The Pedestal Magazine > Archives > THE POLITICAL ANTHOLOGY > Fiction/Plays >Henry Pelifian - Americans in Iran

AMERICANS IN IRAN


He kept thinking how did I get here? But he knew. They were all there for those salaries. He had first gone to Asia because he wanted to see for himself the part of the world where his brother David had been killed. After two years in Sarkhan teaching he went to Iran where he had been offered a considerably higher salary.
Almost everyone had never made so much money. Jack Dakasian was sitting on a bus behind the driver in the seat which faced the aisle and a rifle was pointed directly at his abdomen. Opposite Dakasian was a youthful conscript of the Iranian Army asleep with his rifle cradled across him aimed at Dakasian. It was the early morning trip to the military base. Jack Dakasian was teaching technical English, which meant he was teaching in English all the parts of the Bell Helicopter called the Huey, the workhorse of the U.S. Army´s chopper force. It was a two hundred fifty million dollar contract for hundreds of helicopters and the training of the pilots and mechanics for all those helicopters.
The helicopter manufacturer was based in Texas, the home of most of their employees. The Iranian military students first needed to learn English and that was done by incorporating all the parts, tools and aviation terminology for helicopters. The Shah of Iran was poised to become in his eyes the mightiest military power in his part of the world. He would bring back the ancient Persian Empire into the Twentieth Century. Those helicopters were part of the military arsenal he was building up. Before Dakasian departed to Iran the company Belmedia showed all employees a documentary film of the Iranian military guarding the Persian Gulf by sea and air from any potential aggressors.
But that might and power of the Shah was directed at Dakasian who winced in disgust as he moved to another seat in the back of the bus away from one of the trusted guardians of the Shah´s new fledgling empire in the making. The guardian was asleep with his rifle in his hands. A week before a pipe bomb damaged one of the many buses taking the Americans to work on the army base. Now, Iranian Army guards were assigned to all buses the Americans used to get to Bagh-e-Shah helicopter base in Isfahan, Iran.
Dakasian was thinking of the letter he wanted to write to Amara, the beautiful Sarkhanese university history instructor in the capital Haidho whom he should have married instead of coming to Iran. Money got in the way. And now he was regretting it. He had met her while he taught English as a Foreign Language at the university. It had been a glorious two years, yet he had departed for an almost moonscape environment. The previous weekend Dakasian had visited Yazd by public bus from Isfahan. The several hour ride seemed more like a visit across the moon than across Iran. Dakasian´s swarthy complexion and beard made him look like a native. He blended in with the locals. On two occasions while walking on streets in Isfahan people approached him asking for directions or information speaking in Farsi. When he didn´t reply appropriately they went on their busy way. He wished he could have spoken Farsi, but he had no language training prior to arriving in Iran. And like most Americans he knew little about the country or its history.
He had gone to Yazd to visit a Zoroastrian Temple which supposedly housed a fire that had been kept burning for over five hundred years. Also there were the Towers of Silence which were raised edifices on which corpses in the distant past were placed for the birds and vultures to prey upon, thereby the souls of the dead would begin their migration to the heavens. He climbed the stairway to one of the Towers of Silence and once on top he gazed at the virtual moonscape all around. A barren and desolate place. An exceedingly harsh land, it seemed. But he knew nothing of the land or its people. He stayed the night and departed the next morning for Isfahan and its trees and river, a true oasis in the desert.
The American teachers the next morning were all dressed alike in gray pants, light blue shirts and navy neckties. The bus passes through the Iranian checkpoint to the base and stopped in the parking lot. The teachers quickly made their way to the squat brick classroom building and immediately went to the instructor´s lounge to smoke and chit chat prior to the beginning of classes. Soon a bell rang and the teachers scurried to their scheduled and assigned classrooms. In each classroom there was a picture of the Shah of Iran, the imperial leader of the country. He was a monarch with absolute power looking sternly but benignly over his subjects in Iran. It was a carefully crafted pose and undoubtedly innumerable photos were taken to get it just right.
The Iranian Army recruits attended class in their green army fatigues. In the rear of Dakasian´s classroom on a long table were parts of a helicopter. At the end of one year the military students were expected to begin actual helicopter flight training or maintenance school. After a year of English for Special Purposes the students would be enrolled in their prescribed program of either flight school or maintenance school training. Dakasian taught those destined to become mechanics. Outside the classroom buildings on the tarmac were hundreds of helicopters wrapped in plastic to protect them against the sand and elements. Iran had insufficient personnel to either fly or maintain the helicopters, so many of the machines sat mutely awaiting the day when they could come to life roaring over the horizon to proclaim a new Persian Empire as envisioned by the Shah. It was something the Shah of Iran eagerly anticipated as he stared over his recruits in Dakasian´s classroom.
In his hand Dakasian held a gold elephant key chain. He held it firmly. Amara had given it to him as a memento of his stay in Sarkhan. Ten Iranian trainees swarmed into the classroom with their hair closely cut. A buzzer stopped signaling the class had begun.
Jack Dakasian started the class immediately with “good morning."
“Good morning Mr. Dakasian", the class all said at once.
The teaching technique employed by Belmedia was teacher to student and then student to student question and answer activities. Belmedia valued a high per cent age of student to student exchanges in English, for it indicated whether or not the students understood the lessons.
“Mr. Noori, is the helicopter a fixed wing aircraft?", Dakasian asked.
“No, it is not a fixed wing aircraft. It is rotary wing aircraft", Noori said.
“Good, Mr. Noori. Mr. Ali, what does a mechanic tighten bolts with?", Dakasian asked.
“A mechanic tightens bolts with adjustable wrench", Ali said.
“Good Mr. Ali. Mr. Peza, if the main rotor is damaged can the helicopter fly?", Dakasian asked.
“No, it can´t", Peza said.
“Complete sentence please", Dakasian said.
“If the main rotor is damaged the helicopter can´t fly", Peza said.
Peza walked to the back of the room with all the helicopter parts strewn all over long table and picked up a push-pull tube. He held it in his hand.
“We need push-pull tube to fix it", Peza said.
Peza demonstrated the motion of the push-pull tube, in and out. Akbar jumped up from his chair.
“When you have beautiful girl you need push-pull tube! Push-pull tube!", Akbar shouted.
The young trainees emotions were triggered by Akbar and they were all laughing and howling “push-pull tube, push-pull tube!"
“Mr. Akbar always uses his push-pull tube with the girls in New City in Tehran!", Peza said.
“All right! All right! That´s enough!", Dakasian said.
“Mr. Dakasian, how do we meet Iranian girls?", Peza said.
“I don´t know Mr. Peza. This is your country, you tell me", Dakasian said.
Kobari jumped out of his seat.
“What is it Kobari?", Dakasian said.
“Iran is a crazy place. Everything is old and we cannot meet girls", Kobari said .
“O.K. Kobari, sit down!", Dakasian said.
The Iranian recruits were all teenagers full of life and never weary of jokes and laughter. Methodically the class learned the parts of the helicopter as they absorbed the English language. It was an intensive course that when completed the recruits would attend classes in helicopter maintenance and pilot training from American helicopter pilots and mechanics. Many of the technical English instructors were like Dakasian in being former Peace Corps volunteers. The technical English instructors were regularly observed by Belmedia supervisors, helicopter manufacturer personnel and U.S. government officials including U.S. Army officers. There was always a stream of visitors in the buildings examining classes, curriculum and testing of the students. There was an independent testing department that created and graded the tests for the students. Instructors whose students consistently failed the tests were given remedial teaching tutorials with frequent observations on their progress in teaching the classroom material. If an instructor continually failed to have at least eighty per cent of his students passing the exams the instructor would be terminated from employment. Every month Belmedia instructors were asked to leave because they could not get to that eighty per cent mark.
Jack Dakasian had had routine observations by his supervisors and officials of the helicopter company who were permanently stationed in Isfahan visiting the dozens of classrooms daily in each category of pilot and mechanic training. Dakasian had received a rating of outstanding because his interaction level among his students was among the highest in the school. The highly successful student to student activity level in his classroom showed that his students grasped the lesson by conversing in English using helicopter terminology.
The six hours of classes ended at 2:30 PM. Getting on the bus in the afternoon Dakasian saw the armed Iranian soldier casually sitting in the front of the bus with his rifle. Dakasian was not comforted by the young soldier who sat impassively as the American teachers boarded the bus to go to their homes in Isfahan. As the bus moved through the helicopter base Dakasian saw hundreds of helicopters or “hueys" wrapped in clear plastic on the tarmac. Looking over at the helicopters Brad, Dakasian´s roommate, tapped him on the shoulder.
“Those helicopters have been gift wrapped since we arrived", Brad said.
“And they won´t be unwrapped this Christmas!", Dakasian said
Someone in the back of the bus shouted, “Who cares"! No one was concerned if the Iranian bus driver understood as he began stopping the bus to drop off the Americans in ones and twos around city. Dakasian sat in the bus waiting to stop at his corner near the house he rented in Isfahan. He had to renew his passport because he was planning on a trip to Sarkhan in two days. He had been in Iran for eight months and he had a two weeks vacation time. He hadn´t made up his mind whether he would return to Iran, but it was unlikely.
Why hadn´t he married Amara? Their last meeting was with a group of Sarkhanese friends in a restaurant and she had sat opposite him at a long table. Her black hair was cut short and she was calm as she spoke to him telling him that once he had left Thailand he probably would never return. And that he would forget all his friends. Yes, she was teasing, but maybe that was her worst fear. She always told him what was on her mind. He liked that. She even said that he had made her happy. Yet he had left her. Now, a year later he was writing letters and eagerly awaiting replies. She told him her mother wanted her to marry a successful businessman who had known her family for many years.
She told him about their friends and what they were doing. Yajai was working for the United Nations in Haidho, Wichai was working for an advertising agency and Nipa was an airline hostess and Nirun was teaching in a small upcountry school in a remote province. Dakasian told her of the rigid and highly structured teaching curriculum he had to follow.
“There´s a party at the Animal Bar tonight for newcomers!", someone shouted into the open windows of the bus from a passing car. Inside were three American helicopter mechanics laughing and joking. There was no sign outside the Animal Bar; it was the name everyone called it. I guess many Americans wanted to rebel a little and drink alcohol in a Moslem country that had strict control on bars and alcohol purchases. The Animal Bar was in a residential area reserved for Americans. Many Americans just seemed to want to forget where they were for awhile steeped in degrees of inebriation. The results of extreme culture shock were strewn all over the Animal Bar, in fact, wherever American were in Iran. Simply put, different was difficult for Americans. Above all the Americans had a mission: train the technologically inferior Iranians about American knowledge and expertise. And in doing so arrogance crept in and grew and grew.
Walking down a street in Isfahan women were dressed in black or gray down to their ankles with a chador covering their faces. Five times a day the Muslim mosques called the people to pray to Allah. The food was strange. Strangeness everywhere confronted the Americans who were educationally or emotionally ill-equipped to either understand or adapt to such a foreign culture. Everything in Iran seemed unapproachable and intolerable.
“RAGHEADS"!
As the bus stopped near the U.S. Consulate a car load of Americans had shouted to two Iranians men walking down the street.
“STUPID"!
As Jack Dakasian departed the bus he recalled his trip on a helicopter during his first month in Iran. All employees of Belmedia were requested to go on at least one helicopter flight. During that flight the American pilot kept calling the Iranian trainee pilot “stupid." They were at five thousand feet and the pilot kept saying stupid this and stupid that to the young Iranians trainee. Everyone was relieved when they landed in a rural area near some goats grazing in the distance. No one minded the moonscape that day.
“CROOK"!
Dakasian was the last one standing in line with several American women at a meat market in Isfahan who were angry that the prices were so high that they kept saying “he´s a crook." The shopkeeper looked over at the women and at that moment you could hear a pin drop.
Belmedia and the helicopter manufacturer gave each American employee to Iran prior to arrival an airline ticket and a bonus check for signing up. It was considered too expensive and too unnecessary to offer cultural or language training for their overseas employees.
Dakasian entered the U.S. Consulate and looked at the seal. The eagle held an olive branch in the right talon and arrows in the left talon. He knew that President Truman had switched the olive branch and arrows to its present arrangement. Truman did not want the symbol of war to be in the right talon, but rather he wanted the mark of peace to be there.
Dakasian´s father was an immigrant who knew that freedom and democracy in Amerika was unrivalled in the world. He knew America had a great revolutionary history. Dakasian believed that the foundations of America were built upon a great people. But he didn´t like what he saw in Iran. The Americans were bungling it and he was getting out. Most Americans seemed to have negative notions of Iran, something akin to anti-Iranian sentiments based on a dislike of the culture because almost nothing was understood about the country or its people.
Once inside the U.S. Consulate there was a small foyer with a window and locked inner doors that could only be opened by the American at the window. Dakasian gave the man behind the glass a slip of paper acknowledging that his passport was ready for pick-up.
“Here you go", the consular official said handing Jack his new passport.
“Thanks. Things are getting restless around here", Dakasian said.
“But it´ll get back to normal in a couple of weeks", the official said matter-of-factly.
“I think we passed normal a long time ago and we´re not going to get back to it", Dakasian said.
The consular official looked perplexed but is face settled into passive resignation.
Out on the street Jack Dakasian waited for a taxi and shouted out his Street area, “Jolfa"! The first taxi didn´t stop. Iranian taxis functioned like buses, for each had routes and only took customers whose destinations were on their way. If the driver was going to the area one shouted out the driver would say yes in Farsi, “bale". Soon a French “jehan" sedan stopped. Iranian passengers were in both the front and back seats of the vehicle. As the taxi driver maneuvered on the streets of Isfahan passengers got in and out. Dakasian had to lean against the back of his seat to let passengers out of the taxi. Then he had to move over to accommodate new fares. The taxi arrived in Jolfa and stopped near the intersection closest to his narrow lane when Dakasian said, Inja, here.
Dakasian walked down his lane with its high mud walls around each residence. At his house he opened the metal door with a key and entered the courtyard. Inside the courtyard there were concrete tiles except for a small area in the center which was open for a garden. Nothing was growing in the garden. The area of soil appeared to be a kind of open wound, a gash that had not healed. The tenants had not planted a garden. The front of the house was all glass including the front door. The sun was pouring into the house as Dakasian´s roommate Brad sat at the table drinking local vodka. Brad offered him a drink as he entered. Dakasian poured his drink and took it to his room where he changed into one of his colorful and bright Sarkhanese shirts. He liked these shirts so much that he had a dozen of them each a different color and design of traditional Sarkhanese art.
The late afternoon sun made the room warm and comfortable as Dakasian sat down at the table facing the glass wall.
“The embassy says it´ll all blow over", Brad said referring to the demonstrations in the streets and tanks posted at bridges and electric power stations. At night occasional gunfire could be heard.
“Nothing is under control. I´m glad I´m leaving", Jack said.
“Aren´t you coming back?", Brad said.
“No, I don´t think so", Jack said.
“The company withholds half your monthly salary until you return", Brad said.
“I´m not chasing dollars anymore", Jack said.
“You´re going to lose a lot of money by not coming back. You´ll lose the bonus for not finishing the contract", Brad said.
“Change is moving too fast here. And you´ll never finish the contract. This place is going to blow up in your face. Too many Texas cowboys out here and their behavior is going to backfire on us all", Dakasian said.
The nearly fifty thousand Americans were living in an Iranian fish bowl and didn´t know it. Dakasian wasn´t leaving Iran, he was getting out of the fish bowl that was about to be turned over.
“Let me know your address in Sarkhan", Brad said.
The impending Iranian revolution was propelled by the cowboys and they were a catalyst to it. The longer the cowboys stayed the greater the anti-American movement became. Never in the field of human culture was so much distress caused by so few to so many, he thought changing Winston Churchill´s famous line.
Jack Dakasian was looking forward to the bright sun and blue sky in Sarkhan which did not seem to permit sadness or gloominess.









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