Autumn 1999 (7.3)
are the Missing Pieces?
outside of Oil Baron Mukhtarov's early residences in Baku, 1913.
Photo: National Archives.
Igor Effimoff is
not the kind of person that you would expect to have roots in
Baku. He's tall, fair-complexioned and of Russian-Polish descent.
He grew up in Iran but could easily pass for an American. Effimoff's
connection to Baku is through his grandfather, who moved there
during the late 19th-century Oil Boom and started paraffin extraction
and candle-making factories. During the Bolshevik Revolution,
the grandfather had to flee with his family to Iran. Today, his
grandson is back in Baku, working in the oil industry and researching
his family history. Here Effimoff writes about his search for
more information about his past, a search that turns up more
questions than answers.
Grandfather lived in Baku, and Father was born there - that much
I knew. But for years while growing up in Iran, I was told little
more. Nor was I particularly interested in learning about my
family's roots-to tell you the truth. My father didn't say much
and my mother, who was considerably younger, didn't really know
very much about his past.
At the refurbished Sanatorium for Children with Bone Tuberculosis,
a project undertaken by Pennzoil, under the initiative of Igor
Effimoff, manager. In search of his grandfather's roots which
originated in Baku nearly a century ago, Effimoff has left his
own legacy which benefits children both today and in the future.
But as I
grew older, the obsession to know more grew. I suppose most of
us, sooner or later, want to know how we connect to those who
came before us. Somehow there has to be more to our lives than
just the fleeting years of our own existence.
Gradually by piecing together a few threads of information, I
realized that my ancestors were not just the average "run-of-the-mill".
by the time I stepped up my quest to know, I had squandered so
many opportunities. The older generation had passed away, and
political disruptions throughout the region-both in the Soviet
Union and in Iran-had resulted in the loss or destruction of
many of the historical records and documents. By the late 1980s
when I was living in the United States, I had about given up.
But then, the unthinkable happened, and the Soviet Union collapsed,
and people began developing relations with those who had once
lived behind that "Iron Curtain" that had isolated
them for so many decades. My work in the oil business took me
to the Former Soviet Union (FSU) on several occasions, though
never to Baku. Then in 1996, Pennzoil approached me and asked
me to represent them in Azerbaijan. I figured, "Why not?"
I knew the company had an excellent reputation, and I might get
a chance to pursue my roots as well. Career-wise, however, it
probably meant a step or two backwards.
My wife, Betty, an American who grew up in the Cincinnati region
of southern Ohio, sensed my interest in coming to Baku and was
very understanding. Over the years she has come to realize that
I have always had one foot in the East and the other in the West,
and that I have a compelling need to know more about my past.
We thought this might be the chance.
Facts Pieced Together
I never got to know my grandfather Anatoli personally. He passed
away before I was born. He was an ethnic Russian who spelled
his name the pre-Soviet way-Effimoff-just like some of the brand
names which are so familiar today-Romanoff and Smirnoff with
"-off" (instead of "ov"). Grandfather
came to Baku in the latter part of the 19th century. He was a
chemist by profession and, undoubtedly, had been attracted by
the incipient oil boom. It seems he soon found good use for his
chemistry skills and established a plant in what was then, and
still is, known as "Black City" (the industrial part
of Baku where much of the oil was being drilled and processed
at the time).
The oil on the Absheron Peninsula (where Baku is located) contains
paraffin. Through a distillation process, my grandfather stripped
the paraffin from the oil, which left a substance that, when
purified, becomes wax. It was then mixed with stearic acid (a
solid fatty acid) and various other substances. The wax was then
sold in various forms for a number of purposes. At the time,
one of the more important uses was the manufacturing of candles,
which were made by dipping or molding them into various shapes.
Candles, of course, were in great demand prior to the invention
and widespread use of electricity.
My grandfather apparently had a candle factory and also exported
wax to Iran. He must have been quite a good businessman, though
in personal matters, especially related to the family, he was
known to be rather strict and difficult to live with.
My father Yevgeni was born in 1905 in Baku. He used to tell me
stories of how my grandfather would make him work at the family's
plants during holidays so that he would learn the value of a
"kapeyka" (Russian kopeck-smallest unit of currency).
It didn't seem to matter that our family was fairly well-to-do.
To tell you the truth, I've never been able to figure out whether
my grandfather was actually that severe, or my father was very
mischievous and thus required disciplining. I rather suspect
My mother, of Polish origin, arrived in Tehran towards the end
of World War II. She met my father there, and they got married.
I was born in 1946. I grew up and completed my high school studies
in Iran; then in 1964, I left to "make my fortune."
Eventually, I ended up in the United States where I got my Ph.D.
On rare occasions, my father spoke to me about his past, telling
me about Baku's famed medieval walled city-the old "Inner
City" (Ichari Shahar). He mentioned the "Boulevard,"
where people used to stroll (and still do) in the evenings down
by the sea. According to him, there were lavish parties at the
family house. Basically, he had grown up in a privileged life
of relative ease.
That lifestyle ended abruptly in April 1920 when the Bolshevik
army entered Baku. Identified as part of the "bourgeoisie",
our family was targeted for their wealth and no longer welcome.
Some family members, it seems, were killed, and my grandfather,
grandmother and father fled hastily to Tehran where my grandfather
had previous business contacts. I don't know how they fled. All
I know is that it was in a great hurry, and that somehow they
managed to take out a chest full of valuables, the proceeds of
which my grandmother succeeded in living off for a number of
The shock of losing everything virtually overnight was too much
for my grandfather. He died shortly afterward of a "broken
heart"-a terminal physical condition known as "qubarlanib
olmek" in Azeri.
My father, still in his youth, continued his university studies
in Iran and later went to France where he studied engineering.
The shock of leaving Baku, which led to my grandfather's death,
also had a profound psychological effect on both my grandmother
and father. Neither of them cared to talk about the past. It
disturbed them too much, they said. Actually, I've encountered
this same attitude among many of the émigrés in
Tehran and elsewhere in the world. When conversations turn to
the past, they cut the discussion short, saying, "Let's
talk about more pleasant things."
Throughout our home in Tehran, we had many family photos that
dated back to Baku days. But when the Shah of Iran fell in 1979,
my father and mother fled again. This time they left those mementos
behind, too. Who knows where any of that stuff might be today,
or if it even exists? It was the second time in my father's life
that he had abandoned nearly everything he owned. My dad was
74 at the time-a tough age to have to start all over again.
Not Enough Clues
When I arrived in Baku in 1996, I almost immediately set out
to try to find some concrete evidence of my family's roots. To
tell you the truth, it hasn't been simple or gone as smoothly
as I would have hoped.
I'm always afraid that because my original information is so
sketchy, I might be building a scenario that is actually more
fiction than fact. There's always a tendency for family histories
to become sanitized, glorified and augmented over time. "Revisionism"
can take place on the personal family level just as it does on
the national level. I've heard stories among émigré
families where every ancestor was a count or a duke!
When I tried to find out where my family might have resided in
Baku, I discovered that the archival system is organized in such
a way that one has to know the street address to determine the
occupants of a specific address. Family name alone does not generate
the desired information. The process is somewhat analogous to
trying to find out how to spell a word by looking it up in the
dictionary when you don't know how it's spelled in the first
place. It's almost a hopeless exercise!
I have been a bit successful in terms of my grandfather's business,
although there seems to be no physical evidence left of my grandfather's
paraffin plant. Of course, with the advent of the widespread
use of electricity, candles quickly became obsolete. No doubt
his factory was razed to make room for other industries. The
"Black City" has undergone enormous transformations
since the turn of the century. The Nobel Brothers' residence
still stands there, but it's gutted inside and not open to the
I was able to find an old phone book with a phone number and
an indirect reference to the plant. To research and navigate
through the archives, one needs details and a "road map"-I
lacked the necessary details.
I also discovered that although the pre-1920 archives are quite
impressive, they are not comprehensive. The Bolsheviks apparently
destroyed a good many of the records; there has been chaos and
attendant indifference to records from time to time. Add to that
the usual arch-enemies of archival material-accidents, fire,
water, rats, mold, discoloration, heat and time-which have all
taken their toll as well.
I've come to the conclusion that although I speak Russian, the
job requires a professional researcher, not an amateur like me.
I hope to retain such a person, provide him with the few clues
that I have about the past, and turn him loose to do detective
work both in Baku and St. Petersburg, where I understand a complete
duplicate set of Baku's archives exist.
It was a rather emotional occasion for me when I arrived in Baku
the first time back in 1996. Somehow, there was an incredible
sense of "déjà vu"-like I had been here
before. The culture felt very familiar. Certain incidents were
instinctively predictable. Everything made sense in a strange,
inexplicable way. And all this, despite the fact that I had little
conclusive information about my family's past. One of the regrets
in my life is that my father is not alive now to visit me in
Baku and give me a personal tour. I know he would have relished
doing so. And so it goes.
Igor Effimoff is the President of Devon Energy Corp-oration,
which recently bought out Pennzoil Caspian Corporation, a subsidiary
of PennzEnergy. Effimoff manages their representative office
From Azerbaijan International
© Azerbaijan International 1998. All rights reserved.
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