Electronics had been viewed as a mysterious and dangerous evil around our house ever since my brother, Warren, enrolled in DeForest Technical Institute's home study course on radio repair. Mom wouldn't even go into his room to clean it anymore after having moved some innocent looking parts and received a jolt that nearly knocked the mop out of her hands and leaving her looking at little, white images. Even Dad learned to stay away from Warren's apparatus after picking up one of his danged ol' condensers to inspect it more closely and got the shock of his life. "I don't know how he keeps from killing himself... that *&#!% thing wasn't even connected to anything and `bout knocked me down!"

Personally, I believe Warren got into the habit of leaving charged condensers lying around to discourage his little brother (me) from messing around with his stuff. It was early spring, 1949, and every evening after supper our family would retire to the living room and sit in chairs around the old nickel-plated coal stove.

I would watch the colors of light flicker from the windows of the stove to make little, dancing squares all over the walls and ceiling. We all had to be still so everyone could hear Baby Snooks, The Great Gildersleeve, and My Little Margie on the old console Philco.

Mom would often scold Dad for rocking his chair, which made a staccato of creaks and groans on the cold linoleum. We all learned to stay particularly quiet at the end of each round of laughter and applause, so nobody would miss the next punch line. All, that is, except Warren. From his room, we could hear occasional heterodyne squeals, birdies and the all-to-often cuss word when something unexpectedly got him. Warren, you alright in there? would usually bring a few more expletives and by that, we knew, at least he wasn't critical.

As a kid brother, I was constantly amazed at Warren and his electronics laboratory. He was right up there with Captain Midnight, in my opinion, after watching his demonstrations in physics. He shot a hole in our pine tree to collect rosin for cleaning electrical connections and he climbed clear to the top of the persimmon tree to pull up a wire antenna for another of his projects. Half-way up, he mistakenly grabbed a dead limb that came off in his hand. Even Johnny Weismiller would have been impressed at the recovery from that one!

One day, a colossal event occurred to force his eviction from the house that none of the solder smoke, cuss words, flashes of light and subsequent periods of darkness had been able to do.

The late-spring day started as normal as any other, but that afternoon storm clouds began to approach, the wind picked-up and the smell of rain was in the air. We all ran around the big, old, two-story farm house, closing doors and windows. The wind caught a galvanized wash tub from beside the hand pump and took it tumbling across the back yard. Trees bent over severely and bird's nests were stripped from their limbs. The air was full of leaves and branches and the old hay barn moaned and creaked.

Mom went back to fixing supper in the kitchen, while the rest of us all went out on the side porch, protected from the wind by the corner of the house and a big wisteria vine.

This was entertainment! Technicolor, Smell-O-Vision and Surround Sound could not have compared! This was a total experience! None of us kids had ever been to see a picture show, but Dad had taken Mom to see one before they were married in 1931 and they told us about it. We had our own show, right there on the porch every time a storm passed across our farm and the events were impressive enough to remember for a lifetime.

As the wind continued to blow, clouds of dust came sweeping across the freshly planted fields, followed closely behind, by what looked to me like a curtain of water. A darkening of the sky and a deluge of rain was fast approaching.

At first, just some big raindrops pelted here and there. Then it happened... a jagged flash of light, followed by an almost deafening Kraaaaakkk as lightning hit Warren's antenna wire, out in the persimmon tree! We watched in horror as a blue-white ball of light rode the wire, coming straight toward us and the house and the porch and Blackie, our mixed-breed pet pooch. As the lightning ball passed over our heads, above the porch and into Warren's upstairs room, there was a bright flash, accompanied by a fierce crash and a whole string of new cuss words, some of which I'd never even heard before.

.

Blackie was already leaving; heading for the kitchen screen door (which opened out) and looking like a little, black torpedo with legs. He plunged right through the screen, skinned his nose and began peeing across the kitchen floor as he made his way under the table.

"Get this cussed dog out of my kitchen!"  shouted Mom as she pushed her mop menacingly between the chair legs. Blackie was staying. The mop was no match for what was happening out on the porch!

In the meantime, following the flash and crash upstairs, we who were on the porch saw the double sash window from Warren's upstairs room, come sailing out over the driveway and into the yard. The window was complete with frame and glass until it hit directly in front of Dad's '47 Chevy.

There were no injuries except for Blackie's nose, but Warren's danged ol' electronics had completely wore out his welcome, so he cleaned the old chicken house and moved all of his stuff out there, utilizing a separate circuit from the household lights and the Philco. After that day, I had to go out to the chicken house to see any soldering smoke.