Larry Glen Aycock (aka Pastor Glen)
February 7, 1942 – May 12, 2025
My dad was a man of deep faith, endless curiosity, and a lifelong passion for radios. Growing up, I remember him climbing onto the roof in all kinds of weather to put up CB antennas. He loved chasing skip, talking on the air, and had a beautiful Golden Eagle base station with a lollipop microphone—long gone now, but unforgettable.
It was his love for radio that pulled me in. In 1996, we studied together and passed our Technician Plus exams. He became KF6IDA, and I was KF6IDB. We upgraded to better handhelds and later installed mobile rigs in our trucks so we could stay in touch on the road. Life eventually took us away from the hobby—especially after he moved out of the area and we could no longer talk through local repeaters. Our radios went quiet, and at some point, our licenses expired without us realizing it.
In 2017, my interest in ham radio was reignited. I discovered my license had expired the year before, and there was only a limited window to renew it. I renewed both mine and my dad’s licenses online. That renewal brought us back into the hobby. In March 2018, we both upgraded to the General class and applied for vanity callsigns. I became N6LKA, and he chose K5LGA—his call sign proudly bearing his initials: Larry Glen Aycock. Mine also reflects my initials, Larry Kent Aycock, and I chose an N6 prefix to represent both my California roots and my November birth month. By December that year, I had earned my Extra class license. My dad studied off and on for Extra, but never took the exam. Still, his enthusiasm remained.
Some of my favorite memories are from when I was a kid. We were both night owls, often staying up late working on electronics projects together. We built circuit boards from scratch, laid out trace connections by hand, and constantly experimented with different ideas. I remember taking apart one of his drills just to understand how it worked—and to his credit, he let me. I put it back together, and it mostly still worked. We also played a lot of chess, something he loved and passed on to me. Even in his later years, he continued to play chess online with people around the world through GameKnot. Those memories of late nights, hands-on learning, chess, CB radios, and just spending time with my dad—those are the ones I’ll always hold closest.
My dad also loved tennis. He didn’t just play—he taught. He was a tennis instructor with the USTA for many years and served as the head tennis coach at San Bernardino Valley College from 1987 to 1991. He passed that love on to us as kids, teaching us how to play and always encouraging us to enjoy the game. Even in his later years, he’d happily watch tennis matches—new or old, live or re-runs—it didn’t matter. He also loved football and played in high school, but nothing compared to his lifelong love of tennis.
My dad’s life was grounded in more than just technology. He was called to ministry at six years old and spent his life pastoring small and medium-sized churches—mostly in Southern California, and for a time in Bullhead City, Arizona. After losing my mom in 2007, he reconnected with his high school crush, Stephanie, at their 50-year reunion in 2010. They married in 2011 and built a quiet life on a 30-acre ranch in Kerrville, Texas, surrounded by goats and donkeys he truly loved. When maintaining the land became too much, they moved into a smaller home nearby.
Every year since 2011, I would drive out to their place in Texas and visit them for two weeks at the end of December. During those visits, I’d help with various chores around the ranch and house, help put up his radio antenna, and most importantly, spend quality time together. Those visits became a meaningful tradition—something we all looked forward to and valued deeply.
While he was still at the ranch in Kerrville, I set up and coordinated a repeater system just like the one I have at home. I installed it there so he—and others in the area—could get on the air. It was connected via AllStar to my hub node and repeater full-time, allowing him to talk to me and my friends anytime. He’d occasionally join in, though not as often as I hoped. When they sold the ranch, I took the repeater down. It just didn’t see enough use to justify setting it up again at the new house.
Instead, I built a radio-less AllStar node for him and set it up next to his Icom 7300 in the guest bedroom. Like the repeater before it, it stayed connected full-time to my AllStar hub and repeater. He still used it from time to time to check in and chat. I only wish he’d gotten on more often.
He loved the radios, and in his heart I think he wanted to learn more and spend more time on HF. I also believe he knew that amateur radio was a connection to me. When he moved to Texas, it put real physical distance between us—we couldn’t do projects together or talk face-to-face like we used to. But ham radio was something we could still share, no matter the miles. That’s why I set up the repeater at the ranch and spent time programming his handhelds for local repeaters. His being licensed and involved in the hobby was a bond between us—something we both cherished as a way to stay close.
Modern radios like the Icom IC-7300 were sometimes intimidating for him. He worried about making mistakes, and the complexity could hold him back. But even after moving to the smaller house, he made sure I set up the radio and wire antenna for him. He didn’t use it often—but knowing it was there meant something to him.
In his final years, my dad battled prostate cancer that had spread to the bone. He had been experiencing weakness in his legs, which led to two falls that landed him in the hospital. During testing, an MRI revealed a 5cm cancerous mass pressing on his spine—likely the cause of the weakness and instability. Doctors determined that surgery was needed to remove the mass and reinforce his spine. The procedure went well, and they installed pins to strengthen the area and help him walk more comfortably and safely. But as the team was finishing the surgery, his heart—already weakened from years of complications and afib—suddenly stopped. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t restart it. He passed away, becoming a silent key, the morning of Monday, May 12, 2025.
My dad’s love of radios, technology, sports, and faith shaped who I am. He taught me the value of curiosity, the importance of learning, and the joy of building things together. I wouldn’t be the person I am—or the ham I am—without him.
Thank you, Dad, for everything. I love you always.
— Larry (N6LKA)