Seventy-five years ago today, this days issue of Broadcasting, August 11, 1941, carried this image of the shortwave listening post and receiving station of United Press at Valhalla, Westchester County, New York.

The magazine noted that the station’s existence had previously been a rather well kept trade secret, but had only recently been revealed by the press agency. The station had originally started in 1933 with a single operator, whose sole duty was to copy a Morse broadcast from Paris. By 1941, the station employed a dozen operators, and received scores of broadcasts daily from 15 to 20 capitals around the world.

The station was connected to the wire service’s network by a high speed printer connection to New York, and on a busy day for European war news, carried as many as 40,000 words per day.

The station was housed in a farm house, with the surrounding acres dotted with receiving antennas.

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Sixty years ago this month, the August 1956 issue of Radio Electronics carried the plans for this receiver, which was probably the first, or one of the first, examples of an all-transistor shortwave receiver. Up until this point, high-frequency oscillation had been the stumbling block for a transistorized receiver. But GE had just put on the market the 2N137, and the circuit shown in the article could oscillate up to 12 MHz, and could even function at higher frequencies with less sensitivity.

The transistor had a steep retail price of $6.50, but this was predicted to drop as demand and production grew.

The author described the set as “a real ‘red hot,'” and reported that the dial was usually crowded with hundreds of stations. With an antenna consisting of 8 feet of wire on the floor, the set consistenly pulled in European and Asian stations and could keep pace with many communications receivers. It also performed well on the standard broadcast band.

The set used band switching, and had tuning ranges of 800-1600 kHz, 3.8-6.5 MHz, and 6-13 MHz. Regeneration was adjusted by means of variable inductive coupling, and the author reported smooth operation, even better than most vacuum tube circuits. The tickler coil was mounted on a plastic shaft, and could be rotated from the front panel to adjust the orientation with respect to the antenna coil. One stage of audio amplification (with a 2N107, kept the headphones isolated from the detector and almost eliminated the tendency for movement of the headphone cord to affect tuning.

The author suggested that the use of plug-in coils might push the operation of the set to higher frequencies, but the plans shown were a good starting point for anyone interested in the use of transistors at high frequencies. It resulted in a good portable radio that was both rugged and had very low power drain. He noted that these attributes made the set attractive for emergency or disaster use.

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Shown here on the cover of the July-August 1941 issue of National Radio News is one of the operating consoles of the radio system of the Illinois State Police.

Shown are senior operator E. Swaringen and supervisor C.I. Hopper. They are at the zone and interzone console at the Springfield station.

The magazine reported that in its three years of radio operation, the apprehension of criminals had rocketed to record-breaking heights. For example, the percentage of stolen cars recovered had jumped from 13% to a new high of 83%.

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If you wanted a radio in your living room 80 years ago and wanted to be stealthy, you could construct this five-tube TRF set concealed behind a tapestry, as shown in the August 1936 issue of Popular Science.

The set, in addition to the rectifier, contained one stage of RF amplification, a detector, and two stages of audio amplification.  The antenna was concealed in the silk cord that supported the picture, a power outlet could be installed behind the picture, and the tuning and volume knobs were at the bottom of the frame.

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Seventy-five years ago this month, the August 1941 issue of Popular Science carried the plans for this midget one-tube broadcast receiver geared to the needs of the outdoor enthusiast.

According to the magazine, the set was small enough to be carried in a knapsack on hiking trips, but would pull in stations up to 400 miles away at night. It used a single 1T4 miniature pentode and got power from a standard flashlight cell running the filament, with a midget 45 volt battery supplying the B+.

When used in the great outdoors, a long nail could be driven into the earth for the ground connection, with a 40 foot wire tossed over a tree.

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Eighty years ago this month, the July 1936 issue of Popular Science included this novel “porcupine” antenna.

for either shortwave or broadcast reception. The magazine noted that where space was at a premium, it could be fastened to the outside frame of a window, since it required no mast, insulators, or dangling wires. The “antenna” consisted of a “clump of short wires that resembles a procupine or bristle brush.”

It seems to me that the outdoor clump of wires would add little or nothing to the reception. In reality, if the antenna worked, it was only because the lead-in wire was functioning as an antenna.  At least it wasn’t advertised as containing oxygen-free wire.
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Sixty years ago this month, the July 1956 issue of Radio Electronics magazine announced, “This is it!” When the transistor had come out a few years earlier, it was predicted that it would eventually replace all of the tubes in broadcast radios. Other plans had been published for “transistor radios,” but they were merely crystal sets with a transistor used for audio amplification. All-transistor superheterodynes were just coming on the market, and the magazine announced that “at last, experimenters and hobbyists may construct their personal all transistor radio–one that can fit into a shirt pocket!

The set, constructed in a 29 cent clear plastic box, was powered by three penlight cells that were said to last up to 600 hours. Unlike earlier “self-contained” sets, this one required no external antenna, and had been tested in many different locations, such as walking along the street, in a steel building, or even in a cellar.

The set used four 2N112 transistors. The author reported picking up 20 stations in the New York area, and extolled readers to build one. “You will find plenty of use for it since you can keep in touch with the ball games, news flashes, your favorite concerts, etc. When carried in a shirt pocket, everything remains hidden except for the hearing-aid earpiece.”

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WLS Chicago billed itself as the Prairie Farmer Station, as shown in this ad that appeared in Broadcasting magazine 75 years ago today, July 28, 1941.

The ad reported that the station’s Bulletin Board program at 6:30 AM included weather, livestock estimates, crop news, and other items of interest to farmers. Many farmers wrote to the station to report that they had radios in their barns and listened as they did their chores. In response, the station formed a “Radio in the Barn Club” with certificates of membership.

Certificates were issued to almost 2000 farmers in 14 states: Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Ohio, California, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Texas, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, and Wisconsin.

The WLS call letters were first used in 1924.  At the time, the station was owned by Sears, and the station’s call letters boasted the World’s Largest Store.  The station was sold to Prairie Farmer magazine in 1928, which owned it until the station was sold to ABC in 1960.

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Forty years ago, the United States was in the midst of the CB craze. The eleven meter band had been set aside for the Class D Citizens Radio Service in 1958, and it was initially a relatively useful service for short-range communications. But during the 1970’s, it became so wildly popular that every channel was almost continually filled with signals of varying strengths, so that only the closest and most powerful could break through. Back in those days, tuning through the 27 MHz band revealed a cacophony of heterodynes every 10 kHz along the dial, night and day.

CB’s also required a license, and at some point, the FCC was hopelessly overwhelmed. A few years later, they gave up, and licensed everyone in the United States under a “licensed by rule” arrangement. Many people ignored the license requirement, but those who went by the rules faced delays of months before the license arrived in the mail.

As a stopgap measure, the FCC in 1976 allowed for interim licenses. After you mailed in the license application, you filled out a second form, which you retained for your records. You even assigned yourself a call sign. The call started with K, followed by your initials, followed by your ZIP code. So in my case, I would have been KRC-55418.

Both the license application and the interim license were contained in the box when you bought a CB. But if you didn’t have a copy, the July-August 1976 issue of Elementary Electronics contained a copy.  Apparently, the size of the form had to be right, so the magazine instructed you to carefully cut the page to exactly 8 x 10 inches, and follow the instructions.

After you certified, under penalty of imprisonment, that you had mailed the form and the $4, that you were over 18 and not the representative of a foreign government, and weren’t in any prior trouble with the FCC, you assigned yourself the call sign, and you were on the air.  The back of the page contained a summary of the rules that you were to scrupulously obey.

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