A Störsender satire by Hansl Hohlleiter
Diethelm Besserwisser, OE0DBW, has a QO-100 ground station. If you didn’t know that yet, don’t worry — he’ll tell you. During the first QSO. And the second. And the third. And if you’re back on the frequency the next day, he’ll tell you again, because he’s not sure you properly appreciated it the first time.
The QO-100 station is Herbert’s moon and stars. His life’s work. He built it himself — he mentions this every other sentence — and it works. Mostly. When the weather is right. He got his licence in Germany. He likes telling people that too. Why Germany? “Because the Austrian exam was too easy.” Nobody knows if that’s true, but it sounds impressive, and that’s what matters to Herbert.
Herbert’s shack is a museum. Not in the charming sense — his transceivers are as old as he is, and he isn’t young. A rig whose front panel has more patina than a cathedral sits next to another that Diethelm calls “timeless“, which in practice means spare parts no longer exist. He’s proud of this. “Today they only build plastic,” he says, tapping his metal chassis like a farmer testing a watermelon.
Diethelm has an opinion on everything. And he shares it. Unfiltered. Unsolicited. Unrelenting.
When someone starts a QSO on the repeater, Diethelm listens — not out of interest, but to gather material. “He’s got that rubber duck on the roof again, you can tell,” he comments the moment the other station finishes. Or: “Five-nine? With that signal? The other guy must have been generous.” His classic, when someone mentions a new antenna: “Show me your SWR curve first, then we’ll talk.“
Diethelm is also active internationally. On QRZ.com, he has a profile written in English. The result reads like a machine translation from 2004 — fed through a meat grinder and back-translated. Sentences like “I am proud owner of QO-100 groundstation since many years and working all over the world via satellite dish” sit next to technical claims that make even sympathetic readers pause. Diethelm considers his profile impressive. He declines correction suggestions. “They understand what I mean.“
Quantum computers are Herbert’s latest topic. He read an article about it — or a headline, nobody’s quite sure — and has been convinced ever since that classical computers will be obsolete within three years. If you disagree, he gets louder. “You don’t understand, it’s quantum physics!” Herbert’s grasp of quantum mechanics is limited to the fact that the word “quantum” sounds impressive and normal people don’t push back because they don’t know enough to argue. Strategically brilliant. Factually devastating.
But the worst thing about Diethelm isn’t his half-knowledge, his flexing, or his constant griping. The worst is what happens when children get on the microphone.
At the last JOTA weekend, a twelve-year-old scout sat at the microphone of a club station. Excited, nervous, on shortwave for the first time. The child said his callsign, gave an uncertain CQ, and waited with wide eyes. Diethelm came back. Not with encouragement. Not with patience. But with: “You need to speak louder, I can’t understand a word. And you spelled your callsign wrong too. Who taught you that?” The boy put the microphone down. And didn’t pick it up again.
Diethelm didn’t even notice. In his world, he’d just helped.
Ask Diethelm why so few young people get into amateur radio, and he has a clear answer: “Young people aren’t interested in technology anymore.” That they might be interested if the first contact wasn’t a condescending monologue from a man who defines his own worth exclusively through belittling others — that thought doesn’t occur to Herbert. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in this lifetime.
In the evenings, when Diethelm scans the bands and nobody answers — because everyone who recognises his voice turns the VFO — he leans back and tells Gertrude, his wife: “Nothing happening on the bands anymore. It used to be different.” Gertrude nods. She stopped arguing years ago. Not because he’s right, but because it’s easier.
What Diethelm doesn’t understand: there’s plenty happening on the bands. Just twenty-five kilohertz further up. Where the others are. Without him.
Hansl’s verdict: Diethelm Besserwisser is the best argument against amateur radio — and the saddest. He has the most expensive equipment, the loudest opinion, and the biggest sense of mission. What he doesn’t have: a single person who’s happy when he shows up on the frequency. The hobby isn’t dying of technology. It’s dying of Herberts.
All persons and callsigns in this article are fictional. Resemblances to living radio amateurs are intentional but legally inconsequential. The author accepts no liability for spontaneous self-recognition.
Transparency Notice
This article was written with the assistance of AI (Claude, Anthropic). Editorial responsibility lies with the oeradio.at team. Feedback — including from Diethelm — welcome at [email protected].
