What Really Happened In Teheran That Day

I went to see the movie Argo a few months ago. It was pretty boring, I thought. I mean, it was well-directed and edited; I know it won a lot of awards and all that. If you didn’t know the facts, you would have thought the movie was exciting. But all that really happened was, half a dozen US government employees sneaked out the back of the American Embassy on Takteh Jamshid Avenue and walked down the street to the Canadian Embassy. A few months later, an American agent got them out of the country. There was no shoot-out. It was disconcerting, too, seeing the scenes at the Embassy. I know it was really shot in Istanbul, but I was expecting to see the Hotel Caspian and other landmarks nearby. Naturally, since they couldn’t get permission to shoot in Iran itself, the exterior location shots weren’t that accurate.
Lucretia noted, the woman taking pictures as they walked through the bazaar — well, yeah, that was a real no-no. People wouldn’t like that. And it was true that they wouldn’t serve drinks on the plane until they were no longer over Iranian airspace. But everything else in the movie was over-dramatized.
Still, that’s what makes a good picture.
Barbara has started putting together the screenplay for Zehbel. Actually, I think she’s about halfway done. We have to get together and go over the scenes, to make sure everything is exactly right. The difference between Argo and Zehbel is, I’m a whole lot closer to the truth. And the truth, what I lived through during those ten years in Iran, is much more exciting than Argo.
I still miss all my wonderful friends back in Iran, but I have a good life here in Pennsylvania. And I’m grateful for that.

Dove of Truth

One morning I was standing by the big, six-foot windows in my living room, facing out over the meadow. It’s a beautiful scene: the wide open meadow surrounded by tall trees, a slight rise in the background. I had bought eleven acres and situated the house fairly close to the road, so we had all this open land behind the house for hunting and recreation.
Something caught my eye; there on the grass, close to the house, was a pure white dove. He was just standing there, looking at me. I think he was trying to tell me something. I watched him for about twenty minutes, standing there, steadily looking back at me, or at least facing in my direction.
I had been thinking about my book on Iran. There was a particular chapter I’d been mulling over, wondering if I should take out a certain phrase. You see, in the military, the language gets kind of rough sometimes. Guys act tough and come up with descriptive phrases to describe other guys. So, some military men would think this phrase was funny, but I didn’t think ordinary civilians would approve or understand. They might think it was a dirty word.
Then, this particular chapter described a certain lifestyle that was very common in Iran at that time. Should I tell the truth, or change it, so people wouldn’t be offended? Some people wouldn’t be happy, either way. What should I do?
That’s what was running through my mind as I stood there, drinking my tea and admiring the beautiful white dove. I wondered what he was trying to tell me. He certainly couldn’t talk; this wasn’t a Disney movie, after all. What could he mean, showing up in my meadow and staring at me so fixedly? A beautiful white dove, symbol of purity, like the Holy Spirit.
Purity and holiness, attributes of God, the Blessed Trinity, and the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Hmmm. I suddenly realized what the dove meant. I took out the phrase; it didn’t really need to be there after all. But then, I left the rest of the chapter alone. I let the truth remain.

Charshanbe Souri

It is almost Spring and Nowruz is just around the corner. I left Iran more than thirty years ago, but Iran has never left me.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly — and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing. –Omar Khayyam

I remember the Nowruz celebrations: a few days before, on Red Wednesday, people would light fires in courtyards and on the flat roofs of their houses. The fires were meant to be seen by others. People would jump over the fires saying “out with the old, in with the new.” There were all kinds of traditions, like hiding money around the house for the kids to find, giving away candy to anyone who visited, and all the family members would go to each others’ houses. The younger ones had to visit first, then the older relatives would return the visit. On the last day, people would have picnics everywhere,all over the country. You even saw them spreading a cloth and setting out food along the highways, wherever there was a bit of grass. As Nowruz ended, the kids learned at school to sprinkle greens on the roof of our car; others did this too. You would see the greens flying off the cars as they moved down the street. I think it meant leaving your troubles behind.

Nowruz was a time of joy and celebration. Families had fun together. I miss those times!

Eid-i shoma mobarak! (May you have an auspicious New Year!)

Sacred Heart Nursing School, Allentown, PA

In 1912 the Missionary Sisters of the Most Sacred Heart came to Allentown, PA . They moved into a working class neighborhood and started caring for the poor. Allentown, at the time, was suffering from a serious outbreak of diphtheria. The nuns nursed people back to health. Slovak immigrants began flooding into the area, working in the coal mines. Some of the nuns began teaching the Slovak children.
I was accepted into Sacred Heart Nursing School in Allentown right after graduating from Central Catholic High School. I always knew I wanted to be a nurse; this was my dream. I had just turned 18, so my parents were able to cash in an insurance policy they’d purchased for me as a baby.Some of that helped towards the $300 I needed for my first year. We apparently weren’t eligible for a scholarship from Sacred Heart. The school only gave out one scholarship for the year, and another student got it. She had more brothers and sisters than I did. Anyway, I got through that first year.
Sr. Antoinette Martinko was a Franciscan nun, German, very strict, and very smart. She was tall, well-built but not heavy, maybe 5’9.” She wore black rimmed glasses; I would guess she was in her mid 50s when I attended Sacred Heart Nursing School in 1957-1960. Sr. Antoinette was head of the whole hospital, and the nursing school. She was the last word.
I know everyone was scared of her. She just instilled that feeling of being unapproachable. But one day, I had to see her. She called me into her office and questioned me about working at Camp Moseywood. I had been helping out the camp nurse that past summer, and Sr. Antoinette felt that violated some code. Sacred Heart nursing students weren’t supposed to work in nursing until they graduated. I didn’t think helping out at the camp was really nursing. I made myself speak up to Sr. Antoinette; I felt I had to put myself on the line. I think she respected that. I didn’t tell anyone except my mom, but I was so relieved when she decided to let me stay on in the nursing program. She really cared about her nurses. The Sacred Heart nurse was THE nurse, to her. She was very proud of her nurses; any misbehavior was unacceptable.
She policed our dorms. We were housed in a red brick building right next to the hospital. We had to live there; we could not go home. There was an underground entrance into the hospital itself. We ate at the hospital and our classes were there. Some doctors taught us, and some German nurses. They were all very strict. I think they were recruited right from Germany. The one who taught microbiology had a very thick accent but she knew her stuff. She was like a super-nun, really way ahead of her time. There is so much she taught us that I still remember and I put it all into practice. She talked about cancer and how cells grew. Wow, what an education.
We wore a blue, long-sleeved dress, then a big, pale blue starchy apron down to our ankles. There was a bib buttoned onto the skirt, very starchy. It tied to our waist. The collars were separate. Then, there was a white cap too. Your shoes had to be polished. If you did not present yourself like you were supposed to, Sr. Antoinette would take you down. Hair had to be a certain length or pulled back into a bun. We had a white Sacred Heart cap. We were capped the first year, after six months, then we got a beautiful dark navy blue cape with a red lining. We didn’t go out on the floor until six months; before that we were in the classroom.
The next summer, before my second year, again I needed money to pay for school. What could I do? I was determined to finish nursing school; nothing was going to stand in my way. So I found the local military recruiting station and applied to go into the Army, like Mike. The recruiter said “yes you can join. Finish nursing school and then you’ll be a second lieutenant.”
Sr. Antoinette heard about my plans. To this day, I have no idea how she found out. Again, she called me into her office. She said “no Sacred Heart nurse is going to join the military. I will give you the money and you will pay me back.”
In 1960, 60 nurses graduated from Sacred Heart School of Nursing in Allentown PA. I was one of them.
I would pay Sr. Antoinette $20 dollars or so from every paycheck. When I got married I still owed her $150. I paid that off. I had a guaranteed job with Sacred Heart Hospital and it was worth every penny. My dream had come true.

A Sacred Heart Nurse, 1960

Lucretia Gladis, Capping Ceremony, Allentown PA 1958

Paperback Zehbel, Amazon

Lucretia and I down in Beaufort last fall.

Zehbel: The Clever One is now available in paperback on Amazon.com. You may also order the book directly from Amazon’s Create Space site. #4024581

Lucretia and I enjoyed a sunny vacation in Beaufort, South Carolina last fall and updated the author photo on Zehbel’s back cover, using a photo from that trip. Zehbel is still available as an e-book on Kindle, but now our friends and fans will be able to order the paperback version directly from Amazon. It makes a great gift for friends in the military and anyone interested in the world beyond their front door. Books on the Middle East are always popular. Please let us know how you like it; comments are always appreciated!

A Wife Abroad

Mike started working for the FAA  in 1961, shortly after we got married. That was a government job, with excellent insurance. I did get tired of all the moving around we did, but the benefits were very good.  Then, a few years later, when he was in Pakistan, the children and I stayed in West Virginia. Fortunately, he was only gone for a few months. I was so happy when he told me he’d completed the project ahead of schedule; that meant he could come home after just three months. That was long enough, I thought.

There was so much planning involved in our move to Iran. I guess military families had more help with housing. Mike was with the FAA, but he had the equivalency of a U.S. Air Force Major, and we did get some help from the U.S. Consulate. We had commissary privileges in Iran; really, I had all the privileges of a military wife. We could order things from JC Penney and Sears, and just pay U.S. postage because we had APO (Army Post Office) privileges.

We had to stay in a hotel at first. It was close by the American Embassy, and the Embassy had a very nice restaurant with familiar American foods the kids liked, so we went there often. My initial focus was on feeding and caring for my children and my husband, while I looked for a house in Teheran.  We had brought $500 with us, but the money ran out so quickly! It was gone in a week or so. We were assigned an Iranian driver, since I didn’t have a car at that point.  N. would come and get us at the Hotel Caspian. He was our driver while we stayed at the Hotel, and we were there for two months, in one room, with our four little girls, and another child on the way. Later, after we moved into our own house, we hired him as a bartender for parties. He liked Scotch, so I would keep him happy with a bottle of Johnnie Walker. It only cost me about $3 a bottle, because I shopped at the Commissary. In a regular store, the best liquor would cost $30 a bottle.  When Mike started with the IIAF (Imperial Iranian Air Force),  he discovered that N.  was a snoop. Mike saw him in a room with a bunch of guys with submachine guns. We knew then, he was a snoop for the Iranian government. We hired him as a bartender, anyway, figuring we had nothing to hide.

Carolyn started kindergarten while we were still living at the Hotel Caspian. The bus would pick her up and drop her off in front of the Hotel.  It was such a relief when we finally found a house. The U.S. Consulate helped  by loaning us furniture  until we could arrange for our own things to be shipped over. Finally, our furniture arrived from the States, then our car, which made me very happy.

The children attended Teheran American School and their tuition was paid as part of our military benefits .  This was one thing I hadn’t considered before moving to a foreign country.  Five years later, when Mike went to work for the IIAF, the children’s tuition was also paid, over and above his salary. Some people didn’t have school tuition included in their contracts; their kids would end up in a regular public school like the Iran Zamin. That was considered a good school too, but we liked TAS. Children could attend TAS as long as one parent was an American citizen. They had excellent teachers; remember, most children attended there for just two years. Teachers had to be flexible and thorough in assessing each child. All our children did well at TAS.  They formed close, enduring friendships with fellow students, teachers and staff that has lasted for many years.

Teachers in TAS had good values, good morals. They were really concerned that the kids adhere to standards of good behavior. Recently, my oldest daughter, Carolyn, told the story of how she deliberately skipped a week of swim practice one time. She was the best swimmer on the team; they’d usually win when she was there. But then her coach wouldn’t let her swim at the next meet, because she’d missed practice. He knew they’d lose, but he put her on the bench anyway. She sat there and watched her team lose. Carolyn learned a valuable lesson that day; she never forgot it.

We look forward to re-connecting with all our TAS friends at the bi-annual reunions of Teheran American School, held here in the States.  Growing up in a foreign country, we all stay close and treasure the memories we share.

 

Mike Roman, 1960 U.S. Army

Tough Guys, 1960

I

After that motorcycle accident in the desert, I came home to recuperate for 30 days. I was in the hospital for three weeks; then I came home to rest.

One night, I was home with nothing to do, so I went up to the hospital to visit some people. There was a recreation room there, with a good pool table. I was drinking beer. These two guys set me up. It was my break. We were playing for money. They were letting me win at first, but I didn’t realize that.

Abruptly, the guys said, “Its double or nothing.” I just nodded. That was fine with me. I broke and cleaned up the whole table. Then they got mad.

“You set us up,” they accused me. But I hadn’t.  I wasn’t that good at pool, really. When I won that time, these two guys were so pissed off, they decided to fix me good . They pulled out these straight edge razor blades.  I was wearing a leather jacket with my P38 inside.

I saw the razor blades and got so angry. I pulled out my P38 and said, “Now I’m going to blow your heads off.”

“No, no,” they cried.

“How about I just blow your b___s  off?”

“No, no,” they repeated, backing away.

I ordered, “give me those frickin razor blades.”

They threw them down at my feet.

“Now give me my money. “

A pile of cash was before me.

“Next time you try to pull off a trick like that, pull it on some dummy.”

I got the money and took off on my motorcycle. Now I had two highs, from the beer and from beating these two  guys.

I was tough. People used to go to me to buy protection. I could threaten people, warn them to stay away from the ones who paid me. I would beat them up or threaten to blow their asses off. Some Air Force guys came to see me. They were from Biggs AFB, from Strategic Air Command, where the big bombers were. They said they wanted to buy protection too.  I needed the extra money, so I did it.

Tommy was a friend from Army days who was good at betting on the horses. You didn’t make much money in the Army, so we were always looking for schemes to get more dough. Tommy was a jockey and also a druggie. He knew the horses. His mother was a bookie in Maryland. He was at Fort Bliss with me, and at MacGregor. Somebody would have to go to El Paso every day, a long ride. They’d pick out the horses and send bets to Tommy’s mother. He made us money by winning on the horses. We’d bet on it and split the winnings. Tommy’s mother would send us a money order. The set-up didn’t last long. Tommy was a good guy, but he was living a wild life. He died soon after, from drugs. He was only 23, too many drugs, always on something.

Zehbel: The Clever One

(written by Barbara, Mike’s editor)
Mike Roman asked me to come down to the FAA facility at Philadelphia International Airport to get a better sense of what he described in his book Zehbel: The Clever One (now out and selling well on Amazon and other online book distributors). He explained primary and secondary radar, pulses, signals, glide slopes, mega hertz, pulse rate frequency — why changing PRF also changed coverage — something obvious, but new to me, two-way mile measures, elevation, orientation of antennae, IOS, Category 3 localizers, ASR, ASDI (the small radar on top of the control tower, detecting movement on the runway), the IFR room underneath the control tower, etc.  He and a friend from the FAA took me up into the control tower to observe the activity there, keeping an eye on my new friend, ASDI. Then, back down to the IFR room, to discover the new radar screens, showing every airplane across the country, with the ability to identify each one by simply hovering over that plane on the screen. Naturally, we talked about 9/11. The technicians there concluded it could happen again, but it would be much more difficult now, with better surveillance, locked cockpits, and tighter security.

I was even treated to a wild ride across several runways in a company vehicle, to see the radar towers, plane de-icing equipment and note the identifying markers on each runway, up close. It was a wonderful tour of airport surveillance and the dedicated FAA staff that keeps everyone on course.

To my untutored brain, of course, the whole thing was best represented as a dance. Pulses signaling back and forth, each partner (hopefully) remembering their part in the dance and observing proper decorum.

Then I remember that Mike used to go up in a helicopter, in those pre-computer days, back in the 70’s, and make photographic maps, survey for RADAR placement, and design the equipment to keep an Iranian military airport, being used by the USAF, running safely. The equipment needed for complicated maneuvers now carried out by scores of FAA personnel, relieving each other in one shift after another, was often designed and built by one man, training a staff with little to no education in radar, electronics, communication,  with limited capability to comprehend the tasks at hand. That was one clever man, indeed.