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Home > Cigar Stars Index Page > Avo Uvezian
Published September/October 1997
The Cigar Showman
In His Mimbre Hat and Brioni Suit,
Avo Uvezian is as Recognizable as the Cigar that Bears His Name
by James Suckling
The Dominair De Havilland Dash 8 bounces over
the lush green of the Dominican Republic's Cordillera Septentrional
mountain range. The twin propeller plane is making its way to the tiny
airport on the outskirts of the town of Santiago. The ride has been
bumpy the entire flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico, due to the
tumultuous thunderclouds that have been drenching most of the
Caribbean for the better part of a week. The pilot wrestles the plane
like a seasoned cowboy on a bucking bronco as it rolls from side to
side and then quickly jumps up and down. A few minutes of calm follow,
and then the plane starts savagely kicking again. It's one of those
moments when you start thinking about the fated flying experiences of
Glenn Miller, Buddy Holly and Lynyrd Skynyrd. You're on the verge of
defying the no smoking rules, since you figure it may be your last
cigar.
Cigar supremo Avo Uvezian isn't looking nervous. His Mexican
mimbre hat is in perfect order, seemingly glued to his friendly round
head as the plane lurches from side to side. His freshly starched
white Brioni suit is in impeccable order. The 71-year-old Armenian
stares out the window at the rich countryside, almost in a trance as
the plane makes a pass at the tiny runway. Uvezian makes this trip
dozens of times each year and, apparently, rough rides are
commonplace. He seems to be almost enjoying this particular flight,
despite the handful of people in the back row with their heads in
small white bags and the other two dozen passengers looking slightly
queasy. Uvezian gazes down and smiles at the landscape as the small
plane zooms by another set of hills and banks in its final approach to
the runway. The plane first lands on one set of wheels and then
ultimately the second set touches down before the nose's landing gear
reaches the runway. Everyone--except Uvezian--nervously claps in
elation to be on the ground.
Why should Uvezian applaud? He isn't a religious man despite
exuding a powerful spiritual quality when you spend time with him. He
openly admits to having just about everything he ever hoped
for--perhaps even more. Most people who know him would say that
Uvezian has lived the fullest of lives.
In just a few years, Uvezian has become a millionaire, thanks to
his devotion to his Dominican cigar brand, Avo. In 1995, Davidoff, the
well-known Swiss tobacco and luxury goods company, paid Uvezian an
estimated $10 million for the distribution rights to his cigar brand,
which last year sold more than 2 million cigars, mostly in the United
States. With his success, it is difficult to believe that until fairly
recently Uvezian was barely eking out a life playing the piano in the
bar of a resort in Puerto Rico and selling cigars and real estate on
the side. Today, he is one of the most visible men in the cigar world,
one of the great ambassadors for premium smokes.
"I find it hard to take when someone says that I am 'Mr. Cigar,'"
Uvezian says as he sits outside one of the luxurious bungalows of the
opulent El San Juan Hotel & Casino in Puerto Rico, prior to his
trip to the Dominican Republic. The resort is one of his favorite
haunts when he's at home. He's more likely to be hanging out at the
cigar bar in the ornate lobby holding court to a group of cigar
smokers and a slew of gorgeous females than sitting at home or in his
office. "Some people call me a cigar guru and other things like
that. I am no guru. I am not a great cigar man, not like someone like
Zino Davidoff. Now that was a great cigar man."
Uvezian--always playing the modest cigar lover--may not have the
depth of knowledge of cigars that the late Davidoff had, but he is an
equal showman in every sense of the word. Besides, Davidoff could
never play the piano as well as Uvezian, who, as a young man,
performed for the Shah of Iran, studied at New York City's Juilliard
School and played with some of the best jazz pianists ever, including
Teddy Wilson. Uvezian's impromptu piano gigs are almost as well known
among U.S. cigar cognoscenti as his Avo pyramids and belicosos.
"There are a lot of similarities between Avo and Zino," says
Hendrik Kelner, one of the most respected figures in the Dominican
Republic's cigar business and the man who makes Uvezian's cigars in
one of his factories near the town of Villa González. Kelner
also runs and partially owns the Davidoff cigar factory in
Santiago. "Just like Zino, Avo knows the good life. He is a bohemian,
an agreeable personality who has a passion for cigars."
Adds David Kurland, the general manager of El San Juan Hotel &
Casino and a good friend of Uvezian's: "The man is amazing. He not
only loves cigars; he loves life to the fullest. He is twice my age
but I can barely keep up with him. He is wonderful."
Standing about 5 foot 10 inches with a round and cuddly physique,
Uvezian is a lovable father figure with a subtle wit and infectious
warmth. His round, tanned face and kindly smile make even the iciest
personality melt. Whether he's attending a cigar dinner or simply
walking in an airport to catch a plane, Uvezian is someone people take
notice of. He has the aura of an entertainer or a celebrity who should
be recognized.
Strangely, it's Uvezian's extroverted character and personal
marketing skills that finally led him to sell his brand to
Davidoff. "My forte is that I like meeting people and I am good in
PR," he admits. "I am not getting any younger and I am no good at
paperwork and following up. It's the image of Avo that I am good at."
Uvezian is right in many ways. He is one of the masters of public
relations in the cigar trade. However, his efforts often go to waste
since consumers have always had a difficult time finding his cigars in
the marketplace. It's still a problem, even with the distribution
clout of Davidoff. Supplies of Avo cigars, especially in the United
States, have been variable at best since an August 1996 fire destroyed
Davidoff's cigar factory in Santiago; a few hundred thousand Avo
cigars were lost in the blaze. Some of Avo's supply problems could be
attributed to a subsequent change in venue: Davidoff shifted
production to Kelner's cigar factory in Villa González while a
new factory was built to replace the old one. However, the main
problem is that there just aren't enough Avos to keep up with the
consumer demand, despite an eightfold increase in production since
1990.
The spectacular rise in output may have a downside, however. Avo
cigars have been less consistent in quality than before, although they
seem to be improving. In the past year or so, some Avo cigars have not
had the richness or the flavor they once did. Some cigar merchants
have even received complaints from customers about Avo cigars. "We
have had some problems with the cigars," says one well-known Davidoff
merchant in a major U.S. city who wished to remain anonymous. "They
just don't seem to be as good as they once were. Moreover, their
construction is less good."
Kelner and Uvezian admit that there have been problems this past
year with producing Avo cigars, contending that the main difficulty
has been the variable quality of olor tobacco used in the blend. They
argue that the lapse in quality had nothing to do with the rapid
growth or the change in ownership of the brand, and they emphasize
that any problems--if they existed at all--have been
rectified. Nonetheless, the annual sales growth of Avo cigars has been
nothing short of extraordinary, begging the question of how the brand
can maintain its quality. Look at the figures: Avo sold about one
quarter of a million cigars in 1990 and skyrocketed to almost six
times that size in five years. Avo hit the 2 million mark last year
and the brand should continue to grow, although not in such geometric
proportions.
Avo cigars have generally scored in the high 80s in Cigar
Aficionado tastings, indicative of very good to excellent, though not
outstanding, quality. Of the range, the figurados or torpedos are
usually rated among the best, cigars such as the Avo Belicoso and the
Avo XO Pyramid. In a recent blind tasting of the Avo line in Marvin
Shanken's Cigar Insider, the monthly newsletter from the publisher of
Cigar Aficionado, nine of 15 sizes tested scored an 87 or above, with
four receiving 89s.
In general, Avo cigars are divided into two sub-brands: original
and XO. The latter is the richer of the two, with slightly spicier
character. Uvezian says that more ligero (the strongest tobacco in
blends) is used for XO and that the filler is aged a bit differently
than his traditional cigars, although he would not elaborate on the
process. The traditional cigars have the light orange-gold band and
come in 12 sizes, while XO cigars, which have a darker orange band,
the same gold-leaf lettering and "XO" printed on the side of the band,
comprise three sizes. They range in price from $5.30 to $7.60 for the
traditional cigars to $7.60 to $9.55 for the XO smokes. Uvezian had
hoped to introduce other sizes as well as some special blends
(including one for women), but his plans were postponed due to the
fire. He also hopes to have a limited-edition cigar for the brand's
10th anniversary in 1998.
Uvezian always seems to be cooking up new ideas for cigars,
whether he's buying additional acreage for growing tobacco or opening
a new factory. In conversation with him it almost seems that he spent
his entire life in cigar factories and on tobacco plantations. Yet
cigars are relatively new for Uvezian. For years, he was an aspiring
musician. Born in 1926 and raised in a Christian family in Beirut,
Lebanon, Uvezian had always dreamed of making it big in music,
particularly at the keys of a piano.
His big break came in 1945, just after the Second World War had
ended, when Uvezian left Beirut with two other musicians and formed a
group called the Liban Boys. They had a contract to play in a hotel in
Baghdad, where they lasted a year before moving on to a hotel in
Teheran. "Baghdad was a hellhole," he recalls. "We had seen a month
before going there the movie Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. It was
nothing like that--no golden covers [tablecloths] or beautiful
minarets. It was like going back in time."
Luckily, the situation was very different in Iran. At the Park
Hotel in Teheran, Uvezian, only 21 at the time, was already
fine-tuning his public relations skills. Not only did the young man
quickly become known in the city for his talent on the keyboards, but
his social graces were also greatly appreciated. He soon re-ceived an
invitation from then Shah Reza Pahlevi to play at his palace, where
Uvezian and his crew were warmly welcomed. "I spoke Farsi, so it sort
of broke the ice with the Shah," he says. "I remember they were trying
to dance the jitterbug and I said, 'You don't know how to dance that
right. Let me show you.' We were invited back for two or three more
events and finally I became the Shah's pianist. The hotel didn't care
since the Shah owned it."
Uvezian lasted about a year in Teheran before becoming
homesick. He yearned for the beautiful beaches, chic restaurants,
smart casinos and fast nightlife of Beirut, not to mention his
family. However, the Shah warned Uvezian that the atmosphere in Beirut
had become dangerous because of the unrest in Palestine. The royal
recommended that Uvezian visit America instead--and offered to get him
there, complete with visa.
Uvezian arrived in New York City in 1947. He had relatives there
and had earlier thought about settling in America. How-ever, what he
really hoped for was the opportunity to study at the famous Juilliard
School of Music. "When I lived at home in Beirut, I practiced the
piano three or four hours a day, but I hadn't practiced at all after I
left," he recalls. "I was very rusty. Nonetheless, I went to Juilliard
and asked for an audition. They granted it and I was terrible. They
wouldn't accept me. But I asked them for another two weeks to try
again, and they gave me a month. I practiced 10 hours a day for a
month and then I went back to audition. The teacher could not believe
the difference. I was accepted on the spot."
Uvezian played in various bands in New York while studying at
Juilliard. During the summer of 1951, he was playing at a resort in
New York's Catskill Mountains, where he met his first wife,
Marie. They were soon married. Uvezian continued his career as a
budding musician until the Korean War interrupted his plans. "They
drafted me and I said, 'Well, what can I do?' " he says with a huge
grin. "I want to stay in America. I'm married now. So they put me in
basic training, going through all the training obstacle courses. It
might as well have been in Siberia. It was a cold, cold winter. I said
to myself, 'What the hell am I doing here? I'm not even a citizen.' "
Being a musician paid dividends again for Uvezian. Instead of
being sent to Korea, he was assigned to a marching band in New
York. Unfortunately, he was told to first play the trombone and then
the bells. He couldn't play either. He couldn't even march. Luckily, a
few months later the Army found him a pianist position; he succeeded
Burt Bacharach, who had just finished his tour of duty. Uvezian played
mostly in New York for the Army, but toured on occasion. He was happy
to miss the war in Asia. He left the Army in 1953.
Uvezian and his wife had started a family the year before when
Marie gave birth to a son, Jeffrey. Two others sons were to follow,
Robert and Ronald. Uvezian knew he had to make some money after his
tour of duty. He soon joined his wife's family jewelry business, a
career he stayed with for more than two decades. His job eventually
brought him to Puerto Rico, where his in-laws owned a jewelry
factory. "It was a waste of time. If I had stayed in music, I don't
know," he says, slightly embarrassed. "Life was easy, shall we
say. You never think otherwise. You have your priorities and you just
keep doing the same thing."
In the early 1970s, Uvezian's marriage ended in divorce. He
remained in Puerto Rico, still working with the jewelry company,
living a bachelor's life in San Juan with plenty of friends. He often
played the piano for fun in various bars on the island. "Some friends
were developing the Palmas del Mar resort, which was next to my cabana
in Puerto Rico," he says. "Every weekend they used to come to my house
here and we would always have one hell of a party. And one night they
said to me, 'Why don't you come to Palmas del Mar and do the opening
for us at the resort?' That was January 10, 1974. I said, 'OK, I'll go
there for a time,' and I resigned from my jewelry company."
Uvezian admits that "it was rough" after quitting his job. He was
hustling at the bar for everything from tips to real estate and found
it difficult to make ends meet. But he discovered something important
while playing piano at the Palmas del Mar: people not only came to
hear his music, but they also liked smoking cigars that he had
purchased for himself, which he would place on top of the piano for
anyone who cared to indulge. "Well, nearly everybody who used to come
from the States to Palmas used to come to be at Paolo's bar where I
performed. I was there for seven, eight years playing piano, but the
hotel guests would come and say, 'Is Avo still at the bar? OK, then we
are coming.' I became a very big draw, you know. I was Palmas del Mar;
I was their secret weapon for selling, so to speak."
Uvezian remarried in 1975, to a woman named Nivia; they later had
a daughter, Karin. He began selling more and more real estate and soon
accumulated enough money to start an Italian restaurant in the early
1980s in Puerto Rico. The eatery did very well, but he found it to be
too much work and went back to the piano bar. At the time, he began to
think about making and marketing cigars. "I was getting a great
response from Americans about the cigars I had to offer in my bar,"
which were made locally and not up to the quality that Avo would
attain. "Customers and friends used to write me and ask me for the
cigars. That's when I said to myself that I better look at getting
serious about this."
A small incident involving Karin, who was five at the time,
reinforced Uvezian's idea of going into the cigar trade. A customer
was walking by them at the pool at Palmas del Mar, Uvezian recalls,
and he saw the pianist and asked for a cigar. Uvezian, of course, gave
it to him. "My daughter was shaking her head and making negative
gestures at me," he says. "After he had gone, I said, 'Karin, why are
doing that, going like that?' She said, 'Dad, if he likes your first
cigar and he wants another one, let him buy it.' It was incredible, I
can never forget it."
His wife was less positive than his daughter, however. "My wife
said, 'Are you crazy? You know nothing about cigars. It's not your
business. Why you?' I told her that some day this will be a good deal:
'Don't worry about it. I know what I'm doing.' "
Uvezian had a friend in Geneva who soon put him in touch with
Henrik Kelner, who had just opened his cigar factory in the Dominican
Republic after years with a government tobacco company. In 1987,
Uvezian's first cigars from Kelner were sold under the Bolero label in
San Juan, and later as Avo in New York City. The brand was created
exclusively for the Davidoff shop. Uvezian launched Avo in the United
States in 1988. It was way ahead of its time: a full-bodied blend,
selected Connecticut shade wrappers ranging from claro to colorado,
and packed in cedar cabinet-style boxes with no cellophane and
contemporary original artwork on the packaging.
Uvezian had changed the name of his cigar to Avo after running
into problems with another cigar manufacturer that had already
registered the Bolero name. Uvezian modeled the packaging for the Avo
cigar after the cigars that were being produced for Knockando single
malt whisky and Absolut Vodka. The Avo packaging still slightly
resembles the now defunct Knockando cigar brand. The marketing man for
Absolut in the United States, Michel Roux, had become a friend of
Uvezian's, and Roux emphasized that he should focus on the top end of
the market. "He told me if I made cigars, that I had to do what he did
with Absolut Vodka: come out with the best possible quality, give it
the best packaging and always pay your supplier the most you can
afford."
The brand's success suggests that Uvezian has achieved much of
that plan. Although many premium cigar brands in the U.S. market have
grown quickly, very few can match the growth of Avo. It was one of the
first small premium brands to become a huge success story when the
cigar boom in the United States began three years ago. Uvezian has
seen his brand grow from about about 5,000 cigars in 1987 to an
expected 3.2 million this year. Not bad for a decade's work.
Back at the airport in Santiago, Uvezian has picked up his small
overnight case from the tiny baggage claim area of the airport, which
looks more like a small outdoor market than anything else. He walks
through the exit and starts looking for a driver from Kelner's factory
who is supposed to pick him up. A Dominican military officer who
manages the airport notices Uvezian and strikes up a conversation.
"Are you over here again?" asks the military man.
"I am just over again to visit my cigars," Uvezian says in a
slightly joking manner.
"I forgot that you make cigars," says the officer, perhaps hoping
for a handout. "But I thought the best cigars come from Cuba?"
Uvezian gives the officer a dirty look and pauses for a
moment. "Cuba?" questions Uvezian. "Where's Cuba? There's only one
place that makes serious cigars, and we are both standing in that
country."
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