There ya go a link, and a quickie description
Home Page - Coast Guard CW Operators Assn. ZUT - CW Forever
ZUT
As stated on the banner of the first edition of Comm-One, the new organization was "ZUT RESURRECTED." ZUT was the forerunner of the CGCWOA, and the organization upon which it was built.
ZUT (formally, "Zeta Upsilon Tau") was subtitled the Fraternal Order of Coast Guard CW Operators
It was founded in 1962 by Radioman Bill Gulledge (ZUT1) and a small group of his fellow radiomen at the long since closed Coast Guard Radio Washington (NMH), geographically located in Alexandria, Virginia. They adopted an unused military Z-signal for its primary name, and in reaction to the increasing use of radio teletype (RATT) over CW, assigned it the meaning of "CW FOREVER."
Over the sines of radiomen George Datz, Bill Gulledge, George Neitz and Ron Harburg, an organizing letter was sent to all Coast Guard ships and stations having RM billets. In under a year the organization grew to over 700 radiomen who requested ZUT membership cards, and were assigned a ZUT number.
ZUT was disestablished in late 1963, but arose again in 1964, continuing to mail out sporadic copies of its official "ZUT-REP" newsletter. But even after the demise of the newsletter in 1967, the tradition of ZUT at least lingered on. Many of the 1100 or so RMs who were issued a numbered "ZUT Card" hung on to them through the years. One member kept his in his wallet (and still does) just so he would have a way to explain to people why he had a ZUT tattoo on his left arm.
BACK TO THE PRESENT
Finally, the organization experienced a second reincarnation as the now flourishing Coast Guard CW Operator Association.
The "code" may be gone —— and now even the Sparks —— but the tradition moves forward.
Scattered throughout this web site, you will find many of the cartoons and poems of CGCWOA's founder, Ralph Davis, as well as the tales and travails of other contributors. We hope you will take the time to explore the information we have accumulated over the years, as well as the history we have made.
One of Ralph's poems seems to best capture the feeling of what it meant to be a Coast Guard CW operator, especially during the days of Ocean Station Vessels back in the 1950s and 60s:
A Radioman's Dream
You awake with a start to the Bosn's shake
Feet hit the deck before you awake
Out of your pit and into your dungs
Then up the berthing ladder, rung by rung
Onto the mess deck with lights too bright
For a horse cock sandwich to last the night
A cup of Joe, a butt or two,
Then off to the shack, your duty to do
You climb to the Oh one deck, through salty spray
Dark clouds above march past in their dress grey
White water amidships, bow goes under green
Water swirls aft, sweeping decks clean
You enter the hatch, fresh coffee you smell
Along with stale smoke and the new man's pail
Transmitters emit a hot bees wax odor
Aging capacitors sound like outboard motors
Two weathers are pending and NMH is not here.
We lost him on twelve, they faded into thin air.
Eight was tried with out success,
Four is no better. Comms are a mess.
Five hundred is still alive and noisy with code.
NRUS tried to relay but lost her M.O.
The Chief will be up at quarter till three.
Copy press and publish the Daily.
With the watch relieved and gone below
I adjust my key, sending real slow
Searching for a station to rid us of traffic
Finding nothing there but that darn static
You have braced yourself, wedged into position
Fired the FRT23 up and started transmission
She suddenly rolls to port, lurches ahead
Bangs into a wave and seems to stop dead
Shuddering up, shaking her prow
Ridding herself of the water somehow
Through all of this with a coffee cup balanced
Not a drop spilled to foul the Chief's palace
On eight a tone, five by the signal comes through
You get rid of weathers, another message or two
The OBS period over, no AMVERS to steal
Quite proud of yourself is the way to feel
Your watch starts drawing to an end
You think of wife and family, start to grin
For it is day twentyone on station for you
No more watches, it's over and through
Underway watches leave little to be done
You are homeward bound from Delta, "Ole Son"
But suddenly you wake up and it is all a dream
Of Ocean Station days, your youth's past seen
No more station in the middle of a grid square
Nor a Radioman to found, not anywhere
A key of br**** an Underwood mill
Are of the past, are over the hill
The mission is still there, waiting to be done.
The challenge laid down, accepted by younger ones.
Radioman are gone, the code also you see.
Tradition carried on by computers, remotes and TCs