Apigian-Kessel: Trying to Find Something to Smile About

Somber groups lingered and chatted outside St. Sarkis Church at the conclusion of yet another funeral service. We tried hard to grasp at something, anything, to brighten the mood as we waited for the departure of the hearse and the file of cars following it for the journey to the cemetery.

This was a black day for Detroiters. They had lost a youthful member of the community all too soon. Hearts were hurting and males and females alike shamelessly let the tears flow during Dan Gark and at the finality of the funeral services.

This town has been reeling from the inordinate number of funerals. Detroiters needed something uplifting to divert it from all its gloom. Enter good-natured Avedis Mishigian, who was feeling the heaviness of the day.

Mishigian, an expert backgammon (tavloo) player from Tecumseh, Mich., had befriended my husband long ago.

“Bob, I am going to finally teach you to play tavloo,” he said. “I know about 20 guys who are up there in heaven right now and all of them are playing tavloo and Verdi is the real expert at the game. He can beat every one of them.”

“You hid my tavloo dice from me at the Blessing of the Grapes picnic and when I finally found it I had to make an emergency beer-run to settle myself down. You have to learn to play the game to understand my love for it.”

Pointing skyward I said, “Avedis, I am going to reserve a picnic table up there as of right now for all you guys, but I want God to know we are not ready to go up there just yet.”

I was impressed by the spiritual side of the usually gregarious Avedis—something I had not observed before—as he said to Bob, “You know, my friend, there is a lot of room up there, so much room for everyone, and it goes on forever and ever. But no, we are not ready to leave here for quite a while.”

I thought to myself, “Avedis is a believer,” and I liked this surprising, hidden side of the tall, lanky man.

The two men laughed and agreed, saying, “Oh, no, not yet. We still have a lot of living to do. Playing tavloo in heaven can wait for quite a while.

That is why the Armenian Community Center kebab dinners are so popular. The food is good, the price is right, and you can let your hair down and have a good time. Over a hundred diners show up and many others do take out. The atmosphere is casual.

That table in the back is usually full of Vanetsis, and I tease one of them, the half-Vanetsi, half-Keghetsi Diane Masropian Mercuri, asking her what they are plotting now.

Table number one is for the Keghetsis and others we invite to join us. We are clannish but not exclusive. Table number two is full of Tom Poladian’s family.

Table three is full of elderly bachelors and widowers chowing down on homemade Armenian fare, a treat to their palates longing for food like their mommas or wife used to make for them. Others come and go.

I motioned to Ross Bagdasarian to come over and he wondered why it was I wanted his ear. Over the din of the crowd I said to him, “Ross the other meeting room has all the pictures of our heroes—generals, fedayees, and intellectuals—hanging on the walls to be acknowledged for their feats of heroism and for the advancement of the Armenian Cause.”

“In this room where we all have such a great time socializing, we need to see a photo of your father, Murray Mourad Bagdasarian, hanging up there behind the food counter for all to see as a reminder this fun evening originated with him. It was his idea to have a family night where community members were welcome to break bread, play cards, and just swap stories. He, too, is an Armenian Detroit hero and it is because of him we are all having such a great time. It would be like he was still here with us.”

Ross smiled at the idea of honoring his father. Good ideas and their originators like Mourad sometime get lost in the shuffle, and I am a firm believer in giving credit where it is due.

“I would like to see your father remembered for his brilliant idea. Get a good size picture of him smiling down on us and put it up where everyone can see him as a reminder in future years to whom we should show gratitude. Thanks to Mourad, kebab dinner night is looked forward to by everyone.”

Ross smiled and thanked me, nodding in agreement, and departed, but not before planting a kiss on my cheek.

Beneath the picture for all to see in large letters should read: “Thank You. Murray! Another Detroit Legend.”

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Betty Apigian-Kessel

Betty (Serpouhie) Apigian Kessel was born in Pontiac, Mich. Together with her husband, Robert Kessel, she was the proprietor of Woodward Market in Pontiac and has two sons, Bradley and Brant Kessel. She belonged to the St. Sarkis Ladies Guild for 12 years, serving as secretary for many of those years. During the aftermath of the earthquake in Armenia in 1988, the Detroit community selected her to be the English-language secretary and she happily dedicated her efforts to help the earthquake victims. She has a column in the Armenian Weekly entitled “Michigan High Beat.”