The Opportunity He Had Been Waiting For
by Artemis Cooper
Patrick returned to Cairo in July where things suddenly became more interesting. He was summoned to Rustum Buildings, known to every Cairene taxi driver as ‘Secret Building’, from where covert operations were controlled. Here he was inducted into what became known as the Special Operations Executive, although in those days it lurked behind a smokescreen of different names, of which perhaps the best known were MO4 and Force 133. Paddy was interviewed by an unknown colonel whose language was so veiled and elliptical that he had no idea what was being said, nor how he should respond. But his pay was raised, and he was told that he would soon receive his orders.
He was to join a unit known as ME 102, probably at the suggestion of Monty Woodhouse. The unit was a training camp for people who wanted to continue the fight by joining resistance units that had been formed across Europe. Paddy went to Palestine in September 1941 to join ME 102, established in a spacious house on the slopes of Mount Carmel, overlooking the town of Haifa. They called the house Narkover, after the imaginery school invented by J. B. Morton (‘Beachcomber’) where the pupils were taught forgery, gambling, theft and arson. From his only surviving notebook of the time, the place seems aptly named: it is peppered with remarks such as ‘Demolitions were new to all except the fishermen and sailors, and as usual aroused great interest’, or ‘The Molotov cocktail lecture and practical went off successfully’. The students also learnt map-reading and report-writing, how to handle boats, wireless sets and small arms. They came from a wide range of nationalities, including Yugoslavs and Kurds.
Among the Cretan Greeks, Paddy met two men who were to be among his closest wartime companions: George Tyrakis and Manoli Paterakis, both of whom were later key figures in the Kreipe Operation. Paddy was probably more useful as a Greek speaker than as a weapons expert. Most of his students had been handling guns since childhood and had an instinctive grasp of how they were put together, whereas their instructor had to spend hours in the armoury, mugging up how to dismantle and reassemble guns with the aid of an instruction manual.
Paddy went to Jerusalem for the New Year 1942, where a number of friends from Cairo had gathered. Roaring about on a motorcycle, he took the opportunity to visit all the holy places around the Sea of Galilee. At the Hotel Saint-Georges in Beirut he ran into Costa again, and that night the energy and skill of Costa’s dancing brought the hotel ballroom to a standstill. Costa explained that this was probably his last opportunity to dance, for he had only joined the Free French in order to get himself to the Middle East. Now he was transferring to the Greek army, in which dancing was forbidden for as long as the homeland was occupied.
Paddy left Narkover for Cairo in April 1942, and soon after that new orders came through: in the next few weeks he would join the handful of SOE officers sent into occupied Crete, to work with the Cretan resistance. He would be in Crete, out of uniform, living in the open, in constant danger. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
~
The Germans increased pressure on the resistance with raids on mountain villages, and arrests were made all the more terrifying for being undertaken by large numbers of men. The kapetans responded by executing six informers in May, but this led to the immediate killing of fourteen patriots. In June, the first of what became an annual sabotage operation was undertaken by the Special Boat Service. One team destroyed five aircraft at Kastelli while another Free French team, under Captain the Earl Jellicoe, destroyed eighteen planes and a number of vehicles at Herakleion airfield. The following day fifty hostages, including the ex-mayor of Herakleion and the ex-governor-general, were shot by the Germans.
Such a brutal show of strength threw the Cretans into a state of shock and panic, and many questioned whether there was anything to be gained from heroic resistance. But the instinct to strike back at the oppressors was as strong as ever and, in the hope of launching a general uprising, the kapetans urged SOE to give them more support. Tom Dunbabin explained that the moment was not yet ripe, but they insisted on being taken to Egypt in order to put their case to GHQ Cairo. Dunbabin agreed with reluctance and, on the night of 23 June, Bandouvas, Petrakogeorgis and their families, together with Satanas, who was gravely ill with cancer, were assembled on a beach near Trypiti, awaiting the caique Porcupine, which was bringing Paddy for his first spell of duty in occupied Crete.
The Porcupine stayed discreetly out at sea, while a tender rowed the incoming party to shore. Paddy was accompanied by a wireless operator, Sergeant Matthew White, and Yanni Tsangarakis, a runner for Ralph Stockbridge who had volunteered to return as Paddy’s guide. Each of them was carrying a heavy load as they disembarked in a rough sea, and Paddy’s boots were ripped apart as he scrambled over the wet rocks to the beach.
The officer in charge of the tender made it clear that he could not accommodate all those awaiting passage, and that the sea was too rough to attempt more than one journey back to the Porcupine. Only Satanas and his family were evacuated that night, leaving the other kapetans and their entourages seething with anger and resentment. This was reflected in Paddy’s first signal, which began with the words: ‘Situation Here Ugly’.
Die Geleentheid Waarvoor Hy Gewag Het
Paddy het in Julie weer teruggekeer Kaïro toe waar dinge skielik baie interessanter geraak het. Hy is beveel om na Rustum-geboue toe te gaan. Dié plek het aan elke Kaïreense taxi-bestuurder bekend gestaan as die “geheime gebou”, vanwaar geheime werksaamhede beheer is. Hier is hy opgeneem in wat later bekend sou staan as die Spesiale Ondernemingsgesag (“SOE”), hoewel dit in daardie dae agter ’n rookskerm van verskillende name geskuil het, waarvan die bekendste seker MO4 en Force 133 was. Paddy het ’n onderhoud gehad met ’n onbekende kolonel wie se taalgebruik so gesluierd en kripties was, dat hy geen idee gehad het wat daar gesê was nie, en hoe hy daarop moes reageer nie. Maar sy soldy is verhoog en daar is aan hom gesê dat hy binnekort sy opdragte sou ontvang.
Hy moes by ’n eenheid bekend as ME 102 aansluit, moontlik op die voorstel van Monty Woodhouse. Die eenheid was ’n opleidingskamp vir mense wat met die stryd wou voortgaan deur by weerstandseenhede wat regoor Europa gevorm is, aan te sluit. In September 1941 het Paddy Palestina toe gegaan om by ME 102 aan te sluit. Dit was op die been gebring in ’n ruim huis teen die hange van die Karmelgebergte met ’n uitsig oor Haifa. Hulle het die huis Narkover genoem, na aanleiding van die denkbeeldige skool deur J. B. Morton (“Beachcomber”) waar die leerlinge geleer is hoe om te vervals, te dobbel, diefstal te pleeg en brande te stig. Uit sy enigste notaboek van daardie tyd wat behoue gebly het, lyk dit of die plek die regte naam gekry het: Dit is deurspek met aantekeninge soos: “Vernietiging was iets nuuts vir almal behalwe vir die vissers en matrose, en het soos gewoonlik groot aftrek gekry”, of “Die Molotov-petrolbomlesing en praktiese werk het goed afgegaan”. Die studente is ook geleer hoe om ’n kaart te lees, ’n verslag te skryf, hoe om ’n boot te hanteer, en hulle het ook onderrig gekry oor radiostelle en kleingewere. Hulle was afkomstig uit ’n wye kring van nasionaliteite wat Joego-Slawiërs en Koerdistaners ingesluit het.
Tussen die Kretaanse Grieke, het Paddy twee kêrels ontmoet wat van sy intiemste oorlogskamerade sou word: George Tyrakis en Manoli Paterakis het later sleutelfigure in die Kreipe-Operasie geword. Paddy was waarskynlik waardevoller as iemand wat Grieks kon praat eerder as ’n kenner van wapens. Die meeste van die studente het wapens gehanteer sedert hulle kinders was en het ’n instinktiewe aanvoeling gehad oor hoe dit aanmekaar gesit moes word, terwyl hulle instrukteur ure lank in die magasynkamer moes deurbring, waar hy met die hulp van ’n instruksieboek moes opsukkel oor hoe om wapens uitmekaar te haal en weer aanmekaar te sit.
Vir Nuwejaar 1942 het Paddy Jerusalem toe gegaan waar ’n paar vriende uit Kaïro saamgekom het. Terwyl hy op ’n motorfiets rondgejaag het, het hy van die geleentheid gebruik gemaak om al die heilige plekke om die See van Galilea te besoek. In Beirut by die Saint-Georges-Hotel het hy weer vir Costa raakgeloop, en daardie aand het Costa se energie en vaardigheid die danssaal tot stilstand gebring. Costa het verduidelik dat dit seker sy laaste geleentheid was om te dans, want hy het by die Free French aangesluit net met die doel om by die Midde-Ooste uit te kom. Hy is na die Griekse Weermag verplaas, en solank as wat hulle land van geboorte beset was, was dans verbode.
Paddy het in 1942 uit Narkover na Kaïro toe vertrek, en kort daarná het nuwe instruksies deurgekom: Binne die volgende twee weke sou hy by die handjievol SOE-offisiere wat na die besette Kreta gestuur is, aansluit. Daar sou hy met die Kretense weerstandsbeweging saamwerk: in Kreta, sonder ’n uniform, in die ope, en gedurig in gevaar. Dit was die geleentheid waarvoor hy gewag het.
~
Die Duitsers het hulle druk op die weerstand verhoog met strooptogte op bergdorpies, en die arrestasies het net nog skrikwekkender gelyk, want dit was deur ’n ontsaglike aantal soldate uitgevoer. Die kapetans het daarop gereageer toe hulle in Mei ses informante tereggestel het, maar dit het tot die oombliklike dood van veertien patriotte gelei. In Junie is die eerste van wat later ’n jaarlikse sabotasie-operasie sou word, deur die Spesiale Bootdiens onderneem. Een span het vyf vliegtuie by Kastelli vernietig terwyl ’n ander span van die “Free French” onder die kaptein Earl Jellicoe, agtien vliegtuie en ’n aantal voertuie by die Herakleion vliegveld vernietig het. Die volgende dag is vyftien gyselaars, wat die voormalige burgemeester van Herakleion en die vorige goewerneur-generaal ingesluit het, deur die Duitsers doodgeskiet.
So ’n wreedaardige magsvertoning het skok en paniek onder die Kretensers tot gevolg gehad, en daar was baie wat gewonder het of dit die moeite werd was om heldhaftig weerstand te bied. Maar die instink om die onderdrukkers die hoof te bied, was nog net so sterk soos voorheen. Met die verwagting om ’n algemene opstand te lanseer, het die kapetans by SOE aangedring om hulle meer ondersteuning te gee. Tom Dunbabin het verduidelik dat die tyd nog nie ryp was nie, maar hulle het daarop aangedring om na Egipte toe geneem te word en om daar hulle saak aan AH-Kaïro te stel. Dunbabin het ietwat teësinnig ingestem en, gedurende die nag van 23 Junie, het Bandouvas, Petrakogeorgis en hulle families, saam met Satanas, wat ernstig siek was aan kanker, op die kus naby Trypiti bymekaargekom. Daar het hulle vir die kaik Porcupine gewag. Paddy was op die roeibootjie om sy eerste diens vir die besette Kreta te verrig.
Die Porcupine het onopvallend verder uit in die see gebly, terwyl ’n verbindingsbootjie die nuwe aankomelinge na die kus toe geroei het. Saam met Paddy was daar ’n draadloosoperateur, sersant Matthew White, en Yanni Tsangarakis, ’n boodskapper vir Ralph Stockbridge wat vrywillig onderneem het om as Paddy se gids terug te keer. Hulle het elkeen ’n swaar vrag gedra toe hulle in die rowwe see aan wal gegaan het, en Paddy se stewels is uitmekaar geskeer toe hy oor die nat rotse geklouter het om by die strand uit te kom.
Die offisier in beheer van die afhaalboot het verduidelik dat hy nie sou kon omsien na al daardie mense wat gewag het op oorvaart nie, en die see was te rof om meer as een seereis terug na die Porcupine toe te onderneem. Daardie nag was dit net Satanas en sy familie wat ontruim is, en dit het die ander kapetans en hulle entourages daardie aand woedend kwaad en gegriefd agtergelaat. Dit was geweerkaats in Paddy se eerste sein, wat begin het met die woorde: “Situasie hier lelik”.
Like The Greeks, Only More So
From Patrick Leigh Fermor – An Adventure
by Artemis Cooper
Balasha was in her car listening to the radio when she heard the news that England had declared war on Germany, and in that moment she knew her time with Paddy was over. He did not want to leave her, but he was so keen to get back to London and join up that he started making arrangements at once. Her friends asked her why he was in such a hurry to go to war, could he not wait a week or two? Yet as Balasha wrote to him years later, she understood and made no attempt to hold him back: ‘your heart and soul were straining for it.’
With Henry Nevile, a friend who had been staying in Bucharest, Paddy made his way back to England by train, hoping to enlist in the Irish Guards. Being ‘of Irish descent’ was very much part of the romantic persona he had created for himself, and his desire to serve in the Irish Guards was a way of claiming that Irishness. What he really coveted, Paddy maintained, was the uniform, with its Star Saltire of St Patrick emblazoned on the cap badge and its buttons in groups of four. ‘I had read somewhere that the average life of an infantry officer in the First World War was eight weeks, and I had no reason to think that the odds would be much better in the Second. So I thought I might as well die in a nice uniform.’
~
On 14 November, Paddy was ordered to make his way to the Guards Depot in Caterham, and submit to a regime that came as a severe shock to his system. He was physically tough, but he now found himself in a place where his charm cut no ice and the pressure to conform was relentless: like going back to school, only more brutal.
~
The Intelligence Corps, on the other hand, were very interested in the fact that Paddy spoke French, German, Rumanian and Greek, and with the situation in the Balkans developing fast they offered him a commission. If he took it, he would be spared any more training at the Guards Depot, but he still clung to the hope of a commission in the Irish Guards.
He had an interview with the regiment’s commander. There was no opening for him in the Irish Guards at present, Lieutenant Colonel Versey told him: indeed, he might have to wait for months before the opportunity arose. Although most regiments at this time were desperate for young officers, Versey was in no hurry to commission this particular cadet: one of Paddy’s reports had described his progress as ‘below average’. The Intelligence Corps, on the other hand, were offering immediate employment and the opportunity to return to Greece.
~
The final, prophetic remarks on Paddy’s report were written by his commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel R. C. Bingham: ‘Quite useless as a regimental officer,’ he wrote, ‘but in other capacities he will serve the army well.’
~
Monty Woodhouse was a Greek scholar with an austere cast of mind, who admitted that he was slow to appreciate Paddy’s qualities. ‘I first saw him on the platform at Glasgow, with an Irish Guards cap pulled so low over his eyes that he had to lean over backwards to look at you.’ The bone of contention between them was Greece. Woodhouse, who had a double first in Classics from Oxford and had studied in Athens, was an academic. Paddy, on the other hand, had lived among the Greeks, meeting Vlachs and Sarakatsans, soldiers, monks and shepherds. As Paddy put it, ‘This was always the real root of the friction, a constant jealous, unarmed struggle as to who had the greatest proprietary rights to Greece.’
At Gibraltar, they were transferred to the cruiser HMS Ajax, and went on to Alexandria. Then, on the final stretch to Athens, they stopped at Suda Bay in Crete to refuel. The ship would not leave for another three hours, so Paddy suggested to Woodhouse that they visit the island’s western capital, Chania. After a few rounds of coffee and sikoudia (a spirit made from mulberries) in the waterfront bars, they found it was getting late. A soldier of the Black Watch gave them a ride back to Suda in a truck full of oranges. Very drunk, he lost control of the truck and it overturned, sending an avalanche of oranges bouncing into the dust.
Woodhouse and the driver were unhurt but Paddy, who had been thrown out of the back with the oranges, was covered in blood from a gash to the head. Woodhouse was obliged to rejoin the ship without him, while Paddy was taken to a doctor in Halepa who insisted on his staying a night or two since the wound was serious.
This was Paddy’s first time among the Cretans, and he claimed an instant empathy: ‘They were like the Greeks, only more so.’
Baie Soos Die Grieke, Net Meer So
Uit Patrick Leigh Fermor – An Adventure
deur Artemis Cooper
Balasha was besig om na die radio in haar kar te luister, toe sy die nuus gehoor het dat Engeland oorlog teen Duitsland verklaar het. Op daardie oomblik het sy geweet dat haar tyd saam met Paddy verby was. Hy wou haar nie verlaat nie, maar hy was so gretig om terug te gaan Londen toe om aan te sluit dat hy dadelik reëlings begin tref het. Haar vriende het gevra waarom hy so haastig was om oorlog toe te gaan – kon hy nie ’n week of twee wag nie? Maar tog het Balasha jare later aan hom geskryf dat sy verstaan het en geen poging aangewend het om hom terug te hou nie: “Jou hart en siel het daarnatoe gebeur”.
Saam met Henry Nevile, ’n vriend wat in Boekarest gewoon het, het Paddy per trein terug Engeland toe gegaan met die hoop om by Ierse Wag aan te sluit. Om “van Ierse oorsprong te wees” was tot ’n groot mate deel van die romantiese persona wat hy vir homself geskep het, en sy begeerte om in die Ierse Wag diens te doen, was ’n manier om daardie Iersheid vir homself toe te eien. Wat hy regtig begeer het, het Paddy aangevoer, was die uniform, met die “Star Saltire” van St. Patrick op die pet geblasoeneer en die knope in groepe van vier. “Ek het êrens gelees dat die gemiddelde lewe van ’n voetsoldaat-offisier in die Eerste Wêreldoorlog agt weke was, en ek het geen rede gehad om te dink dat die kanse in die Tweede veel beter sou wees nie. Daarom het ek gedink dat ek maar net so wel in ’n mooi uniform kon sterf.”
~
Op 14 November is Paddy beveel om na die Guards Depot in Caterham te gaan, en daar was hy onderwerp aan ’n regime wat ’n ernstige skok vir sy gestel was. Fisies was hy taai, maar daar het hy hom op ’n plek bevind waar sy sjarme nutteloos was, en die druk om te konformeer, meedoënloos was: dit was soos om weer op skool te wees, slegs drakonieser.
~
Die Inligtingsdiens, andersins, was nogal baie geïnteresseerd in die feit dat Paddy Frans, Duits, Roemeens en Grieks kon praat. En met die situasie wat in die Balkans vinnig aan die verander was, het hulle hom ’n kommissie aangebied. As hy dit sou aanneem, sou hy vry wees van enige verdere opleiding in die Guards Depot. Maar hy het steeds gehoop om ’n kommissie in die Ierse Wag te kry.
Hy het ’n onderhoud met die regiment se bevelvoerder gehad. Op daardie oomblik was daar vir hom geen vakature in die Ierse Wag nie. Luitenant-kolonel Versey het aan hom gesê dat hy inderdaad maande lank kon wag voor die geleentheid mog kom. Hoewel die meeste regimente daardie tyd desperaat was om jong offisiere te bekom, was Versey glad nie haastig om aan dié kadet ’n kommissie te gee nie – een van Paddy se rapporte het sy vordering as “benede gemiddeld” beskryf. Die Inligtingsdiens het egter dadelik ’n werksgeleentheid beskikbaar gehad, en die geleentheid was daar om terug te keer Griekeland toe.
Die finale, profetiese opmerking op Paddy se rapport is deur sy bevelvoerende offisier geskryf: “Geheel en al nutteloos as ’n regimentsoffisier, maar in ander kapasiteite sal hy van goeie diens vir die weermag wees.”
~
Monty Woodhouse was ’n Griekse geleerde met ’n ernstige soort van gemoed, wat toegegee het dat dit hom lank gevat het om Paddy se kwaliteite te waardeer. “Ek het hom vir die eerste keer op die perron by Glasgow gesien, met ’n pet van die Ierse Wag so laag oor sy oë getrek, dat hy agteroor moes leun om na jou te kyk.” Die twisappel tussen hulle was Griekeland. Woodhouse, wat ’n dubbele eersteklas in Klassieke Tale by Oxford behaal het en wat ook by Athene studeer het, was ’n akademikus. Paddy weer, het tussen die Grieke gewoon en het Vlachs en Sarakatsans, soldate, monnike en veewagters ontmoet. Soos Paddy dit gestel het: “Dít was altyd die ware wortel van die kwaad – ’n konstante en ongewapende stryd oor wie die grootste eiendomsreg op die Grieke gehad het.”
By Gibraltar het hulle na die kruiser HMS Ajax oorgestap en toe van daar na Alexandria gevaar. Toe, op die finale ent na Athene, het hulle by Sudabaai in Kreta stilgehou, om brandstof in te neem. Die skip sou eers oor drie ure vertrek, en Paddy het aan Woodhouse voorgestel dat hulle die eiland se westerse hoofstad, Chania, besoek. Ná ’n paar koppies koffie en sikoudia (’n drankie wat van moerbeie gemaak word) in die kroeë van die waterfront, het hulle besef dat dit laat geword het. ’n Soldaat van die Black Watch, het hulle terug na Suda toe opgelaai met sy vragmotor vol lemoene. Hoogsbesope het hy beheer oor die vragmotor verloor en dit omgegooi, en ’n stortvloed van lemoene het oraloor gebons en gerol.
Woodhouse en die bestuurder was onbeseer, maar Paddy wat saam met die lemoene uit die bak geval het, het ’n sny aan sy kop opgedoen en was vol bloed. Woodhouse was verplig om sonder hom weer by die skip aan te sluit, terwyl Paddy intussen na ’n dokter in Halepa toe geneem is, wat daarop aangedring het dat hy ’n nag of twee moes oorbly omdat dit ’n ernstige wond was.
Dit was Paddy se eerste geleentheid tussen die Kretensers, en hy het op onmiddellike empatie aanspraak gemaak: “Hulle was baie soos die Grieke, net meer so.”
The Hush Puppie Epidemic
From The Tipping Point
by Malcolm Gladwell
Click Here to Play Podcast
For Hush Puppies – the classic American brushed-suede shoes with the lightweight crepe sole – the Tipping Point came somewhere between late 1994 and early 1995. The brand had been all but dead until that point. Sales were down to 30,000 pairs a year, mostly in backwoods outlets and small-town family stores. Wolverine, the company that makes Hush Puppies, was thinking of phasing out the shoes that made them famous. But then something strange happened.
At a fashion shoot, two Hush Puppies executives – Owen Baxter and Geoffrey Lewis – ran into a stylist from New York, who told them that the classic Hush Puppies had suddenly become hip in the clubs and bars of downtown Manhattan. ‘We were being told,’ Baxter recalls, ‘that there were resale shops in the Village, in Soho, where the shoes were being sold. People were going to the Ma and Pa stores, the little stores that still carried them, and buying them up.’ Baxter and Lewis were baffled at first. It made no sense to them that shoes that were so obviously out of fashion should make a comeback. ‘We were told that Isaac Mizrahi was wearing the shoes himself,’ Lewis says. ‘I think it’s fair to say that, at the time, we had no idea who Isaac Mizrahi was.’
By the fall of 1995, things began to happen in a rush. First the designer John Bartlett called. He wanted to use Hush Puppies in his spring collection. Then another Manhattan designer, Anna Sui, called, wanting shoes for her show as well. In Los Angeles, the designer Joel Fitzgerald put a twenty-five-foot inflatable basset hound – the symbol of the Hush Puppie brand – on the roof of his Hollywood store and gutted an adjoining art gallery to turn it into a Hush Puppies boutique. While he was still painting and putting up shelves, the actor Pee-Wee Herman walked in and asked for a couple of pairs. ‘It was total word of mouth,’ Fitzgerald remembers.
In 1995, the company sold 430,000 pairs of the classic Hush Puppies, the following year it sold four times that, and the year after that still more, until Hush Puppies were once again a staple of the wardrobe of the young American male. In 1996, Hush Puppies won the prize for the best accessory at the Council of Fashion Designers awards dinner at the Lincoln Center, and the president of the firm stood up on the stage with Calvin Klein and Donna Karan, and accepted an award for an achievement that – as he would be the first to admit – his company had almost nothing to do with. Hush Puppies had suddenly exploded, and it all started with a handful of kids in the East Village and Soho.
How did that happen? Those first few kids, whoever they were, weren’t deliberately trying to promote Hush Puppies. They were wearing them precisely because no one else would wear them. Then the fad spread to two fashion designers who used the shoes to peddle something else – haute couture. The shoes were an incidental touch. No one was trying to make Hush Puppies a trend. Yet, somehow, that’s exactly what happened. The shoes passed a certain point in popularity and they tipped. How does a thirty-dollar pair of shoes go from a handful of downtown Manhattan hipsters and designers to every mall in America in the space of two years?
~
The book The Tipping Point is the biography of an idea, and the idea is very simple. It is that the best way to understand the emergence of fashion trends, the phenomenon of word of mouth, or any number of the other mysterious changes that mark everyday life, is to think of them as epidemics. Ideas, products, messages and behaviours spread just like viruses do.
The rise of Hush Puppies is a textbook example of an epidemic in action. Although this and other examples may sound as if they don’t have very much in common, they share a basic, underlying pattern. First of all, they are clear examples of contagious behaviour. No one took out an advertisement and told people that the traditional Hush Puppies were cool, and that they should start wearing them. Those kids simply wore the shoes when they went to clubs or cafés or walked the streets of downtown New York, and in so doing exposed other people to their fashion sense. They infected them with the Hush Puppies ‘virus’.
~
The second distinguishing characteristic is that little changes can have big effects. How many kids are we talking about who began wearing the shoes in downtown Manhattan? Twenty? Fifty? One hundred – at the most? Yet their actions seem to have single-handedly started an international fashion trend.
Finally, these changes happen in a hurry. They don’t build steadily and slowly.
~
These three characteristics – one, contagiousness; two, the fact that little causes can have big effects; and three, the fact that change happens not gradually but in one dramatic moment – are the same three principles that define how measles move through a school classroom or the ’flu attacks every winter. Of the three, the third – the idea that epidemics can rise or fall in one dramatic moment – is the most important, because it is the principle that makes sense of the first two, and it permits the greatest insight into why modern change happens the way it does. The name given to that one dramatic moment in an epidemic, when when everything can change all at once, is: the Tipping Point.
Die Hush Puppies-Epidemie
Uit The Tipping Point
deur Malcolm Gladwell
Click here to Play Podcast
Vir Hush Puppies – die klassieke Amerikaanse gepluisde-sweedseleerskoene met die liggewig kreipsole – het die kantelpunt êrens tussen die einde van 1994 en vroeg in 1995 gekom. Die handelsmerk was op daardie punt so te sê dood. Verkope het tot omtrent 30 000 pare per jaar afgeneem, meestal in afgeleë afsetgebiede en klein familiewinkeltjies. Wolverine, die maatskappy wat Hush Puppies gemaak het, het daaraan gedink om die skoene wat hulle beroemd gemaak het, uit te faseer. Toe het iets vreemds gebeur.
By ’n foto-opname het twee Hush Puppie-uitvoerende beamptes, Owen Baxter en Geoffrey Lewis, ’n stilis uit New York, raakgeloop. Hy het hulle vertel dat die klassieke Hush Puppies skielik hoog mode in die klubs en kroeë in die middestad van Manhattan geword het. “Daar is aan ons vertel,” het Baxter onthou, “dat daar herverkopewinkels in die dorp, in Soho was, waar die skoene aan die verkoop is. Mense het na die ‘Ma and Pa’ winkels toe gegaan wat steeds die skoene aangehou het, en hulle opgekoop.” Baxter en Lewis was aanvanklik dronkgeslaan. Dat skoene wat klaarblyklik só uit die mode was, weer mode geword het, het net nie sin gemaak nie. “Daar is aan ons gesê dat selfs Isaac Mizrahi nou die skoene dra,” het Lewis gesê. “Ek dink dis billik om te sê dat ons destyds geen idee gehad het wie Isaac Mizrahi was nie.”
Teen die herfs van 1995 het dinge met ’n spoed gebeur. Die ontwerper, John Bartlett, was die eerste een wat gebel het. Hy wou Hush Puppies in sy lentevertoning gebruik. Toe het ’n ander Manhattan-ontwerper, Anna Sui, gebel – sy wou ook skoene vir haar vertoning in Los Angeles hê. Die ontwerper, John Fitzgerald, het ’n vyf en twintigvoet hoë, opblaasbare basset-dashond – die simbool van die Hush Puppy handelsmerk – op die dak van sy Hollywood-winkel geplaas, en ’n aangrensende kunsgalery afgebreek om dit in ’n Hush Puppy-modewinkel te verbou. Terwyl hy nog besig was om die plek te verf en rakke op te sit, het die akteur Pee-Wee Herman daar ingeloop en gevra om ’n paar skoene te koop. “En dit was alles van mond tot mond oorgedra,” het Fitzgerald onthou.
In 1995 het die maatskappy 430,000 paar van die klassieke Hush Puppies verkoop, en die jaar daarná vier keer soveel, en die jaar daarná nog meer, totdat Hush Puppies weereens die belangrikste inhoud van die Amerikaanse jongman se klerekas was. Hush Puppies het die prys gewen vir die beste toebehore by die Raad van Mode-ontwerpers se prystoekenningdinee by die Lincoln Center. Die president van die firma het op die verhoog saam met Calvin Klein en Donna Karan opgestaan en ’n prys aanvaar vir ’n prestasie wat – en hy sou die eerste een wees om dit erken – sy maatskappy amper niks mee te doen gehad het nie. Hush Puppies het skielik ontplof, en dit het alles begin met ’n klompie jongmense in die East Village en Soho.
Hoe het dit gebeur? Daardie eerste paar jong mense, wie hulle ook al was, het nie doelbewus probeer om die Hush Puppies te adverteer en bekend te maak nie. Hulle het dit gedra juis omdat niemand anders dit wou dra nie. Daarna het die gier na twee mode-ontwerpers toe versprei. Hulle het die skoene gebruik om iets anders te smous – haute couture. Die skoene was ’n blote toeval. Niemand het probeer om van Hush Puppies ’n tendens te maak nie. Tog, op die een of ander manier, was dit presies wat gebeur het. Die skoene het ’n sekere punt van gewildheid verbygegaan, en toe die hoogte ingeskiet. Hoe is dit moontlik dat, in die bestek van twee jaar, ’n paar skoene van dertig dollar, van ’n handjievol middedorp Manhattan jeugdiges en ontwerpers af aanbeweeg het na elke winkelpromenade in Amerika?
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Die boek The Tipping Point (die Kantelpunt) is die biografie van ’n idee, en die idee is baie eenvoudig. Die beste manier om die verskyning van mode-tendense, die verskynsel van mondelinge oordraagbaarheid, of enige aantal ander misterieuse veranderinge wat die daaglikse lewe kenskets, te verstaan, is om daaraan as epidemies te dink. Idees en produkte en boodskappe en gedragswyses versprei net soos virusse.
Die opgang van Hush Puppies is ’n kenmerkende, klassieke voorbeeld van ’n epidemie in aksie. Hoewel dié en ander voorbeelde mag klink asof hulle nie veel in gemeen het nie, deel hulle ’n basiese, onderliggende patroon. Hulle is eerstens duidelike voorbeelde van aansteeklike gedrag. Niemand het ’n advertensie uitgehaal en mense begin vertel dat die tradisionele Hush Puppies die ware Jakob was nie, en dat hulle almal moes begin om dit te dra. Die jong mense het eenvoudig die skoene gedra toe hulle klubs of kafees toe gegaan het, of net in New York se middestad rondgeloop het. En terwyl hulle dit gedoen het, het hulle ander mense aan hulle mode-gevoel blootgestel. Hulle het die ander mense aangesteek met die Hush Puppie-“virus”.
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Die tweede onderskeidende karakteristiek is dat klein veranderinge tot groot gevolge kan lei. Van hoeveel jong outjies praat ons wat begin het om die skoene in die middestad van Manhattan te dra? Twintig? Vyftig? Eenhonderd – op die meeste? Tog, lyk dit of hulle optrede, so op hulle eie, ’n internasionale mode-tendens begin het.
Ten laaste, hierdie veranderinge gebeur sommer baie gou. Hulle neem nie gelykmatig en stadig vorm aan nie.
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Hierdie drie karakteristieke – een, aansteeklikheid; twee, dat klein oorsake groot resultate kan hê; en drie, dat verandering nie stadig plaasvind nie, maar in een dramatiese oomblik – is dieselfde drie beginsels wat bepaal hoe masels deur ’n klaskamer beweeg of griepaanvalle elke winter opvlam. Van hierdie drie, die derde eienskap – die idee dat epidemies in een dramatiese oomblik na vore kan kom of weer verdwyn – is die belangrikste, want dit is die beginsel wat van die eerste twee sin maak, en dit verskaf die beste insig waarom moderne veranderinge plaasvind, en die manier waarop dit wel gebeur. Die naam wat aan daardie een dramatiese oomblik in ’n epidemie gegee word, wanneer alles eensklaps kan verander, is: die Kantelpunt.
A Call To Arms
From The Tipping Point
by Malcolm Gladwell
Click Here to Play Podcast
On the afternoon of 18 April 1775, a young boy who worked at a livery stable in Boston overheard one British army officer say to another something about ‘hell to pay tomorrow’. The stable boy ran with the news to Boston’s North End, to the home of a silversmith named Paul Revere. Revere listened gravely; this was not the first rumour to come his way that day. Earlier, he had been told of an unusual number of British officers gathered on Boston’s Long Wharf, talking in low tones. British crewmen had been spotted scurrying about in the boats tethered beneath the HMS Somerset and the HMS Boyne in Boston Harbour. Several other sailors were seen on shore that morning, running what appeared to be last-minute errands. As the afternoon wore on, Revere and his close friend, Joseph Warren, became more and more convinced that the British were about to make the major move that had long been rumoured – to march to the town of Lexington, northwest of Boston, to arrest the colonial leaders John Hancock and Samuel Adams, and then on to the town of Concord, to seize the stores of guns and ammunition that some of the local militia had stored there.
What happened next has become part of historical legend, a tale told to every American schoolchild. At ten o’clock that night, Warren and Revere met. They decided they had to warn the communities surrounding Boston that the British were on their way, so that local militia could be roused to meet them. Revere was spirited across Boston Harbour to the ferry landing at Charlestown. He jumped on a horse and began his ‘midnight ride’ to Lexington. In two hours, he covered thirteen miles. In every town he passed through along the way – Charlestown, Medford, North Cambridge, Menotomy – he knocked on doors and spread the word, telling local colonial leaders of the oncoming British, and telling them to spread the word to others. Church bells started ringing. Drums started beating. The news spread like a virus as those informed by Paul Revere sent out riders of their own, until alarms were going off throughout the entire region. The word was in Lincoln, Massachusetts by one am, in Sudbury by three, in Andover, forty miles northwest of Boston, by five am, and by nine in the morning had reached as far west as Ashby, near Worcester.
When the British finally began their march towards Lexington on the morning of the 19th, their foray into the countryside was met – to their utter astonishment – with organised and fierce resistance. In Concord that day, the British were confronted and soundly beaten by the colonial militia, and from that exchange came the war known as the American Revolution.
Paul Revere’s ride is perhaps the most famous historical example of a word-of-mouth epidemic. A piece of extraordinary news travelled a long distance in a very short time, mobilising an entire region to arms. Not all word-of-mouth epidemics are this sensational, of course. But it is safe to say that word of mouth is still the most important form of human communication.
But for all that, word of mouth remains very mysterious. People pass on all kinds of information to each other all the time. But it’s only in the rare instance that such an exchange ignites a word-of-mouth epidemic.
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In the case of Paul Revere’s ride, the answer to this question – why some ideas and trends and messages ‘tip’, and others don’t – seems easy. Revere was carrying a sensational piece of news: the British were coming.
But if you look closely at the events of that evening, that explanation doesn’t solve the riddle. At the same time that Revere began his ride north and west of Boston, a fellow revolutionary – a tanner by the name of William Dawes – set out on the same urgent errand, working his way to Lexington via the towns west of Boston. He was carrying the identical message, through just as many towns and over just as many miles as Paul Revere. But Dawes’s ride didn’t set the countryside on fire. The local militia leaders weren’t alerted. In fact, so few men from one of the main towns he rode through – Waltham – fought the following day that some subsequent historians concluded that it must have been a strongly pro-British community. It wasn’t. The people of Waltham just didn’t find out that the British were coming until it was too late. If it were only the news itself that mattered in a word-of-mouth epidemic, Dawes would now be as famous as Paul Revere. He isn’t. So why did Revere succeed where Dawes failed?
The answer is that the success of any kind of social epidemic is heavily dependent on the involvement of people with a particular and rare set of social gifts. Revere’s news ‘tipped’, and Dawes’s didn’t, because of the differences between the two men. This is the Law of the Few – the people critical to social epidemics, and what makes someone like Paul Revere different from someone like William Dawes. These kinds of people are all around us. Yet we often fail to give them proper credit for the role they play in our lives. I call them Connectors, Mavens, and Salesmen.
