OTHER TECH

My father always attributed his early interests in technical matters to his maternal grandfather, who, in his words, "knew a little bit about everything." In those days, the lowly telephone was not commonplace in rural America, international calling was an exotic luxury for the wealthy, and the Internet was the stuff of pulp science-fiction novels. The idea of listening (and talking to!) to people in other countries fascinated my dad, and toward this end he delved into the newfangled pastime of ham radio. Although radio equipment was available commercially, this was the Great Depression, and purchasing such things off-the-shelf was out of the question.

Do-it-yourself being the only option, he worked as a "soda jerk" at a family friend's drug store, saving nickels and quarters to purchase the raw materials and parts for his radio station at New York City's "Radio Row," Cortland Street, later the World Trade Center site. (Years later, when I was a teenager, he took me on a walking tour of Radio Row, where I met some of the same counter clerks, now in advancing years, who had waited on him before WW II!) A picture from that earlier time shows my father beaming proudly beside his first "rig" (as the equipment was called), with his license displayed on the wall behind. Those who knew him in later years would be surprised at the full head of hair he sported!

College tuition was well beyond the financial reach of my grandfather, and loans were not available, but fortunately my dad was accepted to the Cooper Union School of Engineering, where successful applicants could attend classes tuition-free. December 7, 1941, fell in the midst of his tenure at Cooper. Along with most able-bodied men of his generation, he enlisted in the Army, where he was assigned to a Signal Corps program that allowed him to finish his education. After graduation in 1943, he attended Officer's Candidate School at Ft. Monmouth, NJ, and received his commission as a 2nd lieutenant.

In the Second World War, the new invention of radar was a secret held second only to the Manhattan Project. My dad was selected for special training on this device, and the Army sent him to a classified school at Harvard University, where he studied under a number of scientists from the MIT Radiation Laboratory, source of the technical breakthroughs that made radar possible. He also attended classes at MIT. It was during his stay at Ft. Monmouth that he became engaged to my mother, then Ruth Krongold.

His special classes complete, my dad was mustered out for overseas duty in the Pacific theater. A prolific writer even then, his numerous letters to his parents and my mother paint a vivid and photographic picture of Army life and the less-than-idyllic ocean voyage in the belly of a Liberty ship, the Jane Adams. August 1945 fell in the midst of his journey, and by the time he arrived in the Philippines, Japan had surrendered and the war was over. Then, as now, the operative principle of the Army was "hurry up and wait," but finally, after interminable months of killing time in a tent at the end of an Air Corps runway (where he learned to sleep through ceaseless flights of military aircraft passing 50 feet over his head), my dad's unit was sent to Japan as support for the U.S. occupation forces.

Time prohibits my relating his oft-told story about wandering lost around the Japanese countryside in search of the elusive Searchlight and Radar battery assigned as his first field command. He spoke fondly of Japan and expressed admiration for the spirit and friendliness of the Japanese people, whom he found honorable even in defeat. Years later, while on an overseas trip as a guest of a major audio manufacturer, my dad revisited the city of Kyoto, where his unit had been stationed. When his tour of duty was over, he returned and married my mother on September 17, 1946.

Housing was difficult to come by in the postwar years, and the new couple lived in a procession of furnished rooms while my dad worked at an entry-level engineering position with General Precision Laboratories in Pleasantville, NY. It was there in the early 1950s that he first became interested in what was then known as hi-fi (stereo was years away). My dad banded together with three other engineers to form the Audio League, publishing a mimeographed newsletter evaluating the sound equipment of that day (much of it, again, home-built).

The Audio League was strictly a part-time endeavor, filling his evenings and weekends while he continued his full-time job at GPL and enjoying fatherhood as I and later my sister, Barbara, arrived on the scene. At this point, he probably would have been the last to suspect that this hobby would lead him to a new career and a (to him) surprising amount of fame and notoriety.

For a young boy in the 1950s, playing softball with dad in the backyard was the archetypal experience. Not in my house. My earliest and fondest childhood memories were of sitting and watching my father build Heathkits at the dining-room table. He taught me such manly arts as reading electronic circuit color codes and operating a soldering iron. By the time I was in kindergarten, my mother reminds me, my favorite word was "potentiometer." There is no question that these early experiences forged my tireless interest in technical matters.

My dad was never too busy to answer questions. Like his grandfather, he "knew a bit about everything" and had a boundless interest in a dizzying variety of subjects - from world history to science-fiction and everything in between. My dad was a voracious reader, digesting shelves of books and subscribing to seemingly dozens of magazines. This was a priceless and nurturing environment for my sister and me.

It would not be possible to talk about Julian Hirsch's life without mentioning his integrity, honesty, and "can do" attitude. Some examples: As an adult, I learned that my father was defrauded of $10,000 by two of his partners in the Audio League. This was an enormous amount of money in 1953, when new cars could be purchased for less than $1,000. Many men would be discouraged and embittered by such an event. Not my dad. Rather than simmering about it, he moved on with the remaining Audio League partner, Gladden Houck, to found Hirsch-Houck Laboratories. Still moonlighting around full-time jobs (my dad was working for Panoramic in Mt. Vernon, NY), they began writing under contract for Electronics World and Popular Electronics magazines and later for Hi-Fi/Stereo Review.

In the mid-60s frenzy of industrial conglomeration and acquisition, Panoramic was purchased by Singer Corporation and moved to Bridgeport, CT. During my teenage years, my dad would get up at 5 a.m. in order to take advantage of favorable conditions for ham radio communication. I would often awake to the sound of Morse code as he "worked" other hams from Antarctica to Zambia. After breakfast, he would join in a carpool with several coworkers for the 45-minute commute to Bridgeport. Upon returning home in the evening, we would eat supper, and while Barbara and I labored at homework, my dad put in hours more writing equipment reviews.

I want to relate a story about his years at Singer. It seems that the company was awarded a contract by the Defense Department to produce a specialized piece of equipment. An unscrupulous manager instructed my dad to bill this project for time which was actually being spent on unrelated work. My father simply "forgot" to implement this fraud and, at the risk of his job, informed the military liaison officer that, despite appearances, no real work was being performed on the contract. His ethics would not permit him to lie about the issue. When the contract was subsequently canceled, the manager ran around fuming while my dad kept his head down, secure in knowing he did the right thing.

By the 1970s, my father had left Singer, bought out his partner, and began working full-time for Ziff-Davis Publishing Co. as a technical editor and reviewer. As the years went by, he built up a huge, admiring readership. Whenever he and my mother traveled, in the U.S. or abroad, his fans would recognize him - even asking for autographs! Many audiophiles would not even consider purchasing a new component unless he had written about it or recommended it.

People would ask my dad why it was that his reviews never "panned" any audio products. In a remark that spoke volumes about his personal philosophy, he would tell them that he'd simply prefer not to write about anything which was substandard. In his view, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Life with my father was not all technical pursuits. He and my mother did a lot of traveling in their later years together, and my mom cherishes many fond memories of their vacations. When he and I got together, we could (and did) converse tirelessly on matters from politics to literature. An old quip about his profession goes something like "...last year I couldn't even spell engineer. Now I are one!" My dad put this stereotype to rest with extreme prejudice. He was articulate in speech and in print, well read and well informed. Until well into his illness, the high point of the weekend was to do battle with the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle. I do not recall ever seeing him reach for a dictionary or thesaurus, yet they invariably fell to his efforts.

Many would be surprised to know that my dad owned a sporty, red Triumph Spitfire sports car in the '60s. He and I would drive (top down and wind-battered) to watch races at Lime Rock, CT, and Bridgehamptom, Long Island. I always suspected that he nursed a Walter Mitty-like fantasy about being a race-car driver - but he knew better than to ever mention this to my mother!

As his illness progressed, he never raged, never became embittered or sour. Whether in words or in expression, he always managed to let us know that he loved us. And I hope that he knew we thought of him constantly - and that we still do. More:A Tribute to Juilan Hirsch, 1922-2003