Originally published in the September 1981 issue of the Collector and Emitter.
Oklahoma’s premiere Dxer, the famed Q.R. Zedd, nearly met his match recently when the world-renowned Bill Blast, MC of the daily Blast Off DX Net, briefly visited the state. A handful of the Deserving watched and listened in awe as the two DX giants squared off verbally, and then in megatons of RF, at a Norman area motel.
Blast, accompanied by his XYL and three microphone caddies in his 92-foot, 14-wheel house trailer, was stopping for the night during his round-the-world trip. He spent the evening with Zedd and nine other Norman amateurs. The Norman group regrets that more DX hounds were not aware of Blast’s brief visit; this report is intended to fill everyone in on what transpired.
While Blast’s entourage enjoyed a meal at the motel, Blast himself remained in his trailer, casually working a little DX from his three Collins stations, the converted Voice of America walk-in linear, and his homebrew popup six over six array cranked up to its minimum height of 120 feet. And what a sight it was! There was Blast, in a maroon brocade dinner jacket and Levi’s with matching Adidas running shoes, puffing his oom-paul, working an 8Q7 on 20-meter SSB while simultaneously communicating with UA1PAL on 40 CW. When the door of the trailer opened and our own beloved Zedd strolled in, his TR-7 affixed to his chest with Velcro tape and his boom mike firmly fixed to his forehead with a rubber suction cup. Blast, recognizing Zedd, signed quickly, and Zedd sent a rapid “73” to the lucky operator he had been visiting with, in Albania. The friendly rivals shook hands.
“Zedd,” Blast said, exhaling clouds of latakia smoke, “it’s great to see you again. “I see you’re using one of the bargain American brands in transceivers now. Have you managed to work anybody with it?”
Zedd sat down and stowed a generous scoop of Silver Creek in between his cheek and gum. “Not really, Bill,” he said modestly. “Since I worked number 371 on 160 last night, there doesn’t seem to be any challenge left for me.”
“I know what you mean,” Blast smiled grimly. “Now that I’ve finished my WAS, life seems dull.”
“WAS?” Zedd looked blank. “On what band?”
“On all bands, of course.”
“I would have thought you would have Worked All States decades ago!” “Not Worked All States,” Blast said. “It’s the Worked All Stations.”
Zedd scarcely blinked. “Oh, of course. Are you certificate holder No. 2 or 3?”
“I believe I’m number one with the two-meter FM simplex endorsement.”
There was a brief pause while Zedd digested this (along with the Silver Creek), and glanced at the long, glittering row of Collinses and processors on the multi-deck rf command post of the trailer. “I see you’re still running the old army surplus gear,” he observed.
“Yes, it serves fine for casual mobile operation,” Blast said. “I wish you could see the station at the home QTH. I’ve got nine Signal Ones, each with its own big Alpha, set up with computer-assisted band-scanning. What are you running these days?”
“Oh, not much,” Zedd said. “Five KWM-380s, four calling birds and three French hens into your normal collection of rhombics, ten-over-tens and a little long wire I use sometimes for amusement. Would you like to see the long wire? It starts down here near Pauls Valley and terminates near Wichita; my rented right-of-way passes less than a mile from where we’re sitting.”
Blast yawned delicately. “No, actually not, Q.R. Longwires bore me. Ever since I operated with that Paris-to-Rangoon sloper in WW II, I just haven’t had all that much interest.”
“My long wire is fantastically sensitive,” Zedd replied, his face growing pink around the edges. “Just the other night I heard a station in DU-land Q-5 and S-8; I called him and it turned out he was running a half-milliwatt into a flashlight bulb dummy load. I warned him about unintentional QRM.”
“Yes, that would be old Arnold,” Blast said. “I worked him a few times with this mobile beam on top, here. But with Collins gear you have to be so careful. I keep getting QRM from a dentist in Tokyo; he has a bad filling and his hearing aid keeps keying it up; very nasty, broad signal, especially when he’s brushing. I’ve written the JARL about it.”
“If you had a decent filling filter,” Zedd retorted, there wouldn’t be any problem. Datong makes a nice one, if you aren’t capable of home-brewing your own. It also has a notch on it that cuts out all those deafening signals from dying transistor batteries and beer cans when people open them.”
Blast leaned back thoughtfully and refilled his pipe. “Zedd, I believe it is the nature of true DXers to be somewhat competitive. Perhaps you would be interested in a small wager?”
Zedd shut off his TR-7, fire in his eye. “I might be, yes.”
“You and I have both worked everything on this planet on all bands, all modes, all levels of power, and under water. We were both in that pileup for the Saturn probe, but we’ll have to wait until October to see which one it answers first, the propagation lag being what it is. Suppose we just settle OUT own rivalry once and for all.”
“How?” Zedd demanded. “Name it, sucker.”
“The next time something reasonably rare comes on, we’ll both call him. Whoever gets through first is the acknowledged champ.”
“How do you define ‘rare’?” Zedd asked.
Blast thought about it. “Well, let’s say a BY, or an XV, or an KZ. That will limit it rather sharply.”
“And whoever works one of those an’ gets back a QSL confirmation is the champ?” Zedd asked.
“Satisfactory?”
“Done.”
The two great men clasped hands.
There was hardly time for the handful of thrilled bystanders to savor this moment, for hardly had the pact been made when both the mammoth computerized search monitor in the trailer and Zedd’s portable, belt scanner began beeping and flashing LEDs. Both men paled and leaped to their respective rigs. It was Blast who first found the frequency and turned up the audio gain.
“QRZ?” the speaker blatted weakly. “This is XZ5A.”
It is characteristic of great DXers that they do not falter under pressure. Blast instantly reached for the control of his antenna rotator and jacked up the gain on the nearest linear. The west side of Norman had an instant brownout.
“No fair!” Zedd cried as the beam came around. “I’m six blocks from my home station!”
“I’m two thousand miles from mine, sucker,” Blast snarled, and keyed the mike.
Alas, the power drain was too much for OG&E. The lights went totally out. It was terribly silent in the trailer, the only sound being the faint popping of a few overworked chips.
“It will come back on,” Blast said calmly.
“I may have time!” Zedd cried, and ran for the exit.
No one will ever know precisely how long the power was off. But history will record that it was long enough for Zedd to motorcycle to his home northwest of the motel parking lot where Blast waited, thumb on the mike. Zedd took a calculated gamble on the long path; his 18 KW alternator howling, he tuned for max and hit the mike button.
At virtually the same instant, the power returned to Blast’s trailer and he, too, keyed up.
The two antennas were pointed directly at one another.
Witnesses say the fireball that exploded at a height of about 1,800 feet near the Sooner Fashion Mall was terrible in its intensity. Twenty, 40 and 75 meters were blacked out for several minutes. When the smoke cleared, nothing was left of Blast’s trailer except a puddle of molten aluminum and a few thousand rare QSL cards. As for our own Zedd, we are happy to report that he survived with his love for DXing undiminished. We hear he has just purchased Ellis County to provide sufficient space for his new Yagi. Blast survived. But friends say he is a broken man.