The Tanks Come Rolling In....

As time went on and my father continued his top secret assignments, it became more and more clear that the Soviets were becoming stronger and their regime more nefarious. My father had to remain completely under the radar in order to carry out his assignments and not endanger himself, his family, and the Americans he was working with. In order to stay as out of the way and incognito as possible, he found a a safe meeting place outside of Budapest where he would meet and deliver news, plans, etc. to the Americans.

Every week he would travel to this small village outside of Budapest by bus. He would walk down a quiet, rural road waiting for the Colonel or his deputy to arrive so that he could hand over the reports and information he had compiled over the course of the week. If no one was around, the Colonel's car would stop, my father would hand over the information, and they would each go on their separate ways. If another car, or traveler, happened to be on the road, my father would keep walking and the Colonel would continue driving only to return every 20 minutes or so until the coast was clear. This became my father's life from May of 1954 until October of 1956.

During those years my father traveled throughout the countryside as often as he could to glean and observe as much information as he could. He was the the first person to report that the surveying company he worked for was measuring out land for a new air force base at Mezokovesd. Not long after that another base was being planned out....proof positive that the Soviets were strengthening their military might.

On October 21, 1956, towards the end of his time working as a spy for the Americans, my father was sent by the Geodetic Surveyor's Group to a town called Oroszlanbanya to assist on another project. He was in charge of finding accommodations for himself, three other surveyors and his boss who was to arrive on the 23rd. He did as he was told and then set out with his workmates to discuss the location that was to be surveyed with the engineers at the town's City Hall Engineering Dept. On October 23rd, at noon, my father went to meet his boss at the train station and update him on what had been achieved on the days prior to his arrival. The train arrived 40 minutes late, yet his boss was nowhere to be found. My father was puzzled, and as he did not have his hearing aide with him, he could not make out what was being said all around him. The only way he could understand anything was by communicating face to face. No one was willing to stop and speak with him, yet he saw in their expressions that something was not right.

He quickly made his way back to the guesthouse where he was staying with the other surveyors and asked the caretakers and cleaning lady if they knew what was going on. He told them that his boss had not shown up on the appointed train and that everyone looked upset at the station. At that moment, another guest, a schoolteacher named Josef Chaszar, arrived and the cleaning lady asked him if he knew what could have possibly happened. The man responded with somber news. He said that in Budapest, all of the University students and workers had gone out to the streets for a peaceful demonstration. They were asking for freedom. When they made their way to the radio station, the AVH started shooting at them and before anyone knew what was happening an uprising had broken out. Josef told my father that that was his best bet as to why his boss had decided to stay behind and not risk traveling. Budapest was once more in the midst of a nightmare. My father, shocked, thanked the teacher for the update and went to his room. Within an hour, Josef knocked on his door to give him yet another terrifying update....the Soviet Red Army had entered Budapest with tanks and were shooting. All he could think about now was that his parents were in Budapest...in the midst of this carnage and turmoil and he could do nothing to help them.

Everyman's James Bond....

So that was how my father became something of an "everyman's" James Bond. No martinis, no gadgets, no exotic women with ludicrous names....just a man working undercover in order to survive and to do good by his motherland. A hero who would remain unsung to this very day.

My father's sense of loyalty and pride to his ancestors and country made him think about how this mission he had decided to undertake could help fight against the tyranny of the Soviets. Just as he was starting to come to terms with what he was doing, my grandfather began to get very ill. With the passing of each day he became sicker and sicker and the doctors that treated him found that he had been poisoned while at the internment camp with chemicals that thickened his blood, slowed his circulation, destroyed his liver, and would lead to his death. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. My father knew then and there that without any hesitation he would do whatever he could to retaliate against the Communists.

My father also knew full well that many Hungarians had been arrested, tortured, and executed for taking a stand against the Communists and that he was making a very dangerous decision. Yet he decided that he would do so alone, without anyone seeing or knowing what he was up to. His first step was to find out who he could contact in American intelligence safely. In his spare time, my dad would spend hours walking around the American embassy and observing the diplomats as they came and went. He memorized the makes, models, and colors of the diplomats' cars as well as their license plate numbers.

It was just a matter of time before my father noticed one car in particular. It was a green Chrysler that he'd seen parked at the American embassy, but he had spotted it while on the streetcar in front of a building on Pasareti Street (number 8). He walked up to the gate and saw a small plaque stating that the villa was a diplomatic residence. This was the opportunity that he had been waiting for. My father continued to walk around the embassy every Saturday until he finally saw the owner of the green Chrysler leave the building and walk towards his car. The following Saturday my father waited by the diplomat's home on Pasareti Street and when he saw the green car approach he quickly made his way towards it, and handed the diplomat a note as he exited his vehicle.

In the note, my father requested that the diplomat please meet with him at a convenient time and that he would return the next Saturday at 1 p.m. to see what his response would be. True to his word, my father returned one week later and was met by the diplomat who handed him a slip of paper written in Hungarian requesting his presence in yet another week, Saturday at 10 a.m., in his home. That week seemed to last forever, but finally the Saturday arrived in which he would meet with the diplomat and he made his way to the villa where quickly slipped into the building. The diplomat showed him into the living room where the US Air Force attache, Colonel Welwyn F. Dallam Jr., sat waiting.

Col. Dallam Jr. spoke Hungarian quite well and my father was able to speak to him of his intentions. He volunteered his services to the American Intelligence Agency and gave him copies of the plans and pictures he had smuggled out of his work of a large chemical plant being built by the Communists. He told the Colonel everything he knew about the new Red Army bases, and the Soviet Air Force's activity as well as their deployment. He asked what more he could do to help and from that moment on would spend as much of his spare time as possible wandering the countryside outside of Budapest observing what he could and taking pictures that he could pass on to the Americans.