Perils of Being a Medical Doctor

Ohan Tabakian, M.D.

Ohan Tabakian, M.D., currently resides in Montreal, Canada. In 1962, he taught chemistry to our graduating class from Sourp Nshan Armenian middle school. He was a student at the St. Joseph University Medical School in Lebanon (French: Université Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth). The attached is my abridged translation of a segment from his book titled “Moments Lived in a Doctor’s Life - «Բժիշկին Կեանքէն Ապրուած Պահեր».

1962 Sourp Nshan Graduating Class. Starred Dr. Ohan Tabakian and I.

I received my medical diploma in 1964 from the French University of Beirut. But it became impossible for me to find employment as a medical doctor in Lebanon because I was a Syrian national.  I had two options, either to find a way for securing a Lebanese citizenship or emigrating elsewhere.

I was in the midst of contemplating my choice when, to my great surprise and joy, the medical director of the Islamic charitable Al Makased Hospital made an exception and offered me a staff position as a medical doctor. During the years I had forged a special friendship with him. Every week we used to play backgamon in his house.

It was almost impossible to secure a Lebanese citizenship then. Two months after my employment a new government came about and my friend was appointed the internal minister of the country while continuing to retain his position as the medical director of the Al Makassed General Hospital.

One morning, the two of us were taking a leisure walk in the hospital’s garden. He was in a very jubilant mood that day. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked me: “Ohan, what do you desire the most?” Immediately I asked him if he could secure a Lebanese citizenship for me. He thought for a moment and told me that he was having a meeting that evening with the speaker of the parliament and he would raise the issue with him and will let me know the prospects for granting me a Lebanese citizenship.

The next morning he called me to his office and asked me to immediately provide him two passport size pictures. When I asked him why? He said in a few days you would become a Lebanese. My joy knew no bound. I was being offered a rescue raft I desperately needed. I state without hesitation that I truly started practicing my profession the day I received my Lebanese citizenship because I did not have to work under the supervision of another doctor any longer as I could legally render on record my medical diagnosis as a Lebanese practicing physician. Much like the rest of the medical doctors henceforth I took regular turns to be in charge of admissions and emergency medical care. But, it turned out that I was not sufficiently familiar with the prevailing social norms of those who attended the charitable medical center. Naturally I knew that middle easterners tend to be more emotional than westerners, but I had not realized that aspect could be so much pronounced in some.

One evening I was in charge in the hospital and was by myself. The head nurse came and asked me to accompany her to a room and officiate the death of one of the cancer patients who had just died. A day before the patient had undergone surgery. The deceased patient’s brother was at the door. He appeared to be around 50 years old and was wearing the customary robe of a Bedouin Arab with turban headwear. As soon as I entered the room the head nurse left. After ruling on his death, I approached the brother who was anxiously waiting to hear the status of his brother. His brother’s young son was next to him. With a sympathetic voice I attempted to explain to him that the cancer was too advanced and every effort was made to save his brother’s life but it was of no avail...

- “You mean to tell me that my brother died?” He asked.

I had hardly nodded in affirmation when I received a hard blow to my face that shattered my eyeglasses into many pieces. The bluish bruises and the swelling around my eyes remained for the next several weeks. Fortunately my eyes were spared. It was obvious that the experienced head nurse had left the room immediately to avoid the possibility. She later told me that it was customary to keep a safe distance whenever breaking such news to the family members of the patients.

The ever emotional middle easterners, who may engage in such acts at moments of high distress, also possesses a tender and a forgiving heart, gentleness and modesty. Two days after the incident the deceased patient’s brother, wearing the same dress, and the same turban headwear brought me a large box of sweets and apologized almost in tears. We sat at a table in the dining area. He told me that he was separated from his wife and had ruled out marrying again. Instead he had adopted his ailing brother’s family as his own and that he loved his nephew like a son. He then placed a golden medal necklace on my neck. When I told him that was not necessary, he seemed to be offended by my objection. I could not insist on my refusal,  “I will always remember my brother”, he said, as he took leave from me;  “ for me his death is merely an absence", he said. He apologized again and left like a person who has made amends for the wrong he had done and feels relieved.

Hardly a month had passed since that incident, I was tasked again to break the news of the death of one of our patients to his son. This time around I kept myself an arm’s length away as I broke the news to him. The young man was standing close to the window. As soon as he heard the news, he punched the window not only shattering the glass but also seriously injuring his hand we had to take him to the emergency room and take care of his wounds.

One day I was in charge of the emergency room when suddenly we heard shouting at the door and saw a man carrying his wife, who appeared to be lifeless, rushing into the emergency room and all the while cursing the Armenians. It turned out that his wife had reacted to a penicillin shot that was administered to her by the neighborhood pharmacist who was an Armenian. Upon the injection the lady had experienced an anaphylactic shock and had fallen on the ground senseless. The man was crying as he was recounting the happening while also continuing to curse the Armenians. Immediately I internvened and fortunately for all, and especially to me, I started detecting her pulse and her blood pressure started increasing and gradually she opened her eyes and started moving. Her husband obviously was ecstatic, but I also was happy no less. He was constantly thanking me, while continuing to curse the Armenians, when one of the nurses appeared to have murmured to his ear that the doctor who saved his wife’s life is an Armenian. Suddenly the cursing stopped and he started apologizing to me for his anti Armenian rancor and approached me and kissed my forehead. He was a different person now. He appeared to look for words and gestures to make amends for his anti-Armenian rancor. When the time came to discharge her, I told him that it was not the fault of the pharmacist who had administered the injection at the dictate of the doctor’s prescription. The doctor should have been attentive and should have ascertained that the patient was not allergic to penicillin injection.

Such is life. At times, reason gives way to emotion during periods of grief and distress. Tragic moments erase, in otherwise reasonable and good-natured people, the power to reason and they vent their anger on those who are around them, but often realizing their misplaced anger and they revert to their affable, communicative, gentle selves.

My parents celebrating my graduation. Starred Dr. Ohan Tabakian

 

 

Zvart Apelian: Excerpts on Teaching

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

 

The attached translated quotes are from Zvart Apelian’s book titled “I and the Teaching” (note, I have used “he” in its genderless sense as article “he” and “she” are absent from the Armenian language). Mrs. Apelian, her students addressed her such, taught in Armenian schools, mostly in Armenian Evangelical Schools for over five decades. The Catholicos of All Armenians of blessed memory, Karekin I Sarkissian, bestowed upon her the order of Saint Mesrob Masdhots commenting in his encyclical order that Mrs. Zvart Apelian transmitted the Armenian language pristine to generations of students.

 

“I and the teaching met each other in my early youth, during my adolescent years and we fell in love with each other. Nothing else replaced that ideal love. We remained true to each other with an unbelievable faithfulness.”

*****

“It is not I who decided to be a teacher. I was born to be a teacher. I was born in the tranquil setting of my village (note: Keurkune, Kessab). I was hardly 12 years old when I organized summer schooling for the children of our village and kept them occupied for a few weeks. A little bit later, when I was a 14 years old teenager, I would organize plays to assist our village church. I would be the prompter whispering from the behind the curtain the cues for the kids on the stage and whenever anyone would be absent, I would assume the role. We mostly practiced our plays on the church alter and at times in our house, which was situated just across the church”.

*****

 “The essence of teaching is to be able to relate to students in a positive way. Students and teachers complement each other. If there are no students, there cannot be teachers.

Students have a tendency to shield their true selves from the teacher. Their knottiness is mostly meant to shield the student from the teacher, often times rendering the teacher incapable to realize his or her calling to cultivate in the student tomorrow’s exemplary Armenian person, be it the virtuous woman, the great scientist or the decent tradesperson.

At times the teacher has to amend himself to the whims of the student’s capriciousness to create the opportunity to get to know the student. Usually the student is not problematic but misbehaves towards those who have not been capable of truly understanding him, be it the student’s teacher, or the classmates and even the student’s parents. A student, whether excelling in class or not, looks forward to be a center in the teacher’s attention. The fact of the matter is that students have honored their teachers more than teachers have honored their students.

Teachers should not be inaccessible to students. On the contrary, the teacher should create an atmosphere for the students to approach the teacher knowing that the student is accepted respectfully and lovingly.

The student is a very observant creature. He observes keenly and digs further and is the greatest judge. The student recognizes a teacher fast and renders his judgment quickly. A teacher needs to be very mindful of his behavior and communication and needs to present himself attractively to the preschoolers by dressing simply but neatly and attractively. But for the older students, the teacher needs to prepare the students not to render judgment by outward appearances but by appreciating the person. Last but not the least, a teacher should succeed in having the students look forward for the teacher’s arrival to the classroom and not be content with the teacher’s absence. 

Teaching is a very difficult trade. Whoever has resorted to teaching accidentally has, sooner or later, failed. The successful teacher is the one who has been patient, has taken matter pertaining to teaching to heart, has viewed himself from the students’ perspectives and has strived to be a better himself as a person by self evaluating his manners and his thoughts

Finally, a true teacher is the outcome of students and the teacher cooperating to better their selves.”

Painting by her niece, Annie Hoglind

With Ms. Hranoush Hagopian

Travel: When Your Bag is not What You Declared.

Armenag Yeghiayan 

Translated: Vahe H. Apelian.

         

The attached is my translation of the travel experiences Armenag Yeghiayan had been sharing with his readers. This piece is the most recent and titled “Remembrances No. 10” (Հայրենի Յուշեր-10). 

Sometime in November 1971, I happened to meet Ara Krikorian, one of my old friends and also a onetime my classmate. Ara was better known as Ara Travel. During our conversation he told that that he has in possession travel tickets to Paris reserved for students that are far more affordable than regular tickets.

- “If you are interested, let me know”, he said casually.

- “But i am not a student anymore. I graduated six months ago and I have started working”, I said and noted that  my age is well past a student’s age.

-“Leave that up to me, I can arrange something, Asdouatz Metz eh (God is great).” He said.

True to his “arranging something”, for 300 Lebanese Liras, less than 100$ then, I had in my possession a flight ticket to and from Paris for a seven days long stay during the second half of the month. 

So it was, in all likelihood, on the 22nd or 23th of the month that I flew to Paris on a night flight that took off around  at 7 o’clock in the evening.

*   *   *

I had a flight experience in 1965, when on my return from Armenia, where I had embarked my journey by boat and then by land, I had to return via Moscow with a stop over in Europe on our way to Lebanon. I had chosen Moscow-Vienna-Beirut route. 

My flight experience should have been enough to change something in my innate fear of flght. Withstanding my previous flight experience, as soon as the airplane detached itself from the land and took off in the air, my old disposition towards flight took full possession of me and overwhelmed me, especially that this time around I was travelling without a friend to whom I could confide my predicament. Consequently, I put myself in a fetal position and futily attempted to take heart that everythingn is ok, and that the airplane is simply carrying us safe and sound to our destination at night. But the pitch darkness outside appeared to shield us from the impeding visible dangers. Even the robust and smooth flight offered no comfort. 

The passangers, even though they were few, started dwindeling in number as they exited the plane when we landed in the two stop overs to our destination. I did not see new passengers enter the plane. It could be that, immersed in my thoughts, I did not notice if there were some. In any event I took comfort seeing fewer passngers remaining. They sure lightened the load of the plane and lessened the possibily of a danger.

It was 11 o’clock midmight when the captain announed that we had  reached the vicinty of the Paris airport and that we had to buckle up and get ready to disembark. That is what we did and below us appeared the City of Lights. It was the first time I saw the illuninated city in the dark from above. But what a city it was, with so much light ! And how spread out Paris was ! I had not realized it  during my previous visit, when I roamed the streets either by foot or by car. 

I was happy because we had arrived without a disaster. 

But I soon realized that the landing was not happening. The plane was keeping its altitude remaining over the city but circling around it not once, but twice, thrice, and even more

 I realized that a cold sweat covered my face and my forehead, my respirtion rate was increasing and my heart was beating so hard that it looked as if it sought to flee from my chest.

I started staring right and left looking for sympathizers or should I say for partners in sorrow. The few passangers who had remaiend showed no sign of agitation, no sighed of anxiety. Everything seemed to proceed safe and sound for them, surely thanks to their ignorance. They simply did not realize, or pretended not to relize that we all were facing the same peril. 

A few days ago, coincidentally I had read somewhere that should it happen that an airplane cannot lower its landing wheels, it continues to circle around to exhaust all its fuel and then land on the tarmac on the belly of its fusilage “à sec”, that is to say dry. 

Obviously this was the case.

That is why now the airplane was continuing its flight going no where but continuing to circle.

This was exactly what the rest of the passangers were ignoring.

I realized that there were thorns underneath me that were preventing me sitting in any comfort.

*   *   *

I saw a hostess sitting a few seat away from me and looked entirely indeifferent. I signaled her to approach me. She politely obliged with a lovely smile. I explained to her my assessement of the situtation we are in and let her know of my concerns.

My companion suddenly exhibited an unbound urge to giggle but in order not to draw the attention of the other passangers to her, covered her face with the palms of her hands and headed towards the back of the plane where there was a steward. I imagine that she told him what I told her and both headed towards me.

The young man politely and with  a smile told me that that the  stuff in the airport had suddenly declared a strike.  Without hesitation, he continued saying: “such things are commonplace, you should know that the Frech workers have an affinity towards strikes”.

True to his explantion, the captain announced that in few minutes we will land in the Orly Airport. 

Everyone was happy, so was I. But, it did not occur to me that a mishap awaited me on the ground. If ever there was a mishap, it never missed me. 

*   *   *

That year a new travel bag had become fashionable. It was made with sturdy canvas with a colored square patchwork design. It was known as Scotch. A neighberhood fellow had become an expert in fabricating such travel bags. He had the old Azirian communithy center turned into a factory producing these kinds of travel bage. I purchased my travel bag from him especially that the price was very reasonable. They had one drawback that never occured to me to be of any concern. The key could open any such bag. 

After we landed I headed towards the baggage claim and took my baggage and headed towards the exit with two passages. One passage read “Declaration” and the other’s sign was “Nothing to Declare”.  I headed towards the latter as I had nothing to declare. All I carried were my wears and under wears for my long week stay. I  was carryign a smal carton box. 

There was an officer who almost did nothing. He did not question a passanger’s choice but seeing me, he approached me and asked with a stern voice his facial expressions did not reveal in any way, “what do have in that box?”

 --“Oriental sweets”, became my answer.

-  “Please open”, he said. I undid the knot that held the box.

 He examined it, smelled it and looked at my face, smelled it over again and with the same expressionless smile he ordered that I remove it.

I offered him to taste it. He categorically refused.

I was getting ready to move, when he asked me what did I have in my bag. 

- “Nothing to declare” I said, “its my wears for my week long stay”.

He ordered that I open it.

There was a round table with an approximately two meters long diameter, sitting on approximatley  one and half meter long legs. I placed my bag on the table and opened it........

More than the officer, I started looking bewildered at the content of my bag. Its content did not correspond to my declaration for a few change of wears and underwears. Instead it was full of women’s dresses and underwears, perfumes and the like. In short women’s needs

- “How do you explain these changes of wear ? ”, sarcastically asked the officer pointing to the contents of my bag and moving them around with his baton

- “I do not know”, I answered but soon realized that I had picked someone else’s bag and I apologized.

He checked the tag on my bag and found that it did not correspond to the one pasted on my ticket.

I took s sigh of relief and return to the baggage claim and picked my bag after assuring that the tag on the bag corresponded to the tag pasted on my ticket. I reported back to the officer who after checkign the tag numbers let me in without opening my bag.

 

Decades have passed since the incident but I have never ceased questioning what would have happened had the officer not checked my bag. After arriving to the hotel in the middle of the night, I would ahve left my bag on the floor and would have taken a shower and opened my bag for change of wear......

How could i dismiss from my mind my bag? The lady would also have resorted to change her wear....... 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

An Armenian Brand Bloodless Revolution

Vahe H. Apelian 

 

The 40 days that span from March 31, 2018 to May 8, 2018, with both dates inclusive. During that period a fundamental change took place in the governance of Republic of Armenia.  The revolution came to be known as the Velvet Revolution. It was an Armenian brand, bloodless, bloodless. It may very well be, next to the declaration of the free and independent Armenia on May 28, 1928,  the most consequential event in Armenia's modern history

Recently I read  «Հայկական Թավշյա Հեղափոխություն»- “The Armenian Velvet Revolution”, to learn the course of the revolution. . It appears that the original text of the book was not in Armenian as it acknowledges Loucine’ Sargsyan (Լուսինէ Սարգսյան) as its translator and lists Galya Hovhannisyan (Գալյա Յովհաննիսեան), as the publishing editor, Heghine’ Peloyan (Հեղինէ Փիլոյան), as the typesetter, and Arapo Sargsyan (Արաբո Սարգսյան) as the formatter. 

Stepan Grigoryan (Ստեփան Գրիգորյան), who is a physicist by educational training, has authored the book. He was born in Tbilisi on September 24, 1953. From 1975 to 1983 he was affiliated with the prestigious A. Alikhanian Yerevan Institute of Physics in Yerevan. He has authored many scientific as well as social or political papers. He has also assumed different positions in the government and in the private sector.  He is married and they are parents to a son a daughter.

The book  book is in a soft cover and was published on March 16, 2019 by Edit Print publisher. It measures 6x8 inches. It is 183 pages long including the foreword, table of contents, acknowledgments and the listing of the photographs in the book and their photographers and the author’s closing statment. On a front cover inside flip, the biogrpaphy of Nikol Pashinyan is listed and on the back cover inside flip the biography of the author is listed. It is in an easy to read script size on white glossy paper and contains many colored pictures depicting the historic event.

The Barnes and Nobles overview of the book accurately notes the following: “The book discussed the political situation in Armenia in recent years and presents a chronology and analysis of the political processes in the country from March 31, 2018, when the opposition leader Nikol Pashinyan and his allies started a march from Vardanants, the center square in Gyumri, to Yerevan until May 8, 2018, when the National Assembly of the Republic of Armenia elected Nikol Pashinyan prime minister of the country in a special session.”

The content of the books is divided into two sectors. The first contains 7 sections. This section jump starts with the historic meeting between the opposition leader Nikol Pashinyan and PM Serzh Sargsyan in the Marriott Hotel reception hall in downtown Yerevan that ended with the PM holding Nikol Pashinyan accountable for the turmoil in the country and reminding him of the March 1, 2008 incident. From there the author takes the readers through grievances people harbored regarding the Serzh Sargsyan rule, the prevailing corruption and to the constitutional change from a presidential form republic to a parliamentarian form. To make his point that the people were caught in a dilemma he cites the example of an incident that had nothing to do with the turmoil in the country but in his estimation presented a graphical picture of the dilemma the people were facing. On May 3, a police captain attacked a bank but it was the people who intervened to take control of the situation and resolve the issue, blurring the responsibility for keeping law and order in the country. This section analyzes grievances and is the shorter of the two sectors of the book and extends from page 12 to page 54.

The second sector is the longest and gives a detailed chronology of the events that transpired from the day Nikol Pashinyan took his first step, of what came to be known as "My Step" movment, on March 31, 2018 from downtown Gyumri to his arrival to Yerevan on April 13, and from there to his election as the Prime Minister by a special session of the National Assembly of Armenia on May 8, 2018 in Yerevan.

This sector contains 5 sections and is detailed in chronology not only by day but also at times by the hour. It starts from page 58 and ends on page 179.

The five sections are as follow:

The first section starts from March 31 and end on April 12 (pages 62 to 63). It covers the start of the “My Step” march headed by Nikol Pashinyan from Vardanants center in Gyumri to Yerevan that lasted until April 12. 

The second section starts from April 13 and ends April 15 (pages 64 to 69). It covers the opposition starting its demonstrations in Yerevan

The third section starts from April 16 and end on 18 (pages 70-89). It covers the spread of the public demonstrations in many parts of the country while on April 17 in a snap session the National Assembly of Armenia elected Serzh Sargsyan as its Prime Minister. 

The fourth section starts from April 19 and ends on 24 (pages 90 to 128). It covers the continued spread of public demonstrations and acts of public civic disobedience and PM Sargsyan’s call on April 21 for negotiating with Nikol Pashinyan for a common ground. The call, the author noted, was wholeheartedly endorsed by the ARF. However, on April 22, the two negotiators had diametrically opposing stands. While PM Sargsyan had presented itself for negotiating, Nikol Pashinyan stated that he had come to meet the PM to discuss the terms of his resignation. The author had already alluded about that historic meeting earlier in his book. The following day, on April 23 afternoon, the PM Serzh Sargsyan announced his resignation with his famous statement that will reverberate into history, that he was wrong and Nikol Pachinyan was right. 

The fifth section is the last section. It  starts on April 25 and ends on May 8 (pages 129 to 178). It starts with Nikol Pashinyan ruling that the resignation of the PM Sargsyan was in effect but no one from the ruling Republican Party of Armenia could assume the premiership. On May 1, Nikol Pashinyan conveyed his vision to the National Assembly of Armenia as a candidate for Prime Minister and on May 8, he was elected the PM by a vote of 59 in favor to 42 opposing him. 53 votes were needed for his election. The author noted that ARF, which  broke rank with the Republican Party of Armenia, voted in favor of Nikol Pashinyan’s election as the PM. Without their votes, NP  would not have been elected as the PM of the third republic of Armenia, a parliamentarian form of a republic.

The book ends with the author’s closuring text analyzing the event giving his assessment of the historic Velvet Revolution of Armenia.

In my view it was a unique and an Armenian brand bloodless revolution and it differed from the revolutions I had read because all previous revolutions I have read that brought a change in governance were bloody and subverted the existing order in favor of tribunals and the revolution's vision. But they all failed. Russian communist revolution imploded into a quasi, unregulated capitalism. The Chinese revolution morphed into a one party rule again overseeing their brand of capitalism. Cuban revolution morphed into a dictatorship of sort. The Armenian Velvet Revolution was bloodless and it upheld the existing order but aimed to amend it and had the promise of a fundamental but lasting change. But there came upon the Covid-19 pandemics and the war and brought it at a crossroad where we are now as a nation.

This was the first book I read in modern Armenian language during the recent years. Modern Armenian (Arti Hayeren –Արդի . Հայերէն) is a term that is commonly referred to nowadays especially in the academic circles in Armenia. I have been an avid reader in Armenian and my mother, who was a teacher of Armenian language and literature, had ascribed my poor grammar to my reading in Soviet Armenian dictation, known as Apeghian dictation. Reading this book was also a realization that our language is also undergoing a seismic revolutionay change. I would not have been able to understand some of the words used in book had I not known English for they were Armenianized foreign words and their use is becoming common place. But that is an altogether a different matter. 

 

Hovhannes Apelian about Tro

Vahe H. Apelian 

When I read that the legendary Trasdamat Ganayan had passed away today, on March 8, 1956, I was reminded of my father. 

My father passed away on July 18, 2007 in Los Angeles. He was a life long member of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation where the only post he held was that of Khmpabed (Խմբապետ) that is to say the unger in charge of their local ARF group. Theirs was one of the smaller ARF groups in Beirut as it covered the coastal area where a few Armenian families resided, as it was close to the densely commercial area of greater Beirut, in close proximity to the the seaport. 

But their few membered group, that held their meeting at times in the inn, Hotel Lux, that my father ran, was in complete awareness of their area. They knew where the Armenian families resided and when it came to the election they appealed to the families to cast their votes in favor of the ARF and offered them transportation to the local voting booth. He  also took the responsibility of overseeing the local voting booth. It appeared that two prominent ARF ungers were also part of their group. But by the time I became conscious of my father's affiliation with ARF,  Tro had long deceased and I would not expect that Vratsian attended such meetings.

In February of 2007, the gomideyoutiun my father belonged, honored their veteran ungers who had served the ARF ranks for fifty plus years. He was among them. In fact he was the eldest unger of their gomideyoutiun, the Kristapor Gomideyoutiun of the San Fernando valley in Los Angeles. I remember him telling me that during the last general meeting the gomideyoutun held, he, as the most senior unger, was invited to preside the opening of that meeting and call the ungers that their year end general meeting was now open and will soon be in session and had invited the ungers to elect their tivan, the temporary committee of two, consisting of a chairperson and a secretary, who would preside over the general meeting as the gomideh would have tended its resignation and would be facing their ungers evaluate their year long activity and render their judgement of appreciation or criticism as to how well they had done the job  entrusted to them during the past year. This had been the normal conduct since get go.

In 2007, my father was in a nursing home bedridden. He was no longer able to take that few necessary steps in the house anymore. He had told my mother that he did not want to miss the function. I had to make arrangement with a hospital van and for an assistance to dress him up and escort him from his bed in the nursing home to the van and then to the table. I flew to Los Angeles to attend the function as well. That was my last get together with him. 

Each of the honoree was asked to write a brief autpbiography and indicate who among the ARF leaders had impressed each the most. The attached is what was written about him, surely upon his dictation, in the booklet Kristapor Gomideyoutiun had preapred for the occasion honoring their veteran ungers. 

“Unger Hovhannes Apelian had joined the ARF rank in 1945 (he was born in 1921 in Keurkune, Kessab), in Beirut. Unger Vahan Papazian (Goms) had acted the  godfather of his cermeonial taking the ARF vows.

For many years he had served as the Khmabed. Unger Tro and Unger Simon Vratsian had been members of their group.

Along with other duties, during elections the safeguarding of the local voting booth had been entrusted to him.

In the United States he had also joined the Hamazkain Cultural and Educational Association in New Jersey and for 12 years had acted as its co-chairman.

The modesty and the good nature of Unger Trastamad Ganayan have left an indelible impression upon him. For a while they had lived in close proximity to each other and  unger Hovhannes had diligently followed his senior ranking unger Tro’s suggestions and directives”

My father was buried in Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills. One of the largest cemeteries in the country maybe. Many of the ungers of Kristapor Gomideyoutiun attended his funeral. They wrapped his coffin with the ARF red flag, I keep to this day, and sang that heart wrenching song, Վերքելով Լի – Verkerov Lee (Ladden With Wounds) as they bid farewell to the their most senior unger in their ranks.

When a Teacher and a Student Fall in Love (2): Megerditch and Srpouhi

Vahe H. Apelian

 

Megerditch Beshigtashlian is a Western Armenian poet, playwright and educator. He was born on August 18, 1828 in Constantinople to a poor Catholic family. Tuberculsis seems to have been endemic in the family of meager means. Moushegh Ishkhan considered him as one of the main representatives of the “Romanticist Movement” in Armenian literature and that his literary works influenced upcoming poets. 

After receiving his primary education in the Mekhitarian School in Constantinople he attended Mouradian School in Padua, Italy. He also furthered his studies in Venice. He returned home in1845 and started teaching in the local Armenian Schools. To supplement his income he started giving private lessons tutoring Armenian to children of wealthy Armenian families who were not attending or had not attended Armenian schools. The young driven teacher attempted to instill in his students a love for Armenian literature and history including to a young girl named Srpouhi who hailed from a rich Catholic family whose conversational language at home was French. 

Francophone culture appeared to have captivated the well to do families of the era as a testament of their upper-class upbringing, a trend that was still in force during my days in Lebanon where many Christian Maronite families appeared to be more conversant in French than in Arabic. And those who saw the movie “The Promise” may recall seeing the protagonist’s’ wealthy uncle Mesrob Boghosian, whose palatial house overlooked the Phosphorous Strait, having his daughters tutored by a young Armenian woman who was educated in Sorbonne University and had recently arrived from Paris and thus was merited to tutor the upper class born daughters.

Srpouhi Vahanian was born in 1840 in Constantinople. She also hailed from an Armenian Catholic but an upper-class family and had been schooled in non-Armenian schools as her family’s conversational language was also in French.  In 1863 her parents invited Megerditch Beshigtashlian to tutor their daughter Armenian. After all, Megerditch was also a Catholic and was educated in the Armenian Catholic institution in Constantinople and in Europe. Pretty soon the young spoiled but impressionable student’s tutor discovered a latent literary talents in his pupil and encouraged her to write in Armenian and fell in love with her. Moushegh Ishkhan wrote that Megerditch wrote poems expressing his feelings of sadness and joy, all the while realizing that his love would not come to fruition as they came from way too different social classes.  

Megerditch Beshigtashlian’s young student Srpouhi, in turn, was captivated by her tutor’s intellect and showed much fondness to him. There came a time when the ravages of the tuberculosis confined her tutor to bed. She visited him daily, made sure that he took his medications on time and sat next to his bed and read to him. She was at his beside the day before his premature death. Megerdich Beshigtashlian had wandered in a note he left behind whether it was an apparition that had appeared next to his bed the day before or it was an admirable woman. He passed away on November 29, 1869. He was 40/41 years old.

After his death, Serpouhi wrote a moving poem dedicated to her tutor. The poem was published in the Megerditch Beshigtashlians collected works his friends published posthumously.

Srpouhi Vahanian, was a 30/31 years old mature woman when in 1871 married a Frenchman named Paul Dussab, who was musician. The family was blessed with two children, a daughter named Doreen and a boy named Edgar. Her husband noticed his wife’s innate talent and literary interest. He encouraged and supported her writing in her native language Armenian.

Megerditch Behigtashlian’s talented former pupil Srpuhi Dussab, whom his tutor taught Armenian language and a love for Armenian literature, wrote three novels in Armenian, titled “Mayda” (1883), “Siranoush” (1884), and “Araxia or The (female) Teacher” (1887). Her novels had a feminine theme as she advocated elevating the status of the women.  "Mayda" was translated into English by Nareg Seferian, and was edited by Lisa Gulesserian. Valentina Colzorali has written the introduction of the book.

On this Women’s International Day, it should be noted that Srpuhi Dussab is regarded as the first Armenian female novelist in the Western Armenian literature. Literary critics claim that her literary works influenced future Armenian feminists such as Zabel Yessaian.

Srpuhi Dussab passed away in 1901.  

A stamp issued in honor of Srpouhi Dusssap

It is Nature’s doing: My Friend Levon Jamgochian

Vahe H. Apelian

 

Starred LtoR: Levon Jamgochian and Vahe H Apelian

I posted my first blog on March 3, 2017. Consequently I note its fourth anniversary with a celebratory blog dedicated to my elementary school classmate Levon Jamgochian’s remarkable achievement, as an artist be it as a painter, printmaker, sculptor, ceramist, and a designer. 

Levon and I were elementary school classmates in the Sourp Nshan Armenian School in Beirut. The school organized a student art exhibit under the supervision of our art teacher Antranig Ghoubigian. The students exhibited their art work which was mostly produced by sawing thin wooden boards along different designs and then putting the parts together to form a cage, a cart, a house or what not. Levon carried the day. As an impressionable kid, I remained at owe at the art works he produced which stood far apart from mine.

We also shared a habit and that was collecting stamps. I kept the habit to this day and after I came to the U.S., I painstakingly put together almost a complete collection of American stamps since 1976, the year the U.S. of America celebrated the bicenentennial of its founding. I happened to land in the Kennedy Airport as another immigrant on July 9, a few days after the July 4 celebrations. The tell-tell signs of the July 4^th celebrations were still around. Levon’s father dealt with Swiss watch. It would not surprise me that the Helvetia stamps I have in my collection are the ones he gave me from his father’s business correspondences. Where else could I have gotten a half a century old  Helvetia stamps in my stamp collection?

There was one more mischief we did. I would call it mischief and not stealing, although it was a stealing of sort. From the Gloria’s store, next to the Sourp Nshan School, we stole a green bean pod or two. Should you pay attention, you will note that one of its ends points a bit upward with a pointed end which often time has a protruding filament. Its other end is where it attaches itself to the plant, which usually is tilted a bit downward. Levon fashioned from the green fava bean pods beautiful birds. He fashioned two legs, darkened two spots for painted eyes on the two sides of the pointed end that served as its head with the thin filament serving as the bird’s beak, brushed the body with paint and thus there stood a bird!. 

We remained classmates just for a few years. Afterwards he disappeared from my life and I did not see him but Facebook connected us a few years ago. I am not sure who initiated the connection but what surprised me when we got connected was that Levon remembered so much about my parental family and me. I had completely forgotten that he had also visited our house as kids do. I also learned that after completing the third grade in Sourp Nshan, his parents had him attend Melkonian Institute in Cyprus for a year and then had him enrolled at Hovagimian-Manougian School, which was situated right across Sourp Nshan but I have no recollection of meeting him while he attended the Hovagimian-Manougian. After my middle school graduation from Sourp Nshan, I stated attending the Armenian Evangelical College High School but Levon dropped out of Hovagimian to pursue his calling. He attended Venice Academy of Fine Arts and from there, other art institutions and in 1968 he graduated from Brera Academy of Fine Arts, in Milan. His graduation theses were: “ARMENIAN MINIATURES (from the origins to the 14^th century), HOW TO LOOK AT ART WORK (with analytic approach).

Social and biological scientists have often wandered. Is it the nature that shapes a person or is it nurture? Surely both play important roles. But in case of Levon, I can attest that it was his nature that shaped him. His innate calling was to be an artist and an artist he became. True to his calling he has given his first solo art exhibit in Beirut, when he was in his teens, an eighteen years old lad .

The love of art has taken him around the world giving exhibits, such as in Armenia, Canada, England, France, Italy, Lebanon, Russia, Ukraine and the United Stes of America. His art works remain in permanent exhibit in many museums and galleries worldwide. His accomplishments are too many to list here. I invite interested readers to browse LevonJ.com to better get acquainted with his art works.

Last but not the least, last year Levon’s son Arec was voted as one of the promising young Armenian men in science under the age of 30 worldwide. After graduating Magna Cum Laude in Physics and Summa Cum Laude in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Maryland, where the family resides, Arec completed his Masters degree in Aeronautics at Stanford University where he currently is a candidate for a Ph.D. in artificial intelligence and robotics.

I wish Levon and his son Arec continued success in their chosen fields. After all, their vocations converge. There is science in art and there surely is an orderly artistry in the universe scientists attempt to decipher.