife or girlfriend. The
guys loved it because they could talk home for free. I often spent more time using my radios for
contacts on the ham frequencies than on the military networks.
One
of my favorite forms of communications is using Morse code. In the ham radio
community, Morse code
is referred to as CW--for continuous wave--by everyone in the hobby. I would often go on the ham bands with a code sending device
known universally as 'a bug.' The bug is a mechanical device which sends a
continuous set of dots if pressed one way and a single long dash if pressed the
other way.
Because learning to send with a bug is very
difficult, no one in the military used bugs; they used a simpler device
known as a key. The key allows the sending of dots and dashes by an up and
down tapping motion on the key.
One day I was sitting in my truck trying to
look busy, when our radio sergeant stuck his head in and said, "Sayers,
clean up in there and police around the outside of the truck. A General and
some really big wigs are coming by for some kind of tour. Look busy."
"Sergeant, you know how good I am at
looking busy," I laughed, "you never know if I'm working or not."
"Pick up any butts and don't get in any
trouble," he grinned as he walked away to get the other guys ready for the
upcoming tour.
A half hour or so later one of the guys
yelled, "Oh, man, look at that! What the hell is going on?"
I looked down the line of trucks in our
motor pool to an entourage of two dozen or more people walking slowly toward
us. We all gawked in amazement as none of us had seen a tour with so many
people.
The 82nd Airborne Division was a showcase
operation. We had a reputation from kicking butt during World War II and the
Army loved to show us off. We were always having tours dignitaries and
photographers but nothing like this one.
As the group came closer to my truck I
could tell that the person who was the focal point of the tour was wearing a
large, purple turban; he walked carrying a swagger stick and had a thick,
full beard. He was quite obviously not an American. The turban caused me to
think that he was Indian or Pakistani.
From my vantage point sitting in my radio
van I was about five feet off the ground and could easily see into the
approaching crowd. I noticed what I thought was a Brigadier General and
many other officers of high rank. Clearly, the tour was for the officer in the
purple turban.
As the group approached my truck, I noticed
the turbaned officer look up at the tall antenna I had erected from my truck
so I could contact people on the amateur frequencies. He kept looking my
truck over and finally said something to the general and walked directly to
my van.
"Oh, shit," I thought. "What now?" as he
came right up to door and gazed into the van. Military protocol is such that
a lowly enlisted man doesn't speak to an officer unless spoken to first. I
did what I thought polite and nodded to him as he thoroughly investigated
the inside of my van. He looked intently at ever piece of equipment.
Finally, he saw the bug sitting on
the operating console. He took the swagger stick from under his arm and
pointed to the bug while asking, "What do use that for,
soldier?" with a very obvious emphasis on the 'that' in his question.
"Oh, shit," I thought, "I'm caught." I
stammered a bit and said, "Well, sir, I'm a radio amateur and I use the bug to
communicate on the amateur frequencies if I have the time."
"Oh, really, you like CW?" he smiled a big, friendly
grin. "What's your call?"
"My call is W3ZLU, sir."
With that, he reached out his hand to shake
mine and said, "Glad to me you, I'm VU2BP! You can call me Bir. May I come
in to look around?"
"Well, glad to me you, too, sir. Sure, come
on in; I'll give you the full tour." Which was a joke because once he
was inside and sitting next to me the van was full and we couldn't move. By
his "VU" call letters I immediately knew that he was from India.
We sat side by side, so close in fact that
our knees were touching, and I explained the equipment and my job. We talked
about ham radio quite a bit.
He asked if I had talked to a group of
Indian amateurs who were making history in the ham community by operating
from various remote, uninhabited islands in middle of the Indian Ocean. I
told him I had listened heard them but couldn't make myself heard with the
type of antenna I was using.
He laughed and told me how glad he was to
meet someone with whom he could actually talk. He hated tours.
We made small talk and gossip about
things going on in the amateur world and finally, we heard from outside,
"Ah, pardon me, Sir, but we really should be getting on with the tour. The
heavy drop demonstration out on Sicily DZ can't be changed and we'll be late if we don't
move on."
He smiled at me and said, "Well, back to
work!"
He exited the van with a jump to
ground. He turned around to face me; snapped his heels together; threw his
hand up in a British-style palm outward salute and said with a grin, "It sure
was nice to meet you, Bernie. Hope to work you on 20 meters some day!"
I returned the salute with an even bigger
grin and said, "It was nice talking to you, Bir. I hope we can make
that QSO."
Our 82nd Airborne officers and the
surrounding entourage were astounded. Their mouths were open in amazement.
They all had a look of disbelief on their face of "...did that
soldier just call
that officer by his first name?!"
Bir walked away, took a few steps, and
turned around to say, "I'll send you a QSL for our QSO."
Everyone in the group looked on trying to
figure out what Bir had just said to me. "I would like that! Thank you, Bir!" I said with
a grin.
Two or three days later, I was called to
our Headquarters Orderly Room. As usual, I thought, what now?
When I reported in I was handed an envelope
on which was written, "Bernie, W3ZLU, 82nd Airborne Division."
When I opened it I found a QSL card from
VU2BP. A QSL is a post card with the location, equipment and other
information and is used as confirmation of a contact, or QSO, with another
station.
Bir didn't know anything about me except my first name, my call and
and the fact that I was with the 82nd Airborne Division. I
was told by my commanding officer that Bir had given the QSL to the General
who accompanied him on the tour and asked the General if he could deliver
the QSL to me.
 
As you can see from the QSL Bir wrote
"Personal QSO" and signed his name "Bir".
I found out later that Bir was the head of
the Indian Army Signal corps, that he was airborne qualified and that held a
rank equal to our Major General. See a link to VU2BP's QTH.
I have hundreds of cards from all over the
world and at least one card from over 125
foreign countries but the QSL from Bir is one of my favorites.
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