Ham Radio Operators Come to the Rescue

They go by funny names like WA6LAU and N6LGO. But, to the people of Mexico City and to many Mexican-Americans living in Southern California, they are practically saints.

Members of the San Fernando Valley Amateur Radio Club came to the rescue when long-distance communication with earthquake-ravaged Central Mexico was almost entirely lost for a few hectic weeks in September.

While worried relatives and friends in the Valley area frantically pursued all other avenues of contact in vain, people like Sherman Oaks resident Lenore Jensen, a.k.a. W6NAZ (her call sign), handled health and welfare inquiries for them in conjunction with the Mexican consulate in Los Angeles.

Jensen was hardly alone. She estimates there were 10,000 licensed ham radio operators crowding the airwaves that first day the temblor hit, most of them trying to hook up with the dozen or so ham operators in Mexico City who speak English.

‘Had to Be Patient’

“You had to be patient,” recalls Jensen, who has pursued the hobby for 46 years. “I only handled about 12 messages total, and it took me four very frustrating days.”

As in most major natural disasters, the system worked this way: A ham such as Jensen tuned up and down the band, searching for an available Mexican operator who is handling calls. Once connecting, the ham would read off as many names and phone numbers as the receiving operator would agree to process.

Then the real waiting game began. Jensen says she would sit before her radio for “four or five hours. I was afraid to go to the bathroom, because once the operator returned, everything was read back incredibly quickly.”

Others in the 125-member club had better luck getting through. Esther Wolf (KB6HW) of Sepulveda, who teaches at the heavily Hispanic San Fernando elementary school, says she passed “about 10 messages a day” from her school alone.

The same communications problems have not plagued mud-drenched Bogota, Colombia, in the aftermath of the area’s disastrous volcanic eruption, so ham activity has been relatively light. But Mexico more than made up for it, explains Valley club President Bill Bell (N6GLO), a retired aerospace engineer who lives in North Hollywood.

“It was the kind of situation hams live for,” he said.

Business as Usual

The club’s effort generally represented business as usual in the world of amateur radio. Wherever there is a disaster, a hand-held ham set is sure to be close by. Phone lines may fizzle and satellites may crash, but ham radios are right up there with death and taxes as far as things people can rely on. The devices seem to thrive on adversity.

After the island of Grenada was invaded by U.S. troops in October, 1983, amateur radio was the region’s only link to the outside world.

In 1978, when the Los Angeles area was hit by torrential rains and flooding, ham Len Drayton (WA6LAU) of Sepulveda said, about 300 amateurs traveled from as far away as San Diego and the desert to volunteer.

But hams tend to lend a voice and an ear to even relatively minor emergencies. Bell, for instance, says he regularly reports freeway accidents and obstructions to the police on his hand-held radio, also known as a “rig,” while he tools down the highway.

Many police departments and hospitals are in regular contact with amateur ham groups, who remain at the ready should communications difficulties arise. Fire season in Southern California also puts legions of ham volunteers on alert.

‘Basically Good Samaritans

“We’re just basically Good Samaritans,” Bell said. “It’s a hobby, but one we use for the good of the public. Because of that, we have to protect it. People can misuse the airwaves and, if we don’t watch it, the ham band could be turned into a CB (citizens’ band) carrier.”

During the Vietnam War, Jensen worked with her radio on what are known as “phone patches” to connect American servicemen overseas with acquaintances back home. She operated as an intermediary on a companion ham frequency known as Army MARS (Military Affiliate Radio Service), running an estimated 65,000 patches in all.

For most GIs, it was the only form of phone communication possible. The linkups were made free of charge across the Pacific Ocean, with the receiving party paying collect-call toll charges for the U.S. portion.

Lenore Jensen’s husband, Bob (W6VGQ), himself a ham for more than 50 years and a member of the Valley club, said: “The military had some mobile transmitter units right out on the battlefield and we could hear guns being fired from close range. Guys would come off the field with a rifle in one hand and talk to their wife who had just had a baby. We had other GIs who spoke from the hospital just before being wheeled into surgery to have their leg amputated.”

“I knew nothing about the war,” Lenore Jensen said, “but everything about the people.”

Hamming seems to be the perfect hobby for the closet voyeur or the crisis-loving ambulance chaser. But Lenore Jensen contends that the rewards are much greater than a few cheap thrills.

“I liken it to being in a library of novels, taking down one book, reading one page and having to put it back on the shelf without bringing it home,” she said. “It can be a fascinating and deeply moving experience. Then, at the same time, it’s frustrating.”