Special Issue: 90 — Informing, Connecting, Inspiring
The Armenian Weekly, October 2024
For most readers under the age of 50, the title of this piece may seem puzzling. For the benefit of those below that watermark, it was the Armenian version of a second home address. Until the current Hairenik building was built in Watertown, Massachusetts, 212 Stuart Street in Boston was the headquarters of the eastern region of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF), Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) Central Executive, Armenian Relief Society (ARS) and the Hairenik publications.
I believe the first piece of mail I ever received contained the return address of 212 Stuart St. I was an AYF member in my mid teens who had taken on the role of education director of my chapter. I was thrilled to receive material from the AYF from this iconic address. In those prehistoric days, awaiting the daily mail was a major social event. The current environment, with its email, texting and social media, makes receiving “mail” no big deal. This was the dark ages before the digital revolution, and our means of communication were limited to physical mail, telephone (landline) and face to face (which is why most AYF kids would drive hundreds of miles on a regular basis to organizational activities). Despite the thrill of daily runs to the mailbox to pick up the Weekly or more mail from the AYF, the address was a mystery to me. In the absence of Google, I asked my father where the Hairenik building was. He told me it was in downtown Boston, and in his days in the AYF (the late 1930s to mid-50s) it was the center of social events, conventions and educational activity in addition to the office of the Central Executive. I could only dream of seeing this temple of diaspora history while living in remote Indian Orchard. Although only 90 miles east, the geographic separation between various communities was more prominent at that time. For some, it would have been an overnight journey. Today we might do it twice in a day. I was young and dependent, which translated into biding my time.
In June of 1971, my life turned onto a vector that would gift me a lifetime of identity. I was elected to the Central Executive (CE) of the AYF (which included California and Canada at that time). I was in my late teens and frankly a novice to regional activities, not to mention national. I was not able to attend the convention that year in Chicago but received a phone call from a friend to inform me that I, to my surprise, had been elected. The official word was to come via a phone call from a veteran member of the CE. I waited all evening to no avail. After going to bed, I heard the phone ring. Not wanting to wake my parents, I rushed downstairs to answer the one wall-mounted phone in our home. The small scar on my nose is a constant reminder of my over-exuberance that night, as I crashed into the wall in the pitch black room.
A week later I attended my first CE meeting, during which the positions would be selected. Half of the executive that year was comprised of “veterans,” with a few rookies. I was appointed as the head of the Political Activities Council. This was the equivalent of my “dream job,” as the cause of justice for Armenians was my passion. The CE in those days was located in the ARS building at 304 School St. in Watertown. We occupied a few rooms on the second floor. Our official address was 304A School St. The AYF had moved their office from the Hairenik building a few years earlier for practical reasons. The ARS building was the center of our lives for many years until the current Hairenik building was built.
In the fall, I returned to college in Boston. I had an apartment and made my long-awaited dream of visiting the Hairenik a priority. In honor of those who preceded me, I felt it was even more appropriate to go where so much of our east coast diaspora history had occurred in the last century. As a member of the central youth body, my orientation into this role would be incomplete without this pilgrimage. The Olympics were in Boston that year, and as soon as the festivities concluded, I decided to make my way to 212 Stuart St.
The Hairenik building was located off the theater district in an area that has been completely redeveloped today. Essentially, only the renowned Park Plaza (then known as the Statler Hilton) remains. Ironically, it was the site of the AYF Olympics in 1971 in the shadow of the venerable Hairenik building. We are all familiar with the post-Olympics blues, when the camaraderie of being surrounded by thousands of Armenians ends and we return to our private lives. I spent the next few days getting settled in my apartment in Boston and preparing for my university studies. My letdown was buffered by the responsibility of being on the AYF Central, which required immediate attention. It was a personal objective, however, to finally visit the Hairenik and meet the iconic long-time editor Jim Tashjian.
For those familiar with the area, I took the subway and exited at the Arlington St. station, just a few blocks from the Hairenik. As I walked up Arlington St. and took a left onto Stuart St., I felt a bit like Dorothy and her friends approaching Emerald City in the Land of Oz. I had seen the building several times but had never ventured inside. This was the fulfillment of a teenage “bucket list” item. The building itself had seen its better days. The exterior had a worn tan facade with clouded windows rising up only three stories. It was dwarfed by the urban landscape and architecturally seemed to be a relic, but the quality of the facility itself was secondary. This was THE headquarters of the Hai Tahd. The archives, the history and people who served were of greatest importance. When I entered the building through the double doors on the left, I felt I was entering a time warp. A mere several feet behind me were the streets of Boston. In front of me was perhaps the most famous address in the diaspora, and the cultural transition was immediate. There was a reception desk with an older gentleman with a warm smile. He asked if he could help me. Before I could respond, the phone rang as he doubled as a switchboard operator. He answered the phone with a distinctive high-pitched voice, “Hairenik,” with an accent on the last syllable. After the call and his apology for the interruption, he asked his question again. I was actually thankful for the pause, as it gave me much-needed time to regain my composure.
I responded that I was a member of the AYF CE and wanted to meet the editor James Tashjian. He called Jimmy and gave me directions to his office. Before I left he asked for my name, and I was thrilled to hear that he knew my grandfather, whose name I carry. They had served together as “gamavors” (Armenian legionnaires…brothers for life). The nervous sweat subsided, as I was in my element.
As I made my way up the dusty staircases that were cluttered with boxes and books, I passed the assembly hall where many conventions and social events had been held. My mind wandered into thoughts of my parents’ participation 30 years earlier. It had become an empty hall whose time had passed, but you could still hear the whispers of our history. I made my way down a few more hallways, passing by the office signage illuminating such names as ARF Executive Director James Mandalian, Kevork Donabedian and others that until then were just names from articles or comments from the adults in our home.
At long last, my journey ended when I saw the office sign on the plexiglass wall: James H. Tashjian, editor. In my eyes, Jim Tashjian was the “wizard” of Emerald City. I entered his exclusive domain. He made this inexperienced kid from Indian Orchard feel comfortable immediately with his opening line. “So Stepan, which of the Piligian boys’ sons are you?” My father was one of four brothers who were active in the AYF and the community. When I responded that my father was Carnig, he leaned forward and almost shouted, “I love Carnig…good man…patriot and church man.” It was one of the many times my father’s sterling reputation as an ardent patriot and church leader opened doors for me. Jimmy, upon learning of my election to the AYF Central, offered an abridged version (probably 20 minutes) of the state of Hai Tahd, the AYF and how to make an impact as a leader in the AYF. I felt like I was listening to a podcast (not yet invented) of the history of the American diaspora and our challenges. It was mesmerizing. He asked how he could help me. I told him that an older mentor had encouraged me to become educated in our history, culture, political dynamics and organizations. He had told me that only an educated and informed individual can truly make a difference. I asked Jimmy for recommendations of a few books to read. He responded that he would do that and more. Again he leaned forward as if he was emerging out of a television and told me he would loan me a book. After completing it, I would return it to him and engage in a discussion about its content and messages. He would then loan me another. Jimmy felt I should start with a series of books on the modern period from 1878 and the Congress of Berlin until the Sovietization of Armenia in 1921. I was stunned that a man of his prominence would take the time to guide my education. Thus began a journey that continued for over a year and many volumes. It inspired a parallel process I began by building my own library through purchases at the National Association for Armenian Studies and Research. My appetite for knowledge was satisfied only by following the words of a mentor from a few years earlier that were then implemented by this compassionate editor.
That first meeting in September at the Hairenik was an inflection point in my life. I entered the building to satisfy a curiosity that had existed since I received correspondence from the AYF bearing the return address of 212 Stuart St. I left that address with a new sense of direction that guided my personal development. It became apparent to me that the knowledge I was acquiring was not simply for internal consumption but was to fuel the responsibility we all have to educate the next generation.
Strolling through the dusty hallways and wealth of history, one could only gain an appreciation for the enormity of the contributions of those who came before us. People like Jim Tashjian, who possessed incredible talent, remained deeply committed to serving his community. This is no small task given the modest compensation and inevitable criticism. As I left the Hairenik that day, I turned and paused for one more glimpse and wondered how many had entered that building and left inspired to make a difference.
For generations, the Hairenik at 212 Stuart St. was the center of our patriotic life. I was fortunate to discover the treasures that resided within its hallowed walls. I am proud to know that James H. Tashjian, the iconic editor, was also a friend and remarkable advisor. We should always remember the pillars who have afforded us knowledge.
Stepan Piligian
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Stepan, I read your wondaful article. I set foot in the JFK airport as an immigrant on July 9, 1976. The first visit I paid, a few weeks later via a bus, was to Hairenik at 212 Stuart Street and to Kevork Donabedian. I also visited the Tololyans who did not live far from the building. Surely, it was not a pilgrimage but the allure of Hairenik was no less in Lebanon as well. It was my HS classmate Ohan Armenian, who worked briefly at Hairenik, who met me, and hosted me, and made my visit memorable.