Remembering Uncle Richard “Buddy” Gavoor (1930–2026)

We were all saddened when my cousin David informed us that his dad — my uncle and Godfather — passed away. This week, he asked that we send him anecdotes and memories that might "reveal the kind of person he was (i.e. personal qualities and characteristics). The idea is that people who didn't know him would be able to read these and feel as if they did." Richard Gavoor was my father’s younger brother. Most people he knew in his adult and work life called him Dick. In the family, we knew him by his childhood nickname, Buddy, and to my sisters and me, he was Uncle Buddy. My father, Aram Gavoor, was Sonny. To their Armenian contemporaries, it was always Sonny and Buddy; their older sister was Seeran. We never lived in the same city or state. We lived in Detroit. Uncle Buddy and his family lived first in St. Catherines, Ontario and then Summit, New Jersey. While we never spent enough time together, it was always a pleasure to be with Uncle Buddy, Aunt Perk and our cousins Susan, Robin and David. Uncle Buddy was a big influence in my life. My mother played a major role in that. She would always motivate me with Uncle Buddy’s example, both in terms of education and his subsequent success in corporate accounting and finance. In fact, my mom wrote this perfect, heartfelt sentiment in a group chat earlier today. There is an Armenian saying — not necessarily used when someone passes away — "Varskud gadar." The translation: a job well done. To me, this says it all about Buddy in every way. He achieved his life’s goals by working diligently and maintaining the high standards that guided him to success. He was a model son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, uncle and devoted friend to many. Here are a few memories that came to mind today when I learned of Uncle Buddy’s passing. He once told me a story when he was a boy. The family used to spend summers on their farm in Andover, Massachusetts. One day, he was working in the field when he slipped or somehow fell, and the tractor ran over his legs. As he told it: "I immediately jumped up and ran fast, screaming, ‘My legs are broken!’ But there was so much hay on the soft ground that I wasn’t hurt at all." He told the story while chuckling, in his patented wry manner, at his reaction to what could have been something much more tragic. My grandmother once told me another story of the two boys, Sonny and Buddy. My dad and some friends were playing football in the street. Uncle Buddy wanted to join in, but my dad wouldn’t let him for some reason. So, Uncle Buddy went into the house and called the police. He pretended to be the Armenian neighbor sitting on his porch across the street watching the boys play and complaining about the racket. The police came and broke up the game. Uncle Buddy sat on his own porch across from the oblivious neighbor and watched the whole scene unfold, never saying a word. Uncle Buddy was a lifelong athlete and devotee to health and fitness. He was quite a sprinter — both in college and in the Armenian Youth Federation’s (AYF) Olympic Games, held every Labor Day weekend since 1933. He and my dad were part of the famous Watertown Gaidzag team of six that won the 1953 AYF Olympics. Uncle Buddy was named an Olympic King at the 1968 Games in Washington, D.C. I remember how graciously happy and proud Uncle Buddy was in the mid-2000s when his grandnephew, my son Aram, passed him on the all-time high scorers list. He was proud of his records and achievements but delighted that another Gavoor had surpassed him. As mentioned earlier, Uncle Buddy was also a great example to me professionally. We all were proud of his rise to comptroller at Nabisco, first in Manhattan and later in New Jersey. I remember visiting the family there and seeing his commuting lifestyle up close — how he would return home in the evening, change his clothes and rush off to his club to play tennis. He was always sharply attired, a true Brooks Brothers man of those times. As a teenager, I remember feeling awe at New York and that commuting lifestyle. I recall sitting with him and discussing the 1985 takeover of Nabisco by R.J. Reynolds that he lived through — which later became popularized in Tom Wolfe’s bestselling The Bonfires of the Vanities. Later in life, Uncle Buddy took up golf. As with most sports, he dedicated himself to it and became a pretty good player and a true devotee of the game. I remember how proud we both were when I took a position at Colgate-Palmolive in Manhattan in 1990. I felt like I was emulating my Uncle Buddy and remember him congratulating me on having a ‘Park Avenue office.’ My uncle was a very nice and considerate man. He was a true gentleman and someone we could all emulate. He had strong, well-thought out views but never lorded them over others. I admired that he was always willing to discuss and entertain different perspectives. When asked for advice, he would give various options and their pros and cons but would never make the decision for you. Uncle Buddy loved his family and his extended Gavoor-Asoian clan. He loved Armenian food and music. I especially appreciated that when I played at Armenian picnics in New Jersey, he would come by to enjoy both the Armenian fare and my music. I will miss him but relish these and other precious memories. As we Armenians say, Աստուած հոգին լուսաւորէ (Asdvadz hokin lusavoreh) — may God illuminate his soul.

Remembering Uncle Richard “Buddy” Gavoor (1930–2026)

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Mark Gavoor

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This story is FREE for you...

Mark Gavoor

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