About Our Lead Engineer, Ken Crawley

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Meet the Engineer

My acknowledgement goes to:

God

My father DeWitt, head of test & measurement at the Savannah River Plant (nukes), Tesla Edison Galt Heinlein Asimov JGlenn, Mozart, McGyver, and a neighbor down the street who gave me most of the parts to build a crystal radio in 3rd grade. The aggregate effect of those entities, along with some DNA-innate drive, fostered an attitude of an "engineer" mindset.

An engineer is not merely a degree; it is an educated mindset focused on problem-solving and enhancing functionality. While a degree can help mitigate the failure rate, it is imagination that propels innovation.

On my dad’s knee, he would tell me that his job was to make things work better, last longer, and use less electricity. Yet, on that very same knee, he disciplined me for breaking my 4th birthday Fischer Price toy airplane into parts because I was unsatisfied—the “pilot-screwdriver” did not disassemble it enough. He also taught me to shoot straight with a .22 rifle at the age of 4, and later, after my parents divorced, his influence continued through the letters he sent me in Morse code over the years.

In 3rd grade, I discovered that climbing trees to put up antenna wire felt almost like flying! I was fortunate never to fall out of any tree or tower by accident. When my crystal radio worked for the first time and I heard music, it sparked a wonder that the physical world held more than what met the eye. My Grandpa, a petroleum engineer, showed me in the Bible that God is the best engineer in the universe. One memorable experience was presenting my Daisy BB gun and bedroll in class for show and tell, after which the teacher let me serenade my classmates.

In 4th grade, after my mom remarried an Air Force man, we relocated from Alabama to Florida. My dad sent me a Wham-0 electric motor kit along with an “Ensign O-Toole Morse Code” flasher set. John Glenn flew just north of us (we were in Homestead, FL). I discovered the joy of reading about heroes, while not enjoying fights on my way home; but I stood my ground. Our school PA system played Sousa marches before the Pledge of Allegiance every morning.

By 5th grade, I realized I could connect the Morse code flashers together. I also finished reading a two-foot-wide section in the school library dedicated to heroes and inventors. My step-dad gifted me an aluminum slide rule, which proved bendable if you applied too much force!

In 6th and 7th grade, we moved to Omaha, where my neighbor’s color TV introduced me to *The Wizard of Oz*, and I watched The Beatles premiere on Ed Sullivan. I captained an “Army Club,” joined the Boy Scouts, aced the Morse Code requirement, and even restored an alarm clock I dug up from the dirt—my crystal radio improved while my bugle transformed into a French Horn.

By 8th grade, our family moved to Guam in July 1966. I eagerly enrolled in a “So You Want to Be a Ham” class. Annoyingly, I got bored with the straight key. On my 14th birthday, I received my Novice call sign, WN4ENE! Meanwhile, B-52s took off every morning, ramping up the intensity of the era. Through a classmate, I obtained 50 feet of the special antenna wire used for the B-52’s HF antennas, a copperweld encased in peculiar green plastic insulation. Using an ARRL license manual, I crafted a 15-meter inverted V antenna, funded by my lawnmower money, while Australian operators sent me “QSD” signals during our contacts.

Just two months later, I upgraded to General, obtaining the call WB4ENE, which I will hold until my SK. The AFMARS station OIC granted me access to the “parts warehouse,” laying down two rules: I must actually USE the parts I took, and selling anything I received was forbidden. He also trained me on the Collins S-Line MARS station; thereafter, I frequently took the shuttle bus to operate KG6FAE.

As a 9th grader, my French Horn got better while President Lyndon Johnson visited Guam to inaugurate a NASA tracking station—our band played for him. I discovered a girl who liked ham radio, the Horn, and (surprisingly) me! I also learned that B+ meant I would explode capacitors if I didn’t install a 5U4 rectifier correctly. I took my radio station to the high school, and the science teacher allowed me to climb out of the window to put up a dipole antenna, demonstrating how Japanese operators filled my SX-111 receiver with replies when I called CQ, inundating my mailbox with QSL cards.

In 10th grade, the move to Orlando primarily involved marching band. A small group of us initiated a Ham class to share our interest in radio engineering.

By 11th grade, I transformed my “exploded transmitter” into a grid-clamp tube modulator, swapped an 807 tube for a 6146B in my Adventurer, and meticulously worked stations in SSB by carefully zero-beating. I frequently received mixed reviews, citing that my audio was weak or my signal chirpy. Then, lightning struck! Standing on my porch in Orlando, FL, I observed a lightning bolt hitting my 15-meter quad on a push-up mast—wham! Luckily, nothing was damaged, thanks to vacuum tubes, a ground rod, and excess coax leading to the radio.

By 12th grade, I upgraded to Advanced Class to avoid further tickets for being out of my band segment. A Rockwell aerospace engineer at church built me a dual J-K flip-flop CW keyer, but my sister hid it, leaving me with questions. Remarkably, I graduated high school with little more than