It was 1952 or thereabouts when my father W9LIG and myself at the age of eleven, boarded a train in Spring Valley, Illinois bound for the big city of Chicago to take my novice test and hopefully become an amateur radio operator. The months of studying and constant practice of the "code" were about to payoff with a new novice ticket, I hoped. In the back of my mind lurked the scary thought that in fact I would not pass the test. That somehow all this was for naught. I learned all the answers for the written I thought and all the code, except of course the pronunciation marks and the numbers as my father had explained to me these were not necessary and these would not be on the test. But anything can happen. Maybe I'll faint or suddenly go deaf. Who knows? One thing for certain, to an eleven year old boy, this was scary stuff.
We arrived in Chicago and found our way to the Federal Building and to the dreaded FCC office to take the test where I was promptly set down at the table with a lot of adults, given a pair of ear phones, some paper and pencil and proceeded to write down what I heard from those sounds coming through those earphones. All of a sudden I heard sounds I did not hear before. In between the familiar dots and dashes for all the letters came these weird dots and dashes arranged in some foreign order that made absolutely no sense to me. It wasn't long before the dreaded FCC man tapped me on the shoulder and told me I did not pass as I do not know the numbers.
With heavy heart, I went out into the lobby and explained to my dad what had happened and for a man who knew everything, that day he learned that indeed numbers are part of the Novice test. He promptly talked to the FCC examiner and pleaded that we lived over 100 miles away and if it would be alright to come back in an hour to re-take the test. My father was a very persuasive kind of guy. This was certainly against all protocol but the nice FCC inspector allowed us to return that very same day and retake the test.
We spent that hour walking around the Federal Building in Chicago with me tapping out the numbers on a key sounder and my father tapping the numbers for me to learn them. I don't remember where we got the key, but can only assume we had brought it with us. Then it was back to the FCC office. Nervously I re-took the test along with the written and was awarded a few weeks later with WN9QQL. One can try to explain the feeling of an eleven year old boy who had just been awarded a license to become an amateur radio operator, but is safe to say, no words can describe it.
A few years later, when I was in high school, I took the test for my General license having to copy and send 13 words per minute. My father suggested I not tell them that I had a prior license so that I could bet a shorter call sign. After all, W9QQL was much to busy for any speedy code work. When I came to the checkbox as to whether or not I had a call sign previously, I checked no. I don't know if this had anything to do with it or not, but I was awarded K9BDR. My friend whom I went with that very day, finished his test first. He was awarded K9BDQ. Sometimes it's best to be last.
