DXer's Night Before Christmas
                                                              by Barry Blanton WC5N

Twas' the night before Christmas,
and all through the shack,
not a station was stirring;
I went for a snack.

QSL's hung on the wall
with care,
in hopes more of the same
soon would be there.

The children were nestled,
all snug in their beds,
but visions of DX
danced in my head.

With Wife in her flannel,
in bed all alone,
I sat by the rig,
and listened on phone.

When way down the band,
there arose such a clatter,
I spun on the knob,
to see what was the matter.

Away down the band
like a flash I flew,
with the only hope
it would be something new.

When what to my wondering
ears should I hear,
but a rather large pile-up,
so loud and so clear.

The little old op
with so quick a tongue,
I thought for a moment-
could this be Big Gun?

More rapid than eagles
DXers they came,
with cat calls and shouting
they all were called names:

You jerk!  You lid!
I heard the cop say.
Make room! QSY!
Get out of the way!

Don't you know
who's on the band?
You must be an idiot,
or don't understand.

It might be Big Gun,
if he'd just give his call.
I sure wish he'd I.D.,
we're all climbing the wall.

Who is this nut!
I heard someone scream.
Is it really Big Gun
or is this a dream?

As dry leaves in a hurricane,
all directions they blow,
but not one DXer
was in on the know.

And then in a twinkling
I heard him I.D.
It was Big Gun,
it was indeed!

He was dressed all in fur
he paused and he told.
From his QTH it was
dark and was cold.

A bundle of logs he
had thrown in his pack,
and would QSL when
he got back.

His voice was so pleasant,
his mood was so merry,
but his pile-up was thick
and definitely hairy.

I can picture him now,
his mouth in a bow-
him freezing to death
in the ice and the snow.

I see a pipe all clenched
in his teeth,
and the smoke encircles his
head like a wreath.


A wreath he might need
for little does he know
his boat is late,
and his food's running low.

But I appreciate his effort
as should we all.
He's risking his life to take
down our calls.

We often forget what
good deeds he's done.
Not all expeditions are
vacation and fun.

He stopped all his speaking
and went back to work.
He did what he could despite
all the jerks.

The pile-up raged on,
through thick and through thin.
But with my amp and my beam,
I knew I would win.

When I finally broke through
by the tone of his voice,
to stay and to fight,
I'd made the right choice.

I listened a while as
the pile-up grew less.
The op he grew tired and
stopped to rest.

As he stepped from the rig
he told where he'd be next,
then 73's to all,
and to all good DX.

Merry Christmas