Armenian News Network / Groong
Armenian
Master Photographer Kazar Sarkis Melikian Collection and Melikian Photo Studio
Work Donated to the Prints and Photographs Division of the Library of Congress. K.S. Melikian’s Daughter Mary Christine Melikian
Passed Away 22 September 2015 (unexpectedly and peacefully) the morning after
an “open letter of thanks” to those involved in the project had been completed.
Armenian
News Network / Groong
October 15, 2015
Special
to Groong by Abraham D. Krikorian and Eugene L. Taylor
LONG ISLAND,
NY
“Photographs speak for
themselves. There is no need to think
about what is what, as long as Mr. Melikian's name is on the photograph.”
Some may know that a video entitled “Kazar Sarkis Melikian Photo Studio,
Worcester, Mass.” was posted recently on You Tube on our Conscience Films site
(see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyenw3n7xJA)
We also drew attention to this video
by a posting dated 11 October 2015 on Groong entitled “Mary Christine Melikian of
Worcester, Massachusetts died at the age of 89 on 22 September 2015. A sad note of passage, and a happy notice of
a major legacy of photographs for Armenians at the Library of Congress” at http://www.groong.org/orig/ak-20151011.html
That Groong posting also provides
some text that was presented as part of the YouTube video. It was decided to do this so as to facilitate
reading that might have presented problems for some on the YouTube video. What we wrote basically provided information
on Mary’s death on September 22 at the age of 89, presented a letter of thanks that
gave details of how the “Melikian Project” materialized and was completed at
the ‘Worcester end’ at least, and lastly, drew attention to the opportunity for
the Armenian community to provide financial support for
the processing work at the ‘Library of Congress end.’ This kind of effort would surely help secure
the Melikian materials for quick and full access to the interested public,
laymen and scholars alike, through the Prints and Photographs Division of the
Library of Congress.
The video, which we
posted earlier on YouTube, was edited to include Mary Melikian’s letter of
thanks. We added an “Afterword” as well
and re-posted it. The video and its
associated text, written after the fact,
is a bit longer than 2 hours. In a way, all this was the culmination of a
project that we had undertaken nearly ten years ago! Mary was quite pleased that some sort of
closure had finally been achieved because materials had been transferred to Washington;
a letter of thanks was finished. When we
heard that she died sometime in the morning of September 22, a sigh of relief
and sadness overcame us. Mary had indeed
‘gone out on a high note.’ We can say
that for certain because we talked to her on the telephone late in the afternoon
of September 21, the day before she died.
Naturally we feel the
film is worth watching. Much of what
follows below will become clearer still once the film has been watched.
A key part of this
present post is, however, not just a very brief glimpse of the Collection that
is now at the Library of Congress, but to reproduce an amusing account of Kazar
Sarkis’ early life story written by him.
His early life was a portent of things to come. He wrote it in Armenian, it was translated in
1998 for Mary by an Aunt, Asghig Kachadourian (Mary Melikian’s mother’s
youngest sister) then living in Boston.
It is a charming story and is written in a very engaging style. It is hardly an autobiography in the
traditional sense but it constitutes the recall of a man of the Old Country and
his torturous immigration experience. It
is packed with information and insight.
In many ways it constitutes a response to the question posed by so many
“Who are we?”
When we approached the
Library of Congress to see whether they would be interested in accepting a gift
of the Melikian Collection materials, we encountered far more recalcitrance
than we anticipated. That story need not
be told here. All that Mary Melikian
wanted was that her father’s Armenian materials and the Armenian-related materials
of the studio in the broadest sense, be preserved, made freely available to
anyone, and that credit be given to the effect that a photograph was from the “K.S.
Melikian Collection, and Melikian Studio, Worcester, Massachusetts.”
Mr. Melikian was born in 1885 in a
Kharpert provincial village called Yegheki very close to the provincial capital
Mezreh/small city of Mamuret ul-Aziz in the province of Mamuret ul-Aziz,
Turkey, the heart of Turkish Armenia.
Even as a child he was appreciated for his artistic talents and won a prize
in the form of a gold watch that was presented by the Armenian Bishop of Arapkir
for his skilled and apparently effective drawing of a major ecclesiastic of the
Armenian Church, Catholicos Sahag II of Cilicia, using only a picture as a
guide. (The likeness in the drawing must
have been very convincing because the Bishop who judged the students’ works in
an end-of-school year art contest knew the Catholicos well and considered him
his mentor.)
Young Kazar set out for America in 1907
to join his older brother Mardiros who had emigrated to America in 1903 and was
living in Worcester, Massachusetts. Mardiros
[nicknamed Chakmakh, or ‘jack of all trades’ in Turkish; Kazar later gained the
epithet of ‘Little Chakmakh’], was about 6 years older
than Kazar and had considerable talent.
Mardiros Sarkis Melikian worked especially with wood, designing and
building the altars of both the Armenian Church of Our Saviour, the first
Armenian church in the United States—established 1890 in Worcester, and
the altar of St. Mary’s Assyrian Church, the second parish in the
USA--cornerstone laid 1927, also in Worcester.
Mardiros also did sculpture work, among other productions sculpting an
attractive bust of President Howard Taft and sending it to him in appreciation
for his efforts on behalf of Armenians. The bust is thought to be somewhere in
the Smithsonian collections but we have not verified this. Quality photographs of the bust exist.
To continue briefly with
Mr. Melikian’s immigration story, he reached Halifax, Nova Scotia and went to
Montreal where he had to stay for a protracted period because he failed to gain
entry to the USA as a result of an eye problem that was then widespread among Armenian and other immigrants from the Near East —
the dreaded trachoma. He was cured, and legally entered the United
States and ended up in Worcester, Massachusetts December 1907 where he worked
and lived until he died in 1969.
We relate all this since his story
reflects, like that of so many immigrants and in a great many ways, the
realization of the American Dream. His
work documents an important diasporan community, not only in Worcester but
elsewhere in New England, and even New York City by virtue of the fact he
trained several photographers of Armenian extraction who settled outside
Worcester and who themselves played an important role in providing quality
photographic service to the mixed communities they served (for a necessarily brief
overview see Ruth Thomasian’s “Armenian Photographers of New England” in The Armenians of New England: celebrating
culture and preserving a heritage, ed. by Marc Mamigonian, Armenian
Heritage Press, Belmont, 2004, pgs. 189-205.)
Mr. Melikian’s work is today appreciated
for its breadth and scale and has been showcased in several publications
emphasizing ethnic and diasporan communities. But the work extends beyond that for he was
engaged as well in photographing communities and personages with no Armenian
connections. He also photographed
buildings in Worcester and Worcester area and neighboring places for
postcards—for which he never claimed credit although most of them exist
in the collection with the notation that he photographed them. He photographed a broad range of individuals
and groups, both inside and outside of the studio ‘on location’ so to
speak. They include a very talented negro (African American) boxer, some amateur bodybuilders
and several teachers of the fine arts - including dance school instructors. He did the photography for the latter’s
instruction booklets and advertisements.
He did a fair amount of volunteer photographic work during World War II
in the form of posters and artwork as well.
Even in very early ‘histories’ and
‘directories’ of Worcester, Mr. Melikian deserved more than passing
coverage. He interacted well with other
photographers, gained recognition at the state and New England level and was
granted several patents for his invention of such things as a negative holder
for touch-up, a gadget which was adopted world-wide but, as was usually the
case with Mr. Melikian, he never pushed issues of money and never made a
proverbial dime from his innovations. He
invented an automatic printing machine as well.
All of his inventions would facilitate his work (and save money).
One can appreciate the vast amount of
work that Mr. Melikian did by understanding that he became a widower in the
early 1940s (his beloved wife Teris whom he had married on September 9, 1920 died
of consumption January 1941) and took his daughter Mary under his wing and
devoted himself avidly to her, and his work.
Throughout the years he generously provided services pro bono to the Armenian Church and
civic organizations. (There is,
incidentally, a fair amount of oversize material and original art work done by Mr. Melikian in this connection that
comprises part of the Melikian materials.)
The exceptional closeness of
father-daughter just mentioned resulted in Mary’s learning a great deal of her
father’s craft and understandably played no small part in her wishing to see
the very best of Melikian Studio’s work preserved reliably, and hopefully in
perpetuity. See Library of Congress
Prints and Photographs ‘Kazar Sarkis Melikian Collection’ at http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2015645298/. This collection awaits processing. The number of photographs estimated by the
Library of Congress is in our opinion too low.
In March 1909 Mr.
Melikian began his studies in photography at John Shaljian Studio, 377 Main
Street in Worcester. He paid $25 cash for
the opportunity and worked without pay until September to learn the
techniques. He worked thereafter for
varying times at National Studio, Oliver Studio, Millbury Studios, Tarr Studio,
Bachrod’s Studio and DeDuke – all in Worcester. By 1920 he was on his own at the famous
Harrington Corner of Worcester, 421 Main Street, across from City Hall, a venue
that he was to occupy until he passed away.
(An incredible photograph that he took from his studio window is of a
repairman fixing a hand on the giant clock face of the elegant “Italianate,
Renaissance Revival Style” Worcester City Hall, a fine granite building opened
in 1898.) He was part of the Worcester
landscape and was appreciated for his exceptional citizenship. (Copies of more general materials specific to
Worcester have been deposited in the Worcester Historical Society, on Elm
Street, Worcester.)
Kazar Melikian’s daughter Mary and his niece
June Phyllis (a daughter of one of his brother Mardiros and his wife Koovar’s
daughters; June’s married name is Mrs. Kenneth Benoit) used to work and help in
the studio, but it was only after Mr. Melikian’s death in March, 1969 that Mary
decided to carry on her father’s work and retain the studio, and to operate it
herself with June’s help and collaboration.
The key elements of the Melikian Photo Collection
are what one might justifiably call “Armeniana.” This material includes photographs, which
must be among the oldest and most relevant to visual documentation of Armenian life
and places inhabited by Armenians in the Ottoman Empire.
Now, with that brief accounting, we
should turn to K.S. Melikian’s “Life Story”.
Life Story of K. S. Melikian
Translated
by Asghig Kachadourian (Mary Melikian’s mother’s Teris Hovsepian Melikian’s
youngest sister)
I'll try to take the thorn out with my own hand and write a
brief story of my life.
The mid-wife named Ogheeg Bachee [‘Sister’ Oghda, Ogheeg being the affectionate form for the feminine
name Oghda; Bachee means ‘sister’ in Turkish], came in with a rusty pair of
scissors in her waist sash [khodi] making
the sign of the cross. This pair of
scissors was meant for everybody. It was
my turn to have my umbilical cord cut.
There was no other way except to help myself to be born, so
I was born by myself on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, April 18, 1885.
When my mother looked at me she said, "Another flower
is added to our family."
They dunked me into the christening font and took me out as
Khazaros. Sarkis Melikian was my father’s
name, Hoodig was my mother’s name, Mardiros my brother’s, and Sultan my sister’s
[interestingly,’ Sultan’ was the Turkish
form of the Armenian name Takouhie (meaning Queen or in anglicized form Queena,
or even Regina.] That was my family.
One day they put into my hands a hard wooden writing board [wooden writing palette called a bunag in
Armenia] with the ABCs [ipe, pehn,
kim…] on one side, and numbers on the other side. They took me to school and handed me to Mr.
Kevork, the teacher, and said "The flesh is yours
and the bone is ours.” At that time it
was the custom to wear the small wooden ABC board hanging down from one’s neck
with a cord. Indeed, the board stuck to
me but I did not stick to the board.
Now the time came for my first reading book.
Under the prevailing conditions, the teacher of the highest
grade was sent to the neighboring village of Kesereeg, and many other pupils
went there with him. My father told my
brother Mardiros to take me with him — to take me to Kesereeg, and he did.
I finished my first grade book, and we were getting ready to
start another book by the name of Mayrenie Lezoo [“The Mother Tongue”], which was more advanced. Lo and behold the 1895 Turkish Massacre
started.
Because of the noble spirit of the kaimakam [translated as
sheriff by Mary’s Aunt but is essentially a district head], our village of Yegheki, as well as some
others, was spared from the Turkish Massacre.
For a time I continued my schooling in Yegheki, but then I had
to leave school to learn carpentry and furniture making.
After having worked four years, I had to leave my trade and return
to school because I did not have the necessary mathematical preparation for my
job.
I wrote to my brother Mardiros in America and he sent me the
money to get the education that I needed. [Mardiros
Sarkis Melikian had emigrated to America via Ellis Island/New York on March 12,
1903 at the age of 19 on the SS. Blücher, sailing from Boulogne-sur-Mer, France
on March 1, 1903. Tripoli [a port in Ottoman Syria] was given as his place of origin. He was single, and his profession was “farmer.”
He had $16 on his person. He gave his contact in America as his cousin
Hagop Markarian, c/o G.K. Sarafian of 94 Grove Street Worcester. The Grove Street address appears to be a
boarding house of some sort since several individuals, both Armenian and non-Armenian,
gave that as a contact address.]
I went to the Middle School in the [provincial] capital Mezireh.
They put me in the second grade. Soon
after they put me in the third grade, then the fourth and fifth.
Now,
the school was closed for summer vacation.
During those few months I worked more on the subjects which would be
necessary in my job.
It was the first time that they introduced drawing lessons
in this school. This was the order from
Constantinople, by Varjabed [Teacher] Darson, so they brought in a
drawing teacher named Mr. Mugerditch from the Sanasarian School [not sure which Sanasarian Varjaran he came
from. There were several; one was in
Sivas, another in Erzerum etc.]. After a few lessons, Mr. Mugerditch told each of
us to draw a picture which would be hung on the walls for closing-day exercises. The best drawing would get a prize. But he did not give us any idea as to what to
draw or what the subject should be.
I pleaded with him to give me an idea, but he didn't. He did help the Principal's son in
every way, so he would win the prize. He
was the best drawer in the school because he had taken lessons in
Constantinople. After him, I was the next
best. I would be competing against him. My competitor was in the seventh grade and
this was his last year. But I came from
the practical world and more or less knew, or could figure out, how people
thought and evaluated.
I made it my business to find out what they were drawing,
and did indeed succeed in finding out.
I came
from a village, and my clothes and appearance showed it. I wore a long shirt with numerous patches in
all colors, sizes, and shapes — all of which showed my mother's good
taste and ingenuity. It was forbidden to
comment in the school about the way the children were dressed.
Varjabed Armen Darson, who was helping my competitor in his drawing, had
picked out the picture of Archbishop Ormanian who was [Armenian Patriarch] in Constantinople at the time. [Patriarch Maghakia Ormanian served from 1896
to 1908. He died in 1918.]
For my project I started drawing the picture of Catholicos
Sahag II [Khebayan] from Yegheki. He held the highest office in the Armenian
Church [in the Ottoman Empire] — as the Catholicos of Cilicia in
Sis. During the Armenian Genocide, he
was exiled from Sis, and then again from Adana whence he had been moved. He wandered for years throughout the Near
East until 1929 when he finally settled in Antelias, Lebanon. He died in 1939 at the age of 90.]
On the day of the closing exercises — the day of the
competition — when I went to school, Mr. Mugerditch, the drawing teacher
asked me "Have you drawn anything?" I told him I had made a drawing but it was at
home. I could, however, fetch it right
away. I went and brought it back before
the appointed hour. When I went into the
classroom I saw that my drawing was put at the end of the line.
When Mr. Mugerditch saw my picture, he almost had a heart attack. His face changed color. He could hardly say “It
is good.” He added that Armen Darson's
work was good. He used more sketch
lines. But I had worked with more
precise details, as if it were an enlarged picture done with a machine. I had not signed my drawing and had not mentioned
the name of the subject. But my
competitor had written “Archbishop Ormanian” under his picture.
The dimensions of the pictures were 20" X 24". We hung up my picture on the wall. I then went and sat in a corner. The guests started arriving and we were told
that Bishop Mooshegh Seropian would be there as well. It seems that he was specially invited to
attend.
At that time, I think he was the Bishop of Arapkir, a large
Armenian city [according to Acting United
States Consul William E.D. Ward, at Harput in the Vilayet of Mamouret-ul-Aziz, that
is Kharpert province in which Arapkir was located, the population of Arapkir in
1913 was about 20,000.] When he
entered the hall, he was greeted with a big applause. He looked at all the pictures. When he saw my drawing of Catholicos Sahag he
exclaimed: "My Armenian Religious Father!" "This is a gorgeous picture,” and asked "Who
did this?" They pointed to me
curled up in the corner. "God Bless
you. Long may you live." The Patriarch
Ormanian picture was forgotten, and Mr. Mugerditch's neck was hanging down in
dismay.
The prize given to me was a pocket watch with numerals in
Turkish style, which I have to this day.
In 1908 Catholicos Sahag went to Yegheki Village where he was born. While there they showed him my drawing of him. He said, "This is a talented boy. Bring him to me so I can take him with me." When they told him the boy had gone to
America, he said, “I am very happy that he was not left here.”
I came home proudly and said to my mother, "See what I
got for my drawing? I won the
competition and the prize I got is here — a pocket watch." My mother, being pre-occupied with her
weaving, paid no attention to me saying, "Sit down and help me get the
thread ready for my weaving." When
my father came home, I showed him the watch.
He said "Hurry up, we have to go out. It is our turn to have the stream water flow
into our garden." (Each family took a turn in the use of the water from
the stream.)
Then I asked him at what time — because now
I had a watch. This was the first time
that our family had a watch or a clock.
My father, with a little smile on his face, said "There is no time now
to bother with a watch or clock."
Now, for a kid like me this much encouragement was what I deserved, I
guess. No one seemed to care about the many
hours that I put into my drawings.
In February 1907, we were working at the house of a Turkish
police chief who had recently come from Constantinople. He was one of those freedom thinkers. My boss, Nazareth Aglamalian, asked the
Police Chief if he could do me a favor and give me a permit to go to
America. He said he could give me a
permit to go anywhere in Turkey, but not to a foreign country. He said there was only one way, and that was
to give me a permit to go as far as Jerusalem.
From there I would have to find a way on my own to go to America. The permit would state that it was for a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem at Easter time.
He did as he promised, and I set out on March 15, 1907 to be in Jerusalem
in time for Easter. (Incidentally, the
Turk who helped me could have been more helpful, but I really appreciated one
thing very much. He enabled me to go to
places that meant so much to me — such as the Armenian Church, the Museum
and the Philanthropic Association — the A.G.B.U. — Armenian General
Benevolent Union, whose door was always open for Armenians to go in and read
the newspapers. This was something new
for me — (periodicals, books, etc.)
Let me tell you about another lucky incident. When I was on the way to Jerusalem through Aleppo,
an important Syrian city, I met an old neighbor, a Turk who knew my father very
well and was a friend.
This man
said "Neighbor, wait until I give you a letter of recommendation. When you arrive at the port in Beirut, my
brother will be there. He is the one who
checks the tickets. He knows your father
and he can put you on the boat, so that you will get to your destination
safely.
Everything happened just as he said it would. He put me on an English boat heading towards
Jerusalem, and that is what my ticket was for, to Jerusalem. So when we came to the port of Jerusalem [Haifa] and everybody got out, I did not
leave the boat because I had been told to stay aboard.
After a while, when the boat had left the harbor, the
captain of the boat noticed me and said, "You should have gotten out. I know you are going to America." Saying this he gave me a friendly smile.
Next we came to the port city of Alexandria in Egypt. There I met an agent who I knew back in my
village. He took me to his hotel. Then this agent bought me a first-class
ticket. But when I entered the boat,
they put me in third class, and even lower than third since fourth class is
where they keep the freight.
I met a fellow on the boat from Buzmushen [Pashmashen] village. He had come from Worcester, Massachusetts,
and was going back to America. He knew
my brother Mardiros.
He persuaded me to exchange our clothing. He would give me his American garb and I
would give him my old-country clothing.
We failed to take into consideration that he was twice as big and burley
as I was. Finally, we settled on carrying
out the actual exchange. He bragged
about his clothing; how new they were, how they were made of beautiful material
and that they had only been worn on Sundays and had no tears or holes. They were only a little faded and that was
natural. To me it looked like the
clothes were ‘rusted’ in time.
He had a ‘rusted’ derby hat, which I put on my head and it
came down on my nose. He told me, "Wait
a minute. I have to show you how to wear
this type hat." Taking the hat in
his hand, he stuffed a half-inch of paper in it [presumably beneath the
sweatband] and it was done.
His coat, a formal coat, which happened to be a uniform, had
rounded edges, so when I put it on, it hung down to my knees. That was all right — not too bad. The sleeves were too long, though, so we had
to turn them in a few inches.
In the same way, we had to make the necessary changes in the
trousers to fit me. The shoes were not too
worn out, with metal plates [cleats] underneath. They made a lot of noise when I walked in
them, and it pleased me. With this change
of outfit, I was “Americanized.” (I
looked like an American Circus Clown!)
It was festival time in Alexandria. Going out on the town, I bought myself a
stylish cane, as if that was the only thing missing. When I was walking toward the Armenian Church
through narrow streets, some kids, making fun of me and my hat,
hit my hat. That caused the hat to slip
down on my nose, blocking my view.
I had hardly gone a house or two when a blow came to my
head. I took off my hat to look around
and see who did it. I did not see
anybody except those who were looking down from the windows and were laughing
at me, holding my hat in my hand. I
returned to the hotel, and on the following day I took the boat to Marseilles,
the French port.
We landed at Marseilles and I went for an eye check-up,
because people travelling to America were supposed to have their eyes checked
for trachoma.
The check-up showed that my eyes were "No Bono." That meant I couldn't enter America. Instead, I should try to go to London. In London, I again could not pass the eye
test to enter America. So from London I
went to Halifax [Nova Scotia], Canada,
and on from there to Montreal. There I
went to Mr. Aram Shahin's Hotel, because I heard it was his specialty to
smuggle people into America. If people
could stay in America for three years secretly, they would be free and not
prosecuted. I kept it very secret. I did not even tell my brother Mardiros. I only told him I would be there in America
within a few days.
Now, at this time, two men had come from America as secret agents,
and promised to smuggle people. Their
intent was to put an end to Aram Shahin's business. Aram's customers would be arrested at the
Canadian border. He would then be
prosecuted and jailed, and the people he intended to smuggle would be sent back
to Canada.
Aram Shahin found out about this evil plan and worked
accordingly.
These evil-minded people tried to trick me and my two
friends. But, Aram Shahin worked faster. And when another group went to the Canadian
border, they were arrested and sent back.
Aram Shahin was taken to court.
He won the case. But I could not
see myself being smuggled into the United States in that way. It was a risky business, so I went back to
Montreal. I had my eyes treated and
taken care of, so that I could enter the United States lawfully.
For this treatment, I had to stay in Montreal for many
months until I was declared "Bono", my eyes being in perfect
condition. Then I was allowed to enter
the United States of America legally.
As I had earlier mentioned to my brother Mardiros that I
would be in Worcester in a few days, I took the train from Boston to Worcester
on Sunday at 1:00 PM. I showed the
address to a policeman and he gave me directions how to find Arch Street.
I walked in my ‘Egyptian/Americanized outfit’ to Arch
Street. Across the street were a few
Armenian men talking. One of them was my
brother’s classmate. He was Kachadoor
Aslanian from Kesereeg. I recognized
him. There were three other men as well
and I asked them if they knew Mardiros Melikian or his address. They answered that they did not know anyone
by that name. When Kachadoor heard this,
he looked at my face and said to the fellows, "Hey! He is Chakhmakh's brother!” Chakhmakh [in Turkish] means a person who can do everything — a jack of
all trades — his nickname. He was
known by that name and no one knew his real name, Mardiros.
They pointed across the street to me and they said,
"That house is No. 1. From there
count two streets and you come to No. 34.
In Worcester, the majority of the people knew my brother
only as Chakhmakh, by the black population as well as the white. But me, starting from Egypt they called me a
‘Little Comedian’, as I was full of fun and jokes all the time.
My title got changed in Worcester to "Little
Chakhmakh." The same day, some of
my brother’s friends had gone to Belmont Hill, to meet the train coming in from
Boston. My brother’s dear heart told him
that I could be on that same train, and indeed I was.
My
brother told his friends to return home as I was walking, and he was
approaching home. We met each other at
the door.
When we
went inside the house, my Uncle Manoog Melikian's first job was to take my hat,
a relic of the Pharaoh's age, and threw it on the floor. He gave my brother $10 and told him to buy a
nice hat for me. [Manoog Melikian had
emigrated to New York/Ellis Island on September 4, 1909 on the SS. St. Paul
having left Cherbourg, France on 28 August.
He was 33 years old [date of birth 1879], 5 feet five inches tall and gave his trade as “cultivator.” He had left his wife Mariam in “Harpouth.” He gave his cousin Mardiros Melikian of 34
Arch Street, Worcester as his contact.
He had $20 on his person.]
My relative Toros Melikian took off my antique coat and
threw it in the wastebasket. I saw that
my cousin, Haji [indicating he had made a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem] Krikor Housepian, took care of my shoes. In this way I got rid of my antique clothing
and the clothes got rid of me. AMEN!
When I came to America, I decided the first thing was to
learn a little English. So I went to a
school that taught English to new immigrants. In Worcester I went to the school on Gage Street,
Gage St. School, where my classmate was the editor of an Armenian paper, Mr. Y.
Sirvart.
Our teacher was a lady named Miss Power. One day she wanted us to draw some picture,
or to copy a picture from a book. From
my book, I drew a rabbit that was sitting and eating some nice green
grass. It turned into a beautiful piece
of work. The teacher said it was very
nicely done and displayed it to the class.
For the second lesson, I drew a branch from an apple tree
bearing blossoms and a few leaves. This
time I tried it with watercolors, and this was successful too. I still have it. The teacher brought me a flower to draw in color
and I painted it with many colors.
The next time, the principal brought me a big card with
colorful birds and a box of colored chalk.
He wanted me to draw them on the black wall behind the classroom door. It would stay there as a souvenir for many
years to come. I drew the picture, and
for my signature I drew a small picture of a little boat on canvas and signed
it.
Twenty-seven years later, one of my friends happened to go into
that classroom. The lady teacher showed
him the picture and she wanted to know if he knew who the artist was. My friend, seeing the picture said, "Why
the artist is a dear friend of mine. He is
in the photography business now."
My friend came and told me that he was very surprised that they had
preserved my picture with such care.
School vacation put an end to my schooling at Gage St.
School.
I tried my hand at drawing a number of things. But I did not like the drawings that I made,
so I decided on photography. Photography
has something to do with artistic drawing, and would in my opinion allow my
name to be spread to the four corners of the globe. You would be able to see my name in many homes. I couldn't want anything more than that.
Photographs speak for themselves. There is no need to think about what is what,
as long as Mr. Melikian's name is on the photograph.
On March 15th, 1909, I started learning photography in Worcester. I worked in John Shaljian’s Studio. I worked there for six months with pay. I worked at other studios as well, thus
learning and gaining more experience. In
the last studio where I worked, all the responsibility for the photography was
given to me.
After a while,
my boss wanted to sell his business and go to New York. This was a good opportunity for me to
purchase this established studio. Since
I did not have the necessary money, I went into partnership with another
photographer, Mr. Hagop Kinosian, a respectable person. My partner also had sold his business and was
looking for a new studio. With his money
and my experience plus my good personality, we blended together like water. We promised to work together for four years
at 411 Main St. after which time we parted ways. I moved to a new studio at 421 Main St.,
corner of Main and Front and I am still there.
On May 1, 1920, I
started my photography business at this new location. Luckily, after World War I there were many Armenian
bachelors who had come to America, leaving their families behind. They were not ready to settle down and start
their own families. Most marriages were
arranged by the parents. Consequently,
many Armenian girls arrived in the States to be married.
Fortunately, I had a bridal bouquet of artificial flowers
that I had designed myself, and also had in my possession a bridal gown. These were used in the wedding photographs of
several couples who were unable to purchase their own bridal gowns.
My photographs also helped in the matching of couples. The bachelors sent their photographs to the
old country, enabling parents to match them with the best available girl.
[‘WE CAN ACCOMMODATE ALL NEEDS.’
THE FOLLOWING PART OF K. S. MELIKIAN’S
LIFE STORY IS VERY HUMOROUS]
My drawing ability, combined with my photography, gave me
the privilege of incorporating both into my new business. I even combined old and new pictures as
needed to satisfy the needs of a customer.
As an example of the work that I did, I have a little story
to tell. In 1924 an Armenian woman came
to me and wanted to have a photograph made of her husband who had passed away
15 years ago. She said, "Mr.
Melikian, I have seen your work in many homes and they all have praised you! I would like you to make a photograph of my
husband so that I can take it home and hang it on the wall, so my children will
not feel like orphans. They always ask, “We
want to see a picture of our father.” I
told the woman to give me a photograph of her husband, so that I could see
it. She answered, "I have no
photograph and my husband never did have a photograph taken. I am confident that you can draw one for
me. I can describe him to you. Then I can take it home, put it up on the
wall and tell the kids, “Here is your father’s picture."
I took a
piece of paper and started. She
described him:- "He had a triangular head, was half-bald,
and had a flat nose that was short and round. The lower jaw had a dimple. He had a long thin neck and no teeth." I told her that I would let her know when it
would be ready. I thought I drew a good
resemblance from her description. I
called her up. She came and asked,
"Where is the photograph? Let me
see it." I told her it was the one
on the wall, the one with a beautiful frame.
Full of emotion she stared at the picture for a long time and then said,
"Oh My God! How changed he
looks. But indeed I haven’t seen him for
fifteen years."
"He looks very good.
I will take it home and hang it on the wall. I thank you very much for not turning me down." She paid me and took the photograph home. The children liked the picture of their
father and they no longer felt like orphans.
I have also done artistic photographs, and have participated
in exhibitions. My photographic works
were well appreciated and considered first class. Also my photographs appeared in a photography
journal.
I now have the expertise to provide exactly what customers want.
After the war, photography has changed
quite a bit, and nowadays even first class work is not appreciated. Customers now tell us what to do concerning
their photographs, instead of the photographer suggesting the right poses for
them.
Here is a copy of a note
of appreciation:
Certificate of Acceptance Presented to K. S.
Melikian in
recognition of the Excellence of Photographs Exhibited at the 1927 Convention in Boston, Mass. Photographic Association of New England – [Signatures] |
Addendum: Since
there is some room left on this paper, I have but one more thing to add. When I went back to Montreal from America, the
F.B.I. started to follow me wherever I went.
There were two big, well-dressed men who would pass by me, and very
often we would run into each other. This
made me suspicious. A few days later I
went to the YMCA for a shower, since I had been a member of the YMCA in America,
I had the privilege of using the facilities in Canada as well.
After a few minutes, I undressed and went downstairs for my
shower. I saw the same two men follow me. They saw me and decided that I was not the
person they were looking for. They approached
me and asked my name, where I came from, and how long I had been in the States. I told them my name and that I came from
Worcester, and that I had been in the U.S.A. for twenty-two days.
They asked me a few more questions, they left, and I never
saw them again.
On the same day I went to Mr. Aram Shahin, and I told him
about the men. He said the daily paper
had written about a crime. An Armenian
man was killed in Chicago and they were looking for the killer who was supposed
to have taken refuge in Canada. But he
had tattoos of flowers on his arms and chest.
He said, “Because you have come from America, these two F.B.I. men
wanted to see you without any clothes.
Since you did not have tattoos on your body, they left you alone.” And this is how it happened.
Address: K.S. Melikian
421 Main St.
Worcester, Mass.
P.S. When you are through reading the story of my
life and do not wish to keep it, kindly send it back to me. Let this handwriting remain as a souvenir.
Thanking you,
Sincerely
Khazaros S. Melikian
A
FEW PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE MELIKIAN COLLECTION ARE PRESENTED BELOW. They have been selected for their relevance
to his early life story. The ones
selected also provide a bit of insight into the ‘way we were in the Old Country’
(the Erghir). For us these rare photos are
a remarkable vehicle for gaining more than a little insight on the events in
the life of some of the Village people in Old Armenia.
Kazar Sarkis (on the
left) and Mardiros Sarkis Melikian as youngsters in Yegheki Village
Kazar Sarkis and
Mardiros Sarkis Melikian in Worcester
Kazar
Sarkis Melikian his trusty Century Camera, patented in July 1902. For its operation see YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyenw3n7xJA&index=3&list=UUQ9M_LLnlEeHvkYALZdchfA)
Scene
showing a deceased man laid out with a range of
mourners. Each of the faces provides an
opportunity to study expressions of grief.
Two village priests [kahanas,
married priests] are in evidence on the right. Note their traditional headwear. The traditional cope they wear is more familiar
to Armenians everywhere. The garments of
the mourners are worthy of a careful study.
Yegheki
schoolboys and their teachers (1909).
This wonderful photograph identifies the students in a detailed,
handwritten number key. The students are
impressive, as are their teachers.
Again, note the range of clothing, and
facial expressions.
This photograph shows
the original status of the photograph.
It certainly indicates its age.
Certainly the adage
“precious today, priceless tomorrow” applies.
Typical
late summer, early autumn Village scene.
Making rojig [walnuts on long strings
repeatedly dipped into fruit juice thickened into a paste (much like
candle-making), and allowed to dry in the sun.]
Note the bare-footed man in the center treading grapes (visible in woven
baskets on either side; they seem to be ‘white’ grapes). The square trough in which he is treading the
grapes has spout that allows the juice to pour out even as the seeds and skin
remain behind. Nowadays, rojig is very difficult
to find. The supplies we have tracked
down over the years are a feeble substitute for the real thing! No doubt, the making of rojig is time-consuming but it is an ingenious way of storing
without refrigeration. In America, such
confections were frequently dusted with powdered sugar. In the villages of Old Armenia, say around
Kharpert, chances are that cane sugar was too expensive and rarely
available. Instead, pekmez, concentrated grape juice or honey were
the usual sweeteners. Today, so-called
“fruit leather” [bastegh] is marketed
far and wide. Bastegh was frequently used to wrap walnuts. Rojig is more
elegant, and represents a more convenient form of bastegh and walnuts.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We thank Mary, June and
last but not least, Kazar Sarkis Melikian for preserving the Armenian heritage
and legacy over the years.
Redistribution of
Groong articles, such as this one, to any other media, including but not
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