Farewell to Europe...

My father's journey to America began on January 12th when he, his family, and a few others were transported to Salzburg where they would stay for a few days at Camp Roeder. On the 18th they were bussed to the railway station and boarded a special train with comfortable Pullman cars headed towards Breherhaven...a far cry from the crammed, desperate conditions of the last train ride he took towards his freedom in Hungary.

The train ride to Bremerhaven took 24 hours and once they arrived into the seaport terminal, the passengers were greeted by the US Army band playing the Hungarian National Anthem. Everyone was pleasantly surprised and overcome with emotion as they heard the song and made their way onto the General LeRoy Eltinge, a US Navy transport ship.

After finding their berths, my father and his fellow passengers were free to explore the giant ship. He still remembers with teary eyes that as the ship slowly started to move he was overcome with emotion....he was bidding farewell to Europe, farewell to Hungary. It was bittersweet. He was leaving all that he had ever known behind, and going to a country where he would be able to start a new life, a life of freedom.

The first two days of his sea voyage were pleasant. My father remembers the ship moving along the coasts of Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, then the English Channel. He remembers being in awe of the White Cliffs of Dover. Slowly, Europe and England started to become nothing more than specks in the horizon before completely disappearing. The ship was headed towards high seas and soon they would be caught in the middle of a winter storm on the Atlantic.

Small waves made way for ever larger ones and the ship was tossed about tumultuously. Passengers became seasick and the ship took on the pungent scent of vomit. By the fourth day, my father also became terribly seasick and for 6 of the 11 days that he was on the ship he was unable to eat anything. He subsisted off of coffee and juice. By the 10th day, the waves became smaller and everyone started to recover. On the 11th day, at 3 a.m., the ship arrived at the Navy port near Newark, NJ. My father woke up to join the other refugees as they stood looking out at their very first glimpse of America. They had finally arrived.