Just a couple of weeks ago, I found myself with a half-hour
to spare on a dreary Friday afternoon before a scheduled 3 pm meeting. It was in Yorkville, my least most-favorite
part of the city. Instead of grabbing my
ump-teenth java of the day, I thought!
About the old days, 25 years ago --- I have no idea why.
You see, when I arrived in Canada in 1988, I wholesaled CD’s
to music stores. Remember CDs? Remember music stores? Sadly there are precious few of either around
today!
Back then, my favorite customer was Harmik Gregorian, owner
of Atelier Gregorian. I called on him
weekly in his store on Yorkville Avenue.
He bought my CDs. A good
guy. He too was a recent immigrant to
Canada. From Armenia. Both him and I were toughing it out as new
immigrants. We used to grab a
coffee. Commiserate. Compare notes. Exchange hints and tips. And yeah, we used to grumble about our
hardships. Him retailing. Me wholesaling. Paid me on time. I liked him … I’m probably ten years his
junior, maybe 15. As I said – good guy.
Surely in today’s era of disposable everything and everything
online, his store would have closed years ago.
Like who buys CD’s now anyway?
So, with 30 minutes on hand, and less than 500 meters from Atelier
Gregorian, I thought I’d walk by his store and pay respect to days gone by –
surely his store would have been gone. Some three minutes later, I found myself at
the store’s door.
I ventured in, sniffed the air and smelled the familiar smell
of new CD’s. I heard the refrains of a
Beethoven Piano Concerto playing. I knew
that not only is Atelier Gregorian still standing, but it’s thriving. But I digress.
Not even three feet in the store, I looked up, and there was
Harmik, looking straight at me. “John
Sacke, where the hell have you been,” he said, in his syrupy heavily- accented
Armenian patter. “Wow! – You remember me
Harmik?”, I replied. I was disbelieving
He took a step back.
I did a double-take. “How could I
forget you, John Sacke. You were a kid
then and I knew you’d go far. I liked
your attitude. How are you doing?” His eyes welled up. So did mine.
We talked for the full 30 minutes until I had to go. Time has passed. Our friendship remains. Harmik still runs his store. From the looks of things, it’s still making
money. He’s grey now, but weathered the
past 25 years well.
I’m glad for Harmik and he’s glad for me. Isn't that what life’s about?
