Oceans Apart
The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone.”
(Genesis 2:18)
“Dah-dit-dah-dit, dah-dah-dit-dah.”
“CQ CQ from WB2URL”
The sun had found the western horizon, and our home on Long Island, New York was dark and quiet. Except for the lonely but hopeful series of short and long tones that called out from our basement into the night sky.
“Dah-dit-dah-dit, dah-dah-dit-dah.”
In Morse code, each letter of the alphabet is represented by a unique combination of short and long tones. These were saying, “CQ” — which is ham radio shorthand for “Hello, hello. Is anyone out there?” And WB2URL was my father’s ham radio call sign. Dad was sending a message out in hope of getting a reply from another ham radio enthusiast. “This is Bob Dorn, call sign WB2URL. Please reply. Let’s talk.”
“Dah-dit-dah-dit, dah-dah-dit-dah.”
Dad’s Ham Radio Receiver and Morse Code Key
Sometimes, if the weather conditions were right, my father’s radio signal could cross the Atlantic Ocean and reach other ham radio operators in Europe. Once contact was established, the two Morse code tappers would take turns transmitting and receiving encoded messages.
“I am in NY USA. Where r u?” Bob transmitted, as his counterpart scratched out each letter on a notepad to reveal the message.
To which his new friend replied, “London here. But you are 5 by 9.” (Ham radio lingo meaning, “I can hear you loud and clear.”)
A brief friendship begins, across an ocean!
Dad had been a radio operator in World War II, relaying encrypted, war-related messages in the South Pacific. He had signed up for the Navy in 1943 at the young age of eighteen, and was deployed overseas to the war-torn island of New Guinea, just north of Australia. He spent over two years apart from his new bride Mimi, who he had to leave behind just months after they married. And soon Mimi’s letters brought news of a first child on the way, a daughter Dad wouldn’t have a chance to hold until the war ended.
To ease Mimi’s worries, Dad cleverly encoded his whereabouts in his letters. The war department would delete any reference to locations, lest the enemy intercept a letter and learn about troop movements or battle plans. So Dad cleverly changed Mimi’s middle initial in the mailing address of each weekly letter he wrote, gradually spelling out N-E-W-G-U-I-N-E-A. Only Mimi would notice the subtle change. A small blessing in a very difficult and fearful time.
Dad in his Navy Uniform, Alongside his Father
It had been three decades since Dad had returned from the war and hung up his Radio Man First Class uniform for the last time. But he still kept sharp and quick with his Morse Code skills, as his tones filled our basement and called out hopefully into the night sky.
“CQ … CQ. Is anyone out there?”
As Dad’s ham radio call rang out into the distant corners of the night, behind him his eighth child, a shy twelve-year-old, peered through the doorway into the basement room where his dad sat facing his antique radio transmitter.
Dad was tapping away at his Morse Code key, calling out into the darkness in search of new friends to communicate with across the globe. And yet there I was, right behind him. Quietly struggling to navigate life, needing to know my Dad, needing to have someone to share my heart with, to talk about hopes and dreams with, to learn the deeper things of life from.
To his credit, Dad loved and provided for his family, and tried to care for Mimi, who was now a decade into her battle with multiple cancers and other diseases. Despite that, they worked well together to raise eight kids, modeling and teaching us to value hard work, fairness, and sacrificial love. They are both heroes in my book. But sadly, I didn’t really know my dad very well.
“CQ … CQ. Is anyone out there?”
A few years later, when I was in high school, I learned Morse code and got my own ham radio license and call sign. Looking back, I see how eager I was to please and to know my Dad.
“CQ CQ from KA2APY”
“Hello, hello. This is Matt Dorn, call sign KA2APY. Please reply. Let’s talk.”
But ham radio was Dad’s hobby, not mine. I tried to get into it, but never really did. I would have to find another way to get to know my dad.
“Dah-dit-dah-dit, dah-dah-dit-dah.”
[scroll down for a few questions to ponder about your own related experiences]
“CQ … CQ. Is anyone out there?”
REFLECT:
What caught your attention as you read this story? Were there parts that especially resonated with you?
Who have you felt oceans apart from in your life, past or present? What other feelings have you experienced related to that?
What efforts have you made over the years to reach across gaps in relationships that matter to you? How did that go? Or what such efforts do you wish you had made, or perhaps think you should make soon, with someone in particular?
A Glimpse Ahead …
Would my dad and I always remain oceans apart? Gladly, no. A day would come, two decades later, when the sun would rise on our relationship. Dad and I were destined to cross a continent together and to finally break the code and learn how to communicate and to begin to truly know one another. But that is a story for another day.
How’d you feel about the “Oceans Apart” story?
I’d appreciate hearing your impressions and feedback below. Or send me a message about your own related experiences and insights. Thanks for joining the journey of discovery.
