Criminals, Terrorists and Vietnam

When we first moved to Iran in 1967, we were warned about encountering bandits in deserted places. But it turned out we seldom traveled off the beaten path, as a family. We did take frequent trips to the FAA resort at Chalus on the Caspian Sea, but that was a busy route with lots of traffic.

We didn’t see a lot of criminal activity in Iran. Occasionally we heard of someone being shot or hung for a serious crime. Women were hung for running illegal brothels. Once a woman’s husband left her, she didn’t have a lot of options when it came to making a living. She could move in with family or become a prostitute. There were legal, government-run brothels where women were inspected for STDs on a regular basis.

After a few years, around 1970, we started hearing of terrorists going after Americans in Iran. The Vietnam war was at its height and many of our friends were transferred there. Sadly, we lost quite a few friends in Vietnam. A lot of our attention was focused on daily activities with school and getting the girls to their swim lessons so we didn’t realize terrorist activity was picking up until fall 1972 when Lloyd Jones’ car was blown up in the MAAG parking lot.

People have asked us many times why we stayed in Iran for ten years. I guess the simplest explanation was, it was home. You can get used to anything, they say. As long as we were able to maintain a fairly normal life, we just kept on going.

Slovakia, Pennsylvania, Iran: From One Generation To The Next

As a young child, I learned some Slovak from my Aunt Nana. Her parents had moved to the Lehigh Valley from Slovakia and handed that spirit of adventure on to me. I loved to be out on my own, exploring unknown territory. The oldest of four girls, I was a top student and spent my summers at Camp Moseywood. I always wanted to be a nurse; I became a good one.
At 27, I moved with Mike and our four little girls to Iran, eager for a new adventure. I learned some Farsi; we rented a house in north Teheran. Everything bought at the market had to be washed and soaked in bleach and water. Vendors walked through the alleys, crying their wares. The children clamored for camel rides. I took them to the Officer’s Club for swimming lessons and a host of activities. Our family enjoyed vacationing at the Caspian Sea.
Now I was moving in high society as a queen bee. Mike and I had two boys and another girl. I began teaching English to officers at Doshen Toppeh. For a mom with seven children, busy wiping noses and bottoms, it was nice to put on a clean outfit, work with grown-ups and be treated with respect.
In 1972 I began taking classes, long distance, through the University of Maryland. It was fun to take a class on “Politics of the USSR,” then go to a cocktail party and talk with ambassadors’ wives about politics and international relations. I was delighted to find I could hold my own; that really boosted my confidence.
Aunt Nana died while we were in Iran. One night, I woke up, elated, from a dream about her. One thing was clear; the lessons she’d learned from her family would be passed on to my children.

What Happens After The Book Is Published: Zehbel, The Clever One

I thought, once I published the book, that was it. I’d send it out there and let it find its own way in the world. Then I found out books need attention, just like children. So I told my friends about it, and many rushed out to buy this masterpiece on Amazon and Kindle. That was encouraging. Friends told others, especially in military circles, and more copies of Zehbel The Clever One were sold. That was wonderful. I gave a talk at our local library and more books sold. 

I was delighted to find so many people enjoyed Zehbel The Clever One. Many emailed or called me with glowing reviews on the extraordinary experiences I shared in Zehbel. But as the book’s author, I felt dissatisfied. The book didn’t fully capture the unremitting stress I’d been under for all those years. Back then, I was always looking around to gauge the level of danger in each situation. I looked at people — what was their agenda? Were they a danger to me, to my men, to my family? Each day I had to summon up the determination to face whatever lay ahead. There was constant danger, wearing me down, like water dripping on a rock. 

Corruption throughout Iran was so pervasive in the sixties and seventies (I doubt this has changed much, given the restrictions Iranians operate under the current regime.) . People did what they could, to provide for their families. Greed was borne out of desperation and centuries of repression. 

These were some of the elements missing from Zehbel The Clever One. But I didn’t have the time, or the energy to write another book. Instead, I had my editor write a screenplay for me, based on Zehbel, but with a more dynamic approach. We called it Mercenary To The Shah. And another project was underway. Now we had to pitch the screenplay to producers, managers, agents in Hollywood. This is ongoing: people like the project, but I don’t know how long it will take to get the screenplay sold. One industry professional is providing coverage to ensure the script has all the elements needed to attract the right buyer. As I mentioned in an earlier post, we flew out to LA and pitched the script to a slew of producers with many favorable responses. My editor followed up with additional pitches to a few more producers. Two asked to read the script, so we’re waiting to see what will happen next. 

Fortunately, my editor handles that for me. She compares the project to lighting a fire. You strike a match, the flame catches, but getting the big logs to ignite takes a bit of patience and tact. So, no overnight success, but through persistence and following a well-organized protocol, my editor feels we will succeed. 

One thing hasn’t changed over the years. I’ll still do everything I can to help my family. Zehbel, The Clever One is just one aspect of that story.