Patterns on a Prayer Rug

By Franklin T. Burroughs

I would like to invite you to join me on an imaginary journey to the ancient country of Persia, now known as Iran, the home of the poet Rumi. We will suspend any assumptions we may have developed while viewing the country as an Islamic Republic or dictatorship and focus on its ancient and rich culture.
The vignettes that comprise Patterns on a Prayer Rug recall some of my experiences while living in the country for fifteen years but have no particular theme. They do, however, focus on happenings which shaped my intellectual landscape regarding Iran and the Iranian people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796075366

Franklin T. Burroughs

Franklin T. Burroughs was born in Wilmington, CA and graduated from Phineas Banning High School. He earned his Bachelor of Arts degree at Pepperdine College, his M.S. in Education at the University of Southern California and his Doctor of Education at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). He lived and worked in the Middle East from 1964 until 1979 and managed to escape from Iran after the Islamic Revolution. He has served as college/university administrator, consultant to the Prime Minister and Minister of Health in Iran as well as consultant to the U.S. Departments of Commerce and Energy. He is a contractor with the U.S. State Department. He represented Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi in his effort to convince then-President Jimmie Carter to cooperate with him in establishing a constitutional monarchy in Iran.

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SEEKING AND FINDING

I have been a seeker and I still am, but I stopped asking the books and the stars. I started listening to the teaching of my soul.

—Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

I grew up in a nuclear family whose members included Mother, Dad, and me. Parental conflicts seldom occurred. Being the only non-adult in the family, I enjoyed privacy and considerable independence.

The father-son breach, however, exerted a particularly strong influence on me. The psychological ravine between Dad and me started even before I completed elementary school and deteriorated into a deep, rugged canyon by the time I reached high school. Dad had lived a debauched life prior to his Pauline epiphany just before my birth, but his moment of enlightenment did not make him more understanding or tolerant. Instead, he became increasingly rigid and legalistic. By the time I reached my teens, he had begun to consider movies, dances, and most types of entertainment damnable sins. Worship of a non-triune god remained the only acceptable activity, and church attendance promoted the necessary behavior.

Early on, I rebelled internally and psychologically divorced myself from Dad’s rigidity; I could not, however, display any outward signs of rebellion. Dad’s attempts at presenting me as a faith healer with direct connection to the universal health force did not succeed. Neither did the effort to force me into a particular spiritual mold. I showed outward allegiance while constantly revolting inwardly. The process of outward conformity and inner rebellion grew in intensity until the age of fifteen when I informed Dad I would no longer go to church with him or abide by his religious dictates. I wanted freedom and the opportunity to pursue spirituality and truth on my own. The path from Dad’s spiritual prison to cosmic reality would prove to be a sometimes rough but always a rewarding experience.

My journey began with transfers to churches that provided increasing freedom and opportunities to explore spiritual as well as non-spiritual dimensions. Initially, I joined a small Baptist church where I soon became the choir director. Some three years later the local Presbyterian church beckoned when the senior pastor inquired as to whether or not I would consider serving as a soloist for two or three years. Later, I pursued a degree in religious science and even served in a Pentecostal church as a teacher for some two years.

All the while, a fascination with a part of the world to which Dad’s forced churchgoing had introduced me continued to grip me: one of the cradles of ancient civilizations, the kingdom of Persia (Iran) with its fascinating history of intrigue, benevolence, flamboyant monarchs, and the birth of a major religion. I identified with the prophet Daniel, Kings Darius and Xerxes, and Queen Esther and her adopted father Mordecai.

As a child and teenager, rather than listening to a minister railing about sin and its ultimate wage, death, my mind would focus on my vision of the beautiful Queen Esther: her gorgeous black eyes, her passionate body, and her alluring personality. I could often imagine her seducing King Ahasuerus into her chamber and whispering words and phrases meant to influence him in favor of the Jews. I could envision her removing her clothes, inviting the king to lie down beside her, and ensuring her influence over him.

At times, I would imaginarily stand beside the prophet Daniel in the den of lions and marvel at how God had sealed the lions’ mouths so that they could do Daniel no harm, neither could they roar. Even though I couldn’t understand him, Daniel would seem to be uttering a simple prayer, which resonated with me and added mystery to the deep dark cave. I always wanted to tell Daniel how I felt about him and ask about his experiences with the royal family and his antagonists, but I never mustered the courage or developed the language capabilities to do so. Perhaps my imagination lacked the depth required to communicate paranormally.

My fascination with the Persian or Iranian culture progressed to a total devotion and a social love affair in 1958 when I met and married a beautiful young Iranian lady whose family had deep roots in the Iranian culture. She boasted piercing black eyes and raven-black hair. Her name was Mahin, and some basic research revealed the name meant related to the moon or the greatest. From the outset, Mahin affected me like the full moon. She gave me faith, hope, and love—the greatest being love.

After completing my bachelor of arts degree at Pepperdine College and my master of science degree in education at the University of Southern California, I enrolled in a comparative education program at the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) supported by a $700-a-month, tax-free fellowship. The course of study focused on the Middle East, with an emphasis on Farsi, the language of Iran and Turkish. I completed my studies and was granted the doctor of education degree in June 1964; that same year Mahin was granted her master of science degree in hospital administration at UCLA.

Mahin and I traveled to Iran shortly after graduation, and I immediately felt a freedom of spirit and a release from the psychological tension under which I had long functioned. I committed a number of social faux pas early in my stay in Iran but did not suffer any isolation. Mahin’s family and their associates forgave me any missteps, encouraged me to improve my Persian language capabilities. I enjoyed myself both professionally and personally. That I did.

While living in Iran, my travels took me to the tombs of Esther and Mordecai, the ancient town of Susa where the kings in the stories I had heard in Sunday school ruled and reigned, and the several religious centers so important to the orthodox Shiite Iranians.

The life I lived in Iran was one of psychological freedom with financial stability and social acceptance. I felt at home. For some thirteen years I not only maintained my love affair with Iran but increased my appreciation for the culture and my adopted family. I didn’t fear or even consider the possibility of a revolution. I believed the US had officials with greater cultural understanding than was actually the case. Even if the Shah were overthrown, I reasoned, a tolerant group would replace him. Then one day, my reasoning proved incorrect. My love affair with Iran did not sour, but the Islamic Revolution made it impossible for me to continue my life there.

My time in Iran and my experiences there taught me, as suggested in Rumi’s quotation, to listen to my soul rather than strictly asking the stars and seeking wisdom through books. I was able to find and accept myself. The following chapters focus on some of my experiences related to and in Iran.

A REMEMBERED MOMENT ETCHED IN HISTORY

Opened in 1953, the Beverly Hills Hilton resonated with legendary luxury and modern elegance. Beginning in 1961, its international ballroom hosted the annual Golden Globe Award ceremony as well as charity and entertainment-industry benefits. In March 1962, the ballroom accommodated the annual Persian (Iranian) New Year or Nauruz celebration.

Iranians, as well as other Central Asian groups, have a strong fondness for the Nauruz celebration or festival, which begins the first day of spring. The complete celebration lasts as long as two weeks and is rich in symbolism. Participants in the festival may attempt to foresee the future and make every effort to enjoy themselves. Large gatherings with entertainment and well-known speakers are common.

The 1962 gathering at the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel was no exception. Some 580 Iranians and friends gathered in the International Ballroom to enjoy a festive time together and to hear the then-Iranian ambassador to the United States Ardeshir Zahedi speak.

Mr. Zahedi, a rather flamboyant personality, was the son of General Fazlollah Zahedi, Iran’s prime minister following the fall of Mohammad Mossadegh in the 1950s. He graduated from Utah State University in 1950 and married the seventeen-year-old daughter of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi in 1957. The marriage lasted seven years, ending in divorce in 1964.

Following the divorce, Zahedi became the companion of movie star Elizabeth Taylor and created quite a bit of gossip in Washington, DC. The couple also became the talk of Tehran, the capital city of Iran. People magazine wrote about the two, and the Shah seemed to become upset because of the couple’s romantic exploits. Despite his extreme gregariousness and romantic forays, Mr. Zahedi remained in the diplomatic service of Iran until the Islamic Revolution in 1979.

The night of the Nauruz celebration, every table in the ballroom had been reserved. The room projected an elegant ambiance with its well-kept carpets, a built-in stage sporting a national Iranian flag and a well-polished speakers’ stand adorned with a small bouquet of red roses. Each dining table was covered with a white linen tablecloth complemented by white linen napkins. The crystal wine and water glasses subtly reflected the intelligent ceiling and wall lighting. The plates and silverware were carefully arranged and sparkling clean.

Prominently displayed at the center of the ballroom was the traditional haft-seen table, haft being the Persian word for seven and seen representing the seven items on the table that began with the letter S. The table had been set by a Persian family asked to do so by the organizers of the event; it represented the family’s particular tradition and displayed the family cloth. The S items included the customarily crushed berries, dried fruit of the lotus tree, vinegar, apples, garlic, wheat pudding, and sprouted wheat grass. Each of the S items had a special significance. Other symbolic objects included a mirror, a bowl of goldfish, colored eggs, coins, special flowers, and candles. Each guest was encouraged to visit the table.

Conversations were quiet but notably animated. Frequent bursts of laughter could be heard. The general mood was joyous and full of anticipation. After all, the Beverly Hills Hilton was renowned for its cuisine, and the wines were carefully paired with the food. The ballroom clearly portrayed elegance and reflected wealth. The quality of the entertainment and the scheduled speaker added to the excitement. The guests anticipated a memorable moment etched in history.

Everyone present gradually took his/her seat, and the band began to play. Mahin, her sister Esmat, and I joined our friends at the designated table.

Male servers in white tuxedoes served the dinner around seven o’clock. Each guest was given a choice of red or white wine before the five-course meal. The five courses included appetizers, soup, salad, an entrée, and dessert. The menu did not include Iranian food; at that time, Iranian or Persian food was not as well known or popular in the US as it is today.

As coffee was being served, Ambassador Zahedi was introduced. Everything seemed celebratory until Mr. Zahedi stepped to the podium. Almost as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, anti-Shah shouts and yells could be heard from every corner of the Ballroom. Anti-Shah students mounted the stage, confronted the ambassador, and escorted him out of the ballroom. It was later rumored that several of