George Papagiannis, lives livedPicasa/Courtesy of family
George Papagiannis Father. Dedo. Restaurateur. Friend. Born Feb. 19, 1934, in Trsye, Macedonian province of Greece; died June 2, 2021, in Toronto from cancer; aged 87.
When George Papagiannis’s first child was born, he bought an insurance policy. On the form, he wrote “Grill Man” as his occupation, he was in the restaurant business. But more interesting was his answer to the question “Life type.” George wrote: Ordinary life. Of course, the question meant what type of life insurance he wanted, not what type of life he wanted. Still, my brother and I liked to think he wanted an ordinary life.
Dad’s history would explain it. He left northern Greece in 1951 following the Second World War and the Greek Civil War. He was 17, with no education, no money, no knowledge of English and identified as Macedonian in spite of his Greek passport. I asked him once if it was a difficult decision: “No, it was pretty easy. They were shooting at us, and there were zero opportunities.” Coming to Canada for an ordinary life was a dream come true.
His first dream was marrying Elsie, known as Tsila by all Macedonians. In the 1950s, he scooted her onto the dance floor and didn’t let go all night or for the next 62 years. Tsila’s opinionated and boisterous manner was the perfect foil for George’s quiet, thoughtful style.
Though George had an ordinary life, he was an extraordinary man.
He became a successful businessman. He started a restaurant and ran it for 30 years. He did not become wealthy, but well off enough to own a home, a small cottage and put three sons through university. He did not come from privilege, he gave that to his sons. Oddly, his skill in business didn’t translate to any skills or even interest in household maintenance.
He never said a bad word about anyone. This is despite living through wars that killed his brother and despite working in a business that has difficult patrons. The Belfield Tavern was in an industrial zone and customers could be tough. But you would never know they existed if you spoke with my father.
Once while tending bar at his place, a patron was rambling about things I didn’t care about. I walked into the kitchen and unloaded on him about the guy. Dad flipped a burger then looked at me in his white apron and said softly, “Be nice. He’s just lonely.” I never felt so small. With only a few words he showed me how self-centred I was. I went back to the guy on the stool but now I listened and spoke with him, too. Dad was right, he was lonely. It cost me nothing to be nice.
Finally, George was a man who put others ahead of himself. He worked six days a week for his entire life so that his family could avoid his fate. His stress on formal education was not a harsh demand but an unwavering expectation. He filled the house with books and would be found looking at a random volume of an encyclopedia when he had a free moment. Education could be done anywhere, but he understood the value our society placed on an education that was recognized.
He maintained a position on the executive committee of a small group called the Trsye Benevolent Society. He was the longest-serving president in its history, which goes back to the 1920s. He let people use the kitchen at his restaurant to prepare food. He invited people over for dinner at a moment’s notice. He let a customer at the restaurant who had a hard time stay at our house. Almost everyone who called to offer condolences used the phrase, “He was like a brother to me…”
Any one of the above measures of character would make a good man, but for someone to have all three? That is proof that the man who lived an ordinary life was extraordinary.
Steve Papagiannis is George’s son.
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