Forty years ago during February, I hired a taxi to take me from my residence in northern Tehran and deliver me to the American Embassy for evacuation from Iran. En route, representatives from the new government interceded on my behalf to allow for safe passage through the Revolutionary Guards.
Early the following morning we boarded touring buses for the short trip to Mehrabad Airport and the 747s chartered by our State Department to fly us to West Germany. On the way to the airport, our route was lined with joyous children waving small American flags and their elders, who wept.
At the airport, the soldiers stood at attention with their AK-47s pointed skyward out of respect. Many of them were crying. Americans were leaving. Pan Am flight crews gave us welcome warm meals, blankets and pillows, and held back the liquor until after our naps. The Imperial Iranian Airforce had fighter bombers and interceptors,
F4 Phantoms and F105 Thunderchiefs escorted us to the Turkish border. From their cockpits, the U.S.-trained Iranian pilots saluted us and bid us farewell, as they peeled off heading home to their bases.
When our pilot announced crossing into the old Ottoman Empire, there was a cheer from many, and tears from many more.
Before Israel, Turkey and the Soviet Union, I lived in Iran for just over four years. We expatriates and compatriots traveled the Persian country with Yamaha dirt bikes and World War II surplus Willys jeeps into the southern deserts of Dasht-e Lut and Dasht-e Kavir.
We visited many cities and ancient ruins such as Persepolis. We snow skied at Dizin and Shemshak below the morning shadow of Mount Damavand, at 5,600 meters, in the Alborz Mountains, the western range of the Hindu Kush. We camped and swam the Caspian Sea coast, roasting whole chickens over our campfires, eating barbari bread, feta cheese and fresh caviar with wine and beer.
We gambled at the British-run casino in Ramsar, mostly roulette and blackjack. We learned Farsi from young teenagers who were trying to learn the difficult language of English. Iranians were friendly, gentle of humor, helpful to a fault, generous and known world-wide for their hospitality.
You wouldn’t believe some of their banquets. H.I.M. Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, shahanshah (king of kings), and the lovely empress Farah Diba tried to move their country forward with land reform, family law and women’s rights.
It wasn’t to be. Theocracy would prevail over monarchy. Now I fear the future for these good people. Even as infidels we were valued guests in their country as they looked after and kindly cared for us.
Someday I hope to return for an extended visit, to see again what my eyes saw in my 30s and be among these wonderful people.
Eric Duerst
Toledo
