Originally published in the February 1989 issue of the Collector & Emitter.
It was one of those dull and wintry January afternoons out at Honor Roll Ranch. Little did we know that a shocking event was soon to take place.
A nice big fire blazed in the hamshack fireplace, and the great Q. R. Zedd, A5A, world’s greatest DXer and all-around genius, had just rolled his chair back from the No. 1 operating _position after working Vietnam, China, Laos, Sri Lanka, Crete, all Russian stations and WA5MLT on successive calls. Heat from the adjacent walk-in linear had made the big ranch house too hot, and a couple of windows had been opened a crack. Tondelayo, Zedd’s bride, was serving hot buttered rum (and RC Cola and Moon Pies for the faint of heart), and little Zepp Zedd sat happily in his corner playpen, assembling a Heathkit transmitter.
Your hard-working reporter was lucky enough to be there, along with several other members of the South Canadian Amateur Radio Society, that revered band of hardy amateur radio operators whose lives have been dedicated to spreading the fame of Zedd and his many exploits.
“Work us one more station, Mr. Zedd!” pleaded WU5W. “Work the hardest of them all, WB5QNK!”
“Andi,” quoth the master, “I’ll work him if he calls me. I promise. But right now I am expecting two more guests at any minute.”
While we were chewing on that, wondering what radio greats might be on the way to Honor Roll, just a hoot and a holler south of town, the doorchimes sounded. They played “Boomer Sooner” and “Hail to the Chief,” and had started on a high-speed rendition of the Constitution in CW before the darling Tondelayo tripped to the door and swung it open to the elements.
In walked this tall, bearded, goateed gent wearing a black top hat and a floor-length black cloak with crimson lining that swirled when he walked.
“Dr. Cortex!” Zedd yelled, and hopped out of his easychair to go shake hands.
“Boys,” Zedd told us with a flourish, “I want you all to meet Dr. H. D. Cortex, the greatest psychologist and hypnotist in the world!”
Well, naturally, since even the great Zedd seemed excited, everyone clustered around the strange gent; and shook hands and gave him moon pies and asked him to autograph the wrappers, and all. The good doctor swirled off his cape, revealing a black Victorian-style suit and itty bitty patent leather boots that would have done justice to the man in black himself, the inimitable Johnny Cash. (But Cash visited Honor Roll last week, and that’s another story.)
After Tondelayo, all aflutter, had gotten Dr. Cortex a Colorado KoolAid and a $20 Havana cigar, which Zedd obtains by requiring Cuban operators to mail to him, postpaid, before he consents to work any of them, a conversation began between the doctor and A5A.
It went like this:
“You said, Mistair Zedd, zat this vould bee my greatest und hartest chob!”
“Doc, this is going to be your greatest challenge since Pat Jones hired you to go up there to Stillwater to try to hypnotize the Aggies into thinking they could beat CU. This might be even harder than when you hypnotized Billy Graham out of smoking cigars and playing the piano in that place in Las Vegas. This, doc, is going to be a real killer!”
“Vat do you haf in mind?”
“There is this guy named Homer Klott, see. He wants to become a licensed amateur radio op.”
“But vat can be the problem? Surely he can learn overnight, vat vith the greatness of you titching him!”
Zedd’s mighty brow furrowed, and he revealed, not for the first time, the depths of his frustration with Homer Klott.
He said, “Homer came up to me after the club Christmas party a long, long time ago. I said I’d be his Elmer. I thought like you, doc, it would be easy. I mean, when you are an electronic genius and a magnificent teacher, not to mention a worldwide inspiration, you ought to be able to teach anybody, right?”
“Ja, das is so….”
“Homer is… slow. Doc, he is so slow he is running in reverse gear. I can’t seem to get his dull brain to absorb anything.
“So what I want you to do, Doc, is hypnotize the dumb little mother. Make his brain receptive to data. Wake him up. Make it possible for me to help him learn!”
“Ach!” Dr. Cortex muttered, and a grand smile wreathed his face. “Iss no problem vatsoever! I haf done zis many times!”
Zedd colored with hope. Then he put the coloring book aside. “Doc, I’m sure you remember when I built you that super-sensitive listening device that made it possible for you to visit Freud’s old office in Vienna, and pick up the faint echoes of those interviews he did back in the thirties.”
“Ach! Ja! I can never repay you for zis greatness!”
“Doc, if you can hypnotize Homer into thinking, we’re even.”
“When iss zis Homer to arrive? I can do zis zis very night!”
Zedd looked solemn. “I hoped you would be agreeable, doc, I asked him to come at three o’clock.”
Dr. Cortex hauled out a big, ornate pocket watch. He scowled at Mickey’s face. “But iss past dat time now, already!”
Zedd smacked his forehead. “I forgot. Homer doesn’t know how to tell time.”
We were all plunged into despair at that. But Zedd brightened at once.
“Never fear,” he rumbled, “Homer will be here. He is just smart enough to know that three in the afternoon falls somewhere between dawn and darkness, All we have to do is stand by.”
So we stood by, anxiously awaiting this historic medical experiment. Would Dr. Cortex actually be able to affect Homer’s brain? Did Homer have a brain? Tension mounted.
(To be continued next time)
— KU5B