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    Twenty Eight of Five of Thirty two
    The day Mosaddegh fell

    By Ebrahim Golestan
    August 21, 1998
    The Iranian

    I wrote this piece back in 1978. It is a graphic eye-witness account of that day when the instinctive and immature hopes of a nation were so cheaply dashed -- a nation that had risen against the might of the imperialists of various colors under the sincerity of one man who was encircled and infiltrated by so many insincere, pompous, sometimes passionate, most of the time perilously ignorant, voluble, greedy and ambitious men.

    In the summer of 1953 I moved from Abadan to Tehran and filmed various events and men -- in the streets and in the privacy of the committee rooms as well as by the bedside of the dear great man working in his bedroom. He amazed and disarmed me by remembering me from some ten years before when he had come to my house to see his old friend my father. His greatness was so very naturally and thoughtfully wrapped up in simplicity and sincerity that, still now, makes me sad and awe-struck.

    Actually I am finishing an account of the events of the last two-and-a-half years before Mosaddegh's fall. It is almost done, and will be readied for print in a few months time. But the following piece was first published in Kelk quarterly in Iran in August 1993. The little note on the first page here was addressed to Ahmad Reza Ahmadi, the poet and friend who had asked me to send it to him for publication (in Persian):

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