Mark R. Stoneman

One interesting artifact of 1970s and 1980s CB radio sociability is the QSL card, a printed or hand-drawn confirmation of having been in contact with someone else via radio. Apparently one could collect them or pass them along to someone else as a recommendation.

The cards from CB radio operators that I’ve examined among the Newberry Library’s digitized collection of African American QSL cards seem to have been exchanged in person, presumably somewhere on the road. They used radio lingo, like we do abbreviations for the internet and instant messaging. Often preprinted with applicable check boxes for such exchanges, there was also space for hastily scrawled messages, written the way one might speak over the air without regard to more formal written conventions. Sound familiar?

The Newberry’s collection of 52 cards from men and women CB, ham, and shortwave radio operators include a mailing address, always a P.O. Box.

The card I’m sharing here was given to the recipient in person, as you can see from the message on the back. The “73’s” and “88’s” referenced on the card stem from old Western Union telegram codes, in this case meaning something akin to “best regards” and “love and kisses,” with “44’s” referring to prompt replies. The author also used a handwritten ten-code on the back to indicate that there had been a clear signal the whole time: “you be 10-8 all the way.”

Before running across these cards, I only ever experienced American CB radio culture through television and movies. I did see CBs in Europe when catching rides with truck drivers during my hitchhiking days. In any case, these cards add an entirely new dimension to radio sociability for me.

Given our contemporary reliance on big internet systems, maybe those people who still use these older forms of communication are doing the rest of us a real favor. Maintaining knowledge of such technology—and a market for it—could be a real lifesaver one day.