A Beautiful Musical Day

 

The MEME Takht Ensemble

 

  

Saturday, March 14, 2026, was a beautiful day for music.  I had two engagements, both gratis, and both were fun and uplifting.

The first was a celebration of Nowruz at the University of Chicago’s Institute for the Study of Ancient Cultures (ISAC).  Nowruz, meaning “new day,” is the celebration of the new year which, 3,000 years ago in Zoroastrian Persia, was celebrated on the first day of Spring, the vernal equinox.  To this day, Nowruz is still a significant holiday, a national holiday, in present day Iran.

The Nowruz celebration at the ISAC is a family oriented craft and educational event.  It ends with members of the University of Chicago Middle Eastern Music Ensemble (MEME) giving a concert of Persian, Arab and Turkish music.  I have participated in this event maybe a half-dozen times in my 12 years with MEME. 

MEME has grown dramatically in size over the years.  At the concerts this year, we have 40-50 musicians and a choir of 20-25, depending on the concert.  We have only taken a takht ensemble (Arab for a small musical ensemble) to the Nowruz event as the stage is small.  This year we had 9 musicians and 6 singers.  It was the largest group we have ever taken to this event.  Only the musicians were on stage, and the choir was in front of us, stage right.  We introduced the instruments and spoke about MEME and our next concert on May 23^rd.  We played two Persian songs, one Turkish, two Arabic, one Kazakh song, and a song that has verses in Turkish, Arabic, and Farsi. 

There were two practices for this concert.  The first was on the Thursday before, but a little more than half of us were able to be there.  The three of us playing Middle Eastern Instruments were not able to attend the Thursday practice.  The second was two hours before the concert.  We walked into that practice not feeling we were ready for the concert, but after two hours of focused work, we were ‘ready for prime time.’

We had a grand time practicing and performing.  The audience of 120 or so loved our performance, maybe almost as much we enjoyed playing.  It was a lot of fun and we were tight.  We were energetic for the lively selections and soulful for the laments.  It was a great joy to play with my MEME friends. 

If this were the only event, it would have been a beautiful musical day.  But, as soon as we were done, I had to jump in the car and drive to Glenview to attend and provide some music at a very special birthday. 

MariAnne is a lovely lady.  Her parents survived the Armenian Genocide and came to America.  The lived in a part of Western Armenia, the Ottoman Empire, where Turkish was the prominent language.  They brought a love for Turkish music with them.  MariAnne came to love the same love for the music.  I met her when I first came to Chicago in 2006.  She was at night club we were playing at and asked if would play what turned out to be some of the same music I love.  I gladly played, and sang the songs.  We became good musical friends.

Her family planned a birthday party at the senior care facility where she was living.  It was in small party room at the facility.  It was small party, organized by her grandchild, for family and close friends.  I was delighted when asked to come and play some of her favorite songs, I was immediately in though I knew I only had an hour to there.  Driving through the intense downtown traffic could take an hour or up to two hours.

Luckily, it only took an hour to get there.  I ran up to the room and my friend John, who was to join me on guitar, was already there.  MariAnne’s grandson had a very nice sound setup for as.  I began with a taksim.  MariAnne lit up.  I went into her favorite song, Kadifeden Kesesi, and I delighted to see her singing along with me sitting right in front of us.  She sang every word of every verse.  She was so happy.  After a few more songs, they brought out the cake and we played and sang happy birthday.  At similar partys, I would go into another Turkish song, Tin Tin Tini Mini Hanum.  I did so again and MariAnne’s three daughters and three granddaughters got and danced in a circle around.  It was a joyous moment for everyone in that space. 

What a beautiful day.

Richard Haig Gavoor (December 7, 1930 – March 10, 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 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.  

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 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.