A Störsender satire by Hansl Hohlleiter
Fridolin Seilschaft, OE0FSS, is the friendliest person in amateur radio. Short in stature, with thinning hair and a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Ask anyone — at the local chapter, the regional association, the national body, at field day, at the Christmas party — and they’ll all say the same thing: “Fridolin? Lovely chap. Always helpful. Always has an open ear.” And it’s true. Fridolin listens. Fridolin smiles. Fridolin remembers everything. Everything.
Fridolin is chairman of the local chapter. And deputy chairman of the regional association. And delegate to the national body. He collects positions like others collect DXCC entities. Not out of vanity — that’s what makes it insidious. But out of calculation.
His method is so elegant that most never see through it. He always starts the same way: he shows up. At every meeting, every event. Punctual. Smiling. With cake. Whoever brings cake can’t be a bad person — that’s an unwritten law in Austrian clubs. Fridolin brings homemade Topfenstrudel. People like him before he opens his mouth. And when he does, he says exactly what each person wants to hear.
To the technicians: “Without you, nothing works here, I know that.” To the contesters: “You’re the backbone of this club.” To the newcomers: “People like you are our future.” Everyone leaves the conversation feeling personally valued. What nobody notices: Fridolin says this to everyone. And means it to no one.
Because Fridolin doesn’t actually like people. He has no friends in the club. He has resources. Every person is a puzzle piece in his org chart. The technician maintains the repeater — useful. The contester brings prestige — useful. The newcomer brings legitimacy for grant applications — useful. And the old-timer has a vote at the AGM — very useful.
Fridolin’s rise was quiet and systematic. He never ran for office. He was asked. Or so he tells it. In reality, Fridolin ensured that every other potential candidate was either discouraged, co-opted, or discredited before the election came around. Not through confrontation — Fridolin never confronts. But through casual remarks. “Manfred would have done a fine job too, but he’s got a lot on his plate privately, hasn’t he?” Suddenly the whole club knows Manfred is “overwhelmed” — and nobody knows where the information came from.
If you disagree with Fridolin, something remarkable happens: nothing. No argument, no pushback. Fridolin smiles, nods, says “That’s an interesting point“, and moves on. Three months later, the dissenter discovers they’re no longer in the WhatsApp group for repeater planning. That their emails to the board go unanswered. That at the last field day there was “unfortunately no space at the table”. Fridolin never said a harsh word. He didn’t need to. He simply changed the architecture.
Fridolin supports youth outreach enthusiastically — as long as the youth don’t ask too many questions. He once mentored a young operator, gave him responsibilities. When the young man suggested making club finances more transparent, Fridolin praised the idea publicly. Three weeks later, the young man was no longer in the working group. Schedule conflict. The new meeting time happened to coincide with his work hours. Coincidence. Pure coincidence.
And then there are the henchmen. Every Fridolin has two or three loyal followers. Not friends — accomplices. Operators he once did a favour: one got a seat on the examination board, another a good word at the regulator, a third got club equipment when Fridolin was “upgrading”. They owe him. And Fridolin never forgets who owes him. The henchmen do the work he can’t do himself because he has to stay friendly: they spread the rumours, vote as a bloc at the AGM, report back who said what when he wasn’t in the room. One of these henchmen is always a dutiful FUNCtionary — someone who manages the hobby without ever practising it. It’s not a cartel. It’s a rope team.
The remarkable thing: people love Fridolin for it. Not despite it — for it. Because he’s always there. Because he always helps. They re-elect him every year. Unanimously. And Fridolin lowers his eyes modestly: “If you think I should carry on — I’ll do anything for the club.” Applause. Every time.
Fridolin’s favourite phrase when someone brings a new idea: “You need to learn the history.” It sounds wise. Paternal. In reality it means: shut up, I was here first. The “history” is always his history. The version where he built everything.
Because there are two Fridolin s. The public one — radiant, helpful, the cake uncle everyone loves. And the private one. On the phone, late at night, when nobody is listening, the mask drops. The voice turns sharp. The friendly Fridolin becomes spiteful, mean, vicious. He tears apart the people he hugged at the pub. “He’s a complete failure.” “She has no idea what she’s doing.” “Without me, they’d all be lost.” Anyone who’s overheard one of those calls — and some have — sees the Topfenstrudel differently afterwards.
What drives Fridolin is simple: he needs to feel needed. Not liked — needed. Because being liked is fleeting. Being needed is power. And power gives Fridolin what he otherwise lacks: the feeling that his life has structure. Without the club, Fridolin would be a friendly middle-aged man with a callsign he never uses. With the club, he is someone. And nobody is allowed to jeopardise that.
Hansl’s verdict: Fridolin Seilschaft is more dangerous than any loudmouth on the frequency, because you don’t hear him coming. He smiles, he helps, he brings cake — and when you wake up, he controls everything. Clubs rarely die from open conflict. They die from friendly takeovers. And the best protection isn’t suspicion but transparency: open elections, open finances, open minutes. Because the one thing a Fridolin can’t survive is light.
All persons and callsigns are fictional. Resemblances to living club officials are intentional but legally inconsequential.
Transparency Notice
This article was written with the assistance of AI (Claude, Anthropic). Editorial responsibility lies with the oeradio.at team. Feedback welcome at [email protected] — we respond even without Topfenstrudel.
