Uploaded August 2025 | Updated September 2026, 4 hours ago
When I got this radio—many years ago—it had quite likely never been out of its box. The box lid was tight with the feeling and the slight crackling sound of never having been opened. The whole outfit was, as I’ve heard other collectors say, “crisp.” So yeah, it was that. When I opened the box both of the metal panels on the front of the radio were just sitting there loose. They weren’t attached to the radio originally with screws, or pegs, or even those little folding tabs. No, they were glued on—and the glue had long since dried up. So the panels were just lying there.
I suppose I’m lucky this radio wasn’t at a flea market or someplace where other people would be opening the box. It wouldn’t be crisp anymore and those panels would easily have fallen out and been kicked under the table or something.
What did I do about those panels? Well, I’ll tell you. Just a tiny bit of white glue is what I did about it. No sense in sticking them down any better than that. This radio isn’t going anywhere.
It’s a 2-transistor radio marked “Boy’s Radio” on the back. And it’s quite a good looker, don’t you think? It’s cheap, cheeeeeep. And pretty much a toy. But that is part of its charm.
The box is reminiscent of the sorts of boxes Marvel radios came in—with that distinctive sort of axle for a hinge and that cutout that reveals a compartment that holds the accessories. In this case, we have an antenna rod and a vinyl carrying case. The radio has an earphone jack, but I don’t see an earphone in here. Maybe somebody did open this before—and they took the earphone. Or maybe the manufacturer just forgot to put it in here. Or maybe they were pointing up the fact that the radio had a speaker and didn’t need an earphone. After all, they make a point of that fact by stating on the box, “Transistor Radio with dynamic speaker”—differentiating this radio from other inexpensive radios on the market that played ONLY through EARPHONES.
This name is something. I wish I knew how to pronounce it. Or what it meant. I looked it up in a search engine—that is the generic way to say “I googled it”—and I much prefer the generic way—and the search engine gave me results for Jacobin (JACK-eh-ben) which this is not. Now I’m not going to go into what I learned about the Jacobins, except to say that I learned the right way to pronounce it: JACobin, not JaCObin. So what about that name Jacoby? Here where I live there is a law group that advertises themselves as Jacoby & Myers. Jacoby. But in “The Maltese Falcon,” Bogart calls the captain of the ship Captain JAcoby. So which is it? Ja-CO-by or JAC-o-by? Well they say you should always follow the advice of a lawyer. But I don’t know, it’s Bogie! I’ve got to go with Bogie. “We’re going to sit right here, sweetheart, and wait for that parcel from Captain Jacoby.”
So. Ipso Facto, I have it on good authority, Bogart, that this radio is a JAC-o-in.
When I got this radio—many years ago—it had quite likely never been out of its box. The box lid was tight with the feeling and the slight crackling sound of never having been opened. The whole outfit was, as I’ve heard other collectors say, “crisp.” So yeah, it was that. When I opened the box both of the metal panels on the front of the radio were just sitting there loose. They weren’t attached to the radio originally with screws, or pegs, or even those little folding tabs. No, they were glued on—and the glue had long since dried up. So the panels were just lying there.
I suppose I’m lucky this radio wasn’t at a flea market or someplace where other people would be opening the box. It wouldn’t be crisp anymore and those panels would easily have fallen out and been kicked under the table or something.
What did I do about those panels? Well, I’ll tell you. Just a tiny bit of white glue is what I did about it. No sense in sticking them down any better than that. This radio isn’t going anywhere.
It’s a 2-transistor radio marked “Boy’s Radio” on the back. And it’s quite a good looker, don’t you think? It’s cheap, cheeeeeep. And pretty much a toy. But that is part of its charm.
The box is reminiscent of the sorts of boxes Marvel radios came in—with that distinctive sort of axle for a hinge and that cutout that reveals a compartment that holds the accessories. In this case, we have an antenna rod and a vinyl carrying case. The radio has an earphone jack, but I don’t see an earphone in here. Maybe somebody did open this before—and they took the earphone. Or maybe the manufacturer just forgot to put it in here. Or maybe they were pointing up the fact that the radio had a speaker and didn’t need an earphone. After all, they make a point of that fact by stating on the box, “Transistor Radio with dynamic speaker”—differentiating this radio from other inexpensive radios on the market that played ONLY through EARPHONES.
This name is something. I wish I knew how to pronounce it. Or what it meant. I looked it up in a search engine—that is the generic way to say “I googled it”—and I much prefer the generic way—and the search engine gave me results for Jacobin (JACK-eh-ben) which this is not. Now I’m not going to go into what I learned about the Jacobins, except to say that I learned the right way to pronounce it: JACobin, not JaCObin. So what about that name Jacoby? Here where I live there is a law group that advertises themselves as Jacoby & Myers. Jacoby. But in “The Maltese Falcon,” Bogart calls the captain of the ship Captain JAcoby. So which is it? Ja-CO-by or JAC-o-by? Well they say you should always follow the advice of a lawyer. But I don’t know, it’s Bogie! I’ve got to go with Bogie. “We’re going to sit right here, sweetheart, and wait for that parcel from Captain Jacoby.”
So. Ipso Facto, I have it on good authority, Bogart, that this radio is a JAC-o-in.
