1945 Fada Bullet

For a while, every time I received a new radio, I would take a photograph and post it on our family group chat. Pretty soon after posting Daniel, my niece’s boyfriend, would then post a thumbs up emoji. My niece Sammy, who has two kids, reads her correspondence late at night, and would sometimes write ‘whoa cool.’ Most of the rest of the family would just ignore me.

That’s ok.

Everybody has lives and radios are my thing. And so, when I post a photo of a 1939 Fada Bullet, one of the kids might say nice. But often, my pic is supplanted by adorable pictures and videos of Jojo and baby Lou Lou. Pictures and videos which I find adorable too. So, I don’t get into the whole thing about how one of the people I have bought transistors from told me about this estate sale in Athens, Georgia. Turns out they had this Fada Bullet which the owner had meticulously and painstakingly returned to its original 1945 alabaster color. That all the gorgeous burnt orange catalins were almost all originally alabaster. That the previous owner had stipulated in his will that the radio could not be shipped. That it had to be picked up locally. I’m not going to interrupt the chat after the super cute video of Joey singing ‘happy birthday Bubby’ by telling everyone that I drove to Athens, Georgia to pick up a radio. And was not on a golf trip with my friend Phil. They all think I'm crazy enough as it is.

I am still in the honeymoon phase of collecting and that means I want to share my joy with everyone.

Whether they are interested or not.

Dave is the name of my postal carrier. He carries the boxes of radios from his truck to my front door. If I am home, right into my house. I have invited him in so he can see what he has been schlepping. The FedEx guy and UPS guy too. Last night, the UberEATS driver, after exclaiming, “cool collection dude,” was invited in for a short tour while my veggie lo mein got cold.

If there is a break in, there will be a long list of suspects.

That’s on me.

I am proud of my collection and, to be perfectly honest, more than a little envious of others. There is a couple in Nebraska whose house is nothing short of being a catalin museum. They own an example, in each color, of virtually every catalin radio ever made. Unlike me, the majority of collectors are private in nature. Some have written books. But the majority just collect and keep to themselves.

As I started to amass numbers I decided, just out of curiosity, to look up what the Guinness World Record was for number of radios. I’m quite sure that the Guinness Book of World Records is no longer a thing. Certainly not like it was back in the day.

I was more than a little surprised by what I found. An M. Prakash of India held the record for having 625 different types of radio. The record, not unlike Bob Beamon’s long jump record, had been in the books since 2005. When I mentioned this record to one of the dealers I buy from she laughed and laughed. I only wish one of my stories could get a laugh like that. She said she knew collectors who had over 2000 radios. But why don’t they submit it to Guinness I asked. Then she gave me the kind of look that people give you when they think you’re crazy.

Ok.

I wasn't really that serious anyway but I was still a little curious about the wording of the record. To me, it sounded a little ambiguous.

625 different types of radios. Did that include transistors?

What about the same radio but in a different color? Was that a different type?

So, I sent an email off to the good folk at Guinness. Their website said expect 6-18 months for a response.

So that was that.

Anyway, I didn't have enough shelves.

This honeymoon phase was affecting a judgment which was already teetering on the edge of sanity. I started giving away radios to anyone who expressed an interest.

And to many who did not.

My bankers. My tailors. My candlestick makers.

Part of my rational was sentimental and not completely loony - a part of me would be in my friends’ and families’ homes.

Honestly, I thought that was kind of nice.

The other part was based on a shakier foundation: if, I thought, instead of giving a radio away, I was actually just lending it on a permanent loan, then the radios I gave away, would still be in my collection. I would give a radio in exchange for a shelf.

It was, I thought, nothing short of brilliant.

Ok, M. Prakash of India or his heirs still didn't have much to worry about but at least I had a number to shoot for.

It was, I foolishly convinced myself, win-win.

Also, there actually were quite a number of radios I had purchased in the early days which I was quite happy to get rid of to make room for better radios.

Win-win.

So, like the arriviste I am, don't look it up, it’s not a good quality to have, I updated my website and added a Courtesy of the Rosen (or whatever family name) Collection next to the radios I had given away. Which is what somebody might have in a coffee table book if they had photos of other people’s radios.

But I was just being a self-centered fool.

It only took me two weeks to realize I was being a self-centered fool. Which is, as you might have guessed, a personal record. I then deleted all the radios which were not mine. No more ‘courtesy of’. A radio was either mine or not. You can’t have it both ways.

Now while two weeks is frankly a pretty decent amount of time to discover a modicum of self-awareness, it was still enough time to cause some damage.

That’s on me.

I should have known better than to have put my eggs into the basket of a sleep-deprived, workaholic mother of a newborn. One, the mother, not the newborn, who had just bought a new house.

I’m not going to name names but this woman, along with being a fan of my writing, absolutely loved my radios. She thought they were the coolest thing.

I urged her to pick one.

She couldn't.

I explained about the permanent loan and M. Prakash in India.

She said really?

I said yeah. It would be my pleasure.

And she said ok, how do I choose.

I said, I will send you my website. You can choose any radio that has a Canadian flag next to it.

She said really?

I said yeah. Take anything you want.

She said I’m so excited.

And I said great.

Then two days went by and she didn't get back to me. So, I sent her an email with my website again.

Then again. And then, again.

Newborn. New house. Busy job. Maybe a little more on her mind than choosing one of my precious radios.

I get that.

Listen.

I’m not an idiot.

So, of course, I sent another reminder.

I mean, I really wanted her to get a radio.

She answered that night.

Actually, the time stamp on the email said 3am.

‘Sorry for taking so long. Things have been hectic. Thank you so much for your generosity. Saul and I really appreciate it. It means so much to us. We just spent an hour on your website and this is the one we absolutely love. Thank you so much.’

And she included a picture of the radio. With a whole bunch of heart emojis.

Now the reason I put a Canadian flag next to some of the radios is just a function of inventory control. Which are in Toronto. And which are in Florida. I have people only look for the radios in Toronto because then they can pick them up or I can drop them off. Much easier than shipping from Florida.

Also, and I would like to put this as delicately as I can, even though I have fantastic radios in Canada, I mean some real beauties, all of the rare hard to find catalin radios are in Florida.

So, I can, you know, be a real macher. A real big shot. Sure, take anything you want.

So now I have pestered this sleep deprived mother of a newborn for two weeks.

Have you picked a radio yet?

Am I now supposed to say - hey, I don’t think that radio has a Canadian flag next to it.

I mean. Maybe I'm a dick. But not that big of a dick.

So I shipped her the 1945 Fada Catalin Bullet from Florida.

The one I had driven to Athens, Georgia for.

The one in mint shape.

The one that still played.

They’ve got it displayed really nicely in the living room.

It’s a centerpiece.

“The baby loves to turn it off and on,” she said beaming. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Yes,” I replied, discreetly wiping what I believed was mashed apricots from the 83-year-old grill. In another 83 or so years, the alabaster would turn into the same color as those apricots.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s really cute.”

The End