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ROY EXUM: "MR. AVO" PLAYS HERE ON FRIDAY
by Roy Exum
The Chattanoogan, TN
http://www.chattanoogan.com/articles/article_1148 20.asp
Oct 8 2007
About 15 years ago, on one a cold winter's day, Phil Windham and I
decided we should see how we'd do as modern-day pirates so we went
down into the Caribbean and spent an evermore delicious week trying
very hard to lay siege to the islands.
Late one morning at the Hyatt resort outside of San Juan, we had a
breakfast caller and neither of us knew at the time our lives would
be enriched because of the portly old man in the crisp white Brioni
suit and stunning Panama hat who shared the day with us.
That same old man, now in his 80s but with eyes that still twinkle
like the stars over the West Indies, will be in Chattanooga this
Friday night. Avo Uvezian, one of the most wonderful gentlemen this
world has ever known, will play the piano and share his laughter at
a very exclusive gathering down on Cherry Street.
Sadly, the elegant new restaurant that Phil named in tribute to "Mr.
Avo" is too small to handle what would be a huge crowd and the kind of
ticket required to spend the evening with "The Ambassador to the Good
Life" is also prohibitive to those who do not fully comprehend the
curl of blue smoke off the end of arguably the world's finest cigar.
But for the 60 people who will step forward and buy a commemorative box
of Avo's best signature cigars, the Ambassador himself will autograph
that very box on a night that I can assure you will last long after
he's played the last song of the evening.
His legend began when he, an Armenian, would play his piano for the
Allied troops during World War II in Syria and Lebanon, back when
"our boys" were on R&R and his gentleness, his great kindness, and
his absolute mastery of that piano even back then was so real some
men across this nation still recall it almost 70 years later.
Space prohibits the whole tale - it would take quite a book - but
fast-forward to the heady Palmas del Mar resort in the Caribbean in
the mid-1980s. By then Mr. Avo's flair with his piano and his lifetime
of savvy had made him a very wealthy man.
But his childhood roots, his unquenchable work ethic and what can only
be described as his vow to the "good life" kept him in his piano bar
night after night. He played because he loved it, don't you see?
For example, as an accomplished musician and composer, he wrote a rash
of songs but you'll recognize one called "Strangers in the Night." With
all due respect to the late Mr. Sinatra, to hear Mr. Avo play it is
to hear the first birds sing on an Easter morning.
That day Phil and I spent with him in San Juan was unbelievable.
After breakfast the three of us retired to a deserted piano bar in
the Hyatt complex. Any "old standard" you can name Mr. Avo can play.
His hands move effortlessly, he can carry on an easy conversation
as he rolls from one song to the next, but it is his warmth that is
most magnetic.
Mr. Avo doesn't need any music sheets or any of that. After just 15
minutes, there must have been a crowd of 50 jammed around that deserted
piano. The general manager of the place, having no idea who he was,
wanted to hire him right then!
Now the deal is that back when he was holding court with the swanky
in the '80s, he used to get these handmade cigars rolled and, at night
when the fat cats would gather around his baby grand with those tanned,
long-legged women, Mr. Avo would share from his private stash.
As is the way in a blessed life, he was constantly running out. After
he was repeatedly urged to create his own brand, he did it in a way
that only adds to the legend.
He quickly learned who the best tobacco man in the world was at the
time and he sought out a genius named Henkie Kellner.
After Henkie and he cut a deal to produce the best cigar avoid of Cuban
soil, Mr. Avo immediately balked at signing the contract. "No, Henkie,
I must give you 25 percent more than we've agreed. You are worth it,
and probably more, but I cannot leave like this. Add 25 percent more
for you and I'll sign."
There are some who laugh at such craziness, but they fail to understand
you never sneer at crafty. The moment Mr. Avo thus honored Mr. Kellner,
he cunningly assured his brand would have the absolute best of the
leaf, the most delicate shade wrapper, the perfect draw.
Don't you see? A few years later, when the "cigar delight" arrived
in the United States, an Avo cigar was the benchmark, the chalk,
the best of the best. And, when he finally sold his brand to the
European Davidoffs several years ago, he did so for ... well, many
millions of dollars.
Part of the deal was that the much-infatuated Davidoff dynasty could
tout Mr. Avo as its "Ambassador to the Good Life," that this beautiful
Armenian who once played for the boys in World War II would continue
to spread well over a half-century of that warmth and kindness and
exquisite piano talent all the world over.
Believe me, it is one of life's richest stories.
When he comes here on Friday, the lucky ones will see the laugh lines
in his face are now deep enough to plant a row of Connecticut Shade.
Then, if they'll add a dart of fresh lime juice to a neat glass of
top-shelf rum and combine the concoction with one of those Avo cigars,
they'll hear the music, the glorious music, to which only those who
adore "the good life" can properly dance.
Trust me. When Phil Windham and I got to know Mr. Avo, we got to know
all about it, what is described in the Caribbean as a smooth sea and
a forgiving wind. This is about the good life.
For further information on Friday evening, which will include a lavish
dinner and an elegant crowd, please call Burns' Tobacconist or the
Chattanooga Billiard Club as fast as you possibly can.
by Roy Exum
The Chattanoogan, TN
http://www.chattanoogan.com/articles/article_1148 20.asp
Oct 8 2007
About 15 years ago, on one a cold winter's day, Phil Windham and I
decided we should see how we'd do as modern-day pirates so we went
down into the Caribbean and spent an evermore delicious week trying
very hard to lay siege to the islands.
Late one morning at the Hyatt resort outside of San Juan, we had a
breakfast caller and neither of us knew at the time our lives would
be enriched because of the portly old man in the crisp white Brioni
suit and stunning Panama hat who shared the day with us.
That same old man, now in his 80s but with eyes that still twinkle
like the stars over the West Indies, will be in Chattanooga this
Friday night. Avo Uvezian, one of the most wonderful gentlemen this
world has ever known, will play the piano and share his laughter at
a very exclusive gathering down on Cherry Street.
Sadly, the elegant new restaurant that Phil named in tribute to "Mr.
Avo" is too small to handle what would be a huge crowd and the kind of
ticket required to spend the evening with "The Ambassador to the Good
Life" is also prohibitive to those who do not fully comprehend the
curl of blue smoke off the end of arguably the world's finest cigar.
But for the 60 people who will step forward and buy a commemorative box
of Avo's best signature cigars, the Ambassador himself will autograph
that very box on a night that I can assure you will last long after
he's played the last song of the evening.
His legend began when he, an Armenian, would play his piano for the
Allied troops during World War II in Syria and Lebanon, back when
"our boys" were on R&R and his gentleness, his great kindness, and
his absolute mastery of that piano even back then was so real some
men across this nation still recall it almost 70 years later.
Space prohibits the whole tale - it would take quite a book - but
fast-forward to the heady Palmas del Mar resort in the Caribbean in
the mid-1980s. By then Mr. Avo's flair with his piano and his lifetime
of savvy had made him a very wealthy man.
But his childhood roots, his unquenchable work ethic and what can only
be described as his vow to the "good life" kept him in his piano bar
night after night. He played because he loved it, don't you see?
For example, as an accomplished musician and composer, he wrote a rash
of songs but you'll recognize one called "Strangers in the Night." With
all due respect to the late Mr. Sinatra, to hear Mr. Avo play it is
to hear the first birds sing on an Easter morning.
That day Phil and I spent with him in San Juan was unbelievable.
After breakfast the three of us retired to a deserted piano bar in
the Hyatt complex. Any "old standard" you can name Mr. Avo can play.
His hands move effortlessly, he can carry on an easy conversation
as he rolls from one song to the next, but it is his warmth that is
most magnetic.
Mr. Avo doesn't need any music sheets or any of that. After just 15
minutes, there must have been a crowd of 50 jammed around that deserted
piano. The general manager of the place, having no idea who he was,
wanted to hire him right then!
Now the deal is that back when he was holding court with the swanky
in the '80s, he used to get these handmade cigars rolled and, at night
when the fat cats would gather around his baby grand with those tanned,
long-legged women, Mr. Avo would share from his private stash.
As is the way in a blessed life, he was constantly running out. After
he was repeatedly urged to create his own brand, he did it in a way
that only adds to the legend.
He quickly learned who the best tobacco man in the world was at the
time and he sought out a genius named Henkie Kellner.
After Henkie and he cut a deal to produce the best cigar avoid of Cuban
soil, Mr. Avo immediately balked at signing the contract. "No, Henkie,
I must give you 25 percent more than we've agreed. You are worth it,
and probably more, but I cannot leave like this. Add 25 percent more
for you and I'll sign."
There are some who laugh at such craziness, but they fail to understand
you never sneer at crafty. The moment Mr. Avo thus honored Mr. Kellner,
he cunningly assured his brand would have the absolute best of the
leaf, the most delicate shade wrapper, the perfect draw.
Don't you see? A few years later, when the "cigar delight" arrived
in the United States, an Avo cigar was the benchmark, the chalk,
the best of the best. And, when he finally sold his brand to the
European Davidoffs several years ago, he did so for ... well, many
millions of dollars.
Part of the deal was that the much-infatuated Davidoff dynasty could
tout Mr. Avo as its "Ambassador to the Good Life," that this beautiful
Armenian who once played for the boys in World War II would continue
to spread well over a half-century of that warmth and kindness and
exquisite piano talent all the world over.
Believe me, it is one of life's richest stories.
When he comes here on Friday, the lucky ones will see the laugh lines
in his face are now deep enough to plant a row of Connecticut Shade.
Then, if they'll add a dart of fresh lime juice to a neat glass of
top-shelf rum and combine the concoction with one of those Avo cigars,
they'll hear the music, the glorious music, to which only those who
adore "the good life" can properly dance.
Trust me. When Phil Windham and I got to know Mr. Avo, we got to know
all about it, what is described in the Caribbean as a smooth sea and
a forgiving wind. This is about the good life.
For further information on Friday evening, which will include a lavish
dinner and an elegant crowd, please call Burns' Tobacconist or the
Chattanooga Billiard Club as fast as you possibly can.