<NOTE: THIS WAS RECORDED IN 2007 FOR BROADCAST ON “THIS WEEK IN AMATEUR RADIO”.  I’VE INCLUDED AN UPDATE.>

 ml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Prologue

Two computer voices are talking.  One should have a British accent; the other should probably be Mother Radio.

CV1 – YOU KNOW, I JUST REALIZED, I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM REGINALD IN OVER 31 YEARS.

CV2 – YES, HE MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED IN AUGUST 1976.

CV1 -- THE LAST TIME I HEARD HIM WAS IN BUFFALO, NY, ON CB FREQUENCY 27.085 MHZ.  HE WAS BEING CHASED BY A GANG OF DISREPUTABLE CB’ERS.  I HOPE HE ESCAPED.

CV2 – THAT WAS SCARY.  A MAN BEING PURSUED THROUGH THE DARK, DINGY AND DANGEROUS WAREHOUSE SECTION OF BUFFALO.  AND WE HEARD IT LIVE, RIGHT ON CB CH 11.  DID HE SURVIVE?

ZACH – THAT IS THE QUESTION.  DID HE SURVIVE?  AFTER 31 YEARS, MY VERY OWN GODFATHER, BILL CONTINELLI, W2XOY WILL REVEAL THE TRUTH ON “THIS WEEK IN AMATEUR RADIO”.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

In the spring of 1976, I was a recent college graduate, and unemployed.  I was on the waiting list for several civil service jobs, but the outlook was bleak.  My friend John suggested I get a temporary job as a security guard.  He was a guard at a local hospital, on the midnight shift, and said the work was easy.

And so, I applied to the security company.  I was also put on the midnight shift at a factory on the East side of Buffalo, located in a dank, dark, dingy and gloomy section of the city, filled with disreputable and dangerous inner city residents.  My pay was a whopping $2.40 per hour.  Minimum wage in 1976 was $2.30 per hour.  The extra 10 cents was our uniform cleaning allowance. 

The factory was 10 stories tall.  It ran three shifts, 24 hours per day, producing, of all things, dog biscuits.  The guard shack was at the front of the building, near the gate.  There were 3 guards on duty on the midnight shift – a sergeant and 2 “security officers”.  We really didn’t have much to do, as employees were always on site.  We watched the front gate, checked employee passes, stood guard at the railroad loading dock when the freight cars came in, checked the water tower on the roof, and generally just walked around.

The job was a radio hobbyist’s dream.  I had an early version of my radio bag at the time, equipped with a Drake TR-22C (a 12 channel 2 meter FM rig); a Midland 5 watt, 6 channel CB walkie-talkie; and a Lafayette pocket size VHF monitor, which tuned from 144 to 174 MHz.  The security company also provided us with Motorola HTs, which operated (according to my Lafayette) in the 154 MHz range.

Almost every night, when I went to the roof to check the water tower, I would spend hours talking on my radios.  Sometimes I was on CB Ch 14, talking to my friends on the west side.  Other nights, I was on 2 meters.  And sometimes I would get on the Motorola HT, to work my friend John over at the hospital, as well as other guards working the midnight shift.  The roof was almost 150’ above the ground, and Buffalo is a flat city.  This combination allowed up to 20 miles simplex range with the Midland, the Drake and the Motorola, and up to 75 miles with the TR-22C to repeaters.  The Lafayette was able to tune in all the police and fire departments in two counties.  When the skip came in on CB, or there was an opening on VHF, the range was even greater.

I only got in trouble once over my radio operations.  The Captain (who made $3.75 an hour) asked me why I was wasting time talking on the Motorola to the other guards.  My reply was something like:

“Captain, I’m not wasting time.  I am conducting an inter-operability test of emergency simplex communications among the various local security posts of duty.  Should there be an emergency, with loss of power and/or phone service, this simplex network can be utilized to coordinate our security operations.  When the tests are done, I will prepare a report that you can present to the main office”. 

Needless to say, the Captain was impressed.  He gave me permission to carry on.  And thus, I was authorized to play radio on the job.

Even when I was posted at the railroad dock, I had fun.  As a railfan, I watched the trains go by, the Lafayette tuned to the 160 MHz rail frequencies.

But I was not the only radio hobbyist on my shift.

“Mark” was our sergeant.  He was 27, about 5 years older than me, and had what we would call “issues”.  He had a problem with authority, taking orders, and following directions.  The security job was one of his last stops on his downward spiral.  As sergeant, he made $2.75 per hour – 35 cents more than me.

“Mark” was an avid CB’er.  This was obvious when looking at his car, a 1969 Chevy wagon with not one, but two 8’ whips.  One was on the bumper and the other was on the roof.  The wagon had two Cobra 138 sideband radios installed.  Both were modified to work additional channels in the 10 ½ meter band.  He also had a 23 channel Realistic walkie-talkie. 

Like me, Mark would go to the roof and operate.  Unlike me, Mark did not make any friends on the radio.  He was rude, crude, vulgar, profane and obnoxious on the air.  He and I had some arguments over his operating practices, especially when I caught him working skip and swearing on CB Ch 9, the emergency channel.  Mark bluntly told me he didn’t recognize the authority of the FCC, but he did at least vacate Ch 9. 

Mark especially had issues with the minority residents who lived in the neighborhood.  CB Ch 11 was the home frequency for Buffalo’s black CB’ers.  Mark couldn’t resist getting on Ch 11 and making racist comments, complete with all types of profanity.  Naturally, he got into a lot of on the air fights.  After a few weeks, however, the locals began to ignore Mark, which infuriated him.  Instead of increasing the racist and profane transmissions, however, Mark came up with a diabolically ingenious plan --- “Reginald” was born.

At first, “Reginald” was to be English.  Mark, however, couldn’t get the accent quite right, so he made “Reginald” Canadian.  “Reginald” was a vice-president in his father’s company in St. Catherine’s, Ontario, right over the border.  “Reginald” came to Buffalo two or three times a week, to oversee operations in the company’s warehouse. 

Unlike Mark, “Reginald” used no obscenities or profanities on the air.  In fact, “Reginald’s” command of the English language was impressive.  This totally surprised me, having heard Mark talk.  “Reginald” talked in a precise, clipped, pompous, and snooty fashion.  At times, he almost sounded prissy.  He condescendingly talked down to the locals on 27.085 MHz.  In an indirect, yet devastating fashion, he attacked their race, their heritage, their intelligence, their paternity, and their laziness.  He attacked their mothers, fathers, siblings, children, cars, clothes and music.  And he did it in an imperious, sarcastic fashion.  To listen to “Reginald” was an invitation to hate him. 

The local boys in the Ch 11 hood were used to rednecks and racists invading their radio turf.  But “Reginald” was something totally new.  They didn’t understand everything he said, but they hated him, with a hate far greater than they showed to anyone else on the CB. 

When “Reginald” showed up on 11 meters, the locals came out of anywhere and everywhere to attack him.  The more they screamed, swore and made death threats, the cooler and more composed “Reginald” became.

The locals began to drive around the warehouse district, looking for “Reginald”.  We could see them going by the dog biscuit factory several times a night.  Mark had anticipated this, however.  He transmitted from his wagon, the roof, the basement, and the railroad dock.  He used high power and low power.  On the walkie-talkie, he used the telescopic whip or a rubber duck.  In summary, Mark was able to hide “Reginald’s” location for over one month.

Until that hot, humid, August night.

Mark showed up for work late that night.  His eyes were bloodshot, his uniform disheveled, and his breath reeked of booze.  Tom (the third member of our security trio) and I knew enough to stay out of his way.  Mark, as sergeant, announced that Tom would be in the guard shack and I would be on the railroad dock.  As for Mark, he would do the security rounds, and check the water tower.  He left with his Motorola, and the Realistic walkie-talkie.  I had an uneasy feeling in my gut. 

Sure enough, as I stood by the loading dock, watching the local freight come in, I heard “Reginald” on Ch 11.  This time, however, “Reginald” was far more vicious, and cruel in his attacks.  In Mark’s semi inebriated condition, “Reginald” was losing his identity.  Mark’s voice and personality were starting to take control of his imaginary friend.

The locals also noticed the change.  Smelling blood, they went out in droves to look for “Reginald”.  But this time, in addition to the cars, they were also on foot with walkie-talkies. 

As I stood by the loading dock, I saw a group of 5 locals walking down the tracks.  Quickly, I shut off the Midland, put it in the radio bag, and pulled out the Motorola.  I could hear “Reginald’s” voice coming through their CB’s.  I tried to stay in the shadows, but they caught sight of me, holding the Motorola HT, and approached.

I’ll never forget that moment.  The oppressive heat; the dank dark air; the feeble street lights throwing garish shadows on the crumbling walls of the old buildings; a hot wind, blowing through the squalid alley, carrying the odor of death and decay, mixing it with the odor of the animal by products used in the factory, and presenting the fetid aroma to our unwilling nostrils. And the silence.  No one said a word, the radios were quiet.

I stood absolutely still, a scared, scrawny 22 year old in an absurd security guard uniform (complete with a real security guard badge), holding a Motorola HT, with a large black bag hung over my left shoulder.  I resisted the urge to look up at the roof.  If they followed my gaze and saw Mark, it would be all over.  I silently begged Mark to make one more “Reginald” transmission.  Please Mark, please, please do it.  Do it now Mark.  NOW!!  PLEASE MARK, SAVE ME!!! MAKE THAT TRANSMISSION!!!!!!  I’M GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!!!

And then it happened; “Reginald’s” voice came through their CB’s.  They saw I wasn’t speaking, and that my radio was silent.  Then, a moment later, Mark’s voice came through the Motorola:

“Base to Unit 3”

“3 to Base” I answered in a feeble voice.

“Status at the railroad dock?”

“Everything’s fine here” I replied.

Their CB’s were quiet.  They realized I wasn’t “Reginald”.  With a look that said “keep your mouth shut”, they disappeared into the urban void.

I staggered back to the guard shack, poured myself a cup of coffee, and collapsed into a chair.  Tom, having no knowledge of “Reginald” and unaware of the night’s events, was shocked at my appearance.  Five minutes later, Mark swaggered in.  He had seen the whole thing from the roof.  We filled Tom in on the whole adventure.  Mark laughed at me, called me a sissy, and said he wasn’t afraid of them.  “In fact”, said Mark, “I’m going out to the railroad dock now and make some more “Reginald” transmissions”.  Tom and I had to hold him back.  Mark kept repeating that he wasn’t afraid.

But he was.

Before we left work that morning, I saw Mark take both 8 foot whips off his Chevy, and put them in the back of the wagon.  He kept them off the Chevy every time he was at the factory.  He never operated his radios at work again.  “Reginald” was dead.

Three weeks later, I got a civil service job at the Erie County 911 dispatch center.  Before I left the dog biscuit factory, I did one more thing.  I wrote up a report for the Captain on simplex and duplex VHF communications.  I told him to give it to his superiors as his own idea.

In October, 1976, the Captain called me.  He wanted to take me out to lunch.  The report on VHF communications impressed the top brass so much, he was promoted to Supervisor, at a whopping $5.00 per hour.

At lunch, I gave the Captain pointers on VHF and CB communications systems.  After we ate, I asked “how’s Mark?  Is he still at the dog biscuit factory?”

The Captain paused and then said no.  Mark was fired.  It seems that shortly after I left, he showed up very drunk and got into a fight with the second shift sergeant.  No one has seen him since.

Although I’ve been back to Buffalo many times over the past 3 decades, I never went back to the factory.  I wonder if it and the railroad track are still there.  I hope so, as too much of Buffalo has been torn down or removed.  I want to drive by at midnight, the CB tuned to 27.085 MHz, and the scanner searching all 154 MHz business frequencies.  I want to see my old 1971 VW Bus in the lot, parked next to a 1969 Chevy wagon with two 8’ antennas.  I want to see a thin 22 year old guy on the roof, having a ball working stations on 2 meters.  But I never want to hear “Reginald” again.

NOTE:  Since I recorded this last year for “This Week in Amateur Radio”, my curiosity got the best of me.  On my last trip to Buffalo, I returned to the dog biscuit factory.  I’m happy to say, it is still there, producing tasty treats for dogs.  I saw the guard shack and the railroad dock.  I pulled over, and looked at the site of my adventure over 32 years ago.  And, for this trip, I even had my old Midland 13-777C 6 channel, 5 watt CB rig.  I extended the Midland’s 5’ telescopic whip, and tuned to Ch 11.  The frequency was silent.  I resisted the urge to call “Reginald”.  For all I knew, after 32 years, there still might be locals who remembered.  I wasn’t going to take a chance.