|
Baronian Left Behind a ‘Jumbo’
Legacy
By Tom Vartabedian
 MEDFORD, Mass.—In a perfect world—make that John Baronian’s
perfect world—there would be a separate college on the
campus of Tufts University housing just the Armenians he had
recruited with a tricolor flying above.
They would come from near and far, perhaps even exchange
students from the homeland. They would secure a good
education and become model citizens.
The headmaster—or Baron—would be the infectious recruiter
with the broad smile and the sun of Ararat dancing in his
heart.
He would get them all corralled into the Armenian Club, make
the necessary acquaintances, and, God-willing, attend some
of their weddings. Uncle John was everyone’s uncle,
everybody’s favorite Armenian with the Mr. Chips persona.
His loyalty to Tufts and the Armenian community worked in
tandem. If anything, Baronian was a “jumbo-hearted”
Armenian, given the elephant nickname of the school.
His death April 5 at age 87 not only leaves behind a
tremendous void of loyalty but a prominent legacy of
education, sports, leadership, and his proud heritage.
Late Tufts president Jean Mayer once called Baronian “an
absolute genius for friendship—someone who always wore an
infectious grin and could coax a smile against all odds.”
There was never anything sinister or foreboding about this
man for all seasons. He carried a gentle nature that belied
the pain of his past and the mountainous obstacles he had
overcome.
I was at his bedside two days prior at Massachusetts General
Hospital. He was under heavy sedation and in a comatose
state.
“Go ahead, speak to him,” said the charge nurse. “He may
hear you.”
I offered my name once, then a second time. I saw what
resembled a faint smile and that was how we left it. I would
have preferred a better lasting image of the man I have
called my friend and compatriot over the past 45 years.
His presence at an AYF Olympics was a tradition almost as
old as the games themselves. Other than the military years
which were excusable, only one other time was this super fan
absent.
He was invited to a family wedding on the West Coast and
reluctantly accepted. I remember him telling me how he
synchronized his watch and calibrated the events taking
place 3,000 miles cross country while the church service was
on. His heart was there.
The many dinners we attended outside the Armenian community
were memorable, especially those with the Gridiron Club of
Greater Boston where he launched an award in his name given
to an unsung coach.
John would typically buy a table or two, then call his
favorite people to fill the chairs. He even took out
complimentary memberships. To back away would have been
undignified.
Add to that, the many Boston Red Sox testimonials. Among the
first to greet him would be another ageless veteran,
Hall-of-Famer Johnny Pesky. The two would sit and chat. On
came the usual deluge of well-wishers, not to greet Pesky
first, but Baronian.
He was his very own limelight, whether it was academia or
his affiliations with hospitals, churches, cultural and
social groups.
A month before he succumbed and just back from a hospital
encounter, Baronian telephoned, wondering who the check
should be made out to for a genocide program. The sponsoring
group and commemoration was 40 miles away from his Medford
home but he managed to attend, despite his advanced
age—walker and all.
Tufts was more than Baronian’s home. It was his “graceland,”
a sanctuary of sorts. The athletic compound bearing his name
became a mecca for some of the best athletes to play their
game.
A mere inquiry as to the number of Armenians accepted to
Tufts would draw approval from Baronian. He would reach into
his side pocket and pull out a sheet of paper.
He read off a dozen names, all ending in “ian.” That was the
short list. A larger roster carried the names of every
Armenian on campus, names of their parents and other
biographical data.
My son (Ara) was one of those recruits. Tufts was the
furthest school from his mind when he applied for
engineering. It wasn’t until Baronian intervened that he
switched gears. Like so many others, the gratitude
manifested itself. Once Ara arrived, he never wanted to
leave.
Baronian’s affinity to Tufts dates back to his own college
days when he received an economics degree in 1950 and
starred on the football team as a 2-way lineman. Before
pursuing his education, he served his country for 30 months
in the Pacific Theater as a sergeant in the U.S. Air Force
during World War II.
An earlier, terrible conflict also left a lasting
impression. Baronian lost his grandfather, three siblings,
and other relatives in the genocide against his Armenian
ancestors.
“My mother would cry just talking about it,” he would say.
“My grandfather and uncle had been shot against a tree in
their back yard but my parents never got over the loss of
their children.”
Although Baronian was born in Worcester where his parents
were reunited after being separated by the genocide, the
scars were permanently inflicted. He served as a trustee,
director, or member of virtually every Armenian social and
cultural organization throughout Greater Boston.
Baronian worked at the family business as a teenager and
later at the Hingham Shipyard until 1941 when he entered the
military. He saw lots of Americans arrive in flight jackets
and leave in caskets.
Meanwhile, his mother was suffering from diabetes at home
and endured a leg amputation. Mercifully, no one told him.
More than a year after discharge in 1946, Baronian’s mother
died.
“It’s a shame she never got to see how involved I became in
the local college community,” he once said. “She was so
encouraging and supportive of me going to Tufts. She was so
tickled that I was going to college after the military.”
Above all else, Baronian committed himself to education and
assisting his special fraternity of alumni, parents, and
friends. Known as Mr. Tufts, he remained an “ambassador” at
the school for more than half a century and never reneged in
his allegiance, not even in frail health over the last few
years.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that virtually every
athlete who ever attended Tufts came in contact with
Baronian. He’d kick off his day swimming laps in the college
pool and remained on campus as a figurehead.
He served as a daily booster, from his founding membership
of the Tufts Jumbo Club—the university’s largest alumni
group—to his friendly, spirited words of encouragement to
student-athletes leaving Cousens Gym on their way to the
athletic fields. If they were Armenian, all the better.
Baronian most likely put in a good word to the upper
echelon.
“Competition and fair play gives you faith and confidence to
press on,” he maintained. “I was just pleased to help kids
get a leg up. Tufts was good to me and I vowed never to
forget that.”
He was his own clearinghouse, whether it came to tuition
costs, scholarships, game tickets, or sideshows. Baronian
staged one of the biggest tent shows in creation with his
personal collection of elephants.
Like the pachyderm, the collection was so huge that it moved
him out of house and home and into a separate elephant
museum on campus within view for all. His sideshow turned
into the main attraction and found its way into some of the
leading New England journals on “oddities and curiosities.”
His pockets were laden with elephant pins he handed out like
penny candy—a small token of himself to the world beyond.
Through his efforts at fundraising, Tufts was able to
construct the Baronian Field House in 1983, site of a recent
AYF Olympics. His allegiance to young Armenian competitors
never waned as an Olympic King who was enshrined in 1964.
And through his generosity and compassion, Tufts was able to
award deserving students the John K. and Margaret G.
Baronian Memorial Scholarship and the John Baronian Annual
Outstanding Football Lineman Award since 1975.
After graduation, Baronian remained connected to his alma
mater, serving as a member of the Tufts Alumni Council and
president of the Alumni Association. His service as an
Armenian Club advisor caused innumerable friendships and
introduced the wayward to their heritage and culture.
Each year would be kicked off with a dinner at an Armenian
restaurant where first acquaintances were made. The cost was
negligible.
He was elected an alumni trustee and served that position
for a decade before wearing an emeritus title. When Baronian
walked through the campus, he was the campus. Students knew
and recognized him more than they did the president.
In his professional life with American Mutual Insurance, it
was no mystery that Baronian was its top salesman and
garnered numerous regional and national sales awards.
His honesty and integrity amplified his humanitarian
pursuits, always relentlessly optimistic despite a family
history so littered with tragedy.
One of his golden moments came in 1982 when the National
Football Foundation and Hall of Fame presented him with a
distinguished service award. More recently, he had been
presented with an honorary Doctor of Commerce degree.
Two years ago, Baronian was able to relive his dream.
Despite his age (85) and ailments, he found the strength to
visit Armenia with a tour group.
There he was, seated outside a cafe overlooking Republic
Square like he owned it. Many an acquaintance found their
way to his table for a libation he so willfully volunteered.
I couldn’t escape if I tried, knowing a conversation with
Baronian was more like a dissertation, especially when it
came to Armenians.
“This is the crowning grace for me,” he had said. “Just to
see Ararat for the last time. Just looking around and seeing
the independence after 15 years leaves me proud.”
It’s a life meant to be celebrated, not mourned. May his
memory endure.
|
|
 |
