Originally Published in the July 1983 issue of the Collector and Emitter.
As the world now knows, the scheduled wedding of Mr. Q. R. Zedd, world’s greatest DXer, and Miss Tondelayo Schwartz, nubile, blond, 20-year-old QSL secretary, did not go off quite according to plan last month.
But the world saw, via commercial and amateur satellite, that Tondelayo is a brave girl. She took the unexpected with courage, and will be back to eat her Wheaties another day.
For those few who did not witness the events on worldwide TV, or read any of the daily newspaper or weekly magazine accounts, we will provide a brief rundown of the shocking events which transpired.
Wedding day, June 18, dawned beautiful in Norman, and the honor guard of the South Candadian Amateur Radio Society left the Cleveland County Red Cross building on schedule at 8 a.m., arriving at Honor Roll Ranch, just a hoot and a holler south of town, before 8:30. Guests were properly conducted to the linear room for the ceremonies as they arrived. President and Mrs. Reagan were a little late, but there was still room for their landing in the helicopter landing area. Barbara Cartland looked lovely in pink, and Queen Elizabeth’s horse was “real lively,” according to local horse people in the press tent.
The service began on time with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir doings its numbers, and getting an especially favorable reaction from the assembled dignitaries for its rousing rendition of “Ah, Sweet Mystery of DX,” by Verde. After the high-speed CW demonstration by Mr. Zedd on tape and the darling tap dancing by Miss Schwartz, the Lawrence Welk orchestra played several ditties, AD1S showed DX slides, and the wedding party proper entered. Mr. Zedd and his groomsmen were attired in pale yellow bib overalls with red cummerbunds and orange baseball caps bearing the SCARS insignia along with their current DXCC totals. Bridesmaids, wearing home-made sundresses and five-inch spikes courtesy of Candies Co. of America, next entered. A cousin of the bride, whose name we did not catch, was ring-bearer. A distant neice of the groom, Jenny Lind, of Bangladesh, strewed flower petals down the aisle in front of the bride, who wore a white gown of heavy brocade with inlaid pearls and diodes, and a train of chantilly lace and nested transistors. The Rev. Billy Graham strode out of the side somewhere, wearing a white sportcoat and a pink carnation, and it appeared the ceremony was well under way.
Alas, word reached the press section that scanners in the Zedd radio shack had gone crazy with calls for him from all parts of the world. Someone had monitored a few of the messages and it seemed that the government of North Vietnam had just said it would allow DX operations from that country if the party included Mr. Zedd.
“Dare we break into the ceremony with this news?” the man from AP whispered hoarsely.
“They’ll kill us if we do,” said the reporter from UPI. “They’ll kill us if we don’t, too,” said the man from QST, who knew his onions about Dxers.
Rev. Graham was saying a few introductory words, and seemed unaware of the situation. Mrs. Zedd, standing in a front pew, caught a few words and slipped over to the press section.
“What is it, boys?” she demanded.
The AP explained.
Mrs. Zedd paled and hurried out of the linear room. While Rev. Graham talked on about the joys of the nuptial state, visitors could detect the faint sounds of high-speed CW coming from the radio area into which Mrs. Zedd had vanished.
In moments she was back, sweaty and disheveled, her eyes alight with rare excitement. She looked around wildly. Boris Badenov, the great Russian DXer, slowly munching his Fritos, watched her closely from a front area. Bill Blast, also toward the front, frowned mightily, trying to dope out what was going on. Only the lovely Tondelayo and the handsome Zedd seemed oblivious, facing the Rev. Graham.
“And so this is a highly holy state,” Graham continued, “and one not to be entered upon lightly, or with hesitation. And yet I know these two children who stand before me, and I know their love knows no bounds, and it transcends all –”
“Q. R.!” Momma Zedd’s voice rang out, startling everyone. “Vietnam!”
Zedd whirled. “What say, Momma?”
Vietnam says we can operate from there! You and the five other operators of your choice, but you got to be on the air in forty-eight hours or all bets are off!”
” — other interests,” the Rev. Graham went on. “Such love knows no delay, accepts no restraint –”
“Vietnam, Asia?” Zedd shot at his momma.
“Yes! Listen, honey, there’s a flight for Tokyo leaving in two hours! We can take the cycle! What do you say?”
Zedd stared at heaven, and then into the face of his intended, the lovely Tondelayo. She must have sensed the turmoil coursing through his DXer veins, poor girl, for she went pale, and a slender hand stole to her throat. But she said not a word.
“It groweth like the wildflowers,” the Rev. Graham went on, “and it overwhelms all trouble in its path —
“What do you say, sonny?” Momma Zedd yelled.
“I don’t know about him, but I’ll go!” Bill Blast shouted, vaulting a pew and heading for the door.
“Da!” cried Badenov. “Great Mother Russia must be represented, too!” And he ran for another door.
Q. R. Zedd stood transfixed, torn bewteen his love for Tondelayo Schwartz and his love for DX.
“This kind of love is forever,” the Rev. Graham said, and put a loving hand on Zedd’s shoulder. “Nothing is more important.”
It was the ultimate stimulus. Zedd shook the reverend’s hand loose. “Lemme go!” he said in a stentorian tone. “I got to hurry!”
“What? What?”
Tondelayo stepped back nimbly and was not trampled in the rush outside, where Momma Zedd’s big bike coughed to life and then roared as she blipped the throttle. Those of us nearest the front of the press section just had time to get to the windows in time to see the Kawasaki roar away, spraying a huge cloud of dust and gravel.
Momma Zedd was, of course, driving. The great Q. R. Zedd was on the seat behind her, hanging on for dear life. Bill Blast perched uneasily on the handlebars, hanging onto his hat. Boris Badenov clung to the luggage rack. As the cycle veered around the far turn of the dirt entry road into Honor Roll, Momma Zedd almost lost it. Out of various pockets and suitcases hastily packed, flew two or three microphones, a couple of transceivers, some coax, and a soldering iron. Momma righted the bike, however, and it lurched out of sight, the song of its big engine fading as she racked it through the gears.
There was a brief commotion in the back of the linear room chapel, a fistfight between Dingfod Armstrong of Texas and Bill Buckeye of Columbus, Ohio, Poor Dingfod got his spurs tangled up in a coaxial cable and fell over backward. Bill Buckeye raced outside and hopped into his waiting 1960 VW, tearing down the driveway in a cloud of smoke and a hearty, “Hey, boys! Wait for me!”
Slowly the sound faded.
In the silence we turned back to view the altar.
Rev. Graham stood silent, shocked.
Darling Tondelayo stood drooping, like a wilted rose of days gone by, a sad sight.
But a brave one.
Wiping a tear from her pretty blue eye, the darling girl managed a wan smile. “There will be another day!” she said courageously. And with that, she signalled for Donnie and Marie to start singing.