These stories of my family and history are also arranged in Chronological order.
Before the first Diaspora of the Armenian people, my paternal grandfather, Stephen, was a professor at the American University in Harput, Turkey. This area was historically part of Armenia, having been settled for thousands of years. The Armenians called it 'the Golden Plain'. Its elevation at three thousand feet and fertile soil made it ideal wine country and it is now one of the most productive wine making areas in that part of the world. Since it was surrounded by the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, the plain of Harput was much traveled throughout history.
When the Kurds, with the encouragement of the Turks, attacked the city in 1895, they massacred the Armenian men, women, and children and burned down all the schools, including the University. Since he had long association with Americans, it seemed obvious that Stephen would move his wife and his parents to the United States. He was ill- prepared for the grinding poverty that awaited him. Although his English was good, the only work he could find was at a shoe factory where strikes and labor unrest had created a demand for workers who would cross the picket lines.
At the same time, he and his wife, Mary, started a small store on the first floor of their house, which catered to other Armenian families in the neighborhood. The house was organized in a very traditional Armenian way with the grandfather, grandmother, aunties, mother, father and all the children living and eating together. My father was born soon after their arrival in America. The picture above shows him with his parents. His brother and sister were born within the next five years.
In this household, the 'first wife' (my grandmother) was the only woman who was permitted to address the men in the house without being spoken to first. My grandfather died in 1913 when my father was twelve years old. At his funeral my great-grandmother, overcome by grief at the loss of her son, turned from the graveside and walked away before my great-grandfather. This was a terrible breech of etiquette since women never walked in front of men. So, my great-grandfather removed his shoe and struck my great-grandmother on the head with it.
This was a frequently told story when I was growing up. I never understood why it was told with respect and even a little glee. Perhaps it was to show me how American we had become and how severe the 'olden days' were. Or perhaps it was a way to separate us from the profound misery of those times.