When my husband’s Time magazine arrived with its headline, “240 Reasons to Celebrate Independence Day,” I was reminded of my most memorable Fourth of July, the one 40 years ago, our country’s bicentennial. But unlike most Americans around in 1976, no fireworks or sparklers featured in my bicentennial celebration.
On July 4, 1976, I was living in Tehran, Iran.
Earlier that week, Ed, the director of the English teaching program I worked for, received a phone call from the US embassy advising him that Americans in Iran should keep a low profile on Independence Day. The embassy suggested that we not gather in a public place or take part in any showy displays.
On the morning of July 4, a group of us headed out of town, in the direction of Karaj Dam. Very few of us had cars; so six or more crowded into the few we had, including one old enough to be classified an antique, the car I chose. Fortunately, Ed assured us that he wouldn’t leave us behind if anything happened to the car. As the director of the program, Ed had been assigned a car and driver, a shiny new car and an accomplished and very competent driver.
We couldn’t resist testing Ed. A few miles out of town, our driver, Dick, pulled over to the side of the road, and we waited. Within ten minutes, we saw Ed’s car coming back on the other side of the road. Dick pulled back onto the road, revving up to top speed (about 50 mph) as quickly as possible with a car full of laughing colleagues.
Ed’s driver caught up with and passed us, and we all waved and smiled, satisfied that we had proved Ed meant what he said, and that we could also have some fun along the hour-long drive.
Like the children in the story of the boy who cried wolf, we just had to try the same the same gag. Again, we saw Ed’s car return, and again, Dick accelerated onto the road, speeding ahead until Ed’s driver caught up with us and zoomed ahead.
Also like the story of the boy who cried wolf, something did go wrong. Dick’s car slowed, in spite of the pressure he kept on the accelerator. It continued to slow. Dick pulled the car over to the side of the road, got out, and popped the hood open. The rest of us in the car speculated whether Ed would return a third time, or would he decide, like the townspeople in the fable, that we were just playing around.
Ed and those with him were better people than fable villagers. They returned a third time. Someone fixed whatever caused the problem. And we continued on our way to a picnic area beside a stream near Karaj Dam.
No fireworks. No sparklers. But plenty of celebration, surrounded by good friends as well as some new ones.
That warning from the embassy foreshadowed much of the rest of my life. Seven years later I joined the US Foreign Service where preparations for Independence Day celebrations took up a lot of my time for many years to come. Sometimes I was even responsible for making warning message calls.
Happy Fourth of July on this, our country’s 240th year of independence.
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