Oor deghen oor
Over a decade ago, our lives changed direction in the most remarkable way. The catalyst was a wooden box—but just not any box. Rather, it was handmade from plywood with 2×4 wooden studs for internal supports, a hinged lid and metal handles on the ends. About the size of a casket, it was what my father, Abraham, lovingly called his soondoog, the Armenian word for a crate.
More important than the soondoog was the reason Dad made it. He was a metal artist, and the soondoog was to be storage central for his many one-of-a-kind creations. For 30 years, he created his art as gifts for family members, which we displayed throughout our home on wooden shelves he had made as well. When the shelves filled up, the soondoog was to house objects to make room for the latest magical presents.
The locked soondoog lay in the basement of our home in Cambridge, Massachusetts for decades, until that extraordinary day in 2013 when my wife, Becky, asked me to open it. Of course, there was the issue of finding the key. Once we located it—labeled in English in Dad’s handwriting, “eemin chenaz panerus”—we knew we had the right key. The key was nestled among others in one of many glass storage jars Dad hung from the ceiling in the basement. Upon opening the soondoog, we were astounded. I marveled at the metal artwork I had not seen for years, and Becky was absorbed by the sheer quantity of beautifully polished miniature and full-size objects.
Dad was a member of the Greatest Generation and a machinist who made aircraft engine parts for General Electric. In his spare time, he would re-machine rejected and scrap base metals into his interpretations of everyday objects. He started with replacement parts for broken household objects. Then, he made various machines for wood or metalworking at home. He moved on to vases, ashtrays and candle holders he turned on his lathe. Finally, he created objets d’art or objects for domestic use. By the time of his passing in 1983, Dad had crafted over 400 recognizable objects—including brass, aluminum and copper toys, military items, sport equipment or games, vehicles, academic and decorative pieces, and stainless steel jewelry.
Once we extricated Dad’s pieces from the soondoog, Becky and I knew that lying on the basement floor was a treasure trove of art that was crying out to be shown to others. Thus began the mission we are on to this day: to promote Abe’s art however we can.
As the first stop on our journey, I approached the Charles River Museum of Industry in Waltham, Massachusetts, which agreed to host an exhibit of Dad’s art, including his rendition of a toolbox full of tiny brass machinist’s tools. Next, I exhibited Dad’s pieces at the Attleboro Area Industrial Museum (AAIM), where I gave my first presentation about him. The local TV station broadcast the event, and an article appeared in the local newspaper. This coming summer, I will have a retrospective exhibit at AAIM, showing our progress over the past decade.
Becky and I reached for an even larger audience. I applied and was accepted as an exhibitor for a pop-up exhibit at the Institute of Contemporary Art and for a one-month display at the Museum of Science (MoS), both in Boston. The MoS display was seen by Ted Reinstein, reporter/host for the TV show WCVB Chronicle, who then invited me to come on the program. Even the Boston Globe sent a reporter to write a story about Dad and his art. We were on a roll, and in short order, I secured an opportunity to work with a Public History class at Stonehill College, allowing the students to curate and exhibit Dad’s artwork on the campus in Easton, Massachusetts.
Soon thereafter, a serendipitous meeting occurred. I am an architectural consultant and was working at the home of one of my clients who, I learned while there, was a professional photographer on the side. As a way of honing his photographic skills to shoot reflective metal art like Dad’s, he offered to take some pictures of pieces from our collection. When he saw the volume of what we had, he was captivated.
Over many months, we became friends through our bi-weekly coffee and shooting sessions. Eventually, we had over 200 high-quality digital images. Scott printed a score of photos, which we displayed in conjunction with Armenian Genocide observations at the Massachusetts State House in April 2017. State Representative Jonathan Hecht paid us the following tribute: “We have been honored to display Abe’s artwork at the Massachusetts State House, brought to life by Scott Sutherland’s stunning photography.”
Once Scott’s images were available digitally, I engaged a young designer to build a website for Abe’s art. Thanks to the extraordinary efforts of Scott Sutherland and Eric Wong, we launched an expansive and ever-growing site, showcasing the collection and our ongoing activities. The website made it significantly easier to promote the work—museum curators and potential venues could now explore the collection online in real-time.
In September 2018, I took a huge leap back in time to my college days and enrolled in a master’s program at Worcester State University (WSU). I was eager to learn what I could in hopes of one day establishing the Megerdichian Museum in honor of and featuring Dad’s art. Four years later, I graduated with a Master of Science in Nonprofit Management. I continue to dream about opening the museum.
At WSU, I used what I learned to write a grant for the Amphibious Forces Memorial Museum in Portland, Oregon—home to the last World War II-era LCI (Landing Craft Infantry) ship, number 713, the same type on which Dad served as cook during the war. The weekly papers I wrote in graduate school also prepared me for another opportunity: writing for the Haigazian Armenological Review in Beirut. I have also drafted an art book of Dad’s creations, which I seek to publish.
In 2022, around the time of my graduation, I opened an exhibit of Dad’s art at the Mini Time Museum of Miniatures in Tucson, Arizona—our first opportunity to exhibit outside New England. With some assistance from Henry Theriault, Associate Vice President for Academic Affairs at WSU, the university became a sponsor of the Arizona exhibit. Later that year, I obtained grants from the Mass Cultural Council and Cambridge Arts to support an exhibition at the Cambridge Library. For that show, Scott Sutherland printed 100 images, which were permanently donated to the Cambridge Historical Commission’s Archival Collections housed at the library.
In 2024, another special opportunity arose: exhibiting at the National Museum of Toys and Miniatures in Kansas City, Missouri. Dad’s reputation was spreading.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, Becky and I—after living in Cambridge for decades—decided to move. After a lengthy search, we found a home in Methuen, about 30 miles north of Cambridge. One of the first things we did to ground ourselves in the city was get library cards. Seeing an opportunity and having the good intuition to realize it—what I call opportunition—I proposed an exhibit and talk at the Nevins Memorial Library in Methuen. It paid off that we invited many friends, as it was standing-room only.
I was not aware that the library’s assistant director had informed the community services manager at Methuen Community Studios that I might be a good candidate for a local-interest interview. As a result, shortly after the Nevins exhibit, I found myself at the studio. That interview led to an invitation to have my own TV discussion program, which debuted shortly thereafter as Following Your Muse. Dad and his art are the muse Becky and I are following. Each episode begins with a brief reference to him and his art.
The momentum has not subsided. As a further nod to my grammar school days, I enrolled in a watercolor painting class at the Methuen Senior Center. I wanted to create my own renditions of Dad’s art pieces. To date, I have painted over 100 of them, and along the way, took Becky’s suggestion to add some humor.
I developed a technique of creating collages that combine old family photos with my paintings of Dad’s art. My painting instructor, Lisa Buglione, took notice and asked me— the least experienced in my class—to teach my style to her fourth grade art class at Saint Monica’s School in Methuen. Now that the children have completed their art projects employing my style, their art will be displayed alongside mine in public in Methuen.
When Dad entered the service in 1942, he was listed in The Armenian Weekly among other Armenian servicemen under his former name, Abraham DerMegerdichian. On July 3, 2014, Tom Vartabedian, of blessed memory, published an article titled, Baseball Gloves Get New Life with Megerdichian, about my then-budding hobby of repairing baseball gloves. Now, more than 80 years since Dad first appeared in the Weekly, he is featured again as a bona fide Armenian artist. He would be very proud.
Since Becky and I opened Dad’s soondoog, we’ve exhibited and I’ve spoken about his art at dozens of venues. I estimate that some 25,000 people have actually seen Dad’s art in person—not including the unknown number who have learned about him on television, radio or the numerous articles circulating. At the Providence Children’s Museum, a young boy wrote of Dad’s trucks on display as being “So COOOL.”
Despite all our successes, for which we are so thankful, we fully comprehend—and are prepared for—so much more to do. I am certain Dad would say, oor deghen oor (“from where to where”). Who would have known?
This article was co-written by Robert and Becky Megerdichian.
Robert Megerdichian
Latest posts by Robert Megerdichian (see all)
- Oor deghen oor - May 14, 2025
Loved the story…. thanks for sharing
Amazing work cousins Bob and Becky!
We fondly remember Uncle Abe and are so happy the world is getting a glimpse into his life.