Armenian Schools: Memories and Reflections (No. 1)

Vahe H. Apelian,

The recent announcement that AGBU intends to close the Vatche and Tamar Manoukian School in Pasadena, CA made me reflect on my pre-university years in the Armenian schools. I attended the Sourp Nshan school from kindergarten up to my graduation in 9th grade. After which I attended the Armenian Evangelical College for three years and thus completed my high school schooling and graduated in 1965. Both of these schools were in the capital city of Beirut, a walking distance apart, maybe a mile or so, in the hub of the Armenian community in Beirut,

Both of my Armenian schools underwent fundamental changes along with Beirut itself. The Lebanese civil that started in 1975 brought havoc to Beirut, as well as, to its Armenian community there. The warring factions divided the capital city. An imaginary line halved Beirut. East and West Beirut came into the lexicon as the capital city depopulated of its Armenian and Armenian institutions be it athletic, social, cultural and educational along with its thriving business community.

A few years after my graduation Sourp Nshan school in 1962, the school building underwent extensive renovation and rebuilding and the new emerging school was renamed Souren Khanamirian College having qualified as a full-fledged high school. It was named after is benefactor, Souren Khanamirian, who was a longstanding member of the Lebanese Parliament.

The former Sourp Nshan School turned Souren Khanamirian College was located right across the street from the famed  AGBU Hovagimian-Manougian high school for boys and both were not far from the demarcation line that divided Beirut.

A few years after the onset of the civil war in 1975, the Souren Khanamirian school was moved to Fanar, an eastern suburb of Beirut whose inhabitants are mostly Christians. The population of the suburb grew exponentially because of the civil war.

Three years ago, Souren Khanamirian College along with five other Armenian Schools in East Beirut was consolidated in one school. Dwindling students had necessitated the consolidation of these schools into one.

Much like a valiant warrior, the Soup Nshan School, turned into Souren Khanamirian College has now faded in history. I retain and cherish the memories of my years there with my classmates, its eminent teachers and the three principals I had there, Yetvart Daronian, Minas Totolyan, and Hagop Iskenderian.

The west of the capital city Beirut, now formally known and capitalized as West Beirut, has completely changed now as well. From a long distance, it appears to me with some certainty that only my high school, the Armenian Evangelical College, continues to function there as an Armenian school, but with a fraction of the enrollment it enjoyed in its hey days. 

I graduated from the Armenian Evangelical College (AEC) (high school) in 1965. The school was founded in 1923 and was the first Armenian high school in Lebanon that maintained an excellent academic standard throughout. There was a time when the principal’s recommendation was enough to have the student admited to the American University of Beirut.  In the 1980s the school was named Yepram and Martha Philibosian Armenian Evangelical College.

The civil war in Lebanon mortally wounded AEC as well but the school survived thanks to the tenacious leadership of its eminent principal Dr. Zaven Messerlian and financial support of its graduates and alumni associations. The financial support coming from graduates became the life sustaining blood. The school would not have survived otherwise as its enrollment dwindled to a fraction of what it was once. Its building was damaged and had to be repaired. The school continues to rely on the financial support of its graduates who have generously assisted the school over the years. Dr. Zaven Messerlian retired at the conclusion of the 2017 academic year after having served the school almost all of his adult productive life, since 1950. He continues his association with the school as its honorary principal and remains an idol to generations of students who graduated during his long tenure.

Surely the landscape of the Armenian schools has changed in the Diaspora. Seven schools under the Armenian Evangelical administration, founded in Lebanon in different time, have been closed over time. Three years ago, six Armenian Schools in East Beirut were closed and consolidated in one. These schools were: Souren Khanamirian, Sophia Hagopian, Aksor Kasarjian, Apkarian, Roupinian, Forty Martyrs. Reports indicate that Schools are closing and consolidating in Aleppo as well, the Athens of the Armenian Diaspora, if I may say so. Armenian  (Catholic) Sisters’ Academy in Massachusetts closed in 2015. Tekeyan Cultural Association closed Arshag Dikranian school in LA in 2015 as well. A decade or so ago AGBU closed the famed Melkonian Institute in Cyprus that rendered so much service to generations of genocide survivors and now it plans to close the  Vatche and Tamar Manoukian school in Pasadena, CA.

Surely we can rightfully attribute the closing of the Armenian schools in the Diaspora to the unfolding of violent political events and financial constraints in our host countries. There appears to be another reasons as well and it pertains to our evolving perception of the Armenian schools.

 To be followed.

My Take on Gabriel Injejikian's call for Charter School in the U.S.

Vahe H. Apelian

The news of AGBU closing Vatche and Tamar Manoukian High School, the last Armenian school established in greater Los Angeles, has understandably upset the community. In 2017 the community experienced a similar situation when Tekeyan Cultural Association closed Arshag Dikranian School. I want to believe that legitimate reasons have forced these esteemed Armenian organizations to take such drastic measures. Consolidating Armenian schools by closing some has become an unfortunate reality in the hub of the Diaspora Armenian communities in Beirut and Aleppo as well. 

The unfolding of this reality necessitates the Armenian community leadership to reassess their traditional way running Armenian schools in the Diaspora.

I am not an educator. However since childhood I have been exposed to issues about Armenian schools. I have been privy to conversations among educators, thanks mostly to my mother, who taught in Diaspora Armenian schools for five decades. I remember her saying that the late Yetvart Daronian, the principal of Sourp Nshan Armenian School, would say during deliberatiosn regarding the state of the Armenian schools: “Keep the government away from our schools.” Times have changed and I do not think we can afford to dismiss the schools run by the states and ignore them as possible avenues for our students to learn our language while attending state-run schools, although the apparent thinking within our community leadership is still to have our schools all together independent from the schools run by the governments of our host counties. Of course that would have been the idle situation but we cannot ignore anymore the reality that it is becoming increasingly difficult to do so and is bound to be more challanging.

During the 2011/12 scholastic year, the Prelacy of the Armenian Apostolic Church of the West Coast allocated $800,000 to the Armenian schools in its jurisdiction. The money was raised during Catholicos Aram I’s pontifical visit to the West Coast U.S.A. During his pontifical visit Catholicos Aram I stated over and over again that no Armenian student should stay away from Armenian school because of lack of money. The call is noble, of course, yet there is the economic reality that plagues our communities that stands on the way to live by that noble call. Whether infusing such sums of money would have been possible in the coming years as well remained a moot question. Eight years have come and gone by since that visit, I have yet to hear such an infusion of money as two schools closed in Los Angeles.

There was a time when the Armenian schools in the Diaspora had their pay scale. Not any more; at least not in the United States. The teachers in Armenians schools rightfully expect to be paid commensurate to their education and on par with the teachers in public schools, and other expenses are necessitating budgets in the Armenian schools that are becoming more difficult to meet. 

Hence comes Gabriel Injejikian's call - the pioneer of the Armenian day schools in the U.S. - for Armenian educators led charter school in the U.S.

I do not regard Gabriel Injejikian's call to have charter schools in Los Angeles as a back door to teach Armenian. I regard it as a genuine call for Armenian-American educators to bring their expertise in running schools to better the state of education  in Los Angeles, Southfield (MI) or anywhere else in the U.S., by making better use of the funds the state provides towards educating students and in the process offer Armenian language classes for those interested who may not necessarily be only Armenians. It is estimated that there are some 60,000 Armenian school age students in greater Los Angeles but less than 10% of who attend Armenian schools. Let us be mindful that the parents of Armenian school-age children pay taxes towards public education and yet they do not make use of their taxes it if they send their children to private Armenian schools whose scholastic cost is increasing year after year.

On June 6, 2011, in an article by Stephen Saul in the "New York Times, titled “Charter Schools Tied to Turkey Grows in Texas” noted that “followers of Fethullah Gulen, a charismatic Turkish preacher of a moderate brand of Islam whose devotees have built a worldwide religious, social and nationalistic movement in his name. Gulen followers have been involved in starting similar schools around the country — there are about 120 in all, mostly in urban centers in 25 states, one of the largest collections of charter schools in America.” 

 I cite this as an example that community-wide supported Charter schools is a possibility. I do not advocate of course closing the Armenian day schools. What I propose is not to neglect the Armenian students whose parents cannot afford to have them attend Armenian schools, which are private by their very nature and hence consider running  charter schools.

Charter schools advocated by Gabriel Injejikian would run with the expertise of Armenian-Americans who have a long tradition of running exemplary schools and have an innate appreciation of education and are driven by a genuine mission to improve the state of education of the upcoming generation. These values can be put in use to improve public education in the U.S while also teaching Armenian for those interested, along with Spanish, for example, as done in the Ararat Charter School, in Los Angeles.

Most charter schools fail, I am told, after a few years of operation because they cannot maintain the education standard expected of them. The continuity of a charter school is not assured if the students attending it do not meet those standards as attested by the mandated tests. Surely the government funds the schools with an expectation of excellence. The Alex and Marie Manougian School in Southfield, Michigan has been chartered since 1996 and is thus the longest-running charter school administered by the Armenian community. It is also a testament of how well the Armenian community has run a charter school and help school age children of the many nationalities that have made the United States of America their own. The school’s program mandates Armenian as part of the school’s curriculum.

Each community will have to address the issue of the Armenian schools in the Diaspora. In the United States, the pioneer of the Armenian day schools Gabriel Injejikianhad already proposed to light a candle instead of crying foul over the unfolding reality. The candle he proposed was Charter Schools and he spearheaded it with the founding of Ararat Charter School in Los Angeles.

Gabriel Injejikian, the pioneer of the Armenian schools in America has brought forth a daring and bold idea. His call needs due attention.

Remembering Movses Hovsepian, my brothe-in-law

Vahe H. Apelian

MOVSES HOVSEPIAN (September 29, 1944) was my brother-in-law and former classmate in the American University of Beirut School of Pharmacy. He suddenly passed away a few days ago, October 21, 2019 in the  afternoon in their house, in NJ. He and his wife Ovsanna picked me from the Kennedy Airport on a late afternoon on June 9, 1976 as I came on to this shore as another immigrant. He was a brilliant student and served the NY University Medical Center for 41 years, as an Assistant Director of Pharmacy during the past twenty plus years. . Attached is the eulogy I read at his funeral. 

 I met Movses for the first time fifty-two years ago, around this time of the year, during the commencement of the 1967 scholastic year at the American University of Beirut. We were to study Pharmacy. Thirty students or so made the class; six were Armenians. 

I soon found out that he was from Aleppo and had graduated from its famed Karen Yeppe Jemaran and had successfully passed his Syrian Baccalaureate examinations but was held back a year because of his Calouste Gulbenkian scholarship had not come on time. In the interim, he had taught in an Armenian School. We also soon found out that he was a brilliant student. He had an uncanny ability to retain and process information. He was calm and composed. His demeanor did not change before tests and exams. I was also astonished to find out that at times he had played card games with relatives the evening before the exam. But he did well.

I do not mean to say that he did not study. We often studied together either at the university or in our house or theirs. It is thus that I met Marie,  his parents, his elder brother Hovsep, his younger brother Krikor. All of whom  predeceased him.  It was during this time that Kevork Donabedian, the one time principal of the Karen Jeppe Jemaran was staying in the inn, Hotel Lux, my father ran. When he found out that we were friends he confirmed to me what I had suspected all along; Movses had a reputation in the school as a bright promising  student.

Four years later we graduated. Many department heads were interested in having him pursue graduate work. He chose Pharmacology. It so happened that I too had a graduate assistantship in another department. For the next two years, we often had lunch together in the hospital cafeteria. It was obvious that Lebanon did not offer him a future for the family he had newly formed, especially that he was a Syrian national. He took advantage of the preferential U.S. quota for medical doctors, nurses, and pharmacists and with the help of the international Red Cross immigrated to the U.S. during the 1972/73 timeframe. His brother Krikor and sister Marie had already moved to NJ. Naturally, we corresponded. Email, instant messaging, cell phones were not in our wildest dreams then.

Karen Yeppe Jemaran 1964  Graduating Class

In 1975 civil war erupted in Lebanon. I too wanted to take advantage of the preferential quota and immigrate to the U.S. All I needed was affidavit of support from two individuals. Movses and family friend Mr. and Mrs. Noubar and Knar Manougian, formerly from Egypt, who had stayed in Hotel Lux, my father ran, on their way immigrating to the U.S., also sent statements for support to the American Embassy. I left Lebanon early July on a private yacht that was being used for transporting people to Cyprus, from there I went to Athens and landed in the Kennedy Airport in the late afternoon on July 9, 1976. Unfortunately, my telegrams had not reached its destination. It turned out that Noubar and Knar were out of the country. But I had Movses’s telephone number. I called him. He and his wife Ovsanna immediately came down and picked me from the airport. Thus, I spent my first night in the U.S. and the next two weeks or so as well in their apartment on Essex Street in Hackensack, NJ.

Movses was working in the Pharmacology Department of the New York University (NYU) Medical Center. When the opportunity presented itself he started his pharmacy internship and passed the board examinations in one sitting and set his course in the Pharmacy in NYU Medical Center. There followed the hectic decades of hard work, long commutes, to meet the demands of our growing families. But I was not surprised that his innate abilities were soon recognized and he advanced in rank and became the a Director of Pharmacy there for the past two-plus decades. 

Movses retired in 2016. The NYU Langone Medical Center presented him with a plaque that reads: “ MOVSES HOVSEPIAN, MS, In Appreciation for Your 41 Years of Dedicated Service and Leadership for Safe and Effective Use of Medications at NYU Langone Medical Center. 2016”. I became reflective when I read the plaque. One of the premier medical centers in the United States had not only appreciated Movses’ 41 years of dedicated service there but had also acknowledged his leadership. Along with the professional responsibilities he discharged during those years he was also entrusted with editing one of the well-known medication reference books on their safe and effective use, MODELL’S DRUGs in current use and NEW DRUGS. That year's edition  prominently displays on its cover MOVSES HOVSEPIAN as the editor.

Reflecting on the young man from Aleppo I met 52 years ago, whose university schooling was held back a year because of late scholarship, his was a remarkable professional achievement. But Movses in his core was a humble man, a modest man, unassuming and unpretentious who enjoyed the everyday mundane things in life, time with his family, camaraderie with friends and the Armenian Heritage excursions he participated year after year.

As student training inthe Syrian Army, cover of the book he edited, and his
 NY University Medial Center service plaque

In spite of the sham and drudgery, we all like to be on this earth for one more year, or one more month or even for one more day. This was what was ordained for him. His death was sudden due to pulmonary insufficiency. But I am sure, given the chance, Movses would have wanted to have the same parents, attended the same school, studied the same profession, married the same woman, had the same son, formed the same family and embarked on the same career track and would not have wanted otherwise.

In the next hour or so, we will have his body buried in a grave next to his father’s in a family plot in Crest Haven Memorial Park, in Clifton, NJ, where we lived once. I am sure he will rest in peace. Paraphrasing the Bible, he fought the good fight and he kept the faith through his exemplary citizenship and support to many upcoming students. We also will take leave of him in peace being thankful for having the pleasure and the privilege of having him as a devoted husband, father, and a good friend and a brother-in-law.

Demonstrating against the Turkish Week at the American University of Beirut.

AMAA: A Historical Full Circle

Vahe H. Apelian

 

On Sunday, October 20, 2019, in the afternoon and at the conclusion of AMAA's 100th Annual Meeting held in Watertown, MA, a special gathering and Commemorative Worship Service was held in the Armenian Church of the Martyrs, Worcester, MA, where the Armenian Missionary Association of America (AMAA) was founded on June 7, 1918. The occasion marked a historical full circle. Pastors from America, Armenia, Asia, Australia, Middle East, and Europe attended the commemorative worship service heralding the global reach of the AMAA.

Last year, 2018, marked the centennial of the founding of the Armenian Missionary Association of America (AMAA). Seizing the occasion,  Rev. Vahan H. Tootikian published a 112 pages long book detailing the history of the founding of the AMAA. The book is titled “The Genesis and Early Development of the Armenian Missionary Association of America”.  The book is published by the AMAA and is dedicated to the “Two Founding Fathers of the AMAA, Rev. Mihran T. Kalaidjian and Rev. Antranig A. Bedikian” and to “its 15 incorporators: Vahan S. Babasinian, Antranig A. Bedikian, Kapriel Bedrosian, Haroutune M Dadourian, Hagop M. Depoyan, Dikran B. Donchian, Aram G. Hejinian, Milton B. Ignatius, Minas S. Kondazian, Armenag Mahjoubian, John Moushekian, Garabed T. Pushman, Dikran M. Sarkissian, John G. Telfeyan, and Haig Y. Yardumian”. The author presented a brief biography of each and devoted a chapter to each of the two founding fathers. These esteemed gentlemen were all immigrants and hailed from their ancestral towns of Harpoot, Arabkir, Smyrna, Adana, Diarbekir, Caesarea, Marsovan.

Zavan Khanjian, the CEO/Director of the AMAA, in the preface of the book noted that “The genesis of the Armenian Missionary Association of America (AMAA) in 1918 was neither easy nor spontaneous.” He further elaborated noting that “the Missionary Committee of the Armenian Evangelical Union (AEU) deliberated for two years. By the time its proposal was submitted to the 1918 AEU Convention, including a name and a constitution and by-laws, the convention was ready to embark on a very important mission”, which was the founding of the AMAA as we know today.”

The book is comprised of 15 Chapters. For brevity, I will just list the heading of the chapters to give the reader a glimpse of the historical scope of the book in detailing the history of the AMAA. 

1.        Why in America?

2.        The Early Armenian Evangelical in America.

3.        The Missionary Committee of the AEU: Pioneer of the AMAA

4.        The Historic Session When AMAA Was Born

5.        The First Board of Directors of the AMAA

6.       Steps Toward Organizational Structure for the AMAA.

7.        The Constitution and Bylaws of the AMAA

8.        The AMAA’s early Expansion

9.        The Armenian Martyrs’ Memorial Fund

10.     Rev. Mihran T. Kalaidjian’s Pivotal Role

11.    Hope in Spite of Crisis

12.    Light Through Darkness

13.    Competent Leaders in Depression Years

14.    A Momentous Anniversary and its Beneficial Effects

15.    Rev Antraig A. Bedikian: Founder and Crusader of the AMAA.

A copy of the book was given gifted to those who attended the 100^th Annual Meeting banquet on Saturday night in Boston. Unfortunately Rev. Dr. Vahan H.  Tootikian could not attend this annual meeting.

The Armenian Church of the Martyrs was built and consecrated in 1901 and is named after the martyred victims of the 1895 Hamidian massacres. Located on 22 Ormond St (formerly Pink Street) in Worcester, Massachusetts, it is the first Armenian Protestant Evangelical church and is the oldest Armenian Church in America still in use by its congregation.

 Fourteen rows of double-seated sold wooden pews make the seating for the dwindling attendants over the years. An organ still accompanies their singing. A panel of three stain glass windows inscribed in Armenian adorns its alter. Their inscriptions read: IN MEMORY OF THE APOSTLES AND ELDERS – Ի ՅԻՇԱՏԱԿ ԱՌԱՔԵԼՈՑ ԵՒ ՀԱՅ ԵՐԻՑԱՑ; IN MEMORY OF THE HOLY ARMENIAN MARTYRS – Ի ՅԻՇԱՏԱԿ ՀԱՅՈՑ ՆԱՀԱՏԱԿԱՑ; IN MEMORY OF THE TRANSLATORS OF THE HOLY BOOK – Ի ՅԻՇԱՏԱԿ ԹԱՐԳՄԱՆՉԱՑ ՀԱՅԵՐԷՆ ՍՈՒՐԲ ԳՐՈՑ.

An Armenian wording adorns around the alter alerting the worshippers to the solemnity of their presence. It reads:  THE LORD IS IN HIS SACRED TEMPLE, STAY SOLEMN IN FRONT OF HIM - ՏԷՐԸ ԻՐ ՍՈՒՐԲ ՏԱՃԱՐԻՆ ՄԷՋՆ Է ԱՆՈՐ ԵՐԵՍԻՆ ԱՌՋԵՒ ԼՈՒՌ ԿԵՑԻՐ. An Armenian bible printed in Constantinople in 1883 still stays open on its communion table that has the following inscribed on it in Armenian – DO THIS TO REMEMBER ME – ԱՍԻԿԱ ԸՐԷՔ ԶԻՍ ՅԻՇԵԼՈՒ ՀԱՄԱՐ.

Most of the early, pre Genocide, Armenian immigrants gravitated to Worcester, MA as amply exemplified by the actual utterance of an early Armenian immigrant to the American immigration official in Ellis Island. When the latter welcomed the new incoming Armenian immigrant to the U.S., his recorded response was: “no, no, Worcester is America”. Indeed Worcester in MA was the America that beaconed the early Armenian immigrants. The eminent historian Dr. H. Martin Derounian used it as the title of one of his three historical books,

Dr. Hagop Martin Derounian has donated many of the bibles in shelves on the pews in memory of his mother. Last year, on mother’s day, the church leadership presented a flower to the women in remembrance of Dr. H. Martin Deranian’s mother Varter. Her husband and then her son had perpetuated remembering her annually with a bouquet on the podium on mother’s day for 87 consecutive years, from 1929 until his death on September 26, 2016. Many such esteemed individuals have graced the Armenian Church of the Martyrs.

In the sanctuary, on the right-hand sidewall, next to the entrance, there is a plaque that notes historical milestones that took place under the church’s roof and left a lasting impact not only in the life of the Armenian community in the United States but also across the globe. In short, the church exudes history.

For a few hours in the afternoon on October 20, 2019, the one hundred and one years of the AMAA coalesced under the very roof where it was founded as it sets the stage for its ongoing mission to serve the physical and spiritual needs of people in need both at home and overseas. 

Armenian Name and Surname Changes

Vahe H. Apelian

Inscription in the back of the photograph attached below.

It is the this inscription from the back of the photograph included in the text below and also personal situations I have encountered prompted me to speculate as to why and how many Western Armenian names and surnames have changed. I will come to the picture and the inscription shortly.

Many years ago, during our son’s baseball game, someone approached me and asked me if I am Armenian. Naturally, I replied in the affirmative. He said he too is of Armenian descent and that his last name is Kerian. The way he pronounced his surname sounded to me more Irish than Armenian and reminded me of the time when I, doing fundraising mailing for NJ Home For The Armenian Aged. I received a returned mailing with a note asking: “Why do I continue on getting such mailings? I am Irish!” The person’s surname was Kilian!

But Kerian surname had an interesting twist to it. He said his grandfather was Shishanian and that he became Kerian. Immediately it occurred to me as to what must have surely transpired. His grandfather, being a staunch Armenian, had changed his family name from being Turkish in origin, “shishmam”, which means fat, to its authentic Armenian word “ker”, meaning the same. Over the years the sounding had changed obliterating its Armenian connotation to one that sounded more like Irish. In Armenian it would have sounded Kehrian։

The U.S. provides a unique opportunity for immigrants to change the family name during their naturalization process. I know of another Armenian family who changed its surname from Kharmandarian to Galian. “Gal” refers to the roundabout threshing floor, on which wheat is trashed, which is what the Turkish derived surname indicated. Of course, there are instances when families changed their Armenian surnames to Western   family names, severing all ties with the surname’s origin.   But often they attempt to keep the original meaning such as “Banker” for “Sarafian”, which in Turkish means money exchanger. 

I know that some  also deliberately changed their surname because the family simply took the surname of another Armenian family for a variety of reasons. One of our relatives, who was a Syrian national, took the family name of a Lebanese Armenian person  his age who had repatriated to Armenia. He immigrated to the U.S. with his new assumed name and used it henceforth. Natually his children carry the surname.

But most of the Armenian name changes probably came about at the whims of the Ottoman or Arab registering officer without the family’s consent but with the family tacitly accepting the change.  Even siblings of the same parents at time end having different surnames with some being registered as Apelian and others as Bedirian. Surely their parents would not have wanted to have different surnames for their children. 

Names and surnames were also changed because of transliteration from Ottoman or Arabic script to Latin script.

 For example, my wife’s family name is Hovsepian. But her paternal side of the family was Altemarmakian. Her father was born in Ereyli in Turkey in 1915. The family moved to Lattakia Syria in the early 1920s. My father-in-law claimed that the Syrian registering officer registered them after their deceased father’s name Hovsep and the family members accepted it without much thought that by doing so they severed their legal claim to the properties they owned and left behind. See:  http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2017/08/righteous-turks-from-erayli.html

Transliteration from Ottoman and Arabic scripts played havoc on the names as well. Hovsepian is a difficult sounding name in Arabic.   Therefore the transliteration of their name into Latin became either Hosepian or Housepian with some family members having their surname spelled with the former and some as the latter. 

My deceased paternal’s uncle's name is Joseph, a difficult name to write in Arabic script and sound it in Arabic. However it was written, it was transliterated as Zouzef, which is the way my cousin spelled his deceased father’s name in official documents. As to my first name, V sound does not exist in the Arabic alphabet, fortunately it does in Latin, otherwise my name would have transliterated from Arabic, into God knows what in Latin characters. When I graduated from the American University of Beirut I adopted my father’s name, Hovhannes, as my middle name on my diploma out of deference to my father who barely had a few years elementary schooling in Keurkune. In the U.S. when I applied for his immigration I found out that his name in his passport is spelled Ohannes, a common variation of the name and more in tune with its sounding in Arabic. After he came to the U.S. he adopted the name John socially! My deference to his Armenian name thus went out of the window!

Mr. and Mrs. Assadour Apelian-Beirian

The picture I referenced earlier and posted above depicts a young married couple in their wedding attire. They were married in Keurkune, Kessab and sent their photograph in their wedding attire to their relatives, including my parents. The following is noted in the back of the picture (see above): “ Shnorhavor Nor Dari Yev Sourp Tznount” meaning “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year”. The date is December 12, 1959, and they have signed it as by Mr. and Mirs. Assadour Apelian. But Assadour and his family’s official surname is Bedirian!.

This young hadsome groom and beautiful bride were married with the groom’s accepted family name Apelian while the family had been registered as Bedirian all along in all likelihood after Bedir one of the most prominent members of the Apelian family. It would not surprise me that the registering officer registered the family after their prominent patriarch without the family being aware of it or making much of an issue or understanding its implication given the times. Assadour’s younger brother Kourken has told me that he first got his Syrian identification card in preparation of his going to Beirut to continue his secondary education. He was surprised to see that his family name was spelled Bedirian when throughout his schooling in Kessab he had used Apelian as his family surname because that’s how the family was known. Kourken henceforth continued his education in AUB and then in Canada and graduate with a Ph.D. as Bedirian.

The following instance of name change remains in a class of its own. When Missak Apelian had his Arabic scripted Syrian identification card issued for the first time to leave the Kessab, Syira and come to Anja, Lebanon to continue his high school education, it naturally had his surname spelled Bedirian because that is how his family name had also been registered. But the surname sounded odd to him and did not sit well with him as he had not used that surname before, even as a student in Kessab school, so he doctored it and had it read Apelian, the surname he had always used. He graduated high school in Anjar, then Haigazian College and later came to the U.S. after having his Syrian passport issued based on his Syrian identification card he had altered and after a few decades of an illustrious career with Northrop Grumman Corp, he retired as an Apelian. I asked him once, how did he dare to do so such a thing. Apparently I did not phrase my inquiry properly to convey my astonishment. His reply literary was: “easy, with a few strokes of the pen!” That was in the good old days before the digital age.

As to my immediate family and also for most in the greater family, for the past 10 generations, our forbearers retained our family’s surname. It is named after the founding patriarch of the family, Apel. 

A Rebel With A Cause: Bedros Alahaidoyan

Vahe H. Apelian 

Bedros Alahaidoyan

I met him, for the first time, when he and his wife had graciously accepted my invitation for a lunch in my mother’s house in Los Angeles. However, I knew of Bedros long before that. In the '50s and the '60s Pharmacie de la Paix (Խաղաղութեան Դեղարան) was one of the most prominent pharmacies in the commercial hub of downtown Beirut. It was on Rue Weygand, not far from the Lebanese Parliament, in an area known for its cluster of the big banks. Much like the rest of the Armenian businesses in downtown Beirut then, the owner of Pharmacie de la Paix was also socially referred to by his store's name. It is thus that I came to know of Bedros Alahaidoyan as Pharmacie de la Paix's son who was uninterested in his father’s business and pursued “music” in Europe.

Bedros’s interest did not make much sense or sit well with the members of the downtown's Armenian business community who knew and related to each other much like the members of a clan would, even though they competed ferociously in business. They were a business force to reckon with, if not the predominant businessmen of the area. Their opinion mattered. My father ran Hotel Lux on Allenby Street, a walking distance from Pharmacie de la Paix where I had been many times with my father. He would never fail to point out to me how good the lot of a pharmacist could be in Beirut.

The '60s was the era of the Woodstock, “do not trust anyone over thirty” and of the “flower power” generation. Music to the young and the restless of the '60s was an instrument of the counter culture, if you will. It was the era of rebels without much of a cause. I thought of Bedros as the son of the well-to-do family pursuing his “thing” in Europe. Little did I know of what I found over the last decade or two about Bedros' real vocation during those years. I realize now how wrong my perceptions of him were then.

Bedros did study pharmacy in Belgium, but rather than engage in the profession, he continued his studies in music. He graduated as a musicologist from the State University in Brussels and worked at the state-run radio. However, his mission was to salvage Armenian folk songs from their inevitable loss, due to the passing away of the displaced survivors of the Genocide of Armenians.

In early '70s he embarked on his mission to collect Armenian folk songs. Initially, he collected the folk songs of Kurdified Armenians who had settled in Belgium and in Holland. He then expanded his search by visiting other European, American and Middle Eastern cities and their Armenian seniors' homes. His decades-long endeavors culminated in the publication of “An Ethno-Musicological Collection of Palou and its Neighboring Areas” in 2009.

The book is in hard cover with a dust jacket depicting an actual Armenian inscription in Palou. It is in Western Armenian and is printed in Yerevan with easily readable fonts over good quality white paper.  One does not need to be a musicologist to be impressed by the  depth and breath of the book. With this book Bedros Alahaidoyan salvaged, for posterity, a vast collection of the folk songs of Palou that were passed down to singer Maro Nalbandian. 

The 448-page book consists of three parts. The first part is a collection of six articles dealing with the history of Palou and its traditions. Black and white and color pictures depict Palou then and now. This section also contains a fairly large compilation of folk songs that Bedros Alahaidoyan has collected through the years. The text of folk songs from more than 30 villages starting from Akn and ending in Qghi are listed. The second part is a textual and musicological presentation of the seventy-two Palou folk songs in the collection. The notes and the lyrics of each of these songs are laid out. An explanatory note accompanies each. The third part  contains various lists and catalogues such as dictionary of rural dialects, bibliography, locations from which the songs have been collected and the list of the songs in the two compact discs that accompany the book.

The two CDs are voiced by Maro Nalbandian and are attached to the inner cover of the book. There is no instrument accompanying the songs to preserve the authenticity of the folk songs

The book along with the two CDs retail for $75.00 and can be purchased from Abril or Sardarabad bookstores in Glendale, CA or may requested from the author.

Treading along the pioneering path of Gomidas Vartabed has led Bedros to another discovery... in the person of his wife Violet, the daughter of Nartouhie Khosrofian from the Sgham village of Palou. Bedros has dedicated his book to her and attributes its realisation to her encouragement and support.

Alahaidoyans live in Glendale, California where Bedros pursues his calling with a youthful passion and the continued support of Violet. Their email address is bedovio@earthlink.net.

August 2011 (Los Angeles)

Պ Ա Ն Դ Ո Կ Ը (վերջ)

Տոքթ. Արա Աբէլեան

(Հատուածներ Բագին պաբրերաթերթէն)

....................

Պանդոկին խաղաղ մթնոլորտը խանգարուած էր տարտամ անապահովութեամբ մը։ Տարիներու դիւրասահ կեանքը ընդմիջուած էր անակնկալ ու լուրջ դէպքերով։ Քաղաքի ամէնէն վտանգաւոր շրջաններէն մէկուն մէջ կը գտնուէր պանդոկը։ Հարկաւոր էր ժամ առաջ հեռանալ։ Պայթումներու, կրակոցներու եւ հրդեհներու ալիքը հետզետէ աւելի կը մօտենար, ցնցող ուժգնութեամբ մը։

Հրկիզուող վաճառատուներուն հեղձուցիչ մուխը, տիրող անապահովութեան տխրութեան երանգ մը կու տար։ Պանդոկին վերի յարկը կարելի չէր մնալ՝ ծուխին թանձրութեան պատճառով։ Բոլորս հաւաքուած էինք երկրորդ յարկի աստիճաններուն եւ նրբանցքներուն մէջ։

Ամէնէն աւելի տառապողը երաժիշտն էր, որ ծուխին պատճառով շնչատապի նոր տագնապ մը կ’անցընէրեւ, ռումբերէն ու տեղացող փամփուշտներէն ապահովուելու ջանքով մը՝ ընտրած էր աստիճաններուն անկիւնադարձը, ուր ինքն իր վրայ կծկուած՝ կը հազար ու դեղերու սրուակներուն օգնութեան կը դիմէր։

Մէկ մտասեւեռում համակած էր բոլորս. Դուրս գալ պանդոկէն եւ թողուլ շրջանը։

Հեռաձայնը խանգարուած էր։ Միայն դուրսէն եկած հեռաձայները կրնայինք ընդունիլ, առանց կարենալ հեռաձայնելու։

Հօրեղբայրս, որ պատահմամբ տուն մնացած էր, չէր կրցած պանդոկ գալ։ Միայն հեռաձայնով կրնար հետեւիլ մեր կացութեան։ Տասնեակ մը իջեւանողներու կեանքը վտանգուած էր եւ ինք պատասխանատու կը զգար զանոնք ամէն գնով ազատելու։

Հարիւրաւոր հեռաձայներ կը տեղային այլազան հասցէներէ. մեծ մասով դրացի վաճառականներ՝ իրենց վաճառատուներուն կացութեամբ հետաքրքուելու համար։

Տարածուող հրդեհները դժուար թէ խնայէին անոնց։ Եղբայրս կը պատասխանէր անոնց. մեր կեանքերը աւելի կարեւոր էին հրկիզուող վաճառատուներէն եւ դուրսի կացութեամբ չէինք կրնար հետաքրքրուիլ։Ձայնասփիւռը մեր միակ կապն էր՝ դուրսի աշխարհին կարենալ հետեւելու համար։ Լուծումի յոյս մը, մեղմացման նախանշան մը կ’ակնկալէինք լսել՝ կարենալ դուրս գալու համար կռուի ճակատէն։

Հօրեղբօրս հոգեվիճակը տագնապալի ու ալեկոծ էր։ Անդադար կը հեռաձայնէր։ Երեսուն-երեսուհինգ տարիներու աշխատանքով պահուած պանդոկը, խաղաղ ու մտերիմ մթնոլորտով, դարձած էր մղձաւանջի ուտագնապի առարկայ։ Այլազան հպատակութիւններ կրող, տարբեր ուղիներով իրենց ճակատագրին երթալու պատրաստուող հայերու խումբ մը կար հոն՝ արգելափակուած ու վտանգուած։

Մահուան ու գլխագիր անորոշութեան անծանօթ սարսուռներով այդ բոլոր մարդիկը, կծկուած նրբանցքներու անկիւնները, պատերու ետին, տագնապահար, հաւաքական մէկ մղձաւանջ կ’ապրէին։

Տասնամեակներ ամբողջ գաղթական մարդոց ու յոգնած ոտքերու ջերմ հիւրընկալութիւն ու անդորրջամբած այդ յարկը, հիմա կը նմանէր իր անկումին սպասող, պաշարման տակ մնացած դղեակի մը։

Ամայացած շուկաներու կեդրոնատեղին, կապարի սուլոցները, ծուխի ու մուխի տարափին տակ, անորոշութեան բառեր կը պոռային մեր գոց պատուհաններուն։ Բոլորին մտատանջութիւնները կեդրոնցած էին շատ անձնական ու չնչին մանրամասնութիւններու վրայ. կօշիկ, պայուսակ, անձնաթուղթ-վկայաթուղթ,զոհաբեղէն, դրամապանակ, եւ այլն։

Մինչ ամէն ոք իր ելիցին կը պատրաստուէր, ականջները անհամբեր ու արթուն կը հսկէին ձայնասփիւռի լուրերուն։ Շահան, այդ հաւաքական տագնապին իր մասնակցութիւնը բերած ըլլալու գոհունակութեամբ, սովորականէն աւելի եռանդուն էր, նուազ խոժոռ։ Հաւանաբար առաջին առիթն էր ատիկա, որ իր եւ այլոց միջեւ հասարակաց զգացում մը, ճակատագրակից ըլլալու գիտակցութիւնը կ’ընծայէր իրեն։ Հիմա կարեւոր չէր անցեալը, անցեալի յաջողութիւնները, կարեւորը ներկաներ էր հիմա, անմիջականը, որ գրաւած էր բոլորը անխտիր։ Երաժիշտը, աստիճաններուն անկիւնադարձին, աթոռակի մը վրայ կծկուած՝ յուսալքումի եւ տեղատուութեան ճգնաժամ մը կ’ապպրէր։

- Ինչո՞ւ այս բոլորը, Շահա՛ն, ինչո՞ւ,- կը կրկնէր,- այսպէս ըլլալու չէր, այսպէս ըլլալու չէր։

Իր խորտակուած կեանքը ոտքի պահելու միակ յենարանները Պէյրութի ապահոված կենցաղին դիւրին ու եզակի տուեալներն էին։ Հիմա այդ յենարանները կ’երերային։

Յանկարծ մտքին մէջ ծագեցաւ լուծում մը։

Բիրտ, անիրական, բայց ջերմ։ Անողոք, անիրագործելի, բայց աղուոր։ Պատահական խորհուրդ մըն էր, որ հազիւ թէ մտքին մէջ ծնած՝ ստացաւ նոր համեմատութիւն, ողողեց ամբողջ մարմինը, զգացումները, դարձաւ տիրական։

Ցնցուեցաւ։ Շտկուեցաւ աթոռակին վրայ։ Իր ըմբոստութիւններէն պարպուած, ծալուած, կոտրուած, պարտուած՝ այդ նոր խորհուրդին անձնատուր ըլլալու փորձութիւնը հաճելի զգայնութիւն մը առաջացուց իր մէջ։

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Էտնան կրնար միջամտել...

- Այո՛, եթէ Էտնան ուզէ, մենք Հայաստան կրնանք երթալ, Շահա՛ն,- ըսաւ երաժիշտը, այս անգամ աւելի վճռական շեշտ մը դնելով բառերուն վրայ։ Շահան անակնկալի եկած էր։ Ամէն ինչ անիրական ըլլալու էր։ Սմքեցաւ։ Լռեց։ Նստաւ գետին, պզտիկ բազմոցի մը վրայ։ Ռումբերը կը շարունակէին տեղալ։

Հրացանաձգութեան համազարկը կը պահէր իր թափը։

Ձայնասփիւռին հաղորդած լուրերը դեռ տարտամ ու անորոշ էին, որեւէ մօտալուտ լուծումի կամ զինադադարի առընչութեամբ, երբ հրացանաձգութեան ու ռումբերու որոտները սկսան մեղմանալ։

Մեղմացումը աւելի շօշափելի դարձաւ, ու փողոցէն կարելի էր լսել մարդկային հանդարտ խօսակցութիւն, շարժակի ձայն, ջուրի խշշոց։ Երբ յանդգնութիւն ունեցանք պատուհանէն դուրս նայելու, այլազան խանութներէբարձրացող բոցերուն ընդմէջէն կարելի եղաւ տեսնել հրշէջներ, ոստիկաններ զրահապատ կառքերով, որոնք կը ջանային մարել առաջացած հրդեհները։

Շատ չանցած՝ ձայնասփիւռը հաստատեց զինադադարի լուրը։

Պանդոկի պարենաւորումը ապահով էր, բացի կարգ մը անմիջական սննդանիւթերէ։ Ամմօ Ղազար, որ տակաւին իր պաղարիւնն ու հանդարտ հոգեվիճակը կրցած էր պահել, պատրաստած էր ճաշերը, իրենց ատենին, նոյնքան համեղ, ինչպէս բնական օրերուն։  Հօրեղբայրս հեռաձայնով իմացուց, որ շուտով կու գար, յաւելեալ ինքնաշարժներով մեզ փոխադրելու պանդոկէն։

Երբ հրշէջները հեռացան, փողոցը վերստին ամայացաւ։ Շահան անհանդարտ կ’երթեւեկէր նրբանցքին մէջ։ Երաժիշտին վերջին յայտարարութենէն ետք, ոչ մէկ խօսք փոխանակած էին։ Երաժիշտն ալ լուռ էր։ Հաւանաբար շատ ծանրակշիռ անկեղծութեամբ մը ժխտած էր ինքզինք, հակասած էր տարիներու իր թեզին։

Աւելի՛ն. Շահանի անհաղորդ լռութիւնը հետզհետէ աւելի կ’անհանգստացնէր զինք։ Շատ լաւ գիտէր, թէ Շահան իր համոզումներուն մէջ առաձգական չէր կրնար ըլլալ։

Պէտք է խզուէր այդ լռութիւնը։ Անկարելի էր խորտակել տարիներու մտերմութիւն մը, որ միացուցած էրայդ երկու տարօրինակ անձերը, արտասովոր այդ յարկին տակ։

Շահան պէտք է հասկնար իր կացութիւնը, գնահատէր իր այդ պոռթկումը արդարացնող տուեալները։

Պանդոկի միւս բնակիչները ելած էին վերի յարկը, ամմօ Ղազարի պատրաստած սեղանին շուրջ խմբուելու։

Երաժիշտը, դեռ իր աթոռակին վրայ, մեղմ կը տագնապէր, մերթ ընդ մերթ արագ նայուածք մը նետելով նրբանցքին մէջ երթեւեկող Շահանին ուղղութեամբ։ Այդ պահուն յանկարծ ընդմիջուեցաւ փողոցի լռութիւնը։Թողուցինք սեղանը եւ պատշգամ շտապեցինք։ Ճանչցանք ճչացող ինքնաշարժը։

Էտնան էր։ Հանգած հրդեհներու ծուխերուն ընդմէջէն, հազիւ նշմարելի ստուերի մը պէս, արագ շարժումներով ան իջաւ ինքնաշարժէն եւ ուղղուեցաւ դէպի պանդոկ։

- Էտնա՜ն է,- հաղորդեցինք լուրը երաժիշտին։

Երաժիշտը ցատկեց տեղէն։ Արտասովոր խանդաղատանք մը երեւցաւ դէմքին։

- Շահան, դուն ալ մեզի հետ կու գաս, չէ՞...։ Ա՛յ տղայ, բան մի՛ խօսիր, պատասխանէ՛։

Երեսուհինգ տարիներու ընթացքին հարիւրաւոր առիթներով խանգարուած ու հօրեղբօրս հմտութեամբ վերանորոգուած վերելակը, իւրաքանչիւր յարկի դուռներուն զարնուելով՝ բարձրացաւ վեր։

Երաժիշտը դեռ Շահանին օձիքէն պինդ բռնած՝ անոր պատասխանին կը սպասէր։

- Անկարելի բաներու մասին կը խօսիս, բարեկա՛մ,- կրցաւ ըսել Շահան՝ երկար ու շուարուն լռութենէ մը ետք։

Էտնան դուրս եկաւ վերելակէն, տժգունած ու հեւալէն։

- Կրնանք երեք հոգի եւս մեզի հետ տանիլ,- ըսաւ։

Հասան նաեւ միւս ինքնաշարժները, ու պանդոկի ելիցը կատարուեցաւ այսպէս, խուճապի մէջ, առանց հրաժեշտներու...

Լուռ արտորանքով մը տեղաւորուեցանք ինքնաշարժներուն մէջ եւ կարաւանը հեռացաւ կեդրոնական շուկաներէն՝ դէպի աւելի ապահով շրջանները...

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Այսպէս, յաճախորդներէն իւրաքանչիւրը գնաց իր ճակատագրին տնօրինած ուղիով։ Ոմանք վերադարձան իրենց քաղաքը։ Անոնք՝ որոնք կը պատրաստուէին արտասահման գաղթելու, անցան Կիպրոս, Յունաստան կամ Յորդանան։

Շահան մինչեւ վերջ մերժեց ընկերակցիլ երաժիշտին։ Աւելի ուշ իմացանք, որ ներկայացած է հայկական ակումբներէն մէկուն եւ առաջարկած իր ծառայութիւնը։ Զիատ դէպքերու սկիզբէն արդէն չէր կրցած վերադառնալ պանդոկ։ Միացած էր իր գաղափարակիցներուն։ Յետոյ իմացանք, որ պանդոկներու ճակատին վրայ մահացու փամփուշտ մը ստացած էր։ Լուրը շատ յստակ չէր, բայց ա՛լ իր մասին որեւէ տեղեկութիւնչստացանք։

Մենք, պատերազմի առաջին ամիսներուն, մնացինք հօրեղբօրս տունը, արուարձան, ուրկէ, ամիսներ ամբողջ, հետեւեցանք քաղաքի մղձաւանջին։ Հեռադիտակով կը ճշդէինք բարձրացող ծուխերուն մօտաւորվայրերը։ Պանդոկը միշտ ծուխով պարուրուած կ’ըլլար։

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Ամիսներ անցան։ Պատերազմին տուն տուող պատճառները դեռ չէին հարթուած ու հարցերը կը մնային անլոյծ։ Հարեւան պետութիւններու բարեացակամ միջամտութիւնը միայն ժամանակաւոր ստորակէտերով կը կասեցնէր դէպքերուն գահավէժ ընթացքը։ Այդ կարճ դադարներուն,  իրեն մղձաւանջէն դուրս գալով, մարդիկորոշումներ կ’առնէին, մեկնումի կամ տեղափոխութեան անմիջական կարգադրութիւններ ընելով։

Զինադադարի նման պահու մը որոշեցինք պանդոկ երթալ։ Աւերակներու մէջէն քալելով՝ հասանք Ալէնպի փողոց։

Պանդոկին երկու դուռները շղթայով կղպուած կը մնային։ Մուտքին դիզուած աւազէ պարկերը՝ չորցած արիւնի հետքերով բծաւոր։ Պարպուած փամփուշտներու հեղեղ մը ողողած էր մուտքն ու աստիճանները։ Դրկից վաճառատան պատը ծակելով՝ զինեալները կրցեր էին ներս խուժել։  Բրտութեան ալիքը իր դրոշմը ձգած էրամէն կողմ։ Պանդոկը յիշեցնող կահոյքի ոչ մէկ կտոր։

Քանդուած էին բոլոր նուրբ ու մտերիմ ճոխութիւնները։ Նոյն ճակատագրին ենթարկուած էր երաժիշտին սենեակը։ Չկարենալով դուրս հանել դաշնակը, խորտակած ու անպէտք կտորներու վերածած էին զայն, ճիշդտիրոջը կեանքին պէս, բեկոր-բեկոր, տարտղնուած։

Երաժիշտին ու Էտնային մասին ոչինչ կրցանք իմանալ։

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Տարիներ անցած են հիմա այն օրերէն։  Ամենաբուռն կռիւներու թատերաբեմերը արդէն բնականոն կեանքի հրաւիրող ազգեր պարզած են հրապարակներու վրայ։ Կապարներու, հրթիռներու առաջացուցածբացուածքները վերակառուցուած են մասամբ։ Միայն պանդոկի շրջանը կը մնայ լուռ ու մահաշունչ։ Նաւահանգիստի ճամբով անցնող արկածախնդիր ծանօթներ հապճեպ ակնարկ մը կը նետեն միայն Ֆաթթալի շէնքէն վեր՝ Ալէմպի փողոցին վրայ ու կ’անցնին արագ։ Անոնք կը պատմեն, թէ վայրի մացառներ,փուշեր ու տունկեր բուսած են պանդոկը շրջապատող աւերակներուն վրայ։ Ամայութեան մէջ, ատեն-ատեն, խարխուլ ու խոնաւ պատերէն քար մը կ’իյնայ վար՝ հիւանդ աղմուկ մը առաջացնելով...

Արա Աբէլեանը իր հօրը, հօրեղբորը եւ աղբրկենին հետ, Պանդոկը