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“Mr and Mrs Sullivan” – known to all
alumni who graduated before 1991 - are
back in Beirut on a visit. At 90, James
Sullivan still smokes his infamous pipe
and Samia Sullivan still has that firm yet
maternal look. During their visit, Samia
(while it’s innately difficult for former stu-
dents like myself to refer to the Sullivans
by anything but “Mr” and “Mrs” , for the
article’s sake, first names simply must be
used), can easily be spotted almost every
day at the elementary school.
“It’s my ‘baby’,” she said. “I grew in it.”
Former students immediately rush to
greet her, dragging along their children
for Samia to see. (Even yours truly in-
sisted she fawn over her children’s wallet
pictures).
Over lemonade and scrumptious brownies
at the home of a relative in Ras Bei-
rut, the couple tease each other as they
remember IC days gone by.
“She was pretty,” said James simply, “so I
married her.”
That was in 1967. Samia Khalaf joined IC
in 1944 as an office manager. In the next
48 years, she made her way to the director
of the elementary school. Meanwhile,
James, who was then teaching in NY, was
hired in 1960 by then principal, Leslie
Leavitt as an art teacher and boarding
director.
Unbeknown to Leavitt, he had made a
monumental decision. Years later, as the
Lebanese civil war broke out, the Sul-
livans would prove to be instrumental in
keeping the school’s boarders safe.
And of course, there was the pipe. As
former students could testify, James Sul-
livan wouldn’t be James Sullivan without
the pipe. So infamous was the pipe that
during the civil war when mail would take
months get come through, James received
a St Patrick’s Day card from a former
student mailed three days earlier from the
US. It was simply addressed to “Abou
Ghalioun” (father off the pipe), Beirut.”
The confused post office, seeing a card
from the US, simply delivered it to AUB.
Staff there quickly figured out that Abou
Ghalioun can be no other than James
Sullivan.
Truth be told, if a book ever needed to be
written about IC, it would be written by
the Sullivans. “I started to ten years ago,”
admits Samia, “but life is so busy that I
never got around to it.”
Their memories are endless.There was the
time that James made his way to Thom-
son Hall dormitory and with a shock saw
his car, a Fiat 500, parked in the hallway
on the second floor. As a joke, students
had carried it up.
“This was the type of trick kids played
then,” he said laughing. “I can tell you the
staff had a lot fun taking it back down.”
And then there was another time that
James was summoned to save a student
who was jumping over the IC fence to
Bliss street (boarders were only allowed
out with passes.Those whose passes were
revoked would sometimes jump over the
fence to catch the tramway) and got stuck
on top. Much to the embarrassment of
the student, James had to climb up and
rescue him. Today, the student is a leading
figure in the Gulf.
That was a time when parents showed
deep respect to teachers. Upon hearing
that James wanted to meet with him on
his next visit to Beirut, one Saudi Arabian
father took a camel, bus, train, and plane
and was knocking on the Sullivans’ door
three days later.
But as Samia puts it, the “nightmare”
began once the civil war erupted in 1975.
As the battles intensified, keeping the
students safe was a perilous challenge.
Years later, Samia still shudders at one
Down memory lane
10
WINTER
2010