One-LINERS AND FATWAS: the Tehran Years
Driving off the Harvard Yard lawn where he had illegally parked on Commencement Day in his Pontiac Fiero, Conan O’Brien had a problem. Thanks to a plagiarized thesis and his Spleen & Bladder Secret Society connections, O’Brien had finagled a bachelor’s degree in Applied Mathematics and a Certificate of Study in Slavic Folklore from Harvard University, but he still needed one more thing to prove to his father that he was not a failure: paid employment.
Desperate to make it as a comedy writer, O’Brien would stay up all night in his studio apartment frantically writing spec scripts for his favorite situation comedy, ABC’s “Benson.” Most of these scripts entailed O’Brien writing himself in as a guest star who inevitably made passionate love to the governor’s fiery chef, Gretchen Kraus, in the kitchen of the governor’s mansion. As network standards and practices at the time did not allow full penetration in prime time, the “Benson” producers immediately and nervously discarded the flood of scripts O’Brien mailed to their offices.
Facing reality and a mountain of unpaid debts, O’Brien drowned his anxieties in Piña Coladas and self-flagellation (both literal and figurative). Those who knew him at the time described how, in between job interviews, O’Brien would wander the streets of Cambridge, relentlessly quoting the no-longer-popular video “Gin & Juice” by loudly saying “Snoop Coney Dogg needs to get a Jobby Job!” and then laughing insanely. Friends began to distance themselves.
Then, fate struck. Alone on his flea-ridden couch in a pair of “tightie whities,” watching the local news while waiting for “Benson” to come on, O’Brien learned of protests concerning “The Satanic Verses,” the newly published novel by acclaimed author Salman Rushdie. As the news reporter described a potential fatwa to be issued by Ayatollah Khomeini, O’Brien bellowed to no one, “This could be my big break!”
Wasting no time, O’Brien hailed a taxi to Logan Airport, ran up to the nearest ticket counter, and demanded a one-way ticket to Tehran. “This is El Al, sir,” the ticket agent explained. “As an Israeli airline, we primarily fly to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.” “Close enough!” barked O’Brien.
This proved to be a mistake, as O’Brien wasted several weeks attempting to cross the border into Iran from Israel via Jordan, finally realizing that his yellowing “Reagan Bush 84” campaign t-shirt was hampering his efforts with the border guards. Upon finally gaining entrance to Iran, O’Brien quickly made his way to Ayatollah Khomeini’s townhouse on the Upper East Side of Tehran.
“I understand you have a need for a writer,” O’Brien confidently suggested in broken Persian, according to CIA transcripts. “For the fatwa. The Rushdie one. I don’t know if you have a draft yet, but I’m sure it could use some punching up.”
Sensing the Ayatollah’s confusion, O’Brien clarified, “Look, you’ve got a strong hook with the call for Rushdie’s death, but where are the laughs? That’s where I come in.”
As the Ayatollah sipped his tea, O’Brien continued his pitch. “If you need to see my work, I’ve got a dozen or so ‘Benson’ spec scripts I can show you. But I think it’d save us both time if I just dove right in and started writing some gags.”
Ayatollah Khomeini excused himself to make a call, verifying whether O’Brien had any hostage value to the United States. After quickly confirming that value was nil, Khomeini considered the red-headed madman’s proposal, and ultimately agreed to give it a shot.
Confident that a deal was imminent, O’Brien set forth his contractual demands. “I’d like to go forward with the standard fifty-rials-per-fatwa rate. But if this one goes well, we can talk about a development deal for me to write maybe three or four more fatwas, on a first-look basis. They don’t all have to be death fatwas. I’m pretty versatile.” A contract was struck.
O’Brien soon settled into his role as fatwa staff writer for the Iranian Supreme Leader. The writers’ room climate proved to be a bit stiff, particularly when O’Brien kept asking where to call for some take-out baby-back ribs.
To supplement his income, O’Brien performed stand-up comedy in the Tehran metropolitan area club circuit on weekends. His go-to opener was, “I know you love calling America the Great Satan, and I’ll give you the Satan part, but ‘Great’? Have you been to Milwaukee on a Tuesday night?” O’Brien’s crowd work was less successful, referring to the crowd’s mandated lack of female attendees as a “sausagefest.”
While his betrayal of America brought O’Brien a steady income, it failed to bring him what he truly sought: his father’s approval. “I know it’s not ‘Benson,’ but a gig’s a gig, Dad,” Conan pleaded. These calls would inevitably end with his father lamenting his son’s disgraceful participation in calls for murder as well as the exorbitant long-distance collect phone call charges from Tehran.
Ultimately, O’Brien’s tenure in Iran came to an abrupt end when he insisted on one too many “yo mama” jokes in the Ayatollah’s material, and O’Brien fled back to the United States, filled with shame, hummus, and a painful case of sunburn.
