Uncle Paul and the promise he lived
One of the great joys of life is the special relationships we build along the journey. They teach us, sustain us and give our lives meaning. Many of these relationships are acquired through professional connections, community participation or marriage.
It is particularly gratifying—though not always a certainty—when such bonds arise from bloodlines, because they reveal something essential about how we came to be. I have always felt comfortable with older people, perhaps because of the loving relationships I shared with my four grandparents. My parents established a rule in our home: when elder friends and relatives visited, we would pay our respects. The ritual was familiar—to be smothered with affection, then dismissed to play with our cousins.
Yet, even from my earliest days, I was reluctant to leave after the required welcome. I wanted to hear their stories and opinions on life’s issues. There was a certain warmth and comfort in being in their midst. As I grew into adulthood, this behavior did not change. Some of my closest relationships were with members of the elder generation.
Recently, we lost someone who has been a constant in my life: Uncle Paul. His earthly life ended a few weeks ago at nearly 98. He was our family’s patriarch, a title earned not by age alone, but through wisdom, humility and unwavering love.
Uncle Paul was my father’s younger brother, born in 1927 to genocide survivors. His baptismal name, Boghos, honored his martyred grandfather from Sepastia, lost during the genocide. The family settled in Indian Orchard, after my grandfather’s service as a gamavor (volunteer) in World War I. During World War II, Paul watched his two older brothers enter the Air Corps and followed in their footsteps, enlisting in the war’s final draft. Thankfully, the war ended before his overseas deployment, sparing my grandparents the anguish of sending a third son into harm’s way.
My uncle acquired the value of giving early in his life. As just 7, he would chip mortar off used bricks for his father and other men building the original St. Gregory Church. When my grandfather distributed the Hairenik Daily during those years—a lifeline for the survivor generation—Paul took over deliveries, shouldering the task dutifully five days a week. During the Great Depression, when the local bank allowed my grandparents to keep their home only if they paid the mortgage interest promptly, Uncle Paul rode his bike to meet that obligation.
After the war ended and he was discharged in 1946, Paul—like thousands of other young GIs—was ready to resume his life with excitement for the future. My grandfather, who had worked in a sweltering foundry for over 20 years, was ready to return to his farming roots. The plan to buy a poultry farm in Franklin depended on Paul—one brother was married, one in college and another in high school—putting his personal plans on hold. Uncle Paul had a great sense of family loyalty and love for his parents.
Without hesitation, he postponed college to establish the family business, later attending night school in Boston while raising a family with my dear Aunt Sarah. He graduated in 1962, all while serving on the AYF Central Executive. Uncle Paul was a remarkable role model at a young age. His sacrifices set a standard: family came first.
Summers at the farm were pivotal in my development. We observed Uncle Paul’s every move with pride and interest. We always had time together. On Saturdays, the farm had an egg delivery route across eastern Massachusetts. One customer, Red Sox broadcaster Curt Gowdy gifted Uncle Paul box seats. My first Red Sox game was in box seats where I could rest my Coke on the dugout roof. Spending time with Uncle Paul was always a memorable learning experience. Those memories remain vivid, as if they were yesterday.
Our family has long been clustered in Massachusetts. But in 1963, Uncle Paul, now with IBM, was transferred to Cincinnati. After several additional moves, he permanently settled in California’s San Jose area, where he enjoyed a successful sales career. The news of the move was devastating; in that era, cross-country moves were rare, and the distance felt insurmountable. I was “losing” my closest cousin, and a man we dearly admired was going far away. The world was far less mobile in the 1960s, and traveling distances was a very special event for most people.
I later found out from my parents about a discussion that Uncle Paul had with his parents and brothers before he left. He realized the enormity of his move for his tight-knit New England Armenian family. He said that he would not let geography stand in the way of maintaining and building relationships within our family and with those not yet born. “Our children and their children will know each other,” he said.
True to his word, Uncle Paul and Aunt Sarah kept that promise by setting a standard that has been revered and followed by generations. They have attended virtually every wedding and important family event for the succeeding two generations, and have gifted that commitment to their children and grandchildren. Despite living 3,000 miles away, we are proud that succeeding generations are close, having shared life’s journey together over the past 60 years. It was less a challenge and more a natural extension of the values of this remarkable man.
Uncle Paul was that special elder we all hope to have. When my father passed away unexpectedly over 30 years ago, dear Uncle Paul became my guide. He offered career advice, fatherly counsel and steadiness during some difficult times. For several years, I worked for a few California-based tech firms that resulted in frequent travel to San Jose. As many of you know, business travel is highly overrated and quite laborious. The one saving grace of those trips was my visit to their home for dinner and long conversations. I would arrive to see my loving and gregarious aunt waving to me and my uncle in the backyard cooking shish kebab on skewers his father had forged at the foundry. Those visits, spanning 50 years, were a testament to his promise that distance would never divide us.
Visiting family members became more important than the professional business. Even at 95, Uncle Paul flew east three times within three months for the weddings of two great-nieces and a great-nephew. Each member of the succeeding generation has had the privilege of his promise. Several years ago, Uncle Paul meticulously compiled our family history into binders—complete with a multi-generational family tree, detailed history and a picture album—ensuring each branch received a copy. “Our story must be taught, so it is not lost,” he insisted. He was determined to document our story for the emerging generations.
My uncle was a devout Christian. He credited his mother—a survivor of three atrocities (in 1909, 1915 and 1920) in Adana—as his moral compass. His faith fueled his compassion. During my frequent trips to his home, I always knew there was one day to avoid: when he and my aunt volunteered as English teachers in classrooms. This was just one of their many philanthropic ventures. Uncle Paul always embraced these opportunities, giving thanks to the “Good Lord.” As a trained sales executive, he could converse effortlessly with diverse audiences, making him a favorite at family gatherings. His presence was inspiring, and his ability to offer a heartfelt takh bar (solo dance) to every bride or groom was a source of joy.
When someone passes from earthly life, we naturally mourn our loss. As Christians, we take comfort knowing our loved ones rest in God’s eternity. Our sorrow—what I call “sincere selfishness”—comes from attending to our own needs, our sense of loss, yet it is done with a pure heart. We believe the Holy Spirit touches the faithful when their time is near, bringing a profound peace.
In these moments, our minds instinctively filter for the good—if we choose. It is a time for us to remember their legacy. We often ask ourselves: When we leave this earth, what will be our footprint? Will it be deep and enduring? The best legacy is to be remembered. The countless stories, lessons and experiences with Uncle Paul will rest in our hearts forever.
It is rare to meet someone who has given so much to so many. We used to joke with him about the title “patriarch”—it was not something he would ever advocate for. He was far too humble, which was why he was so loved. His family leadership wasn’t about seniority, but about modeling sacrifice and love through action. To us children, he was a “cool” uncle. As we matured, we learned how to accept his gift and respect his wisdom on a personal level. It is challenging to lose another of this generation, given the value of honoring elders. Yet, this is life’s way, and Uncle Paul has done his job in living the values of love, family and compassion. The most respectful way to thank him is to continue our lives with those same values.
Stepan Piligian
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Beautifully written Stepan. Asdvadzin hokin lousavoureh.
a life well lived, a legacy eternal
Dearest Stephan
Such a beautifully written tribute to truly a very special gentleman…..unfortunately so ver many of this generation truly don’t know the sacrifices made by that generation and although. Am almost twelve years younger than dear Paul ….but alas like you loved listening to the elders and so I was blessed to know so much of the past. Your writing of his legacy and others that you have written about is so appreciated…..soooo
That we always remember.
Your tribute to Paul Piligian yesterday (6/28) was so special and fascinating! My father, also Paul, was so much like your uncle (funny, beyond intelligent, kind, serving, nurturing, supportive, & loved unconditionally) and lived on the same block for over 30 years, friends of Sarah & Paul who I remember were always kind and cheerful & funny. After 57 years Paula & Susan are still as sweet as they were in their childhood, a trait they absolutely got from their parents. They greeted us like there was no time between us. We reminisced about many things before the service started. My sister (same agoe) was a best friend to the twins & still keeps in contact with them. Paul, Sarah, Susan, Paula were always welcoming, an open home, a close nit neighborhood that did many things together. I know Sarah & Paul instilled Christian values into the family back then & the importance of going by scripture and respecting the Lord’s word not society’s version of it was a testament and example to many. I pray for his daughter’s health and continued happiness in life.