Originally published in the September 1985 C&E.
When Q. R. Zedd, A5A, decided to go QRP for a while, the world waited with baited breath.
Zedd, holder of the nation’s only lxl callsign, the greatest DXer in the universe, electronic genius, holder of the coveted Worked All Stations award on all bands, and holder of the local Dunkin Doughnuts Mastication Achievement Award, worked much of the summer on his QRP rig.
Those who read this report regularly know of the engineering difficulties he surmounted. Those who don’t read this report regularly don’t deserve to know.
Anyway, it was in July that Zedd allowed a handful of the deserving to enter his shack at Honor Roll Ranch, just a hoot and a holler south of town, to watch him work some QRP. Little did we know, as we entered the holy of holies with fear and trembling, that we, would also witness Zedd’s wrath at power hogs and tuner-uppers.
What a sight it was as we entered!’ There was the array of Zedd’s rigs, many of his own design and construction. There were the computers, the shelves of revered logbooks, the engineering charts, the map of the walkin linear room, and at the No. 1 operating position, in his leather recliner chair with the built-in boom mike and Coors dispenser, Zedd himself.
We were thrilled, to say the least.
Zedd, a tall and handsome man with iron-gray hair and muscles of steel, was wearing a red cowboy shirt, green Levi’s, some magnificent silver jewelry, and purple boots with the ornamental spurs painted blue. He only waved us to seats in the bleachers along the west wall, because he was already working stations.
Things went great for the first hour. He worked about 90 countries. During a lull for a sody pop and a moon pie, he told us he was putting out something in the neighborhood of .5 milliwatt ERP, which, given the 900-to-1 gain of his big array at 3,000 feet, tells you he wasn’t kidding when he designed the QRP transmitter.
The transmitter itself sat in the middle of his operating desk with a little tripod magnifying device over it so you could see it easily.
Zedd worked all his old pals in China, Nepal, Saudi Arabia and other old stomping grounds, and was obviously having a high old time. Tondelayo Schwartz, his blond, nubile, 20-year-old QSL secretary and constant companion, served refreshments to the faithful in worshipful attendance, and .a grand time was being had by all.
It was about 10 p.m. local when the trouble started.
Zedd was in QSO with a lucky person in France on 20 meter phone when — during the Frenchman’s transmission –someone came up smack-dab on frequency and started tuning up.
Zedd grabbed the mike. “The frequency is in use, OM. Thank you.” In view of later developments, it is important to note for the historical record that he said this real nice.
The tuning-up continued.
Zedd keyed his mike again. “Frequency in use. Frequency in use. Please QSY. A5A.”
Usually the magic of the callsign brings instant obedience, but to our horror the carrier remained on frequency, possibly even getting stronger.
Zedd’s face began to get red, a sure sign of trouble.
The Frenchman finished his transmission. It was Zedd’s turn. He leaned back in his chair and responded to everything the Frenchman had said with the proper FO’s and R’s, and then told his French pal how he had invented radar during World War II, and something about the round-the-world DXpedition of only months ago. Naturally it was a grand story, because one of Zedd’s other points of genius is his storytelling ability and wonderful sense of humor. So it was a great yarn, and took about thirty minutes,
When he “over’d” to his French pal, the carrier was still there! Furthermore, through the howl could be heard the French station, pitiably saying: “A5A, A5A, this is (________). I cannot copy. I cannot copy. Heavy ORM!, OM. Try again, Zedd. Over, s’il vous plais.”
Zedd’s boots clomped to the floor as the chair leveled. “Will the tuning-up station QSY?” he roared. “QSY! QSY! This is A5A.”
The tuning went right on, and along with it came the sound of a laughing machine.
Zedd’s face was terrible in its anger. His hands flew as he switched on some other equipment. The lights dimmed and shimmered. The sound of big transformer plates rattling nearby was like a crew of men tearing up a street. Coaxial switches were rotated. Plates touched up. A couple of big meters showed red needles swinging all the way to the right and out of sight.
Tondelayo happened into the room with a tray of more Colorado KoolAid for the guests. She took one look at what was happening, and blanched.
“Q.!” she cried in horror. “You can’t run that big linear wide open!” “Can’t I?” Zedd screamed. “You forget my special authorization from the FCC that my pal Ronnie got me! Just watch!”
He hit the transmit switch.
The hair on everyone’s head stood on end. The night lit up beyond the windows as corona effect intensified.
Zedd held full power for perhaps three seconds.
Then eased up.
The frequency was now quiet. The carrier was gone.
But the offending power hog must have been using Vox, for through the silence came a little voice, pitiful: “Matilda, come in here! I’ve had my headphones blown clean off my head and I can’t hear a thang! I’m deaf! I ain’t even sure still got my ears!”
Zedd heaved a righteous sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“Boys,” he said softly, “it don’t pay to mess around with Q. R. Zedd.”
No one replied. The shack at Honor Roll was as quiet as a church.