Migrant loved family and his motorcycle
by Nicolle Nazarstian

Herald Sun (Melbourne, Australia)
June 7, 2004 Monday

Mardiros Hatsakortzian
Refugee and family man
Born: 1910-1912
Died: May 3, 2004

MARDIROS Hatsakortzian led a simple life, its world revolving around
his family and its affairs.

But this quiet man, who was somewhat of a loner, reached minor fame
for thousands of people in the Armenian and Greek communities.

You only had to say his name to evoke instant images for which he was
synonymous — Station Pier, Port Melbourne, the Anzac Day march,
ringing of the St John’s church bell at Carlton, but, above all else,
his beloved Triumph motorcycle with its Armenian flag.

These are what Mardiros will always be remembered for.

Although known by many, very few people knew him well. He was an odd
man with an eccentric streak, which made him hard to get to know.

He was a God-fearing man, with remarkably simple tastes reflected in
all facets of his life, right down to the clothes he wore and the
food he ate.

He was very humble, but at times proud and stubborn. Religious, but
at times a rogue. Not even something as simple as his true age was
clear.

He was born between 1910 and 1912 in Dikranaged, a town on the
Armenian/Turkish border, the youngest of seven siblings.

World War I broke out and the then Turkish Ottoman Government used
the opportunity to exercise its form of ethnic cleansing against more
than a million Armenians living in the border towns and provinces
between the two countries. It became known as the Armenian Genocide.

His father, Tateyos, who had a haberdashery stall in the town’s
market, died as a result of the violence, as did many of his
neighbours.

In the chaos and whirlwind of those events, for his own safety and
survival, his mother placed Mardiros and his youngest sister in an
Armenian orphanage.

Like millions of his country’s people, he became a refugee. The
refugees spilled out to different parts of the world.

>>From about age seven, Mardiros spent the next 10-12 years in
orphanages and international relief missions throughout the Middle
East. Some were no more than tent camps, where he lived for months at
a time with thousands of other children.

He spent seven years in a Greek orphanage, from which came his love
affair with its people and traditions.

None were more loved than the blessing of the waters ritual, which
explains why in early January every year he dived into the Port
Melbourne water and raced for the cross with men less than half his
age.

At about 18, Mardiros left Greece for Egypt and eventually made his
way to Palestine by 1937. There he married Jeanette, who was 14 years
old.

When World War II began, he joined the Royal Electric Mechanical
Engineers of the British army as a fitter and turner.

It was during this time that he discovered his true love and passion:
motorcycles. It was also where he acquired the electrical and
mechanical skills that enabled him to come up with so many crazy
inventions many years later.

His two daughters were born during the war years, after which he
worked as a transport driver before migrating to Australia in 1963
and settling in Blackburn.

In Melbourne, Mardiros worked for Wormald Security alongside his
son-in-law for 15 years before retiring in 1978.

After retiring, he could almost always be found in his garage
tinkering with his motorcycle or the family Mazda, or doing something
to drive Jeanette crazy, like painting all the outdoor fittings on
their property in the colours of the Armenian flag.

Unbelievably, it was only this year, aged well into his 90s, that he
failed to dive for the cross.

I can vividly recall being with him the previous year on the pier
with hundreds of other people, all wanting to shake the hand of an
old man who had just come out of the water wearing nothing but his
underwear and a wooden crucifix.

Uncharacteristically, he made a point of wanting me to be there to
see him that year.

You could see it in his eyes on that warm, sunny day — he was tired
now, and you couldn’t help but sense that he knew this was the last
time.

Nicolle Nazarstian

(granddaughter)