Blue Helmet Update

I apologize to Culture Shock readers for not having shared any new reports on the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest since my last post over two weeks ago.

This morning, one of my international Twitter connections, Dutch photographer Rogier Chang, tweeted a link to a televised news report on the project. The following segment shows Pierre Derksthe artist behind the project, and colleagues preparing thousands of little soldiers for worldwide questing.



Subsequently, I found another video report on the project:



I promise you'll be hearing more about these tiny adventurers as soon as I'm back in communication with them. I can report that there is a Blue Helmet guarding Timberline Lodge and another in Alaska watching the Cook Inlet to be sure that Putin doesn't raise his head in American airspace. Rumor has it that a few Blue Helmets ventured to Burning Man this year.

If you're new to the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest story, I encourage you to click on the "Blue Helmet" label to find my earlier reports.

Massive Quest is Hell.

I knew this was going to happen. Each time my co-conspirator and I have deployed a Blue Helmet in a new location, the question nagging us has been this: How can we place the little figure such that casual passersby will spot it (and shriek with delight at their find), while leaving it protected from individuals with malevolent intent, urinating dogs and errant children?

Since the platoon arrived from the Netherlands (as described in a previous post), I've become attached to the wee blue-topped soldiers. I want them to succeed in their Massive Quest, and I want other people to notice them and to appreciate their brave peacekeeping mission.

As we've spent time together, each has become a distinct personality. No longer do I see them as interchangeable and anonymous green beings (with blue helmets). While we have become a band of brothers, I've learned to accept that deployments such as theirs are risky, that loss is inevitable and that we must accept impermanence. Still, I worry.

Just one week ago, a Blue Helmet was deployed to guard Portland's Armory in the Pearl District. A few days later, I was perambulating through the neighborhood and took a few moments to check on him. To my dismay, I discovered that his post had been abandoned. The ashes in his figurative campfire were cold as ... well, as cold as ashes.

All that remained were his humble base, the cable tie that had secured it to a bike rack, and a faint aroma of garlic. Had he been abducted? Had he ventured away from his post, perhaps to carry out a reconnaisance mission? Or had he succumbed to the call of Portland's wild night life and gone AWOL?

Using a secret coded communication system, I contacted the soldier's commanders to report his disappearance. The officer in charge, Brigadier Commander O'Flaherty, asked detailed questions, took copious notes and kept assuring me that my worries were unfounded. "Don't you know, most of these cases are resolved without anyone seeing a bit of bad fortune," he said with a reassuring pat on my back.

During our exchange, an aide-de-camp was preparing a letter using a portable manual typewriter which clicked and dinged, providing an anachronistic accompaniment to the interview. Just as my questioner reached out his hand saying, "Thank you, Mr. Cannon, you've been grand--a true blessing to our cause," the stenographer zipped the letter from the machine and set it before his commanding officer who signed it using a vintage Mont Blanc fountain pen.

"Excuse me," I ventured. "Would you be willing to share the contents of that document with me?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Cannon," he replied, adding "Might I be calling you Mighty Toy as a gesture of friendship?"

"I'm not accustomed to being addressed as such, but I am at your disposal," I replied.

"Right, then," he said, giving a slight bow, lighting a cigarette and pouring a shot of Jameson as he handed me the document. "It's but a letter to his poor mammy at home in Milano. How good is your Italian?"

"Good enough, " I answered as I pulled my reading glasses, a pocket-sized Italian-English dictionary, and a notebook out of my rucksack and began transcribing the letter.

Dear Mrs. Gigliello,

Gentile Signora, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your son, Antony “Little Tony” Gigliello, has been reported missing in action and is now classified as Duty Status-Whereabouts Unknown (DUSTWUN).

As you are aware, your son was stationed in the Pacific Northwest Theater of Operation, serving on behalf of the Blue Helmets. What you may not know is that he was part of a Massive Quest. The strategic objectives of that Quest cannot be disclosed at this time, but I assure you that it is a most noble and brave quest of global proportions.

On August 21, 2009, Lt. Gigliello was assigned to observe the Armory Building located in the Northwest Quadrant of Portland, Oregon. The Armory is the home of Portland Center Stage (a theatrical company of modest repute) and an important cultural center (relatively speaking, this being America).

On the afternoon of August 26, 2009, a local resident with whom we are liaising sought out your son, only to discover that his forward base of operation had been abandoned. We do not know whether Little Tony is being held by hostile forces, or if the abandonment of his post was voluntary. I assure you that we are doing our utmost to locate your son.

There is intense international media interest in every aspect of our worldwide mission and, because of what has happened to your loved one, the media will almost certainly contact you for comments. We recommend you do not talk to the media at this time. The American media is particularly notorious for inventing fictions, especially when doing so is likely to engender disrespect for uniformed personnel.

In addition to avoiding the mainstream media, we strongly recommend that you abstain from announcing this situation using so-called "social media" outlets such as Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, FacciaBlocchetto™, Cinguettare™, Twittarinni™, Froozle™, FlipJack™, HippityHoop™, GiggleSnitch™, GesichtsausdruckSchmökeror™, and FaceBlotter™.

In our experience, posting a video plea on YouTube is likely to be ineffective should your son be a captive of hostile forces. (Except for that one case in which the plea was delivered by a talking cat, which seems unlikely to happen again).

Please accept our assurances that our highest priority is to locate the whereabouts of your Antony as soon as is practical given our miniscule dimensions.

Sincerely,

Commandante Seamus O'Flaherty

"Now that you've read the letter, Mr. Cannon, I propose the traditional toast of the Blue Helmets," he said as he handed me a shot of Jameson and began pulling a set of uilleann pipes from a battered leather case.


The small band of soldiers gathered around as Seamus raised his glass. "May your troubles be tiny. May your quests be massive. And may your helmet be the only thing that's blue," he said with a wink as we threw back our drinks.


Readers, I have a feeling we'll be hearing more about Little Tony in the days to come.

A guide to the Blue Helmet Story:

If you're new to the story of the Miniscule Blue Helmets, you might consider reading these additional posts:

My original, long-form story of how I became involved in this mission.

An abridged version for those with low attention spans.

A letter to home from Ingvar, a Blue Helmet from Sweden.

A plea for financial assistance from Charles Remmy, a Blue Helmet from the Benin Republic.

As I add more reports about the Blue Helmets, you can find them by clicking on the “Blue Helmets” label over in the right hand column.

A Blue Helmet Seeks Your Consideration

The men and women serving as “Blue Helmet” peacekeepers for the United Nations make for a diverse, multinational bunch. As I have gotten to know the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest (Pacific Northwest Division), I have discovered that they are just as varied in nationality and background. You learned a little bit about Ingvar by reading the letter he wrote to his girlfriend back in Stockholm. Today, I introduce you to Charles Remmy from the Benin Republic.

I wanted to interview Mr. Remmy, but he was uncomfortable with my recorder. Instead, he offered to write his story and e-mail it to me. Perhaps he has already sent you a message seeking your help. Here is what I found in my spam filter this morning:

Good Day,

The Mr Toy Cannon has kindly asked me to tell of my story of how I am in the service of Blue Helmet. It is my pleasure to write you after consideration, since I can not be able to see you face to face at first, but one has to risk trust at time.

I am Charles Remmy the only son of late Mr & Mrs Richard Remmy, from Benin Republic. (I am 21 years of age.) My father was a Gold/Diamond merchant before his untimely death after his business trip to Tunisia. He wanted to invest in Tunisia, but a week after he came back from Tunisia he got an accident with my mother of which my mother died instantly but my father died five days after in a private hospital. On that faithful afternoon, I didn’t know that my father was going to leave me after I had earlier lost my mother, but before he gave up the ghost, he called me to his bed side and told me that he deposited the sum of ($12,500,000.00) Twelve Million Five Hundred Thousand US Dollars in a financial Volt. (MAY HIS SOUL REST IN PERFECT PEACE).

This is the money realise from the raw gold/ diamond he just sold before the trip to invest in Tunisia, he deposited the money in a fixed suspense account using my name as the next of kin. He instructed me to seek for a reliable and trust worthy business partner in abroad for investment. Now I have succeeded in locating the deposit documents and where this money is.

But due to how wicked my uncle is and the economic of our country is not stable, I am seeking for assistance for partnership to join me transfer this money out from my country to a secure account abroad so that to invest it in any meaningful and lucrative business because I have no experience about investment.

I am willing to offer 20% of the total fund if only someone can help me out of my present predicaments. However I find no body who will provide a bank account where this money can be transferred into and sponsor the transfer. I can find no body who can promise me he is not going to betray me after the money gets into his account. As a result of the misfortune, I enlist in the military forces and am now assigned to peace keeping job in a distant country of Oregon and am wearing the blue helmet.

The worst part of it is that my uncle is trying to kill me over this money because I refused to hand him over the documents covering this money. He has sold all my father's landed properties including his cars which rightful belong to me and he want me to hand over the banking document of my father in my possession which I refused. He does not no that I am wearing the blue helmet in America.

Now he said that he will have this money by all means even if it means killing me but he dont no where this money is deposited, so because of this I ran away from home and hide in another country, pending when this money will be transferred so that I can leave the country for my safety and no longer wear a blue helmet.

Thank’s and God bless you.
Yours sincerely
Charles Remmy.

Note: The bold-faced words are the only changes I made to the text I received this morning.

Now that you've been introduced to two of the Blue Helmets protecting the Pacific Northwest, we're one-sixth of the way toward a Dirty Dozen. I wonder which one Brad Pitt will play?

A Letter Home from the Front

As a keen observer of life and art in Portland, I did not expect to become a chronicler of the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest as they begin their spread throughout the Pacific Northwest. Nonetheless, I am honored to have earned their trust and to serve as a confidant and ally as they carry out their enigmatic mission. Last night, while sharing a pastis with a Blue Helmet of recent acquaintance, he asked me to post a letter back home. Sensing my curiosity, he was kind enough to translate it from his native Swedish and to give me permission to share it with our readers.

My Dearest Birgetta,

I pray you will not think ill of me for having failed most miserably in my correspondence of this past fortnight. The vital mission which has carried me to this distant shore bars me, unmercifully, from the joyful task of communicating with my beloved. My conscience weighs heavy thinking of your patient forbearance. Does your heart beat with jubilant anticipation upon hearing the postman’s footfall as his rounds carry him to your threshold? Alas, do you curse my name when he arrives bereft of news from my foreign post?

We set ashore in this city one week past, arriving amidst the shadows of night to ensure that our mission does not arouse consternation amongst the habitants. I rue that the welfare of my band of brothers prevents me from revealing our precise whereabouts. Were you to learn of it, I am most certain you would squeal in girlish delight and clap your delicate hands together in joy. It is truly a glorious and amiable city in which we find ourselves billeted.

We are quartered in the southeast quadrant of the metropolis, in a lively district marked by the bohemian flair of our own Södermalm. Birgetta, you would scarcely believe how aromatic and delicious is their coffee. The young people I encounter spend the majority of their daylight hours enjoying each other's company in establishments that serve a brewed elixir equal to the best found anywhere in Scandinavia.

At night, many of our own generation join together in ensembles to create the lively music that gives this hamlet its independent spirit. Young men display all manner of hair upon their cheeks and chins. They sport charming caps with sayings and pictures upon them replete with irony! The skin of both sexes is typically adorned with inky marks. They convey themselves through the avenues and boulevards on bicycles, much as we do at home. Alas, how I long for home and the sweet embrace of my true love!

Our superiors tell us we are on a mission to protect and maintain order, yet the populace, for the most part, exists in a semblance of peace. Most inhabitants enjoy lives of idle pleasure and plentitude. They eat a diverse panoply of foodstuffs, often acquired from mobile food vendors or purchased at charming outdoor markets. My lovely Birgetta, they eat a form of fried pastry much like the klenäter we enjoy at home! One notable purveyor of this victual has taken to decorating the delicacy with all manner of colorful and unexpected embellishments. He and his associates ply their trade into the early morning hours when the cabarets are at their liveliest. I find it tremendously amusing and chuckle now to think of it. Oh, were you here to share my elation and high spirits!

I am not so naïve to believe that all residents are satisfied with their conditions. Just this past week I was commanded to observe an assemblage known as a “Town Hall meeting.” The topic of discourse was the reform of this nation’s system of caring for its populace. I am confident that my Birgetta’s kindly heart and childlike optimism will find it hard to fathom, but this massive nation has yet to discover a means of ensuring the health and well-being of all of its citizenry! And yet, my dear girl, despite well-meaning efforts to effect change to these dreadful conditions, many choose to rail and storm against their leaders. With my own eyes, I have witnessed men and women exhibiting thoroughly demented behaviours, quaking in unquenchable fear and bridling with lustful anger. At these sorrowful moments, I am reminded why our mission is so vital. I am proud to serve, though my engorgement in your absence rages unabated!

Were you at my side, Birgetta, I would surely weep with exultation, my head resting upon your feminine shoulder until your smock were soaked in my loving tears. Fear not, my dearest companion. I assure you that I am both mentally and physically hardy. My training has prepared me to endure these travails. The truest hardship is our untimely separation. Perhaps, anon, your duties as a procurement officer for IKEA will bring you to these shores. Until then, I bid you a loving goodnight and sweet dreams.

With abiding love,

Ingvar

p.s. Please tell Gunnar and Olaf that I have all the noblest intentions of repaying the 200 kroner I borrowed before I was deployed on this mission.

p.p.s. The Volvo keys may have fallen under the cushions of the Tylösand or perhaps the Poäng.

Blue Helmets: The Abridged Version

I realize that my recent post about the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest is a tad long for this attention-span deprived age of microblogging. I don't want the blue helmet quest to be stymied because my brain ran amok, so here's an abridged version:

Over a month ago, Lisa Radon tweeted about a project through which toy soldiers are being dispersed globally, their spread documented in photos and by flagging their positions on a world map at the project's website. She drew the comparison with Scott Wayne Indiana, a Portland artist who began tethering toy horses to the iron rings found on many Portland curbs. I was amused and intrigued by the project, and commented on Ms. Radon’s tweet, expressing my surprise that none of the blue helmeted soldiers had arrived in Portland.

Last week, I received a call from a former landlady telling me that a package addressed to me had arrived from the Netherlands. I had no idea what it might contain. On Saturday, I picked up the package to discover that it was a collection of nine toy soldiers in a variety of poses, and each sporting a blue helmet.

A postcard accompanying the package said:

Dear Mister Cannon,

twitter: ‘I’m surprised the mini blue helmets haven’t arr in PDX yet. Soon, perhaps.’

Well … here they are! Looking forward to your uploads.

Cheers, Pierre

Pierre Derks is the artist responsible for creating the “Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest” project. He spotted my tweet response to Ms. Radon, tracked down my address (albeit one that is out-of-date) and enlisted me to the cause. His note quoted my original tweet.

My wife and I became co-conspirators in the project, sharing ideas of where to place and photograph the soldiers. We decided that Portland’s bridges not only need to be guarded, but are photogenic and iconic symbols of our city. We also decided to start with just one soldier in order to get Portland on the map without delay. We completed our first mission on Sunday afternoon. It was a lovely outing.

We plan to continue placing blue helmeted soldiers around town, perhaps guided with input from readers, perhaps by enlisting volunteers, and perhaps by sending toy soldiers to other cities. In fact, I understand that one blue helmeted soldier has taken up a post on the Oregon coast just this afternoon. [UPDATE: Mission accomplished--see above].

Here's a picture of our soldier at his final guard post:



Last night, I didn’t take care to include all the appropriate links I should have:

The home base of the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest is here.

My new Dutch pen-pal, Pierre Derks, has a website here.

A gallery with which Mr. Derks is associated, “Le Grand Crew” can be found here.

The image shown below is by Mr. Derks and promotes an exhibit titled, “La Grande Boucherie.” The image was on the postcard Pierre enclosed in the package.


Lisa Radon twitters as @lisaradon and is worth following if you’re at all interested in cultural policy and events. Recently, she launched a culture and arts blog for Portland Monthly titled, "Culturephile: Portland Arts." Bookmark it.

If you want to learn more about the sidewalk horses of Portland, visit this spot on Scott Wayne Indiana's website "39 Forks." You can also read more on this site created by fans, which includes photos, maps and a guest book.

I can’t blame you if you skipped my original, much longer account of the Blue Helmets or thought, "I'll come back to this later." (You won't). My first draft was even three times longer with such elements as:

(1) A car chase through Ladd’s Addition thwarted by a bicycle parade.
(2) A surprise early-morning visit from agents of Homeland Security.
(3) A mysterious ChrisCraft cabin cruiser with a telephoto lens poking out a porthole.

I may continue working on that version, if only for my own amusement and as a writing exercise.

A final note: I should point out that all dialogue attributed to my dear wife in that longer post was entirely made up by me.

UPDATE:

When posting about the Miniscule Blue Helmets via other social media, I’ve been linking to the post you’re now reading. If you’re intrigued by the Blue Helmets and don’t mind self-indulgent imaginative storytelling, I recommend these posts:

My original, long-form story of how I got involved in this mission.

A letter to home from Ingvar, a Blue Helmet from Sweden.

A plea for financial assistance from Charles Remmy, a Blue Helmet from the Benin Republic.

Should I add more reports of Blue Helmets, you can find them by clicking on the “Blue Helmets” label over in the right hand column.

Breaking News: Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest arrive in Portland

The wife and I arrived home from our tango lesson last week to find the message light flashing on the phone. “Your turn,” she said as she pulled the ice tray out of the freezer.

I dialed the nineteen numbers needed to reach the voice mail center and listened to the message. This time it wasn’t the Symphony encouraging us to consider a season subscription. It was Ann Carp, the owner of the house which we had vacated three years ago. She said a small package addressed to me had arrived from the Netherlands. Would we like for her to forward it or should she hold it until we could pick it up?

The Netherlands?

My first thought was, “Isn’t it the wrong season for my bulbs to be arriving?” My second thought was, “We don’t even have a garden, why would anyone be sending me tulips?” My third thought was “Cheese?”

My wife asked immediately, “Do you suppose it could it be a subpoena from the International Criminal Court? That’s in The Hague, you know.”

“I don’t think the U.S. has signed on to the I.C.C. yet,” I said, ignoring her implication. “Besides, I seriously doubt they’ll need my testimony again this soon.”

“The wallet you left behind at that whorehouse in Amsterdam?” she asked.

“First, it was not a whorehouse. It was the French Consulate. Furthermore, you have forgotten that I found that wallet under the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin.”

“When was that?” she asked.

“At the Estonian border crossing. You were sleeping while they strip searched me. When you finally woke up, you yelled ‘white slavery!’ and pretended not to know me. Said you did it for the laugh. I was not amused.”

“Oh that’s right,” she replied, rattling the ice in her glass to signal for a refill. “I guess you’ll just have to drive over and pick up the package when you get a chance. Can I ask a favor of you?”

“What’s that?” I responded.

“Don’t ask me to come along with you.”

The next Saturday afternoon, I drove across the Ross Island Bridge into Southwest Portland where we had once rented a mid-century ranch house in the woods. After a short, chatty visit with our former landlady and her rambunctious poodle, I left with a bunch of plate-sized dahlias wrapped in wet newspaper in one hand, and a padded envelope from Europe in the other.

As soon as I was in the car, I tore open the package with the eagerness of a probate attorney unsealing Michael Jackson’s will on Christmas morning. What I found was a collection of plastic toy soldiers, each in a distinctive militaristic pose, and each sporting a blue helmet. The helmets were the blue of a robin’s egg (except that an egg would make for a poor helmet). To be honest, the soldiers were not wearing blue helmets; rather, the part of their olive green heads molded to look like helmets had been daubed with blue paint.

I also found a postcard, the back of which read:

Dear Mister Cannon,

twitter: ‘I’m surprised the mini blue helmets haven’t arr in PDX yet. Soon, perhaps.’

Well … here they are! Looking forward to your uploads.

Cheers, Pierre

In a dizzying rush of surging adrenalin, the puzzle pieces clicked sharply into place. I chuckled with delight as I slammed the car into gear and sped down the road with a chirp of burning rubber and a spray of gravel. “This will make a good story,” I thought as I merged into traffic on I-5 northbound.

I suppose now would be a good time to give the reader the back story about the little soldiers. If your glass is empty or your bladder full, you might take a minute here to fill up or empty out. I’ll be waiting. And I promise to get to the point soon.

Ready? Then let’s get right to it:

A month or more ago, I was perusing my Twitter feed when I spotted a tweet from one of Portland’s leading cultural mavens, Lisa Radon (@lisaradon). I follow reports issued by the estimable Ms. Radon for one simple reason: She keeps her finger on the pulse of Portland’s arts scene the way an OCD-afflicted head nurse keeps track of patients in a cardiac ward—that is to say, obsessively and compulsively. If she reports that something is interesting, it is.

In fewer than the 140 characters allowed by Twitter, Ms. Radon had posted a link to a website for a project titled, “Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest.” The homepage of the website is an interactive world map displaying icons of little army men scattered around the globe. Each icon flags a geographic location and links to a photograph of a little plastic soldier posing at that site. Have you guessed the color of their helmets? Yes, blue. Very good. You’re paying attention.

While the map shows tight clusters of toy soldiers deployed across Europe, the flags extend to India, China, Japan, the United States and other farflung locales. I saw that the Miniscule Blue Helmets had extended their Massive Quest as far as the west coast of the United States, including a deployment on Alcatraz Island; however, I was surprised and disappointed to discover that none had made it as far north as Portland.

As a polite member of the Twitter-verse, I responded to Ms. Radon with a tweet that read, you guessed it: “I’m surprised the mini blue helmets haven’t arr in PDX yet. Soon, perhaps.”

I was intrigued and amused by the notion of planting little soldiers, then watching them spread across the globe. As Ms. Radon had pointed out, the project was reminiscent of one launched in Portland by artist Scott Wayne Indiana. In 2005, Mr. Indiana began tethering toy horses to the iron rings found on many Portland curbs. These rings are remnants from an era when they were actually used to hitch horses. They’ve been preserved in many neighborhoods as a charming reminder of our history. Once the sidewalk horse project got rolling, other people began to voluntarily add to the inventory. My neighborhood in inner-Southeast Portland seems to have been a particularly popular place for an army of horse-placers to work. Dozens of photos of Portland’s sidewalk horses can be found by searching sites such as Flickr. Here’s a picture of a horse that's close to my home.



While Ms. Radon and I were engaged in our little exchange--our tweet-à-tweet, so to speak—I did not suspect that anyone else was paying attention. I was not aware that a certain Pierre Derks, resident of the The Hague, was monitoring our communication with state-of-the-art internet espionage tools. I was not aware that Mr. Derks was both an artist and the lead conspirator behind the Miniscule Blue Helmets on a Massive Quest. I certainly did not suspect that Pierre Derks would make note of an innocuous twitter conversation, track down my address and then assemble a package of little toy soldiers accompanied by a note on a postcard and post it to me. And yet he did just that.

And now, back to our story:

Over cocktails that evening, my wife and I talked about the Blue Helmet project.

“Do you think of these little soldiers as a threatening force--an invasive or occupying army?” she asked. “What I mean is, do you suppose this project is an ironic commentary on the idea of pre-emptive war and imperialism?”

“Oh no, I don’t take it that way,” I said. “The blue helmets are a symbol of the United Nation’s peacekeeping force, which numbers over 100,000 soldiers and civilians and has been in place since 1948. According to the U.N., the blue helmets are a way to help countries torn by conflict create conditions for sustainable peace.”

I went on, “As George Clooney says in his narration of this short video celebrating the 60th anniversary of the U.N. Peacekeepers, ‘Peace, like war, must be waged.”



“Oh, that’s a nice motto,” she responded. “And I like George Clooney. We never did see ‘Syriana’ did we?” She pulled a bag of popcorn out of the microwave. “But did you know that there are people in the United States who believe that our political leaders are conspiring with the U.N. to create a one-world government that will destroy our republic and our way of life? To them, the blue helmets are synonymous with black helicopters, Freemasonry and health care reform.”

I laughed and finished my drink. “That’s crazy talk! And besides, I’d like to shake those people up by planting miniscule blue helmeted soldiers in places where they will be forced to confront them.”

“What do you suppose their massive quest is all about?” she asked while refilling our glasses.

“I don’t know. Returning a ring, I suppose. Or world peace? Maybe it’s just about taking the time to notice the little things in life. When we find a little soldier—or a toy horse—in a surprising place, we’re forced to pause, even for just a moment. Maybe we laugh, or we think about history or war. Or we think about how there’s still a quarter inch of room in that glass that you could fill up.”

She handed me my drink and said, “Or maybe it’s about interconnectedness? You know, the collective nature of a project in which strangers share in a task – in a quest.”

“You’re right. It’s a kind of crowdsourcing!”

She scowled. “You didn’t say ‘crowdsourcing’ did you?”

“No, no. I think you must have misheard me.” I quickly changed the subject. “Where do you think we should put our soldiers?” I was already thinking of them that way.

“I think they ought to be guarding something,” she suggested. “Or observing. One of the figures is holding a pair of binoculars. And if we’re going to post the picture on the map, it ought to show something that is iconic to Portland.”

“I know!” I blurted out. “The bridges! Soldiers guard bridges and Portland is a city of bridges.”

“Splendid idea! We’ll do it tomorrow. It will be an adventure--a mission,” she said turning back to her computer screen. “Now what did you say you were going to get us for dinner?”

Before going to bed that night, I sent a tweet that I intended as a teaser for my twitter followers. It read: “Mysterious package received from Europe. Tomorrow we launch plan that will put Portland on the map!” I hoped that Homeland Security was not monitoring me.

On Sunday, we jumped in the car and headed to the Eastbank Esplanade, first stopping for lunch at the food carts on the corner of S.E. Hawthorne and 12th. Most of the carts were closed for the day, but a few were open for the Hawthorne Street Fair. We chose the Whiffies Fried Pie stand, and opted for a savory selection. Within five minutes we each held a fried pie concocted of chicken pot pie filling surrounded by a perfectly flaky crust. We’ll be back soon to try the sweet selections, which included blueberry and peanut-butter chocolate chip.

Soon we were walking along the Esplanade, a wide promenade that stretches along the eastern bank of the Willamette River from just north of the Hawthorne Bridge to the Steel Bridge. On this sunny Sunday afternoon, we encountered lots of people strolling and even more bicyclists zooming. The bicyclists were ever so helpful as they shouted instructions telling pedestrians where they should properly be walking. It was lovely to be so close to the water.

For our first Blue Helmet mission, we selected a soldier in a sentry position. As we strolled northward, we posed him in several locations, trying to find not only the best photographic composition, but also a spot where we could secure him using one of the blue zip ties that Mr. Derks had thoughtfully included in his package.

“Where do you think we should place him,” asked my co-conspirator. “Should he be hidden, or more visible?”

“I think we want him someplace where people might chance upon him, but not in a spot where the authorities will feel compelled to remove him,” I said. I was also thinking that I wanted him someplace safe. I didn’t want him to go missing too quickly. I was growing attached to a figure that cost only pennies (not including postage). And I remembered that peacekeeping forces, like armies at war, are often in danger. It was good to remember that. He ended up just north of this sign, placed at the lower part of the railing, directly in front of a bench.



We decided to place just one soldier on this first day out. He’s an advance scout – the avant garde in the literal sense of that term. I’ve given him a name, and soon you will be able to read one of the letters he has written to his sweetheart home in Sweden. He’ll be joined by his comrades. Some in Portland and others dispersed to other fronts.

If you have ideas for where to place a soldier wearing a miniscule blue helmet who is on a massive quest, leave a comment or drop me an e-mail.