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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2004 February 21
Malcolm, Vincent and Michelle
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
First of three parts
Call me a sponge, but when I look back at my high school years in Sacramento in the late 1970s, I am amazed at the number of lessons I learned from my classmates.
I had just arrived from Tehran. My new environment looked very segregated; milk producers, coffee growers, and sugar planters rarely came together to produce a smooth cappuccino.
The early Malcolm X would have found this a haven for recruitment.
"The only thing I like integrated is my coffee," he proclaimed.
The reformed Malcolm, influenced by his trip to Mecca would have been annoyed with our school:
"Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by people of all colors and races . . . There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blondes to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never could exist between the white and non-white."
How ironic that at the time, one had to travel east to rediscover hope in brotherhood of mankind. I wish he had also made such a statement in support of women of the region, who had (and have) their basic rights trampled on in the name of tradition, and one in particular for the political dissidents who had (and have) their toes chopped off on a regular basis.
After reading about the evolution of American society, I was able to realize I had been living in a time warp. Race relations in our school were reminiscent of the tail end of the 1950s, and pop culture was a cross between the 1960s and the 1970s. Dress codes were split along the ingredients of a cappuccino. Tan suede shoes, white T-shirts and bell bottom Levi's with zippers were worn by one group, while the black version of the shoes, baggy pants and large checkered pattern dress shirts were worn by the rest.
I kept my outfits ambiguous, the Eurotrash equivalent of those days. I stayed away from bell-bottoms, suede shoes, large dress shirts, and white T-shirts. I made sure my Levi's were button fly; the now retro-classic "Cortez" Nike sneakers suited me just fine. No thanks, I would not sell my soul to one of the big three "gangs" in return for acceptance by one third of the population.
I'd rather be prancing around like Nadia Comaneci on the thin walls separating the compartments of milk, sugar and coffee than be swimming awkwardly in one ingredient without access to the rest.
One of my first friends was named Vincent. He wanted to become a hair stylist and room with his two girl friends after graduation, á la "Three's Company." On one of our routine walks down the damp and open-air hallways, Vincent asked me about my choice of career.
As I inadvertently stepped on a couple of earth warms which had made their way from grass to concrete after the heavy rain, I told him I wanted to become an aeronautical engineer. I had a love for American fighter jets, and also took pride, by ethnic association, in Soviet MIGs (engineered by the Migoyan brothers).
As soon as Vincent learned about my future, he asked me whether I would be happy designing devices aimed at killing people. A simplistic thought, but one that truly affected me. I had never considered that; I was just interested in their aesthetic beauty and technological prowess.
I eventually abandoned the idea in favor of industrial engineering, a major dedicated to making the proletarians efficient and productive at the work place. Lesson No 1: Ground level can change drastically after heavy rain; be aware of what you step into. Lesson No 2: Friends can influence your worldview.
I met Michelle in art class during my senior year. She was attractive, blonde, and artistic. Her green eyes were certainly a plus in my book. Her black suede shoes stood out as unconventional.
As the senior year was coming to a close, I finally found enough courage to approach her and ask her about this apparent contradiction. She confided in me about the issue; not long ago, she socialized with everyone, until a third of her friends approached her with an ultimatum: "Either you hang out with us or 'them.' "
I could tell Michelle was defiant, but felt deeply hurt and betrayed. As a sign of protest, she chose to wear black suede shoes from that day on. She had let her friends push her into becoming what she had resisted all along.
She ended up losing a third of her friends. Lesson No 1: If you see a classmate who's capable of flipping your cookies, don't wait until the last day of school before you approach her. Lesson No 2: Intolerance hurts individuals. Lesson No 3: Intolerance consolidates divisions within society.
In two weeks: Find out how losing watches can lead to reflections within, as well as how bluffing can help one avoid extinction.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
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