PSU Magazine Spring 1992

It was this passion to learn anything and everything about buried civiliza– tions that made Mandaville a media tar– get in February when archaeologists in Oman uncovered the fabled city of Ubar. The city is one of legend. Built near– ly 5,000 years ago, it is thought to have been a center for the trade of frankin– cense-the aromatic resin that the three wise men presented to the baby Jesus. Ubar was an architectural spec– tacle with lofty pillars. It was also believed to be a wicked place-so much so that God was said to have destroyed it, as He did Sodom. Ubar was literally swallowed by the desert. Built above a large limestone cavern, the city's weight ultimately caused the cave to collapse into a huge sinkhole. No wonder T.E. Lawrence– Lawrence of Arabia-called it the "At– lantis of the sands." Archaeologists found the city par– tially through the use of Space Imaging Radar. The satellite images showed roads-perhaps the ancient frankin– cense trade routes-leading to an area at the edge of a desolate sand sea called the Rub'al Khali , or "Empty Quarter." The find of an unusual eight-sided building under the surface of the desert made front-page news worldwide Feb. 5, 1992, and for one intensive week, Mandav ille became an interna– tional news source. The first reporter, looking for back– ground , contacted the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago. The Institute steered him to Man– daville, who had been head of the American Institute fo r Yemeni Studies, in Yemen, during 1979 and 1980. After he appeared in print once, journalists from a dozen other sources jo ined the commotion and called Mandaville for whatever info rmation they could get. Archaeologists found Ubar. The news media found Mandaville. He says being a generalist allows him to ta lk to a variety of audiences, in– cluding the news media. "I know a lot of people, and a lot of people know me," he says. Had he become a facu lty member at Michigan or Princeton or Harvard, Mandaville speculates that he would have been pigeonholed into his special- 10 PSU SAUDI ARABIA ty and discouraged from venturing else– where. But at PSU, he has the freedom to branch out, partially because small er budgets force facu lty to take a broader approach. Mandav ille likes that. It fits with his philosophy of learning, that to uncover knowledge, historians must share work with archaeologists, anthropologists, and members of other disciplines to get at the big picture. Blending history with anthropology and archaeology, he says, "is not only legitimate, it's obligatory as far as I'm concerned. Any one who blocks them off is leaving part of the picture out. And the whole picture is the truth." He was elated recently when PSU hired a tenure-track professor in ancient history who also had worked as an archaeologist. Few places on earth have a longer human history than the Middle East, and for a curious boy growing up there in the 1940s and '50s, the romance of history was constantly beckoning. Young Mandaville and his family moved to Saudi Arabia in 1948, join– ing his father who worked at a refinery in Ras T anura. The Standard Oil company town where they lived was not only fenced off from the desert, it was in a kind of cultural enclosure as well. The schools there were American schools, and the activities-such as baseball and foot- ball- were American. After school, Mandaville would swim and fish in the Persian Gulf, and routinely slip out of the fence to the desert . "As kids, it became a challenge to find our way in the desert," he says. "It was the challenge of the sands. How do you survive, and can you survive out there ? It was instinctive Boy Scouting." Walking along the beach, Mandaville developed an eye for the detritus of ancient civilizations: flints, pottery shards, bits of jewelry. In some places they were littered everywhere. "That probably had a lot to do with my invo lvement in working with archaeologists-looking for something other than the sand. There's not a lot there, and suddenly you come across a field that is covered with the stuff. Instinct makes you collect it. Then you pursue it." As time went on, the Middle East held more cultural significance for him than did the United States. "A trip to the states was bas ically going from motel to motel, shaking hands with people I was told were uncles and aunts and cousins. I didn't know who they were; I didn't care." After graduating from junior high , Mandav ille had two cho ices: go back to the United States for high school or attend an American high school in Beirut. He and his parents chose Beirut. Beirut, at least in those days, was considered the Paris of the Mediter– ranean-a beautiful place where one could swim in the sea in the morning, and ski in the mountains in the after– noon . It was a multicultural mecca with all the refinements and vices associated with great cities. Let loose in this enticing environ– ment, Mandav ille liked to break rules, and finally was suspended for riding motorcycles. His parents ex iled him to a school outisde of Rome. He stayed there a year, learning to speak Italian and to love Italy. Then, it was back to Beirut. The spark of curiosity he picked up in Saudi Arabia was nurtured during his high school years. In Beirut he could pick up ancient flints along the Mediterranean, but, unlike Saudi Arabia, he had a library with which to research his finds, and a fac ulty that