The Misfits of Channel 10 was inspired by the author’s experiences growing up in the 60’s. Did you have a troubled childhood or a hard time dealing with the changes of adolescence? Were you perpetually on the outside looking in? Did you turn toward Citizen Band or Amateur Radio? Was Lafayette Radio, Heath-kit or Allied Radio (Knight-kit) an important part of your adolescence? Do you ever think back to the days of your youth when life was simpler?
This is a story about loners that yearn to belong and learn to create a common bond with others like themselves as voices over the Citizen Band radio. They want what all of us want, friends, family, understanding, and love. They form a “gang” of a different kind with a pecking order based upon their quality of their voices and sharpness of wit.
Join me for a nostalgic look at the awkwardness of coming of age in the 60’s and not being one of the “in crowd” in “The Misfits of Channel 10.”
Introduction
Did you grow up in the 60’s or 70’s? Did you grow up with Citizen Band Radio or the Lafayette Radio Electronics Corp? Was it a hard, lonely, awkward time for you? This is a coming of age book based upon my experiences of growing up in the 60’s and being the perpetual outsider, the misfit. The is a story of coming of age and the role CB radio and the Lafayette Radio Electronic Corporation played in this metamorphosis.
I grew up in the small town of Syosset, Long Island, New York. I perceived the world of my peers through a 14-1/4” X 7” X 5” box that was my Courier 1M, Citizens Band radio. In 1962, a special thing happened in Syosset. Lafayette Radio Electronics Corp. (LRE) opened their flagship warehouse store on 111 Jericho turnpike and Lafayette Drive. Lafayette Radio Electronics was the major store in the area that sold these magical machines called Citizen Band Radios. Although my particular radio was not of the LRE brand name, they did sell it and it appeared in their yearly 1962 catalog.
Lafayette Radio was my temple and its catalogs my bible. I read and re-read each catalog issue hungrily, almost religiously every day. Each time that I would study the catalog, I would glean another fact or find another radio accessory that I had missed in my past searches. It gave me something to look forward to and things to strive for. The radios and gear were our babies. They provided so much for us that we treated them with loving care. They provided the pathways to our friends and what we considered to be our family. It provided me the path from isolation and freed my soul.
Some of the stories denoted herein have been based on actual events. The names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. The places have been altered and situations elaborated, as is the writer’s prerogative. The flavor of the thoughts and the feelings are real.
I write this book because of the profound influences Citizen Band Radio (CB radio) and the Lafayette Radio Electronics Corporation has had on my life. It sounds strange when I read those last words over again even to me, but it is true. Maybe it seems strange because it’s not the CB radio that I’ve seen on TV with the “Rubber Duck” and cast of other trucker characters. This story took place before the truckers adopted channel-19 and even before channel-9 was reserved for “React” and other emergency services. This is a story about coming of age in a small town and not being one of the “in-crowd.” It is about young males being perpetually on the outside looking in without the communication skills to make friends and fit in. I guess it could be applicable to young females also but we knew very little about those mysterious “alien beings” at that time.
Here is an Excerpt from “Heh, Heh, Heh, Corvette!”
One night Barry was being particularly more obnoxious than normal. Somehow, there seemed to be an unspoken consensus that he was overdue for being taken down a couple of notches. His parents went out to dinner and he was home alone. The stage was set! We started talking about robberies and killings that were supposedly happened in the area. Barry started to get edgy and asked, “guys, cut it out." Of course this was our cue to continue with gusto! While we kept Barry busy on the radio, Dan drove over to his house. He parked his car down the street where it wouldn't be spotted. He then would wait until Barry keyed-up the microphone and bang on the front door. Barry would get off the radio to see who it was and Dan would hide in the bushes. Then he ran around the back and started scratching on the air-conditioner. Barry's voice would tremble as he said, "Cut it out guys! I know it's you guys, so stop-it!" This, of course, always had the diametrically opposite effect! We kept egging him on to open the back door and find out who was out there. Then we dared him and called him chicken. At the same time Dan was listening to all this with his walkie-talkie outfitted with a miniature earphone.
Finally, Barry agreed to "check it out." He also agreed to leave his microphone toggled-on so we could hear what was happening. He went to the back door and weakly stuttered, "Who... Who's out there?" There was no response. "Stop it! I'm not kidding. I have a gun!" We all froze. We had forgotten that Barry’s father had a large gun collection! We knew Dan was hiding in the bushes. Then we heard Barry scream, "Come out or I'll shoot!”
For the first time the possible consequences of our actions hit us like the titanic striking that “small” iceberg. How could we have been so blind not to see the possible consequences that lay underneath the waterline! We heard Barry go out the back door and scream, and then we heard the sharp static retort of gunfire. There were too many gunshots to count. We were all galvanized. Our pulse beat in our eyes. We didn't know what to do. Should we call the police or an ambulance? The seconds turned into minutes that dragged out until eternity. Finally, we heard the door open and slam shut. We heard someone shuffling, stumbling back to the radio. Frustratingly, the very same method that enabled us to hear the whole encounter now prevented us from questioning Barry. His microphone was still open! We heard him yelling to himself and fumbling around. "My eyes! I can't see! Oh, My eyes!" we heard him moan. There was a banging sound as he accidentally hit the microphone and it fell to the floor. Then silence. There was no more carrier.
Excerpt
One night Barry was being particularly more obnoxious than normal. Somehow, there seemed to be an unspoken consensus that he was overdue for being taken down a couple of notches. His parents went out to dinner and he was home alone. The stage was set! We started talking about robberies and killings that were supposedly happened in the area. Barry started to get edgy and asked, “guys, cut it out." Of course this was our cue to continue with gusto! While we kept Barry busy on the radio, Dan drove over to his house. He parked his car down the street where it wouldn't be spotted. He then would wait until Barry keyed-up the microphone and bang on the front door. Barry would get off the radio to see who it was and Dan would hide in the bushes. Then he ran around the back and started scratching on the air-conditioner. Barry's voice would tremble as he said, "Cut it out guys! I know it's you guys, so stop-it!" This, of course, always had the diametrically opposite effect! We kept egging him on to open the back door and find out who was out there. Then we dared him and called him chicken. At the same time Dan was listening to all this with his walkie-talkie outfitted with a miniature earphone.
Finally, Barry agreed to "check it out." He also agreed to leave his microphone toggled-on so we could hear what was happening. He went to the back door and weakly stuttered, "Who... Who's out there?" There was no response. "Stop it! I'm not kidding. I have a gun!" We all froze. We had forgotten that Barry’s father had a large gun collection! We knew Dan was hiding in the bushes. Then we heard Barry scream, "Come out or I'll shoot!”
For the first time the possible consequences of our actions hit us like the titanic striking that “small” iceberg. How could we have been so blind not to see the possible consequences that lay underneath the waterline! We heard Barry go out the back door and scream, and then we heard the sharp static retort of gunfire. There were too many gunshots to count. We were all galvanized. Our pulse beat in our eyes. We didn't know what to do. Should we call the police or an ambulance? The seconds turned into minutes that dragged out until eternity. Finally, we heard the door open and slam shut. We heard someone shuffling, stumbling back to the radio. Frustratingly, the very same method that enabled us to hear the whole encounter now prevented us from questioning Barry. His microphone was still open! We heard him yelling to himself and fumbling around. "My eyes! I can't see! Oh, My eyes!" we heard him moan. There was a banging sound as he accidentally hit the microphone and it fell to the floor. Then silence. There carrier had vanished.
My memories as an immigrant professional woman in Ottawa, Canada 47 years ago. A new life after having survived the liberal war of a new country Bangladesh on December 16, 1971.
