Bill is retired from not one, but two careers. A former helicopter pilot, he also ended a second career as a computer technician in 2007. Now, he needs something to do in order to stay out of my way. A hobby - that’s what he needs.
Bill is affable, kind, caring, and known for his conversational prowess. He also requires people, 24/7. He doesn’t play golf, garden, collect stamps, or any of the other usual hobbies one pursues in retirement. All he really wants to do is talk. Combine that with his love of technology, and he one day declares, “I’m going to get my ham radio license.”
He locates a club nearby, the Broken Arrow Amateur Radio Club, BAARC for short, and begins attending meetings. There are dozens of retirees here - all with an interest in talking and electronics. He has found his people!
To stay active in the club, he needs to obtain a license; so, Bill studies for and passes his Technician’s class exam. Now, all he must do is acquire the tools of the trade, a radio and antenna. His first radio is a handheld Baofeng with a rubber duck antenna. He’s ready to rag chew!
During the next few years, Bill helps set up chairs for meetings, take photos for the club’s newsletters, and does whatever is necessary to make BAARC’s annual Field Day a huge success. Each Monday, he participates in the weekly “check in” with his call sign and a brief hello. Then, with a Coke in hand, he sits back in his Lazy Boy and simply listens. I’m surprised to discover that he rarely engages in on-air conversations. In person, he’s “Chatty Cathy,” but on the air, he merely listens.
In an unexpected turn, Bill begins to lose the central vision in both eyes, rendering him legally blind. His passion for “his people” and ham radio, however, persists. By 2011, he’s reached the pinnacle of ham radio success by earning his Amateur Extra class license, the highest rank possible. With more than 375 repeaters in Oklahoma, alone, he’s able to listen to the rag chew of ham operators from every corner of the state. He is in his own little heaven.
Meanwhile, I had completed a college degree started in the ‘60s and was now taking on the role as “head of the house.” Between teaching school, household responsibilities, and “Driving Mr. Bill,” I am too busy and too tired to notice the war that is beginning inside Bill’s brain.
One of the clues that something is wrong manifests in Bill’s insatiable quest for bigger and better antennas. He begins installing antennas all over the house, the yard, and even in the car. When I ask him why he has to have the next, “best” antenna when he doesn’t even talk on the radio, he says, “I’m going to talk more as soon as I get a better antenna.”
Despite his visual impairment, he continues to find a way to fulfill his obsession, with or without the help of friends. One day, I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner when I hear a loud crash in the garage and him yelling, “Cindy, come here!” I open the garage door and find him hanging through the jagged hole in the ceiling. I rescue him with a ladder and plead with him not to work on antennas anymore without help. “After all,” I say, “You ARE legally blind.”
His obsession comes to a climax over a hex beam antenna. “I’m going to learn Morse code,” he declares one day. “Then I’ll be able to contact ham operators all over the world!”
His ham radio buddies rally together to install an enormous, upside-down-umbrella-shaped antenna in our back yard that is powerful enough to reach Antarctica. It’s a chaotic explosion of wires and metal poles that I dub, the “Hydrogen Bomb.” An eyesore to me; but, to Bill, it’s his masterpiece. After installation, he sits back in his Lazy Boy and continues to listen.
By now, I am noticing that Bill is beginning to repeat himself, misplace things, and forget how to use electronics. “What are we doing today?” “Where’s my iPhone?” “Would you reset my radio - I can’t find the 91 repeater?” In an attempt to keep up, I join BAARC myself and begin studying for my ham radio license.
One day, I decide to try out his ham equipment and new hex beam antenna. I now have my Extra license and am learning Morse code. When he notices me move his Key (the device used to send Morse code), he flares up in anger, screaming at me for moving his things. My kind, even-tempered husband had transformed into someone I don’t know; my first wakeup call that something is surely wrong.
However, I continue to convince myself that Bill’s odd behavior is simply due to his visual impairment; so I begin looking for solutions. Maybe if I give him more independence, it will improve the situation.
In 2017, I begin moving us to an independent living facility where they will provide food, housekeeping, transportation, and companionship. My goal is to continue to teach while giving Bill the support he needs to remain independent.
Downsizing from a 3,000 sq. ft. house to a 1,200 sq. ft cottage is intense, but the worst battle is Bill insisting on keeping his prized, hex beam antenna. I explain to him over and over again that the facility will not allow him to put this antenna in the yard, but he insists a staff person told him he could. To keep the peace, I agree he can store it in the garage.
We had barely settled in from the move when I return home one day to discover the “boys’ putting the finishing touches on Bill’s hex beam as our puzzled, new neighbors look on. Defying all odds and regulations, the Hydrogen Bomb has been resurrected - all 40’ of it, spread out over our new home like a metal fence at a federal prison. Reality hit: “I’m trapped in a prison of my own with a spouse I no longer know.”
The next day, the manager of the community promptly orders its removal, shattering Bill’s dreams. For the next three years, Bill futilely explores ways to hide an antenna in our new cottage while I consult doctors looking for an explanation to his increasingly bizarre behavior.
“Maybe I could put an antenna in the attic?” he asks.
“No, you’re not going to fall through a hole in this attic,” I say.
“What about a J-pole antenna in the corner of the living room? We could hide it with a screen or something?”
“No, I’m not living with *RF in the house.”
Resigned, he pulls out his old handheld radio with its rubber duck antenna, his last connection to the radio world, sits in his recliner, and listens. In the quiet moments of these radio frequencies, Bill finds comfort, a sanctuary for his slowly deteriorating mind.
As the years pass, his ability to use electronics ceases. His connection to “his people” ends, and even the rubber duck antenna is now gone. Bill is diagnosed with Mild Cognitive Impairment in 2019, Alzheimer’s in 2021, and psychosis due to dementia in 2023. His obsession with antennas remains an enigma, a poignant foreshadowing of Alzheimer’s and the long goodbye that is still to come.
*radio frequencies
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