My first reaction was the "he was alive yesterday?" one. Of course I knew of Aznavour, and I even knew what he sounded like when he sang, but I didn't know he was of Armenian descent.
I did what I usually do when someone musical passes away: I check iTunes for a song or two to download to my iPod. I still use an iPod, even though my new son-in-law tells me they are passé. Everyone is "streaming" these days. Well, certainly not everyone. It's fairly amazing that you can be my age, use something that you associate with being cutting edge, only to find there are those who will put you in the Luddite category. I ditched my flip phone and accepted my daughter's hand-me-down iPhone 5, or something like that. Compared to what i see other people enthralled with, I am a Luddite. They're watching a hand-held television.
Regardless, the day Aznavour's obit appeared in the NYT and I learned of his Armenian descent I was in the city and made a pass by the men's department of Saks on Fifth Avenue where I used to buy decent clothing when I was working.
I knew one of the salesmen who worked the Canali section who I knew was also of Armenian parentage. His name ends in the more typical "ian" that Armenian names end in. Kris gets to attract attention when he tells of his upbringing that had him singing in Metropolitan Opera productions in the children's chorus. He was very familiar with the woman who had passed away not that long ago who was the director of that group of youthful voices, Elena Doria.
I had already planned to stop by and say hello anyway, so in addition to just some chatter I shared the surprise at the news that Aznavour was Armenian.
Kris of course knew that, and knew of Aznavour's commitment to Armenian causes. He told me of the time he and his wife saw him at Carnegie not all that long ago when Charles was basically just talking his way through his songs, but not disappointing his fans one bit. He was adored.
I told Kris of once reading that someone said they could always tells if someone in their building had just broken up with their boyfriend by the continuous Charles Aznavour music that could be heard coming through their door. He was the three-pint ice cream breakup.
I never knew that Aznavour wrote the sing "Yesterday When I Was Young." It was one of the few songs I downloaded in his memory.
As with some obituaries a nugget of information pops up that jars my memory. One thing leads to another, as the Mobius strip motto goes. Frank J. Prial, who wrote Aznavour's advance obit, (himself now passed away in 2012; the "wine guy" at the paper) tells of the time in the 1940s when Aznavour was touring with Edith Piaf and staying in New York in 1948, living on the West Side and eating in Hector's Cafeteria in Times Square.
Hector's! Jesus, I forgot about Hector's. I ate there several times in the 60s. You got a ticket when you walked in that had money denominations arrayed on it. It was like a New York State Turnpike ticket. As you got food and put it on your tray the person behind the counter took your ticket and punched an amount that you now owed based on what you were adding to your tray.
Start with the entree, x amount was punched. Add dessert, and a higher amount was punched. In order to sit down you had to present the ticket to the cashier who rang up the highest amount punched. They didn't have to spend time ringing up each item. They just read and rang you up.
I seem to remember there were two Hector's in the Times Square area. I don't remember when they disappeared, but that whole Automat, cafeteria-style of eating went out as fast food places took over.
As for Aznavour, yes he was alive the day before his obit, and he lived a long life and lived it performing nearly right to the end. He's quoted in the obit, "We live long, we Armenians. I'm going to reach 100 and I'll be working until I'm 90."
He passed away at 94.
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