MARSgrams and Memories: The enduring legacy of military auxiliary radio in connecting families

At first glance, the two messages, hand-written on a government-issued, letter-sized piece of paper, are unremarkable.

“Received your package. Its appreciated. Many Thanks. I am fine.”

“Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I love you. Give my love to all.”

For Mark Steiner, who retired from the Navy in 2018 after 30 years of service, the few sentences he could send his mother were far more important than their inauspicious nature implied.

Both messages were denoted as “routine,” and promptly sent to Bernice Steiner of Jackson through a military radio program instead of the U.S. Mail.

These messages, recently unearthed in Steiner’s professional journal, highlight the power of connecting the dots and the importance of service provided to those who serve.

The United States established the Military Auxiliary Radio system in 1925. Communications sent by the program, commonly referred to as MARSgrams, were run by amateur radio volunteers who supported service members by passing messages to their families back home. For service members stuck in remote areas around the globe, the radio program was often the only way timely information could be sent. The program may not be as crucial now, but in the late 1980s and early 1990s, MARSgrams were an important communications vehicle.

Born and raised in Cape County, with his hometown of Pocahontas, Steiner’s deployments as chaplain in the Navy began in 1988 and took him all over the world Hong Kong to Australia, Thailand to Qatar. These specific letters were sent during his time in the Philippines, before and during the Gulf War.

“I was deployed twice to the Arabian Gulf and served about four to eight ships during each deployment,” Steiner said in a previously submitted story published in the Southeast Missourian. “On several occasions, I was hoisted via cable from helicopter onto the ships.”

Unlike Steiner, Bob Bever was no stranger to war. Bever’s electrical knowledge stemmed from his time as a Navy aircraft radar operator, scheduled to be on the first wave of attack on Japan that never happened.

“He has a master's degree in chemistry, and he worked for Mallinckrodt Chemical Co. for 35 years, his entire career, but he always secretly wanted to be an electrical engineer, I think,” said Glenn Bever, Bob’s son. “And I remember sitting in the basement of our house, and he built his own workshop, and he built his tool, tool container, which had chalkboard paint on the outside.”

Glenn and Bob Bever’s basement discussions on electricity fundamentals sparked a passion for amateur radio in Glenn. The intricacies of licensing, the different choices of broadband and call signs became 15-year-old Glenn’s world, which morphed into a now-concluded 42-year career with NASA as an electrical engineer.

When Bob Bever’s chemical engineering days ended in 1986, his time became filled with amateur radio operations, harkening back to his days as a radio operator in WW2. With his passion for radio rekindled by his son’s example, and his wife’s registration for an amateur license, Bob Bever committed to working within the Military Auxiliary Radio System.

Stan Underhill never served in the military. His interest in amateur radio was piqued in the 1970s when broadband motivated an alliance of truckers to protest rising gas prices, memorialized by the now-novelty song “Convoy” by W.C. McCall. Years later, Underhill worked 15-hour shifts, seven days a week, precious time spent apart from his wife and his young children.

“Sometimes we needed to communicate about what was going on while I was at work,” Underhill said. “And it was $1.10 for one minute and then you had to plug a boardroom and for every minute after that. At the time, I was only making about six bucks an hour.”

Ensuing conversations between Underhill and coworkers led him to create and maintain his amateur radio system, eventually leading him to join the MARS program. What was originally used as a precursor to an associate’s degree soon became a lifelong passion, even if the ensuing demand of the MARS program led to a fairly short tenure. Years later, Underhill’s memory of the amateur radio community is overwhelmingly positive.

“The amateur radio operators were some of the best people in the world,” Underhill remembered, audibly smiling. “It wasn't just to help you with your radio, it was ‘Hey, so and so over there, they fell and broke their leg and they need wood burned. Let’s get together and go burn wood and take care of them.’”

Bob Bever was diagnosed with cancer not long after he delivered the message to Bernice Steiner, and passed away in 1994. Underhill left the program almost as soon as he started – work and family were larger priorities. Steiner’s mother passed away in 2005 in Jackson. Steiner now lives in Fairfax, Virginia, six years removed from his service career as a chaplain, and approximately 33 years removed from the latest MARSgram message.

Long after their paths diverged, the beauty of each man’s story lies in the fleeting moments, punctuated by call signs and code – a reminder of the power of service, amateur radio and “routine” messages to family that are anything but.