| My dad had a small motorcycle when I was a baby. I stuck my finger into the tailpipe. Then I was stumped about how to get the oily soot off of my finger. |
| My dad gave me a bucket of water, the hose, and a hand-type bilge pump to play with when I was three. I still remember the sweltering heat of those summer days; our lush backyard lawn (probably of flowering dichondra); and how good that cool water felt between my toes. |
| My parents gave me a tool kit for Christmas. It was the best present ever. An erector set was the second best. They gave me a car radio to strip when I was five. Car radios of-old were complicated. This one used mechanical multivibrator stepup to develop B+. The rectifier tube had me stumped: both ends of the fillament were tied together. It was an 0Z4. My dad gave me a tube manual. He explained that that the first digit of a tube-type is the fillament voltage. That much made sense. Ten years later I learned about ion-bombardment related heating and vacuum arcs. The 0Z4 fillament probably glows, but due to the impact of Mg nuclei bombardment. I've always loved feeling mystified. It makes for vivid memories. That metal 0Z4-can came off easily. The glass envelope inside was oddly round and tucked into the can with a liner of pleated paper (that could have come in any box of See's candy). Inside the tube, two electrodes stuck up beside the fillament. They were little more than dumet-wire stubs, barely penetrating into the vacuum. Later I learned the small surface area of those stubs is what made them predominantly anodes. Chassis stripping became a periodic festivity. Mom canvassed for contraptions. My dad removed picture-tubes from TV's before I got to mess with them. My tool set waxed and waned over the years. But my dad always shared his with me, despite some disappointments. I'll never forget the time I wiped out all his dikes, attempting to cut spring steel. He almost flew into a rage. But he stopped himself. He got calm long enough to find out if I really did all that damage, just then. I admitted having done all of it. He was exasperated but didn't lash out. He looked despondent. |
| My dad answered my questions thoroughly. Maybe he even elicited questions slyly. But he never tried to make me assimilate knowledge on command. I might actually remember every one of his answers. |
| I'm told that, as a baby, I blew out the power transformer in my dad's shortwave radio by repeatedly turning it on and off. I was a teenager when I first heard the story. By that time, my dad had already explained inductance to me. The stories didn't jibe. I guessed he was lying about why that transformer failed. Ten years later at ETM, an ugly phenomena started dogging me. I saw unloaded transformers occasionally blowing fuses and breakers, at turn-on. Oversizing the protection posed other problems. Fortunately, Harvey Dain got me checked out on "inrush surge"--or "TV Thump," as Harv' sometimes called it. And it does logically follow that overheating will result if "TV thumps" happen often enough. This clarification vindicated my dad. So I guess I never have seen him lie. |
| Dr (Daryl Reagan) |
| My Dad: |
| One year we went camping in the high country of Yosemite. My dad got me checked-out on electron dynamics in vacuum-tubes on that trip. I've always loved device physics. He stoked that passion. |
| Chassis stripping festivals are still a way of life for me. It keeps me fresh by replentishing my stocks. I asimilate tricks, philosophies, products, and materials as I go. |