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Biography
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When we answered the ad inviting us to teach at Robert College in Istanbul, we felt some safety in the thought that we would probably be rejected. When acceptance came, I called Barbara saying, "Our bluff has been called; are we going?" We sold our house, our cars, and most of our furnishings, leaving the rest in storage or loaned to friends. Bruce had just graduated from Amherst College and was about to go into the Peace Corps, in Bolivia. Michael was to be a Junior at Reed College. Steven was to enter the University of California at Berkeley, where many of his rock-climbing friends were enrolled. I still had some unfinished consulting work which could be completed from abroad.
In the summer of 1963 we went by ship, the Constitution, from New York to Genoa. Because of a shortage of space in second class, we were placed in the first class section of the dining room. We ate our way in luxury across the Atlantic, our trail of trash and garbage extending almost continuously from New York to Genoa. One party we met played cards all the way across, never leaving their table to look at the ocean and with no intention of getting off the ship in Europe. "We've been there before."
In Genoa we met an attractive American woman who asked to join us in our visits to cathedrals. She was tired of having her bottom pinched by male progeny of Christopher Columbus and his countrymen. In one cathedral, beneath a canopy of angels floating at the ceiling, our companion commented, "This dates from the time the Italians thought they could go it on their own." Nobody in Genoa pinched my bottom, but my memory is of men dashing across the street toward us calling, "Hey! you American! Wanna buy this - - -?"
After our stop in Genoa we continued toward Istanbul in a Turkish ship. Coming into Piraeus harbor toward Athens, we were boarded, as required by law, by a Greek harbor pilot. We watched in fascination and wonder as our ship continued slowly in a straight line toward the center of another ship anchored crosswise to our path of travel. Then we made two alarming observations. Sailors on the other ship were excitedly throwing protective buffers onto the side of their ship, and our Turkish captain was gesticulating and shouting his frustration. Our ship struck its target, gently tipping our adversary to a considerable angle. Then everything righted and our ship backed away and came back to its proper course toward Athens. We never heard an explanation of our (Turkish-Greek?) maritime aggression. We continued through the Dardanelles thinking of Winston Churchill's foolish Gallipoli campaign, and of Leander's nightly swims across the Hellespont to join his love, Hero.
We crossed the Marmara Sea, arriving at night in Istanbul. We were welcomed at Turkish Customs by the Dean of Engineering of Robert College, Witek Brzozowski and his wife Tony, and transported from there to our apartment. The door was unlocked in anticipation, and we saw our apartment for the first time, without furniture, at night. In the glare of electric lights cockroaches swarmed over all the walls and the ceiling. We were never rid of them but their numbers were kept in check by Robert College maintenance people, using a mixture of boric acid powder and sugar.
Our apartment was in Bebek, a suburb of Istanbul up the Bosporus toward the Black Sea, situated half way up the hill from the Bosporus to the College. Our street was Arif Pasha Korusu, named for our landlord, Arif Pasha, who owned the apartment house and occupied the main floor. The Pasha was reputed once to have owned whole villages in eastern Turkey. His former status had been reduced by Attaturk's reforms. Looking through large windows across the Bosporus to Asia, we saw ships plying their various trades along the Bosporus, including ferries and fishing boats. Work boats carrying sand or bricks were called Taku, an imitation of the sound of their one-cylindered diesel engines, "taku, taku, taku, - - ." Occasionally part of the Russian military fleet passed through, or their whaling fleet on its way to the South Polar region.
As we lived there, we learned that some conditions in our apartment were typical of difficulties in Istanbul. Our cooking was done on a gas range. Every day at meal time when people were cooking dinner the gas pressure was so low that the pilot light on our Sears range went out, creating the danger of an explosion or asphyxiation when the pressure returned. As a safety measure we turned off the pilot light and used matches to light the burners. Istanbul had what Barbara called tired electricity. The voltage in our apartment regularly went so low that many appliances wouldn't work, lights dimmed, and automatic controls failed to function. An experimental nuclear reactor located outside Istanbul was often shut down by its safety equipment when the line voltage dropped.
We noticed that one Turkish dinner hostess had a TV set. In answer to my statement that I didn't know that Turkey had any television stations, she said, "We don't, but when it comes we will be prepared." There were dangers to be reckoned with outside the apartment. One learned to be careful walking about outdoors in the dark. There was a black market for stolen manhole covers. Because the City couldn't afford to replace them, the open holes were often left unattended as a long-standing menace.
Robert College
Robert College was started in 1863 by an American missionary, Cyrus Hamlin,
who wrote a book about his experiences, entitled My Life and Times. Mr. Hamlin decided
that Turkey needed education more than conversion to Christianity, a dedicated view
which he maintained despite the opposition of his sponsors in the United States.
The College had a spotty career, including a long period when there were only students
foreign to Turkey, because Turkish law required the attendance of Turkish children
in Turkish schools. We arrived at the College to find a beautiful campus, with a
brand-new engineering building, perched atop a hill, looking out over the Bosporus,
some of the most desirable real estate in Turkey. To the west were the remains of
Rumeli Hisar (European Castle), now a museum, and across the Bosporus, Anadolu Hisar
(Asiatic Castle). These fortifications had been built by Turkish invaders to isolate
and capture Constantinople in 1453.
Robert College, when we were there, was one of three American Colleges abroad administered by the Near East College Association in New York City. The other two were the American University in Beirut and the American University in Cairo. President, Vice-President, and Academic Vice-President at Robert College were American, Patrick Malin, formerly Head of the ACLU, James Brainerd, and Howard Hall. The faculty, including deans and department heads, were composed primarily of Turks and Americans, with a scattering of other nationalities: some Greeks, a Frenchman, a Swiss, a Pole, an Englishman. Most students were Turkish, along with a minority from other parts of the world. Teaching, except for some Turkish cultural courses, was in English. Robert Academy, a part of the College complex and on the same campus, prepared students for entry into the College, including teaching English as a foreign language. A girls' preparatory school occupied a separate campus a short distance to the east on the same hill overlooking the Bosporus.
Shortly after we arrived at Robert College, President Malin learned that he was dying of cancer. He returned to the United States, and James Brainerd became acting President of Robert College.
The Negative Loyalty Oath
Until about the time we came to Robert College, financial support for the
institution had come from private sources, through the New York based Near East College
Association. As operating costs became more difficult to meet, financial support
came increasingly from the United States AID program. At the beginning of our second
year at Robert College, Personnel Security forms, the so-called "negative loyalty
oath," supposedly for personnel in positions "sensitive" to United
States security, came unannounced, and were distributed to all faculty members, including
Turks. We were told that the faculty at American University in Cairo had already
all signed the oath. The forms were to be completed and signed by each of us, stating
that we had never been members of the Communist party. The arrival of these forms
caused consternation on a campus including many faculty members not citizens of the
United States as well as some Americans who for reasons of conscience would refuse
to sign. Although I had signed similar forms in the United States, their application
to Robert College seemed to me singularly inappropriate. Among other reasons, some
fraction of Turks and of the Turkish press was unfriendly to the United States, ready
to condemn the College as an arm of the CIA.
In response to the furor on campus, Grinell Morris, Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Near East College Association and head of Empire State Trust in New York, came to Istanbul to address the Faculty. In answer to a question, "What will you do about a faculty member who refuses to sign the oath?" Mr. Morris replied, "We won't tolerate Communists on the Faculty." "But what will you do?" "We'll fire him."
At a special faculty meeting Academic Vice-President Hall appointed a committee, with me as Chairman, charged with the task of avoiding, if possible, the necessity for signing the oath. A letter writing campaign was aimed at Congressmen, Senators, the President of the United States, and our own Board of Trustees. In response to our pressure the US AID bill was changed to exempt American Colleges abroad from the requirement for a loyalty oath.
During the time of crisis, Dwight Simpson, a professor with little experience in administration, was appointed President. I had the impression that he came with the intention to keep a firm control on all facets of the operation of the College. Robert College was a complicated and difficult institution to administer, with international relationships involving the Turkish faculty, the Turkish Press, the Turkish Government, the United States AID program and its own Board of Trustees. At the end of our three-year contract, Barbara and I accepted Dr. Simpson's invitation to return for one more year after a summer in the United States. That year turned out to be somewhat of a fiasco for the College. Mr. Simpson found control slipping from his grasp, and was unable to reconcile himself to the situation. While he was attending a meeting of the Board of Trustees in New York, he was reported to have suffered a nervous breakdown. He never returned, leaving the College without firm management during a difficult period.
Students
Robert College had, besides the Engineering School, a School of Arts and Sciences
and a School of Business Administration. Business administration and engineering
were popular in Turkey. The School of Arts and Sciences was resented by some Turks
because they thought it had too much of a "western" orientation, and de-emphasized
the importance of Turkish culture. Turkish engineering students would complain, "What
do I care about Turkish history; I'm going to be an engineer." One difficulty
with this attitude was that there were few engineering jobs in Turkey. Many engineers
took non-engineering jobs, in the family business if there was one, or an administrative
job with the government or a bank.
The Turkish government encouraged students in various professions to do graduate work and obtain job experience abroad, then return to Turkey so that the country could benefit from their training. But professional Turks often stayed abroad for their own enhanced economic status. A Turkish professor, who was head of a government committee charged with stopping the drain of trained people from Turkey, complained to me that "There are more Turkish doctors in New York City than there are in Turkey." Engineering jobs available in Turkey paid less than jobs abroad. On our passage to Europe on the Constitution we had met a Turkish engineer, Orhan Berk, returning with his wife and family to Turkey. His six-year tour of duty in the United States had paid him an American engineer's salary. He and his family were returning with new possessions, including a Chevrolet convertible and fur coats. His salary as a Captain in the Turkish Navy was much smaller. When we saw them two years later, the car had been sold. He told us that he had decided to sell his wife's coat. He said, "She cried, but I knew it was for the best." Orhan was trying to line up another foreign assignment to shore up their declining assets.
Occasionally I met one of my Turkish students in surprising places. We took the Orient Express from Istanbul to Europe one summer, sharing lunches with Turkish passengers. There were many Turkish men on board, several of whom were going to Germany to work for a period of time for more pay and perquisites than they could command at home. At each border we passed, first into Bulgaria then Yugoslavia, all of us had to produce official papers, but the Turks also had to demonstrate that they had neither too little nor too much money, and that it was of an acceptable currency. One of them was threatened with ejection from the train at the Bulgarian border because he didn't have enough money. We had by this time become aware that disasters overtook poor Turkish people, inside their own country and outside, because they had essentially no security net. We collected among us enough money to cover the supposed deficiency, but our money was refused by the border officials. "He has to have his own money," so he was discharged from the train, which went on without him. At Zagreb Barbara left the train, which was parked in the station, to do some shopping. I was leaning out the window watching the various activities when I heard a shout from below my window, "Professor Thompson!" It was one of my Turkish students, on his way to a summer job in Germany, who had been taken off the train three days earlier because, it was claimed, he didn't have enough money to satisfy the regulations. All he had eaten for that period came from some Yugoslavian girls who shared their picnic with him. He didn't buy food or lodging because that would have depleted his money. He finally convinced the authorities he had the required money and was allowed back on the train. Famished, he wolfed down the remainder of our lunch as he accompanied us out of Yugoslavia, and into the relative safety of western societies which kept less close track of his financial condition.
While we were in New York City during our summer recess, a taxi came to a fast stop and I heard again, "Professor Thompson," from a Turkish student, now a taxi driver. He gave us a ride and refused to accept payment.
The Turkish Language
After 1923, when Attaturk became head of the newly formed Turkish government
which replaced the deposed Sultanate, he wanted to modernize Turkey, turning it into
a Western society. He outlawed many of the religious practices and habits of dress,
including purdah for women. In the years since Attaturk's time, religion has made
some return. Turkish politicians have curried favor with voters by building mosques
in villages. One hears the Muezzin, in his minaret, calling the faithful to prayer
five times a day. If one visits a mosque, he generally finds people prostrating themselves
before Allah in a vigorous exercise which appears to me excellent for prevention
of back troubles. Moslems are not required to come to a mosque to pray. They can
do their exercises, facing Mecca, wherever they happen to be at the required times.
The Turkish language had its origins in Mongolia. Various tribes, as they plundered their way in the general direction of what is now Turkey, left their influence and their language in bands across Russia. Before 1923, the Turkish language was written in Arabic script. Attaturk's committee changed the writing to an alphabet similar to ours. This change made ancient Turkish literature unavailable to modern Turks, because they are no longer taught to read Arabic script. For us it made possible the reading and pronouncing of Turkish words, which are now quite consistent phonetically.
We were determined to learn to speak Turkish, first taking lessons from a Turkish student in Berkeley. When we arrived in Turkey we continued to study, taking lessons from a Turkish professor at Robert College. Because its roots have little in common with those of English, Turkish doesn't come easily. We learned enough to get along in elementary discourse with shopkeepers and villagers, always with our dictionary in hand. The Turks in our community spoke excellent English. If we addressed one of them in Turkish, the response was apt to be in English, "Your Turkish is beautiful," and then they'd continue in English. We realized that we would not become proficient in Turkish conversation, and were finally satisfied to do well enough to get around in the countryside, and to do shopping.
Our difficulties with language were mitigated by the kindness and friendliness and the curiosity of Turks everywhere we went. Whenever we stopped in the street to look at a map, people would congregate around us, asking questions: where did we want to go; what languages did we speak. They'd look at the map and our dictionary with us, then insist on taking us where we wanted to go. We found we had to be careful not to abuse their hospitality. We stopped in a Turkish village in front of a grocery store where we had hoped to buy groceries, but found it closed. Some villagers tried without success to find the owner. We had noticed mulberry trees. When Barbara asked about silk we were taken by a woman inside her house to see a roomful of trays of mulberry leaves on which silkworms were feeding. Then, to our surprise, more women came into the house bringing trays of food, which was arranged on a large circular tray on the floor. They watched while we ate, sitting on the floor, all the time carrying on a conversation with the help of our dictionary, how many children we and they had, where our children were, what we were doing in Turkey. They really wanted to know, did we like Turkey, and were pleased that we did. They were delighted and delightful, but we couldn't help thinking that they probably needed the food they gave us. Typically, there were no Turkish men in the house. On our way out of the village we were invited into the tea house, where men, but no women, were congregated, and, over tea, much the same delightful conversation ensued.
The house we visited was typical of other village houses we saw. In the midst of an unadorned village, muddy or dusty depending on the weather, would be houses plain on the outside and inside. Inside they were spotlessly clean and painted in nice colors. In their houses Turkish people shed their shoes, donning instead slippers from a row kept just inside the door. The kilims (woven rugs) which people buy in this country to put on their floors are used in Turkey to adorn walls, or for seating on ledges. When we visited a village house, the owners would insist that we keep our shoes on, but I think they were pleased when we insisted on following their custom.
Many villages have a central fountain with clear pure water piped from nearby hills.
Near the village of Bandirma, on the south coast of the Marmara Sea, there are the ruins of an ancient Greek city, called Cyzicus, which Barbara and I wanted to explore. When we asked some Turkish boys who were hunting with rifles where the ruins were, they took us. Much of the site had not been excavated. With the boys we explored all sorts of passages, above and below ground, through the collapsed remnants of former splendors.
We came to the feeling that people, particularly in the villages, treated us as if we were in their protection, and they cared for us. We heard that it was considered a terrible failure of Turkish hospitality if harm came to any guest whom a Turk had accepted into his sphere of responsibility.
Public Transportation
The first year in Turkey we had no car, so that we were completely dependent
on public transportation. We did quite well. Taxies were plentiful and cheap. It
was easy in most places to rent a taxi to go to any destination, at which the driver
would wait patiently for his next instruction. Taxies were sometimes very old. In
this country some of them would qualify as valued classic cars. There they were held
together and kept running with ingenious makeshift repairs.
In Istanbul there was a transportation system based on taxies which circulated regularly on more or less fixed routes, accepting and releasing passengers. These were called "dolmush," from the same root as dolma, meaning "stuffed." Stuffed they often were. One day in downtown Istanbul we were riding in a dolmush, in the rain. Because the windshield wipers didn't work, the chauffeur drove with his head out the window in the rain. His horn didn't work. Another car pulled in front of him and he had to stop. His engine stalled and wouldn't restart. With what we had come to expect as typical Turkish acceptance of a bad situation, he turned around to his passengers, shrugged his shoulders, and said with great resignation, "(ok fena" (very bad). He got out in the rain, made an adjustment, got back in, started the engine, and we continued.
In the Turkish countryside, we would flag down a bus. If the bus was full, despite our objections, someone would get out and ride on the roof rack so we could ride inside.
Vacations from Istanbul
An important side benefit from teaching at Robert College was the combination
of rather frequent vacations which accompany an academic schedule with a location
central to Europe and the Middle East. Greek mythology and Roman history came to
life for us. The Dardanelles through which we had passed on our entry to Turkey was
the ancient Hellespont which the mythical Leander swam each night for his tragic
love affair with Hero. On a ferry ride in the Bosporus not very far from our apartment,
a fellow passenger pointed out to us rocks below the surface of the water, the "clapping
rocks" of Homeric legend which still present a danger for shipping. Heraclitus,
who taught the universality of change, lived at Ephesus, the partially restored ruins
of which are near Izmir (ancient Smyrna), about 300 miles south west of Istanbul.
At Side, on the south coast of Turkey, the Greeks had built a city and an artificial
harbor one thousand years before Christ, its prosperity based on slave trade and
piracy. Later the Romans had a prosperous city, based on trade, with a theatre seating
thousands of people, and a great aqueduct with fountains, the water for which came
from the Manavgat River (its Turkish name) via a tunnel through a mountain.
All of this is now in ruins. Turkish peasant homes in the area are often plastered with a white lime made from ancient Greek and Roman marble columns. Included in the plaster walls of many homes, for decoration, are segments of marble gargoyles or the heads of statues. The modern Turks in Side must bring in their water in trucks because local water supplies are polluted.
Egypt
We flew to Cairo from Istanbul at the end of 1964 to spend our winter vacation
in Egypt. We would have liked also to go to Israel, but with Israel stamped on our
passport it would not have been possible to enter Egypt. Turkey had managed to have
good relationships with both Israel and Egypt, but Egypt had no love for Israel.
Our hotel in Cairo had a map of the Middle East on one wall. There was no acknowledgment
on it of the existence of Israel.
What I write here is not meant as a travelogue of the wonders of ancient Egypt, but as a record of my reactions to modern Egypt during the brief time we were there. This was a time of turmoil in Egypt. Nasser had taken over control of the Country in 1954, and became President in 1956. He nationalized the Suez Canal leading to an invasion by the French and British. In 1956 the Western Powers had refused Nasser's request for help with the construction of the proposed Aswan High Dam. In 1958 Egypt and Syria formed the United Arab Republic with Nasser as President. In 1964 Russia provided the help with the High Dam which had been refused by the West. Nasser had established and was carrying out programs for land reform and economic development. Earlier in 1964 the USIS Library in Cairo had been destroyed by arson. We heard that Anti-American feeling in Egypt was running high.
After we had gone through Egyptian customs at the Cairo airport, Cynthia Nelson met us with some of her Egyptian friends who had driven to the airport in their Citroen. Cynthia was our American friend who had taught anthropology at Berkeley and was now teaching anthropology at the American University in Cairo. The Egyptian friends were Coptics, a Christian sect descended from ancient Egyptians. In the countryside, a short distance from the airport, the driver pulled off the road and stopped the car. This was our opportunity to ask questions about conditions in Egypt. We must assume that anywhere else we'd be in Cairo would be wired with Government listening devices. They told us that their family had once owned large amounts of land, including whole villages. They greatly resented the Nasser government, which in its land reform program had restricted each family to twenty five hectares, or about sixty acres. The lucky ones were those whose parents had already died when the division occurred, because then each of the children received his full allotment. If the parents were still alive, the whole family received only one allotment, which then must be divided among the children when the parents died. In answer to a question which must have sounded critical, I was told, "Don't blame us for what our government does; we don't blame you for what your's does." We were with our Egyptian friends for most of the first two days in Egypt.
A tour in the Citroen while we were being shown the Egyptian countryside proved to be a frightening experience. We blasted through little villages at one hundred kilometers per hour, with the horn blaring, as children and chickens scrambled out of our way. At one point we came to a screeching halt with a small boy just against our bumper, but unbelievably not hurt.
After the ride we were taken on a walk through an area of small shops in Cairo where both useful and decorative items were manufactured. In one shop small boys, perhaps twelve years old were inlaying gold in very intricate detail into touristic Egyptian vases. Our hosts told us that the useful work life of these boys was quite short, because their eyes gave out and they could no longer follow the fine detail.
In the evening all of us went to a fancy restaurant in downtown Cairo. Our salad came and we ate it. Then nothing else happened except that our Egyptian hosts complained about the slow service. While we were waiting the table next to us filled with people, who were almost immediately served. This being a great affront to our hosts and to us as their guests, our whole party stormed out of the restaurant to the sidewalk, Barbara and I in tow, followed by the restaurant personnel, who were demanding to be paid for the salad. A crowd of passers-by was collecting to witness the fracas, which had become quite loud. With all the shouting in Egyptian, which I didn't understand, I was beginning to fear for our safety as Americans in a somewhat hostile country being escorted by Egyptians hostile to their own country. I managed to find out how much the salad cost and paid for it. I remember the cost as being quite insignificant in terms of the fuss which was made over it. The restaurant people all disappeared inside, and, to my immense relief, the crowd dispersed. Our hosts chastised me for caving in to the pressure from the restaurant personnel. I realize I can't remember where we went next to eat.
The following day our friends took us to the racetrack. They owned an excellent horse, which was in one race. Our hosts placed their bets on that horse, and encouraged us to do likewise. Barbara, with their help, placed her bet. I was too prudish to follow suit. We took our seats, the starting gun went off, and the spectators came to their feet, shouting. To the amusement of all but those in our party, and to the amazement and chagrin of our friends, our horse turned and ran the wrong way. By the time our jockey had righted his direction, he was hopelessly behind. His arrival at the finish line was a complete anticlimax.
That evening we were taken to dinner at the mansion of our hosts. As we approached, they explained that they had once lived in the whole house, but now it was divided by government order into two parts, the division being at the grand central staircase. Military people, part of Nasser's government, lived in the right-hand part. There were many guests besides us at the dinner party, all drinking cocktails and talking and eating hors d'oeuvres. Midnight approached and dinner still had not been served. I was beginning to wonder whether I'd starve before I floated out of consciousness on all I had drunk. At midnight food appeared. The conversation stopped and everyone fell purposefully to eating. The meal finished, everyone rose from the table, shook hands, and all of us guests said goodbye and left.
For the rest of our time in Egypt we were mostly on our own. We wandered about in Cairo with an Egyptian guide, visiting ancient funerary boats in pits under the street. While we were in one such pit some children threw stones down at us until our guide drove them off. Several friends from Robert College were in Cairo at the same time we were although we didn't see them. We heard that they had been rescued by Egyptian people from a crowd of youths who had thrown stones at them.
Sometimes as we walked along the street, we heard people behind us talking in very guttural tones. Their conversations were interspersed with the only word we recognized, "Amerikan." When we were about to decide that everyone in Cairo hated us, a small boy approached, speaking in accented English. When we responded, he introduced us to his mother, who spoke no English, but was wreathed in smiles of pride in her son who did. We conversed affably, and parted after handshakes all around.
At one point in our wanderings we found ourselves out of the tourist area, in a section where the sewers ran along the streets, with children playing in them. Out of one manhole with its cover missing was spouting at regular intervals, like a miniature Old Faithful, the material which was excess above the capacity of the sewer system. Feeling unsafe, we went back to the tourist area. We entered a small shop to look at some artifacts, and found that we could communicate to a limited extent with the proprietor, an Armenian refugee from Turkey, who spoke Turkish.
We noticed that many of the Egyptians with whom we had money transactions made mistakes in what they charged us, in their favor. One day we engaged a taxi driver to take us to the Pyramids at Giza, at a prearranged price. Part way there he stopped, refusing to go farther unless we paid him more money. We refused and left his taxi, wondering what to do next. Then he changed his mind and said he'd take us. We took a picture of his taxi, including the license plate, thinking we might need to identify him later, and got back in. At the end of our trip we paid him the agreed upon amount and went to explore the Pyramids, inside and out. The Pyramids are for me an impressive monument to the ability of ancient peoples to build massive structures with low-energy technology, based on simple concepts which apparently included the inclined plane and the sacrifice of vast numbers of human lives. The Sphinx is also a monument to the superimposed folly of modern man, its nose having been shot off by one of Napoleon's cannon.
When we finished sightseeing at the Pyramids we found ourselves in trouble in our efforts to return to Cairo. Many street cars went by but they were already full, with people hanging on to all possible points, some obviously at the risk of their lives. The situation was so out of control that conductors weren't even trying to collect fares. The only taxis in evidence were already taken. After a long time of waiting we found some people willing to share their reserved taxi.
Everywhere we went among the ancient ruins of Egypt we were impressed with the magnificent scale of these former undertakings, the Pyramids, Luxor, Karnak, the Valley of the Kings, with great columns and rows of statues all dedicated to former rulers. One could conjecture that the ancient ancestors of our Coptic hosts were more comfortable than they would have been under Nasser's regime. But one of our taxi driver enthused about how much better conditions were for the working man under Nasser. In ancient Egypt I might have been one member of a crew pushing stones up a ramp until I dropped dead from the exertion demanded, but not a member of the ruling class using my delegated power to please my Pharoah. In the new regime, I might hope to be a taxi driver.
We visited the High Dam at Aswan, that not yet finished Russian marvel of construction. Egyptian workers, holding the hems of their traditional long galibeyas (ankle-length dresses) in their teeth to keep them out of the way of their feet as they climbed high ladders, represented a contrast to the modern dam and the mechanical equipment being used to build it.
On our return to Cairo we visited an American friend, Lenni Kangas, who was then working in Cairo with the Ford Foundation. When we mentioned the burning of the USIS Library, Lenni took us to his office window, from which the burned out building was visible. Lenni's task was to help the Egyptian government slow down the growth of population from the present rate, expected to wipe out all anticipated benefits from the new High Dam as rapidly as they could be realized. A past attempt to educate Egyptian women on birth control methods had been defeated by midwives, who feared for their livelihood and convinced the women that harm would come to them in the birth-control clinics. A new government program included paying the midwives for help in educating the women. At holiday gatherings the government was giving free birth control devices.
Our room in the hotel had no heat, and was cold. Barbara caught a cold which turned into a urinary infection. One of our Coptic hosts, a European trained doctor, diagnosed her symptoms and provided the needed medicine.
When we checked out of the hotel, the clerk wrote some figures on a scrap of paper and told us the amount. When I asked, he reluctantly handed me the paper on which I found an error in his favor. Had I not checked him he would have written in the hotel books, I believe, the correct amount, and would have put the difference into his pocket.
Rhodes
For another vacation, we decided, on the spur of the moment, to go to Crete
to see the remains of the Minoan civilization, which dates from as early as 3000
B C. We drove to Marmaris, on the south coast of Turkey, and from there, along with
some other tourists, chartered a Turkish fishing boat to the island of Rhodes. Fortunately,
Barbara provided me with a pill to prevent seasickness, because the passage was rough.
The boat would rise to the crest of a wave, then come down into the trough with a
crash. Most of the passengers were seasick in the hold, a terrible way to spend part
of a vacation. By contrast one of our Turkish sailors was stretched out on the deck,
with his head against the side of the cabin and his feet braced against the rail,
asleep with the smile of a pleasant dream.
When we arrived at Rhodes, we learned that the storm was violent and widespread and that the Greek ship from Crete had not come. We took a hotel room, then explored the ancient ruins on Rhodes. The next morning we took our belongings down to the dock and waited for our ship to appear. It never did. We returned to the hotel, and the next day repeated the routine. We ran out of time. Fortunately for our plans, no ocean was too rough for Turkish fishermen. Fortified with a seasickness pill for me, we crossed to Marmaris, and drove back to Istanbul.
Side
Sometimes in the winter, the rain and chilly weather, not too different from
that in some of our east coast cities, made a vacation in the sun enticing. We spent
one winter vacation at Side (pronounced "See-deh") on the Mediterranean
south coast of Turkey, where groves of oranges and bananas back against snow covered
mountains. We flew from Istanbul to Antalya, then took a taxi for the thirty miles
to Side. We arrived in perfect weather, with the sun shining just as our friends
had assured us it would.
The next morning it was raining, and had turned cold. It continued to rain for the next few days and stayed cold. Our hosts coped with the unprecedented conditions, in the absence of central heat, by turning on a kerosene stove. The stove smoked. When the guests could take the smoke no longer the doors and windows were opened. The room then became cold and damp. The stove was turned on until the coughing again became too bad, and the cyclic process repeated. Meantime, the rain had become a deluge. I began to feel sick from the smoke and we tried going outdoors. We became cold and wet and soon thereafter I went to bed in our cold room with a urinary infection which became rapidly worse. There was no medical help available in Side. We canceled the rest of our vacation, and hired a taxi to take us the thirty miles to Antalya to get medical help, and a flight to Istanbul.
We rode in our taxi perhaps two miles west toward Antalya, but stopped where the road was flooded as far as we could see. We agreed with the taxi owner that he shouldn't attempt to go through. Along came a tremendous trailer truck. Barbara explained to the driver and his helper that her husband was sick, and they, with typical Turkish hospitality, took us in with them in their large cab. There was a bus load of people following us. As we went along the flood became worse, a raging torrent cascading off the lower side of the road in a waterfall whose bottom we couldn't see. Then we saw a Volkswagen bus tipped onto its side off the road, with no sign of people around it. We began to notice where pieces of the lower side of the road had fallen away, and, to make matters worse, our driver couldn't see where the flooded upper edge of the road was either. Our driver stopped the truck, and his helper took off his shoes, stripped down to his pajama-like underwear, and stepped out into the flood. He found he could stand in it. Then he ran ahead of us checking the position of the upper edge of the road to guide the truck. The flood went on for perhaps two miles. When finally we came to its end, we stopped with the bus behind us. Everyone got out. Our driver bent over, put his head in his hands and exclaimed with obvious feeling, "Allah! Allah! Allah!" We knew that we were worried, and now we knew how worried our self-possessed driver had been.
In appreciation of our truck driver's helper, who had brought us through the flood, the bus passengers took up a collection of money. We heard later that the bus was the last vehicle that came through the flood. A long section of the road was washed out in the worst flood ever on the south coast of Turkey.
We flew back to Istanbul over the snow covered Anatolian plateau. Below us were villages which appeared to be completely isolated from the outside world. From the air no roads, or even tracks, could be seen leading from the villages.
The next winter vacation we took in London, on the supposition that if the weather was bad it wouldn't be the first time and they'd probably know what to do. I remember being gratefully warm and comfortable, with no kerosene smoke.
London
At the end of his junior year at Amherst College in 1962, our son, Bruce,
was planning a trip to Europe, and wanted to look up family connections. All personal
contact with relatives in Scotland had been lost, but my father's sister, my Aunt
Edie, knew by correspondence her second cousins, George and Bella (Isabella) Brodie,
brother and sister, who lived in London. Their mother, Helen (also called Ellen,
or Nellie) had been the sister of my grandmother, Elspeth (Elsie) Black Pirie. Before
his retirement, George had worked for the Rover Company. Neither George nor Bella
had married. Bruce told us he had an enjoyable time with them, including a visit
to George's pub.
In 1965 Barbara and I visited George and Bella on our trip from Istanbul. George took us to his pub. The atmosphere was so relaxed and sociable that we almost forgot about a play for which we had left our tickets at our hotel. Because there wasn't time to get the tickets we went directly to the theatre, where we explained our situation to the woman at the ticket booth, expecting to be turned away. To our surprise and pleasure she left her ticket booth and personally escorted us to empty seats, remarking that we could bring in the tickets the next day. When we did bring the tickets to her, she exclaimed, "Well, bless you!"
Knowledge of the Thompson ancestors increased when we met George and Bella Brodie. George told us a story. My grandfather, Alexander Thompson, had come to the United States from Scotland as a single man to work as a stone cutter in the granite quarries, first at Vinalhaven, Maine, then at Westerly Rhode Island. When he had saved enough money, he sent for Elsie Pirie to come to the United States to marry him. Elsie's brother, William Pirie, was already in the United States. Alexander and William went to the boat to meet Elsie, but they arrived late. They found Elsie, already arrived and in tears, sure she had been abandoned in this place so far from her familiar Blackburn.
During our conversations I was struck that George corresponded with relatives in England, New Zealand, Canada, and the United States, but knew no one in Scotland. In answer to my question he said, "Well, you know people weren't treated very well in Scotland at that time, and none of the family wanted to stay there." My reading has indicated that George's description was accurate about the treatment of ordinary people in Scotland.
In 1967, on our way back to the United States, Barbara and I visited again with George and Bella in London. Both were by then quite elderly and Bella died later in that year. We corresponded occasionally with Cousin George until his death on February 24, 1976. We also corresponded with his niece, Barbara , daughter of Helen. Barbara lives in Bournemouth, a seaside resort in south-central England, on the English Channel. In 1994 Barbara s sister, Zoe, who lives in Hertford, north of London, visited Millie and me in Oregon. On our 1995 trip to England, Millie and I visited Zoe at her home.
The Peugeot and Eastern Europe
At the end of our first year in Turkey we bought a Peugeot at the factory
in Paris. Because there were not good facilities in Turkey for servicing cars, our
Peugeot was required to run between trips to Europe with no attention besides being
refueled Once, traveling with Bruce while he was visiting us, I drove after dark,
a foolish act in Turkey. Turkish truck drivers, making repairs to their vehicles,
block the wheels with rocks. On departure they leave the rocks in the road. Visibility
at night was made difficult by dust thrown up by moving vehicles. I hit a rock so
hard I blew out a tire and bent the wheel. We had no spare tire until we took our
next trip out of Turkey.
Having a car changed the style of our vacations. Going to Europe we drove through East European countries, especially Yugoslavia and Bulgaria. Yugoslavia was encouraging tourism, and seemed relatively free of Communist domination and the distrust that accompanied it. One concern in Yugoslavia was the great distance between gas stations, over a hundred miles on one stretch of the autoput. In Bulgaria, border crossing created problems for many people, particularly for Bulgarians who were subjected to harassment by their own government. Our problems were relatively minor. Coming in we were required to buy Bulgarian money, which we couldn't sell back when we left. At the exit boundary we'd try to find desirable items, from carved boxes to the powerful plum liquor, Slivovitz. On one such border crossing we met a British couple who gave Barbara some of their Bulgarian money toward buying a box she wanted. By accepting their offer Barbara would be helping to ease somewhat their necessity to drink up their Bulgarian money in Slivovitz.
We also tried East Germany, our most unpleasant and threatening crossing being at "Checkpoint Charlie," through the Berlin Wall into East Berlin. Here, under machine gun cover from various places in the Wall, we watched our passports disappear behind a bullet proof window, as we were required to leave our car and answer questions as to why we wanted to go into East Berlin. Meanwhile, we watched cars leaving East Berlin toward West Berlin being inspected by means of mirrors rolled beneath the cars, rods rammed into gas tanks with the evident purpose of killing anyone who might be hiding inside attempting by this method to escape from behind the Iron Curtain.
In Czechoslovakia we stayed in a tourist camp which was locked at night. Some young men collected outside the fence to shout insults at us as Westerners, identified as such by our French automobile. Czechoslovakian campers attempted to persuade the shouters to desist, then reassured us that not everyone in Czechoslovakia disliked Westerners.
Romania had very recently made the decision to promote tourism. We were greeted at the western border by a Hostess whose job was to make us feel welcome. When I asked why some French tourists seemed to be unhappy at the treatment they were getting, I was wondering whether I wanted to enter her country. She assured me that we wouldn't have any such trouble, because, unlike them, we weren't trying to take gifts across the country for relatives on the other side.
Our most pleasant experience in Romania occurred in Ploeste, in the southern mountains at a play area for pre-Communist aristocrats which had now been converted to a workers' paradise. The town was so full of visitors that we were unable to find accommodations for the night until we appealed to the minister of tourism. As he led us through a great lodge, he pushed against a large door, which turned out for some reason to be unfastened from its hinges. To his and our consternation, the door came crashing down into an enormous room full of people eating at a banquet. Fortunately it didn't hit anyone. Our host made his embarrassed apologies amid laughter. We were taken to a Romanian home to spend the night. Our room had in one corner the most elegant built-in tiled stove I have seen, with outdoor access for firing it with wood. We were comfortable in its radiation despite the cold outside. We regretted that the language barrier kept us from becoming acquainted with our hosts.
When we reached the border on our way back to Istanbul, we found that news of the welcome to tourists had not arrived there. The Romanian border guard insisted that we did not have a required official paper and that he could not let us pass into Bulgaria. Barbara argued with him in several languages, but not Roumanian. French worked best, but not well. With our car parked in the middle of his deserted roadway we took out our cooking gear and were making tea. The guard came out again and Barbara resumed her argument with him. For some reason, with my poor French, I realized that he was telling us we could go, and Barbara wasn't hearing him. We got into the car, Barbara said farewell to the guard, and "Vive la Romania," and off we went.
Our Sons in Turkey
For two years we had the pleasure of seeing Michael occasionally while he served in the Peace Corps in Bandirma, Turkey, across the Marmara Sea from Istanbul. Both he and Steven were in Robert College for a year while we were there. Bruce visited us for a short time after he returned from two years in the Peace Corps in La Paz, Bolivia.
Meantime, Back in the U.S.A.
In addition to the spirit of adventure with which we went to Turkey, I felt at
that time little professional motive to stay in the United States. My interests had
for some time been directed to the study of nuclear reactors for the generation of
electricity. I was convinced that the Atomic Energy Commission and its contractors
were committed to a short range interest in promoting the business, and not in solving
problems which appeared. During our time in Turkey I became convinced that something
more was sick with my Country, and that the atomic energy business was only one aspect
of a greater whole.
One evening, about two months after we had arrived in Turkey, we were attending a piano recital at the College. Vice-President Brainerd came on stage, interrupting the recital to announce to a shocked audience of Turks and Americans and other nationals who made up Robert College that President Kennedy had been shot. After the recital there was a party which had been planned beforehand. Many people were crying, particularly Turkish women. Reports of what had happened in Dallas were incomplete, and everyone hoped that there had been a mistake. For several days, wherever members of the college community congregated, a Turkish woman would remember and start silently to cry, and others would join in. For everyone, the assassination had taken away something of great value, and for the Turks this seemed to be even worse than for the rest of us.
The United States had started messing around in Vietnam, and in 1964 Barbara and I cast absentee ballots for Lyndon Johnson who promised that if he were elected our boys would not be sent to Vietnam. He defrauded us with his invention of the Tonkin Gulf incident, supported by all our congressmen and all but two senators, Wayne Morse of Oregon and Earnest Gruening of Alaska.
We learned about what was happening in the United States mostly from the European edition of the Harald Tribune. We heard about racial troubles, and it appeared that these were corroding the viability of our country as a civilized entity. We both decided that when we returned home we wanted to help our Country reconcile itself with black people in their struggle for full citizenship. I applied for and received an assignment as Professor of Mechanical Engineering at Howard University. In view of the corrosion of inner cities we'd heard about, we decided we would live in the center city of Washington, and do what we could to help reverse the deterioration.
Turkey Today
In the summer of 1996, Millie and I went to Turkey as part of a tour of seven
people. I found Turkey changed. Istanbul is still a city of many cobblestone streets,
by now with eight-lane highways, sometimes choked with ten lines of traffic at a
standstill, with horns being blown in frustration. Two modern bridges provide fast
travel to the Asiatic side of the city as an alternative to the ferry boats. Our
Turkish guide informed us that Istanbul was no longer the safe city which one could
explore at night without danger. A person living in a Turkish village knows, and
is known by, all his neighbors. Such a person is responsible for living according
to his established identity. Because of increasing population pressure, many villagers
have moved into cities where they know no one and no one knows them. These migrants
have no way to make a living, and have lost their village identity. They become a
danger to tourists and to the people among whom the live. On a recent trip to Turkey
with his family, Mike was roughed up and robbed of his wallet on a busy Istanbul
street.
Thirty years ago, when I lived in Turkey, one bought at the official rate nine Turkish lira for one dollar. On our recent trip one bought 78,000 lira for one dollar, and inflation continues. Turks must spend any money they receive immediately to avoid inflation losses. All over Turkey we drove past partly finished buildings, with reinforcing rods ready for the next section to be added when more money became available. We wondered whether there would be enough people ready to occupy all the buildings, if they were finished before the system broke down.
My Life
in the Twentieth CenturyBy A. Stanley Thompson
Introduction
Chapter 1 - A place in Time
Chapter 2 - Education
Chapter 3 - Engineering
Chapter 4 - Where East Meets West
Chapter 5 - Washington, DC
Chapter 6 - Cabinhill Tree Farm
Chapter 7 - Eugene
Chapter 8 - Retrospective