Category Archives: Radio history

1944 One Tube VHF Transceiver

At OneTubeRadio.com, we’e always looking for one tube radios, and seventy years ago, QST carried these circuits for a one-tube AM transceiver for VHF. Since the war had Amateur Radio shut down for the duration, this circuit was designed for WERS on 112 MHz.

The design also took wartime parts shortages into account, since the radio has about the bare number of parts possible to make a functioning transceiver. The author notes that almost any receiving tube can be used, and includes two circuit diagrams, one showing a directly cathode, and one with a separate cathode and filament. A prototype of the unit is shown, built in a cigar box. The antenna, a quarter-wave zepp, plugs into the top of the radio.  (These days, a vertical zepp for VHF is better known as the J-pole.)

The circuit is basically a regenerative receiver, with a carbon microphone controlling current to the cathode. While the modulation percentage is low, the author calls it entirely adequate for short-haul work.

The author recommends a 6J5 tube for the circuit with a cathode, or a 1LE3 or 1G4 for the filament-only circuit, but almost any tube will work. The author does not offer any details as to performance (since he probably wasn’t able to test it on the air during the war). But he notes that “for a transceiver which costs only two dollars or less, as this one does, any attainable range should be satisfactory.”

It’s doubtful whether this simple circuit would meet the current FCC spectral purity requirements for use on the ham bands. After all, even while receiving, the regenerative receiver is radiating. However, if some attention is paid, it’s likely that this circuit would be legal on 49.82 – 49.90 MHz, under sections 15.235 and 15.23 of the FCC rules.

Interestingly, this isn’t the first time that the author of this article has been mentioned at this site. The QST article was written by Gurdon Abell, W2IXK. It appears that he later moved to Connecticut and was licensed as K1EHG after the war.  He passed away in 1999 at the age of 82.  He was mentioned here in an earlier post, and it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that he was the discoverer of meteor scatter communications on VHF.

You can find the original article and a few corrections on the ARRL website. To view these QST articles, you need to be logged in to your ARRL account.


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Discovery of Meteor Burst Communications, 1944-56

VHF Antenna at FCC Allegan, Michigan, monitoring station, 1944.

VHF Antenna at FCC Allegan, Michigan, monitoring station, 1944.

Seventy years ago, the November 1944 issue of Radio News carried a story of a phenomenon that was baffling radio engineers, and was under investigation by the FCC monitoring station at Allegan, Michigan. The station was reporting strange bursts from distant FM broadcast stations, then operating in the 42-50 MHz band. The FCC station had receivers tuned to the frequencies of distant stations, constantly making a record of the signal strengths as the distant stations came up out of the noise. The signals were bursts of a very short duration in the station’s signal strength. These bursts were rarely of a duration longer than a single spoken word or one or two notes of music.

The bursts have been observed at distances of up to 1400 miles, but were more common at distances of 300-700 miles.

The article was almost certainly describing meteor scatter.  A letter to the editor of QST, November 1946, from Gurdon R. Abell, Jr., W2IXK, seems to be the first reference by a ham to the same phenomenon. He noted hearing bursts of signals during the Perseids meteor showers on 144 MHz, which coincided with bursts from New York HF stations inside his skip zone. He concludes, “if this observation can be relied upon, it means that 144-Mc. signals can be refracted by the stronger meteor trails,” and he seeks further corroborating evidence.

This letter was probably inspired by a January 1946 QST article by Oswald G. Villard, Jr., W6QYT.  Villard detailed how to listen to meteors by monitoring short wave stations on 11, 15, or 18 MHz. A meteor would result in a signal being reflected, but with a doppler shift causing a change in frenquency. The two signals would result in a heterodyne, causing an audible whistle.  Villard followed up with another article in QST for July 1947,  but was still focused on the HF effects of meteors, the highest frequency investigated being 27 MHz.

Two follow-up letters to W2IXK’s appeared in QST in January 1947, from Villard, and also from Bruce Henke, W6TFJ, who noted a similar phenomenon on 10 meters. In April 1953, Villard, along with Allen Peterson, W6POH, wrote an article discussing the possibility of using “meteor scatter” for communications on 15 and 20 meters.

Between 1953 and 1956, VHF operators started to figure out the possibilities of this propagation mode. Many of these are detailed in the World Above 50 Mc column in October 1956.

With digital modes, able to make an entire exchange in less than a second, meteor scatter is now fairly routine. In the 1950’s, it required fast Morse code, and more than a little luck. It’s not impossible, however, with voice modes. From Minnesota, South Dakota is a difficult catch on 10 meters, since it’s well within the skip zone. I have South Dakota confirmed, and I’m pretty certain it’s courtesy of a meteor. During a 10 meter contest, I just happened to have the VFO on the frequency being run by W0SD in Salem, SD, a distance of 225 miles. (If you’re driving I-90 through South Dakota and wonder what those towers are as you pass Salem, now you know.)  He was calling CQ, and he came up out of the noise with a booming signal. I quickly called, we made the exchange, and then he disappeared. He was audible for only a few seconds, and it was dumb luck that I was on his frequency for those seconds. I can’t think of any explanation other than meteor scatter for this contact.

Note:  To view the QST articles linked above, you need to be logged in to your ARRL account.


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Nazi Weather Station in Labrador

Weather Station Kurt on display at the Canadian War Museum (Wikipedia photo).

Weather Station Kurt on display at the Canadian War Museum (Wikipedia photo).

On October 22, 1943, Germany made its only armed landing on the North American continent of the Second World War. On that day, the U-boat U-537 anchored at the northern end of Labrador and its crew loaded ten cylindrical canisters, each weighing about 220 pounds, onto rubber rafts and then ashore. Together, these canisters constituted an automated weather station, which the Germans had given the code name Weather Station Kurt. The station was one of 26 manufactured by Siemens and deployed around the North Atlantic to give German meteorologists data on weather as it moved across the Atlantic. Other stations had been deployed in Greenland; Bear Island, Norway; Spitsbergen; and Franz Josef Land. Another such station was intended for North America, but the sub carrying it was sunk en route.

One of the canisters contained the meteorological instruments, and one contained a 150-watt  Lorenz 150 FK radio transmitter. (A specimen of this transmitter can be found in LA6NCA’s collection.)  The remaining canisters contained nickel-cadmium batteries to power the system. The system was designed to operate for up to six months, sending a two minute transmission every three hours on 3940 kHz. The data was sent in Morse, which was to be manually transcribed by German radio operators.  Some technical details, diagrams, and wartime photos of the station can be viewed at the links below.

The station was camouflaged, and components were  marked in English with the words “Canadian Meteor Service.” Not only was there no such agency, but Labrador was part of Newfoundland and not Canada.  The station was placed far enough North in the hope, apparently realized, that the Innuit of Labrador would not encounter it.  To confuse anyone who might stumble upon the remote site, empty American cigarette packages were strewn about.  A satellite image of the remote site can be viewed at Google Maps.

The station apparently worked flawlessly, but but was subject to jamming from a source that has never been identified. The Allies apparently never learned of the station’s existence, but It apparently provided weather data for only a few days.

The station was abandoned and not found until 1981. A German researcher working on an unrelated project stumbled onto records of the station in 1977. A retired Siemens engineer who was working on records of the company also stumbled upon references to the station about the same time. He contacted a Canadian Defence historian, who eventually sent a team to the site in 1981. Although some canisters had been disturbed, the station was still there. The station is currently on display at the Canadian War Museum.

References

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Measuring Longitude Between Washington and Paris, 1914

LongitudeRadioIn an earlier post,
we showed how radio was being used in 1924 for accurate measurements of longitude. And the newspaper a hundred years ago today, November 21, 1914, shows the work that was taking place then. This clipping from the New York Sun shows measurements of longitude being made between Paris and Washington.

The Eiffel Tower radio station continued in service throughout the war, and a hundred years ago, it was busy comparing time signals with its counterpart in Arlington, Virginia, station NAA. By comparing the instant of local noon at both locations, the tests were able to very accurately measure the difference in longitude. The time difference between the two observatories was found to be 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 36.658 seconds. This corresponds to a difference in longitude of 79.40274 degrees.


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Knight-Kit Star Roamer Receiver, 1964

KnightStarRoamer

Fifty years ago this month, November 1964, Electronics Illustrated reviewed Allied Radio’s Knight-Kit Star Roamer Receiver.  I never had one, but this basic receiver was ubiquitous in the 1960’s and 1970’s, and many SWL’s got their start with the four-tube receiver.

According to the magazine, the kit sold for $39.95 and took about 20 hours to build.  The receiver’s low tube count was courtesy of a selenium rectifier and solid-state diode detector.  The radio did receive CW, but without a BFO.  The final IF stage was designed so that it could break into oscillation, making the receiver quasi-regenerative.  Interestingly, the radio included a key jack, since the oscillating stage could be used as a code practice oscillator for an aspiring novice to work on learning the code.


The receiver tuned 200 kHz to 30 MHz, but as the review points out, the longwave band was almost useless, and the overall performance left a lot to be desired.  But in an environment filled with strong shortwave signals, even a simple receiver like this one would give hours of interesting listening to the new SWL.

Good specimens seem to go for about $50 on eBay.  But if you’re in the market, there’s really no sense in getting a working one.  The simple receiver is easy to work on, and the full assembly manual is readily available.  This receiver would be a good candidate to “re-kit”: Take it apart, and keep the mechanical parts, IF transformers, and variable capacitors.  Then,  replace the resistors and capacitors with modern replacements.  The selenium rectifier is probably best replaced with a more modern silicon rectifier.  The old tubes are almost certainly good, and even if they are not, they are all easily obtainable as “new old stock.”  Finally, put it back together according to the manual (and the cautions contained in the EI review).



Houdini’s Ice Escape Explained…Except for One Small Detail

HoudiniRiver

Houdini going in to the Detroit River (from the 1953 Paramount movie)

Seventy years ago today, November 17, 1944, the Milwaukee Journal carried an interesting item about the escape artist Harry Houdini.  The previous Sunday, November 12, the radio program John Nesbitt’s The Passing Parade had carried a description of Houdini’s famous escape from under the ice covered waters of the Detroit River.  This stunt was immortalized in the  1953 Paramount Movie Houdini starring Tony Curtis as Houdini.  A still from the movie of the great escape artist’s crate being dropped into the icy water is shown here.

The Journal’s radio editor recounts the broadcast describing the “famous occasion 35 or more years ago when Houdini jumped into the Detroit river through a hole cut in otherwise solid ice that covered the river.” According to the paper, Houdini “stayed under water for six–or was it eight?–minutes, well beyond the time limit of known human endurance.” According to the paper, the mayor of Detroit and a “good crowd of sober citizens” witnessed the stunt and had the scare of their lives.

According to Nesbitt, Houdini “knew something.” He knew that the river had fallen an inch or so, and that there was an air-filled void between the surface of the water and the ice. As famously depicted in the movie, Houdini merely went to the surface, breathing the air until he located the hole.

But the mystery was apparently solved by a mysterious letter that showed up at Milwaukee station WTMJ after the broadcast.  The anonymous author of the letter was from Grand Rapids, Michigan,  (It’s quite plausible that the Milwaukee station had listeners in Grand Rapids, since the two locations are separated mostly by the waters of Lake Michigan, over which the groundwave signal of the 620 kilocycle station would easily pass.)  The mysterious author of the letter offered up what seemed to be a very plausible explanation for the stunt.

The radio editor Richard K. Bellamy, opines that “to us it sounds as though the writer of the letter knew what he was talking about.” It also sounded to me like the writer knew what he was talking about, since he included a number of corroborating details.

The anonymous letter writer stated that he was an “expert diver” and “one of Harry’s accomplices on that day” and that he was paid $350 for his part. According to the writer, a sheet metal worker in Brooklyn fabricated a can which was filled with compressed air. The letter writer’s job was to place that can in the river, which he says he did the Sunday prior to the stunt. “Harry and I carefully measured the distance” from the hole in the river to the can, says the writer. The can was attached to “a sort of head mask and some rubber hose.” “He could have stayed under 30 minutes,” opined the writer.

The mysterious letter writer does offer some corroborating details. He notes that there “probably is, or was, a tinsmith in Brooklyn who could corroborate part of my story.” He noted the exact location, noting that “if you will check today, you will find a quantity of concrete piling along the banks of the river,” and that the can and its anchor “is probably still at the spot” under the water. He concludes by noting that “a little research will probably bear me out.”

The letter writer says that he can’t divulge his identity “for ethical reasons.” But he believed that it “is hardly fair to the radio public to let the hoax explanation be unchallenged.”

That certainly seems like a plausible explanation.  After all, anyone could have gone to take a look at those concrete pilings.  And retrieving, or at least locating, a large cylinder and concrete anchor down at the bottom of the river doesn’t seem like a major undertaking.  And the anonymous explanation certainly seems more plausible than breathing, for an extended period of time, the tiny bit of air trapped under the ice.  So the radio columnist was apparently convinced.  And I was almost convinced, but for one small discrepancy.

That discrepancy was that the supposed ice escape, with or without assistance, never took place.  The mayor of Detroit didn’t witness it, the sober citizens of Detroit never witnessed it, and Houdini never did it.  It simply never happened, as shown at some of the links below.

Fact checking was harder before the Internet.  For a news story, a reporter might be expected to go down to the vault and find clippings about an event “35 or more years ago.” But this wasn’t a news article, and they didn’t have that Google thingie to help with the fact checking.  It was just an account of an interesting letter sent anonymously to a radio station. And it was a good story, good for a few column inches.  If I were the editor, I would print it, too.

Who sent it?  It could just be some guy playing a practical joke.  Or perhaps it was a publicist hyping a movie that wouldn’t come out for another nine years.  It seems like a good way to reinforce the “ice escape” story:  Plausibly explain how it was “really” done, without quite enough details to disprove the official version of the story.  It seems to me that adds a little bit of credibility to an official story that never happened.

 References

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1934 Philco Ad

1934Philco

Eighty years ago today, November 16, 1934, the Milwaukee Journal carried this ad for this Philco “lowboy” console radio for $59.95. You could have the radio installed in your home for ten percent down.

The radio is Philco model 45L, and covered both standard broadcast and short wave. In fact, this package included a short wave antenna kit, a Radio Atlas of the World, and an “Admiral Byrd Revolving Globe.”

The receiver was probably a pretty good performer. It had six tubes, and two IF stages. You can find a schematic and more information at RadioMuseum.org.



Emergency 1943 Radio Receivers, Including Converting Lightbulb to Diode Tube

Converting dual-filament lamp to diode tube

A homemade diode vacuum tube.

A wartime issue of Radio News, January 1943, includes an interesting article entitled “Emergency Radio Receivers.” The article notes that “‘horse and buggy’ receivers employing the simple detectors are just as workable today as they ever were.” With wartime tube and battery shortages, and the possibility of power line disruptions, “the present war emergency may yet recall these simple sets from their resting places on museum shelves.” Their greatest value in time of war was as emergency receivers. “Such sets may be placed into immediate service when power lines have snapped out and “B” batteries are not available for the family portable. They may be carried into bomb shelters where electric power is not available. Particularly unique is the fact that they may be made so small in size as to be carried easily in a pocket or handbag.”

This was not the last time that the usefulness of crystal sets was considered for emergency preparedness. A 1963 Office of Civil Defense report noted that for the “economy minded,” even a crystal set would be adequate for receiving local broadcasts after a nuclear war.

The article then describes a number of possible crystal detectors that could be used in an emergency receiver. (One not mentioned was the razor blade of the foxhole radio, which made its debut the following year, in 1944.)

VHF Crystal Set

VHF Crystal Set

For those interested in experimenting with crystal sets, the article provides a good introduction to the subject. Three of the ideas shown are rather novel. The first is an “effective crystal circuit for fixed-frequency ultra-high-frequency reception,” shown here. The terminology has changed, and we would today call these VHF frequencies. It notes that this circuit provides “interesting possibilities for portable (personal) use in short-range civilian defense communications employing the ultra-high WERS (War Emergency Radio Service) frequencies” of 112-116 and 219-225 MHz. Contrary to popular perception, there’s no reason why a crystal set can’t be used on VHF. In fact, here’s one interesting example of a crystal set for the FM broadcast band.

CW Crystal Set

CW Crystal Set

The article also shows a method for receiving CW signals on a crystal set, a task I would have thought to be impossible without some active component such as a tube or transistor. The article explains that to receive CW, it is only necessary “to include in the circuit some form of continuously-running, high speed interrupter.” It shows how to do this with a motor-driven commutator which interrupts the RF circuit. This makes the CW signal audible, with a pitch proportional to the speed of the interrupter. A rheostat controlling the speed of the motor thus adjusts the CW pitch.

Converting dual-filament lamp to diode tube

Converting dual-filament lamp to diode tube

But the most remarkable idea in this article is making a homemade vacuum tube diode using a double-filament lamp. The article explains how a diode tube can be made from a type 1158 lamp. This lamp, which is still readily available, has two filaments, one brighter than the other. The brighter filament is intentionally burnt out by applying a high voltage. This leaves the other filament intact. The good filament is then used as a directly heated cathode. And the support rod for the burnt out filament acts as the plate of the tube. The result is that the automotive light bulb is converted into a diode vacuum tube. It is used in the circuit shown here as a radio receiver:

Radio circuit using light bulb detector

Radio circuit using light bulb detector

The article notes that the filament has a rather high current (about 750 mA for a modern example), but “this drawback should not be of monumental concern if the diode receiver is to be operated during rather short, emergency periods.”

Any dual-filament DC bulb should serve the same purpose, but the 1158 bulb specified in the article is still readily available. It’s probably available at a local hardware store, and it’s also available at a reasonable price from Amazon. Since six-volt automotive bulbs aren’t very common these days, it would probably be better to substitute the 12-volt version, the 1157, which should be available at a local auto parts store, or online at Amazon or WalMart
icon. Another possible option would be to use a 120 volt 3-way light bulb. In that case, of course, you should take care to keep the headphones isolated from the AC line.

For ideas on where to get other needed parts, you can check my crystal set parts page.


1940 Armistice Day Blizzard

Armistice Day Blizzard, Excelsior Blvd., West of Minneapolis.  Minn. Historical Society photo, NOAA.

Armistice Day Blizzard, Excelsior Blvd., West of Minneapolis. Minn. Historical Society photo, NOAA.

For many, the eleventh day of November is remembered as Armistice Day or Veterans’ Day. In Minnesota and much of the Midwest, it’s also remembered as the date of the Armistice Day Blizzard of November 11-12, 1940.

The storm came up quickly and was responsible for 145 deaths, including 49 in Minnesota. About half of those 49 were duck hunters who froze to death, unable to escape the sudden storm.

MilwAdThe severity of the storm was largely unpredicted. The newspaper forecast in the Milwaukee Sentinel was typical of that appearing in Midwestern papers. It called for “cloudy with occasional rain in south and rain or snow north; colder Monday (the 11th); Tuesday (the 12th) cloudy, possibly snow flurries and colder.” Ironically, that paper included the  advertisement shown here for overcoats, warning, “you can never depend on Milwaukee weather,” and “there’ll come a day, not so very far away, when scenes like this will be commonplace all around town.”

Those scenes came to the Midwest much faster than anyone expected.  Within hours, temperatures were dropping, massive amounts of snow fell, and winds caused peril to those on both land and water.

The storm disrupted communications through much of the region, as telephone and telegraph lines were taken down by the fierce winds.  As might be expected, Amateur Radio operators stepped in to fill the need, as reported in QST for January, 1941.  Hams provided communication to the railroads, the Red Cross, and especially for private citizens, since broadcast stations broadcast the telephone numbers of local hams who could relay messages to towns cut off by the storm.  Minneapolis Ham George H. King, W9OTE, reported that his phone rang constantly with requests from worried families, with his wife unable to prepare dinner because of the constant calls.

A couple of familiar names appear in the QST article.  The first was Stanley L. Burghardt, W9BJV, of Watertown, S.D., who contacted the families of dozens of Watertown residents who were stranded in Minneapolis.  Burghardt’s call later became W0IT, and is famous among Hams as the owner of Burghardt’s Amateur Center in Watertown.  Burghardt’s antenna collapsed in the blinding gale, forcing him to go outside to effect a repair that held until the storm ended.

Another familiar name in this story was that of Sherman Booen, then of Albert Lea, MN, W9HRT. He reported that most of the wire facilities in Albert Lea had been wiped out, and he reported that 75 meters was a beehive of activity. He reported that he went to bed, but at 10:30 PM, a railroad dispatcher in Albert Lea called him. The dispatcher had been unable to contact his chief in Minneapolis, and needed to get through for permission to start a snowplow north. Booen was able to get that message through in ten minutes. A total of 15 railroad messages were relayed by Booen.

The name Sherman Booen is familiar to many Minnesotans. After the war, his call sign became W0RHT, and he was a well-known Ham. He was also an aviator and broadcaster, and best known as the host for 28 years of “World of Aviation” on WCCO-TV in Minneapolis. He passed away in 2011 at the age of 97, having been licensed as a Ham since 1934.

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Destruction of the Emden, 1914

Emden

A hundred years ago today, November 10, 1914, the American papers were all reporting the sinking of the SMS Emden in the Cocos Islands. The headline shown here is from the New York Evening World.

Upon learning of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, her captain, Karl von Müller, anticipated war and prepared for commerce raiding in the Indian Ocean. He captured a Russian freighter soon after the outbreak of hostilities, and continued to operate in the region, terrorizing allied commerce, capturing almost two dozen ships. In October, Müller decided to attack the British coaling station in the Cocos Islands, which was equipped with a wireless station. Müller’s intention was to destroy the wireless station, and also attempted to jam the signal. But the station was able to get out a message that an unidentified ship was off the entrance of the harbor. The Australian cruiser HMAS Sydney was only 60 miles away. The Emden picked up the Sydney’s wireless signals, but believed that the Australian ship was much further away.

The Sydney’s six inch guns were able to inflict serious damage to the Emden. The Emden was ultimately beached, and scrapped in the 1950’s. A raiding party had already landed on the island, and was left to its own devices. The landing party seized another ship and sailed to Yemen, which was then part of the Ottoman Empire, an ally of Germany.

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