Full Circle: From Star Child to W8USR

The W8USR Confirmation Card (Front & Back)

The front of my official station QSL card features the iconic Earthrise photo originally taken by astronaut William Anders during the historic 1968 Apollo 8 mission using a modified Hasselblad 500 EL camera and color Ektachrome film. The reverse side acts as the functional station log, where all technical two-way contact details are filled out. This beautiful layout perfectly aligns with the core goal of United States Radio W8USR: to promote world friendship over the airwaves.

Looking at my shack today, it’s hard not to feel a deep sense of nostalgia. Decades ago, I was a teenager in Detroit known as "Star Child," staring at the blue meters of a Cobra 2000 GTL and listening to the crackle of skip signals on a 45-foot Star Duster antenna. Before that, I was WN8VBK, learning the ropes in Ed McCloud's basement and copying 5 WPM Morse code. Life eventually pulled me away from the airwaves, but the passion planted in the mid-1970s never truly left.

I always wanted to get back into ham radio, which led me to join the Livonia Amateur Radio Club as a non-licensed member. One night at a monthly meeting, it was announced that Wayne (K8BTH) was going to teach an upcoming Technician licensing class. That was all the incentive I needed—I signed up right away.

Wayne was a massive fan of CW. Knowing my history as a youth, he suggested I go for the code element to shoot for a Technician Plus license. Wayne used the Farnsworth method for our code practice, sending characters at a higher speed but with long spaces in between. It worked beautifully. Halfway through the course, I passed my Technician Plus ticket, securing the call sign N8SWQ. By the time the class concluded, I took the next test and successfully upgraded to General class. I kept the momentum going, hitting the books hard over the next five to six weeks to blast through Advanced and finally achieve the pinnacle: my Amateur Extra class license.

Reaching Extra was about giving back. I became an official Volunteer Examiner (VE) with the ARRL to test the next generation of operators. I also jumped into local public service for a while, attending monthly ARES and RACES emergency communications meetings with my friend Bruno Walczak down at the Detroit Metro Airport Sheriff Station. Though I'm no longer involved with RACES, those were great times and I truly enjoyed being a part of it.

The real fun came when it was time to pick a permanent call sign. As operators, we all love personal phonetics. With N8SWQ, a friend jokingly suggested "November Eight Short Wave Quack." We had a good laugh, but that poke made me decide I needed something different! I applied for W8USR, choosing the proud phonetic "William Eight United States Radio."

My Official Call Sign on Display

A beautiful wooden plaque hanging on my radio station wall, featuring my FCC Extra Class license details laser-engraved directly into the wood. It serves as a proud daily reminder of the technical hurdles cleared and the rich heritage tied to the W8USR call sign.

Note about my name: My name actually used to be Will before I made a legal name change in the Wayne County Family Court. (There are millions of people named Will and I always wanted a much more unique name to be among hundreds rather than millions)

My call sign even follows me on the road now via my official Michigan Ham Radio license plate. To get one, you have to go through a special department of the Secretary of State and prove you hold the FCC license, and the plate itself features a distinct antenna picture. The other day, I was waiting in line at an ATM when a guy looked at my bumper and asked if my plate stood for “Weight User?” I chuckled and told him it was a ham radio plate, though I had to admit "Weight User" was a pretty clever guess for a standard vanity phrase!

W8USR on the Open Road

My official state-issued Michigan amateur radio license plate mounted on the back of my truck. Complete with the distinctive graphic antenna symbol on the side, it frequently strikes up interesting conversations at stoplights and bank lines—even if some people mistake it for a 'Weight User' tag!

It reminded me of an old friend of mine who held the call sign A8PAC. He used all five characters to create one of the best personal phonetics I’ve ever heard: "Always Ate Peaches And Cream." Someone else holds that call sign today, but the memory always brings a smile.

These days, you can mostly find me enjoying HF nets like the OMISS net, chasing special events, and occasionally jumping into contests. I’ve also found a brand new challenge to keep me on my toes: Digital DMR radio. It has a steep learning curve, but mastering the codeplugs and talkgroups reminds me of the excitement of being a tech-hungry kid all over again.

From a 15-year-old kid copying dits and dahs in a Michigan basement to operating as W8USR, the circle is finally complete. Catch you on the air!

The CB craze of the 1970's from Slingshot to StarChild in Redford

By the summer of 1976, the Citizen’s Band radio craze had completely taken over the Detroit metropolitan area. Fueled by the automotive culture and a massive highway trucking grid, everyone was jumping onto the 11-meter airwaves. So in our neighborhood near Redford Township, a big part of the local social scene revolved around handles, antennas, and weekend road rallies

For years, my dad Frank, and our neighbor Denny kept archery targets set up in our backyards, sharing a deep love for bow hunting. Because of this, I always assumed their on-air handles were strictly hunting-related. My dad, Frank Sopha KEZ-2025, went by "Green Arrow" and Denny was "Broken Arrow." Wanting to fit right into the family archery theme (sort of), I chose "Sling Shot" as my very first CB handle. Years later, I discovered a classic pop-culture twist: my dad’s handle wasn't about deer hunting at all—it was inspired by the flagship DC Comics archer character who traveled across America!

As I grew deeper into the hobby, my interests expanded toward astronomy and gazing at the cosmos through a telescope. Around that time is when I retired my old handle and changed it to "Star Child" with my own class D station callsign KBKD-7611. Turning my basement bedroom into a radio shack became the ultimate 1970s teenage escape. With the glowing blue meters of my newly upgraded radio, the Cobra 2000 GTL, the digital frequency counter, and my dad's old chrome Astatic D-104 "Silver Eagle" microphone standing proud on my desk, that room felt like a high-tech command center.

The Cobra 2000 GTL Base Station

The legendary Cobra 2000 GTL stands as the ultimate crown jewel of the late-1970s CB radio boom. Renowned for its highly stable frequency counter, twin external speaker consoles, and robust sideband performance, this iconic base station was the dream rig for serious operators across the Detroit metro airwaves. Having one of these sitting on the bench was a true badge of honor during the peak of the local radio craze.

Having a television down there meant I could hunt for distant skip signals on the upper channels, listen to the emergency traffic on Channel 9, and watch my favorite shows without ever leaving my hangout.

I lived in a corner house at that time in Detroit. Operating as Star Child with a giant 45-foot-high Antenna Specialists M-400 "Star Duster" bolted to our roof line felt incredibly cinematic. With those downward-sloping ground radials compressing our signal low toward the horizon, I could easily clear local trees and power lines to talk to a vibrant cast of local characters. There was Chris, my friend living in the house behind us, who went by "Highway Star" after the driving rock anthem of the Canadian group Rush. There was Tim, another friend from Redford Township, operating as the "Texas Ranger," along with his mom, who held down the home front, operating as  "Little Egypt." Their station Class D callsign was KARB-3349.

The 1970s CB "Gimmick" Road Rallies and massive "Coffee Breaks" (jamborees) were the absolute peak of the hobby's social scene. Getting a group together for a trip meant putting together a real-life, local version of C.W. McCall's "Convoy." For a group of car and radio enthusiasts, "The Rally Wheels" was a perfect name. It brilliantly captured Detroit’s automotive culture—where factory "Rallye Wheels" were a major trend—and combined it with mobile CB radio culture. Those weekend adventures were a unique mix of technology and old-school family fun.

Most of the time we ended up at a state park for a picnic, BBQ, or just to go swimming, keeping a line of 10 to 20 regular cars together on the highway using channel tracking to make sure nobody got left behind at a traffic light. Other times we would make the rally into sort of a game. Everyone would meet up at a starting location (like a local mall parking lot) and receive a sheet of cryptic clues in a sealed envelope. The driver had to navigate while the "shotgun" passenger worked the mobile CB radio to talk to other club members or a base station controller. You had to answer trivia about landmarks we passed or find hidden items along the route (like a specific sign or tree) using the clues. On the rallies that ran like a treasure hunt, they usually wrapped up at a local diner or pizza place instead of a park or lake.

During these treks, we routinely monitored the Michigan Emergency Patrol (MEP) volunteers under call sign KBW-5826, who monitored Channel 9 from the top of the Fisher Building and passed traffic alerts straight to the 50,000-watt AM blowtorch of 760 WJR.

The CB craze eventually quieted down as the 1980s arrived, frequencies grew overcrowded, and cell phones eventually stepped in to change communication forever. The Michigan Emergency Patrol closed its chapter in history, and the towering Starduster antennas slowly disappeared from suburban rooflines. But for those of us who lived it, the memories don't fade. Looking back, it wasn't really about the aluminum poles, the wood-grain boxes, or the chrome microphones. For me, it was about the camaraderie. It was about friends (and some family members) sitting in a glowing basement, listening to the heartbeat of a city through the static, waiting to hear that familiar mechanical click of the microphone handle and a voice calling out: "Breaker breaker, Star Child is standing by..."