lbert S. Movsesian is in the driver’s seat. Literally.
Each week when the call comes from Northern Essex Elder Transport, into his car he goes to drive some thankful patient into Boston to meet a medical appointment.
lbert S. Movsesian is in the driver’s seat. Literally.
Each week when the call comes from Northern Essex Elder Transport, into his car he goes to drive some thankful patient into Boston to meet a medical appointment.
Growing up in the streets of Watertown, Mardiros (Martin) Ganayan was his father’s keeper. As the proud son of Armenian freedom fighter General Dro Ganayan, he had big shoes to fill. At AYF conventions, he served as a leader and worthy ambassador for his peers. At demonstrations and other political gatherings, his Armenian was impeccable. His demeanor was one of respect and admiration.
Whether he played a cop, thug, Mafia kingpin, a traveling corset salesman or a loveable Italian grandfather, rest assured. Avery, born Sebouh Der Abrahamian, always put his best acting foot forward.
At a time when the ethnic press is teetering on the brink of change, the Armenian Weekly celebrates its 75th anniversary with a vision to the future. It has survived a monsoon of editorial exchanges, a transgression of readership, financial instability, unsettled attitudes, and now the electronic age.
Hourig Papazian-Sahagian is like the Energizer bunny. She just keeps going … and going. As producer-director-impresario of The Way We Were, Hourig is celebrating her 20th anniversary with “Hello Ellis Island,” a musical spoof on Armenian immigrants aboard a vessel bound for America during the genocide years following World War 1.
Being in the newspaper business all my life, I know the true value of good public relations. And publicizing Armenia correctly continues to be an ongoing struggle. It’s too bad that every journalist in America wasn’t Armenian or sympathetic to our cause. But I’m afraid that is not the case. We must create our own PR vehicle.
The Armenian Botanical Gardens and Institute is in dire need of a make-over. Once the blossoming rose of Yerevan, today it has wilted through hard economical times and lack of governmental support.
When people tell me I look like a million, I don’t know who’s fooling whom. I don’t know whether they mean I feel like I just inherited a million bucks, or that I look like a million (years).
Should the New York Yankees win the American League pennant and go on to capture a World Series title, the loudest cheer of all may not come from the Bronx.
“Menk an-o-tee yenk.” These simple words sent my heart stomping as I left my apartment in Yerevan one afternoon in May. In my hand was a plastic bag containing the remnants of moldy bread headed for a dumpster nearby. Outside, a father and mother were camped out in a terrace by a small pavilion they were calling home. Nearby were two small children playing, presumably their own.