[Table of Contents]People old and young enjoy waxing nostalgic about
and learning some of the history of early electronics. Popular Electronics was published from October 1954 through April 1985. All copyrights (if any) are hereby acknowledged.
When electronics was
relatively new and accessible to the common man, it was not unusual to find comical articles, poems, and even odes
to the trade and those who plied it. To be an Electronic Technician was to wear a title of distinction, even awe.
Radios and TVs were still using tubes and had chassis with point-to-point wiring, and everyone knew that the
mysterious components within needed TLC to keep working optimally. Much as RF and microwave electronics is still
considered a "black art" by many people, having any serious technical knowledge in circuit design, construction,
and/or repair could earn a fellow a decent living, even without a college degree. Technical schools were popping
up all over the country in the 1950s when this article was written. Magazines were filled with advertisements
offering opportunities in industry and in the military services.
You will get a kick out of this story.
See all articles from
something about electronics that's apt to melt the solder on even the strongest family ties. When a man becomes an
electronic technician, his wife becomes an electronic widow. Even when her husband is at home, his mind is a
hundred miles away.
Take, for instance, the first day a man is exposed to electronics. He comes home that
night, and instead of hiding behind a newspaper, he hides behind a book. She knits.
remembers something. "By the way, Dear, that lady was here again today - the one that's always trying to sell me
something. I wish she'd stop bothering me. I just don't know what I'll do about her."
He hunches his shoulders, pulls the book closer to his face, and mumbles, "Transformer."
"Well, I tried, Dear. Last time she was here, I told her that selling was hard work. I said she ought to
do something besides selling pots and pans. She was selling vacuum cleaners today. What do you think I ought to do
about her, Dear?"
"Well, I tried that, too. But I'll say one thing for her - she's sure a good saleslady. Want to see my new
"Stationary spot," he mumbles. "Due to a loose or pulled out plug?"
Dear. They don't make spotted vacuum cleaners. It's brown, and it's brand new, and I know the plug isn't loose,
and of course the plug is pulled out. If the plug wasn't pulled out, you'd hear it running."
He puts a finger on the page, glances at his wife, looks back at the book, shakes his head, and says,
"Indicates complete absence of deflection voltages."
She's knitting faster now. Her eyes narrow. "Well,
you don't have to talk to me that way about it. I've already bought the vacuum cleaner, and that's that. I don't
want to hear any more about it."
He reads. She knits. Her knitting needles click loudly. Click. Click. Click, Click.
"Altering the bias,"
The knitting needles click slower. She looks up, smiles, and says, "I'm glad you mentioned
that, Dear. I finished making that dress for Judy today. Don't know what in the world's wrong. It just doesn't
seem to fit her right."
"Characteristic curve is by no means linear."
"I wish you wouldn't say things like that. After
all, it's your own daughter, and she may not have the most perfect figure in the world, but you'll have to
remember that she's only twelve."
"The straight portion of the curve."
"Well, of course her figure is straight. My figure was straight
when I was twelve. I wouldn't worry about it. She'll soon grow up and have a figure just like mine."
places a finger on the page, glances in her direction, looks back at the page, shakes his head, and says, "Some
tonal distortion originates at the transmitting end because of non-linearity of response in the photoelectric
"The very idea," she says. "The very idea." She glares at him. "Well, I may not have the
most perfect figure in the world, but I'll have you know that I'm not the fattest person in the world either."
"Curvature of the earth intervenes."
"Well," she says. "Well." Her knitting needles click faster. Click.
Click. Click, Click. He reads.
"Vertical polarization," he mumbles. She glares.
polarized waves," he says. She knits.
"Horizontal radiating system," he says. She looks up, bites her lip, and says, "Well, I don't know how you
always seem to know about these things. I promised Junior I wouldn't tell you, but he was climbing in the apple
tree again today, and he fell. Said he was trying to fly."
"Insufficient horizontal deflection?"
"Well, really, Dear. How would I know what made him fall? He just fell, I guess. It was the strangest thing. He
just couldn't understand why he couldn't fly."
"Incorrect adjustment of horizontal hold control?"
"Well, I guess you do understand those things better than I do. I wish you'd explain it to him. He said he saw the
birds and airplanes flying, and he didn't see any reason why he couldn't fly. He just couldn't understand why he
"Misadjustment of horizontal centering control?"
"Well, I suppose that could be it. He
must have been out of control when he fell. Anyway, maybe you'd better explain it to him tomorrow." She stops
knitting and shakes her head. "Sometimes I wonder about Junior. He gets the craziest ideas in his mind."
"Deflection yoke twisted?"
"I don't see how you have the nerve to say things like that about Junior. His
mind may be a little warped, but after all he's your son. That's probably why he thinks he can fly. And I wish
you'd put that book away when I'm talking to you. Honestly, if you don't start paying more attention to your
children, there's no telling what they'll turn out to be."
"Well, the very idea.
The very idea." She bounces up from the chair, throws her knitting on the floor, stalks across the room, points
her finger in his face, and says, "If you can't talk decent about our children, I just won't talk to you. I work
hard day after day, week after week, and year after year, trying to make something of our children, and all I do
is ask you for a little advice. And what do I get? Sarcastic remarks." She places her hands on her hips. He
continues reading. She continues, "Well, I've heard all I want to hear about it. I just don't want to talk any
more about it now. I'm going to bed." Her voice rises to a near scream. "And you can just go jump in the lake."
He places a finger on the page, glances in her general direction, and says, "Uh. What's that? What did you
Of course, with color television, things will be different. An electronic wife will not only
see red - she'll see yellow, cyan, green, magenta, blue, and polka dot patterns.