Garo Derounian, More Than a Researcher, a Master Silversmith

By Vahe H. Apelian

I do not remember when and under what circumstances I met Garo Derounian. When I say met, I do not mean to say in person but online, more precisely on the Facebook where nowadays we establish acquaintances and even forge friendships.

I am not sure what drove me to feel a kinship with him long before I got to know of his unique artistic talent as a master silversmith and his varied interests in history. It could have been his name. He is my late brother’s namesake. Garo is the endearing version of Garabed, which means a forerunner, a pioneer of good things. He is an avid collector of Armenian books and regularly posts on his Facebook page the copy of the cover of a new book he has recently acquired to enrich his ever-expanding library.

Thanks to Garo’s postings I also became aware that his parental roots hail from Marash. He is one the three administrators of the Union of Marash Armenians in Facebook. He regularly posts about historical Marash. But it became obvious to me that Garo’s natural interests are in everything of recent Armenian history and he presents himself as an independent researcher.

Catholicos Aram invited him to the committee that oversaw the staffing of the museum in Jbeil, Lebanon dedicated to the Armenian genocide orphans. His research unearthed interesting facts about the Armenian Genocide orphans who were cared for by the Birds’ Nest orphanage in the same city. The museum is located in the orphanage’s sprawling campus on the Mediterranean Sea shore.  One of his finds was our mutual friend, Garo Konyalian’s father’s picture repairing shoes. Garo did not know that his orphaned father Krikor, who was one of the co-owners of a clothing store on Beirut’s main thoroughfare, Rue Weygand, had started his life as an apprenticed shoe repairer trained in the orphanage. Garo Derounian’s name is now listed on the plaque of the Armenian Catholicosate of Cilicia’s Armenian Genocide Orphans’ “Aram Bezikian” Museum as the Archives Collector.

Nowadays Garo Derounian is in charge of the library of the all-time Armenian favorite KOHAR Symphony Orchestra and Choir. The Armenian culture patron Harut Khatchadourian, who along with his brother is the benefactor of this favorite Armenian symphony orchestra, appointed Garo to that position as a researcher. He is tasked to have a complete collection of Armenian hymnals ever printed. I am happy to be a contributor of a small hymnal that was titled in English as “Armenian Song Book” and was published by St. Leon Apostolic Church of Fair Lawn, NJ in 1984. The Late Mirjan Kirian had compiled 48 favorite songs in that hymnal. I happened to have kept the copy Mirjan had given to me. Derounian considered it a rare find. The museum did not have a copy of this hymnal. He deemed it be worth archiving it in the KOHAR’s library.

Garo Derounian is born in 1969 in the Arakatz neighborhood of the famed Bourj Hamoud of Lebanon. He graduated from Mesrobian Armenian Catholic School and had planned to study medicine. His studies in the Lebanese University were interrupted due Lebanese civil war and he started apprenticing in the family’s business of silversmithing and bronzesmithing. In 1994 he married his college sweetheart Caroline Rafaelian. They are blessed with two sons, Shant, and Razmig who had their secondary education in the famed Djemaran and nowadays are university students.

I have always remained appreciative of Garo Derounian’s interest in research and his single-minded devotion as a researcher of things that are Armenian. But I would like to be brutally honest here and say that it is not his interest in archives that has impressed me the most, but it is by far his unique talent as a master silversmith.

Silversmithing has been a cherished artistic trade among Armenians. Kalemkerian family of Aintab has been one the most prominent families in this art. The family had passed the tradition down for the past two hundred years. Regrettably the last of the family’s scion, Hovhannes Kalemkerian, passed away recently in Aleppo putting an end to the family’s unique artistry.  Recently a book was published in Aleppo titled “The Kalemkerians” by Hraztan Tokmajian where the pictures of many of the silverware pieces the family had fashioned over the years for use in the Catholicosate of Sis Churches are presented.

Garo has ceased to apply himself as a master silversmith. When I suggested to him that he should train one of his sons in this unique art, he claimed that the art has died. Many Saudi princes and Armenian ecclesiastical leaders, such as Catholicos Aram I, have commissioned him to make beautiful, ornate silverware. It is plainly evident, however, that they do compensate his rightfully due given the tremendous amount of time it takes to produce such a silverware piece.

A cursory look at the pictures of the pieces he has made, whose pictures he has posted on his Facebook page shows a variety of silverwares Garo Derounian has manually fashioned over the years such as Islamic incense burners, flower vases, differently styled coffee holders, crosiers used by Catholicos Aram I and by Armenian Catholic Patriarchs, jewelry boxes, Armenian “Khatchkar” in silver, ecclesiastical walking staff, chalices and others. I invite readers to view the pictures. I have attached the pictures of some of the pieces.

After the passing away of the last Kalemkerian scion, Garo Derounian may well end up to be the last of the Mohegan of this ancient artistry in the Armenian Diaspora.

What a pity it would be if he ceases to apply his unique artistic silversmithing mastery because of lack of appreciation nowadays of this unique, hard-earned ancient artistry.

Armenians in Nigeria

Book review by Vahe H. Apelian

Garo Derounian of East Beirut is a uniquely gifted master silversmith. Catholicos Aram I, princes of Saudi Arabia, commission him to create exquisite works of arts in silver. He also is an avid collector of Armenian books and regularly posts on his Face book page the covers of the new books he has acquired for his ever-expanding library. Lately he posted the cover of a book that aroused the interest of many, including mine. To satisfy our curiosity Garo posted the pdf version of the book titled in Armenian -  “Նիկերեայ եւ Նիկահահայ Գաղութը», and in English - “Nigeria and the Nigerian Armenian Colony”.

The cover also claims that the book picturesque (Պատկերազարդ). It is authored by S. (Souren) A.  Dadrian. The full name of the author is noted on the cover in Armenian, Սուրէն Ա- Տատրեան. The book is approximately 125 pages long. The first 117 pages are innumerate. After which the author listed a table that is spread over the next few pages, but these pages are not innumerate. The table is followed by an “Attention” headlined note where the author apologized for any errors that might have occurred. The apology is followed by a list of errors, mostly spelling, that have been noted after printing. On the following pages the author noted that the book would be mailed to institutions free of charge. He listed his address in Nicosia, Cyprus. Lastly, the author noted that he has finalized the manuscript of a book titled  “Կիկիոյի Արկածները”, “The Adventures of Gego”. The author claimed that the book is based on the life on Nigerians, presumably native.

The main text of the book is preceded by a preface by Dr. R. Takvorian, from Cyprus as well, headlined with the customary wording for preface found in many Armenian books-Երկու Խօսք (Two Words). He noted that the author did not claim to have done an exhaustive work on Nigeria, which at that time was the British Empire’s largest colony. He also commended the author for devoting time, under the scorching sun of Africa, to write about the presence of Armenians in Nigeria. 

The book does not have an introduction. It starts by a chapter titled “Ardashes Odabashian”. The author claimed that the presence of Armenians is Nigeria is outcome of Ardashes Odabashian’s vision to start trading posts in Nigeria and in Gold Coast (The Gold Coast was a British colony on the Gulf of Guinea  in west Africa from 1867 to its independence as the nation of Ghana in 1957. Wikipedia).  In a short time, the author claimed, the handful Armenians who constituted the community prospered financially. Among them he listed the following names Melikian Brothers, Nazareth Arejian, Aram Medzmmoroukian, Onnig Khoubeselian and others. This introduction of sort is signed by the author and is dated May 20, 1955, Nigeria.

 

The book consists of two parts. The first part, Part A, is completely devoted to Nigeria and consists of six chapters. Chapter A is about its geography. Chapter two is about its history. Chapter three is about its politics. Chapter four is about its press. Chapter five is about vital statistics, and the last chapter of Part A is headlined ‘miscellaneous” where a variety of figures about Nigeria is listed. As noted on the cover there are many black and white pictures posted in the book many about seminude native Nigerians in their ethnic dresses and also pictures of Armenians presumably in Nigeria. But their pictures have no relevance to the text. The pictures of the members of the Armenian community are thus presented in the book. The only thing of interest in this section is the list of the businesses owned by Armenians. The author listed the following Armenian owned businesses in Nigeria at that time.

 1.   Armel’s Transport Ltd.

2.   Armel’s Transport (Eastern) Ltd.

3.   Aredjian and Melikian (Real Estate) Co.

4.   Ardeno Ltd.

5.   Odaco Ltd.

6.   Onnig

7.   Bristol Hotel

8.   Palm Tree Hotel

9.   Royal Hotel.

The second part of the book, Part B, consists of two chapters. The first chapter is titled “The Armenian Community of Nigeria”, and the second chapter is titled, “Biographical Notes” but in the actual narration about the community there is no distinct header for chapter two.  Part B is about the Armenian community of Nigeria and its handful members. It is interesting to note that the author alludes to Armenian colony of Nigeria. For all I know, the members of a colony did not adhere to the local laws. Most likely all members the Armenian community were subjects of the British Commonwealth.

 In this section a five columns table is also prepared and spread over a few pages and is headlined as “Armenians who have visited Nigeria in chronological order”. The columns are headlined as follows: Name and Surname, birthplace, the name of the spouse, the year the person came to Nigeria, offices the person held, or the businesses the person ran in Nigeria, the present whereabouts of the person. Sixteen individuals are listed in this table. I am not sure if this listing is all that the one time Armenian community of Nigeria was. All the persons listed in the table were born in Western Armenia. The following birthplaces are listed: Izmir (Իզմիր), Evereg (Էւէրէկ), Gessaria (Կեսարեա), Marsovan (Մարզուան), Ankara (Անգարա), Gemereg (Կէմէրէկ), Adana (ԱտանաՕ, Cyprus (Կիպրոս).

At the time of his writing, in 1955, the author claimed that the small Armenian community of Nigeria was hardly 31 years old. They had had no school, no church, no community center and no cemetery. The author once asked Mr. Hrand Melikian, how come the community does not have a cemetery? Hrand’s answered it succinctly, saying that because they do not intend to die there.

The community members attended local churches, their children attended local schools, but the members often socialized and had harmonious community relations and generously supported the needs of other Armenian communities.

All the sixteen individuals listed on the table are noted to have left Nigeria at the time of his writing. There is only one individual who died there and was buried in Lagos, Nigeria’s largest city.

There may still be Armenians in Nigeria but not likely the way they were at one time.

 

Wagner’s Duel Against My Cancer

Zaven Khedeshian was born in Beirut, Lebanon in 1932. He received his education at the Academy of Beaux-Arts in Beirut from 1949-1952, and at the Ecole Nationale Superieure des Arts Decoratifs de Paris in 1952-1958, from which he graduated. From 1954-1956 he studied portraits with Marcel Gimond and in 1956-1958 he studied monumental and architectural sculpture with Alfred Janniot. Zaven Khedeshian organized numerous exhibitions in Lebanon and other countries. He is the holder of many awards, such as the first award in photography for “The forest of Vincent” (1954,) the first prize of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts de Paris (1955,) first prize of the Strand Center (1965,) second prize by the “L’orient” Daily (1965,) first prize for a sculpture at the Sursok Museum (1973,) and a scholarship for the curricular years 1954-1955 awarded within the spheres of a contest by the RL Ministry of Education. Among his famous works are the Monument dedicated to the Armenian Genocide in Bikfayya (Lebanon,) the sculpture of Saint Sharbel in Aanaya (Lebanon,) the bust of Karekin Njteh (Boston,) the bust of Catholicos Zareh I (Aleppo,) the bust of Shavarsh Missakian in Ainjar (Lebanon,) the bust of Simon Vratsian in Djemaran (Beirut,) the bust of Jebran Khalil Jebran at the park named after the writer (Lebanon,) a monument dedicated to Henri Faraon (Beirut,) a monument titled “Protection” at the Square in Bourj Hammoud, a monument titled “Outbreak” in Mtein (Lebanon,) a monument titled “The prayer” in Byblos (Lebanon.) In 2010 he was honored by the Medal of Hamazkayin and in 2012 he received the honor of St. Mesrob Mashdots by Catholicos Aram I of the Great House of Cicilia. Zaven Khedeshian is the author of a film in French dedicated to the Armenian Genocide. (Source: Hamazkayin).

He passed away yesterday. Attached is an abridged translation of an article he had penned in Aztag Daily.

By Zaven Khedeshian (Aztag Daily, November 30, 2015)

Translated and Abridged by Vahe H. Apelian

That night I was struggling with my insomnia more than the usual when I, know not for what reason, felt my neck and started rubbing it gently.

 A shiver passed through my entire body. There was a swelling there. It must have been the one that the doctors were looking for. I had gone to the “Hotel Dieu” hospital. The specialist is traveling, they had told me. There is another one, they had said, a specialist as well. I had entrusted myself to him.

Until that day I had not known that there are doctors who are also  “exocentric”. I thought “eccentricity” was reserved only for artists.

–       “You erect my statue as well, much like Saddam Hussein’s statue”, he said raising his right arm.

–       “What, do you like to subject yourself to the same fate?” I asked.

–       “Lay down, I do not have much time. Others are waiting. All I am going to do is a small operation”.

–      “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

He took off and returned later resembling a tailor. He was holding a needle in one hand and a thread in the other.”

He did what he had to do.

“Return after a few days”

When I woke up one morning, I sprang from my bed. Unbelievable. My bedding was all red. I dressed up quickly; I put my bloodied bed sheets in a bag and rushed to the hospital.

–       “Don’t you see, doctor? My bed sheet is bloodied”

–      “You did not have to show me. Lay down” became his answer.

The next day, after feeling the swelling, I rushed to the Greek Hospital instead. I had a doctor friend there, M. Luftfallah. He also rubbed my throat.

–       “Tomorrow, at 9 a.m. come to the hospital. I will introduce you to a specialist. Others wait for weeks for their appointment. His name is Dr. Shamseddine”.

The next day I wanted to go to the hospital by myself. But my daughter insisted that she accompanied me.

We presented ourselves to the doctor at the appointment time.

Strangely he did not move from his sitting position and stared at my face. Probably Dr. Lutfallah had told him about my case. He had a strange gaze. He appeared to look at me with one eye and at my daughter with the other. Finally, he opened his mouth and said.

–       “Sir, I am one of those doctors who tells the patients the truth. Do you like me to tell you the reality”?

–       “Of course I want you to tell me.”

–       “Six out of ten who are in your predicament survive, the other four go away”.

–       “Where do they go?”

–       “The world beyond, from where there is no return.”

–       “Doctor, its great that the figures are not the other way around, more stay than go.”

–       “Dad, what are you talking about?” Asked my daughter in horror.

–       “We will talk outside, my daughter”.

–       “You need an immediate surgery”. He noted the name of the surgeon and some of the tests I had to undergo.

The next day I met the surgeon and handed him the paper.

His first question was:

–       “Do you smoke?”

–       “Yes, doctor”.

–       “How long have you been smoking?”

–      “For fifty years.”

–      “Your cancer is due to your smoking.”

–      “But doctor, for many years I suffered from a migraine. Last two years I ceased smoking because it was exacerbating it but this illness came upon me. In my opinion, it was due to my not smoking.”

The doctor smiled.

I was admitted to the hospital. They woke me up early in the next morning and in a hurry carried me on a stretcher to the basement where a large group of attendants was waiting for me. They told me the surgery would last long.

–      “Are you not going to numb me?”

–      “Of course we will, it will be a long operation.”

–      “As far as I am concerned it matters not to me whether it’s long or short as long as I do not experience pain and the passing of time. Would you let me tell you a joke? It will take only a couple of minutes.”

–       “Please do so.”

–       “A man undergoes a surgery by a young surgeon much like you. When the patient opens his eyes, asks the surgeon in astonishment why has he grayed so much?”

–      The person answers, “I am not your surgeon, I am Saint Peter.”

They all laughed. They said it was the first time they would be entering the operating room after a hearty laugh.

Now, to the Wagner’s duel.

I continued to put my things in order always with the specter of death looming over me.

There was sadness on my face. Friends did not dare ask me the reason often time pretending they are unaware of my predicament. But the expressions on their faces betrayed them and revealed their inner uneasiness.

–      “You heard about Zaven. Did you not?”

These talks intensified my worries

My brother, who had lost his right leg during the Lebanese civil war, one day visited me with a DVD and said:

–      “Zaven, this DVD is one of Wagner’s magnificent operas. There is only the voice, but no picture. Wagner had written it when he was 27 years old and was fleeing to England to avoid taxes. He was inspired by the storm crossing Riga. It is a masterpiece.”

In spite of the fact that it was not the first time that I was listening to Wagner; this time around it took me to different worlds.

I was enchanted and not long after Wagner captivated me.

The disk was always in its place. Every time right after I returned home, “Flying Dutchman” would be heard. I would hear it one more time over and over, again and again, Stop! Continue! Lighten up! Senta, louder, more louder, now mellow down!

Not long after I memorized by heart the two and half hours long opera that took me to different worlds. It took me alone with it. The specter of death vanished every time Wagner sang.

One day I realized that a duel had started between Wagner and my cancer. In spite of the fact that the specter of my death was strong, Wagner often time succeeded in bringing it down. But, whenever I was away from home, the specter of death would take over me. Wagner was absent.

At times it happened that the two met each other. Both would struggle. Often times one would fall, later on, the other and often the duel would continue.

Days would pass. I was still alive. My disfigured face slowly started recovering its former expressions. Wagner continued to play. Music is an abstract art. Unbelievable. Wagner had succeeded in turning music into a higher level of abstraction by making use of the voices that meshed with each other at times loud, at other times mellowed down, at times conflicting each other and other times complementing each other. The voices created a new and an unknown world that helped a person traverse the endless, and live with the deception of reaching the infinite.

One day I had the courage to attend an exhibit. A lady I knew asked me.

–      “ What is that exactly you have, Zaven?”

–      “Caner, cancer. Can’t you see me disfigured? They tore my throat. I do not know how many tumors they removed from it. They made my face look like “Frankenstein”.”

–       “Ha, exactly what Catholicos Karekin had. They also tore his throat and removed things from it and more, they cut off his tongue.”

Not only the woman explained to me my condition, she also told me what was in store for me.

–       “What kind of inconsiderate woman was she? The only thing left for her was to tell you that you surely would die.”

I returned home. I took the most effective medicine I had. As usual, Wagner succeeded in bringing down my enemy.

–       “We heard Khedeshian. May it be over. How are you doing now?”

I would not speak about Wagner, thinking that this woman too might classify me among those “eccentric” artists.

–      “They were difficult days, madam.”

I tried to calm myself down. Often times I used to say myself, Bedros Tourian, Missak Medzarents lived 21 to 22 years, half of which was their youthful years. I, on the other hand, lived some six to seven times longer than they did. I tried to pacify myself in this manner.

I do not know what did that woman think of me. Surely, not like the woman I met at the exhibit.

Auction of Souls: Discovering Aurora (Arshaluys) Mardiganian (Mardigian)

By Anahid Toutikian-Meymarian, Los Angeles, CA, 7 March 2015

Translated and abridged by Vahe H. Apelian

This account about Aurora Mariganian may be the last personal account about her after whom the Aurora Prize for Awakening Humanity was establshed. UPDATED

“Sometime in the early 1990s, "Ungerouhie" (a female associate) Yevgine Papazian, an elderly member of the Armenian Relief Society’s Anahid Chapter of Greater Los Angeles, told me about a granny by the name of Aurora  Mardiganian who lived alone in Van Nuys and was in need of help. She also told me that Aurora had formerly lived in New York.

A few days later Yevgine and I paid Aurora a visit. We knocked at her door and after a while, a granny dressed in woolen clothes let us in. We passed through a narrow hallway into a fairly large room. We were astonished to see the room was full of cardboard boxes as if she had arrived from New York only yesterday, although she had been living in Los Angeles for fifteen years. There was hardly any room to move around. Next, at the entrance of the room, there was a chair and a desk. Next to them, in large letters, there was a telephone number and on the wall was the calendar of the New York Prelacy.

We sat over the cardboard boxes next to the entrance. On one of the walls, there was a picture of a tall man with a teenage boy. The granny told us the man in the picture was her son Martin and the teenager is her grandson.

Granny Aurora had a likable face with a smooth skin and a pair of black and expressive eyes. She spoke in a soothing and impeccable Armenian, although her accent was different from ours. I asked her where was she born. She said she was from Chemeshgazak, a town about 20 miles from Kharpert.

I asked her who took care of her. She said her son visited her once a week; brought her necessities and left soon after.

“With the aid of my cane, I used to walk to the grocery store on Burbank Street and purchase groceries. I am not able to do it anymore.”

“Mayrig (Mother), call me, and I will gladly bring to you what you need,” I said.

We became friends. Every now and then she would call me and ask for grapes, pomegranate, her special brand of cheese and the like. One day I mustered the courage to suggest that she allow me to move the cardboard boxes and let us furnish the room for a more comfortable and pleasant living. She refused. “Let us open the windows so that you'd have sunshine in the room,” I then suggested. She refused again. The sun would shine outside but we would be sitting in a nearly dark room.

Another time, a lady who lived in the same building stopped when she saw I was knocking at Mayrig's door. She had hardly finished telling me that I was knocking at the wrong door because no one lived in that apartment when the granny opened the door to her neighbor’s astonishment.

Granny Aurora had fallen from her bed the night before. She was bruised but she had not fractured any bones. For the very first time since meeting her, I entered her bedroom to lower her bed. At that very moment, she pulled a bundle and unwrapped a book. The book was Ravished Armenia. 

- “Mayrig, let me borrow the book. I will read it and return to you in no time,” I promised.

-  “I cannot give it to you,” she said. “Already people came and took everything away. Only this book remained,” she said.

I was able to secure a copy of that book in microfilm in one of the public libraries. I could not believe what I read in the book: maybe one of mankind’s worst crimes, which were perpetrated by the Ottoman Turks against the Armenians.

Her baptismal name was Arshaluys Mardigian. She was born in 1901 in Chemeshgazak to a wealthy family. The Mardigians were one of the best-known and respected names in Chemeshgazak. Arshaluys was a vibrant girl with long black hair, expressive eyes, with a sunny disposition much like her name. She was the second eldest among her siblings. She had an older sister, a younger brother, and two younger sisters.

On Easter morning in 1915, her father promised her that the following year he would enroll her either at a Constantinople or a Paris school. In addition to attending the American College of Marsovan, she was privately tutored at home. Not long after the conversation with her father Turkish gendarmes entered the room to take her to the local pasha’s harem. Her father sent the gendarmes packing.

Shortly after the incident, the deportations and the massacres of the Armenians began in full force. Her father and her 15 years old brother Boghos were killed almost right away. From April 1915 to November 1917 Arshaluys witnessed the killing of the rest of her family. She survived by taking refuge in a series of towns--Arapgir, Malatia, Diyarbekir, Urfa, Mush, Yerzenga ending up in Erzeroum at an opportune time. The Russian army was advancing into the city.

In Erzeroum she took refuge at the doorstep of a building that carried the American flag. Exhausted, she passed away at the entrance. The house was the residence of American missionary Dr. F.W. MacCallum who took her under his protection. Gen. Antranig happened to be in town also. Having heard of her story, he visited her. The Armenian hero complimented her for her courage and took his parents’ wedding ring from his finger and slipped it on her finger telling her to tell her story when she landed in America. The American Relief Organization sponsored her travel and on November 5, 1917, she arrived in New York.

A New York Armenian family took her in. Not long after, Harvey Gates, a writer, asked her to tell him of her experiences during the genocide. The Armenian family had her narration translated into English. In 1918 Ravished Armenia was published. The book was reprinted in 1919 as Auction of Souls.

In November 1918 Ravished Armenia was made into a film. Gates and his wife Eleanor changed her name to Aurora Mardiganian and put her on stage. From 1919 to 1920 Aurora Mardiganian, as the author of the book, the star of the movie and as a witness to the Armenian horrors, was presented to the public whenever the movie was shown--in the United States and in England. She became an instant star. People wanted to see her in person as much as see the movie. Screenwriter Gates and producer Col. William N. Selig became the prime beneficiaries of the profits generated from the movie. By 1920 Aurora was worn out. Physically and emotionally drained, she refused to make further public appearances

She married in 1929--after overcoming her long-time aversion to the company of men. She tried to live a normal life away from the limelight. The couple had a son, Martin Hovanian.

I met Aurora when she was 91-years-old. Her daughter-in-law was not Armenian. Relations between them had soured to a point that her daughter-in-law did not let her grandchildren visit her. Over the years, people who had been interested in her and had visited her had gotten what they wanted and had moved on. Joy and contentment had long ago abandoned her. The fear that she would be harmed had never left her. She lived alone, praying, reading the bible and the periodicals she received from the Prelacy of the Armenian Apostolic Church in New York.

One day, when I visited her, I found Aurora Mayrig very weak and withdrawn. It was obvious she had not slept well the night before. She had had a nightmare. She told me that the "Turks had cut the rope". In the movie, There is a scene where Aurora escapes from the harem by jumping from the roof of a building. But instead of landing on the next roof, Aurora fell 20 feet and broke her leg. The movie producers continued shooting despite her pain.

Aurora Mayrig was meticulous in grooming herself. That day I noticed that she was not her normal self. She seemed too weak even to wash her hair.

Not long after, on January 3, 1994, she moved to the Ararat Nursing Facility in Mission Hills. I continued to visit her. I found her sitting in a wheelchair, withdrawn and not taking notice of her surroundings or participating in the social activities the social workers were conducting. She was in no mood to engage in conversation. That became my last visit.

On January 17, 1994, earthquake damaged our Los Angeles home. Busy attending to the repairs and certain that Aurora was in safe hands, I had not visited her for some time.

Months had passed by when I heard that she had died. I went to the Ararat Nursing Facility to find out the circumstances of her death. “Who was she?” Mrs. Evelyn Jambazian, the nursing director, asked me. Then she said that the only thing she remembered of Aurora was that one day a limousine had stopped in front of the facility and out had come a granny--Granny Aurora.

I smiled. Of course, she was Aurora Mardiganian, the one-time movie star. If others did not pay her attention, it's fair that she treated herself, I thought. Mrs. Jambazian told me that Aurora had passed away not long after. She became ill on February 5 and was taken to the Saint Cross Hospital where she had passed away.

Mrs, Araksi Haroutunian, who for many years had attended to her as well and I tried to find out where she was buried so that we could visit her grave, offer a prayer, place a wreath and burn incense in her memory. However, we could not get any information. The hospital would not tell us because we were not related to her. Her son’s telephone number had been cut off; we did not know any of her relatives to get the information we were looking for.

We found out that we had to go to Norwalk where personal public records are kept. My husband and Hagop Arshagouny went there and after searching unearthed the following.

Aurora Mardigian had died on Feb. 6, 1994. Her remains were cremated in the U.S. County Hospital public crematorium. Two individuals unknown to us had witnessed the affidavit. Her ashes? No one knew where they were scattered.

The news was heartbreaking. The one-time Arshaluys Mardigian of Chemashgazak had ended up not having a grave. What remained of her? Sweet memories and her book that Kourken Sarkissian translated into Armenian in 1995. In 1997 a new edition of her book appeared, edited by Anthony Slide. Plans are underway in Argentina to have the book translated into Spanish.

From Arshaluys Mardigian and from all those who became victims of the Armenian Genocide another major 'relic' also remained: their just cause. The world may disavow the Genocide of the Armenians. Eventually, we will prevail because our cause is just.”

Note: 

The translated piece is a chapter from Anahid Meymarian’s book Իմ Սուրբ Հայրենիք ("My Holy Fatherland"), published in Los Angeles in 2005.

Mrs. Anahid (Toutikian) Meymarian is from Kessab. She has a B.A. from Farleigh Dickenson University in NJ and an M.A in psychology from California State University Northridge (CSUN). She is a retired teacher having taught at the Holy Martyrs Ferrahian School since its founding by Gabriel Injejikian. Catholicos Aram I has bestowed upon her the Order of St. Mesrbob Mashtots. She lives with her husband Puzant, a well-known sculptor whose works grace institutions in Diaspora and Armenia.

It was later revealed that Aurora Mardigian’s ashes were buried in an unmarked grave after having remained unclaimed for four years. The four years were a grace period the county gives to claim the cremated remains of a deceased. No one had claimed her ashes.  Vahe H. Apelian, 12/03/2015