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 is 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 has 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 has been a big influence in my life. My mother was a major assistance in this regard. She would always motivate me with Uncle Buddy’s example both in terms of education and his subsequent success in his career in corporate accounting and finance. In fact, mom wrote this perfect heartfelt sentiment in a group chat earlier today.
There is an Armenian saying, not necessarily when someone passes away, “ Varskud Gadar”. Translation: A job well done.
To me this says it all for Buddy in every way.
He achieved his life’s goals by working diligently and maintaining his high standards which guided him to success.
He was a model son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, uncle, and devoted dear 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. They used to spend the summers on the family farm in Andover, MA. He was working in the field, and he slipped or somehow fell, and the tractor ran over his legs. He related, “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 was chuckling, in his patented wry manner, at his reaction to what might have been more tragic.
My grandmother one 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. Uncle Buddy then went into the house and called the police. He claimed to be the Armenian neighbor who was sitting on his porch across the street watching the boys play and complained 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 renown 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 Olympics. Uncle Buddy was named an Olympic King at the 1968 Games in Washington, DC. Read more about the Watertown Six here.
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| Buddy taking first and Sonny coming in thrid |
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 passed him up.
As mentioned earlier, Uncle Buddy was a great example career wise for me. We were all proud of his rise to comptroller at Nabisco based in Manhattan and then in New Jersey. I remember when we visited the family in New Jersey and I got to see his commuting lifestyle up close and 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. I remember the awe I had for New York and that commuting lifestyle as a mere teenager. I remember sitting with him and discussing the 1985 takeover of Nabisco by RJ Reynolds that he lived through and later became popularized in Tom Wolfe’s bestselling The Bonfires of the Vanities.
When he became older, 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 loved that when I played at Armenian Picnics in NJ he would come by to both the Armenian fare and enjoy 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.
