It is said that “There are no atheists in fox holes.” With that thought in mind, I finally fulfilled my obligation to visit the U.S. Veteran’s Cemetery in Holly, Mich., north of Detroit, the facility dedicated as a final resting place for our heroes who served valiantly for the freedom of our country, its values, and the American way of life we cherish.

It was a pleasant drive on I-75, which is clearly marked for directions to the cemetery. I felt chills as I made the turn into the cemetery. A multitude of American flags lined both sides of the road, gently blowing in the freshly born spring day. I could see white marble crosses forever into the distance through my watery eyes. Hundreds of crosses, each representing men and women who bravely served in the armed services of our country, lined up neatly as in military order.

A complete funeral, grave maintenance, and marker are available to a vet and his/her spouse at no charge to the family, other than the service of a funeral director.

Each burial site represents the brave ones who died in war, as well as those who returned safely, hopefully dying at a ripe old age, and choosing to be buried among comrades who, like themselves, knew the hell of war.

Being in the presence of these heroes submerges you into deep thought. Who were these brave men and women who fought for freedom? They held all ranks, from private to general. Some were more distinguished than others, but in a government cemetery they are equal in rank.

The graves of American soldiers can be found throughout Europe, wherever they fought and died. We know we have lost imprisoned and tortured soldiers at the hands of the Japanese, Koreans, and Vietnamese. The graves of those missing in action remain unknown. For their families, it must be unbearable to have no real closure.

I had been told that the serene beauty and peace represented in Holly are equal to the Arlington National Cemetery. I found that to be true, and it would be an honor to be buried there among its rolling hills amidst the towering pines and blue lake. Hundreds of acres of manicured quiet acres await these heroes who likely faced the terror of bombs, grenades, hand-to-hand combat, poisonous chemicals, the loss of limbs and even sanity.

The human aspect, the impact of knowing how wars are fought, is a real human drama. You can think of it as a waste of mankind, or as a fight to preserve our freedom. It remains an ugly part of our existence.

There will always be dictators, greedy power-seekers out to destroy and defeat nations. We bury our dead but we do not forget them, nor should we ever. Memorial Day should not be thought of as a time for drinking and eating only. The dignity of the day should be remembered.

I looked out over the fields full of crosses; some markers bore the Jewish Star of David, and I thought of the many men and women cut down in the bloom of youth. Is this the best civilization can produce?

With hundreds of acres dedicated to the burial of servicemen and their non-military spouses, you realize the government is well prepared to welcome thousands more from future wars to these cemeteries for armed forces personnel. It is not a pleasant thought.

It is never too late to give thanks to God for the return of loved ones who served. I said a quiet prayer of thanks for the return of my family members who served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Thanks must also be expressed to those who died, and those who came back alive, and those that are living out their days in poor health in Veteran’s hospitals. So many of them have been abandoned, and are living out their days in loneliness.

It is a disgrace that many veterans do not get proper care and deserved financial assistance. They have to beg for help. You hear a lot of non-convincing talk about care and benefits for veterans on the air waves, but so much of it is just hype.

I drove all around the cemetery, then did some walking. You can imagine my excitement when I found an Armenian. His white marble cross read, “In memory of Andrew Sarkisian, born Feb. 2, 1917, died Aug. 9, 2012. US Navy WWII. Caring husband, father, grandfather.” His marker bore the distinctive Armenian cross. I said the “Hayr Mer”for Andrew and thanked him for his service.

Another marker read, “Dale Brown, WWII WA AC. Gone fishing. See you soon.”

Another, “Lest we forget, dedicated by the Dept. of Michigan Jewish War Veterans and Ladies Auxiliary.”

Another described the veteran Bob Kroub Ltg G US Navy Korea as “Handsome, debonair, and fun to be with.” One section was devoted to those killed in action. Very few bore no cross at all.

The veteran’s cemetery also had provided for cremations. With the ridiculously exorbitant cost of funerals, the Holly facility is an exceptional option.

With the help of the onsite computer there, I was able to locate and visit the grave of Paul Margosian, a Pontiac friend who died a couple of years ago. Was is it a mere coincidence that among the thousands buried there I was I was able to drive right up to the section and row Paul was in? This is the gentleman who had dunked me, the non-swimmer, in deep water at Cass Lake years ago. He was mischievous and was probably laughing as we both recalled that beach day when we both were so young and life was still kind and sweet.

By the way, that was the one and only date with him, by my choice.

I left the cemetery pensive but grateful for this peaceful place where our servicemen can rest in peace under the stars at night and the sun in the daytime, knowing they are safe in the arms of God and Heaven above. They performed their obligation. Ours is to remember them.

The post Visit to US Veteran’s Cemetery in Holly appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

“Take your family and leave here. We are going to kill all the Armenians,” said the Turk.

Those chilling words spoken in secrecy to the head of Lucie’s family by a Turkish neighbor were wisely heeded, and their exodus from their home to Aleppo, Syria, led them to a safe haven. Thus they were spared from the hideous events of the massive first genocide of the 20^th century, that of the Christian-Armenian citizenry, committed by Ottoman Turks from 1915-23.

Lucie’s is just one story of exile and murder. Volumes have been spoken and written by those who survived the death marches and slaughter; they could have said much more but the unbelievable torture the Armenians witnessed and the total losses they sustained left many mute on the subject.

What about the 1,500,000 martyred victims? What would their voices tell us? Their bleached bones lay near the surface of the sands in the desert of Der Zor in Syria without the dignified burial they deserve. The Euphrates River itself tells its story of being so full of Armenian bodies that its flow was stopped. Mountain chasms too were filled with Armenian bodies. They are our family and they are calling for justice from the Turks and, at the very least, from the world community. Lucie feels anguished by it all.

Armenians are still reeling from the 1915 genocide after 100 years. Now they are dealing with jihadists’ takeover of their communities in the Middle East, like Aleppo and Kessab.

Lucie bristled when I told her what the rebels invading Aleppo and Kessab had allegedly said: “Where are all the beautiful Armenian girls?”

Lucie is a faithful reader of the Armenian Weekly and we have become friends through letters and phone conversations. She resides in New York and is an older woman with great intelligence and thoughtfulness.

Although her family was spared the horrendous fate met by most Armenians in 1915, the resulting psychological ramifications of such a terrible mental and physical act against humanity remain fresh and unresolved. It passes from one generation to the next.

If there is an event that cognizant Armenians will always remember and will rally for justice around, it is the destruction and mutilation of Armenian villages and cities in Turkey and Historic Armenia. The perpetrators believed in “Turkey for Turks,” and they swung their axes and other crude implements of death at the Armenians. And then there were the forced Islamizations…

Lucie’s family settled in Aleppo where, she says, Armenians did very well in many ways in business and various professions. Her family was educated. Her grandfather had a high accounting position in Syria for years. Lucie graduated from high school, continuing on to receive a four-year degree in Aleppo at the French university with high honors. This academic excellence caused her name to appear in newspapers and she was offered a position to teach French without having to formally apply.

She speaks Armenian, English, Turkish, and French fluently. She still enjoys reading French literary and philosophical publications.

Her heart continues to bleed for her fellow Armenians who fell in 1915, and now for those in her beloved Aleppo and Kessab. She says, “The scars never heal. Right now my heart resembles destroyed houses,” referring to the destruction in Syria.

Her unhappiness at the situation in Syria is tempered with the happy memories that remain of growing up there. At age 20, Lucie was asked to recruit and organize young Armenian girls to join the Homenetmen. “In the summer we, the boy scouts and ardzvigs (little eagles), went to Kessab for a panagoom to be in nature,” she remembers. “There we were all Armenians, all Armenian faces and our language. So my beloved Aleppo is no more; and Kessab my Heaven has sadly fallen.”

The sorrow of what has again happened to her fellow Hyes weighs heavy on Lucie’s shoulders. She wonders what the outcome will be for the displaced Armenians.

“Our schools, organizations, way of life was number one. Tashnags, Hunchags, were all active. In the agoumps there were evening speakers; there was the Armenian Relief Society, Armenian college students’ meetings and scouts,” she says. “There were Homenetmen parades, flags carried by young girls and boys all in uniforms. A crowd including Europeans bought tickets to come and watch the soccer games. That was their tashtahantes.”

It is a crime against humanity that fine people like Lucie bear the memory of the Armenian Genocide.

That memory, that we were so hated, lives on in many of us who are the first, second, and third generations in exile born in the free world, stating with determination, “We shall never forget.”

Lucie’s philosophy is: “When you fall down, just get back up. The music never ends, does it? It continues to go on and on and so must we. Life is for the living.”

The post Apigian-Kessel: The Music Just Keeps Playing appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

In childhood, we knew little about what the word faith meant when we looked up to the sky and repeated, “Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.” As adults when we think of Heaven we automatically lift our eyes to the sky, hoping the ones we love and lost to death are peaceful and happy up there. We naturally want to be reunited with them someday.

My religion, like many others, preaches the belief there is a better place we go to after death. We’ve all heard the Der Hayrs (clergy) repeatedly say, “The deceased has gone to a better place.” It is primarily meant to give solace to the mourners left behind. Many still have doubt that a better place exists.

In my persistence of the question about the existence of Heaven, I’ve pursued this issue with several Christian clergymen. They are all firm believers in Heaven, but that is the business of religion, isn’t it? To give humans something to shoot for by behaving properly and leading a life full of goodness, even offering Grace if you confess your sins.

The mantra is if you are a true believer, you will confess your transgressions to receive forgiveness and pass through the Pearly Gates, where you will reside eternally in God’s Holy Kingdom. That is a simplistic explanation. It’s interesting some folks get wealthy by questionable means, then suddenly become patrons of their church trying to buy their way into Heaven (and they are welcomed because the business of running a church is costly). “Come on in, brother, and bring your fat check book too.” Unsavory but realistic.

The good men of the cloth also said there is no sex in Heaven, that we all just love each other like brothers and sisters. They deemed me a hopeless case when I asked, “Then why do they call it Heaven?”

I remain doubtful of Heaven’s existence, and that perplexes me because I really want to believe. I feel deeply about the significance of Holy Week, Easter Sunday, and Christ’s resurrection, but something is lacking. I don’t want to be a believer just because God is to be feared. I want to be a believer because He is a God of compassion.

When you are of Armenian heritage, you do wonder how and why He allowed 1,500,000 of our innocent countrymen to be ruthlessly slaughtered needlessly while the perpetrators still go unpunished and successfully remain in denial. One hundred years later, the same kind of poison is running rampant throughout the Middle East because the genocide of the Armenians was essentially regarded as irrelevant. Wasn’t it startling when all of a sudden the word “genocide” was repeated on television on the news networks in connection with ISIS killings and beheadings?

As a young child, I traveled with my family the 30 miles from our home to the getron in Detroit, known as the Armenian Community Center. I remember someone pinning a lavender ribbon on each worshipper entering the church. Written on the ribbon in Armenian were the words, “Hesous Haryav Ee merelotz” (Christ has Risen from his death). I wondered to myself, “Risen to where?” And my mother’s reply is still a mystery:”Asdvadz ver elav” (Christ has risen to Heaven). I needed more logic; I was left wondering, how does that happen?

The collection plate was passed around several times to benefit various Armenian organizations. My seamstress’s husband is a minister and she frequently offers me Christian literature confirming Heaven. I admire their being so faithful, even under some very dire personal circumstances they’ve endured. They have true faith and that is the secret of believing in Heaven: faith.

A special grave marker is inscribed with, “You no longer need be afraid… Believe.”

Sometime a hole remains in one’s heart, but there is a wonderful place where bright city lights are rare. Northern Michigan’s skies offer a blue-black backdrop for millions of stars where the Milky Way and Big Dipper are easily seen nightly.

I gaze in childlike amazement at that sky filled with so many sparkling heavenly bodies. It is only now that I see them as more than just stars. Now they represent all my loved ones who have passed on—parents, lost loves, our martyrs, friends, all are up there giving me solace, comfort, and hope. With an ever-expanding universe, there is room up there for us all. What a wonderful feeling to know loved ones are looking down upon us!

My special star convinces me I am not alone. Its love strengthens me to carry on offering companionship until one day I, too, find my place next to it.

I no longer fear death as much. I’ve had more than my share of mountains to climb and battles to win.

I’ve had enough kebab, danced many a village bar. I’ve had the pleasure of driving with the car top down, loving grandchildren. I’ve had enough decadent brownies, dug my toes into the ocean sands, picked plenty of grape leaves for sarma. I still marvel at the beauty of sea shells, and the fragrance of a gardenia. I haven’t had or done it all, but I fear the afterlife less.

I’ll get to be with my parents, brother Abe, and the grandparents I never got to know because of the genocide.

I’ll be reunited with my mentor James Tashjian who heroically edited the Armenian Weekly for decades.

I’ll dance with Fred Astaire, I’ll sit next to Chopin, Gershwin, and Paderewski for piano lessons. Tarzan will teach me how to swim. John Wayne, my favorite actor and cowboy, will teach me how to ride a horse. And Degeen Elsig Hairabedian will help me make roejik.

How did the miracle occur that Christ rose from the dead to Heaven? Faith! Believe! You no longer need be afraid. God is your last line of defense.

The post Starry, Starry Night: Faith Leads to Heaven appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

For many, the brightest times in metropolitan Detroit’s Armenian social life—that arrive with spring and continue through October—are the agoump dinners prepared by Krista and chef-husband Ara Tossounian.

While Krista is in the kitchen preparing her mouth-watering salad, rice, and bulgur pilaf, Ara is outside grilling marinated chicken kebab and perfectly seasoned lulu kufta regardless of the weather—and Michigan can dish out some interesting climatic changes. Ara stands tall and determined to do his part. It is a family affair with their daughters, son, and relatives all involved.

You know the part of the Badarak that reads, “Greet yee one another with a kiss”? Well, that is exactly how the Tossounians greet you as you trespass your way through the kitchen on agoump dinner night. Cheerful hugs and kisses abound.

It isn’t a business, it is a much-needed community service. And it better continue or a ruckus will be raised by those clamoring for more social events, like we had in the old days.

Among all the other activities taking place in this community of Armenians, agoump kebab dinner night is the most popular, looked forward to, and frequently attended by a loyal troop of people in the know, both about great food and camaraderie.

“We love the agoump kebab dinner days,” cry out the devoted deghatzis, Vanetzis, Keghetzis, etc. “We wish it was every Thursday, instead of only twice a month.”

First held at the “Azadamard” Gomideh‘s Armenian Community Center on Ford Rd. in Dearborn, the dinners are now held from 6-9 p.m. in the Lillian Arakelian Memorial Hall at St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, adjacent to the community center.

The Armenian Community Center is now being rented by a charter school, so we are grateful the Tossounians have the church hall. For a time, we were fearful that the dinners would be discontinued; thankfully, they were not. Don’t take that away from us.

Tables fill up fast and the cheerful din of hungry diners takes over the room. So many of us feel the need for a casual venue where we can gather, talk, share coffee and dessert. Granted the community is spread wide and far in Oakland and Wayne Counties, but many happily drive the distance just to be there.

A majority of us speak in English, but the old ways of the survivor generation is in our blood. And as we look around the crowded room, we see some second- and third-generations Hyes joining the mostly older crowd. We reminisce about old Delray, Zone 9 Detroit, Highland Park, cities where Armenians began their adventure in America. We talk about the Findlater, the former magnificent Masonic Temple that was purchased with the factory sweat and ambition of the previous generation, who arrived here as refugees and exiles.

What a priceless legacy that generation gave us. Their character and dedication to their Armenian heritage lives on. Come and do your part to continue their dream so that we can say, “Armenia lives,” no matter where we have ended up.

The need for similar social gatherings is expressly needed in the Detroit community. Why not an affordably priced cheekufta night, or a boereg and salad night sprinkled intermittently throughout the year?

In an aging first-generation born in the U.S. (many of whom have already passed on to their reward or are dealing with health issues), these twice monthly dinners are a precious opportunity to enjoy a delicious home-made dinner. Served buffet style, the portions are generous and the $10 dollar price is a bargain. Soft drinks and dessert are extra. Come and enjoy!

***

From Oct. 6-18, Glendale’s Catherine Yesayan is taking a group to tour Armenia. The Tehran-born Yesayan spent several months there last year and says, “It is so much fun in Armenia!”

Yesayan invites you: “Join us in the land of Noah to one of the world’s oldest civilizations. Armenia once included Mt. Ararat, biblically identified as the mountain that the Ark rested on after the great flood.”

The 13-day tour will focus on the unique cultural, religious, and historical sights of Armenia, such as Holy Etchimiadzin, the first state built church in the world; monasteries included on the UNESCO World Heritage list; and several days exploring the vibrant city of Yerevan.

To learn more, contact Catherine Yesayan by e-mailing cyesayan@gmail.com or calling (818) 497-0707.

The post Apigian-Kessel: Please, You Can’t Take That Away From Us appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

On the evening of Dec. 7, 450 hamagirs and believers in the Armenian Cause led by the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) filled the ballroom of Livonia’s Embassy Suite Hotel to celebrate the ARF’s 123^rd year in defense of the Armenian people.

A scene from the celebration

The Detroit ARF “Azadamard” Gomideh continues to maintain its stellar reputation as a hotbed of Tashnagtsagan leadership. This evening they actively included Armenian youth in training to rise to the occasion and fulfill their role as community activists.

The Homenetmen Scouts presented the American stars and stripes and the Armenian tricolor, Artsakh, and ARF flags.

The Armenian and American national anthems were beautifully sung by Araxie Tossounian, Tamar Changelian, and Nayiri Carman, bringing strong applause.

Young attorney Alidz Oshagan welcomed guests saying, “Each of us have come together as ungers. Proceeds from this evening will be donated to the Syrian-Armenian relief fund.”

Oshagan follows in the footsteps of her attorney mother Georgi-Ann and Ph.D. father Hayg in community leadership. She comes from illustrious Oshagan roots.

The ARF is a political party accountable to all Armenians. That ideology remains steadfast today.

Attending this momentous celebration were members of the ARF Central Committee, Eastern Region.

Months of intensive planning for the 123 years of success included an ad booklet with photos of ARF historical events on the cover.

Also attending were Hairenik editor Zaven Torigian, Armenian Weekly editor Khatchig Mouradian, and Hairenik Association manager Armen Khachatourian, and ARF Eastern Region Central Committee executive director Maral Choloian.

Clergy present at the event included Fr. Andon Atamian of the Armenian Catholic Church, Badveli Dr. Vahan and Mrs. Rosette Tootikian and Pastor Shant Barsamian of the Armenian Congregational Church, Rev. Hrant and Mrs. Tamar Kevorkian of St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, and Rev. Daron and Mrs. Sosy Stepanian representing St. Hagop Armenian Apostolic Church of Racine, Wisc.

ARS was represented by Sirvart Telbelian and her Husband, Hamazkayin was represented by chairwoman Hermine Manougian and her husband, Homenetmen was represented by Garineh Chopjian and Rozalin Basmajian, AYF was represented by Haygan Tcholakian.

“Azadamard” Gomideh chairman Raffi Ourlian thanked the audience and all those who served the party during its 123 years of existence. “The ARF is a political organization to bring the communities together. You all know the horrible events of 1915. All of us remain touched by that injustice. The guilty ones were brought down by members of the ARF’s Nemesis group in various European cities where they sought safety. Some of those heroes were Aram Yarganian, Misak Torlakian, Shahan Natalie, and of course Soghomon Tehlirian, who assassinated Talaat [Pasha] in the streets of Berlin, was tried, and exonerated.”

We fondly remember the now silent voices of Detroit’s own greats, Hagop Mooradian and Kopernik Tandourjian, Providence’s Arthur Giragosian, and Boston’s James Tashjian.

Guest speaker was Antranig Kasbarian, Ph.D, Vice-Chair of the ARF Central Committee-Eastern Region. Conversant in both English and Armenian, he has served the ARF in many capacities. He has worked for the Tufenkian Foundation for many years in resettlement efforts in Artsakh. Kasbarian noted the warm reception he had received from many in the crowd, likening the evening “to a family reunion.” He added that “the strength and vitality of this community is apparent in the wall to wall attendance of an overflow crowd of 450 people.”

Kasbarian’s message stressed that while the ARF has played many different roles in the life of our people, these roles have been generally reducible to three core pillars: 1) Sovereignty and social justice for Armenia and its people; 2) The quest for historical justice, i.e. the struggle for Hai Tahd, which includes Artsakh as well as Western Armenia which was lost in the 1915 Genocide; and 3) The struggle to maintain and develop Armenian language, culture and national identity, i.e. “hayabahbanoum.”

He continued, “The ARF was a leader of our first fledgling Republic and in 1990 actively returned to the Armenian homeland. While the ARF has made mistakes alongside its accomplishments, it has always done so from the standpoint of commitment and engagement. The Republic of Armenia today has goals to achieve. The malaise of people leaving the country must be stemmed. Jobs must be created for people to visualize the hope for economic prosperity to remain in Armenia.”

“We want Armenia to flourish. The ARF kept the dream alive of a sovereign Armenia. ‘They’ laughed at us, calling our dreams unrealistic, but freedom did come to Armenia. If the Soviet Union could fall, who is to say that Turkey is an unbreakable monolith? Our dream may not come today, but over generations the opportunities can arise, so we must remain prepared.” In his remarks, he also elaborated on the importance and contribution of the ARF’s partners and affiliates — the Armenian Relief Society, The Hamazkayin, Homenetmen, Armenian Youth Federation and the church.

Guests dined on a gourmet dinner. Buttery platters of baklava sated the sweet tooth. Johnny Walker flowed for some, but it was Harout Pamboukjian and his band from Los Angeles that excited the crowd, bringing them to their feet as he hit the stage like a rock star singing patriotic songs.

Harout Pamboukjian and his band was introduced by Toros Bardakjian, who first thanked the organizing committee and then the volunteers.

“Detroit, I’m glad you remembered me and invited me back,” the popular singer said. “As cold as it is outside, my heart has been warmed by your support. I remember my father said, “The walls have ears,” thinking of the bad times in Soviet Armenia before our family’s arrival in Lebanon. He would whisper to me about the ARF, the party seeking freedom and justice for the Armenian people. Thanks to the ARF, we have Armenian schools, churches, and community centers. Thanks to the ARF, I too am a believer.”

The artist performed until 2 a.m., bringing people to fill the dance floor with great energy.

The clergy led the guests in the “Hayr Mer” prayer. The ARF anthem “Mshag Panvor” was sung with pride and reverence.

Carly Simon’s composition “Nobody Does It Better” appropriately played softly in the background during the dinner hour; it is an all-telling indication of the ARF’s direction for the future. These 123 years of dedication to the wellbeing of the Armenian people with God’s guidance will grow stronger. The 450 hamagirs cannot be mistaken.

The ARF “Azadamard” Gomidehoutiun and the Greater Detroit community deeply appreciate the performance of Harout Pamboukjian under very difficult circumstances and, collectively, wish for the full recovery and good health of his beloved wife, Rosa.

The post Detroit Does it Better: ARF Celebration Draws Hundreds appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

“He was very, very proud of his Armenian heritage. He really was.” These were the first words that Marguerite (Aznavoorian) Hadjian told me, days after her husband’s funeral. Nazareth “Naz” Hadjian’s life was celebrated on April 10 in St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, where he had served as a member of the Board of Trustees, by Rev. Fr. Hrant Kevorkian.

Nazareth “Naz” Hadjian

The sanctuary that morning was full of Armenians and non-Hyes alike, there to pay their last respects to a man, his wife, and his family. It was clear that our AYF “Mourad-Zavarian” friend had established numerous, long-lasting friendships during his lifetime.

His casket was flanked by beautiful red roses in loving tribute to this son, husband, uncle, and brother-in-law. His death was unexpected, and the sorrow was written on the face of the mourners who approached the casket to say a final goodbye.

The Hadjians had recently returned from a Florida vacation when it happened. “Naz was reading a book with the TV on. I had just come home from walking our dog, Duncan. I called out, ‘I’m back,’ and went upstairs,” Marguerite told me. “When I came back downstairs, I found him on the floor and I called 911 immediately.” He had succumbed to a massive heart attack.

“It was a day like so many others. Almost every night we would be out to dinner with friends, or it we would meet for lunch. They would call and we would go.”

“He loved friends,” she continued. “My girlfriends enjoyed teasing him and he always enjoyed it. They all thought he was a great guy. They would come over to visit. Then we would decide we wanted a pizza. We would send him out to get it and he was happy to do it. He had an out-going nature.”

Naz and Marguerite met and fell in love as members of the Detroit Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) “Mourad-Zavarian” Chapter. “My father made me join,” she said. “I was 17, Naz was 19. Oh my goodness, I loved being in the AYF, going to all the conferences, conventions, and the Olympics.”

The blissful couple would have been wed 50 years this Sept. 12. They were happy years filled with really good memories. “We spent our days together running around. We had a lot of fun. He was my best friend.”

The couple lived in Dearborn Heights and were true animal lovers—dogs, especially, and later horses. Naz did not have a dog as a child, so after marriage husband and wife became dedicated pet owners. They were loving “parents” to all their dogs, including present family member Duncan and a Cockapoo.

Being responsible and caring pet owners says a great deal about one’s unselfish character. During the holidays, the Hadjian residence was an open house. Anyone that did not have somewhere to go was always invited to join in breaking bread with Naz and family.

Nazareth Hadjian was born in Greece to Anna and George Hadjian. The family moved to Detroit when he was eight. Naz graduated from Cass Technical High School with a concentration in commercial art. His careers included commercial art design and printing; for many years he was a self-employed printer. He was a member of the Detroit “Azadamard” Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF).

Together with Chuck Yessaian, Naz brought together baseball and basketball teams, combining Prelacy and Diocese youth in friendly competition, and setting somewhat of a historical precedent. He participated with the Orthodox Youth Athletic Association, where he was inducted into the Hall of Fame for baseball.

During Thursday Agoump kebab dinners, he and Marguerite could be seen dining and laughing, always surrounded by many friends.

In addition to baseball and hockey, Naz enjoyed classic movies and was a member of the Laurel and Hardy Club. He was an avid reader of history, especially World War II books. He was a trivia expert of 1950’s music and old movies, his favorite being “The Best Years of Our Lives.” It seems he made all his years the best. He knew how to squeeze the most out of life.

Above all, the man was passionate about going to the racetrack, which led to him owning several race horses. “When the Detroit Race Course, Ladbrook DRC, was replaced by a big box emporium, Naz had to fight the car’s steering wheel in mock anger,” Marguerite said.

Naz also started an annual tradition of hosting a men-only poker game the night before Thanksgiving, “lasting well into the following morning,” Marguerite said laughingly. Naz even became well known for his barbeque skills, taking time to marinate and prepare meat, making sure it was just perfect for guests to enjoy.

When he left the printing business, Nazareth became a popular blackjack dealer at Motor City Casino, keeping his audience entertained with jokes and stories. They loved his antics.

His lavish Hokeh Jash was attended by 130 people, and his friends gave heartfelt, affectionate tributes to the man they would miss so much. He was, as they say, one of the good guys. When you became a friend of Naz’s, you became family and were embraced for life. He was a loving husband, son to Anna Kololian, brother, uncle, godfather, brother-in-law, and friend. His generosity, love of life, and sense of humor will be missed by all.

Memorial contributions may be made to St. Sarkis Armenian Church and the Michigan Humane Society.

The post The Fruitful Life of Nazareth ‘Naz’ Hadjian (1941-2014) appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

This community proved its dedication to our 1,500,000 million martyrs when more than 600 individuals filled the sanctuary of St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church on the evening of April 24, 2014. This magnificent feat was accomplished with the unified efforts of St. John Armenian Church of Greater Detroit, St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, St. Vartan Armenian Catholic Church, and the Armenian Congregational Church.

Armenian Genocide commemoration at St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church

Who are these 600 individuals? They can be said to be the exiles, deportees, succeeding generations that sprung from the survivors of the Armenian Genocide. “We swear by the spilled blood of our ancestors that we will never forget the Armenians massacred by the Ottoman Turks,” is their cry. And together we paid for the souls of the slain innocents.

Co-mc of the day, Lara Nercessian, vice-chair of the ANC

With standing room only, each person was given a booklet containing the Vespers Service. The sweetest sound was the “Hayr Mer” being recited by the large throng from the Diocese, Prelacy, Catholic, and Congregational churches. The choir, 22 strong, was harmonious and heaven-like. It was so Armenian with the processional, the incense, sharagans, and vested clergy. We took a deep breath and felt proud to be Armenian, and happy to be paying honor to those we lost to the extremists.

“We’re happy to be here on this solemn occasion with all of the Armenian community participating,” said sisters Ida Gononian and Sona Nahabedian. That was the prevailing attitude of the faithful, with many saying ,“We should have done this long ago.” Indeed.

Pastor Shant Barsoumian spoke in English, and said that 1915 was not the first genocide against the Armenians, that there were others not as devastating, but injurious nevertheless. “Please believe God was with us in 1915. Otherwise the enemy would have annihilated us all. God is holy. He brought us through those terrible times. He is bigger, stronger that the Supreme Court and the United Nations. Christ has given us faith over death. Live a vibrant faith-filled life.”

The clergy involved in the service were Very Fr. Diran Papazian, Very Rev. Fr. Garabed Kochakian, Rev. Fr. Abraham Ohanesian, Pastor Shant Barsourmian, and Rev. Fr. Hrant Kevorkian.

The procession with lit candles followed the clergy and choir outside to the Martyrs Monument surrounded by Easter lilies. Afterwards everyone was invited into the

Included that evening was a dazzling performance by some members of the Hamazkayin Arax Dance Ensemble.

Lillian Arakelian Community room for traditional lamb madagh sandwiches prepared by the Ladies’ Guilds from the participating churches.

Remella Carman, 100, and Oghi Mouradian, 101, were honored for being the area’s two sole survivors of the Armenian Genocide.

“It was very moving as we began to sing the requiem in front of the khatchkar. The heavens were with us. A light rain began sprinkling and that is why we never forget. It is as though God sent us a message,” said Vaughn Mesropian, the program director of the Armenian Radio Hour.

The community wishes to thank the clergy, deacons, ushers, organist Helen Movsesian, and Nancy Hardick for leading the choir.

Michael Hagopian and Richard Norsigian will co-chair the events for future genocide commemorations. The 100^th next year will be held at St. Mary’s in Livonia, which holds 1,300 people. The 101^st will be held

Co-mc Hovig Kouyoumdjian

at St. John’s Armenian Church. Both gentlemen briefly addressed the audience of future joint events. Norsigian said, “We want the Turks to realize they did not succeed in eradicating the Armenians. We won’t be satisfied until the Turkish and U.S. governments acknowledge the Armenian Genocide.”

Elaborate plans are underway for May 7-10, 2015 in Washington, D.C., for a show of strength with participation by Etchmiadzin and Cilicia—two Catholicoses, Prelates and Primates. There will be a march to the White House and the Arlington National Cemetery.

The Armenian National Committee (ANC) of Michigan also organized an event called “99 Years of Struggle for Justice” on the evening of April 26, at 7:30 p.m., with the participation of the ARF Detroit “Azadamard” Gomideh, AYF “Kopernik Tandourjian” chapter, the five ARS chapters, the Homenetmen of Detroit, and Hamazkayin of Detroit, at Lawrence Technological University in Southfield.

While the audience of around 300 filled the auditorium, a video showed grisly scenes of death and destruction from the genocide, with Karnig Sarkissian singing, “Barzir Aghpyur.” A train filled with Armenians was headed to death, we are now certain; an open pit held the bodies of dead Armenians; emaciated Armenian orphans lay dead in the street; a photo of murdered Hrant Dink, his body covered with a sheet in front of the Agos building; words from actor Mel Gibson saying Armenians have always struggled; and a poster that read, “Eastern Turkey is Western Armenia!” Another photo was of a child holding up his hands showing the holes by Turkish crucifixion, and there was one of Soghomon Tehlirian, who is credited with killing Talat, the genocide mastermind. Then another video was shown with genocide pictures while Isabel Bayrakdarian sang “Dele Yaman.”

ARF Chairman Raffi Ourlian welcomed guests and introduced the co-mc of the day, Lara Nercessian, vice-chair of the ANC. The presentation of flags was done by the Homenetmen Scouts. The Armenian and Amercan National Anthems were sung by Araxie Tossounian, Nayiri Carman, and Tamar Changelian. Then Nercessian that requested everyone stand in a moment of silence for our martyrs.

Proclamations were read from Michigan Governor Rick Snyder’s office by Ania Biciuk.

She spoke about being on the eve of the centennial. “Our ancestors were forced out of their homes 99 years ago. We have put up with 99 years of Turkey whitewashing history. We fight for recognition. We seek reparation for our lost lands. Despite every effort to destroy us, we have thrived. Twenty-one countries have recognized the genocide. Unfortunately the U.S. has not. Wipe away your tears, it is time to fight for justice.”

Co-mc Hovig Kouyoumdjian, chair of the ANC of Michigan, said, in Armenian, “It is

one year less than 100 years. It is important to light candles and to pray because it gives us comfort, but the time is also for reinforcing our demands for reparations from Turkey. Turkey maintains the same attitude of genocide denial.”

Proclamations were read from Michigan Governor Rick Snyder’s office by Ania Biciuk, and from Senator Debbie Stabenow, Senator Karl Levin, Reps. Gary Peters and Sander Levin. State Rep. Testo, of Chaldean decent, wrote, “Because of the oppression of the Genocide we share a lot more similarities than differences. It is our duty to recognize oppression.”

Guest speaker Ara Papian, a lawyer, historian, and diplomat, heads the Modus Vivendi Research Center. He was a diplomat at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the

Guest speaker Ara Papian

Republic of Armenia, and was the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Armenian to Canada from 2001-06.

He spoke of the significance of Nov. 22, 1920, when President Woodrow Wilson signed the Arbitral Award that decided the border between Armenia and Turkey. That document was kept secret for a long time, but Papian has compiled the over-240 page document, including the maps that clearly show those lands belonging to Armenia, as outlined by President Wilson.

The Arbitral Award bears the Great Seal of the United States of America, rendering it is binding and inviolable, and was signed by the U.S. president and co-signed by the secretary of state.

“If April 24 is memorialized as a day of great loss and a day we began demands for justice, then Nov. 22 needs to become a day of the restoration of justice, of demands for national reparations, and the re-establishment of our dispossessed rights. Arbitral Awards are final without appeal.”

ANCA Executive Director Aram Hamparian

ANCA Executive Director Aram Hamparian was the keynote speaker. He serves as the point-person with the Obama Administration, Congress, and the media. He spoke of why we need to challenge Turkey. We owe it to the world, he explained, that the evil set upon us is not done to anyone else. Armenia cannot be safe even today. If the Turks deny what they did as wrong, then they can say they have the right to do it again. If Turkey is to be a forward-looking state, they must put an end to denial. “It is a tragic testimony the U.S. government will not support our efforts,” he added.

“This year on April 24, Turks friendly to our cause gathered in remembrance, held a demonstration at the very same location where in 1915 our intellectuals numbering over 250 were gathered up and later killed. Change takes time and effort. Building public opinion can lead to the remedy.” Hamparian is an energetic speaker who seems perfect for the position he holds.

The Armenian and American National Anthems were sung by Araxie Tossounian, Nayiri Carman, and Tamar Changelian

Included that evening was a dazzling performance by some members of the Hamazkayin Arax Dance Ensemble, led by Nayiri Karapetian and Lara Zanazanian. The group is in its ninth year of performing and has more than 100 dancers. They are well known throughout the area for their perfectly executed, crowd-pleasing performances. The ensemble continues to draw Armenian youth interested in learning the traditional dance of their ancestors. They gave a fitting tribute to our martyrs, followed by an energetic, upbeat dance that had the audience clapping in rhythm.

Representing the AYF was Anoush Mardigian, a poised and eloquent representative of the “Kopernik Tandourjian” Chapter. Her well-written message of support of our Martyrs, the Armenian Cause, and demands for justice reinforced our faith that the youth are well aware of their responsibility. Our strength is in our youth.

The benediction was delivered by Rev. Fr. Hrant Kevorkian of St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church and Rev. Shant Barsoumian of the Armenian Congregational Church.

An afterglow reception was held at Marhaba Restaurant.

The event was organized by the ANC of Michigan. Participating organizations included the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, Armenian Youth Federation, Armenian Community Center, Armenian Relief Society, Hamazkayin Armenian Educational and Cultural Society, and Homenetmen of Detroit.

Many thanks are extended to those who, with their generous donations, made this event the huge success it was. The donations will be donated to the ANCA Telethon.

The post Greater Detroit United Church Service and ‘Hokehankisd’ appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

Ultimate Armenian Patriot, Consummate Husband, Family Man, and Physician

This community is stunned by the recent loss of a true Armenian patriot, Dr. Vahagn Agbabian of Bloomfield Hills, Mich., who passed away suddenly at age 86.

Dan Gark services were held Friday evening, May 9, at St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, followed by funeral services there on Saturday morning, May 10. Officiating clergy was Rev. Fr. Hrant Kevorkian. Dr. and Mrs. Agbabian had been members of St. Sarkis Church for more than 50 years, and their children attended the Sunday School program.

Dr. Agbabian was the father of Vahan (Julie) Agbabian, Dr. Vartan Agbabian, Joanne Anahid (Glen) Black, and Aram Agbabian. He was the loving grandfather of Ani Elizabeth, Alexander Vahan, Loren Anahid, and Alexandra Tamar. He was the devoted son of the late Vagharsh (from Van) and Noemi (from Bardizag) Agbabian, and dearest brother of Suzanne (Edward) Derbabian. He leaves behind many nieces, nephews, relatives, and friends. Although born in America, the good doctor was a proud and devoted Vanetsi.

The sanctuary was filled with Armenians from throughout the community, as well as the doctor’s professional colleagues and adoring patients. The kindly physician was described as “ecumenical” by Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian, Pastor Emeritus of the local Armenian Congregational Church, whose Dan Gark service tribute to Dr. Agbabian was overwhelmingly sincere; had his words not been spoken in church, it would have deserved a round of applause. The Agbabians were remembered that day as generous givers to anything representing Armenia and Armenians.

Dr. Agbabian’s Hoke Jash had the elegant touch of the Agbabian family. Without exception, his adoring wife of 52 years, Mary Jo (Wonacott) Agbabian, made sure that every detail of the funeral was carried out with the love and care her husband demonstrated throughout his whole life. She is deservedly described as “More Armenian than most Armenians.” Together, husband and wife traveled several times to Armenia, Karabagh, Lebanon, and Syria.

His daughter, Joann Anahid Black, perhaps put it best when she said tearfully, “He always took care of the needs of others first, never himself.” That was a common thread describing Dr. Vahagn Agbabian by all who spoke about him over the two days, when the community came together to pay respect and tribute to the very quiet, always smiling gentleman.

Son Vahan said, “I think it will take the four of us to fulfill all that he did.”

One friend said, “He was one in a million or two.” Another said, “I have known and worked with the doctor for 43 years at Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital. All of us nurses loved him and his sweet smile. He loved his patients and would always listen to them. He was 20 years ahead of his time as far as his medicine went. Other doctors now agree with him.”

Dr. Agbabian was born in Detroit and attended Wayne State, where he received his B.S. in pharmacy in 1950. He then attended Chicago College of Osteopathic Medicine, and interned at the Detroit Osteopathic Hospital in Highland Park. He continued his education in Dayton, Ohio, at Grandview Hospital, graduating with a degree in internal medicine in 1960.

He was on staff as an internist at the Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital (POH) for more than 50 years. He practiced internal medicine, integrative and holistic medicine, and clinical nutrition in his private practice, in conjunction with his staff position at POH. He took part in continuing medical education in his field, allowing him to practice very progressively and effectively with his patients, combining a caring, compassionate, and loving approach. It was not unusual for him to phone patients at home to inquire about their care.

Dr. Agbabian loved to read everything in his field, and particularly anything Armenian. Husband and wife were always at Armenian lectures and book talks, where it was assured he would purchase the author’s book. He had one of the largest personal collections of Armenian books. He loved the church, Armenian food, history, literature, music, and dance. He was paid tribute by the Tekeyan and Hamazkayin Cultural Association.

His services started and ended with the “Hayr Mer” (The Lord’s Prayer). Rev. Dr. Kevorkian recited requiem prayers for his soul. Assisting Der Hayr were deacons Antranig Karadolian, Khatchig Kafafian, Manoug DerOvagimian, and Simon Javizian. Der Kevorkian intoned, “The dead in Christ will rise again. We believe Jesus died and rose again. Rest him among your saints.”

Dan Gark services were conducted in both English and Armenian. Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian said, “He was loved and respected and was a doctor to thousands in his years. Mary Jo, his non-Armenian wife, devoted herself to being a traditional Armenian wife. She was able to say from day one, your people will be my people. He loved with all his heart Armenia and Karabagh, so much that his house became like an Armenian museum with perfectly framed photos, paintings, and sculptors. May his memory be blessed.”

“We feel a deep sense of gratitude. We feel sorrow at the loss of a dear friend. As Christians, his life is not at an end. There is an opening of gates of eternity with the Lord and his departed loved ones. His was a life that enriched the life of many of us.”

Beside his casket were two large flags, that of Armenia and Karabagh, just as in his lovely home. Dr. Agbabian was repeatedly described as a staunch Armenian, a patriot, and a believer in the American way, a man with a pure heart who served as a model as what a genuine Armenian is.

A condolence letter from Antranig Kasbarian on behalf of the Hairenik and the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) Central Committee was read, saying the doctor was fiercely patriotic and a Tashnag through and through. Hokejash speakers included Hermine Manoogian, Jack Garboushian, David Terzibashian, Edward Haroutunian, niece Anahid Derbabian, Joann Anahid Black, and sons Vahan, Aram, and Vartan. They emphasized how important their father thought education was.

The doctor’s mission was to save lives, but the most touching tribute to the deceased was by his wife, Mary Jo, who told of his generosity to her and the family. In her strong voice, she expressed the kindness and character of her beloved husband. “What do we do now,” she asked. “His sudden death took the community by surprise. He was healthy and vibrant one moment and then gone.”

Memorial tributes are to either St. Sarkis Armenian Church or the Armenian Tree Project. Arrangements were in the care of Simon Javizian Funeral Directors. Internet condolences for the family can be e-mailed to Sjavizian@att.net.

It is with great sadness this column has been written in remembrance of Dr. Vahagn Agbabian, the quiet, smiling, kindly Armenian patriot and true Vanetsi. He was a humble man, unconcerned with money or fame

Those who worked with him or were his patients said: “We will miss this person who always personified caring and class”; “It was less like going to a doctor, and more like visiting a friend”; “I know he is being greeted by scores of grateful souls who he helped in the past”; “I continued to be his patient even though I had to travel from New York”; and “He was the heart beat and rhythm for so many patients and staff. He made me aspire to be a better nurse.”

This is one of those times we must let go of someone so pure of heart. The beautiful crystal chandelier over the dining table in their home, which he himself picked out and purchased, will remain as a shining beacon of light, a reminder of the dear and generous doctor everyone admired.

Dear Doctor Vahagn, thank you for getting me through months of pain and immobility with your advice, supplements, and the caring of Mary Jo as well. I will forever be grateful for that and for having known a physician who understands the true meaning of being a healer. All the words of love and adulation spoken at your farewell were deserved by you. May you rest in peace. Your wife and family remain devoted to your memory.

The post Dr. Vahagn Agbabian (1927-2014) appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

Ultimate Armenian Patriot, Consummate Husband, Family Man, Healer, and Physician

This community is stunned by the recent loss of a true Armenian patriot, Dr. Vahagn Agbabian of Bloomfield Hills, Mich., who passed away suddenly at age 86.

Dan Gark services were held Friday evening, May 9, at St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, followed by funeral services there on Saturday morning, May 10. Officiating clergy was Rev. Fr. Hrant Kevorkian. Dr. and Mrs. Agbabian had been members of St. Sarkis Church for more than 50 years, and their children attended the Sunday School program.

Dr. Agbabian was the father of Vahan (Julie) Agbabian, Dr. Vartan Agbabian, Joanne Anahid (Glen) Black, and Aram Agbabian. He was the loving grandfather of Ani Elizabeth, Alexander Vahan, Loren Anahid, and Alexandra Tamar. He was the devoted son of the late Vagharsh (from Van) and Noemi (from Bardizag) Agbabian, and dearest brother of Suzanne (Edward) Derbabian. He leaves behind many nieces, nephews, relatives, and friends. Although born in America, the good doctor was a proud and devoted Vanetsi.

The sanctuary was filled with Armenians from throughout the community, as well as the doctor’s professional colleagues and adoring patients. The kindly physician was described as “ecumenical” by Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian, Pastor Emeritus of the local Armenian Congregational Church, whose Dan Gark service tribute to Dr. Agbabian was overwhelmingly sincere; had his words not been spoken in church, it would have deserved a round of applause. The Agbabians were remembered that day as generous givers to anything representing Armenia and Armenians.

Dr. Agbabian’s Hoke Jash had the elegant touch of the Agbabian family. Without exception, his adoring wife of 52 years, Mary Jo (Wonacott) Agbabian, made sure that every detail of the funeral was carried out with the love and care her husband demonstrated throughout his whole life. She is deservedly described as “More Armenian than most Armenians.” Together, husband and wife traveled several times to Armenia, Karabagh, Lebanon, and Syria.

His daughter, Joann Anahid Black, perhaps put it best when she said tearfully, “He always took care of the needs of others first, never himself.” That was a common thread describing Dr. Vahagn Agbabian by all who spoke about him over the two days, when the community came together to pay respect and tribute to the very quiet, always smiling gentleman.

Son Vahan said, “I think it will take the four of us to fulfill all that he did.”

One friend said, “He was one in a million or two.” Another said, “I have known and worked with the doctor for 43 years at Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital. All of us nurses loved him and his sweet smile. He loved his patients and would always listen to them. He was 20 years ahead of his time as far as his medicine went. Other doctors now agree with him.”

Dr. Agbabian was born in Detroit and attended Wayne State, where he received his B.S. in pharmacy in 1950. He then attended Chicago College of Osteopathic Medicine, and interned at the Detroit Osteopathic Hospital in Highland Park. He continued his education in Dayton, Ohio, at Grandview Hospital, graduating with a degree in internal medicine in 1960.

He was on staff as an internist at the Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital (POH) for more than 50 years. He practiced internal medicine, integrative and holistic medicine, and clinical nutrition in his private practice, in conjunction with his staff position at POH. He took part in continuing medical education in his field, allowing him to practice very progressively and effectively with his patients, combining a caring, compassionate, and loving approach. It was not unusual for him to phone patients at home to inquire about their care.

Dr. Agbabian loved to read everything in his field, and particularly anything Armenian. Husband and wife were always at Armenian lectures and book talks, where it was assured he would purchase the author’s book. He had one of the largest personal collections of Armenian books. He loved the church, Armenian food, history, literature, music, and dance. He was paid tribute by the Tekeyan and Hamazkayin Cultural Association.

His services started and ended with the “Hayr Mer” (The Lord’s Prayer). Rev. Dr. Kevorkian recited requiem prayers for his soul. Assisting Der Hayr were deacons Antranig Karadolian, Khatchig Kafafian, Manoug DerOvagimian, and Simon Javizian. Der Kevorkian intoned, “The dead in Christ will rise again. We believe Jesus died and rose again. Rest him among your saints.”

Dan Gark services were conducted in both English and Armenian. Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian said, “He was loved and respected and was a doctor to thousands in his years. Mary Jo, his non-Armenian wife, devoted herself to being a traditional Armenian wife. She was able to say from day one, your people will be my people. He loved with all his heart Armenia and Karabagh, so much that his house became like an Armenian museum with perfectly framed photos, paintings, and sculptors. May his memory be blessed.”

“We feel a deep sense of gratitude. We feel sorrow at the loss of a dear friend. As Christians, his life is not at an end. There is an opening of gates of eternity with the Lord and his departed loved ones. His was a life that enriched the life of many of us.”

Beside his casket were two large flags, that of Armenia and Karabagh, just as in his lovely home. Dr. Agbabian was repeatedly described as a staunch Armenian, a patriot, and a believer in the American way, a man with a pure heart who served as a model as what a genuine Armenian is.

A condolence letter from Antranig Kasbarian on behalf of the Hairenik and the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) Central Committee was read, saying the doctor was fiercely patriotic and a Tashnag through and through. Hokejash speakers included Hermine Manoogian, Jack Garboushian, David Terzibashian, Edward Haroutunian, niece Anahid Derbabian, Joann Anahid Black, and sons Vahan, Aram, and Vartan. They emphasized how important their father thought education was.

The doctor’s mission was to save lives, but the most touching tribute to the deceased was by his wife, Mary Jo, who told of his generosity to her and the family. In her strong voice, she expressed the kindness and character of her beloved husband. “What do we do now,” she asked. “His sudden death took the community by surprise. He was healthy and vibrant one moment and then gone.”

Memorial tributes are to either St. Sarkis Armenian Church or the Armenian Tree Project. Arrangements were in the care of Simon Javizian Funeral Directors. Internet condolences for the family can be e-mailed to Sjavizian@att.net.

It is with great sadness this column has been written in remembrance of Dr. Vahagn Agbabian, the quiet, smiling, kindly Armenian patriot and true Vanetsi. He was a humble man, unconcerned with money or fame

Those who worked with him or were his patients said: “We will miss this person who always personified caring and class”; “It was less like going to a doctor, and more like visiting a friend”; “I know he is being greeted by scores of grateful souls who he helped in the past”; “I continued to be his patient even though I had to travel from New York”; and “He was the heart beat and rhythm for so many patients and staff. He made me aspire to be a better nurse.”

This is one of those times we must let go of someone so pure of heart. The beautiful crystal chandelier over the dining table in their home, which he himself picked out and purchased, will remain as a shining beacon of light, a reminder of the dear and generous doctor everyone admired.

Dear Doctor Vahagn, thank you for getting me through months of pain and immobility with your advice, supplements, and the caring of Mary Jo as well. I will forever be grateful for that and for having known a physician who understands the true meaning of being a healer. All the words of love and adulation spoken at your farewell were deserved by you. May you rest in peace. Your wife and family remain devoted to your memory.

The post Dr. Vahagn Agbabian (1927-2014) appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

It is said that “There are no atheists in fox holes.” With that thought in mind, I finally fulfilled my obligation to visit the U.S. Veteran’s Cemetery in Holly, Mich., north of Detroit, the facility dedicated as a final resting place for our heroes who served valiantly for the freedom of our country, its values, and the American way of life we cherish.

It was a pleasant drive on I-75, which is clearly marked for directions to the cemetery. I felt chills as I made the turn into the cemetery. A multitude of American flags lined both sides of the road, gently blowing in the freshly born spring day. I could see white marble crosses forever into the distance through my watery eyes. Hundreds of crosses, each representing men and women who bravely served in the armed services of our country, lined up neatly as in military order.

A complete funeral, grave maintenance, and marker are available to a vet and his/her spouse at no charge to the family, other than the service of a funeral director.

Each burial site represents the brave ones who died in war, as well as those who returned safely, hopefully dying at a ripe old age, and choosing to be buried among comrades who, like themselves, knew the hell of war.

Being in the presence of these heroes submerges you into deep thought. Who were these brave men and women who fought for freedom? They held all ranks, from private to general. Some were more distinguished than others, but in a government cemetery they are equal in rank.

The graves of American soldiers can be found throughout Europe, wherever they fought and died. We know we have lost imprisoned and tortured soldiers at the hands of the Japanese, Koreans, and Vietnamese. The graves of those missing in action remain unknown. For their families, it must be unbearable to have no real closure.

I had been told that the serene beauty and peace represented in Holly are equal to the Arlington National Cemetery. I found that to be true, and it would be an honor to be buried there among its rolling hills amidst the towering pines and blue lake. Hundreds of acres of manicured quiet acres await these heroes who likely faced the terror of bombs, grenades, hand-to-hand combat, poisonous chemicals, the loss of limbs and even sanity.

The human aspect, the impact of knowing how wars are fought, is a real human drama. You can think of it as a waste of mankind, or as a fight to preserve our freedom. It remains an ugly part of our existence.

There will always be dictators, greedy power-seekers out to destroy and defeat nations. We bury our dead but we do not forget them, nor should we ever. Memorial Day should not be thought of as a time for drinking and eating only. The dignity of the day should be remembered.

I looked out over the fields full of crosses; some markers bore the Jewish Star of David, and I thought of the many men and women cut down in the bloom of youth. Is this the best civilization can produce?

With hundreds of acres dedicated to the burial of servicemen and their non-military spouses, you realize the government is well prepared to welcome thousands more from future wars to these cemeteries for armed forces personnel. It is not a pleasant thought.

It is never too late to give thanks to God for the return of loved ones who served. I said a quiet prayer of thanks for the return of my family members who served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Thanks must also be expressed to those who died, and those who came back alive, and those that are living out their days in poor health in Veteran’s hospitals. So many of them have been abandoned, and are living out their days in loneliness.

It is a disgrace that many veterans do not get proper care and deserved financial assistance. They have to beg for help. You hear a lot of non-convincing talk about care and benefits for veterans on the air waves, but so much of it is just hype.

I drove all around the cemetery, then did some walking. You can imagine my excitement when I found an Armenian. His white marble cross read, “In memory of Andrew Sarkisian, born Feb. 2, 1917, died Aug. 9, 2012. US Navy WWII. Caring husband, father, grandfather.” His marker bore the distinctive Armenian cross. I said the “Hayr Mer”for Andrew and thanked him for his service.

Another marker read, “Dale Brown, WWII WA AC. Gone fishing. See you soon.”

Another, “Lest we forget, dedicated by the Dept. of Michigan Jewish War Veterans and Ladies Auxiliary.”

Another described the veteran Bob Kroub Ltg G US Navy Korea as “Handsome, debonair, and fun to be with.” One section was devoted to those killed in action. Very few bore no cross at all.

The veteran’s cemetery also had provided for cremations. With the ridiculously exorbitant cost of funerals, the Holly facility is an exceptional option.

With the help of the onsite computer there, I was able to locate and visit the grave of Paul Margosian, a Pontiac friend who died a couple of years ago. Was is it a mere coincidence that among the thousands buried there I was I was able to drive right up to the section and row Paul was in? This is the gentleman who had dunked me, the non-swimmer, in deep water at Cass Lake years ago. He was mischievous and was probably laughing as we both recalled that beach day when we both were so young and life was still kind and sweet.

By the way, that was the one and only date with him, by my choice.

I left the cemetery pensive but grateful for this peaceful place where our servicemen can rest in peace under the stars at night and the sun in the daytime, knowing they are safe in the arms of God and Heaven above. They performed their obligation. Ours is to remember them.

The post Visit to US Veteran’s Cemetery in Holly appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

“Take your family and leave here. We are going to kill all the Armenians,” said the Turk.

Those chilling words spoken in secrecy to the head of Lucie’s family by a Turkish neighbor were wisely heeded, and their exodus from their home to Aleppo, Syria, led them to a safe haven. Thus they were spared from the hideous events of the massive first genocide of the 20^th century, that of the Christian-Armenian citizenry, committed by Ottoman Turks from 1915-23.

Lucie’s is just one story of exile and murder. Volumes have been spoken and written by those who survived the death marches and slaughter; they could have said much more but the unbelievable torture the Armenians witnessed and the total losses they sustained left many mute on the subject.

What about the 1,500,000 martyred victims? What would their voices tell us? Their bleached bones lay near the surface of the sands in the desert of Der Zor in Syria without the dignified burial they deserve. The Euphrates River itself tells its story of being so full of Armenian bodies that its flow was stopped. Mountain chasms too were filled with Armenian bodies. They are our family and they are calling for justice from the Turks and, at the very least, from the world community. Lucie feels anguished by it all.

Armenians are still reeling from the 1915 genocide after 100 years. Now they are dealing with jihadists’ takeover of their communities in the Middle East, like Aleppo and Kessab.

Lucie bristled when I told her what the rebels invading Aleppo and Kessab had allegedly said: “Where are all the beautiful Armenian girls?”

Lucie is a faithful reader of the Armenian Weekly and we have become friends through letters and phone conversations. She resides in New York and is an older woman with great intelligence and thoughtfulness.

Although her family was spared the horrendous fate met by most Armenians in 1915, the resulting psychological ramifications of such a terrible mental and physical act against humanity remain fresh and unresolved. It passes from one generation to the next.

If there is an event that cognizant Armenians will always remember and will rally for justice around, it is the destruction and mutilation of Armenian villages and cities in Turkey and Historic Armenia. The perpetrators believed in “Turkey for Turks,” and they swung their axes and other crude implements of death at the Armenians. And then there were the forced Islamizations…

Lucie’s family settled in Aleppo where, she says, Armenians did very well in many ways in business and various professions. Her family was educated. Her grandfather had a high accounting position in Syria for years. Lucie graduated from high school, continuing on to receive a four-year degree in Aleppo at the French university with high honors. This academic excellence caused her name to appear in newspapers and she was offered a position to teach French without having to formally apply.

She speaks Armenian, English, Turkish, and French fluently. She still enjoys reading French literary and philosophical publications.

Her heart continues to bleed for her fellow Armenians who fell in 1915, and now for those in her beloved Aleppo and Kessab. She says, “The scars never heal. Right now my heart resembles destroyed houses,” referring to the destruction in Syria.

Her unhappiness at the situation in Syria is tempered with the happy memories that remain of growing up there. At age 20, Lucie was asked to recruit and organize young Armenian girls to join the Homenetmen. “In the summer we, the boy scouts and ardzvigs (little eagles), went to Kessab for a panagoom to be in nature,” she remembers. “There we were all Armenians, all Armenian faces and our language. So my beloved Aleppo is no more; and Kessab my Heaven has sadly fallen.”

The sorrow of what has again happened to her fellow Hyes weighs heavy on Lucie’s shoulders. She wonders what the outcome will be for the displaced Armenians.

“Our schools, organizations, way of life was number one. Tashnags, Hunchags, were all active. In the agoumps there were evening speakers; there was the Armenian Relief Society, Armenian college students’ meetings and scouts,” she says. “There were Homenetmen parades, flags carried by young girls and boys all in uniforms. A crowd including Europeans bought tickets to come and watch the soccer games. That was their tashtahantes.”

It is a crime against humanity that fine people like Lucie bear the memory of the Armenian Genocide.

That memory, that we were so hated, lives on in many of us who are the first, second, and third generations in exile born in the free world, stating with determination, “We shall never forget.”

Lucie’s philosophy is: “When you fall down, just get back up. The music never ends, does it? It continues to go on and on and so must we. Life is for the living.”

The post Apigian-Kessel: The Music Just Keeps Playing appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

In childhood, we knew little about what the word faith meant when we looked up to the sky and repeated, “Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.” As adults when we think of Heaven we automatically lift our eyes to the sky, hoping the ones we love and lost to death are peaceful and happy up there. We naturally want to be reunited with them someday.

My religion, like many others, preaches the belief there is a better place we go to after death. We’ve all heard the Der Hayrs (clergy) repeatedly say, “The deceased has gone to a better place.” It is primarily meant to give solace to the mourners left behind. Many still have doubt that a better place exists.

In my persistence of the question about the existence of Heaven, I’ve pursued this issue with several Christian clergymen. They are all firm believers in Heaven, but that is the business of religion, isn’t it? To give humans something to shoot for by behaving properly and leading a life full of goodness, even offering Grace if you confess your sins.

The mantra is if you are a true believer, you will confess your transgressions to receive forgiveness and pass through the Pearly Gates, where you will reside eternally in God’s Holy Kingdom. That is a simplistic explanation. It’s interesting some folks get wealthy by questionable means, then suddenly become patrons of their church trying to buy their way into Heaven (and they are welcomed because the business of running a church is costly). “Come on in, brother, and bring your fat check book too.” Unsavory but realistic.

The good men of the cloth also said there is no sex in Heaven, that we all just love each other like brothers and sisters. They deemed me a hopeless case when I asked, “Then why do they call it Heaven?”

I remain doubtful of Heaven’s existence, and that perplexes me because I really want to believe. I feel deeply about the significance of Holy Week, Easter Sunday, and Christ’s resurrection, but something is lacking. I don’t want to be a believer just because God is to be feared. I want to be a believer because He is a God of compassion.

When you are of Armenian heritage, you do wonder how and why He allowed 1,500,000 of our innocent countrymen to be ruthlessly slaughtered needlessly while the perpetrators still go unpunished and successfully remain in denial. One hundred years later, the same kind of poison is running rampant throughout the Middle East because the genocide of the Armenians was essentially regarded as irrelevant. Wasn’t it startling when all of a sudden the word “genocide” was repeated on television on the news networks in connection with ISIS killings and beheadings?

As a young child, I traveled with my family the 30 miles from our home to the getron in Detroit, known as the Armenian Community Center. I remember someone pinning a lavender ribbon on each worshipper entering the church. Written on the ribbon in Armenian were the words, “Hesous Haryav Ee merelotz” (Christ has Risen from his death). I wondered to myself, “Risen to where?” And my mother’s reply is still a mystery:”Asdvadz ver elav” (Christ has risen to Heaven). I needed more logic; I was left wondering, how does that happen?

The collection plate was passed around several times to benefit various Armenian organizations. My seamstress’s husband is a minister and she frequently offers me Christian literature confirming Heaven. I admire their being so faithful, even under some very dire personal circumstances they’ve endured. They have true faith and that is the secret of believing in Heaven: faith.

A special grave marker is inscribed with, “You no longer need be afraid… Believe.”

Sometime a hole remains in one’s heart, but there is a wonderful place where bright city lights are rare. Northern Michigan’s skies offer a blue-black backdrop for millions of stars where the Milky Way and Big Dipper are easily seen nightly.

I gaze in childlike amazement at that sky filled with so many sparkling heavenly bodies. It is only now that I see them as more than just stars. Now they represent all my loved ones who have passed on—parents, lost loves, our martyrs, friends, all are up there giving me solace, comfort, and hope. With an ever-expanding universe, there is room up there for us all. What a wonderful feeling to know loved ones are looking down upon us!

My special star convinces me I am not alone. Its love strengthens me to carry on offering companionship until one day I, too, find my place next to it.

I no longer fear death as much. I’ve had more than my share of mountains to climb and battles to win.

I’ve had enough kebab, danced many a village bar. I’ve had the pleasure of driving with the car top down, loving grandchildren. I’ve had enough decadent brownies, dug my toes into the ocean sands, picked plenty of grape leaves for sarma. I still marvel at the beauty of sea shells, and the fragrance of a gardenia. I haven’t had or done it all, but I fear the afterlife less.

I’ll get to be with my parents, brother Abe, and the grandparents I never got to know because of the genocide.

I’ll be reunited with my mentor James Tashjian who heroically edited the Armenian Weekly for decades.

I’ll dance with Fred Astaire, I’ll sit next to Chopin, Gershwin, and Paderewski for piano lessons. Tarzan will teach me how to swim. John Wayne, my favorite actor and cowboy, will teach me how to ride a horse. And Degeen Elsig Hairabedian will help me make roejik.

How did the miracle occur that Christ rose from the dead to Heaven? Faith! Believe! You no longer need be afraid. God is your last line of defense.

The post Starry, Starry Night: Faith Leads to Heaven appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

Anya was the granddaughter of a close Armenian friend of mine, and her mindset was to meet a gentleman while in college and to marry soon after graduation. It seems she had the nesting instinct. She wanted to become a dan deegeen (housewife).

Upon hearing her startling plans, my friend and I looked at each other in dismay, thinking, “Who does that nowadays?” A woman needs strong career options in case she never marries or if the union fails. No female should be unable to support herself well, so we hatched a plan that could either backfire or take hold. We got lucky.

“You and grandmother seem to have such rewarding lives,” Anya said. “You both love to cook, clean, and cater to your loved ones.” My reply was “Hah! Stay in school and be sure to get your degree. No intelligent girl should consider marriage before she is 30, and certainly not without a really good university education.”

She looked at me in amazement saying, “But Auntie.” I interrupted and leveled with her. “Listen, Anya, it may have been only 50 years ago but it may as well have been the dark ages. Our parents were old-country people. Armenian society thought all girls should be married before age 25 or Heaven forbid, they were labeled old maids, like overly ripened fruit that no man would pick for a mate. Their options to a daughter were to become a teacher or a nurse, but neither appealed to me. Mind you, they did this out of love. They had seen so much violence and destruction in Historic Armenia and they wanted safety and security for us.

“Their thought was a girl should become a secretary after high school, marry, have children, and take care of the home. That’s no recipe for fulfillment. We want more for you and if I had a daughter, I’d encourage her to get a law degree. It can lead to so many great career opportunities. I sold real estate and one of my clients was an attractive female attorney whose condo I marketed. She was thrilled with my knowledge and professionalism, offering me any legal help I may need in the future.”

“I asked her why she became a lawyer and her answer was, ‘I wanted respect.’ She went on to become a judge earning a handsome salary, while I still had to go out and beat the bushes for buyers and sellers.”

“Don’t think your grandmother is ecstatic about the life we both chose. She doesn’t complain but she wants more for you so please listen to reason. Marriage should be forever but if that doesn’t pan out a law degree will hold you in good stead all your life.”

“The reality is you don’t know it all at age 18, 22, or even 30. You may be old enough to drink and vote but life is overwhelming and you have to be prepared to meet its challenges. Do you think being a dan deegeen is romantic and fun? Spend a week with me and I’ll show you otherwise. Yes, there is a certain satisfaction in mastering popovers and soufflés, but girls today can have a very productive career and respect too.”

“When I get through with showing you the dan deegeen ropes, you’ll run to the nearest law school to submit an application—that is, if you are smart and I know you are.”

To her credit Anya was up for the challenge. On summer vacations and holidays she managed to spend time with me in my empty-nest kitchen. She started looking through my Armenian cookbooks while I watched with interest.

In June I had her in my backyard picking 500 grape leaves, then sorting them according to size and removing all the stems. She heeded instructions to pick the right size leaves and those without holes. I gave her the choice to boil salted water with fresh squeezed lemon juice for dipping then canning the bundles, or to freeze them. Her choice was quick after watching the process: She chose the freezing method. Before we started, I asked her to pull her long hair into a pony tail for sanitary purposes.

I was merciless. “You know those fried oil peppers you love, well, we’re going to the farm market to buy a bushel.” We returned to the kitchen to wash and clean the centers in preparation for pan frying, not in the oven but on top of the range. Yes, there could be oil splattering. We filled the jars then processed them. It was an all-day job and time consuming but delicious. “You don’t think it is worth it? Hmm, I’m surprised.”

She frowned at all the vegetable chopping so many of the recipes required. She passed on the ones like lahmajoun and her favorite chee keyma. When it came to mante, she began to weaken. Rolling out the dough, cutting the numerous little squares, inserting the correct size of hamburger on each piece, pinching each end, declaring it definitely was a two-person operation. She lined the pans, baked until lightly browned, finally adding the chicken broth. We made the madzoun sauce out of Karoun Yogurt, but I explained our parents went the extra mile and made their own with a starter portion from a previous batch. She understood, nodding that her Nana still made her own yogurt.

Katah was her true object to conquer and I read off all the ingredients as she lined them on the counter in her dan deegeen quest. The pounds of butter were melted. She tackled shaghel-ing the dough as she huffed and puffed. I wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead. She collapsed on the sofa while the dough was rising. We made the koontz. By now the kitchen was a mess and I warned her cleanup was part of the deal too. She wielded the long dowel quite well, but became frustrated when during the rolling process the dough stuck together because she had not sprinkled enough flour.

She followed through with all the required steps leaving it again to rise. She beat the egg to spread on each round katah and sprinkled sesame seeds on top. Into the oven the loaded trays went and had to be repeated. It was another all-day job. She looked at me in horror when I told her that by the time we had two for dinner, passed out a few more to loved ones, there would only be six left for the freezer.

“So I have to go through all that dough making again to make beoregs?” she asked.

“Yes, of course, but we can cheat if you are tiring of all this kitchen duty. We can use ready-made phyllo to make cheese triangles. Remember our parents did not have food processors, phyllo, and yogurt to ease their pain,” I said.

She wrestled with the thin phyllo sheets to make a tray of baklava. This was worth it to her. The walnuts were chopped in the food processor because now I was getting tired too. She made the syrup and the dessert turned out great. She was a proud semi-dan deegeen.

I told her making cheoreg was comparatively easy and was next. The sticky dough was getting her down, but on she marched like a trouper. She thinks making cheoreg will be one of the first recipes she will try on her own.

She began to make excuses for not having time to learn the fine art of Armenian cuisine. She did find making stuffed peppers and tomatoes for dolma fun, and making the onion-rice filling for sarma was not exactly easy. She lined the pan and crossed her fingers as she poured hot water on top of the stuffed leaves hoping they all would cook evenly. Now she understood why we picked so many grape leaves. “Yum,” she said as the lemony filling sated her appetite. “Now that’s Armenian,” she exclaimed.

“Anya, perhaps you should lower the bar on your culinary expectations. Your delicious effort will get you short-lived praise. Once the food is consumed the evidence is history, whereas a law degree will be yours forever. I never got a medal for being a fine cook, just personal satisfaction.”

She acknowledged Armenian cuisine was labor intensive but worth it, followed by whomever invented all of it must have been sadistic. I just laughed.

She said she’d buy her lavash hatz at the church bazaar. “Who is going to open up all those circles then throw them on a sadj to brown each side? Too hot a job.”

Homemade halvah required continuous stirring until the melted butter and flour took on a brown nut color. She liked how the splash of hot milk brought the mixture together for a nice dessert when poured onto a plate then cut into squares.

She quit when I began to show her how I prepare a needle and long string lined with walnuts to dip into a fruit juice tallow to make roejik. I told her how I would rig up two step ladders hung with a rope to hang each long piece after successive dippings into the thickened juice.

I’m proud to say Anya finished university and law school too. She remains happily single but is looking. The great part is she likes to wow her legal colleagues when she entertains in Anya’s Armenian Kitchen. They love her sarma and cheoreg. She has a collection of dowels and baking pans of several sizes.

This is Anya’s story on how not to become a dan deegeen, at least not before it is time.

The post Apigian-Kessel: How Not to Become a ‘Dan Deegeen’ (Before It’s Time) appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

He’s the smiling man waving a handkerchief as bahr bash at Armenian events, leading a long line of lively dancers to the melodies of his favored traditional Armenian village music.

With his roots in Keghi, Evarian’s joy and pride in his ethnic heritage is demonstrated when he takes to the dance floor. It is obvious he is having a great time, with his feet and heart responding to the thumping beat of the dumbegs. His glee is infectious, and others quickly join in the snake-like line circling the dance floor.

Evarian’s passion for dancing is equal to making crosses out of palm reeds, which he generously gives to anyone who requests them—and the takers are many.

The General Motors retiree is the son of deceased couple Nick and Rose Evarian, who were very involved in the activities of both St. John and St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Churches in the Metro Detroit area. To their credit, their son remains closely connected to the community. He resides in Dearborn Heights, in close proximity to both churches.

Long-time friend Fr. Abraham Ohanesian describes Evarian, a former St. John’s altar boy, “as a genuine Christian, a kind gentleman of good heart.”

In 1995, Evarian approached Natalie Papazian, a close friend active in St. Sarkis events, with crosses for the church’s annual Palm Sunday dinner. He presented them to youngsters and their parents, and the demand for his crosses continued to grow. He now makes and gives away thousands each year.

“I have the crosses with me 90 percent of the time and children get most of my supply, those from first grade on up to high grades, plus everyone in the congregations,” Evarian says.

“I give out crosses so people will think about the Lord. There is something special that happens when a child looks at the cross in their hand. They gaze at it in reverence and look at me in quiet appreciation.”

Evarian began making the crosses at a young age, taught by his Keghetsi grandfather. They serve as exquisite bookmarkers with Biblical quotations or original poems inspired by his experiences.

He is dedicated to making special crosses for Good Friday burial services for the churches. These crosses are 14 inches in size, and are best described as a cross on a cross. Three each are presented to the churches.

He starts the Palm Sunday crosses in January, making 10 for 7 days until he has 2,100 crosses in time for Holy Week. Last year his efforts produced 2,300 for Palm Sunday.

Fr. Ohanesian serves the St. Louis and Nashville Armenian communities and takes a large number of crosses to his parishioners. Der Hayr also gives patients the revered item on hospital visits. Armenians of Nashville—including children—sent Evarian letters of appreciation for his symbol of Christian brotherhood.

The crosses come in 20 different sizes. Some have magnets, others can be put on a chain, some are angel shaped—all the tedious handiwork of a creative Stephen Evarian.

The process starts with soaking palms overnight in a thoroughly cleansed bathtub to make them pliable. After removing the palms from the water and making the crosses, he places them under a book to dry for two days, then reverses them for the same reason.

He is meticulous with leftover palm pieces. He carefully burns the remnants, taking the ashes to the cemetery, and treating holy water in the same fashion.

Since 1991, Evarian has produced 35,000 crosses. One can be put around a photo frame, another on translucent paper, laminated with verse. Some are sun-catchers. The bookmarkers require much work; they have an Armenian style cross and are fashioned on special grade paper.

“My mom always put a cross in a friendship card to mail to friends,” he says.

Evarian gave 90 crosses to his physician, who in his humanitarian service gave to the needy on a mission to Guatemala.

For years Evarian has been a fitness devotee, and goes to the gym daily. He writes poetry and reads the Bible every day, getting inspiration from its scripture.

The bachelor says that although all of this takes much time, “I am not starving. I love lamb which I grill.”

He always attends the July Armenian festival to socialize with friends and enjoy the lively Armenian band.

A simple cross fashioned out of a palm? It represents what God generously offered mankind: a precious gift of redemption, love and hope to reside with Him eternally in Heaven.

The post Meet Steve Evarian appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

Ruth Thomasian and Project SAVE are a very important, worthwhile organization worthy of your attention. I had the pleasure of talking with Ruth recently and told her of a hand-held Armenian language prompter given to me years ago by Steven Karadian.

Cover of the Project Save 2015 calendar

Project SAVE’s mission is to collect, document, preserve, and present the historic and modern photographic record of Armenians and the Armenian heritage. Get in touch with them by writing to P.O. Box 236, Watertown, MA 02471-0236; calling (617) 923-4542; visiting www.projectsave.org; or e-mailing archives@projectsave.org.

What a charming, ebullient lady Thomasian is. She knew I was from Michigan and told me how upon graduating from high school she had said, “Get me out of here [Watertown]! I was a Methodist and consulted with a clergyman who advised me. I sent for a catalogue and I knew Albion College in Albion, Mich., was for me. I was happy to stay in Albion for four years. I got my degree in history and elementary education. I now love what I do.”

She glowed when she said, “I even own a Petoskey stone.” How is that for a Michigan connection out of the blue? Petoskey stones were deposited only in certain rare places by the melting of glaciers millions of years ago. Looking for them along the shores of Lake Michigan is a fun hobby. There’s a lot of Michigan in Thomasian’s heart.

Her grandparents, Mardiros and Mariam Tovmassian, were from Arabkir, a village of Ancherti that means “without water.” “Ironically they settled in Watertown,” she said. Grandpa Mardiros was a businessman who purchased wheat to turn into bulgur. Doesn’t that show the entrepreneurial mind of an industrious Armenian, just like the dedication of his granddaughter Ruth Thomasian?

Project SAVE accepts all kinds of photographs. Their collection includes photos of Armenians from China, India, Japan, Hayastan, and Diana Apgar’s family photos in Yokohama.

“We visit people in their homes to locate and collect photographs. We need young people to assist us in this project. We need a local conduit to collect photos in other cities. The collection includes a lot of unknown photos, but we want them all regardless because perhaps they could have the photographer’s name which we could then research, or even have Armenian writing we can decipher,” she said. Thomasian suggests that donors keep a digital copy of donated photographs.

I have volunteered my services to Thomasian to collect photos in the Detroit area.

This year’s Project SAVE calendar commemorates the 100th year since the beginning of the Armenian Genocide. It is a true gift of history, a precious keepsake for all time, containing brief essays about the Armenians, a reminder about those who came before. It represents our precious Armenian history, which the Turks tried to erase and to this day deny. Never forget!

Call or go to the website for this special calendar. It can also be obtained from the website www.Armenianvendor.com. It is $15.00 for 1, or $10.00 each for 10.

Locate those photos tucked in a drawer or in your attic and send them to her address. Don’t allow them to eventually end up in a garage sale, resale shop, or even worse to be thrown into the trash. Our ancestors deserve much better and you can be of enormous help. Please send your photographs to this worthy organization and purchase the 100th commemorative calendar, too.

Please recognize and be grateful for the work Thomasian is doing for the love of being Armenian. She and I have forged a permanent bond—two women of proud Armenian descent bidding each other “Tsedesoutiun.”

Thinking of the survivor generation stirs up feelings of love and respect. They occupy a special place in our hearts, where there still exists a bit of longing. We remember them with fondness for many reasons. They are irreplaceable.

To that end, I have created this list, which by no means is complete. I hope it makes you to pause and think of creating your own list of cherished memories.

It was during a recent, ordinary afternoon when I said to myself, “I have to phone mom.” My dear mother, Takouhie, passed away in 1989, but the need for her in my life remains strong. I was her youngest, as well as the one living closest to her. We shared many a late night cup of tea and some of her delicious home-made cookies or Armenian pastry. No one can take her place for wisdom and kindness. The emptiness remains. If Queen Elizabeth had her mum, the great lady in my life was my mother.

Takouhie triggered this column. She loved hearing the tic, tic of my fingers hitting the keys on the typewriter many years ago.

I miss sitting down to dinner and my father gently brushing the hair out of my eyes, saying, “Tsakus, anoush aghchigus.” That was just one of the perks of being the much youngest of his four children. I was dad’s little girl, and Abe’s baby sister.

I miss my brother Abe, my parents’ golden son, pulling up in the driveway of our family home like a homing pigeon—as if he had extra sensory perception—as our mother was removing freshly baked katah or cheese boereg from the oven. He was my parents’ first born and only son. Mother was just 17 when she had him. Abe was the light of her eyes. He preceded her in death by 4 years at age 60, the cruelness of a parent losing a beloved child.

Making snow angels was always a favorite of mine, along with having the wind in my face as I drove by bicycle down the Prospect Street hill at age 10. I never lost that love for fresh air.

Playing badminton as a pre-teen in our driveway with my friends with a shuttlecock made out of feathers, not a plastic one, would go on until the daylight hours diminished into darkness.

I graduated to cars when I got my job at General Motors. It was a slightly used 1955 turquoise and white Ford convertible, a beauty. I’ve seen one just like it fully restored at a classic car show for a very high dollar amount, guaranteed to be more than the original purchase price.

A real estate closing always promised a check and was an occasion to celebrate by going out to dinner. It was a thrill each time, and better than you know what.

Nothing can duplicate inhaling the fresh fragrance of a little baby when nuzzling the nape of its soft neck. Add to that raising little children and having them call you “mommy.” If only I could go back to those sweet days.

Speaking Armenian has always been a special treat for me. I even miss going to Armenian school. Who is there to speak the language of our ancestors with now?

We had an agoump on Ferry Avenue in Pontiac and most weekends the Tashnatsagan community of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, Armenian Relief Society, Armenian Youth Federation, Armenian school students, and the choir organized by Baron Kevork would gather there for a weekend event. Nothing can even come close now to the camaraderie that city held for its Armenians. People still ask me, “What is new in Pontiac?” I think to myself, “What Pontiac? No Armenian is left there.” I just smile at their lack of awareness.

As an adult, I truly miss the survivor generation of Armenian women I met in the St. Sarkis Ladies’ Guild in the 1970’s and 1980’s. They represented dedication to their Christian faith, strength of character, and lived with and overcame the human torture they witnessed in their villages of Historic Armenia. I remember each and every one of them, and recall their pride in out-doing each other in opening those ever-expanding koonts of dough for katah, to be sold to benefit the church. I just miss them all so much. I’m not saying a few of them were not firecrackers and a handful to deal with—that, too, was part of their charm.

I smile when I recall the ride down Woodward Avenue trying to teach my mother how to pronounce the word “fish.” She always said feesh. I would prompt her by asking her to “say fish,” and she would say it correctly. Then I would ask her to say the word for tzoug, and she would revert to saying feesh. I gave up. Feesh was on the menu most Fridays at our home.

I miss the hissing sound my snow-laden gloves made when I came in to get warm after sledding on our neighbor Mr. Mason’s backyard hill. I’d put them on the kitchen radiator. I never got scolded for the puddles that naturally developed.

Stairs were never a challenge. I used to trot up the Prospect Street house two at a time, several times a day. Can’t do that anymore.

How I wish we still had another Friday night like we did in the late 1950’s and 1960’s at the Stockade Nightclub in old Dearborn. It was an almost all-Armenian crowd that gathered there to dance to village music played by then-teen Khachig Kazarian and his band. I had finally arrived to the adult world.

Noted local attorney Edward L. Haroutunian was recently inducted into the 2014 Heritage Hall of Fame Gallery at a gala dinner celebration at the Colony Club in downtown Detroit. He was joined by five other community leaders, also honored.

Edward L. Haroutunian

Those inducted into the Heritage Hall of Fame Gallery join an elite roster of more than 100 community leaders. Only two others are of Armenian heritage: industrialist Alex Manoogian and businessman Edgar Hagopian.

The new inductee was surrounded by 25 proud family members sitting at tables with an Armenian flag at the center, reflecting the honoree’s loyalty to his Keghi-Van Armenian roots and the Armenian Youth Federation (AYF), of which he was a member for many years.

Rev. Dr. Vahan and Yn. Rosette Tootikian represented the Armenian Congregational Church of Southfield, Mich. Badveli Tootikian gave the invocation to the several hundred attending guests. Flanking him on stage were both the American and Armenian flags. It is through Ed Haroutunian’s efforts that the flag of his ancestors proudly stood with those of other nations.

Haroutunian has been a 25-year member of the Heritage Foundation, being brought into the fold by fellow Detroiter Frank Stella, an internationally known businessman. Stella was aware of Ed’s ethnic origin and extensive political involvement. In him he recognized a man of character who proudly straddles his Armenian roots with devotion to this country.

The purpose of the Heritage Hall of Fame celebration is to recognize exceptional leaders from various ethnic backgrounds that have made outstanding contributions to the American way of life. Those selected few have demonstrated commitment to the cultural diversity of our communities. Detroit and Michigan are standouts in that respect.

Haroutunian attained the American dream in one generation through diligence and education, fulfilling the expectations of his parents Loris and Nevart who insisted their son be an excellent student.

Organizations like Detroit’s International Institute benefit from the celebration. They provide services supporting immigrant families to become citizens and contributing members of the community by language study, professional services, and social support to achieve citizenship.

The chairman of the Foundation Board of Trustees is Anthony Rugiero; vice chairman is Edward Haroutunian, Esq.

Ed was born in Pontiac to Loris (Louis) Haroutunian. His mother Nevart (Ohanesian) Haroutunian was born in Grand Rapids, and was of Vanetsi heritage.

“My father was gung ho about good education,” he says. “He believed it was the key to success.” Ed and older sister Judy (Mead) were encouraged to earn good grades by their parents. Brother and sister attended the excellent Pontiac Public Schools, then graduated from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and he from the Wayne State University Law School.

Addressing the gathering, he said that he “arrived on the shoulders of others.” He told them his father was born in Arak, Keghi, in historic Armenia and that he was a survivor of the Armenian Genocide. Most of his family was killed by the Turks, and Loris ended up in the American Near East Relief orphanage system. Ten years later, he and his brother Michael came to the United States with the help of their older brother, Armenag Haroutunian. All became respected members of the Pontiac community. Loris thought America was “a dream come true.”

Ed has practiced law for 46 years with no plans to retire. He is president of the Bingham Farms law firm of Haroutunian, Licata, Haroutunian, P.C., in partnership with wife Susan Licata Haroutunian and daughter Krista Haroutunian. All are power figures in local, state, and national Republican politics.

They have attended eight national conventions. Keep your eyes on Krista who has attended party functions with her parents since her baby stroller days. She graduated from the University of Michigan and the Detroit College of Law. She attended the Armenian Relief Society (ARS) Day School from Kindergarten through sixth grade because her parents thought it a good learning environment. She has been a member of the ARS “Maro” Chapter for 16 years and has served on the Mid-Council.

Both Krista’s grandmothers have had an influence on her. The late Nevart Haroutunian was an original member of the Pontiac “Ani” ARS Chapter. Krista follows in her footsteps.

Edward and Susan were wed in 1968. She finished Wayne State Law School in only six years. She is brilliant and understated, the quiet knowledgeable companion to her husband who readily admits, “Susan and Krista have both acted as my compass for decades.”

Ed got involved in politics in 1967 by his future father-in-law Anthony Licata, who ran for the State House of Representatives in Northwest Detroit against Jimmy Hoffa, Jr.

Ed says, “They thought he’d lose but instead he won.”

One of Ed’s proudest accomplishments for the Armenian Cause was helping to secure a statute in the state of Michigan commemorating the 1915 Armenian Genocide. He and Edgar Hagopian testified in front of the Michigan State Sub-Committee, and they voted unanimously to pass a law recognizing the genocide of 1915, followed by Gov. John Engler putting his signature on it.

Ed then wanted to help with getting the various other genocides to be taught in schools.

Ed attended the well-known Interlaken Music Camp. He and sister Judy took private music lessons. They received the Armenian School diplomas in Pontiac.

His Armenian school teacher, Deegeen Sophy Hovagimian, asked him to speak in Armenian at the ARS’s annual “Benag Me Geragour” banquet. His proud father helped him write a talk in krapar (classical Armenian) which the then-19-year-old college student read.

It said, “Let us not cry but with a burning desire in our hearts let us continue to do our work and to do it well.”

He then put the paper down and in his own words in Armenian said, “It’s wonderful to speak Armenian; the recitations and the dances too are wonderful, but the most important is the history, the badmoutiun must be told from one generation to another.”

If you wonder why Haroutunian has the long ponytail he’ll tell you: His father was a successful self-employed barber for 66 years. It is out of respect for his father that Ed has not allowed anyone to shear his locks since the elder Haroutunian’s death in 1993. His survivor father not only put his two children through university and Ed through law school, but moved his family to a new house in upscale Bloomfield Township.

Regarding the Armenian Weekly, which has been coming to the Haroutunian house for over 50 years, he says, “I think the Armenian English-language newspapers, the Armenian Weekly and the Mirror Spectator, are very important. The paper is worth the price. They report overall news and analysis of what goes on in Armenia. Papers are important for peoples’ views to be exposed.”

Ed has fond memories of his AYF days. “I remember sitting down in the basement AYF room and taking a required test printed in the Weekly. I was a high school student. Every chapter had to take the test. Results were printed in the paper along with a list of people who took the test.” Not surprisingly, Ed came in first place with 98 points and the Pontiac “Aharonian” Chapter overall came in first place out of the many chapters throughout the country, a definite coup for the small group.

He continues, “I met terrific people in the AYF. I loved going to all the different chapter cities of Racine, Boston, Philadelphia, etc. I enjoyed the AYF Olympics, conventions, the politics, and the welcome of meeting new people. I’ve been blessed.”

For the 100^th commemoration in 2015 of the Armenian Genocide, he says, “We need to direct thought to accomplish something. Other things need to be focused on. Remember the only president who acknowledged 1915 as a genocide was Ronald Reagan.”

Ed has roots in Van too. In 1911, his Vanetsi grandfather Mgrdich came to America with his brother who advised him to return to Van in 1913 to find an Armenian wife. He did. Araxe agreed to come to America with him for the sake of adventure, and with her husband’s promise to return to Van someday. It was not to be.

In February 1914 the couple returned to Grand Rapids. Their daughter Rose was born in October 1914 followed by Ed’s mother Nevart, born in December 1915. Because of the genocide, the Ohanesians never returned to Van. They did go to Yerevan afterwards, she five times and he three.

Congratulations to Edward and his family. You have done your parents, the martyrs, and all of us proud.

A tall crystal statue with a globe atop sits in Ed’s office as a reminder of his elevation to a higher degree in life’s accomplishments. “America offers opportunity. It cannot guarantee outcome,” he says.

The post Immigrant’s Son Soars To New Heights appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

It’s that time of year again. The word “donation” is everywhere. It can be bewildering. You are besieged by charities seeking financial assistance. Your heart is in the right place. Shopping malls have bell ringers with the red kettle waiting for your change—clink, clink. Your church conveniently encloses an envelope; it seems like a never-ending challenge for them to make ends meet.

Sometimes you are hard pressed to decide what the best choice is. As Armenians you already know all Armenian organizations welcome your goodwill. The Salvation Army, too, always seems to get a good report for dollars actually helping the needy as opposed to administrative costs.

You picture yourself on a tropical cruise. Perhaps your desire is to escape to a warmer climate to sun yourself on a chaise lounge while sipping a rum drink as you stare at the ocean’s waves.

You consider your grandchildren, whom you want to shower with gifts, and their very important future college fund. Perhaps you are in a position to do all of this, but what about giving to the well being of our brave men and women who fought in the Middle East and came home with physical and mental disabilities? Their lives will never be the same. They fought for our freedom but too often we hear of the very slow assistance they are getting from our government, which has billions to float to foreign countries but neglects our veterans. This is the saddest situation of all.

You’re surrounded by many good causes asking for financial support. With Christmas so near, why not make this newspaper, the Armenian Weekly, a top choice? Perhaps the recipient of your goodwill could be an elderly person living on a fixed budget who has to choose between food and medication instead of renewing their subscription. Ask around and surely you’ll find someone who would be thrilled to get the gift of the Armenian Weekly. Perhaps a member of the Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) or a college student would appreciate a gift subscription.

There is a certain pleasure derived in holding a newspaper in your hands that is not the same experience you get from reading the online version.

Julie DerManuelian was gifted a life-long subscription to the Weekly by her father Steve Karadian years ago. She says, “I look forward to getting that paper in the mail every week, holding it in my hands while I sit down to read it. I love reading the news and events in the Armenian Weekly and think of my father as I do. He loved that newspaper and believed in supporting it.”

The Weekly is full of interesting commentary, photos, top-notch political news, columns, and local community events.

Attorney Ed Haroutunian has had the benefit of an Armenian Weekly subscription for decades. The former AYF member says, “The paper is worth the price. Newspapers are important for peoples’ views to be expressed. It helps keep me in the know about the political atmosphere in Armenia, and that is important to me.”

Newspapers are a vanishing breed vital for us to be an informed society. Please don’t take freedom of the press for granted, especially the Weekly. As people of Armenian heritage, we should be especially cognizant of the meaning of freedom and its benefits. The Republic of Armenia has not been a free democracy all that long, and it was and is the Armenian Weekly that stood by her fighting for a free and independent state through all the years she was part of the Soviet Union. Keep the Weekly on its feet by renewing or giving a subscription to someone. Open their minds with all the valuable reporting it contains.

The Hairenik Daily was so important to our parents, the genocide survivors, that if for some reason it did not arrive, they would get agitated, instructing their children to complain about  delayed delivery to the U.S. Post Office.

You’ll be strengthening the resources of fine papers by subscribing. Also think of the Armenian Weekly and the Hairenik as recipients for “in lieu of flowers” for a deceased friend or family member, for special anniversaries, and birthdays, too. You’ll be supporting a good cause, the Armenian Cause.

It would be a disgrace to the freedom fighters and their sacrifice, if the Weekly were to close down. Please help keep the great tradition of this newspaper rolling.

It is also important to support the Mirror Spectator. It, too, serves an important role in the community.

There is no doubt the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) needs your support, as well as all its umbrella organizations, such as the Armenian Relief Society (ARS) and the Armenian Youth Federation.

The Detroit ARF’s recent annual celebration was again a huge success with more than 500 people attending their dinner-dance. Internationally they have been in the hearts and minds of Armenians, never forgetting the ARF’s leadership was always in the forefront, fighting for a free and independent Armenia and giving reverence to the tricolor. The ARF is here to represent all the Armenian people with accountability.

The ARS, too, has become a more sophisticated organization with far-reaching tentacles into the fabric of many phases of charitable work benefiting the Armenian people. It has established an outstanding world-class reputation recognized for its valiant work supporting the needy and teaching the Armenian language.

The Armenian Youth Federation and the Hamazkayin Cultural Organization stand tall in furthering the Armenian Cause. We would be lost and ineffectual without the youth movement following in the footsteps of the ARF and ARS.

The recent AYF Olympics Ad Book showcased the love and support of many generations of Armenians and businesses.

We have the Salvation Army and American Red Cross worthy of financial support, too. I especially want to include worthy organizations taking up the cause to saving animals on the endangered list. Poaching is rampant, especially in Africa where so many of God’s creatures such as elephants, lions, tigers, leopards, and ocelots are killed for pelts and ivory by mankind’s greed.

Why should any animal be killed for a fur pelt to become a coat when sheep can be sheared with no loss of life? Pure vanity and selfishness. Does any person look more attractive because they are wearing animal fur?

Another charity worthy of consideration are those hospitals dedicated to the healing of sick children. Nothing can break a heart more than the sight of an ailing child trying to recover from a life-threatening disease. They surely deserve your dollars and prayers, too. Suggestions: St. Jude Hospital and the Shriners.

The local Animal Rescue League and Humane Society should never be overlooked. They save the lives of many unwanted pets. If giving a pet as a Christmas gift, please give thought to what you are doing. Select carefully. As a member of the human race, be kind, sympathetic, and wise in your decision.

Be a hero to a veteran, endangered animals, the ARF, its organizations and neglected children. Pat yourself on the back for your generosity during the season for giving.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year with my appreciation and love for making Michigan Hye Beat one of the Weekly’s most read columns. Please continue your subscription and send a friend a gift of one also. Until we meet again, tsedesutiun.

The post The Season for Giving (of Yourself) appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

Olivia Ani Mouradian, 13, of Milford Township, Mich., is a third-generation Armenian, the daughter of Vahan and Kathy Mouradian, and is destined for success based on her already impressive resume. It makes you wonder what you were doing at her age.

Olivia Ani Mouradian

Olivia’s academic accomplishments are numerous, but so are her desirable personality traits of thoughtfulness, self-confidence, vivaciousness, and love of family tempered with modesty.

Mouradian is a self-motivated eighth grader who is an over-achiever, a Girl Scout member, and an all-“A” student who tutors fellow students. She is a school band member, cheerleader, and admitted fashionista.

These are innate attributes, possibly fueled by being surrounded by highly successful relatives.

Mom Kathy is an elementary school teacher, and father Vahan is an electrical and mechanical engineer. They acknowledge their daughter keeps them very busy, saying, “She is a great kid and always does the best she can in so many things, whether academic, acting, theater, cooking, or thrill seeking. Her variety of interests is ever expanding. She is thoughtful of others, energetic, and self motivated. She’s got nerves of steel, even tackling a ride on a 100 mph roller coaster.”

“She has parasailed and even though she fell off a small dirt bike at age 10, she was not deterred,” they tell me. “She is close to her younger brother Evan with whom she takes time to nurture a relationship.”

Olivia says she got her name because mother fell in love with “Grease” film star Olivia Newton John.

She has twice been a camper at Camp Haiastan and overcame her home sickness at an early age when she discovered other girls felt the same emotion, too. “I had a blast at camp,” she says, forging permanent friendships with the Chicago girls. They all met up at the AYF Junior Olympics in Detroit this past summer and attended the evening dance together. Another of Olivia’s loves is Armenian dancing.

Grandmother Rose Mouradian has been in interior design. Grandfather George is a quality reliability engineer and noted author. Her Aunt Anita (Mouradian) Granger is a structural engineer/architect, along with architect Uncle Terry Granger. Olivia’s Great Aunt Alice Mouradian was a secretary to the top echelon at the Tank Automotive Command. She can count among her cousins a West Point graduate and an electronic software engineer. Her maternal grandfather is a mechanical engineer at General Motors Tech Center.

As a member of the Muir Middle School band, she plays the trombone. She has not decided what college she wants to attend, but has always wanted to study at an Ivy League school. It would be no surprise if the offers are numerous to capture her as an enrollee.

Her grandparents acknowledge Olivia’s talent, saying, “She is very social and has a cheerful personality. She is an amazing, terrific young lady.”

Olivia is even mastering the art of friendly persuasion. It was through her gentle persistence that she led her Girl Scout troop to do an Armenian-themed display for a community-wide exhibit along with 200 other girls in the Milford area. She pushed for Armenia and her troop agreed with a display of Armenian food, the tricolor flag, and the Armenian cross. Bravo, Olivia!

A future actress? She has twice attended Blue Lake Fine Arts camp in Muskegon, where she learned about acting, theater, and musicals. She had a part in a play and was presented with an Outstanding Award for Acting, which included a monetary prize. “I loved it. I met so many talented people there,” she says.

Her acting experience continues to grow at her school, where she was narrator for “Wizard of Oz” and Wendy in “Peter Pan.”

Olivia has earned her parents’ confidence and they have given her more responsibility and freedom, which she likes. Life as a new teen doesn’t seem much different to her. She is aware of the diverse atmosphere at her school, “much like the rest of the world,” as she says, and is selective of who she befriends. She loves shopping at Twelve Oaks Mall with her brother and her friends.

The siblings now have a docile new companion, a friendly nine-month-old pit bull terrier named “Letterman,” adopted from a shelter.

She bakes cupcakes and sometimes shares cooking time with Grandmother Rose, making “bishi,” also known as angel wings.

What teen today knows about fashion icon Coco Chanel? Olivia does and calls Coco her inspiration. Her interest in fashion has led her to ready many books about the French fashion designer from decades ago. She has a collection of Eiffel Tower statues.

She is also into gymnastics and karate, and is a cheerleader. Her bedroom is floral pink replete with candles, photos of friends, along with awards of all her achievements. She also has inspirational sayings posted and confesses she loves to sleep in.

On July 3-5, 2014, Olivia competed against 160 girls in the National American Miss contest at the Hyatt Hotel. The competition was for the girls to express “their views on life.” It was for the participants to express their potential in gaining poise, self-confidence, and valuable communication skills.

Olivia was presented with two runner-up awards for best resume and for best actress, two trophies for each category. Although it was not a beauty contest, the lovely young lady could have walked away with that category as well.

Mouradian is surrounded by a loving family intent on providing opportunity and wise direction through her growing years. May she continue on her path of bringing pride to them and become a tribute to humanity.

May Olivia Ani soar to higher heights in whatever she decides to become. We wish her well and look forward to updates on her learning years.

Youth like Olivia Ani leave you with the feeling that the world’s future is bright, after all.

The post Spotlight: Olivia Ani Mouradian, Model Teen appeared first on Armenian Weekly.

I remember them all so fondly, those elderly Armenian bachelors back in the 1950’s when I was a teenager. They were survivors of the Armenian Genocide who had found a home and social acceptance at the Armenian Revolutionary Federation’s (ARF) “Raffi” Gomideh agoump on 223 Ferry Ave. in Pontiac, my hometown. The agoump is forever a place of fond memories, never to be equaled in my lifetime. It was our home away from home.

Their surnames and burial places have been forgotten, but parental expectation has taught me to still respectfully refer to them as the “Barons.” They are Baron Donig, nearly blind Baron Agaghag, Baron Vanetsi, Uncle Pete, Baron Kholkhotsi, Baron Pilos, and Baron Jack, the agoump’s caretaker and manager.

They were variously described by the local Armenian community as “meghk,” “peroushan,” “kheghjoug,” “der diragan chounin,” or just plain “bekarner-uh,” the bachelors. These were Armenian words closely describing them as unfortunate souls, bachelors who had no one.

I saw them frequently as I made my way to the lower level of the agoump to attend Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) meetings or Armenian School classes with my teacher, Baron Hovagim Hovagimian. He was a high school teacher in Trabzon before ending up in a German concentration camp and being freed through the combined efforts of George Mardikian and the ANCHA (Armenian National Committee to Aid Homeless Armenians).

“Club gertam,” we called out as we headed to the agoump for meetings, lectures, khnjouyks, or just to sit and enjoy strong Armenian coffee or tea of a dubious nature. The Armenian Relief Society (ARS) held meetings there as well; consequently, it was open seven days a week and well frequented.

Youth is not wasted on the young. I certainly noticed the bachelors, and knew of their unfortunate place in history as victims of exile and deportation, but in my youthful innocence I did not realize what a valuable interview resource I had at my fingertips.

The Barons’ past had played out in the violent and vicious manner known as genocide. The Ottomans believed in a “Turkey for Turks,” and sealed the death of 1.5 million Armenians. The wives and children of these elderly Barons had also fallen victim to that hatred of Christians. The genocide had been an attempt to annihilate an ancient nation. The bachelors never remarried out of respect for the ones they lost.

I am grateful that these gentlemen enriched my life beyond measure—and not only as a writer. They added color to my life to draw upon layer by layer.

It is the 1950’s, and the Barons were already elderly men who arrived at the club on foot slowly shuffling with the assistance of a cane. They left behind their grimy boarding house domiciles to share camaraderie and to drink strong Armenian sourj (coffee) with their fellow Hyes, who like themselves were exiles but now had the benefit of family and home.

The Barons had a friendly place to gather, the Tashnag agoump. A few belonged to the organization and there was no khdraganoutiun (discrimination). They were Armenian, and that is all that was necessary.

Blind Agaghag was severely handicapped. One wonders what this very quiet man witnessed. I now believe both age and suffering at the hand of the Ottoman Turks left them with the weight of the world on their sagging shoulders. With no familial support system, the agoump and fellow ARF-ers became their sanctuary. Redemption was their fight for a free and independent Armenia.

Baron Donig always wore a navy suit, white shirt, and tie. He was a chain smoker with evidence of dropped ashes on his suit vest. That was part of his charm. I remember him as quiet and gentle.

Baron Pilos, also known as Mike Thompson, was a tall, strong construction worker who was the comic and an entertainer with his antics. He’d return from his muddy job, go upstairs to the grocery store boarding house, and return spiffed up with suit, shirt, tie, and hat. At weekend events, when a cake would be raffled, he would frantically compete for the prize. He knew he was being baited but his generous heart thought of only the charity that would benefit. And besides, he loved the attention and limelight.

Baron Pilos always got the cake, which would have cost far less at a local bakery, but now his fun would begin. The ladies would giggle and laugh as Baron Pilos took center stage, bending and slapping his knees, dancing in celebration as the packed hall roared and clapped with approval. He would whirl and twirl with reckless abandon. Now I wonder just what his personal losses were in his native Keghi that caught so much of the Turkish bludgeoning.

Let me set the scene at our club. You’d climb cement steps to get inside, where you’d fond hooks for your coat and a water-filled Coke cooler, which also had Nesbitt’s Orange soda in it. The main hall was always filled with cigar and cigarette smoke, for which the wall fan did little good.

The formerly sagging wood floor was replaced by a solid one through the generosity of our family friends, Harry and Vasganoush Kalajian. They had been guests at a family engagement party and saw the floor was an accident waiting to happen. He was a Detroit industrialist/philanthropist who came to the rescue, and the ARF members pitched in the labor to replace the floor.

We actually used to get a kick out of watching a substantial portion of the floor heave up and down as the community fearlessly danced to the music of either the Gerjekian or Dertad’s Armenian band.

The agoump walls were lined with large photos of Armenian heroes such as writers, lawyers, and fedayees, like the handsome General Antranik and General Dro on his horse. They were the men the Tashnags revered. The men in the photos gazed approvingly from their vantage point as the people read the Hairenik Daily newspaper, played the card game “scambile,” or drank coffee or tea. You were amazed at how many cups of tea Baron Jack could get out of one tea bag, and you’d better not complain. Ladies ordering tea examined the glass for cleanliness, but dared not raise the ire of Baron Jack.

The glass showcase held two kinds of chocolate: Hershey’s plain and with almonds. It also held King Edward cigars, 6 cents each, and some brand of cigarettes. Anyone’s child entering the club was always offered a candy bar purchased by some generous patron.

The bachelors sat on Bentwood chairs at square marble-top tables. They held worry beads as they spoke in quiet tones. They chose to sit together, although they were welcome to socialize as fellow countrymen with the factory workers, as well as the well-off grocers, electricians, and sewer contractors. Here everyone was more or less equal.

The Barons could have been a great resource to interview on different levels about their villages, families, the genocide, and how they escaped to free America.

I have not forgotten them, and perhaps by dedicating this column to them, it will be a sort of payback for their suffering and for enriching my memory bank. My parents’ instruction to me was, “An vor Hye eh bidi parev das,” meaning, as long as they are Armenian, no matter what their politics, you must say hello. That certainly pertained to the Barons, to whom I would always say, “Parev tsez.”

The agoump was our country club with no manicured greens, tennis courts, or umbrella tables. It was bought with the quarters and dollars of the survivor generation to keep their families as a close-knit group, sharing a common history of wars won and lost, the Battle of Vartanants, the owners forever of Mt. Ararat and Noah’s Ark, and of the land Christianity took strong hold. Our pillaged cities and villages will never be forgotten.

The Armenian bachelors are an important part of the lore that remains after an important Armenian community has gone permanently to sleep.

The agoump has gone back to a church serving the needs of yet another group of Americans.

Our sweet memories live on because to us, those were our Happy Days. I can only say “tsedesoutiun,” dear community, till we hopefully meet again.

The post The Bachelors appeared first on Armenian Weekly.