My full name is JohnAli Archibald Balladeur. It looks pretty strange. I will elaborate on this later on. Actually I am originally from Iran. As I understood my grandfather after 19^th August 1953 events in Tehran, migrated to United States. I can remember him quite well. In that era he was sympathizer of Iranian Communist party (so called Tudeh party of Iran TPI). Ironically he moved to America instead of Soviet Union ( supposed was their Utopia).My grandfather ( we used to call him " Aghajoon") did not disclosed the secrets, but few years  before his death , he whispered me : " being in Capitalism hell is much better than going to communism paradise.

Grandfather saved his Stalin like mustache that in 1950s was the sign of being progressive and belonging to the left parties worldwide.

My father grow up in Chicago (why aghajoon settled in this city is a long story for own, but I will tell you, sure).

Aghajoon was high school teacher in Iran. He graduated from so called Daneshsara (Knowledge House, especial university for teachers in that time). His major was Mathematics. He loved Math and tried to make analogy between every day events and Math axioms and theorems. I can remember his tireless efforts to explain the relation between inflation and employment and growth rate in Chicago to our old Chinese neighbors. It was strange but at the end everybody was convinced by his boring Math lectures.

When my grandfather came to United States in the early years of 1950s, nobody cared about him and his valuable knowledge about Math teaching. The main reason was language. The only foreign language he knew was French. Imagine about a teacher in Chicago speaking French with Persian accent!! To teach math to American mechant garçons!!

He decided to open the very first Kobideh kebab sandwich in the North America. He had good skill in preparing Kebab. Just he put it in Persian bread called Lavash. The financial situation of family got better. Aghajoon moved with family to bigger house in Chicago Luxury district. First we jumped to a bungalow in west town (not far from Logan square), than to a bigger house in Lincoln park. Everybody liked our kebabs through ages.

In the years to come Farzin (my father) married with Maria (elder daughter of a polish war time immigrant). Just two years later I came in. Two family fought too long to nominate me. At last they reached to an agreement: They called me JohnAli. John or Johannes was the Christine name of my polish Mother Dad and Ali was the name of Grandfather in his ID card (although he preferred to introduce himself "Kaveh"). I was born on 11^th February of 1979. It was the day Iran Islamic revolution culminated. My father was indifferent about Iran news but Aghajoon as usual told an historic quotation: The speed of light and the situation in Iran never, never will change. Big events just divert her path to hell faster than ever!!! Aghajoon never elaborated on his philosophical comment.

Honestly I enjoyed good education in Chicago. My father encouraged me  to join U. S army , my mother preferred me to be a catholic priest  but Aghajoon wined the battle and convinced me that the future world belongs to Media and it is better I learn journalism and became a successful reporter.

My father pretends that he is a patriotic American. He is very shy to indicate his Iranian descendent. He is referring his life in Chicago like "the fall of Adam" from skies. He doesn't like to remember anything about preiapsarian.

 After high school I registered in prestigious "Cinema and media studies" at Chicago University. I can remember that the dean wanted me to bring in evidence that I am the man of the job and could handle the difficulties. I thought two weeks and came up with 48 black and white pictures about 24 hours of daily life of my grandfather. It means every 30 minutes I snapped one picture. Mr. Wolfgang Lobker (the dean) with strong German accent admired me. He smiled and said: "You made your grand Pa, Part of American cinema history!!" It has very sensible documentary spices!!

I graduated, tried to find a job in Chicago. I was and still am interested to work in a newspaper as journalist and reporter from hot spots. Traditional media encountered with a serious crisis during the digital revolution (or revolution). Every newspaper created his own Web Site. Ordinary readers prefers the electronic versions. But good news is that main motive and prime mover behind every media is still her reporters.

I had disappointing starting career. First I tried to work as a free lancer for Chicago newspapers by selling my reports from hotspots. From the début of so called Arab spring I jumped to Cairo and Tunis but the readers were not interested to know the difference between Hosni Mobarak and Mohammad Morsi. They didn't care who are Brotherhoods and Egyptian Christians and even super model bodyguards for Moamer Ghadafi.

Once a newspaper wanted me to prepare live and first hand report about the migration of emperor butterflies. It was nightmare and ridiculous. I decided to work as a dishwasher in a Chinese restaurant to know better the people and their news priorities.

At last Aghajoon in his eighties as usual helped me to solve the problem. He told me that with these Iran Nukes issues the public opinion in United States absorbed in. A bunch of idiot senators and congressman brought already this subject to the day light. So! It is simple: try to convince a newspaper to send you to Tehran for the first hand reports. You are Iranian descendent, although cannot speak single word Persian and all you know about Iran is Kebab and Rice plus Dough.

Few weeks after this mind boggling suggestion, Grand Father died in a very harsh winter. All people in our neighborhood considered him like Einstein, Somebody we don’t understand him but are sure he is right and wise. He was atheist. No Religious ceremony. But everybody enjoyed Kobide Kebab with rice. This part was according to Iranian ceremonies. Aghajoon told so many times that inviting people to lunch after cremation is good and accordance to Iranian spirit. Aghajoon used to say that Iranian by giving lunch to close friends in somehow celebrate the death of their relatives to get rid of those maladies.

Few weeks after Aghajoon expired, at last I found a job in Chicago based newspaper called "Chicago Farmer". It was established in 1832 and his main job was to bring in the rates of Farms products to mid class farmers. In 1930s changed the agenda and as a fashion brought long articles and stories about gangsters. It was golden era of Chicago farmer but from 1940s until now it went three times to bankruptcy. These days an old Irish descendent that closes his left eye by a dark glass like James Joyce is the editor , owner , and even butler and waiter of the newspaper, plus an old woman just like  Agatha Christie as secretary. It has no main and formal office. Everything to be done in the garage of this old Irishman, Mr. Albert O, Kanan house. I learnt fast that neighbors call him blind rat.

Blind rat made me clear that he cannot offer any salary but the return ticket to Iran Plus 5982 USD( he never revealed how reached to this figure).  I will get 50% of the profit if my reports from Iran increases the circulation of this really dead newspaper.

Blind rat signed my contract and gave me 5982 dollars. He told me , hopes to receive my reports from Iran as soon as possible   not later than  the beginning of coming July ,because  of the  word " Iran" now is very popular in internet  searching engines. Writing, speaking and even bragging about Iran is a fashion.

Here is the end of part one my diaries. I decided to collect information about Iran via libraries and Internet in the coming 10 days. I will book my journey to Iran and also trying to get visa that I heard with American passport is a difficult job.  This part will publish in "Chicago Farmer". Blind rat wanted me to keep readers in touch with single part of my trip (or as he prefers expedition).

I missed too much Grandfather. He was a bridge between me and my roots. Sometimes I close eyes and speak very live with him. I try to make mind about my Fatherland.

I am murmuring this poem so many times. Chicago winters are hot than Caribbean islands, I believe in.

Shall I compare her to a Chicago winter?
For she is as unpredictable as a winter storm
yet as beautiful as every snowflake that fall.
When she's angry she can be as cold as a breeze off Lake Michigan.
And when she loves me it is as warm as the fireplace at Starbucks.
Just like a Chicago winter she's as different as each winter season that comes.
But those differences are what make me love her even more.

This article will be posted in "Chicago Farmer" two week later as my preparing report from Iran. I wish to move Tehran in the coming month. Any way I will keep all the readers posted. Stay with me.