Baghdad Letters
An American Couple in Iraq, 1966-67
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Baghdad Letters Free Preview: [in ms, bottom of pg. 3-- First Line:
"Jay's Journal: 9:00 p.m. Thursday, 9-22-66 We left Austin aboard a
Braniff jet--"; Last Line: "We got a room and collapsed." Middle
of pg. 5]
Jay's Journal: 9:00 p.m.
Thursday, 9-22-66
We left Austin aboard a Braniff jet in the bright sunshine of early
afternoon. We landed in Nashville to pick up passengers. Arrived Dulles
Airport, took a cab to
Presidential Hotel. The cab driver noted our Texas accents immediately.
He said he heard that "Texas Twang" a lot since LBJ had been
president.
The hotel had no record of our reservation, but found us a room anyway.
The desk clerk was rather rude and abrupt.
10:00 am Friday, 9-23-66
The receptionist at the State Dept. took the materials Dr. Neal had sent
with us and told us to return in one hour. At eleven, we returned and our
passports were ready. She said it was unusual to get results that fast.
We caught the Eastern Airlines shuttle for New York. It landed at
Idlewild and we had to take a taxi all the way to JFK, where we learned we
could only take a limited amount of baggage with us on the Pan Am flight.
Finally, a kind man at the freight terminal helped us divide up our luggage
into what we had to have and what we could do without for a while, and helped
us ship the rest by air cargo to the embassy in Baghdad. We were already
getting used to the uncaring attitude of people in the Big Apple, and I will
never forget what this man did for us. He was a black man, and unlike many people,
did not let our accents prejudice him toward us.
Finally, we took off for London. The flight lasted all night. It was cold
and the flight attendants passed out blankets for the transpolar flight.
Saturday, early a.m.:
We circled Heathrow airport for an hour before we diverted to Shannon,
Ireland. We got off, cramped and weary from the overnight trip. It was foggy in
Shannon, too; we marveled at the greenness of the place and the fresh, fresh
air. We hung around the airport gift shop for an hour or two before we returned
to the plane to finish the flight to London.
Saturday, Sept. 24:
BOAC Viscount the rest of the way--what an aircraft! We couldn't go the
pressed tongue served at lunch, but except for my inner ear problem, things
went fine. We were
exhausted by now. I chatted with a British soldier going to Bahrain. He
asked where we were going.
"I'm going to Baghdad to teach English," I said.
He threw his head back and laughed, "My God, you don't even SPEAK
it!" he said.
By now we were numb. When we landed in Amman, it was dark, but still
extremely hot. We weren't allowed to get off the plane. A couple of Jordanian
soldiers with automatic weapons got on the plane and strolled up and down the
aisles, looking fiercely at everyone. Finally, we left. It was almost eleven
p.m. when we landed in Baghdad. The landing was very rough. By this time I had
lost all sense of balance and to me it felt as if we were in a steep dive every
time the plane nosed downward.
When we deplaned, the smell
was the first thing we noticed. Even at this time of night, it was very hot. We
made it through customs and were astounded that the uninformed officials who
searched our luggage were so unkempt and ill clothed. They marked all over
Carole's new white Sampsonite luggage with permanent black markers.
There was no one to meet us. So there we were, one week from Bill
Rutherford's call, standing in Baghdad in the stench and heat at midnight, not
knowing where to go or what
to do. All the other passengers
were soon gone and we were alone at the airport. We carried all our luggage
outside. There was a group of young men in the parking lot, all
hoping to get a fare to the city. I picked one with a clean white shirt.
Amidst great arguments with the others and much pushing and shoving, our driver
loaded all our luggage and put us in the back seat of a Volga. His friends
quickly tied the doors shut with a section of rope, and for a moment, we felt
as if we were being taken hostage. He spoke no English and I ended up telling
him "American Embassy" until he nodded he understood, and off we
went.
It was now past midnight and we pulled up in front of a hotel. The
Ambassador. Why not? From the front desk I called the embassy and got a marine
corporal who was on guard duty. I explained our situation and he suggested we
stay the night where we were and call Sunday; there would be staff on duty to
help us get in touch with someone.
The desk clerk changed a traveler's check into Iraqi money and told us
how much to pay the driver. They got into a loud argument that ended with the
driver spitting on the
money (but he took it) and the
clerk throwing him out of the hotel. We got a room and collapsed.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
Baghdad Letters is a collection of correspondence, journals
and photographs compiled by a young couple from Texas in Iraq from September
1966 to May 1967.
From the book:
Baghdad preferred professors with a Texas accent since the Iraqis had
problems understanding the oilfield personnel working there, most of whom were
from places like Odessa, Texas.
On the flight from London, I told a British soldier, "I'm going to
Baghdad to teach English." He threw his head back and laughed, "My
God, you don't even SPEAK it!" he said.
This isn't just a different culture, or even civilization. It is a
different Time, a different world.
In the desert at midnight we came upon a roadblock. An Iraqi soldier with a machine gun shined a light in our faces and filthy troops crowded around the car to look at us.
"Where you go?"
"Baghdad," I said.
"La," (No) he said, looking at Carole, "You stay tonight with me."
I tried not to show the jolt of
fear that went through me.
But the women are getting college degrees, even going into engineering,
I've heard-- My students may be the first, and someday things may change.
About the Author
The Farringtons both grew up in rural environments in Texas. They were married in 1963. They went to Baghdad in the fall of 1966 and returned in the summer of 1967. In addition to Iraq, they visited and wrote about Kuwait, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon and Egypt. Both hold Master's degrees, Jay's in English and Carole's in Theater. Carole wrote a three-act play, "Third and Long," for her Master's thesis and Jay has e-published a collection of nonfiction stories called Little Rivers. Both Farringtons have had full careers teaching writing and literature at the post-secondary level. They agree that their time in the Middle East was one of the highlights of their lives. They have been partners for over forty years. They live and work in San Angelo, Texas.