I. BJan

BJan, a short, round Iranian, knew all there was to know about rugs. His father had met his American mother through a remarkably boring turn of events (considering the match and geography) and I no longer recall the specifics of the peculiar systems and operations that had led to his conception; nevertheless, he was. A Mormon rather than a Muslim (the maternal influence respectfully overriding the paternal), he had come to Utah to go to school at the church-run Brigham Young University. He was the only fully accredited rug appraiser in the state—the kind of distinction the average youth dreams of only after being hit in the head and even then never takes seriously. BJan, however, was no average youth. He quickly mastered all there was to know about the field—no minor accomplishment—and with a loan from his parents entered the rug business, initially operating from his home—a small, log-cabin-style affair behind his parents’—and then from a large showroom downtown by the time I came along. Knowing all he knew (which is really quite a lot) explained, at least in part, why he didn’t know much of anything else. His wife Becky ran the place; his role was more like that of a consultant. He ate lunch a lot.