1954 Zvezda Red Star

Every once in a while, I will send Lewberg a text which says ‘I have shelving issues.’

Lewberg will always reply with a ‘Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.’ Sometimes I will send it in response to a message he has sent complaining about one of the many things that ails him in his struggle to be Lewberg. And sometimes I will just send it out of the blue in order to get a laugh.

Lewberg and I are superstitious and we both understand that this is our way of warding off the evil eye.

I have bought a lot of radios and now have the problem of figuring out where to put them. This is not even a first world problem. It is a 1% problem. Lewberg and I get it. It’s my way of saying how lucky I am.

I didn’t need a reminder. But if I did, the story of buying the 1954 Soviet Zvezda Red Star from Leon in Kyiv certainly drove it home for me.

To tell the story I have to begin with how and why I began collecting radios in the first place.

My friend Brian Green dropped by my house one day on his way home from work. After exchanging meaningless pleasantries, he said, “I bought a radio.”

“Nice.” At this point, which was pre-addiction and pre-obsession, I had no way of knowing if it was nice. But it seemed like the right thing to say.

“I have it in the car,” he said.

Brian had a new radio and was excited to show it. I would soon understand that feeling. As would all of my friends and relatives. Since I am a good friend and maybe because I felt guilty that last year I showed no interest in seeing his new kitchen renovation, I said, “why don't you bring it in.”

Brian went to his car and came back holding a 1950 Jewel Wakemaster. Here it is:

Right away I realized it was the exact same radio my parents had in their house when we were growing up!!

No. Not really. But that would have made sense. I had never seen this radio before.

But, for reasons neither I nor a team of eminent psychiatrists could have deduced, I thought it was very cool and I was immediately attracted to it. The design? The colors? The history? I have no idea.

I told Brian I thought it was cool and he was very pleased. “I knew you would like it” he said.

“You were right.”

And then, in a moment that might offer a few more clues, I asked if I could hold it. I was just curious how heavy it was.

“Listen,” I said, “would you be ok if I started collecting radios too?”

And Brian said, “it would be my honor.”

Then I said “you understand I’m going to do it much better than you.”

And he said “I have no doubt.”

The first thing I had to do was research. So I went to the library. Jokes.

No, I went on Amazon, where I bought every book I could find on collecting radios - including one aptly titled The Idiot’s Guide to Repairing Vintage Radios - and had them shipped to Florida where I was heading for the winter.

The book I was most excited about and the one which received the best feedback was Peter Sheridan’s DecoRadio: the world’s most beautiful radios. Sheridan was a dentist in Australia who had accumulated an unbelievable collection. The rumor was that an Emir from the Middle East had offered to buy the entire collection but Sheridan, fearing that the radios would be kept hidden away in a vault, turned him down.

The book had beautiful photos of radios from the years 1923 to 1956. My plan was to use it as a guide as to what I should start collecting.

Not that long ago, but it’s hard to believe I was so naive and foolish.

I decided, thinking that the ‘newer’ radios would be easier to find, to start at the back. The last photograph was of the 1956 Oceanic Surcouf. Made in France, it was a stunning display of classic art deco design.

I Googled it.

Found it on, of all places, Etsy. I bought it. As a bonus, it came with Bluetooth.

You know how they say that the worst thing that can happen when you go to the casino for the first time is to win?

Well, using slot machine vernacular, I hit a 5-liner my first time out.

Ok, I didn't win any money. But I got the exact radio I had been looking for. I was on a roll.

Then, not.

The next radio, working backwards, was the 1954 Sparton Easy Goer in green. I couldn't find it. Still can’t find it. While every seller on eBay describes their radios as rare and very hard to find, it turns out that there are many, many vintage radios that actually are really rare and virtually impossible to find.

That, as Bruce Springsteen says in Blinded by the Light, is ‘where the fun is.’ Are we having fun yet?

I decided to try another.

The 1954 Soviet made Zvezda Red Star. Here is the page, printed without permission, from Sheridan’s book:

Made by the Russian military as a showcase of their design ability. If the names of European towns and cities on the Surcouf was cool, then those on the Zvezda, all in Cyrillic, were super cool.

I Googled it.

And there, right on eBay, was a listing. A Zvezda in mint condition. Being shipped from, I squinted to read the small print on my phone, from the Ukraine. Wow! This was the real deal. I scrolled through the pictures. What a beauty! I could make a bid or, in a feature I would frequently take advantage of, pay a little more and Buy Now.

I wasn't going to risk losing this baby! I bought now. And then I waited.

I checked eBay. Radio was paid for but showing as still not shipped. And then the Russians invaded the Ukraine.

Lewberg texted me, ‘The Russians are screwing up your radio collection.’ Lewberg was kidding.

But, it turned out, he was, sadly, right on the money. The Russians were screwing up my radio collection.

I know because I received a message from Leon, the eBay seller and current holder of the Zvezda.

He was, in a note he wrote in perfect English and one which broke my heart ‘very, very sorry.’ Could I please accept his apologies? The Russians had bombed his apartment complex. He was now, along with his wife and three kids, living with his mother in law in an undisclosed location. He had the radio with him. It was all packed up and ready to go. He was just waiting until the post office resumed service so he could ship it. Could I please, he urged, just wait a little more?

I wrote him back and said to forget about the radio. Just stay safe. Don't worry about it. All good. I would give him a 5-star review and not say anything to eBay. He could keep the money and the radio. Please, please. Just stay safe.

Leon wrote back immediately and said he was in a very safe place. That he appreciated my concern. But it was no problem. It was just an issue with the post office. I wrote back to say it was ok. I didn't need the radio. Two days later he wrote to say it was on the way. He didn't say it but I had a feeling that he wasn't going to let the Russians screw up my collection.

Then I waited.

Then I waited some more.

When the radio finally arrived, I knew right away something was wrong. The box was mangled and torn. When I carried it in from the front door I could hear parts jingling.

I feared the worst. I opened the box.

The radio, or what was left of it, has been completely destroyed. I shuffled the broken parts around for a few minutes to see if anything could be salvaged, but it was a complete write-off.

Such a shame.

I dragged the box to the curb. Garbage day was tomorrow.

Then I logged onto eBay, gave Leon 5 stars in every category, and left a very nice review. And that, was that.

Or, so I thought.

A week later I heard from Leon. He thanked me for my review.

I should not feel obligated but would I be interested in a 1952 Tesla Radio from Czechoslovakia?

I looked in the book.

The Tesla was on page 149.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why not?’

‘Great,’ he replied. ‘I will ship. But I have to tell you it is not in as good shape as the Zvezda.’

I said, ‘no problem.’

The End.