My "Confessions o Real CB Nut" can be purchased



(c)  1999 Bob Holt

When did I really get hooked?  Let’s see, it was in late November of 1974.  Until then I’d never heard of Citizen’s
Band Radio.  My life was pretty normal.   Del and I had been married twelve years, no children.  She says I’m child
enough for  anyone.  I’ve been with the same company for twelve years.  Let’s see, I went to work on Monday, got
married on Saturday.  I travel northeastern North Carolina for a food service equipment company.  Del’s a
beautician.  She has a one stall shop beside the house.
We moved back to the country the third year we were married.  Our social life up to this point consisted of going to
Bo and L.C.’s, our closest friends,  to play cards, watch TV and once in a while go out to eat.  That was about it.  
We didn’t really get to know our neighbors because of the type of work I do.  Enough of that.  Thirty two years old,
a little over-weight, doing great, just got my first Thunderbird.  All my marbles were in the same jar until…….
“Bobby, Bo’s on the phone, wants us to go over and play cards.”  “Okay, tell her we’re on the way.”  When we went
in, Bo had the table set up for cards.   L.C. looked as if he’d just come from the chicken houses.  They have a
poultry farm, raising hatching eggs under contract.  Bo works at DuPont in Kinston.  Anyway he was sitting in the
kitchen listening to some kind of radio.  I walked over and listened too.   It sounded as if two or three guys were
talking on the phone, except they were calling each other funny names.  L.C. said they were using CB lingo.  He
told me the boys talking were over around Beulaville.  Thats about fifteen miles away.  They sounded just like they
were in the room with us.  L.C. said the radio was a new fad that was becoming real popular.  He’d just gotten one
about two weeks ago.  It was a Royce 1-620 with a hand mike.  We went outside and he tried to show me  the CLR-
2 antenna in the gum tree.  I could see it’s outline shining in the moonlight.
Back inside, he picked up the mike and broke in on the conversation.  He called himself the “Crackerjack”.  He’d
talked to these fellows before and knew some of them personally.  I said hello to “Pipe Man”, “Store Man”, and
“Cricket Man”.  That was about all I did say because I couldn’t understand what they were talking about.  They kept
saying, “Roger, 10-4, Roger 4, Negatory”. I didn’t know what they were talking about.  “Cricket Man” was telling
“Crackerjack” ,  he was blowing smoke, walking tall, wall to wall, 10-8, 10-10 all that sounded like Greek to me.  
“Pipe Man” kept calling “Store Man” a “Rachet Jaw” or something.  They sounded as if they were having a ball.  
“Crackerjack” said good night to all and signed off saying something like….”KIR 1638, Crackerjack 10-7, 10-27 to
1-1.  Night all.  He’d sent for his license much earlier and already had them.
He told me about the radio in the pick-up and how he could talk back to home form ten to fifteen miles away.  He
was planning to put one in the car.  He kept talking about needing new whips, coax, bumper mounts and springs.  I
didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about.  It all sounded good though.
Where do I get one, how much and who installs it?  A mobile was less than a hundred dollars, antenna twenty
dollars and we could install it ourselves.  I bit….Hook, Line and Sinker!
Dell finally got my attention saying something about it’s past 1 AM, and time to go home.  We usually left around
Needless to say, no visions of sugar plums dancing in my head that night.   All I could see was radio, antenna, and
me with mike in hand.
I stopped by Southeastern Radio the next day and looked at the CB’s.  I didn’t try to buy one because Crackerjack’
s son-in-law, Max, knew someone there and could get them wholesale.  That afternoon Max called and told me to
come over, he had my radio.  I flew over!  Max showed me my brand new 1-600 Royce.  She was a beauty.  Three
knobs, an on-off volume,  squelch, and channel selector.  We all three began the installation.   Now, that was a
job!  Pulling the back-seat out, running the coax under the carpet, and where does the radio go?  Ever owned a
Thunderbird? We mounted it just above the gas pedal under the dash.   I couldn’t see the channel selector
because of the steering wheel but who cared?  It was mounted.  We hooked to hot wire to the fuse panel, only blew
one fuse doing that.  Now we were ready to try it out.   Max and I started down the road leaving Crackerjack in his
pickup at the egg house.   She seemed to be doing fine.  “Crackerjack, how do you copy?”  “Chipmonk,  you’re five
on the  meter, sounds good.”  We were three miles down the road and he was blowing us out of the car.   We went
to B. F. Grady School about five miles away.  “Crackerjack, how we doing?”  “Still sounds good, looks like we got it
right.  Come on back.”  “10-4 Crackerjack, KIR 1638 unit three clear.  10-27 1-1.”  Chipmonk told me about
channel eleven being the call channel.  Everybody listened to it for a call.  Channel ten belonged to the truck
drivers.  They used it to tell each-other about the  Smokeys were.
That night after gulping dinner down,  I went outside to see who was on the radio.  Must have been about thirty
degrees but who cared,  people were talking on the radio.  Wasn’t hard to find Crackerjack.  He was so close, he
came in on all the channels.  He was telling the guys about installing the rig on my car that afternoon and that I was
probably listening in.  They decided to call me “Traveling Man”.  I hollared “Break”,  Crackerjack came back.
“Go ahead Traveling Man.  Give Pipe Man a Call.”
“How bout it Pipe Man.  Got a copy?”
“10-4 Traveling Man.  You’re 10-1, but I copy.”
“Hey Traveling Man, stick that mike in your mouth and hollar in it.”
“Okay Store Man, sound any better?”
“Roger, but you’re still weak.”
“Break Traveling Man, you copy Cricket Man?”
“10-4 Cricket Man.”
“Traveling Man, you need a Power Mike on that mobile.  Won’t have to hollar then.”
“10-4, what’s that?”
“It makes you sound a whole lot louder.  You’ll be 10-8 then.”
“10-4, preciate that,  I’ll get one tomorrow.  Crackerjack, I’m freezing out here.  73’s to all.  Traveling Man 10-7.”
Needless to say the next day I was looking for a  power mike.  None were to be found in  Kinston so my search
continued as soon as I arrived in Greenville.  Asking for the nearest place to buy a power mike, I ended up  at Pair
“Yes sir, may I help you?”  Stewart was trying  to decide if he know me
“I’m looking for a power mike for my CB radio.”
“All right sir.  What kind do you want?”
“Kind,   How many kinds are there?”
“There are hand helds, desk type, electronic switching, relay switching, noise canceling, all kinds.”    
“I just want one for the rig in my car.”
Stewart brought out a Turner JM+2U.  That was a sexy looking thing,  but it didn’t have a plug on the end of the
“You have to wire it to fit the type of radio it’s going on.”
“Then I need a soldering iron.”
“What kind?”   
Here we go again.
“Stewart,  just bring me what I need.”
All right, I’ll be back in a moment.”
I should have walked out then and there.  I didn’t know what I was getting into.
“OK, here’s all you need to wire it.  You can use this Weller gun for lots of other jobs .  a roll of solder, rosin type of
course, a battery and the plug.  What else can I do for you?”
“Putting it all together would help.”  
Stewart laughed.
“We don’t do that.  Let’s see, one JM=2U; $65.00,  one Weller gun, $17.95, one pound roll of solder; $4.00, one
seven volt battery; $3.90,  one four pin plug; $1.00.  That’s $95.52 including tax.  Thank you sir.  Have a good day.”
“Breaker 1-1, KIR 1638 unit three calling base,  Crackerjack you around?”
“Go ahead Traveling Man.”
“Hey Crackerjack,  got me a power mike today.”
“10-4, got it on?”
“Negative, got to wire it.”
“Know how?”
“Ain’t got the slightest, but bought a soldering gun, solder, and plug.  Wiring instruction in the box with the mike.”
“10-4, give me a hollar when you get it hooked up.”
“Roger 4, KIR 1638, unit three clear.”
“KIR 1638, base clear.”
Have you ever tried to thread a needle with a rope?  The end of the soldering gun looked like a light pole beside
the pins on the plug.  Every time I tried to solder one wire it stuck to at least two pins or another wire.  I finally got
it.  Three hours later, one pound of solder, and half a roll of black tape.  It took ten minutes to get the plug cover
over all that tape.  Now I was going to be 10-8. I ran to the car and plugged it in.  You never heard such squealing
in your entire life.  It keyed by itself and sounded like it was going to blow up.  Back to the bench.  When all else
fails,  follow the instructions.  White wire on  one, shield on two, black on three, red on four.  That ain’t the way the
original one was wired.  OK, I’ll do it their way.  
“Hey,  this thing works!”   Whistle in it and she pegs the needle.
After supper, back to the car.  Tonight they’ll hear me.
“Break Pipe Man,  how am I sounding tonight?”
“Traveling Man, you’re 10-8, get that power mike?
“10-4, a JM+2U Turner, just got it wired.”
“Sounds like you got a foot warmer.”
“Store Man, what in the world is that?”
Laughing, “You tell him Cricket Man.”
“Evening Traveling Man.  Its a power booster.  It boosts your signal way up.  But! Its illegal.”
“Cricket Man, you got one?”
“Not me!  Pipe Man does.”
“Hey, not me, that’s against the law.”
“Aw Pipe Man, show him how it works.”
“OK Traveling Man, look at your meter.  What am I putting on it?”
“Looks like about 2db.”
“OK, how bout now?”
“Looks like six db’s”
“Wow, you’re in the RED!!!!!”
“Laughing, OK, that’s how it works.”
“Crackerjack, you got one of those things?”
“Negative Traveling Man, not yet.”
“Pipe Man, where’d you get it?”
“Ordered it out of a catalog.”
“10-4.  Crackerjack lets order us one.”
“OK, soon.”
“73’s everybody, it’s getting cold out here.”
Next day between Oak City and Ahoskie, Heard two eighteen wheelers rag-chewing about antennas.   They were
saying two antennas were always better than one.  They didn’t mention anything about how they had to be
mounted,  just that they were better and Big Mamma'’ were the best.  Oh, to have just missed that conversation,
but I would have heard it somewhere else.  I, of course, stopped by Pair Electronics on my way home.
“Yes sir, may I help you?”
Stewart hadn’t learned to run when he saw me coming in the door yet, but he would.
“Stewart, I need two Big Mamma’s for my trunk.”
He didn’t have them and tried to sell me what I really needed.
“The Hustler HQ 27S or the Shakespeare 173S co-phased will work better.”
No way,  that’s not what those truckers were talking about, and they oughta know.  I’d learn to listen to Stewart one
day, but not yet.
I stopped in Kinston at Southeastern.  Joe Butts  would also learn to run from me.
“May I help you sir?”
I’d been standing there an hour, busiest place I’d ever seen.
“Two Big Mamma’s for trunk groove mounting please.”
Now the way I said that, Joe didn’t question it.  Had he known what I was going to do with them, he would have tried
to stop me.
“All right sir, what else?”
“An SWR meter.”
Another hundred dollars gone.  The beginning of many.
When I got home, I was going to install babies myself.
“Crackerjack, how do you get both end of the coax into the radio?”
I had already mounted the antennas and run the two pieces of coax under the carpet.   Never occurred to me that
the two ends wouldn’t fit into one receptacle.   Crackerjack said I needed a “T” and thought he had one.   
“What’s wrong the standing wave?  Won’t come below a three to one.”
We trimmed the whips, nothing, if anything, worse.
Bo threatened to throw L.C.’s supper out if he didn’t come to the house.  We gave it up for the day.  Only been
working on it for four hours.  No talking that night.  I couldn’t hear anybody but Crackerjack.
Next day I stopped by Southeastern again.  Joe said I should have explained what I was going to use the antennas
for.  I didn’t need that type, they should have been co-phased.  What now, since I’d already messed these up?  A
co-phasing harness was the only answer.  Co.-phased,  where’d I heard that before?
I came home early, went to Crackerjack’s and helped him get up the rest of the eggs.  Bo and Max were   working  
4 to 12.  L.C.’s daughter, Sandi would be fixing supper and she’d wait until we were finished.  We ended up with a
handful of PL 259’s adapters, and barrel connectors on it, but it worked.  Well, better anyway,  SWR was down to
1.7 to 1.  Sandi had been down twice checking on us.  Don’t know why,  it was only 9PM.  Lucky for me, it was Del’s
late night in the shop.  She’d been too busy to miss me.
A few weeks later we heard that the big coax worked better than the small.  L.C. wanted to mount two 102”
stainless steel whips on the pickup.  We decided to use the big coax for that.  Back to the rope and needle.  
Working with RG 8 U in a mobile was something else.   It won’t fit in tight places and the ends drive you nuts trying
to solder them, especially when the wind’s blowing.  We finally got them mounted, “T” connector, antenna
matchers, RG 8 U big coax, and anything else that would help.  It worked pretty good.  Still won’t right, SWR was
too high.  Nobody could tell us why.  We just didn’t ask the right people.
By now, walking into the egg room was dangerous.  You couldn’t get into the door without tripping over CB junk or
coax and the pile was growing.
Still sitting in the car each night was leading to a foregone conclusion.   I had to have a base station.  It was cold in
that car and I just wasn’t getting out far enough.  Del told me I could get one for Christmas.  Into the catalogs I
went.  Which catalogs?   For CB gear??????   OK, OK,  Sears, J. C. Penny, Montgomery Ward?  They had
everything else and they had terms.  After what seemed like hours of searching,  there she was, in an Alden
catalog.  A Cobra 139; AM, SSB, NB, ANL, Dynamike, Squelch, Delta Tune, RF Gain, Clarafier, everything!  What
more could a person want?  I didn’t know what half of  those things were, but I knew I needed them.  Just below it, a
Super Scanner Antenna.  Electronic switching beam with 8 db gain.  Just what I needed.  I ordered both that night.  
I didn’t mention the five hundred bucks to Del.  That might have ended my future in CB then and there.
Sure enough,  two weeks later it came.  The back order slip.  It would be after Christmas before either would be
shipped.  I was destroyed.  How could I ever wait that long?
Crackerjack, or was it Bo?, decided to move his base from the kitchen to the living room.  He needed about fifty
more feet of RG 8 U,  notice how I’m using all these numbers now.  I’ve got this thing figured out.  He decided to
bury it from the base of the tree to the house.  We also installed a lightening arrestor  in it for protection.  When the
coax was all in place,  he checked the  SWR and it had changed.  Now, picture this,  we’re sitting in the middle of
Bo’s living room floor, wrenches, cutters, soldering iron, solder, SWR bridge and radio.  She oughta shot both of
us.  There we were, checking, trimming ¼ to ½  inch of coax, checking again, cutting again.  You can’t change the
SWR that way!

What seems so surprising about CB was that all these people were talking to each other.  They wouldn’t dream of
talking to each other on the street.  In fact most would shun each other under different circumstances.  On CB
everybody’s a good buddy.
Need help?  Broken down?  Need a little information? Just key the mike.
“Breaker 1-0, need a little help.”
“Go ahead breaker, you’ve got Peter Gun”
“Preciate the come back Peter Gun.  You got the Blue Bird.”
“I’m 10-7 on 1-7 about four miles south of Little Washington.  Need some go juice. 10-4?”
“10-4 Blue Bird, just passed you northbound.  You on the blue four wheeler south of the bear den?”
“10-4, that’s me.”
“10-4, stand by.”
“Peter gun, if you can’t help, I’ll give him a hand.”
“No problem, preciate it though.  Be right back Blue Bird.”
About fifteen minutes passes.
“Hey Blue Bird, Peter Gun headed your way.  Had a little problem finding a can.”
“10-4 Peter Gun, preciate it.”
“Looks like you got plenty of help Blue Bird.”
“10-4, they came from everywhere.”
Three four wheelers, and one eighteen wheeler all wanting to help.  Peter Gun spent thirty minutes just to help
someone he’d never seen probably never would again.  That’s CB’ers for you.  Blue Bird might have been there
hours if it hadn’t been for the “Charlie Brown.”  For years since WW2 we’ve been building a wall around ourselves.  
Between TV and being too busy to be bothered,  we’ve let ourselves get out of touch with each other.  Remember
when Mom and Dad put everybody in the car for a weekend or week at Grandma’s or Aunt Bee’s?  Not any more,
too busy.  We used to have tobacco tyings or corn huskings, anything to get together with the neighbors to visit or
help each other.  Not anymore.  Too many things to do just to keep our own heads above the water.  Now both
have to work, put the kids in pre-school, kindergarten or whatever, rush to work, rush home, mow the grass or the
neighbors will talk.  She’s fixing supper, or was she too busy tonight, Kentucky Fried again.  Well, she had to wash
and dry the clothes, or you’d be raising hell in the morning.  Let’s see, now take a shower, one small drink ( in a
sixteen oz. Glass ) of whatever cranked or uncranked  you, favorite chair, paper….
“Honey, turn to channel seven, I wanta watch the ball game.”
Nine out of ten times, “lights out”.  “Where the hell did the evening to?”  Too tired to do anything.  Visiting?
Absolutely not, they wanta see us let’em come over here.
As I said before, neighbors?  I didn’t know them.  We didn’t have anything in common.  They farmed, worked at the
local stores or factories.  I sold commercial kitchen equipment.  I didn’t start to work until I was fifty miles from
home.  Three nights a week in a motel,  I didn’t want to go anywhere on the weekend.  Del just got used to it.
Now I was beginning to meet and renew my acquaintances  with the neighbors.  People I hadn’t spoken to in fifteen
years suddenly reappeared.  Sure seem good just to say hello again.  Then there are those I never would have
had the pleasure or opportunity of knowing.  That made all of the “ Flying Green Stamps” worthwhile.  Monkey
Wrench, Grandma, Green Six, Blue Dragon, Night Hawk, Speed Queen, Pipe Man, Store Man, of course
Crackerjack, Little Bo Peep, Miss Kitty and Chipmonk.  There are so many, they and their XYL’s have given us
many many hours of pleasure that never would have been otherwise.
The trips we took were a lot more enjoyable now.  Running with the pack, front door, back door or in the rocking
chair.  Time just disappeared.  Fourteen hour trips to Nashville, Tennessee just floated by.  Of course trying to
keep up the back door closed through the mountains was something else.  Those eighteen wheelers know every
nook and cranny.  They’d take those hair-pin curves at brake neck speed.  Thats certainly how it looked to this
“Flat Lander”  I’d have to pass the mike to Crackerjack riding shotgun.  There was no way to drive and talk at the
same time.
“Got a tight one up ahead Country Cousin, hold on.”   (Oh yes, by this time, the handle Country Cousin was born.  
I liked it much better than Traveling Man )  Hold on I did, scared to death.  That rascal up ahead was hauling
seventy thousand pounds, having a ball and I couldn’t keep up.  If you’ve never crossed the Great Smokey
Mountains on  US 40 at three in the morning bringing up the back door for three eighteen wheelers, you haven’t
“What’s wrong Country Cousin, can’t see your headlights no more. 10-4?”  eighty miles an hour and I couldn’t
keep up.  The concrete divider looked as if it would come into the car with me any second.  The massive stone face
of the mountain daring me to get any closer.
“Crackerjack, tell that damn idiot we’ll catch him on the next hill!!!”
If Del and Bo had been awake, the blood chilling screams would be heard throughout western Carolina.
Sometimes the drivers would stop at the rest areas and we’d get a chance to meet them.  Never met one we didn’t
like as much in person as on the radio.  The eighteen wheelers were the greatest bunch of guys in the world.  They’
d do anything for you and save your cottonpicking neck if you’d let them.  Think about that next time you’re so
close on the back door it looks as if you’re trying to come in. Ever see that bumper sticker, “ If you can’t see my
mirrors, I can’t see you”.  Sure they sound ill sometimes.  How would you sound if everytime you tried to use the
phone for that important business call the operator kept coming into the conversation trying to patch other calls
through.  Hey, that’s right, when they’re out there, they’re working.  Most of us AIN’T.  I know, you bought yours just
like they did and you’ll use any damn channel you please.  Sure you will, but there are thirty eight other ones
excluding channel 9.  Wonder what’s happening on them.  Might be missing something. 10-4?
CB has done much more for the eighteen wheelers than just letting them know where that smokey bear with the
picture taker is.  It has let the public know what a great bunch of guys there are in those monsters we keep getting
in the way of on the super slab.
“Good Buddy, bring yourself on, the front door’s open.”
Remember the last time you were behind one in a rainstorm?  Couldn’t see a damn thing, no way to get around
him, had to though.  Forty five crystallized miles per hour.  Never will make that appointment like this.
“Hold on Good Buddy, front door’s closed.”
If he hadn’t stopped you, you might have been looking at that “Big Base Station in the sky.”
“OK, bring yourself on, she’s open now.”
What have we done for them?  Wrapped the channel up for them of course.  Approaching a town? Might as well
cut the damn thing off.  No way to talk over those base stations.  Besides there are too many important things
going on for the eighteen wheelers to use it anyway.  We gotta know what “Sweet Thing” had for supper last night
or be sure what time the party starts tonight.  Can’t move to another channel, somebody might call if they can get
in between the “fastest keys in the world.”  Besides , ain’t nobody going to walk on the anyway.  A full gallon,
beams, and a nonstop motor mouth.
Forget about them moving for us, OH!  You didn’t know that.  10-4, they moved from channel ten to nineteen a few
years ago.  That was to clear channel nine for us.  I know I’m bellyaching about just a few operators.  If all forty
million operators didn’t care, there’d be no CB.
“Breaker 1-9.”
It was about 3 AM.  The channel was dead.  I was up looking for the “skip” to start.  You could hear it begin on
“Go ahead breaker, Country Cousin back.”
“10-4 Country Cousin, you got the Barrel Bender.  I’m about three miles east of Albertson on the triple ones.  
Three mules in the middle of the highway just standing there and the fog’s beginning to roll in.  Somebody gonna
get killed. 10-4?”
   “10-4 Barrel Bender. Stand by.
”The Sheriff’s department monitored nine on a set the Duplin County CB Club gave them.
“Break Nine for the Sheriff’s Department.  KJR 4734, anybody copy?”
“You’ve got the Sheriff’s Department, go ahead.”
“10-4, I have an eighteen wheeler about three miles east o f Albertson before  you get to B. F. Grady School.  Say’
s there are three mules on the highway.  Can you move them?”
“Stand  by.  OK,  we’ve got a car headed that way.”
“10-4, thanks.  Breaker 1-9, Barrel Bender, County Mountys coming your way.”
“10-4, OH HELL!!!!!!  Look out!!!  Cousin, we need a “Meat Wagon, semi just got two of them, jack-knifed!!!”
“Breaker nine for the Sheriff’s Department. 10-33.”
“Go ahead”
“Need an ambulance, eighteen wheeler just got two of the mules and bought the ditch.”
Two or three minutes pass.
“The ambulance will ETA in about ten minutes.  Our car should arrive any minute.”
“10-4 , thank you sir.  KJR 4734 clear.”
“Break Barrel Bender, the meat wagon will ETA ten minutes. 10-4?”
“10-4 Cousin,  buddy’s checking on the driver now, preciate it.”
The driver was hurt  pretty bad.  CB might have saved his life.  I waited until the ambulance arrived before signing
off.  I heard on the news the next day that the driver was all right.  Another feather in Mr. Eighteen Wheeler’s and
CB’s hat.


I was copying the mail one day and ran across two guys talking about a fellow near Mount Olive called the “Bear
Hunter” that had a “Box” for sale.  Sounded just like what I needed.  A hundred watts for a hundred dollars.
“Breaker 1-1 Crackerjack, you around?”
“10-4 Traveling Man, go ahead.”
“10-27 5”
“Whatcha doing this afternoon?”
“Nothing, whatcha need?”
“Lets take a little trip.  Tell you about it when I get to your 20.  10-4?”
“Roger Traveling Man, see you shortly.  KIR 1638 Base clear.”
“Unit three clear”  My license still hadn’t arrived.
On the way to Mount Olive I told Crackerjack what I’d heard and about how to get to Bear Hunter’s twenty.  When
we got there he wasn’t home.  We rode around for a while chewing the rag  with the  Farmall Man near Faison.  
Later when we got back to Bear Hunter’s he showed us the “box”.  She was a beauty, a Varmit  150. Three big
know on the front of a big blue box.  He said it worked fine, he just didn’t need it.  Say goodbye to five $20.00 bills.
Crackerjack laughed.
“You’ve now got the cart before the horse.”
He didn’t know what I was thinking.  Sure, my base station hadn’t arrived.   I dropped him off and rushed back
home.  After pulling  the car as close to the back door as possible, I pulled a drop cord out to the car.  You know,  I
forgot to ask Bear Hunter how to make this thing work.  It looked simple enough, two connectors on the back, one
marked “Ant.” The other marked “radio”.  I plugged her in, hit the switch, nobody told me that thing had a fan!  A
few minutes later, after I calmed down, I turned to channel 23 and keyed the mike.  The little red light came on.  I
started turning the knobs.  It would get bright then dim,  finally it was glowing cherry red.  Must be ready.
“Breaker 1-1, anybody got a copy on the Traveling Man, downtown Albertson?”
“Roger Traveling Man, you got the Pole Cat in Wallace Town.”
“Hey Pole Cat, I just got a new rig.  How’s it sound?”
“Cotton Picker, you’re blowing smoke in downtown Wallace!”
“Whatcha running Traveling Man?”
“A Royce 1-600, power mike and tow big mamma’s on the trunk.”
“Traveling Man, what did you say your twenty was?”
“Downtown Albertson in the back yard, on the mobile.”
“Good buddy, you’re running something besides a power mike on that mobile,  you’re putting 10 pounds on my
Now you gotta understand I’m talking a t least twenty five miles and I hadn’t been able to get outta my  underwear
up to now.
“Polecat, I’ve got a little bit of help, what you running?”
“A Super Lynx, D-104 and Super Mag up ;about sixty feet.”
“Breaker, Breaker, Breaker!!”
“Go A…….Hea…….D, Breaker.”
“Hey Traveling Man, don’t you listen to that Polecat, he’s got at least one thousand watts on  that D-104.”
“Cotton Pickin Blue Jay, you know I ain’t  got no such mess as that. ( laughing)”
“You’re tearing the needle outta my mess right now Polecat.  Me sittin over here with my little Midland and you
trying to blow it up.”
They’re both putting over ten pounds on me and I’m on the mobile.
“Hey Traveling Man, you’re sounding good to be on a mobile. Whatcha got kicking it?”
“Varmit 150”
“That thing’s for a base.  You said you were on a mobile, 10-4?”
“Got a drop cord running to it Blue Jay.”
“10-4, that’s one way of doing it.  It’ll take a pretty long cord to use it though.  Hi, Hi.”
“See you fellers later, XYL calling, Blue Jay clear.”
“OK Blue Jay, 73’s, you too Pole Cat, I gotta go too.  Traveling Man 10-7 the to house.”
That night the guys said the rig sounded “10-8”.  It was really getting out.  I made it to Jacksonville, Warsaw,
Goldsboro, Pikeville and Snow Hill.  I was really 10-8 for the  first time.
This one guy kept hearing things I couldn’t hear.  In fact even after I got my new base and antenna he still had
better ears than me. His setup was nice.  A  Lynx 23, D-104 with a little something extra.  The little green box with a
pre-amp gave him the “Big Ears”.  His antenna was only thirty or maybe forty feet up.  Along with his location and
pre-amp, his ears were something special.  Goshean man kept saying, “Go ahead Break” when the rest of us could
hear nothing.  Even Gosheaneer living within  eyeball distance couldn’t pull out half what Frank was hearing.
Crackerjack was hearing lots of things I couldn’t until I put my Super Scanner up.  The mobile had good ears but
nothing like a base station.  I still had no concept about how radio waves worked.
Anytime a new station broke in, everybody tried to make the trip.  If one of the fellows hear or be heard you can
imagine the ribbing he took.  “Alligator Station”, all mouth and no ears.  When are you gonna get rid of that walki-
talki and get something that’ll talk.  They could take you apart.        


My Cobra finally arrived the third week in January.  Of course the antenna didn’t.  I picked up a cheap Ground
Plane from Southeastern and mounted it on three 10 foot sections of  TV mast.  Anything to get on the air with the
A year before I had built an addition on the back of our “Double Wide”.  It measured 8’ x 16’ not including the hall.  
The hall was on the same floor level with the “Double Wide and the rest of the addition was two steps down on
ground level.  I had built a little “Wet Bar” in the corner, sink and all. ( The addition was originally built to be a new
kitchen.  Before it was completed we had decided to build a much larger addition to include and Master Suite,
Kitchen, Den and Bath and one half.  It would have 1650 additional square feet.)  The Cobra sat on counter with
the Varmit in the cabinet under it.  Sure seemed good to be in the house plus Del could now hear all of the
wonderful world of CB.  We even gave her a handle.  Crackerjack said it should be “Lady” since I called her that
about half the time.  She’d come down and listen but talk, NO WAY!!!!  We’d try to get her in a QSO with Little Bo
Peep or Pipe Lady, but all we’d get out of her was hello, yes, bye.  Give her a telephone, that’s different, she’d talk
your ears off. Once in a while when we had friends over, we’d take the Turner +3 and sit it in the middle of the
group on the floor.  That way everybody could key it with their toe.  We’d get her to talk that way.
I can’t complain though, she certainly has tolerated a lot since I started CB’ing.  She told a lot of folks we’d been
married twelve years and it was the first time she knew I could talk.  I had always said we could be happy together
without running our mouths all the time.  I didn’t want to listen to all the Beauty Shop gossip anyway.
Besides the CB was important.  Look at all the technical aspects involved.  Contribution to the destruction of the
King’s English was the most noticeable.  One thing for sure just listen to someone talking and right off you could tell
how long they’d been on CB.  The public schools spent twelve years trying to teach me how to talk and CB got rid
of all I learned to two weeks.  If you wanted to talk you did it “Their Way”.  How many Smokey reports could you get
“Breaker Channel Nineteen.  This is KZZZ 0000.  I’m traveling  South on Highway Eleven toward Kinston.  I would
appreciate any information concerning locations of Highway Patrolmen in the area.”
Ain’t nobody gonna answer someone talking like that.  Probably the “Finer Candy Company” anyway.
“Breaker 1-9 fer a eighteen wheeler south bound on 1-1.  How’s it look over your shoulder back toward K-town?”
“She’s clean and green, ain’t seen nothin, put the hammer down good buddy.”
“Preciate that info good buddy.  She be clean back to Green City.”
“Traveling Man, the Beaver Eater gonna be doing it  this’a way.”
See what I mean, isn’t that much better.  10-40-Roger-4 Good Buddy.  Thats a BIG 10-4!
Lets see, I got off track here somewhere, Oh, base station in the house.  That’s what we were talking about.  Thing’
s really began to change with the rig in the house.  Even with the cheap ground plane, getting out was much
easier.  All those hard trips to make on the mobile were easy in the house, especially with my pet Varmit.  There
were groups on at all hours of the day scattered all over and I hated to miss talking to any of them.  I’d get up
around five AM to catch the crowd around Wallace.
Seemed like Boss Man would go to the work twenty, crank up the coffee pot and start hollering for the group.  
There was Banjo Man, Thunder, Lightening, Warsaw Base, Honey Bee, Pump Man, Whip, Little Beaver, Little
Beaver Squaw, Loud Mouth, Turkey Gobbler and anybody else that was around.  All this saying “Good Morning”
was taking place on channel eleven.  It still wasn’t crowded then. Now you can’t get a word in edgewise.  Wasn’t
long before we had to start using the other channels.  Groups were beginning to monitor other ones and never
went back to eleven.  I had begun to monitor one with a group around Deep Run.  We started using fifteen, but due
to certain problems ended up on fourteen.  Let’s see, who were the originals.  Night Hawk, Speed Queen, Monkey
Wrench, Grandma, Wood Pecker, Green Six and hammer Head.  What a group.  Night Hawk drove an eighteen
wheeler for TWT ( Tidewater Transit ) and was on CB from the beginning.  Back in the days of “White Faced
Johnson’s” and the like.  He was the only one that seemed to know what was going on.  He still gets my vote for the
“MOST POLITE CB’ER.”  He was using a Browning Eagle then with that commanding “        PING”, D-104 of course,
and maybe and little something else.  Speed Queen, his XYL, was always around, listening, talking, really a joy to
listen to.   Monkey Wrench, now here’s a prince of a man.  Do anything in the world for you.  Doesn’t know the first
thing about radios, key the mike if it doesn’t work,  back to Freddy’s, that’s another story.  Now give him a piece of
farm equipment to fix, that’s an entirely different story.  He had already had several different rigs when I met him.  
He didn’t like any of them.  The Bengal base and Panther mobiles he had then just didn’t do what he was looking
for either.  SSB and Monkey Wrenches just didn’t fit in the same tank.  His XYL, Grandma, is guite
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