COAF SUMMER SOIREE: IN CONVERSATION ON THE ROOF OF THE DREAM HOTEL
by Kyle Kouri
The Faster Times
June 22 2012
M., my art dealer friend, called. He said, “Do you care about the
children?”
It was late Monday evening. “I suppose it depends. What children?”
“The children of Armenia.”
“Elaborate.”
M. told me about COAF-the Children of Armenia Fund-and their summer
soiree at the Dream Hotel penthouse on Thursday.
“We need a writer,” he said. “You’re the guy. I want you to do your
research.”
“I’m in.”
“Open bar.”
“Good.”
Thursday morning I picked up dry cleaning, bought cigarettes, bought
coffee, and read through the afternoon.
Armenia has suffered. A 1988 earthquake, the collapse of the
Soviet Union, and fighting between the Armenians of Artsakh and the
Azerbaijanis, have all taken their toll on the country’s economy,
education, and general health.
Conditions are especially taxing in the villages of rural Armenia.
Dr. Garo Armen founded COAF in 2000, hoping to improve the conditions
at a school in the village of Karakert. The organization soon expanded
its goals, building a model to reform the entire quality of life in
the village, prioritizing education. Today, COAF’s model has been
implemented in 10 villages.
I made a sandwich, had a beer, and looked out a window in my bedroom.
A plane methodically passed over the Empire State Building,
disappearing behind a cloud.
II.
At seven I took a cab to the Dream Hotel. There was bad traffic so
I got out around 6th avenue and walked. At the hotel, I took an
elevator to the penthouse. The view arrested me. An open terrace
stretches from end to end on the Northern side of the room, giving
way to staggering metropolis.
At the open bar, I asked for a Tanqueray and tonic and found M.
He said, “Nice shirt.”
“Thanks.”
“I want you to meet Sam.”
Sam Armen is Dr. Garo Armen’s son. He was on the terrace with Alexander
Teicher-a hedge fund analyst-who had just visited Armenia, and George,
a friend from Greece.
Sam was saying, “The view of Ararat in Yerevan. You’re in a city,
on either side of you are buildings, and in between is this giant,
historic mountain. No matter what time of day, you’ll see it. The
first time I saw it, I thought it was a cloud.”
M. said, “This is Kyle.”
“Hi, Kyle.”
Sam is intense, always holding eye contact. He’s also funny. He asked,
“Where are you from?”
“Finland.”
“A Greek, a Finn, and an Armenian. Cheers to the European Union!”
III.
Sam suggested we walk to where the music was less oppressive. He was
passionate about COAF and eager that I had a rich understanding of
their cause.
“What you want to capture,” he said. “What you want to show, is
these kids and their parents’ extraordinary commitment to learning
and education.
“Have you heard the story of how we got started?”
“Only what’s on the website.”
“There’s more than that.”
He said, “My father hosted a town meeting in Karakert. Everybody in
the town-including six year old children-came. My dad asked, ‘What do
you want?’ He conducted it like a business meeting, naming priorities.
He said, ‘I’ve noticed that you have no clean water. You have to walk
very far to get water to drink, to bathe, to do anything. You have
no heating. You have minimal hospitality. Health is very poor. What
do you want?’
“Do you know what they said?”
“Tell me.”
“It was almost entirely unanimous: ‘We want education for our
children.’ Think about what that means! That’s people saying, ‘I’m
starving. I’m thirsty. I’m so hot in the summer and freezing in the
winter. But despite that, more than anything else, I want my children
to have an education.’
“That’s The Children of Armenia Fund. That’s the inception of the
entire project.”
“Amazing.”
“That’s what you want to illustrate. That’s the story you should
publish.”
We finished our drinks and thought, rich reds and oranges painting
the skyline.
A cocktail waitress passed, carrying the hotel’s signature drink.
“Ask her the name of the drink,” Sam said.
She said, “a wet dream.”
Sam looked at me, smiling mischievously. We laughed.
IV.
Out on the terrace, having a cigarette, M. came over.
“Kyle, meet Stephen,” he said. “He has nothing to do with Armenia.
Except he’s here.”
“Okay.”
“Outsider’s perspective.”
“Right.”
“I’ll be back with drinks.”
I shook hands with Stephen and we sat down outside on a couch. Behind
glasses, his eyes are beady and pacing, but it works for him.
“What do you think of the party?” I asked.
“I like it. Great venue. Great cause. I like it.”
“What do you do?”
“I work in law. It’s where I make my money. But my passion is acting.
We’re working on a script.”
M. brought drinks and left.
“My goal,” Stephen said, “is to accumulate enough wealth from the
practice, and then act full time.”
“Financial security is important.”
“The starving artists I meet…They’re miserable.”
“The starving artist, I think, is oppressed by his economics and his
work suffers.”
“His creativity is impaired.”
“Nobody cares about him. He has no money. Only the true artist can
create something beautiful after this blow. The majority become
mediocre.”
V.
Dr. Garo Armen and the evening’s hosts-Patricia Field and Anna
Condo-were making speeches.
The founder of COAF started with a joke. “The talk that I’m giving,”
he began. “Will last about 45 minutes.”
He smiled. Like Sam, Garo is confident and sincere.
“Education is a gift that no one can take away from you. No disaster,
no theft, can take this away…What we do in Armenia is provide the
right education for the youngsters and impart this gift of giving to
them. And we’re seeing the results of this.
“We’re seeing these lovely children-on their own initiative-talk
about human rights, about women’s rights, about children’s rights,
about animal rights, and environmental issues without us having to
teach them all of these different things. Once we impart the right
values, we set the foundation for a wonderful community.”
Garo emphasized, “It’s not only giving money. It’s also giving love
and respect.”
VI.
In the bathroom, I washed my hands. Sam appeared at the adjacent sink.
“Kyle,” he said. “Enjoying the party?”
“It’s a great turn out.”
We talked through the mirrors, holding eye contact.
“What you want to illustrate is that people from all different
backgrounds are coming together for this. Tonight, 300 people are
here. That’s 100 more than our last event.”
“Next time, there will be 100 more.”
“Exactly.”
The bathroom attendant handed us napkins. We thanked him.
“The excitement is organic,” I said. “COAF feels like a family.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
We left the bathroom. M. was in the hallway.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Kyle, the article?”
“What article?”
“How is it going to start?”
“M. called…”
“Brilliant.”
I was leaving. Sam said he would walk me out.
Near the elevator, he said, “I want you to understand the experience
in the villages.”
“Right.”
“Imagine you walk into school and see bright colors and big, spacious
rooms. You’re a child. Then, you walk down the corridor and see the
rooms that haven’t been renovated yet. You start seeing brick, you
start seeing pipe, you start seeing cracks. There’s no longer light.
You’re anywhere between six and fifteen years old and you’re walking
through that.”
“Bizarre.”
“In the winter, the only source of heat is Persian Kerosene, which
is terrible for you. We have stories of kids passing out. But imagine.
When they wake up, the first thing they say is, ‘No, I missed school!'”
“It’s a totally different world,” I said.
“Exactly,” Sam said. “That’s what your article needs to show.”
I thanked Sam and left the party. I tried to hail an off duty cab
before deciding it was nice out and it’d be better just to walk.
VII.
A few days after the soiree, I had drinks with M.. The weather
was mild.
“How’s the article?” he said.
“Notes. An outline. I’m spending time thinking.”
“You know the painter, Gorky?”
“One Year the Milkweed.”
“Right. He came out of the Armenian Genocide. When he was sixteen,
in 1920, he came to America. There’s a wildness and sincerity to his
expressionist abstractions.”
“They’re intoxicating.”
“My favorite, though, is The Artist and his Mother. The painting
is based on the only photo Gorky has of him and his mother. In the
painting, Gorky’s eyes are unimaginably sad. It’s not like that in
the photograph.”
“He paints the loss into a memory.”
“That’s why I care so much, I think, about COAF,” M. said. “We’re
giving these kids a chance. Who knows what they’ll create.”
Outside on the avenue, the Empire State Building was lit up in blue.
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