Scene from Reykjvik, Iceland.
By Dan Bodine
Center against Social Minimalism
Iceland’s President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson told CNN last week that not only did social media wizardry allow his country to survive potentially catastrophic bank failures a few years back now facing Europe and the United States, but also that same social media is the model for the Occupy Wall Street protests sweeping the world now.
Hee, hee. I always loved Iceland. Sitting in the warmer waters of the Gulf Stream, the worst thing about the island nation always has been its name. Some corrupt form of Iss-land pronunciation. But even the Prez apparently doesn’t know the real story about the nefarious red-faced scribe from the U.S. Navy who first planted seeds of modern-day social media protest in that country in the late ‘60s.
A little history lesson thus is in order. This guy did it while stationed at Site H-2, a remote site in the north, located atop a mountain less than 10 miles from the Arctic Circle, and all its magical Northern Lights. A critical communications site it was. Radar snooping. Big stir, he caused once. Yes sirreee!
The writer chose anonymity; I won’t mention the name here either. But each letter was signed, The Chilicahcah Twot. And he got the name from me. I often talked fondly about a secret boys club we had in my hometown--whose members wore white shirts to school stitched boldly with the large red letters CCC Club on the back. Hot, baby! Obviously it impressed him.
Any of you readers who grew up in Cleburne in the late 50s remember the old, secretive CCC Club? Hee, hee. Yeah, I’m spilling the beans on that, too; time somebody did. Letters stood for the three Cs in Chilicahcah.
We didn’t know what the word meant; thought we did. Jon Whites--who later became a minister, I understand [boy, did he do some backsliding!] is the one who suggested the name. (My smart-aleck Littl’ Sis, Kay Laboda, a Republican no less in San Diego, told me years later we had a whacko concoction of something that wadn’t very nice! Whoo!)
But anyone who was at the ol’ H-2 Site at the time will remember the Triple C-T (his fond nickname) as the biggest “social media“ event of the year then. Long before Facebook or Tweetie-Pie
Dared to pose as a collective cosmic conscience, he did, lambasting the commanding officer, a Lt. Jones--beginning with the way he first announced the visit of a Navy chaplain to the site to minister to some of our spiritual needs. (The word 'Twot' is a further abortive slang--this one of celestial spiritual origin. Natch! In truth the guy just didn‘t know how to spell.)
“Get Your Religion from the Man in the Know,” or something like that, the headline screamed in The Word. That was Jones’ newspaper. He put out his word in The Word. Get it!? (doo-dah, doo-dah!) Installed a “Letters to the Editor” wooden box in the galley, and encouraged letter writing. (Talk about shooting yourself in the foot. Never open a Letters box up to a hotdog!)
Thus when the ol’ Twot responded with a sneaky twot-letter, the whole base knew that Commanding Officer Jones had been waylaid by the cosmic spirit in retaliation for his offensive religious jest. The Twot had twotted him.
Angered him, yes. The commanding officer. He even put up a reward one time. “Free Weekend in Akureyri,” shouted the headline in The Word, “to the person who can identify the Triple C-T!”
You know where Akureyri was? Nearest town to us of any size amongst all those rocks up there, southwest of our mountain, I think. Maybe 90 miles; I’ve forgotten. But had girls there. Lots of ‘em. And you bet, I was in the pack, too. Looking for the ‘ol Twot. Wow! Whole weekend. Free. In Akureyri!
But he was somewhat clever, this Triple C-T guy was. Must’ve gotten up all hours of the night to type his letters. By flashlight! Drew on the spiritual wisdom of Nikos Kazantzakis in his weird ’63 classic, The Rock Garden
“Your skull is a pit of blood around which your ancestors gather to drink and be revived. Do no die so they do not die,” one of the passages more or less said. Hee, hee. Everyone had it more or less figured the ol’ Twot was from the Southwest somewhere, probably from down near Mexico way.
Never was spotted though; nor were any of the letters ever traced. Apparently he sneaked in different offices to use different brand typewriters, for the letters had different key marks on ‘em. Some investigation, it turned out to be. Ejoli! Jones and his cadres were turning over everything in everyone’s rooms and offices over it!
Never caught the guy. Hee, hee. In fact, Lt. Jones’ self-importance drivel he put into The Word had become a sideshow all in itself. Just as Grimsson now says what social media has more or less made his government and all of its many functions and activities--a sideshow.
“I know it’s a strong statement…” he told CNN, interviewed at the PopTech conference he was attending in Camden, MA. “But the power of the social media is, in my opinion, transforming the political process in such a way that I can’t see any chance for the traditional, formal institutions of our democratic systems to keep up.”
People in Iceland--due to the ancient boat invasions that established the country--are roughly a mixture of 70 percent Scandinavian and 30 percent Irish. It’s no secret some of the most beautiful women in the world live there. They were wearing the micromini’s long before they became faddish in the 60s in the United States. And the people read there probably more so than anywhere else on earth. It’s a great mixture.
Life in Iceland has always been a sideshow. And the people love it that way.
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