It is with tremendous sadness that I sit at my computer and write about the death of Charlie Brown, W4OLG.
I'm still in a state of shock, only just reading the e-mail within the hour. Charlie's significant other called another local ham earlier this evening to report Charlie had a major heart attack and his implanted defibrillator was unable to prevent his death.
Defining just who Charlie Brown was is difficult because he was so many things to so many people.
I first met Charlie eight years ago when he and Bill Manby, both pioneer reenactors, were attending the first Kentucky Bourbon Festival Sampler event at the local civil war museum. My sister and her band, The Kentucky Standard Band, were playing there that night as well.
When I met Charlie, he and Bill Manby were dressed like authentic fronteir woodsmen, complete with flintlock rifles. Charlie was bugging the band to play “Whiskey Before Breakfast,” an old fiddle tune. They were happy to oblige.
Now Bill Manby I had met 20 years earlier as a student at United Electronics Institute in Shively. Bill had retired from the Air Force and was attending electronics school. He and I were in the same class all through the electronics program.
Bill and I chatted a while and I was introduced to Charlie. Within a hour or so — after plenty of “sampling” had taken place, Charlie and Bill headed outside. Apparently, some of the women were attractred to their firearms, and they wanted to see them fired.
Charlie was more than happy to oblige. He loaded small charges in his flintlock and — standing in the middle of the civil war parking lot — fired his weapon into the air.
The report echoed down the holler past the country club and on toward the amphitheater, down the hill to Boone's and back north toward Allison Avenue. It was the shot heard around the town, literally.
Several women in attendance at the Sampler (who apparently sampled to excess) wanted Charlie to reload and fire his weapon again. He did so, again with a tremendous report. I have photos of the plume of flame and smoke being discharged by the gun. That done, Charlie asked the women if they wanted a turn firing the weapon. He had plenty of takers.
KABLAM!
(reload)
KABLAM!
(reload)
KABLAM!
Who would have thought that leather breeches, mocassins and a flintlock could attract so much attention from the fairer sex? I loved to hear Charlie tell and retell the story of that night at the Civil War Museum.
—
My next encounter with Charlie was in March or April 2004. I was nearly done teaching a Technician license class when Charlie arrived and announced he wanted in on the class. We were doing a lot of review with my current students, so I worked with Charlie to get him up to speed. He had a background in electronics (he was a UEI student himself many years ago) and industrial maintenance. He was enthusiastic about becoming a ham. In June 2004 he passed his Tech exam. It was on to General and later Extra.
I believe Charlie took great pride in his sometimes exaggerated country accent. He called it “Maudenese,” a term he coined from the area where he grew up, Maud.
His Maudenese came up regularly when we worked together at club on-the-air events. During Field Day, his phonetic pronounciation of the club call suffix KY confounded many operators north of the Mason-Dixon. His “Kilo Yankee” in Maudenese sounded more akin to the phrase “Killa Inky.” Requests for repeats usually were met with Charlie saying it much slower: “Killaaaaah Ink-eeeeeey.”
But being around Charlie was always an interesting experience. He became interested in ARES and EMA, and he became our EM director's go-to guy for getting things done. Charlie was a dedicated volunteer, throwing himself into his volunteer duties with enthusiasm and gusto.
During my tenure as newsletter editor, Charlie began to submit articles that were essentially his view on various radio-related topics. The first one came while I was re-reading one of my favorite books, John Steinbeck's “Travels With Charley.” I immediately stole Steinbeck's book title for Charlie's semi-regular column in the newsletter. I don't know that I ever told Charlie where the title came from.
Say what you will about Charlie's writing, style and grammar, he wrote his columns just like he spoke — in pure, unadulterated Maudenese. He knew what he was writing and he purposely wrote that way — and as newsletter editor, I wasn't going to change much other than typos (the ones he didn't do purposely).
His columns had a charm that mirrored the humor that seemed to engulf him in person. He enjoyed poking fun at his friends, and was more than willing to accept it in return.
Charlie had previously had a couple of heart attacks, and his heart problems forced him to leave his job at O-I. After his last heart attack they implanted an automatic defib unit that would fire to start his heart should he enter a heart attack. It had fired on him a couple of times in the years I knew him.
In my travels to clubs around the state, I've come to realize that every group of hams have their cast of characters: there's the Old Farts who are still pissed about incentive licensing. There's the newer hams who tolerate the grumpy hams with holier-than-though attitudes that their exams in front of the FCC make them superior to hams who earn their tickets via VE-administered sessions. Then you have the EMCOMM guys who forgo ragchewing for preparing for RF Arrmageddon. And then you have the “characters” — the guys who instigage mischief, generate levity, and enjoy the lighter side of life and radio.
He went to great pains to chose a vanity callsign that would “fit” the way he wanted it to. He told me a list of possible calls, but the last once gave him the phoentics he wanted to use: W4 Old Lazy Goat. He felt they were colorful and descriptive to how he saw himself these days.
He was as dedicated to net control duties as anyone I've ever met. He started the club's 6-meter net, and continued in that role to the end. He supported ARES here in the county, and had worked hard to get his own packet station up for use as a VHF link to a WinLink node. Whatever Charlie went after, he did with passion and gusto. His backyard today is a tribute to his desire to be active on the air — he probably has more wire and aluminum in the air than Carter has liver pills.
I'll miss his Maudenese accent, and the colorful old-time phrases that punctuated his speech at every turn. I spent many an evening in my office lurking on 3950, listening to him chat with a group of guys who hung out there every night until 11 p.m Eastern time.
I'm still in disbelief that the energetic, vibrant spark of life called Charlie Brown has been extinguished. The club meetings won't be the same without his lanky, mossy oak camo-clad frame strutting in the door like a prize fighter, waiting to slug it out with the first lid who offered the first jab of humor in his direction.
Life will go on, but without one of its essential “characters” that made it so interesting …
No arrangements are known yet. I suspect visitation will be Sunday, burial on Monday. More to come.
Damn it anyway.