Originally published in the August 1982 issue of the Collector and Emitter.
Boris Badenov, globe-girdling Russian superstar of the DX world, landed in Oklahoma City late in July, planning to appear at Ham Holiday. Badenov, 44, was accompanied by his brunette, nubile, 19-year-old representative from Box 88, Natasha Bullwinkle.
“We bring greetings, 73 and 88 from all the freedom-loving peoples to the working proletariat of whatever state this is,” Badenov proclaimed at Will Rogers World Airport, where his flight had just landed after connections in New York, Peoria, Kansas City, Wichita and Enid.
“From great Mother Russia, where was invented the vacuum tube, capacitors, inductors, transistors, coils, resin core solder and everything else important about radio except resistors, because we don’t allow no resistance, best wishes!” Badenov added.
Badenov said he had no particular plans for Ham Holiday. “Will be enough to stand around, let peasants view my magnificence,” the Soviet star said modestly.
“As great Russian radio sportsman, I will allow local peasants also to touch me,” Badenov added. “I have worked many Oklahoma Indians and other downtrodden, poor, suffering, oppressed native peoples on twenty-meter CW. Maybe is so we can have how you call it a eyeball, da?”
Badenov granted a brief interview once he had been installed in his suite in a downtown Oklahoma City hotel.
“Is terrible decadent luxury,” the burly Russian, who is a major in the army, muttered as he unreeled a home-brew antenna from the twentieth floor and began to warm up his Yaesu gear. “Natasha, please order more this terrible decadent Coors beer and peanut butter sandwiches, da?”
Badenov said he works DX most evenings from his modest radio club station atop a mountain not far as the crow flies from the Kremlin. The club, with 2,000 members, all officers in the Russian army, is proud of its amateur status and how well it competes in international competitions with modest home-brew equipment.
“All we got is couple little receivers, couple little transmitters, few little antennas,” Badenov said. “Is hearing flies rubbing wings. together in Africia on receivers, designed and made by members of club with some advice, maybe, Russian Institute of Electronics. Transmitters nothing special, few kilowatts, maybe, to phased thousand-meter verticals with Lithuania for ground plane, couple of Plotkins at two hundred and eighty meters, five, six little terminated Ivans, switchable, for best direction. Is nothing more. Humble. But we get some contacts by being great geniuses of radio sport, da?”
Asked to explained the working of the “Plotkin” and “Ivan” antennas, Badenov conceded that in the western world these are called, respectively, the Yagi and the rhombic. “WE know in mother Russia who really invented these antennas!” Badenov added.
“Is latest great exploit of our club, winning the IARU Radiosport,” Badenov went on, pigging out on,a Twinkie, washed down with liberal additional quantities of Coors. “Scores not out yet officially, da, but our club scored more points than rest of world, maybe! Is great Soviet triumph!”
Badenov was politely reminded by one of the spectators in the room that Oklahoma’s own great DXer, Q.R. Zedd, had been in the recent Radiosport competition.
“Zedd, schmedd!” Badenov thundered, destroying a package of Oreos. “I have hear this Zedd many times. I always give him five-nine-nine to be polite, promote international good will. But in truth his signal is always pitiful in great Mother Russia, sometimes does not even get through the hated American Woodpecker. Zedd is in Oklahoma, da? Ha, ha! Is remind me of old saying, ‘Give it back to the.. Indians!’ Da?”
This was too much for a member of the Norman contingent who happened to be in the hotel room at the time. Pushing past three KGB agents and a representative from CORA, the Norman ham went eyeball to eyeball with the great Badenov.
“Listen, boy,” the local growled, “are you sayin’ Q.R. Zedd ain’t the greatest? Because if you are, sport, then we better step outside in the alley.”
“Is only truth!” Badenov shouted back. “In my great country, Zedd would be novice operator, in charge of sending SWL cards to Americans from zones they can never get no QSLs out of! Zedd, like I said, schmedd! Is this Zedd real person or only fig newton of somebody’s imagination? You tell me, da?”
The Norman operator was restrained in the nick of time. “Ole Q.R. is probably over helping people get ready for Ham Holiday right now!” he yelled as the KGB agents dragged him out of the room. “I’ll just send him over here!”
“Da!” Badenov grinned, winking at the comely Natasha, who was perched prettily on a windowsill, consuming RC Cola and moon pies. “You bring Zedd over, eh? And we will have big laugh!”
In the next few minutes the tension in the room got thick enough to slice as Badenov went through two dozen ginger snaps, a Bluebird pie, a pound of chocolate-covered cherries, three Big Macs and another case of Colorado Kool-Aid. He explained how Russians had invented the airplane, TV, and Afghanistan, and was just starting to explain the Russian ancestry of Samuel B. Morse and Thomas Edison when there was a great stir in the hall, a burst of (American) applause, and a swinging inward of the hotel door.
And who should come into the room, spurs clinking and TR-7 spitting high-speed CW, but Q.R. Zedd. He had a cheroot clamped between his teeth and was wearing a blue boom mike that matched his string tie, with his memory keyer in a shoulder holster, under his left armpit and his Gene Autry beltbuckle loaded up for 40 meters.
Behind Zedd, wearing five-inch spikes and a darling pink mini-dress, was none other than Tondelayo Schwartz, his blonde, nubile, 19-year-old QSL secretary from Harvard’ Business School.
“Howdy,” says Zedd, looking Badenov up and down.
“QRZ?” says Badenov, a bit flustered.
“You got it, boy,” says Zedd.
Tondelayo eased over to Natasha. “Hi, honey,” Tondelayo smiled. “You poor little thang! Wouldn’t they give you anything decent to wear for the trip? Come on and I’ll show you how to get to GoodWill.”
“I will cut your, heart out with my knife!” Natasha hissed.
“Natasha,” Badenov muttered reprovingly, whipping out a blitz cloth to apply to one row of his medals. “Remember we are guests in this primitive country, da?”
“Da,” Natasha glowered. “But she say anything like that again, I cut her heart out with my knife!”
Zedd flipped one of Badenov’s medals with his forefinger. “Hey, where did you get some of these? They don’t have some of these at the TG&Y Family Center in Norman!”
Badenov’s nostrils flared, making some of the Sara Lee crumbs fall off his face. “Is great medals for great radio accomplishments in great competition for great freedom-loving Union of Soviet Socialist Republics!” he thundered.
“What’s this oblong one for?” Zedd asked. “The world’s record in junk food?”
“Everybody knows junk food record is held by that great American of great Russian background, WA5MLT!” Badenov yelled. “Tell me, so-called DX man: you were in recent IARU Radiosport, da?”
“Da-earned right,” Zedd yukked, winking at Tondelayo.
“Ha! You think you maybe win decadent western country first place?”
“Well, Boris, I wouldn’t be atall surprised, son, Yessir, I figger maybe we might have racked up a place somewheres in the top hundred or so, oh-hay.”
“Hal” Badenov cried in triumph. “Is looking at greatest scorer in history of Radiosport, sure winner of this year’s contest! Me! You see this medal? Is already presented by Politburo to me for being greatest in world!”
“Well, I swan,” Zedd said softly, “Is that genuine cardboard?” “One day, maybe we can compete, how you say, head on head,” Badenov scowled. “Prove what we in Soviet Union already know, who is greatest!”
“That would be real nice,” Zedd smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse Tondelayo and me, we got to get back over to the Myriad. We’re helping set up tables for the Bingo.”
“See you all,” Tondelayo cooed, waltzing out after Zedd. “Natasha, honey, the Salvation Army telephone number is –”
“Next time I see you, I cut you with my knife!” Natasha screamed.
“Is nice man,” Badenov said after the smoke had cleared. “This Zedd. I like him. Is dumb but nice. Like mule, da? Maybe he come in in top ten for western world in Radiosport. I hope so. Bad for competition, great Russian radio sportsmen win all top places. You quote me, da? In great Mother Russia, Zedd would be welcome to watch me operate any time. We are always willing to help underdeveloped, how you say, nerds. Da?”
Badenov completed the interview on this note, saying he had to rest. Natasha Oullwinkle was last seen headed for a nearby 7-11 with a shopping list that included graham crackers, turnips, Hershey’s syrup and dill pickles. Plans called for Badenov to have his own booth at Ham Holiday so the throngs of admiring peasants could be controlled, each being given at least a brief glimpse of the great man.
“Is least great Mother Russia can do, share me with world,” Badenov said humbly.
— KU5B
EDITOR’S NOTE: A bulletin received just at press time announced raw scores in the 1992 Radiosport. The winner’s total was being withheld, officials said, because it was so far in excess of all other competitors’ totals that “we fear some might go into shock if they knew how badly they had been beaten,” one official explained. The winner, however, was known. In first place, world, with an unknown horrendous total, was (of course) Oklahoma’s Q.R. Zedd.