“A life that began in the printing industry in 1964, continued with Altın Kitaplar—one of Turkey’s most important publishing houses—and extended to Honorary Membership in the Turkish Publishers Association…Uğur Gergin, who closely witnessed Turkey’s publishing life and the transformation of the stationery sector, and who made significant contributions to the development of the industry, joined our magazine as a guest and answered our questions. With his sincere responses and unique insights, we hope you will read our conversation with Mr. Uğur—shedding light on a period of publishing history—with the warmth of a novel…”
Mr. Uğur, thank you for taking the time to speak with us. We would like to get to know you. In some of your conversations, you mentioned the influence of the neighborhood where you spent your childhood and its socio-cultural structure on your future. Could you describe that period a bit?
I was born in 1941 in Fener, located on the Golden Horn in Istanbul—one of the most beautiful districts of the city. My childhood passed in what could be considered a happy environment, in a three-story mansion made of Malta stone and built in a Baroque architectural style, where three generations—from grandfather to grandchildren—lived under the same roof.At that time, there was no such concept in our society as “pre-school education.” However, in our neighborhood, there were homes and caregivers where working young Jewish and Greek mothers—almost all of whom spoke at least two languages—had to leave their children. One of these was the house of Kirya Despina, located on Yıldırım Street just behind our mansion. From the age of three until I was six—until I started attending Fethiye Primary School—I was educated there!Those were years of limited means and modest living conditions.
Since these difficulties were not reflected much on me as a child, I did not feel the hardships of those years very deeply. However, over time, the limited goods distributed to meet our basic needs, the “Issued” stamps on my ID card, and the blackout curtains on all the windows of our mansion began to make sense to me.The series of wars that began in 1939, when the madman Hitler—who believed himself to be the leader of the world—invaded Poland, had, within two years, turned almost the entire world into a battlefield (1941). After four difficult years, we managed to avoid entering the war.Fener was a district where Greek and Turkish were spoken almost equally. Every afternoon, a newspaper vendor with a strap would run from Fener toward Balat, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Apoyamatini erhete!” (“The Apoyamatini newspaper has arrived!”). He would stop in front of some houses and slip newspapers under the doors. As far as I know, it is now published once a week.
How did you start your professional career, and how did your journey with Altın Kitaplar Publishing House begin?
I joined the company in 1964. At the time, its name was “Aziz Bozkurt and Partners Collective Company.” Since it was a collective company, it was legally bound under Aziz Bey’s name in commercial matters. After Dr. Turhan Bozkurt, Aziz Bey was one of the most capable individuals among the company’s partners.Some time after Aziz Bey’s passing, I proposed establishing a printing house to honor his memory, and even suggested naming it “AS Printing House,” reviving the name of the printing house that had closed following the division of his estate. When this idea was well received by the partners, I took action.During that period, fortune was on my side regarding my allocation request to the chambers of commerce and industry. We imported a new letterpress printing machine, along with additional equipment to make the existing Altın Kitaplar bookbinding workshop more productive.
At Altın Kitaplar, which became a leading publishing house producing three books a week, there were two of us working side by side—the Doctor and myself. Of course, I cannot overlook the contributions of our translators who brought life to the company, Doğan Hızlan who served as our editor and advisor for a period, as well as our proofreaders, printing staff, and sales team.During my wonderful working life under that roof, which lasted nearly 30 years, I made such meaningful friendships… I consider all of them part of my wealth of memories. I wish continued success to Altın Kitaplar, to which I devoted myself and earned my livelihood, just as in those days.
So, how did you decide to establish your own venture, Golden Medya?
Since the projects I proposed as an expansion of AS Printing House were not appreciated—except by Dr. Turhan Bozkurt—we had to part ways. I immediately established Golden Print, and a few years later, in order to have a family company, I founded Golden Medya Inc.My two sons (Levent and Yiğit), my wife, and I were involved. During a period when I was experiencing health problems, Yiğit worked with us for a while. However, he had previous experience in the United States and chose to continue there. In that sense, he became our partner from afar, although he visits frequently.As for more recent times, I have transferred most of the responsibility to my elder son Levent. Thankfully, as someone well-trained in his profession, he successfully represents and manages our company.
About 25 years ago, the Kanaat family transferred all the publications they had to me free of charge. This was a great honor for me. Yes, I had supported the Kanaat Publishing House—one that I truly loved—for many years, both in the printing and sales of their atlases and the famous Takvim-i Ragıp. But such generosity from the owners of a century-old institution was truly remarkable.I decided to incorporate Kanaat into Golden Print and continue on this path. This year marks the 98th anniversary of Takvim-i Ragıp. The goal I set 25 years ago was the 100th anniversary—just like our Republic.
When you think of “firsts” in your professional career, what comes to mind?
Among the important “firsts” in my professional life, I believe the most valuable was printing the Modern Mathematics book, which had entered Aziz Bozkurt’s field of competition and was extremely difficult to produce.For the first time in Turkey, I managed to have the Modern Mathematics signatures—amounting to a total of 25 tons—printed in a single day on two machines at Tifdruk Offset, where Doğan Kardeş (as well as Hayat, Ses, and Resimli Roman magazines) were printed.Of course, this achievement was made possible thanks to my esteemed mentors and close friends. I could never pass without mentioning them one by one.
- Muzaffer Balcı: Deceased – Partner of Hayat, Doğan Kardeş, and Tifdruk Printing. (Father of my dear brother-in-law, Okan Balcı)
- Şevket Rado: Owner of the naming rights for Hayat, Ses, and Resimli Roman. Selim Balcı: Deceased – Manager of Tifdruk.
- Mehmet Rado: Manager of Tifdruk.
When, 24 hours after taking on the job, I went to Aziz Bey’s office at Ders Kitapları Inc. and told him, “All the signatures have been printed,” he didn’t believe me. When he learned the truth, he was so pleased that he said to me, “From now on, I will call you Uğur Abi,” which left me quite embarrassed.Then he turned to those around him and said, “You should address him that way too, okay?” Among them, only the manager Burhan Öztürk—almost the same age as my father—said, “Well done, Uğur Abi,” extended his hand, and we shook hands.When I left there and returned to Altın Kitaplar, somehow—just as they say, “the walls have ears”—my dear Dr. Turhan had already heard the news and welcomed me with congratulations. Perhaps anticipating that others might not take this “Abi” title seriously, just as I was heading to my office, he said, “Oh dear, Uğur…” May he rest in peace.
Could you also tell us the story of your first encounter with a stationery shop?
I had finished Fethiye Primary School, and in fact, a whole summer had passed since then. Together with my late father, we set off toward Bab-ı Ali to buy the books and stationery supplies I would need for the first grade at Gedikpaşa Secondary School, where I had just enrolled.After getting off the dolmuş in Eminönü and heading toward the New Mosque, my father held my hand tightly, warning me, “Don’t let go of my hand.” The chaos of the crowd around us, the shouts of porters carrying long poles, the cries of “Make way!” and “Stand back!” from the back-load carriers, and the handcarts moving in zigzags clearly made my father uneasy.When we finally reached the marble courtyard of the New Mosque at a fast pace and paused to catch our breath, the air we inhaled was a bitter blend of coal smoke coming from the chimneys of the ferries on both sides of the bridge and the spices drifting from the entrance of the Egyptian Bazaar.
“Let’s hurry a bit,” my father said. We quickly passed through the tunnel at the end of the square. As we walked a little further, I was quite frightened by the screeching curve sounds of a tram moving from Bahçekapı toward Sirkeci, starting from Şekerci Hafız Mustafa and continuing to Hacı Bekir Square. For a moment, I thought the tram might derail.We walked a bit toward Sirkeci, and then, turning right off the tram line, we arrived at Ankara Street—whose name I would learn years later while studying at Istanbul High School. At one end stood Sirkeci Train Station, the final stop of the Orient Express, and at the bend on the other end was Bab-ı Ali, the last administrative center of the Ottoman Empire.Walking under the shade of awnings, we moved along the narrow slope, admiring the carefully arranged stationery shop displays. At some point, captivated by the attraction of one shop window, we paused to look. When a warm invitation came from inside, we entered the shop.“Welcome, what were you looking at?” “Let’s start with notebooks.” “How many sections would you like?”
We look at each other. I point to the one labeled “High School Notebook” and say, “This will do.” I was about to start middle school, but I was deeply impressed by the words “High School Notebook” on the cover. My father glanced at the list in his hand and started listing items:“Yellow notebook, two high school notebooks—make sure they’re not thin. A mechanical pencil—I’ll need that too, make it two. A compass set, set square, protractor, ruler, pencils, a drawing notebook, and an eraser… Oh, and a pencil sharpener.”The shop assistant took out a tin box from the glass display in front of him and showed it to me. Inside were pencils in rainbow-like colors—more than I could count, maybe twelve. I instantly fell in love with the tin box. On the lid, it said “A. W. Faber Castell.” But what truly captivated me was the image beneath the text—depicting knights from feudal times battling on horseback with lances.Even at that age, I could somewhat grasp its meaning: the lance in the hand of the winner was shaped like a “pencil.” At that moment, I thought to myself, “Hooray, I’m finally getting rid of the sliding wooden case.”
At one point, I stepped outside and began to carefully look at the display window. As I admired the gleaming fountain pens, memories passed through my mind one by one—ink bottles that I used to shake in my school bag to test their “non-spill” feature, only to have them spill every time and earn a scolding from my mother, along with nibs, holders, and dip pens.Now I was a middle school student. It must have been time for me to own a proper fountain pen. I thought I could achieve this wish with a small insistence to my father. And that’s exactly what I did. I took the shop assistant by the hand and pulled him toward the display window facing the street, pointing with my finger to the “Faber” fountain pen I liked the most.In case my father hesitated, I prepared myself to be like the victorious knight—adding a touch of emotional persuasion—and said to him, “Well, I suppose I’m old enough to use a fountain pen now.” My father wasn’t particularly stingy. He didn’t object, but he warned me, “Don’t take it to school—you’ll get it stolen.”
The shop assistant must have immediately realized that my father would be an easy customer, because to secure the deal, he said, “To make the young man happy, I’ll offer you a nice treat (discount), and the ink will be my gift,” effectively cutting short any further bargaining.Just as we were about to leave the shop, my father remembered the school bag and asked the assistant where we could buy one. The assistant replied, “From Mercan Slope—go down past the coppersmiths, just a little further, then the street on the left. I can even recommend a shop for you,” and handed my father a small note with directions written on it.My father thanked him, saying, “We’ll check that out later.”The list of textbooks we had already purchased, along with the compulsory navy-blue school cap of those years—trimmed with a yellow stripe, a shiny visor, and a brass badge—had completely slipped my mind. At that moment, my only thought was to get home as soon as possible, to test myself by writing and to show off my skills in drawing.
I suppose it must be a passion dating back to those years. During my time at Altın Kitaplar, whenever I had the opportunity, I carefully designed the cover graphics of some books—especially the scientific series. Even today, when I look at those works, I still admire them.Handan Stationery, Teknik Stationery, and Bakış Stationery were among the main shops where I used to shop. The introduction of Letraset into the market brought great convenience and innovation to graphic design work. I benefited from it greatly. It has been quite some time since those tools became obsolete. Now, we are living in a completely new era with computers and an extraordinary range of software.
How would you define the relationship between stationery and books?
Books and stationery are like two halves of an apple. The other two halves of another apple are the producers and distribution companies. In terms of appeal, especially with the rich variety in recent years, stationery seems to be ahead (at least in my opinion). I closely follow developments in domestic production and find them successful.Naturally, I have many valuable friends from both halves of those two apples. In fact, we even have a group we call the “Guild,” where we hold periodic meetings.
What are your hobbies and interests?
I never wanted to take the sea and boating out of my life. However, toward the late 1970s, I gave up. I sold my boat and engine. The last person I handed my boat over to in Ataköy, Mr. Fahri, was someone who knew me indirectly and owned a printing house in Karaköy. He apparently lived in a waterfront mansion in Suadiye.After delivering the boat, I said, “Enjoy it,” and left the marina. The next day, Mr. Fahri called me and said, “Were you really that fed up, Mr. Uğur? I kept looking around to wave goodbye, but you didn’t even turn back.” Of course, I apologized.Perhaps there was an underlying feeling in me at the time—an intuition that the Sea of Marmara was becoming polluted and that fish were disappearing. I suppose that was it. After all, it’s in the past now.
Whenever I found the opportunity to step away from the routine of my working life, I never had much difficulty finding things to occupy myself. Music comes first among these. My period of playing the harmonica ended during my high school years. I refer to that time as my “Hohner years.”In 1965, I began listening to hi-fi music. From 1970 onwards, the hi-end era began in home technology, and in 1975, I brought back from the United States a complete music system integrated with a 4400 Quadro Marantz—and that’s where I settled. They are now 45 years old, yet they still satisfy me.I have a strong interest in classical music. From time to time, I try to play pieces that come to mind by tapping the keys of the small Yamaha piano in our home. I have always been involved with literature, and I still am. Every Tuesday and on some weekends, we gather at the second-hand bookstore café Taşlık Kahve, where we listen to invited masters of art and literature on specific topics and share our thoughts.I also have a modest collection—not quite at a collector’s level—consisting of radios, typewriters, pens/fountain pens, and working replicas of inventions by famous inventors.
I have been an admirer and donor of the Rahmi Koç Museum for many years. I have donated quite a number of machines there. Although rare, having the opportunity to chat with Mr. Rahmi about the museum and the Halat Restaurant is a wonderful experience for me. Recently, I have been very saddened by his illness around his 90th birthday and wish him a speedy recovery.As for pens and fountain pens; during my time at Altın Kitaplar, Dr. Turhan Bozkurt had many friends from the medical field, including Kaya Çilingiroğlu, Oğuz Lav, and Metin Yağcı. I supported all their publications, starting from their associate professorships and continuing onward as they progressed toward becoming professors. In return, they often gifted me fountain pens. Along with others I received on various occasions, I built a modest pen collection.One of the people with an almost excessive passion for pens and stationery is my friend Doğan Hızlan. I remember that Hızlan was a regular visitor to stationery fairs. In fact, I believe he even inaugurated one of them together with the Minister of Culture at the time.
My favorite gifts are also fountain pens (depending on the occasion, of course). I am truly devoted to Faber. When choosing a gift, I usually present Faber’s “Pen of the Year.”Each time I acquire a pen, my dear friend Mustafa Bol, the owner of Bayındır Stationery, has always been there to help me. Some models are not easy to find. For example, it took me quite a long time to obtain Faber’s 250th anniversary pen—the four-piece ELEMENTO set in its special luxury wooden box. I couldn’t bring myself to give that one away, nor the 2011 “Pen of the Year” with jade, which coincided with my 70th birthday. I kept them for myself, hoping to pass them on to my children.
There’s another hobby of yours that caught our attention—car restoration… Could you briefly tell us about that as well?
For the past four years, I have been involved in the restoration of Atatürk’s cars. The open-top Lincoln—my favorite—was the first one delivered to Anıtkabir. Afterwards, the second armored Lincoln was delivered. Now it’s time for the third one: the Cadillac that İş Bankası gifted to Atatürk. It is also nearing completion.The pandemic slowed things down a bit, but I am confident that my dear friend Kemal Akel—an experienced team leader, retired master printer, and enthusiast of classic American cars—along with his skilled team, will complete this project in the best possible way. (He also owns a pristine 1956 Chevrolet.)During this process, we occasionally come together—sometimes in Ankara, sometimes in my office here—along with Commander Lieutenant Colonel Kasım Teke, to discuss developments. These days, I have already started to feel the excitement of placing the final car in its designated spot under the third tower.
Frekans Magazine Editor Ebulfez Demirdaş