Baronian Left Behind a ‘Jumbo’ Legacy

By Tom Vartabedian

"The Armenian Weekly", Volume 74, No. 18, May 3, 2007

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.