It’s been almost 40 years since I met British diplomat
Gordon Pirie and his wife, Maria, at the coffee shop at the Intercontinental
Hotel in Tehran.
Iranian militants had just taken American diplomats hostage
in what would be become an ordeal of 444 days.
As a reporter for
Newsweek, I was trying to figure out what was going on. Gordon provided me
with important insights into what was happening.
Unbeknownst to me and the rest of the world until two
decades later, Gordon played an important role in saving a number of American
hostages who had managed to escape the takeover of the U.S. embassy.
The Times of
London provided an account of his derring-do to correct the errors of Argo, a
2013 movie about the hostage crisis that gained critical acclaim but had little
to do with the facts.
Gordon and a colleague, Martin Williams, learned that the
diplomats had holed up in the southeast part of Tehran.
The two men drove around and made contact with five fugitive
diplomats. A sixth found his way to the Swedish embassy and joined them in
hiding 10 days later.
Gordon and Williams were meant to take the Americans back to the
British embassy, but as it was occupied, that was out of the question. They
decided to go instead to Williams’s home in the British compound in the northern
suburbs.
The Americans’ relief was palpable when they made it to the
relative safety of the compound, where Maria, who is Italian, cooked up pasta.
Eventually, the Americans went to the home of Canadian
Ambassador Ken Taylor and were spirited out of the country on January 28, 1980, bluffing
their way through passport control at the airport in Tehran as Canadians from a
film crew created by the CIA for their escape.
Just as the CIA’s role in springing the Americans was not
declassified until 1997, so the British decided to keep quiet fear of further
inflaming relations with the Iranian regime.
Over the years, my wife Elizabeth and I spent many hours with
the Piries, who moved across the street from us in Beirut and down the street
from us in Rome.
We often regaled one another with memories of how Gordon, who
was fluent in Farsi and several other languages, helped us bargain with Persian
carpet sellers to get the best price possible.
In Rome, our apartment looked into the love nest of the Italian
finance minister, who brought numerous young ladies there for his extramarital
affairs. We’d turned off the lights and peered from behind the curtains to see
what new woman he’d decided to wine and dine. We justified our Peeping-Tom
approach as research into Italian politics!
Last year, Gordon, who was in his 80s, ran into the inevitable
problems of getting older. I was able to visit him, and it was as if we hadn’t
spent a day apart from one another.
Sadly, Gordon died a few weeks ago. He was a tribute to his work
as a diplomat throughout the world. More important for me, he was a dear friend
who will sorely missed.