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It was the first major purchase of my life, the first in a long and usually disappointing string of credit-financed electronics purchases. I was a thirteen-year old, feathered-haired new wave wannabe, a Sunday-afternoon mallrat, when I finally convinced my parents that, between my $120-a-month income from delivering papers for the Louisville Courier-Journal and my growing skills as a drummer, I needed a new component stereo system. All I needed from them was their signature on a financing agreement. Up to that point, I'd spun my Thompson Twins vinyls on mom's turn-of-the-70s stereo, one of those all-in-one, screechy boxes from Sears. I had had my eye on a little 20-watt receiver and a pair of bookshelf speakers at Radio Shack. The receiver's black casing and silky-smooth knobs seemed like the quintessence of stylish high-tech to my young eyes. And, compared to mom's old console, it THUMPED. But on the day I finally dragged my mom into the mall, the Shack was throwing a sale on discontinued stereo components. And there, sitting amidst the most expensive receivers in the store, was a Realistic STA-730 stereo receiver, marked "50% off." It gleamed silver. It had the biggest volume knob of all the models in the store -- a brushed chrome knob that went from 0 to 100 in subtlely numbered increments of 5. It had connections for four speakers, each blasting almost forty watts. And it had a digital radio display. All for only $129.99. I fell in love at first sight. Mom was worried that it would be too loud. The salesman winked at me and explained that it would require bigger speakers than the tiny 20-watt boxes I'd been eyeing. He pointed me to a pair of Optimus 50s--3 feet tall, walnut finished, 75-watt three-way speakers packing 12-inch woofers and a 50% markoff tag. He hooked the receiver up to them and showed me just how loud the combo could be. People walking past in the mall turned their heads. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mom sighed and signed. Back then, my only understanding of terms like "signal to noise ratio" and "impedance" was that every stereo had them. I had learned enough to know that wattage measured power output, and power generally meant volume. That was all I cared about. I was, in short, a hopelessly undereducated consumer (and still am). And, when I was fired from my paper route a month later, I became an underemployed consumer as well (and still am). Mom and dad ended up paying off the stereo, taking it out of my allowance and demanding that I mow the yard weekly for the entire summer. Yet the God of Consumer Electronics was on my side. That same summer, my new stereo underwent the first in a long line of hard-core product tests when our house was struck by lightning. The blast destroyed our television, telephone, and numerous light fixtures. My stereo survived unscathed, except for a blown woofer in one of the speakers (which Radio Shack fixed under warranty!). To this day, the receiver and speakers have never required a single further repair (knock on those heavy wooden speaker cabinets). Such is the heroism of my faithful electronic companions that they have endured torture far worse than mere lightning, without so much as a perceptible hiss or squawk. In the early '80s, they survived not only the Thompson Twins, but Howard Jones, A Flock of Seagulls, A-Ha, and Adam & the Ants. Later, in my more mature days as a high schooler, they belted out Rush, Journey and Hall & Oates while I wailed on my drumset. In college, they ventured with me through my various roommates' abuses: Aeric's fetish for John Zorn; Phil's passion for Mahler; Bart's beloved Beasties. I was always the roommate with the best stereo, and thus my Radio Shack components inevitably became the most-used appliance in the house. I don't think my receiver was turned off once between 1986 and 1991. During the course of the heady '90s, I've become a junkie for classical music. And to this day, some 17 years after I first plugged copper wire into the back of my STA-730, that box of wire and solder tethered to those knee-height cabinets can give me chills as I listen to the earth-shattering "Dies Irae" of Verdi's Requiem, or the pounding climax of Adams' "Harmonielehre." While new stereo components come and new components go (I've gone through three CD players, one equalizer and two turntables), my Realistic receiver and Optimus speakers remain--solid, unassuming, dependable. When my fiance kicked me out of her house in August, she mailed the receiver to me, fourth class, in a box containing three cast iron skillets and no packing materials. My heart was broken, but my STA-730 survived without a scratch. Knock Radio Shack all you wish. Go buy that stylin' Sony receiver that's in all the magazines. I'll hang onto my setup--probably longer than you'll have that Sony. After all, this STA-730 has everything I need: A & B speaker channels, bass, treble, and balance controls, tape monitor loop, auxiliary and phono inputs, a 120-volt power outlet, AM/FM radio with built-in antenna, buttons for 30 MHz cut (to avoid blowing the speakers when playing bass-heavy music at top volume), static mute, loudness, and mono, and, best of all, that huge, half-fist sized volume knob. And the Optimus 50s remain punchy yet subtle speakers, as good as any I've heard outside recording studios and electronics stores that cater to the rich and famous. Rare indeed is it when we find tech toys that have such staying power, with which we develop such a long and varied relationship. The threads of my teen and young adult life are interwoven with these two speakers and that receiver. If they ever die--Deity-Of-Choice forbid!--you know where you can find me shopping. In the mall. I'll be the one cranking the biggest knobs. - Joe Nickell [1/21/98] Check out some of our other street techie neo-luddite favorites:
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