Sad Fate of the Water—cooled Tube

presidents. The cold bothered him, so in the winter he wore an old racoon coat, a left over from his college days. His hat, which he seemed to balance on top of his head, never reached his ears. In spite of his slight build and sallow complexion, John Quincy had tremendous drive and enthusiasm. Dad liked him and was impressed with his knowledge of the latest technology in electronics. He had big ideas about making a powerful radio station.

“You’re operating on too low a power, Poppa” Jack would say.

Dad, of course, could not agree more.

“Get me some of the latest gear and we’ll put in a water-cooled tube. Come on, Poppa, let’s go for the 500 watts!”

Dad at this time was in the throes of a competitive battle for dominance with Jim Gesner and CHCK on the local scene. Also, Summerside’s CHGS, the only other station on PEI, was seeking to move from 25 watts to 100 watts. He was aware that other broadcasters throughout the country were planning and preparing for a possible national network. Presently, he was operating at twice the output of CHCK, but it might be only a matter of time before they could equal his power. Dad was in the fray to win; so, he decided that in addition to be being the senior station he would be the most powerful. He and John Quincy started to put the plans into operation.

The water-cooled tube was ordered. It cost $400. This was the depression, and $400 was a fortune. But that was the least of the costs. The Department of Marine would not allow a station with its transmitter inside the city limits to operate on more than 250 watts. If CFCY wished to operate on 500 watts, it had to install a transmitter in a building of its own outside the city limits. Dad protested, but he quickly realized that if he was to maintain the dominant position, the power would even- tually have to be increased. In addition to the transmitter building itself, he would require higher towers. For the time being he decided to operate on 250 watts which was still five times stronger than CHCK. He could move outside the city at a later date.

The arrival of the water-cooled tube produced great excitement, but its installation was disastrous. Lindy had been sent upstairs to the attic to sort through and test dozens and dozens of the small radio tubes that had accumulated over time. Any with life in them had to be salvaged, and catalogued. I was a teenager at the time, and Lindy’s ruffled golden hair and 510W drawl meant romance with a capital “R” to me. I had called in to see the new equipment. Jack Adams, who could produce

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