If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.
—Nelson Mandela, South African statesman
I was taken by surprise one day by a call from one of my career counselor colleagues, Jack Tuohey: “Harriet, how is your Greek?” And, without giving me time to respond, he added, “You are going to Greece.” He was serious. The assignments panel had selected me to succeed Peter Synodis in Athens as cultural affairs officer, also referred to as cultural attaché or CAO. A few months after my meeting with Jim Hackett, Synodis had moved from the cultural attaché job in Athens to the press attaché job, a post he had held in other countries. (Synodis died in September 2011.) I guess none of my career counselor colleagues dared inform me that I was being considered in case the committee did not approve the assignment.
Soon I was off to the Foreign Service Institute for a year of Greek-language training with five other students. Once again, I was the only African American in the class. Two of the students constantly made light of the training and did not appear serious about learning Greek. USIA was very strict when it came to language training. We were not allowed language waivers to go to a language-designated post. I was soberly aware I had to get the coveted 3 speaking and 3 reading proficiency levels. The scale is 1 to 5, with 3 considered the minimum level required to do the job in that language and 5 considered the same fluency as a highly educated native speaker. The language itself was difficult, and an added task was to master a different alphabet. The senior Greek teacher, Takis Sapountsis, said to me, “We want you to do well,” then patted me on my shoulder. I bristled. He may not have known it, but from his body language and tone of voice, I sensed he was patronizing me. That was all that I needed to excel. From that day I was determined to pass my Greek examination. I was forty-two years old, and the synapses in my brain did not work as swiftly as they did when I was twenty-one. Yet I passed the Greek exam and earned the 3/3 level of reading, writing, and comprehending Greek. I felt pretty good about myself.
The assignment to Greece was my shining moment. My work, countering a daily diet of anti-Americanism, terrorism, assassinations, and political tension at the highest levels of government, proved to be significant. Greece had been under a dictatorship after a military-led overthrow of the democratic government in 1967. Former elected leaders lived in exile until democracy was restored in 1974. Election challenges and financial scandals had kept Greeks living under Cold War political tension and terrorism.
While I was in Athens, several Americans were killed by the Marxist guerrilla organization known as 17 November during a rash of kidnappings and killings that also included British nationals as well as high-profile Greek businessmen. Regional instability that included the 1974 Cyprus coup and Turkish invasion was followed by the 1981 Greek election of a left-leaning party with a neutral to anti-American platform. That backdrop made life difficult for all Americans posted in Athens.
As a result, the State Department’s diplomatic security team flew to Athens to brief the entire embassy staff. They suggested we should not read or leave visible in our cars the International Herald Tribune or other English-language publications. Male employees were told not to wear the obvious American polyester slacks and other clothing easily identifiable as American. After I listened to the security officer for almost forty-five minutes, I raised my hand and asked, “And what do you suppose I do?” The briefer, a white American, recognizing my dilemma, responded, “I guess that’s like asking me to take a low profile in Zambia.” During my years in Athens, 1983–87, I did not have the braids I wear today. I suggested to him that I could cover my head with a scarf and speak French. Perhaps the terrorists might think I was from French-speaking West Africa or one of the former French colonies in the Caribbean such as Guadeloupe or Martinique. I was careful, but there wasn’t much I could do. I was an American, a black American. In some respects, I thought I had little to worry about. All of the Americans who had been killed up to that point were white. Even during the hostage crisis in Iran, most of the women and minorities were released. That might have worked in my favor . . . at least until I got to Istanbul, Turkey, where an African American was targeted for attack. He survived the attack, but he was seriously injured.
Cold War politics kept Greece on edge during my tenure. Greece at that time was a “hardship” post because of the anti-Americanism. U.S. diplomats were allowed to curtail their activities because of the violence. During my last year in Greece, a bomb exploded under a passenger seat on a Trans World Airlines flight from Rome to Athens, killing four Americans. The pilot managed to save the remaining passengers and crew. Less than six months after my departure, Captain William Nordeen, the defense attaché, became the fourth American victim of 17 November. I had worked with Nordeen in Athens. I attended his memorial and burial at Arlington Cemetery.
Although Greek crowds demonstrated in front of our embassy once a week, we did not let that deter us from our work. We carried on diligently to raise America’s profile and remove the host of misperceptions Greeks had about America.
For four years, nearly every Greek contact I invited to my events and programs attended, which, I was told, had not been the case with previous cultural attachés in Athens. Greeks invited me to their homes, many of whom were on the embassy’s coveted A-list of contacts. I seized every opportunity to educate Greeks about African Americans in science, education, and technology. The audience for two of the Fulbright lectures I presented in Greek included members of the Greek Academy. Although initially intimidated when I learned of their presence, I got through the speeches. The Fulbright director, an American married to a Greek and fluent in the language, threatened to sit in the front row and make faces to keep me calm.
Just prior to my September 2005 retirement from the Foreign Service, I received word that I had been selected as the Dukakis fellow to teach for a month at the American College of Thessaloniki. What an honor, especially for someone from Massachusetts, to hold that position, named in honor of the former governor who appointed my brother to the Massachusetts Superior Court. I retired on September 30, and on October 10, I flew to Thessaloniki. What a joy to teach bright young Greek and American exchange students. They were well read and informed about international events. While there, I spoke to high school classes at Anatolia College and found them equally impressive. Once again, I saw the value of educational exchange programs. These young men and women, possessing an extraordinary level of global awareness, would one day become our leaders. This kind of interaction early in their lives gave them a favorable impression of America that would last a lifetime
I decided to visit Athens after the teaching assignment at the American College of Thessaloniki. My weeklong visit was a delightful trip of reunions with former contacts, who made me feel particularly welcomed. One of Greece’s respected journalists, George Papastefanou, sent me a note that said, “When you and Ambassador Monty Stearns were here, we called it the Golden Age of Diplomacy.” I shared that precious note with Ambassador and Mrs. Stearns.
I had learned on my first tour in Greece that the Greeks had a charming way of welcoming you into their orbit. I also learned they often had an ulterior motive. They were deep-thinking, serious, philosophical people, but they also thought that a letter of recommendation from the ambassador or cultural attaché could secure their son’s entry to one of America’s most prestigious universities. It was hard to convince Greeks that a letter from a U.S. government official would actually be counterproductive in our independent university system.
One of the key goals of an embassy’s cultural office is to highlight the full spectrum of American arts: literature, all music genres, dance, painting, and sculpture. In one post I might host country-Western and bluegrass music, a few weeks later Chick Corea or Buddy Guy, and then the renowned Leonard Bernstein. I also coordinated the performances of the Dance Theatre of Harlem, the New York Ballet, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and Alvin Ailey’s American Dance Theater. All of these groups performed in Athens during my four-year tour. The late Mstislav Rostropovich, one of the world’s greatest cellists, standing next to me moments before his 1984 Athens Music Festival performance, told me, “Thank you for all of your efforts. I know that the cultural attachés do all the work to ensure a successful cultural event abroad.” Ambassador Stearns heard this remark. I was absolutely thrilled by such an acknowledgment. It was a brief but powerfully sincere statement.
My access to and rapport with Greek government officials and members of academia was excellent. Unlike many of my other posts, Greece had a minister of education and a separate minister of culture. The film actress and political activist Melina Mercouri, who had been elected to the Greek Parliament in 1977, was the minister of culture. She epitomized Greece for many of my generation for her political activism and her acting roles in Never on Sunday (1960) and Topkapi (1964). My interaction with her began on a high note when she met me at the National Press Club in DC while I was studying Greek for the assignment. After someone introduced me as the new American cultural attaché in Athens, she commended me on my Greek and gave me her undivided attention in the midst of a room filled with folks far more important than I. Her riveting blue eyes fixed on me and made me feel as if I were the only person in the room. Her focus never wandered until we finished our conversation. That communication lesson has stayed with me throughout my career. Mercouri was not one of those who shook your hand and then clearly let you know she was looking for someone else in the crowd. While I was in Athens, Mercouri acknowledged me at each official event we attended. There were plenty of them. Granted, I had something called “high visibility.” It was pretty hard to get lost in a crowd as an African American woman who happened to be the cultural attaché at the American embassy.
I accompanied Ambassador Stearns to see Melina Mercouri in preparation for the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. We were to confirm Greece’s participation in the cultural aspects of the games in Los Angeles. All of us recognized that Mercouri was charismatic. I could not blame Ambassador Stearns, who with all of his dignity seemed totally enchanted listening to her. As she went to light her cigarette, the ambassador was at the ready to provide the match. After the amenities seemed to go on a bit too long, I felt obliged to interject with, “Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador; Washington is patiently awaiting details about Greece’s artistic participation in the Olympic Games.” We finally got down to business, but as I watched her, I could understand the ambassador’s slight distraction.
If I were to highlight the most memorable activities and programs of my time in Greece, it would be our facilitation of a joint U.S.-Greek production of Euripides’s Medea by the Boston Opera Company. In 1987 Sarah Caldwell, one of the first woman directors of an opera company in the United States, if not the first, came to Greece to inform the embassy and the Ministry of Culture of her plans for the Boston Opera Company’s production of Medea. Caldwell wanted to use Greek opera singers, set designers, and other artisans who would make costumes from fabric woven in Greece. This task required close collaboration with Melina Mercouri. One could not find two more dramatic, highly expressive, and uncompromising women than these two. I often use my work with the two of them to illustrate the relationship of culture and politics.
Sarah Caldwell would call only a day or two in advance, saying she was headed to Athens for a meeting with Melina Mercouri. It never entered Caldwell’s mind that a bit more advance notice might be helpful. Caldwell was an artist, and small details like preplanning are seldom a priority in the minds of creative people. Just prior to one of Caldwell’s trips, the American military had carried out a major bombing campaign in Southeast Asia. The Greeks did not agree with our actions. I knew that the Caldwell-Mercouri meeting would be tense. As we entered the minister of culture’s office, Melina said to Sarah, “I can barely speak with you today. Given your country’s actions, I may have to go out to the front lines and fight myself.” Ever the dramatist, Melina’s opening salvo came as no surprise to me. Sarah’s matter-of-fact response was: “Madam, I didn’t bomb anything. The U.S. government did.” We made little headway during that meeting. In fact, Caldwell let me know that she considered she had made a very expensive trip from Boston to Athens for nothing. It was unproductive because of the American military’s actions. Caldwell returned to Athens weeks later and had a productive meeting in a less tense atmosphere. If one thought politics, culture, and diplomacy are not entwined, this interaction proved they are.
Athens continued to provide me with professional challenges and lasting memories. As if the Medea production was not enough to keep me occupied, our section had another major project in 1987. We helped coordinate Greece’s Archeological Museum and Washington’s National Gallery exhibit entitled The Human Figure in Early Greek Art. The exhibit traveled throughout the United States for the next two years. Mercouri agreed to travel to Washington to open the exhibition, which drew nearly 260,000 people from January to June 1988 before traveling to Kansas City, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Boston. The Washington showing illustrated the value of excellent curators, who made each of the precious items shine in the settings in which they were placed. I had seen the same historic works in Athens, but the dramatic settings in the National Gallery were magnificent.
As I said earlier, Mercouri is an acting icon in Greece, and she is known throughout the world. She knew the powers of her charm, and she used it constantly. One of her greatest goals in life was to get the Elgin Marbles back to a museum at the Acropolis. The Greeks and the British have disputed ownership of this collection of classical Greek sculptures and other works of art, sometimes also called the Parthenon Marbles. Greek authorities have accused Thomas Bruce, the seventh Earl of Elgin, of looting the sculptures in the early 1800s when he was ambassador to the Ottoman court of the sultan in what today is Istanbul. The collection ended up at the British Museum in London after the British Parliament purchased it from Lord Elgin in 1816. Greece challenges the British position that the collection was legitimately acquired, contending that the Ottomans had been bribed and, in any case, as occupiers of Greece, had a dubious right to allow Lord Elgin to remove the treasures.
The late J. Carter Brown, the revered longtime curator of the National Gallery, joined Mercouri in a joint press conference just prior to the opening of The Human Figure in Early Greek Art. Mercouri had just taken the stage, and she wanted to put pressure on the British Parliament and bring an end to the long and tense negotiations for the return of the Elgin Marbles. The negotiations, long stalled, had nothing to do with U.S. policy. We counseled Mercouri not to mention the Elgin Marbles during the press conference, which was to focus solely on the exhibit.
But of course, she did mention them. Mercouri could not resist this golden opportunity to perform. After all, she is an actress who just happens to be from Greece, a country that loves drama. And the journalists ate that up. She knew they would run with that subject. We did not keep her from raising the issue of the Elgin Marbles. On the other hand, Brown was totally prepared for the press conference, and he gave more thoughtful answers to the press. His responses indicated he had studied the intricate details of Greek art. Although the press focused more on Mercouri’s concern about the return of the Elgin Marbles than we would have preferred, Brown’s erudite assessment of the collection made up for Mercouri’s theatrics. The exhibit was a huge success.
Besides Mercouri’s own political stances, her filmmaker husband’s politics landed her on the Look Out list of people who required State Department approval before the embassy could issue her a visitor visa to enter the United States. I think she enjoyed it. Her husband, Jules Dassin, had been subjected to the anticommunist hysteria of Senator Joseph McCarthy and the House Un-American Activities Committee. The Hollywood blacklist of the late 1940s and into the late 1950s had put others in prison. Dassin left Hollywood and resumed his film career in Europe. In 1966, after her 1962 divorce from the wealthy landowner Panos Harokopos, Mercouri married Dassin. She starred in several of Dassin’s films. He died in 2008. For the four years I was in Athens, whenever she was going to travel to the United States, we had to check with Washington before she was cleared to travel.
When I returned to Athens in 2005 after my time as the Dukakis lecturer at the American College of Thessaloniki, I rode the Athens Metro for the first time. I could not control my emotions when I arrived at the Acropolis Station, and there was a stunning shot of Melina Mercouri in front of the Acropolis. She had been given a state funeral after her death in 1994. All of my positive memories of interacting with this iconic figure in Greek culture came back. I shed a few tears. She was absolutely marvelous in life, and her legacy continues to this day.
My return to Greece also refreshed my memory of another high point of my previous time in Greece, the successful negotiations for the television production rights for an American dance troupe’s performances to appear on Greek television. Ambassador Stearns’s successor, Robert Keeley, asked me to work with the Dance Theatre of Harlem’s director to re-telecast throughout Greece its performances at the Odeon of Herodus Atticus, the ancient stone amphitheater at the base of the Acropolis. This task was given to me because of the heightened anti-Americanism in Greece at that time. Keeley thought that this respected representative of American culture would help improve America’s image in Greece. After tense negotiations in Greek with the Greek impresario and the dance theater’s founder and executive director, Arthur Mitchell, we reduced the original fee from $100,000 to $40,000. Even more important, we persuaded the Greeks to pay these fees in U.S. currency, rather than Greek drachma, as they originally proposed.
Ambassador Keeley, who had openly expressed the need for more positive images of the United States because Greeks remained highly skeptical about America, was pleased. He noted fewer sharp criticisms and even some positive observations about America from Greeks in areas away from Athens. The performances were televised throughout the summer, and the Greek press covered them. They really appeared to soften the strident press coverage the United States had received. Modern dance took on the role of the diplomat. I found it doubly satisfying that a predominantly African American dance company helped improve the U.S. image in Greece. Workshops, master classes, and social events cemented the Americans’ relationships with fellow Greek dancers.
Once, while I was walking down the streets of Athens with members of the Dance Theatre of Harlem, Greeks thought I was a dancer, too. Was I thrilled! How I wish I could have been Judith Jamison, but heaven knows I was not. I tried to improve my posture the entire time I was in their presence. We can all dream, can’t we?
I did get my chance to take the stage. I played the role of Dominique Devereaux (Diahann Carroll’s role) in Dynasty at Athens College. Ambassador Stearns had a cameo appearance as Blake Carrington’s majordomo, Joseph Arlington Anders, whose loyalty to his longtime employer made him suspicious of Carrington’s new bride, Linda Evans’s Krystle, played by the ambassador’s wife, Toni. Canadian John Summerskill, president of Athens College, played Blake Carrington. Toni recently recalled that her husband’s thirty seconds on stage and his one line, “Carrington residence,” when he answered the phone was marred by a glitch. The phone never rang. Afterward Toni told him that he should have turned to the audience and said, “A good butler always knows when the phone is about to ring.”
During rehearsals, I thought I would never get the role down. I just did not feel comfortable being that kind of mean character on the stage. As we came closer to the performance time, I had given up on trying to be the word that rhymes with “witch.” I stormed off the stage, saying, “I am not doing this. I’m just not an actress, and I cannot be the royal b— [I didn’t say the word] that I’m supposed to be in this role.” Well, everyone at that rehearsal clapped, and Michael Kakoyiannis, one of Greece’s foremost directors, said, “That’s just what we wanted. That was great!” Another lesson learned! I got even louder applause the night of the performance. However, that was my last attempt to be an actress.
Some might consider Rome or Paris as the prime posts for cultural attachés, but let me assure everyone, Athens was equally exciting. At that time, there were reports that there were more theatres in Athens than on Broadway. I often attended two or three exhibit openings or plays each week. The setting was fertile ground for cultural diplomacy, and we capitalized on that fact while I was there.
The American embassy’s Cultural Section mounted one of USIA’s blockbuster exhibits, The History of Filmmaking in America. We transformed the Greek National Gallery to resemble a traditional marquee of a Hollywood theater. To land such an exhibit in Athens was unprecedented. Again, it was Mercouri’s charm that persuaded the former USIA director, Charlie Wick, now deceased, to send this exhibit to Greece. We learned that Mercouri had discussed her interest in having such an exhibit with Wick at an international culture conference in Mexico. Such a blockbuster exhibit was designated for Eastern European countries. There was a line item in the budget for exhibits to be sent only to countries behind the Iron Curtain. During the Cold War, USIA exhibits were particularly important in such regions to provide another view of America to those constantly exposed to communist propaganda.
The filmmaking exhibit incorporated artifacts, costumes, music, and props from internationally recognized American films. Wherever the exhibit was shown, we tried to ensure that one of the original actors or composers who won an Oscar would exhibit the statuette. A few years earlier, the Greek composer Vangelis, who wrote the music for Chariots of Fire, had agreed to allow his Oscar to be exhibited. When our chief exhibit director brought the Oscar to my office, he mentioned he would take it back to London, where Vangelis resided. I quickly stated that, as the culture attaché in Athens responsible for the mounting of this exhibit, I would gladly take the Oscar back to London and hand deliver it to Vangelis. Honestly, I don’t know where I got the nerve to say that, but I did. Once the exhibit closed, I took the Oscar to London. I had managed to catch a horrendous cold just prior to the trip, but I was determined to go. Filled with all sorts of antihistamines, I arrived at Vangelis’s residence and delivered the Oscar. His living room was filled with his instruments and synthesizers. I thought to myself, this is a total wreck, and what a shame this stunning classical living room is filled with all of these electronic instruments. Then I realized, this is his life, his workshop, and I stopped being so judgmental. Vangelis was most cordial. We discussed the concerns we both had about a young Greek opera singer I had discovered, Markella Hatziano. Her agent was overly demanding. Vangelis knew him and knew of Markella, and he gave me important guidance to share with Markella upon my return to Athens. Markella now resides with her family in Nebraska and continues to perform in the United States.
In Athens I became fast friends with Margaret Murphy of Santa Barbara, California, who was in the Consulate Section, which issues visas and helps American citizens with problems abroad. For me, as a Bostonian, Margaret’s name suggested she should be red haired, freckled, and Irish. Everyone in Athens just assumed I knew her. We met after I had been there almost three months. That’s when it dawned on me why people assumed we knew each other. She wasn’t red haired and freckled. She was African American. Although from two very different parts of the United States and with very different backgrounds, we became close friends and traveled together around Europe. After my brother Clarence died in 1985, I needed to get away. Margaret and I went to Morocco to clear my head. While we were in Morocco, we visited all the famous places. We rented a car and hired a retired USAID driver. He drove us throughout Morocco, including Casablanca, Fez, and Marrakesh. At one of the stops, I was bitten on my thigh by a yellow jacket or some other stinging bug. Now, most people who know me as Miss Priss could not imagine I would drop my Bermuda shorts in the back of the car with this male driver, but this sting hurt. The driver dashed down to get some saltwater to make a mudpack for me to put on it. Well, by this time, Margaret was in hysterics. I didn’t care who saw me. This sting hurt like the dickens and was swelling up. The driver was very discreet. He never looked my way, he just sort of handed the mudpack to me. It took the sting out.
Whenever we traveled, Margaret did the bargaining. She enjoyed it. In one instance, while we were in Morocco, Margaret had just changed currency to be able to shop in the marketplace. While at one shop, Margaret looked at me and asked if I had any other Moroccan dinars, to which I was supposed to answer no. That would help her in negotiating a lower price. Instead I said, “But Margaret, you just changed some money.” Honestly, if looks could kill, I would not be here to share this experience with you. (As if I had not learned my lesson, when we went to a large indoor fabric market in Hong Kong, I spotted a piece of fabric I really liked. I said in a not-very-subtle voice, “Margaret, I like that, in fact, that’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Margaret gave me that look again and responded, “Now that you’ve told the world you liked that fabric, don’t expect me to bargain for it. The sellers already know you want it, and I doubt that I’ll get it for a good price.”)
Once, when our bill came after a dinner at an elegant Moroccan restaurant, we were both taken aback a bit at what we thought was the price. The amount was written with a comma, not a decimal point, as in the United States. Shocked at what we thought was a $200 meal, we gave a tip calculated on that amount. The waiter was so very honest and returned with so much change, we looked at one another. When he explained that the bill was only twenty dollars, we had to smile at one another. That’s what happens when you try to be a sophisticated traveler and you really are not. We were far more careful reading bills from then on.
Midway through my time in Greece, my nephew Jay, who had completed his bachelor’s degree at Harvard, earned his doctorate of dramatic arts from the University of California at Berkeley. Jay (Harry J. Elam Jr.) was promoted in January 2017 to vice president for the arts as well as associate vice provost for undergraduate education at Stanford. This man with all the titles is now very much like his dad, always well dressed at Stanford. That was evident when I flew out to Stanford last May to surprise him for his sixtieth birthday.
What better reward for an aunt to give someone graduating with a doctorate in drama than a trip to Greece? Knowing I could not show favoritism, I also invited my niece Winifred, the daughter of my oldest brother, Charles.
Colleagues thought that my “little niece and nephew” would be coming to visit, not adults. The first day after Jay and Winifred arrived, I was thrilled to be able to treat them to a Greek comedy performed at the site of one of Athens’s many ancient ruins. Lysistrata, by Aristophanes, is a comic account of one woman’s extraordinary mission to end the Peloponnesian War. Lysistrata persuades the women of Greece to withhold sexual privileges from their husbands and lovers as a means of forcing the men to negotiate peace—a strategy, however, that inflames the battle between the sexes. The opening scene begins with a significant display of phallic symbols. Lo and behold, here I thought I was being the consummate host by giving Jay and Winifred almost front-row seats to the performance. I was seated about five rows behind them. I was mortified when I realized that Winifred, with her very conservative nature, might not find the humor in any of this. It was too late. I suffered until the intermission, when I was able to explain the symbolism. After all, the play was in classical Greek and she (as most of us) had no idea what the dialogue was about. I gained yet another life lesson in terms of welcoming travelers from abroad. Provide them with every bit of background before taking them to a cultural event. I should have at least given her a synopsis of the play in English. Jay and I had to chuckle. Of all my nieces, Winifred was the least likely to find such a play enjoyable. Oh well, onward and upward.
I did much better as a host to Winifred when she came to Turkey. She was hesitant about visiting Ephesus. When I reminded her of the biblical significance of this famous site and that she would be following in the steps of St. Paul in his travels, she quickly changed her mind.
Now Jay has become a big man on campus at Stanford, but then he had a few things to learn, especially how to dress when one visits a U.S. embassy. After an outing on a hot day, Jay and Winifred could not get a taxi to return to the embassy, so I went down to the center of Athens to pick them up. As we pulled into the embassy parking lot, I said to Jay, “Now you can put on your shirt.” Jay responded, “This is my shirt!” Well, it was a tank top that resembled the sleeveless undershirts my father used to wear. Although that might have been in vogue at that time, it was not appropriate attire when entering a U.S. embassy. I suggested that he amuse himself walking around the neighborhood until I finished work in about an hour. He did.
My sister, Annetta Elam Capdeville, and her husband, Andrew, also visited Athens. Andrew was blind, but one day I took him for the entire day to “see” areas near Athens. I was hoarse and mentally tired by day’s end. I had to describe every scene and every item in one of the museums. My sister’s role for thirty-three years was to be Andrew’s eyes, and doing it for just one day wore me out. She never complained.
Andrew regaled my Greek colleagues with his commentary on their flight to Athens. When the flight attendant accompanied him to the restroom entrance, she mentioned that the light would come on when the door was closed. He reminded her not to worry, that he would not need the light. He was known for many self-deprecating comments and delightful humor. My colleagues marveled at how he comported himself at the dinner table. Once you told him where his food was located on his plate (using a clock face as his guide), he had no problem enjoying his meal. Often you forgot he was legally blind. When I visited with them in Denver during my sister’s early stages of Alzheimer’s, I marveled at how Andrew made certain their home was a safe environment.
The 1982 television show Fame was probably one of the most positive things we could export, rather than Dallas and Dynasty, because the show was based on an existing school of performing arts in New York. The show focused on academic excellence as well as the performing arts, and both are hard work. The young characters were allowed to perform only if they met their academic requirements. That positive approach to the arts was a welcome relief from the attitudes portrayed on some other American television programs. Debbie Allen played the role of dance teacher Lydia Grant. The show opens with her telling her students, “You’ve got big dreams? You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying . . . in sweat.”
Allen came to Athens to put on choreography workshops. She was five or six months pregnant with her son. (She is married to former NBA player Norm Nixon. Their son, Ellard Nixon Jr., played college basketball and became an actor.) She was talented, and she danced as part of the workshops. At one point we took her to another city on the outskirts of Athens, and she had some discomfort. Her doctor put a stop to the workshops. But what concerned me was the fact that she, like a lot of artists, thought that because the U.S. government was covering the costs, she could have all the comforts of first-class accommodations. She was somewhat demanding and didn’t quite understand the limits of the expenditures allowed at the Athens Hilton Hotel. It fell to me to give her the “come to Aunt Harriet” talk, explaining that this was taxpayer money. She was not the only artist who presented me with that issue. I learned from that experience to brief all performing artists ahead of time on the limits—they could not order champagne, wine, and other extras just because they were here as the guest of the Department of State. Yet another lesson to be learned, which was not part of any of my courses on diplomacy. I had become the stern Aunt Harriet and not “the little Elam girl.”
When I served in Athens, I had the joy of going often to Thessaloniki, a beautiful and ancient city in northern Greece. In 1983 I attended an international basketball competition where none other than the legendary Dean Smith and his North Carolina team were playing Greek, Yugoslav, Italian, and a number of other European teams. After three games that stretched late into the night, I represented the U.S. embassy as the cultural attaché at a dinner for the American team. I recall Coach Smith giving a touching blessing. But the dinner, the awards, and the speeches lasted until well after midnight. I was getting sleepy while seated at the head table. I decided I might wake up if I walked around. I wandered over to the table where the North Carolina team was seated. I saw this young man who turned out to be Michael Jordan seated with his parents and some of the Yugoslav team members. They were all carrying on. They didn’t speak the same languages, but somehow they were communicating. I was fascinated. As I sat there and watched them interact, I saw the value of sports diplomacy and of sports in bridging cultural and political gaps.
When I felt someone’s foot under the table, I was a bit concerned, thinking someone was playing footsie with me. Not at all. It was one of the players two seats across the table from me, but his legs were so long they reached my end of the table. I got so tickled that I woke up, and was able to go back to the head table to finish the rest of the evening. What we do for God and country!
Earlier that evening I had the pleasure of meeting then–NBA commissioner David Stern, who was seated with my Thessaloniki friends Roula and Pandelis Dedes. Pandelis, now deceased, was a lawyer in northern Greece who specializes in sports law, and he loved basketball. Once again, the friendship established with them in Greece has lasted to this day. Roula and Pandelis visited me in Senegal, where they seemed to absorb as much as they could of Senegalese art and traditions. I particularly enjoyed entertaining my European guests in Senegal. They seemed to have a greater interest in the traditions and culture of the country than in purchasing souvenirs, which all too often was the main focus of American tourists.
I was in Thessaloniki again to welcome Chick Corea, the legendary jazz pianist and composer. While sitting at a table I saw a nice glass of what I thought was water, and I was so thirsty that I gulped it down. It was straight ouzo, and my esophagus lit up. I learned from that experience not to assume that just because something is very clear and in a glass, it is water. I should have taken note that the glass was much smaller than a conventional water glass.
While in Thessaloniki for another speaking engagement, I gave a talk on African Americans in science and technology to the Fulbright Alumni Association in northern Greece. Now, ordinarily that would not have been unusual, but I gave the entire address in Greek. This decision, as hard as it was, was probably why I became so warmly received and remembered in Greece, both in Athens and Thessaloniki. Despite the work required to give that speech, I agreed, when asked, to deliver it again in Athens to another packed audience. A member of the Greek Academy was present and came to express his appreciation for my sharing in his native language this valuable information about America. The positive coverage in the Greek and English press confirmed the value of my effort.
At the end of my four years in Greece, my brother Harry came to help me celebrate at events held in my honor. He was thrilled to bask in the glory of his little sister. I knew he wanted to come because he gave up a planned trip to Disney World with his grandson. That told me I had fully gained his respect. My father was no longer living, which made my brother’s esteem that much more meaningful. That was something I wanted. Harry was the person who knew Greek and Latin. He could read the quotes at museums in ancient Greek.
At one of the going-away celebrations, Harry joined the men in a traditional Sirtaki dance. The Greek men thought he was amazing. So did I.
During my four years in Athens, I received what I thought were excellent evaluation reports. Just before the promotion list was to be published (by worldwide telegram), one selection panel member (long deceased) made a cardinal error. He called to tell me I was on the promotion list before the list was published. That is never to be done. To this day, I do not understand why this officer thought he should break that rule. When the official list was distributed, I could not find my name on it. My heart sank. I wanted to believe there was a serious error. Having since served on several selection panels, I know strict regulations require the panel to forward a list of the top-scoring candidates for promotion. However, the final list depends on the budget available at the time. There is no guarantee everyone on the list will be promoted. Panelists are now required to take oaths of secrecy to eliminate such problems. After that devastating experience in the mid-1980s, I was terribly disappointed. I wanted to resign from the USIA. Fortunately, a dear friend, now deceased, Ofield Dukes, counseled me to remain and to continue to excel.
I spent four years in Greece without a promotion. Perhaps I was so engaged in moving Greeks away from their anti-American tendencies, I did not realize that my boss, the public affairs officer (PAO), might have perceived my actions as threatening to his role in the embassy. He noted in his evaluations of my performance, “She was so well received that they thought she was the PAO.” In my naïveté, I thought this was a compliment. Later, thanks to the counsel I received from the then–deputy director general of the Foreign Service and later ambassador William Swing, I found out that such comments and other less substantive observations added nothing to my evaluation and, in fact, were detrimental. Although the PAO included significant commentary on the political situation in Greece, he did not mention the specific actions I took, including negotiating a huge reduction in television rights to telecast the Dance Theatre of Harlem’s performances countrywide, persuading the National Gallery of Greece to be the host for a blockbuster U.S. exhibit, and organizing other educational and media-related programs that reduced the anti-Americanism fervor prevalent in Greece in the late 1980s. In my innocence, I thought the references to Greece’s political situation were sufficient. I did not realize that specific examples of my work to ease anti-American stances were critical. William Swing provided me with the encouragement I needed to craft more specific examples of my accomplishments in my subsequent evaluations to ensure I got credit for my work. Swing, who later served as ambassador to Liberia, is now the head of the UN International Organization for Migration. He is one of the rare FSOs with six ambassadorships to his credit: People’s Republic of the Congo, Liberia, South Africa, Nigeria, Haiti, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Despite the absence of a promotion, I had four absolutely wonderful years in Athens, probably the most exciting time of my career. Even today I believe the Athens assignment gave me more personal satisfaction than being an ambassador. It was the interaction with musicians, academics, journalists, and artists like the Alvin Ailey Dance Company, the New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, the Dance Theatre of Harlem, Twyla Tharp, Pilobolus Dance Theater, Joan Myers Brown, Buddy Guy, Herbie Hancock, and Wynton Marsalis, to name a few, that made it so exciting. I sipped ouzo with Chick Corea in northern Greece. I dated a cellist and a Greek theater director for quite a while. I experienced cultures that little girl from Boston never imagined.