Originally published in the March 1987 Collector & Emitter.
“I am here!” cried the nerdly voice out of the darkness that surrounded Honor Roll Ranch. “Are you in there, good buddy, come on back?”
Q. R. Zedd, A5A, world’s greatest DXer and all-around genius and athlete, winced visibly. “Don’t anybody leave,” he told the four members of the South Canadian Amateur Radio Society who had dropped by the hamshack for an eyeball and a brew. I don’t think I can face this alone.”
It was a shocking admission from the man who opened most of Africa and Asia to the DX world, and only recently put the lost continent of Atlantis on the DXCC list with a four-day underwater operation. But Zedd’s legendary courage and intelligence — as well as his patience — are being tested to the ultimate these days, as faithful readers will recall.
It was just before Christmas when Zedd boasted that he could make any nerd a crack amateur radio operator by becoming said nerd’s elmer. As a result, the great man was accosted immediately by one Homer Klott, an erstwhile CB enthusiast whose enthusiasm is not — to put it kindly — matched by his IQ.
Deep winter lay around Honor Roll Ranch, just a hoot and a holler south of town, where Zedd hangs out. It had been a pleasant late February night, everything considered, until Homer appeared, as we have described, for his weekly visit for tutoring by Zedd, his chosen elmer.
Now, as we lucky ones watched, Zedd clomped into the hamshack with Klott close behind him. Zedd was wearing his wine-red DX knickers, knee boots, and a handsome red flannel shirt from Lands End. His 40-meter antenna was loaded into a coil strapped to his Big Mac belt buckle, and the homebrew. transceiver stuck to his chest with velcro tape was hammering out a contact for him from a station in Afghanistan.
Ignoring all that routine stuff, Zedd sat Homer down at an extra chair he pulled up to his No. 1 operating position, the one with computer control and full breakin capability into the 1,200-square foot walkin linear next door in the concrete bunker. Homer looked ready He had a bunch of ARRL books under one arm and a moon pie under the other. LEDs on his baseball cap spelled out the exciting legends “What’s Your Handle Good Buddy?.
Zedd steeled himself and flipped on a code practice unit he had whomped up a few minutes earlier out of parts not really needed in his wrist alarm. He connected a Bencher paddle and sat facing Homer.
“Tonight,” Zedd told his student, “we start on Morse code. That’s –”
“Morris code!” Homer shouted. “Oh wow! Zowee! Oh joy, oh rapture! I always wanted to learn the Morris code!”
Zedd’s face began to get red, but he controlled himself. “You learn the Morse code with sound. Not sight.”
“Right! Right!” Homer agreed excitedly. “Dots and dashes!”
“Dits and dahs,” Zedd corrected.
Homer’s eyes glazed. “Huh?”
“Dits and dahs.”
“I gotta learn them plus dots and dashes? FOUR things I got to learn? Shazaml”
A facial tic began leap-ing under Zedd’s eye. “We’ll start slowly.”‘ He touched the Bencher. The amplifier went
dit!
Homer stared at Zedd.
“That’s an e,” Zedd said.
“What?” Homer said.
“An e. That was an e.”
“WHAT was an e?” “That dit.”
“What dit was that?”
Zedd touched the Bencher again.
dit!
Homer blinked.
“An e,” said Zedd,
“I didn’t hardly hear it. Could you slow it down?”
“How the hell,” Zedd asked in a strangled tone, can I slow down one dit?”
“Dit? Or dot?”
“A dit is a dot.”
“Huh?”
“If I slowed it down, it would be a dah, you blamed fool!”
Honor leaned forward, concentration wrinkling him pimpled visage. Ha scowled, working hard. “Send ‘er again, good buddy. I’m ready this time”
dit!
“I heard it! I heard it! I heard them dot! I did!” Homer jumped up, spilling Zedd’s Colorado KoolAid. He danced around the room, knocking over lamps and souvenirs of the Sooners’ 1985 national championship. “I heard it! I did! I heard them dot! I am hearing the Moris code! Oh, this is wonderful”
“It’s a dit,” Zedd told him through gritted teeth. “Not a dot. And it stands for the letter e. Have you got that, you (deleted) imbecile?”
Homer threw himself back into the chair. “Send ‘er again!”
“Write down what you hear. What you copy.”
“Roger dodger! Send ‘er!”
dit!
“Dot! You flang me a dot!”
“What does a dit represent?”
“A real short time! Go ahead on! Send me some more! I can handle it!”
Tiny droplets of blood stood out on Zedd’s forehead as he studied his notes. “A dah,” he said through tight teeth, “represents the letter t, So.” He touched the Bencher again.
dah
“Oh, thank you!” Homer chortled. “But you don’t need to slow up them dots that much for me! I ain’t exactly a nerd, you know.”
“That was a dah,” Zedd grated.
“Dot, you mean? I know!”
“Dah. Dah, you moron!”
“Dot! Yeah! You don’t haf to shout! I hear you wall-to-wall, man!”
“Dah is long! Dit is short! Dit is e! Dah is t!”
“It rhymes, it rhymes!” Homer yelled back. “I got it! A dot is a long and a dash is a short! A dit is an e and a t is a — what is a t again, kimosabe?”
Zedd’s chair went over backward as he sprang toward the corner gun cabinet Two members of SCARS grabbed Homer and rushed him out of there. Zedd calmed down after a while, and broke out the hard stuff.
Homer thought he had done real fine, and promised the boys he would be back next week to learn a whole bunch more.
“I love this Morris code!” he told your reporter.