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Odds & Ends
Zip The Brass Pounder-final chapter
By Jim Plunkett
He was a high school dropout in Worcester,Mass., had a successful career as a radio operator working for a host of airlines, the U.S. government, aboard ships traveling around the world, and finally settled in Peru after his profession was replaced by modern technology. Zip Zellon unexpectedly became a textile tycoon, a manufacturing consultant, and a small restaurant operator. He was a faithful director in Peru for his old friend, H. Stern, the jewelry baron, and he threatened almost monthly to move back to the States. After selling his textile factory at a most opportune moment, he was ready to retire… or at least he thought he was.
The local military dictatorship in the early 70´s made life miserable for local industrialists. I was fed up. When one of Peru´s leading conglomerates expressed interest in buying me out, I went for it. I was ready for a vacation.
My wife and I and one of my sons took an extensive trip to Europe. Upon our return, we were toying with the idea of going to the States to live. By chance, I received a call from my friend, Tom Fox, who was planning on setting up a TV and radio assembly plant in Chorrillos, just south of Lima. There were a lot of restrictions on importing finished goods in the late 70´s including appliances.
In 1980, democratic elections were finally held, and Fernando Belaunde, our last democratically elected president who had been ousted by the military in 1968, returned to the palace. Shortly afterwards, the economy started moving, imports started to flow again, and people started investing. Naturally things were exaggerated. For example, some outfit even started importing canned air from the highlands of Scotland, in addition to other frivolities that a poor country really didn`t need.
 The democratic government created certain incentives for things “Made in Peru”. With my radio knowledge and technical background, Tom asked me to go to Japan to meet with the JVC people he would be representing and learn how to set up an assembly line for the new plant.
I made five trips to Tokyo. I was met at the airport like royalty, put up at the Imperial Hotel, one of Tokyo's finest, and had an open expense account. I even learned enough Japanese to get me into trouble. As Tom was unable to accompany me on the same flight during our last visit to Japan, I got settled into the hotel, put on my silky kimono, and relaxed. When he arrived at the reception counter, he had them dial my room. “Moshi-moshi”, I answered, which in Japanese is the typical “hello” greeting. I repeated it. Tom hung up and asked to be connected again. “Moshi-moshi”, I answered. Again, Tom hung up, rather upset. He explained to the receptionist that his friend, Zip, was supposed to be in room 1406 and that there was something strange. After accompanying a bilingual bellboy up to the room a few knocks on the door, Tom almost whacked me for trying to practice my good Japanese customs.
We had our final meetings with the JVC staff and made plans for an eventual inauguration of our new plant in Lima. Finally the big day arrived. It was an exciting period in Peru, since we had finally finished twelve long years of military rule with little foreign investment and lots of restrictions on private business. Tom saw an opportunity to import parts and pieces of television receptors, etc., which met the requirements for import incentives, and obtained the representation from JVC, a company that pioneered in television in the early 40´s.
I worked hard setting up an assembly line according to what I had seen in Japan, and even came up with a few of my own ideas for gluing speaker cones in heated boxes that were very inexpensive compared to Japanese methods. The day of the inauguration, our factory was a beehive of activity, and our little Peruvian girls were sitting at long tables decked in white uniforms and wearing masks. The Japanese visitors were ushered into the factory, and several pulled out stop watches to check the assembly time of the workers. Naturally being typical Latins, our girls glanced up in curiosity as the visitors entered the assembly area, something that never happens in Japan where little Asian girls sit there like robots, glued to their screwdrivers and soldering guns. Despite the curiosity factor and the chatter, the JVC technicians were astounded to find that the Peruvian girls were equally as efficient as their Japanese counterparts. We passed the initial test.
I continued a bit longer with Tom at the factory to make sure all was working well, and turned over full responsibility to the production manager and his crew. It was time to continue with my retirement. My wife Sara passed away, and my two sons were continuing their studies in the States, so I was on my own. My old profession and hobby, the radio, kept me alive and enthusiastic.
On one of my many visits to Miami, I looked up an old friend that had served as a radio operator with me years ago. Joe was presently working the radio aboard one of those good looking Norwegian cruise ships, sailing the Caribbean. He said he was tired and ready for a good vacation, but couldn't take off until he found a replacement. My license had to be revalidated for the area, and the nearest place to do it was Nassau. A quick trip and a brief exam was all that was required. Joe introduced me to the ship's captain. He was impressed with my record, but took one look at my passport and said I was too old for the job. He saw Date of birth: 1914, making me 74. I quickly convinced him that they had made a gross error in my passport, and that it was actually 1924. He considered his requirement and my good physical condition, and turned the other way as he welcomed me aboard.
What a month that was. The decked me out in a sparkling white officer's uniform, gave me a private birth with an ocean view, and I ate my heart out at the Captain´s table, while socializing with the guests. Oh yes. I did run the radio shack, but after a few decades and several world wars behind me, it was like sitting in a bubble bath with a glass of champagne. I even got paid for it!
Meanwhile, back in Lima, I was getting bored. I could just put so many hours a day in front of my radio talking to the world working Morse code and voice. I had itchy feet. There was a small shop for rent in San Isidro where several of my friends sold electronic supplies and repaired equipment. I always wanted to have a little restaurant of my own, so I decided to go ahead. I called it La Chinkana, which in the Inca language, Quechua, means “cavern”. In local slang, it stands for an insignificant shop or whole in the wall. I liked it. With about 8 tables brightly dressed, a few pictures on the walls, and a few fresh flowers here and there, I limited our activity to luncheon specials, or “menus”, as they say here. I had a good cook and a waitress, and we filled the place at noon with all the employees in the area looking for something good, but cheap. It was an instant success. I got bored after a year or so, and a local lady kept bugging me to sell it to her. I did. She changed the décor, started playing around with the menu, and the place folded three months later.
It was time for me to return to my native United States of America. Heaven knows I had threatened to do so dozens of times, pretending to be fed up with Peru. I got myself a nice apartment in North Miami Beach, and with my sons not too far away, I decided to enjoy retirement. When the hot Summer arrived, I started yearning for Lima, my old cronies, and my radio shack, and decided to get back to reality.
Now I happily recall that first assignment that brought me to Peru in 1940 as Panagra Airlines Assistant Communications Officer. I had served almost all the U.S. lines as a radio operator or supervisor, become a textile tycoon with a factory filled with 60 girls busily sewing cotton chenille bedspreads, and finally, a technical advisor helping to set up one of Peru´s first electronic assembly plants. Five trips to Tokyo with all expenses paid at the Imperial Palace Hotel and a few tons of sushi and sashimi served by the cutest little kimono clad hostesses now seems like a dream.
When I think of my earlier days with PanAm in Haiti where they put me up at the best hotel and I only had to work once a week on the radio to guide our plane through a narrow mountain area, and where I had the pleasure of bar hopping all night with Errol Flynn who was in Port au Prince to get away from it all for a few days, I get goose bumps. Oh, did I tell you I got kicked out of Haiti by the authorities for writing a small book called, “Voodoo Exposed”? Yeah. It also got me kicked out of PanAm. Luckily, jobs were plentiful and I was out of work for only three days.
Well, I´m back in Lima where I belong. I keep talking about going to the good, old U.S. of A. to retire, but I will probably never pull it off. I have a small duplex on the fourth floor of a building in Miraflores without an elevator. It´s good exercise for a 93 yr. old. I still work the radio and pound the brass key and QSL cards come in occasionally from Russia, Alaska, and strange islands, but it's not the same. The Internet has invaded the airways, and no one knows what radio operators “were”. The view of the Pacific from my bedroom window with some of the best sunsets ever has become my entertainment. It´s been exciting, for sure. I send you my last transmission: “Enjoy life. It goes by all too fast."
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