[Remarks as Prepared]
Thank you, David, for all you have done in your writings to promote Armenian genocide recognition.
And thank you to my friends in the Aurora community not only for your humanitarian ideals but for giving Vartan in what would prove to be his last years a most joyful and noble caper to throw himself into.
I’m honored to have a chance to pay tribute to my hero, friend and co-conspirator—a man who strode so large on this earth, who sparkled so bright, that I really believe his spirit will never, ever fade.
Vartan became so much to so many that it is easy to forget that in August of 1956, when he first touched down in New York, he had scant grasp of the language and felt utterly insignificant— as he put it in a letter to his family back home, he felt, “like an ant.” When he wandered for the first time into the New York Public Library, as he liked to recount, he was so incredulous that such a vast treasure trove could be free to the public and so sure that he was trespassing that he quickly retreated to the streets of Manhattan, afraid he would get caught.
His own rags-to-impact story is well known, and to us, Vartan’s courage, fortitude and resilience are self-evident. He was a self-made man if there ever was one. But to have heard Vartan tell his own story, he had almost nothing to do with it. His story was always a story about the kindness and generosity of others. About those who took a chance on him, those who loaned him a buck, those who saw something in him that he didn’t yet see in himself. That is so thoroughly the spirit of the Aurora prize he helped build—gratitude in action.
Born to Armenian parents in Iran, Vartan, as we know, never forgot where he came from. Even though his grandmother had told him growing up never to share family secrets— “The reason houses have four walls is to keep all information inside,” she would say—he decided to tell his family’s story as a tribute to her, to the land he came from, and all the kindnesses he was shown along the way.
I came to know Vartan of course through the cause of pursuing Armenian genocide recognition. I spent five years writing a book that detailed the genocide—a book that was turned down by every major New York publisher, but that eventually found a small publishing home. I don’t remember how the book (for which people even in my immediate family had low expectations!) found its way into Vartan’s hands, but I will never forget the telephone call I received from him. “Samantha, my name is Vartan Gregorian, and I am buying hundreds of copies of your book. I am sending them to every member of Congress. They must learn.”
I think I raised skepticism in the call as to whether any members of Congress would see fit to read a 500 page book on genocide. He said, “That doesn’t matter. They can pretend.”
Over the years he pushed the boulder of Armenian genocide recognition up many hills, only sadly to find it roll back down. I have no doubt that, when President Biden finally recognized the Armenian genocide a few short days after Vartan passed away, that Vartan breathed a deep sigh of relief up in heaven.
But Vartan wasn’t only about the place he left as a little boy. He of course celebrated—and helped build—his adopted homeland, the United States of America. He firmly believed that “only in America” could his journey be possible.
And that is why he did all he could to support first-generation immigrants, giving them educational opportunities. It is why he promoted immigrant naturalization and directed millions in funding to help refugees and immigrants at home and abroad. It is why at every institution he worked, he got to know people that presidents and provosts and deans wouldn’t naturally interact with. He drank bourbon in the basement of the New York Public Library with the custodians so as to learn more about the structural problems of the building. He named a building at Brown University for a worker, who’d served the institution for 45 years.
It is why he celebrated what he called “the foot soldiers of civilization,” America’s teachers. It is why he invested resources under his influence into America’s institutions of higher learning, and steered the Carnegie Corporation to direct vast resources towards promoting literacy and STEM training.
It is why his sons saw it as a fitting birthday present to take him to a concert by the great American Bruce Springsteen, though as he reflected afterwards, “My sons spent more time watching my reaction than they did watching Bruce Springsteen.”
Vartan was a mischievous and marvelous story teller. Often, as I alluded to earlier, he told stories about his own personal heroes. As he put it, “I wanted people to know that life is not all cynical, that there are kind, wonderful people who do good things, help other people out of a sense of humanity, charity, religious obligation, ethnic pride, whatever.”
There was one kind, wonderful person who stood largest of all. Vartan Gregorian. I miss him so.