A strange turn of events

I've been having fantasies of killing someone. Not just anyone. A very specific person. I know her name. I know her address. I know her age. I know her ham radio call sign.

Now, there is truly a reason that I would want to kill someone, do not think I have lost my mind. Her death is the only way out of my current quandry, which has caused me much distress.

It all started last Thursday night when, knee-deep in learning the last of my morse code numbers, the phone rang. (If you're wondering why I'm learning morse code, you can read all about it here, here and here.) It was my Uncle Larry, fondly known as Uncle Klunk, after a character in a favorite childhood book. My dear Uncle has been the unsung hero behind my attempt to get an advanced ham radio license. It was he who informed me of the historic call sign belonging to my father and his father before him -- which could be mine after some earnest study. It was he who urged my brother to take a shot at claiming the family call sign and who, once my brother gave up, then heralded me into the odd world of Ham Radio, urging me to study things even my father dared not. It was he who knew of all the FCC regulations regarding the disbursement of Ham radio call signs to family members after a person dies. Yes the unsung hero and super supporter urging me to the heights of Ham radio.

Well, Uncle and I chatted amiably (he is truly an odd fellow and a nice reminder of my odd father) for about an hour. During the course of our conversation, I asked what my dad's call sign was, as I wasn't sure I had remembered it correctly. He informed me of the sign. As I had thought. Funny, I had looked the call sign up on an amatuer radio website a few days earlier, and hadn't seen my dad's name come up as the owner.

I thought I would try again.

I entered the sign into the callsign lookup space, entered it with hope and, I must admit, a bit of dread. I hit "search."

Up pops the owner of the call sign. Not my father. But a woman. A woman who lives in Idaho.

I immediately dialed Uncle Klunk. I blurted into the phone as soon as he answered.

"Uncle Larry, someone already has my dad's call sign."

My poor uncle. He, too, had discovered this awful turn of events, but having consulted the oracles (my cousins) he chose not to reveal the disaster to me, hoping that a certain chain of events would not occur.

However, the dreaded chain of events did occur. It appears that "THE WOMAN," as she henceforth will be known, must have done a little detective work. See, my father's call sign expired in August of 2006. And 30 days before it expired, the soon-to-expire call sign was posted on a ham radio website. Each expired call sign has a 2-year extension where the original owner (my dad) could renew it, unless that original owner has died. If someone has died, as in the case of my father, its basically up for grabs. Since I was dragging my heels on the last ham radio exam (which I needed to pass to get the license--I've been a little busy this year), my uncle gambled that I could still get the call sign a month or two after it expired -- as no one would research whether my dad had died.

But he was dead wrong.

Due to supersleuthing, my uncle discovered that not only did THE WOMAN covet this call sign, the elusive and familial sign, she somehow obtained the social security documents that proved my dad was dead, and submitted those along with her application for the sign to the FCC.

The rest they say, is history. THE WOMAN got the call sign in August. Uncle has informed me that it is useless to call up THE WOMAN to tell her of my plight and implore her to let go of the sign. No, if she relinquished the sign, any old joker (myself included) could apply for the sign. The FCC does a lottery to determine the winner, and I'd be only one of a long line of jokers lined up for the treasured two-letter call sign.

So death is the only way back in for me. Once she dies, I can stealithy submit either SS papers or an obituary and apply for the sign.

Needless to say, I pushed my morse code test out for a few weeks. I'm not quite in mourning. I'm in shock.