A closing note concerning the Saroyan Conference: although most of the participants gave quite interesting talks about the author, a few proceeded on more or less invented themes, which weren’t necessarily based on anything real, in order to receive an invitation to attend the conference. A certain expert on Arshile Gorky, for instance, presented “When Saroyan met Arshile Gorky.” During the talk, she theorized that Saroyan might not have approved of Gorky, possibly because he changed his Armenian name, or some other similar reason, and talked about circumstances under which the two might have met. After her presentation, a guest commented that it didn’t really seem Saroyan had ever met Gorky, to which the presenter admitted that there was no record of them meeting, but that “it certainly is possible.”

On a different subject, someone who owns a store in the city center said that during an investigation by tax people she was told “We’re going to charge you with a violation, so you might as well cooperate.” The store owner then gave them a copy of a relative’s passport, as if this relative was working illegally at the store, thus giving the tax people the reason they needed to levy a fine. If she hadn’t done that, the store owner said, her penalty would have been much more severe.

The much awaited Saroyan Conference has come to an end, almost sadly, with a flurry of activity following three days of speeches, reports, meetings, interviews, and studies of the great writer.

On the final day, Friday, October 10, participants visited Garni and Geghard and several museums, notably the Martiros Saryan home-museum, where a special gathering was organized to honor Saroyan and talk about the relationship between the two cultural giants. A great-granddaughter of the painter showed the two portraits Saryan painted of Saroyan, including the famous one often used in books of his paintings.

During the program, Hasmik, backed by Shoghaken blulist Levon Tevanyan, sang “Gorani,” a song of Moush, “Tnen Ilar,” a work song from Shatakh, and “Bari Luso Astgh Yerevats,” a work song written by Khrimyan Hayrik. Later, at a reception held in the artist’s studio, we were told that Saryan had painted the portraits of twelve Armenians known in the arts and sciences, and how these paintings were all burned one day in the Opera square by the Soviets. We were also shown a certificate given to Saryan by the French government, and told that when the Soviets found out about the certificate, they decided not to send Saryan to Siberia (in 1937), where he would have likely met the same fate as many other Armenian intellectuals. Standing on the outside balcony, we saw the dome of Zoravor church, and the tall apartments buildings facing Pushkin street. Saryan’s granddaughter told us how angry the painter became when the buildings were erected, as it blocked the view of Mt. Ararat from his home.

After leaving the home-museum, we made our way through a traffic jam, caused by several roads being blocked due to a concert of pop stars to be held that evening in the central square, to the Congress Hotel and then to the Painters’ Union. There, hundreds of guests and noted figures in the local culture scene attended an exhibition of paintings by the well known painter Arevik Petrosyan.

Leaving the exhibition, we were drawn to an open air presentation in front of Kino Moskva, where a group of African singers and dancers performed ethnic African songs to a throng of somewhat enthralled Yerevantsis. A parliamentarian who had stopped there on his way to the painting exhibition told us his opinion about the presentation at the Sundunkian theater, another of many done this year of works by Saroyan.

“Again, someone took money and said he could put on this play, and again, the result was nothing short of a disaster. It was sickening. I only hope people start to tell these people their real opinions, not just say, ‘oh, what a good job you did,’ as I think these directors actually believe they have great talent and anything they produce is noteworthy.”

Then, after talking with several friends and relatives near the African presentation, we walked to the American-Armenian University to attend a reception there for someone in the law department, after which several of us crowded into a taxi and went to the Paplavok restaurant, where we ate, drank, and listened to jazz, tonight played quite well by Yerevan Armenian musicians. We then made our way to the Congress Hotel, where we bade farewell to our cousins and friends, which included Haig and Connie Mardikian of San Francisco and other Saroyan experts we had met over the past week.

The Saroyan Conference continued with reports given to small groups by the writer’s relatives, Hank Saroyan and Jackie Kazarian, who gave both personal and professional stories about the author, and others who had known the writer on a professional basis or who had studied his works, this taking place at the Picasso hall at the Congress Hotel. Another cousin, Bruce Janigian, in his talk, related the story of when General Andranik arrived in Fresno and went to Aram Saroyan’s office, where he met with Uncle Aram, as he was known, and a young William Saroyan. When General Andranik asked Saroyan what he wanted to be when he grew up, he answered, “A writer,” to which Uncle Aram stated, “I’m already a writer. I write checks.”

Closing the day’s presentations, Garegin Chukaszyan presented the beginnings of an interactive website about Saroyan, a site which promises to be on the level of Chukaszyan’s organization “Internet Technology Education” CD-ROMs about Aram Khachatryan and the Armenian Genocide, both of which won international acclaim.

After meeting with several friends, old and new, from Fresno, everyone went to lunch before attending the evening’s presentation of Saroyan’s Hello Out There, at the Chamber Music Theatre and directed by Davit Hakobyan. The highlight of the operetta/ballet was the bass singer from the National Opera, who played the part of the character unable to escape from prison. Besides his fine singing, we watched with amazement as mediocre dancers pranced around the stage, further amazed by the way the story was changed and how it didn’t end at all in the style Saroyan intended, not to mention a music score that definitely won’t be something remembered. Fortunately for Saroyan, he wasn’t present, or he likely would have joined the culture minister official who, not holding back, told us and others nearby what a fiasco we had just witnessed.

“1937 has returned,” a store owner said. “You can’t trust anybody. If you say something that would have stayed a secret before, forget it, those days are past. Part of the reason is jealousy, and age-old Armenian problem. But part of it is due to the political atmosphere. If someone who has a big business considers you as competition, and he has connections in high places, usually parliament, all he has to do is make a phone call and the tax people start putting pressure on you and your business, making unrealistic demands, eventually forcing you out of business or bringing you to your knees with payoffs. But the worst thing is not being able to trust anybody anymore. This day will pass, but it sure is making it tough on a lot of people.”

Such was a conversation I had, of all places, in the lobby of the American Armenian University, during the first day of the William Saroyan Conference. The general atmosphere, however, was festive, with local cultural figures and guests invited to deliver addresses both at the opening ceremony and at short presentations to be held at the Congress Hotel this week. Guests included the author’s nephew and niece, Hank Saroyan and Jackie Kazarian, and another cousin, Bruce Janigian, all from California.

During the opening, several speeches about Saroyan were given, the most interesting probably by Professor Dickran Kuyumjian, newly retired Armenian Studies head from Fresno State, who talked about the author’s paintings and sketches, comparing them by picture and words with several great painters, Picasso included.

Introductory speeches were given by the prime minister, culture minister, and new ambassador from the US. A low point was the scene created by three Georgian women in the audience, one of whom had translated several of Saroyan’s short stories into Georgian. The women talked the entire time, in Georgian, not listening to the speeches at all, be they in Russian, Armenian, or English, even though all were being translated and could be listened to using the headphones by each seat. Obviously mocking the ceremonies and Armenians in general, those sitting near them asked them to lower their voices, leading to a loud but brief scene, the women finally moving themselves to the back of the auditorium.

In my artist-friend’s studio, a first glance went to two new paintings, or at least paintings I hadn’t seen before. One was of a woman, with the mountains of Garni in the background. “This girl was in a beauty contest in Yerevan,” the painter said. “She reached the finals, then it became evident that a bribe was needed to either win or place in the top five or ten. She didn’t pay, and of course didn’t win. Disappointed with what she had seen, she eventually left Armenia. The other painting is of Beethoven. I tried to capture him as he lost his hearing, which happened when he was a little over fifty. It’s something; Beethoven died in poverty, as did Wagner, who idolized Beethoven. There’s a story of a rich Englishman who had composed a classical piece and took it for Beethoven to listen to. Beethoven, who didn’t like the English anyway, wouldn’t meet the visitor, but as Wagner was there at the same time, the Britisher made his way in to meet Beethoven. Beethoven hated his work, and told him he should stay far away from music. Wagner kept the negative note Beethoven wrote to the Englishman, just to have the handwriting of the great master.

“Notice the Garni landscape in the first picture,” he continued. “Da Vinci used this same backdrop in a few of his paintings. The Italians say Da Vinci was in Armenia, and painted the portraits of several rich merchants. The men are in native Armenian costume, that which only the intellectual class wore at the time.”

On the radio, one of Hayrik Mouradian’s famous songs, “Khio, khane,” recorded years ago with Agunk, was played. “I remember when Hayrik started singing,” the artist said. “The Soviets wouldn’t let him on television, giving airtime only to Ruben Matevosyan, Ophelia Hambartsumyan, those types, who didn’t sing folk music. Both of these singers, and most others who gained fame, sang pure Baku style, which is why both were far more comfortable singing ashoughagan songs than folk, as ashoughagan music is far closer to Turkish and Arabic than Armenian. People here got so used to hearing Ophelia and Ruben singing Baku style that when the famous singer Zaynab came to Yerevan from Baku, the entire Hrazdan stadium was full.

“Once Hayrik Mouradian tried to teach folk songs to Ruben, Ophelia, and Hovhannes Badalyan, for a concert or recording, I’m not sure. Hayrik said that none of these singers were able to sing a folk song from start to finish. Badalyan did succeed on one song, ‘Makruhi Jan.’ The influence of Baku radio was just too much here, and is at least partly responsible for Turkish music being so in demand here, and for the pop singers to sing Turkish songs with Armenian words, or sing songs with Turkish-style melodies. The ashough Jivan complained that if he didn’t write Turkish-style melodies, no one would listen to his music here in Armenia. I understand why the Communists did this, to keep Armenians away from their true culture, but why our leaders are doing it now, not only not promoting true Armenian folk music but not allowing it to be aired on national television or radio, I’ll never understand. Or maybe I understand but don’t want to.”

“Everyone sure seems tense these days at the Conservatory,” a student in musicology said. “First of all, this is the time of year a lot of decisions are being made, and a lot of money is passing from one hand to the other. I won’t go into that. But Armen Smbatyan is back in town, and people are talking about his tie with the apartment building adjoining the Conservatory, and saying that it was paid for by Conservatory funds, with the purpose of serving as a dormitory, but now has been sold, with only people of means living there. And then the article in Azatamtutyun, accusing Smbatyan of everything under the sun, including ruining the Conservatory. What comes of it all, no one knows.”

All this aside, this week was an excellent one for culture in Yerevan, first of all with the Tatevik Hovhannisyan concert early in the week. Hovhannisyan, daughter of Ophelia Hambartsumyan, showed her professionalism, not to mention her good voice, in front of a full house at the Aram Khachatryan hall. Yet, Hovhannisyan occasionally had trouble hitting high notes, and showed an occasional shortage of energy, as the passing years seem to have begun taking a toll on this quite fine jazz singer. Also notable was the extreme ease which Hovhannisyan sang American jazz compared with Armenian songs, the arranging of which she did herself.

As good as this concert was, the cultural highlight of the week for me was the Malyan Theater presentation of several of Saroyan’s short stories, which they titled “Stories in a Train.” Eleven actors sang, danced, and brought the audience to laughter and tears with their acting. Six of the actors were long-time theater members, all with their comical facial expressions and gestures, only to be found in Armenia, and which I saw in the US only in the Saroyan generation of Armenians. Five quite capable newcomers also joined the cast. The story of Uncle Khosrov and the Arab who longed to see his family back home was a highlight, in typical Malyan style with both sadness and humor.

As it was Henrik Malyan’s 100th birthday, the theater was full, with culture ministry officials, actors from other troupes, and others in attendance. After seeing other presentations of works by Saroyan that were less than successful, such as the Metro Theater’s recent production, this was a breath of fresh air, as the actors truly captured what Saroyan was all about.

Afterwards, I found myself shuffled off into the back reception room, where the actors, Malyan’s daughter Narine (director of the troupe), movie head Ruben Gevorgyants, culture vice-minister Davit Muradyan, and friends gathered and began giving toasts, singing, and telling whatever stories they knew about Saroyan and Fresno and, amidst all the noise, even imitating the various hand gestures made famous by the writer and his male relatives, including the famous Uncle Aram, with several of the actors adding that the most important thing to them was to keep the taste, the feel of Saroyan in the presentation. It was a party the great writer would have definitely enjoyed.

A report from a Yerevan Armenian who just spent some time in Los Angeles: “Of all Hayastan Armenians who have moved to Los Angeles, I’d say eighty percent are rabiz, ten percent are all right, and ten percent are educated, intelligent people. The Armenians that leave Armenia for Los Angeles aren’t usually of the highest class, and when they get to Los Angeles, they go downhill. Fifteen thousand, maybe as many as 18,000 Hayatantsis are in prison there. What disgusted me was how they brag about beating the system there. One said, ‘With fake credit cards, which we use to draw money out of the bank and get gasoline, we make $50,000-60,000 a year. I haven’t worked since I got here. Armenians own all the houses on this street. Almost none of them work.’”