LITMIR.BIZ

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longer afforded peace or the opportunity for quiet reflection. And when the stately drone of Latin disappeared, the element of mystery was diminished. I knew the new generation would accept these new forms, never miss the old days, never even know about them. Confession wasn’t what it used to be either, the boxes shuttered and replaced by face-to-face encounters with a priest or group absolution following a “penitential service.” Uneasy with this innovation, my solution was to partake less frequently. And when was the last time I prayed the rosary, the old friend that helped me through Vietnam? Where was mine, even?

      Sin wasn’t what it used to be, but that I counted an improvement. A new emphasis on conscience, doing right by the people who matter – family, neighbor. Sitting in the bench one Sunday, thinking that nobody talked about Hell any more, I wondered how Father Ronan had come through the changes. I should get hold of him, reconnect. Father Trần, too. What I got myself into wasn’t their fault.

      From time to time I reflected on the state of my old mainstays. True, John XXIII had spoken out against the war. I should have paid him more attention, but so should the American bishops. But for them the lure of patriotism and politics was too strong, and they lagged behind even Martin Luther King. Why was that? And why do I say “even?” If I’ve learned anything, it is that Catholics have no monopoly on truth or virtue or courage. There had been Catholics against the war – I’ve mentioned James Miller, the Dorothy Day group, the Berrigans – but the mainstream relegated them to the fringe, to the same league as pinko agitators, certainly nobody a Cardinal Spellman would embrace. And now, such wholesale changes in the life of the Church.

      It still hung on, but this icon was teetering. Church attendance was down, priests and nuns leaving the ministry in droves. A lot of older Catholics were upset and confused. One elderly woman I greeted on Sundays confided, “I don’t feel holy any more. Am I still a Catholic?” she asked me, “I feel more a Protestant all the time.” Kinder and gentler today’s God might be, but fear had been a more salutary part of the mix than the reformers credited. Folk songs and happy talk aren’t enough. The new Pope would visit New York in the fall. I had no desire to add to the Yankee Stadium crowd and thought perhaps I could find a more personal way to meet him. I’d talk with our Religion Editor, Gabriel Griffin (that’s right, Gabriel!), see if he had an idea how.

      As for America the invincible, our confidence was in tatters and my automatic patriotism a thing of the past. Americans wondered whether they could ever again trust their leaders, but now at least, Carter gave us a glimmer of hope. Though not always consistent or effective, having a decent and forthright President meant a lot. Whether enough remained to be seen.

      My personal darkness was mostly behind me, though occasionally I caught a glimpse. Sudden noises still made me start. Whenever I filled the car, the smell of gas put me in mind of Firebase Tango. I couldn’t pass a panhandler without giving him something, especially if he had a Vietnam Vet sign. And of course Mr. Stumpy was a constant presence, though we had long since made our peace. When I thought of Vietnam, it was more the moral questions. My answer – and it is no defense – I had been under the sway of the patriotism that had shaped me. Even my college immersion in moral inquiry wasn’t enough to loosen its grip. Only later, when my eyes adapted to the dark realities, did I see patriotism for the false prophet it is.

      As for my work, I didn’t like being defined as a business expert, yet there I was, focusing on big money issues. Thank God for the politics and the foreign policy, the fascinating people and places, but at bottom it was about the money. Also troublesome, as our lives went forward, I had come to see how different Diane and I were. Financial games and status were as captivating to her as they were turn-offs to me. Not long after our big production, Fred mentioned the top brass was interested in grooming me for an editor’s job. Tom O’Connor also told me so at the Christmas party after we’d had a couple too many. No thanks, I told them, I don’t need the headaches. The field is where I belong, plus an opinion piece from time to time. I had to laugh – the Army thought I was officer material, but that suit didn’t fit either.

      INSANITY WILL ALWAYS BE WITH US. As the year drew to a close a freighter two weeks at sea carrying 2,500 Southeast Asian refugees was refused entry by Malaysia. We and the Times gave the story a big play. France, Canada and the U.S. agreed to resettle the passengers and the ship was allowed to dock. And the refugees kept coming. I was gratified to see Church leaders make these new arrivals welcome. Too late to cry over the mess we made but at least we were helping to clean it up.

      Less than two weeks later, nine hundred members of a California cult and its leader, the Reverend Jim Jones, committed “revolutionary suicide” by drinking Kool Aid spiked with cyanide. A few days before, a delegation led by Congressman Leo Ryan along with reporters and television crews, arrived in “Jonestown,” Guyana. After visits and interviews, as they and several defectors were about to depart, Temple stalwarts opened fire. Six people including Ryan and an NBC reporter were killed, nine wounded. Panicked, Jones assembled his followers around a vat of poisoned Kool-Aid and encouraged everyone to drink. If you can believe it, mothers used syringes to squirt the liquid into their own babies’ mouths. Jones was found with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Another field day for the media.

      FINALLY, IRAN. With Khomeni-inspired turmoil cresting, two weeks into the new year the Shah left his country, saying “I am feeling tired and need a rest.” He would never return. The country went crazy, Khomeni followers filling the streets, waving pictures of the Ayatollah. Headlines proclaimed THE SHAH IS GONE. Welcomed by Sadat, Egypt would be the Shah’s first stop, but he would wander the rest of his days and die a pariah.

      Iran’s oil industry had basically shut down. I collaborated on front-page stories as the price of oil shot up. Talking with Hamid, he said Khomeini’s talk about killing foreigners is a bit much, “but the fact is, they won’t want to stay. The secularists will be no match for him. His followers are too numerous and, Paul, they are rabid. As for the great mass of people, they blow one way then the other. They are fed up with the Shah and will welcome a change, but they have no idea what they’re getting into.” There was a pause on the phone. “Times like this I praise Allah that I am not in your business. I get up, write six hours, meet friends at a café, talk, have dinner, go home, read, go to bed. Unlike you, I do not worry about the world’s problems. And my work goes well... oh, did I tell you? Warner Brothers have optioned The One-Eyed King.”

      “That’s fantastic! I hope they did well by you.”

      “I have no complaints, but my hope is they actually make the film. Optioning does not guarantee that, I’ve learned to my sorrow.”

      “How are your Arabic stories coming along?”

      “Very well, in fact I am including some poems too. The Arabic language cries out for poetry and of course, Persian poets are among the world’s finest, rivaling even Shakespeare.”

      On February 1, a Thursday, we led with a banner headline:

      KHOMEINI RETURNS

      HUGE TEHRAN WELCOME

      TELLS FOREIGNERS TO LEAVE OR ELSE

      Our man in Iran, Ray Jessup, reported from Tehran’s Mehrabad Airport as the turbaned, bearded 78-year old religious leader made his way through the city in a triumphant motorcade. The crowd was put at six million. Shapour Bakhtiar, leader of the three-week old provisional government, angrily denounced demands that he step aside, but Khomeini stood firm. “I shall kick their teeth in. I appoint the government by support of this nation.”

      We reported that the State Department was taking his warning seriously and was beginning to evacuate dependents and non-essential personnel. Within ten days Khomeini had appointed his own prime minister, armories were seized and the military withdrew its support from Bakhtiar, whose government promptly collapsed. By the end of March a nationwide referendum passed with ninety-eight percent supporting an Islamic Republic. That night I found a succinct message from Hamid on my answering machine.

      “Told you so.”

      SETTING ASIDE THOUGHTS OF SEEING TEHRAN any time soon, I refocused on the oil beat. Following our success, Fred had expanded my territory to energy issues

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