CALIFORNIA WRITERS: William Saroyan born 111 years ago, on August 31, 1908

In 1905, another Armenian family arrived in Fresno, hailing from Turkish Bitlis. The father, Armenak, with his queenly wife, Takui (which, in Armenian, means “queen”), and his children: Cosette (named undoubtedly after the heroine in Victor Hugo’s “Les Miserable’s”), Zabel (possibly named after queen of Lesser Armenia), and Henry (no doubt named after Henry Tudor). Armenak fancied himself a poet and a preacher, living, like so many creative types – poets and preachers alike – with his head in the clouds. It’s said that his poems had a definite tint of Presbyterian sermons, while his sermons seemed like the works of a Romantic poet. Truly, mixing up these two lofty professions caused much turmoil for the man!

Armenak always hoped for a better future, ignoring the present, which is why his contemporaries thought of him as an unlucky fellow. But truly, he finally found his lucky star. On August 31, 1908, this would be poet and preacher, who never had a poem published nor a sermon truly understood, became a father for the fourth time. His son, named after Shakespeare (beloved of Armenians everywhere) was called William. William Saroyan was probably Armenak’s greatest creation; the man died three years into his young son’s life.

William Saroyan was born in Fresno, when Fresno was most known for its raisin industry. Now, Fresno is most known because it is the birthplace of William Saryoan. And even though the raisin industry has been chugging along since 1875, Fresno was put on the map by the author of The Human Comedy.

Fresno has every right to be proud of her native son. Not only is he a world famous author and playwright, he is the only Fresno resident to have turned down the Pulitzer prize and been awarded an “Oscar.” He is the only author in the world the 10^th anniversary of whose death in 1991 was marked  by two countries – the US and the USSR - simultaneously by the issuance of commemorative postage stamps.

Fresno, without a doubt, truly belongs to William Saroyan. The city theatre bears his name, there is a giant section on Saroyan in the city museum. Numerous houses bear commemorative plaques – “Saroyan was born here… went to school here… died here.” There are annual Saroyan festivals in Fresno. Even the famous boxer Young Corbett III (Ralph Giordano), who was born in Naples in 1905 and who became a professional in Fresno at the tender age of 14, and who has a full-sized sculpture given to him by city residents hasn’t chipped away at Saroyan’s level of fame. It’s said that the sculpture in honor of the Armenian epic hero “David of Sassoun,” which was made by Varaz Samvelyan, a friend of Saroyan, was put in the center of Fresno under the aegis of Saroyan.

If the “Hemingway” school of authors wrote works full of nasty drunks, the novelty of  Saroyan’s short stories lay in the fact that all his drunks were kindly – a passerby in Fresno said to me, evidently quoting some kind of critical essay. The old man, who claimed to know Saroyan, added, “If William Saroyan had been born in any other town than Fresno, say in Oak Park, Illinois, like “Papa,” then no doubt his characters would have been a great deal less sympathetic.”

William Saroyan truly had a “life of Mondays” – from his birth on Monday, August 31, 1908, to his death on Monday, May 18, 1991. A life that spanned 73 years, a life which local historians seem to be able to track on an a daily, if not hourly fashion. People in Fresno will tell you about how Saroyan worked as a paper boy starting at age 9, in what year he moved to San Francisco, why he was forced to live in Paris, how many times he visited Moscow and Yerevan. Perhaps such devotion to a native son may seem difficult to understand for those who are not themselves natives of Fresno. But Saroyan himself had an answer: “One’s  homeland doesn’t have to be understood.”

In 1982, a year after Saroyan’s death, Arthur Hiller’s comedy, Author! Author! came out. In the film, 42 year old Al Pacino portrayed a flamboyant, temperamental Armenian playwright. The film wasn’t about Saroyan per se – just about an Armenian playwright whose charismatic personality, talent, and genuine good will toward others attracted actors, actresses, even the children of his ex wife. Coincidence? Most likely, but not a random one, surely. The lives of truly great individuals is filled with such moments, moments of serendipity punctuated by sheer chance. Even in Fresno, the raisin capital of the world, such things are possible.

As I said, Fresno is a multi-cultural town. Over 50% of Fresno’s residents are Spanish speakers. The rest – Armenians, Greeks, Portuguese, Basques, Germans, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, Ukranians… members of 70 different ethnic groups. But the most famous one of them all is undeniably William Saroyan. All residents of Fresno, regardless of ethnic background, agree to this. There’s a reason for this. Saroyan himself was keenly aware of the multi-cultural, multi-national fragmentary nature of the modern world, the multiple pieces of the international tapestry that create an author’s oeuvre. In one of his editions, Saroyan dedicated the book to all those who taught him how to right: Jack London, Guy de Maupassant, Charles Dickens, Anton Chekhov, Mark Twain, August Strinberg, Maksim Gorky, Ambrose Bierce, Leo Tolstoy, Moliere, Bernard Shaw, Walt  Whitman, Henrik Ibsen, Sherwood Anderson, and Solomon, son of David, who wrote Ecclesiastes.

What relationship does this have to the history of Armenia? There’s an intrinsic one. A country’s history isn’t merely linear, painted by raw dates, centuries, events. A country’s history is made up by individuals, both great and small, individuals who shape the fabric of events through their actions and creations. William Saroyan  is an indelible part of Armenia’s history.  Though he wrote in English, he is undoubtedly the greatest Armenian author of the 20^th century.

The Russian reverend Georgy Chistyakov, writing on ecumenical matters, wrote: “Armenians will easily advance in any nation, but are unable to make their own culture significant to humanity as a whole.” While at first glance, this seems like it may be a bitter truth, it’s not a fair assessment of the vast body of cultural works which Armenians have gifted human history. It is certainly not true of Saroyan, who made his characters – Armenians or otherwise – personages which resonate through American culture, a culture “both demanding and exacting, sometimes capricious and picky.”

Saryoan’s My Name is Aram is a novel steeped in Armenian traditions, filled with Armenian temperament, Armenian names, a novel which is well known across the US. Only Saroyan had the talent and temerity to bring to Americans the facts that mere, dry history could not. It is not the fault of Armenians that over 60% of them live outside their home  country. It is a tragedy of a people, who nevertheless carry within them all their country’s rich cultural practices and traditions. In a way, Armenians retain this childlike wonder to the end of their days.

In October, 1978, William Saroyan came to Moscow and I had the chance to meet with the great man. I offered to take him to see Richard III. As we went past Gorky St., (now styled Tver Blvd), Saroyan suddenly saw a neon marquee with the word: “Armenia.”

“Why does it say Armenia there?” he asked me, puzzled.

“That’s a food market which sells ethnic food from Armenia. This is why it’s called Armenia,” I explained.

“What?! There’s a store called Armenia in the center of Moscow and you didn’t tell me?” It seemed that his hurt was genuine.

As we approached the Vakhtangov Theatre, I continued, “This theatre was founded by an Armenian, Evgeny Vakhtangov. He was one of Stanislavsky’s brightest pupils.”

“Who runs the theatre now?” Saroyan asked.

“Evgeny Simonov, another Armenian. His father, Rouben Simonov did before him.” I told him. The great man was delighted.

When Saroyan found out that Richard III was being staged  by Rachia Kaplanian, yet another Armenian, he said, “There’s so much Armenia here, that I can watch Shakespeare in peace!”

I didn’t think then and I don’t think now that it is an honor to be Armenian. Being Armenian is more of a restless duty – duty to one’s family, one’s ancestors, one’s faith and holy icons, one’s culture and literature… It is a duty to remember the demolished monasteries and burned manuscripts, the 1915 Armenian genocide. With thousands of years of Armenian culture weighing heavily upon you, being Armenian means remembering. Remembering you are Armenian.

P.S. “Saroyan most important work for me was My Name is Aram. It was a book full of great wild stories of the Armenians in Fresno, full of crazy character. I read the book back East. And it was one of the reasons whu I was attracted to the West Coast.”

A quote from Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s letter to me.

©US Argus, © R.Hakopdjanian