Some 23 years ago, I was interviewing a conspiracy theorist in the Ozarks who was firmly convinced that Y2K would be used as an excuse by the UN to take over the country.
“Not gonna happen” I told him.
“The power grid will go down, all the computers will fail, and they’ll close the roads, and the codes on phone poles will direct the UN forces to take over,” he said.
“It won’t happen,” I said. “I’m going to come out here and spend New Year’s Eve with you, and you’ll see.”
He talked his mom and dad into moving from Ohio to the Ozark wilderness, where it was safer, and his brother and sister-in-law arrived in advance of Y2K. I did too.
I had a chateaubriand dinner prepared by a judge friend, and then headed out into the woods to join the family. They were snacking on a cheese ball. I can give you a recipe if you’re too young to remember Velveeta.
My subject sat on the sofa, his automatic rifle propped next to his leg, as his parents watched TV. As the night wore on, he kept running to the land line or his ham radio to call his contacts.
“Has the power gone off yet?” he asked. “Highways closed?”
Nope, nope, nope.
I had a mobile phone. As the ball dropped in Times Square, it was still 11 o’clock in Missouri. My friends Ed Barnes and Chien-Chi Chang were covering the event for Time magazine. Just after midnight they rang.
“Anything going on there?” I asked them. Just the usual: crowds, tourists, drunks. They didn’t know why they were even in Times Square, waiting for action.
When midnight came and went in the Ozarks, it was time to pack it in.
To the guy’s credit, he claimed to be happy nothing disastrous had gone down.
To my credit, I didn’t say I told you so.
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