Deportation and Forced Labor Camps...

The truck and officers that came to take my father and grandmother away from their home made its way through Budapest, finally stopping at a commercial railway station just outside of the city. It was a gathering place for all of the deportees and my father remembers vividly that the platforms were teeming with hundreds of victims waiting for the next step towards their fate.

One truck after another would stop at the station and drop off more and more families. Everyone was expected to line up and be checked out by a police officer after which they were led to their trains and commanded to enter them and find a seat. As it was already towards the end of June, the 23rd of June to be exact, the weather was warm and as the sun grew hotter so did the inside of the packed train cars. Everyone was forced to stay seated or standing in the sweltering heat as what seemed like a neverending line of deportees were made to check in and board. The deportation process was finally wrapped up by 11:30 a.m. and the the train my father and grandmother were in started to move. They arrived at a little village named Sap after midnight where horse drawn carts were waiting for the passengers to transfer them over to assigned houses owned by "Kulaks" (Kulak is a Russian word used by the Communists to describe a peasant who owns more than 10 hectares of land). These "Kulaks" were forced to open up their homes to the deportees by the Communist soldiers.

My father, grandmother, and several of the other passengers from their train were given a small room to sleep in for the night. Everyone was exhausted from the day's journey and the emotional turmoil they were undergoing, so despite the heat and discomfort in the room, they all fell asleep quickly. At 9 a.m. everyone was herded off to the town's administrative building in order to hear the village mayor give a speech. After the speech, the Communist chief ordered that the deportees be split up to create four "working brigades". Four men were chosen to be the brigade leaders and my father was placed in the group being led by a man named Barna Jancso. Thirty men and ten women formed his brigade. After everyone was placed in their groups, they were fed a meager lunch and taken to their lodging.

The following morning all of the working brigades had to report at their designated meeting places by 5 a.m. They were given hoes and rakes and then taken to work in the fields. Each day was a different assignment, but they always worked in the State owned fields...sometimes all day and sometimes all night. They worked 6 to 7 days a week with little time to recuperate from the difficult and taxing labor. My grandmother, thankfully, was not sent to pull weeds, or till soil, she instead was ordered to sit in a room and knit sweaters to be sold in the State run stores. When Winter came, everyone continued to work despite the bitter cold and stormy weather. My father's uncle, Kamillo, died that winter at the age of 75 and the family was not allowed to go to his funeral. This caused deep sadness for my father as he had been very close to his uncle throughout his childhood. Yet, the laborers were not allowed to leave the forced labor camp for any reason....and my father continued to toil despite the great loss to his family.

In the Spring of 1953, the Communists decided that they needed more forced labor workers to work in a factory in Debrecen. 100 men and 30 women were forced to leave the labor camp in Sap and head to Debrecen...my father was one of them. He now had to leave behind his mother who would stay working in Sap. More painful good-byes....

Everything Gone....

Sometime around the middle of May of 1951 my father's uncle (on his mother's side) came to see them and bore with him some troubling news. The Communists had started a mass deportation of all of the upper and middle class intelligentsia out of Budapest over to the eastern part of Hungary to be placed in forced labor camps.

It wasn't long after they received this news that the Makays started to witness it become a reality. Three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, during the hours of 4 and 6 in the morning, the Communist police would troll through the neighborhoods of Budapest delivering 24 hour eviction notices to families at random. The victims would then have to pack up whatever they could and sell or donate the rest of their belongings before the trucks came to cart them away. Budapest was once more in a state of panic.

Two of the first victims of this mass forced exodus were my father's Uncle Kamillo and his aunt. He helped them pack and store away everything they had left and then bade them a tearful farewell. My father was dumbfounded and unable to wrap his mind around the fact that his brave, heroic uncle was now being forced to face this fate.

On June 22, 1951 at 5am the Makay's doorbell rang. My grandmother opened the door and was served with their eviction notice. They were ordered to be ready to evacuate their apartment within 24 hours and be taken to the village of Sap near the Romanian border. They were allowed to pack two bedrolls and cram their wardrobe into 4 suitcases. The rest of their belongings were donated to neighbors, friends and the people who came to help them pack. By 8pm my father and grandmother were done packing and distributing their remaining goods, they said their good-byes, ate a small dinner, and tried to rest while waiting for the trucks to come for them. At 4 in the morning the truck that was to take them away stopped in front of their residence gate. Two agents and four movers made their way up to the 3rd floor apartment, grabbed the allowed luggage and scoured the home for anything left behind. My father helped his mother up into the truck and they could do nothing more but to watch their home disappear as they drove away from it. Everything. Gone.

Angels and White Envelopes

After my father's high school graduation in June of 1948 it was time for him to decide what field of study he wanted to pursue at the University. Although he had originally wanted to study agriculture in order to become the director of his family's estates and properties, the fact that the Communists had confiscated all of the land that belonged to the Makays shattered his aspirations. He found himself looking to pursue a degree in architecture instead. In September of 1948 he entered the University of Sciences and quickly became enamored with his studies in architecture. He enjoyed drafting and planning buildings and looked forward to someday becoming a success in his newfound passion. Little did he know that this too would become nothing more than a dream destroyed.

On December 8th, 1948, shortly before midnight, the Makay family was rudely roused from their sleep by the incessant ringing of their doorbell. My grandmother ran to the front door to see what the commotion was all about only to find one Hungarian and two Soviet KGB officers standing there. They forcefully made their way into the apartment and told my grandfather that he was under arrest, then commenced ransacking the home. They opened, overturned, knocked over and raided everything in the two room dwelling for two hours while my father and his family stood watching in horror and helplessness. At 2 o'clock in the morning they left taking my grandfather with them. My father and grandmother were left in shock and my father remembers attempting to comfort his mother as she cried inconsolably. He then tried to clean up the mess that the officers had left behind.

After about 15 minutes of straightening up and trying to put things back together, my father and grandmother discovered to their horror that all of my grandfather's Swiss bank account documents were missing. The KGB officers had stolen them, which meant only one thing...the Makays had lost every last cent that belonged to their family. They had, at this point, lost absolutely everything.

As if any more insult could be added to the injury already imposed on my father and his family, two weeks before Christmas break my father was called into the University's Communist Superintendent's office. The conversation went as follows:

Laszlo (my father): "Good morning, Superintendent, my name is Makay Laszlo, I was told that you wanted to see me."

Superintendent: "Yes. I wanted to tell you something. You know that Hungary is a worker's country. I have just received a report that your father was working for those Capitalist rats, the Americans. Therefore, you are nothing than an undesirable blue blooded bastard and I am letting you know that as of now you are expelled from this University. You must leave at once."

Laszlo: "Thank you, Superintendent. I understand."

With this, my father turned and left the office. He made his way out of the University saying his goodbyes to friends and classmates who all shook his hand quietly. Their faces showed their shock and sadness, yet they kept quiet in order to not get expelled themselves. He remembers that only one "brave girl" said anything to him...she said "Take it easy, nothing lasts forever."

My father, then only 19 years old, was devastated. He found solace only in his mother's kind and encouraging nature. In the weeks that followed they visited with their lawyer in order to find out more about his father's whereabouts. Finally, they received word that the Communists had discovered that my grandfather had been secretly cooperating with two Americans diplomats, Selden Chapin and James Lee, which was why he was arrested and taken to a prison in Kistarcsa. They were told that he was being held indefinitely but that they could leave Hungary unharmed. The notion of leaving while my grandfather was being held prisoner was not something that my father and grandmother would even entertain as an option. They decided to stay, and make do with what little they had. My grandmother took on jobs knitting sweaters, baking, and cleaning furniture. My father, the little prince who once slid down palace bannisters and was patted on the head by the world's greatest dignitaries, found work as a delivery boy, drafter and janitor.

Much to their surprise, as they tried to scrape by with odd jobs here and there, my father remembers that white envelopes started to appear under their apartment door once a month. While nothing was written on them and no notes were to be found inside, there was always a small sum of cash in them. Try as they might, my father and grandmother could not figure out or find out who was leaving them this money. Could it have been one of the Jewish families they helped save? The American soldiers they kept out of harm's way? To this day it remains a mystery....yet it is those small sums of money, so generously given at a time when everyone was struggling to survive that kept my family from complete destitution. Whoever the angel or angels were that did this for my family...may they have a special place in heaven saved for them.

Life Starts to Go Back to Normal....Or Does It?

After enduring weeks on end of torture, and interrogations my father and his fellow prisoners were called for a final meeting with their jailers. Names of other Boy Scouts were being called out and assigned to internment camps in Siberia. As each young man's name was called and led away, my father's blood ran cold wondering if he, too, would be sent away. Miraculously my father, his cousin Andras, and two other prisoners did not have their names called. They stood in utter shock and silence looking at each other. For about 20 minutes no one said a word or moved a muscle. Then, without further explanation, they were returned to their cells where they would spend six days in complete ignorance of what their fate was to be.

On the morning of the sixth day, my father was escorted upstairs to an office. A KGB agent asked him for his name, date of birth, birthplace, and other personal questions, then he was taken back to the dungeon. Later that evening he was called back upstairs and ordered into a prison bus which transported him back to the Hungarian Communist Political Police Headquarters. He stayed in a cell at the headquarters for another week and was finally released, without a dime, with a bruised body, swollen cheek and bloody nose, and made to walk 9km (just under 6 miles) to his home.

After walking for two hours, my father made it home and knocked at the window. He was pale and skinny and feared that his family would not recognize him. When his sister, Eva, looked out the window she screamed with relief and joy at seeing her brother and called out to their mother as she ran to open the door and let him in. My grandmother was ill at the time, but as soon as she heard that her son was home safe, she flew out of bed to see him. The neighbors made a delicious dinner and my father ate voraciously. Afterwards he was able to take a warm shower. His first time being able to use a proper bathroom and bathe in three months. He then got to sleep in his own, clean bed which felt like heaven after sleeping on a concrete slab for so long.

My father was allowed to rest for two days after returning home as it was September and school was about to resume. He would be entering the 7th grade which he remembers as being difficult and laden with many assignments. When summer rolled back around, he has fond memories of going on vacation with his classmates to Lake Balaton for three weeks where they swam, hiked, and rode bicycles. After the school trip was over, my father prepared to attend his sister's wedding. He remembers the church being crowded with all of the elite of prewar society in attendance. After summer ended, my father went back to hit the books and entered the 8th grade which he diligently studied his way through and was able to pass through with flying colors. Life was starting to feel as though it was going back to normal....but was it?

Hell Gets Worse: From Jail Cell to KGB Dungeon...

Immediately after being "released" from jail, my father found himself in even greater peril. He was taken by an armed guard along with a Benedictine professor, a Jesuit professor and another student to a car that was waiting outside of the Communist Headquarters. They were instructed to enter the car by another armed Communist agent who made a great display of loading his pistol in front of them. They entered the car as ordered and were sped away to a destination unknown.

After approximately half an hour, my father and the other prisoners arrived at their destination. They were met by a Soviet KGB guard at a gate that led to a three story villa. My father knew at that moment that they had been handed over to the Budapest post of the KGB and felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He was led with the others to a room in the villa where they were searched and had their belts and shoelaces taken away. One by one, they were led out of that room to cells in a dungeon underneath the villa. My father was the last to be taken to his cell. My father's cell was #7...he remembers it vividly to this day. The guard opened the iron door and my father was made to enter. After his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light he saw that there were five other prisoners in the cell with him, one of which was Andras Kallay who was a distant relative of his. They stood frozen staring at each other in disbelief.

Andras then rushed over to my father and asked why he, too, had been brought to the dungeon and my father responded that it was due to his affiliation with the Boy Scouts. Because of the fabricated allegations against the Scouts, all of the young members were being imprisoned and tortured. Andras understood that to be true, as the other boys in the cell were also Boy Scouts. He then took my father under his wing and explained to him what he should expect over the course of the next few days. As Andras had been in the dungeon longer he was able to warn my father that every night the KGB agents would come in and start interrogations usually around 11pm. Those interrogations would last until 2 or 3 in the morning. He told my father to be brave and careful during his times being interrogated and to remember it was better to be brave and endure the torture than to be sent to Siberia for the next ten years.

My father greatly appreciated the advice and tried his best to mentally prepare for what was to come. He also struggled to understand why his relative was also incarcerated. He had been a war hero and on October 15, 1944 opened fire at the Royal Palace against the intruding Germans. He was later captured by the Germans and was a prisoner at Dachau...the Soviets should have considered his heroism against the Germans, yet here he was in an underground cell. Andras explained that when the Americans liberated Dachau in 1945, he too was let free and he and his father went to Capri where they were able to regain their health. When Andras returned to Hungary to reunite with his fiancee, the Soviets arrested him with the false allegations that he was returning to Hungary as a spy. It was clear that no one was safe from the Soviets. Anyone, at any time could be considered a spy or as working against the government and could be abducted and tortured.

My father spent three months in the KGB dungeon....the months of June, July and August of 1946. He remembers those months as being the most painful of his life. When he describes the cell to me, I cannot imagine how such a kind and gentle man could have ever been placed in conditions like that. Five men had to share a small, concrete cell with only a sink and a bucket. They had to sleep on the slab floors without any blankets or pillows. Every fourth night at 11pm my father was taken upstairs to be interrogated by Major Igor Simolov. He recalls being yelled at by the Major in Russian and whose interpreter spoke poor Hungarian. Between my father's hearing impairment and the broken Hungarian he was being communicated with, my father had an extremely difficult time understanding what the questions and allegations being thrown at him were. The office was thick with cigarette smoke which made him nauseous and he was terrified of responding in a way that would further incriminate him in their eyes. Twice he was made to sit on a stool with a Jupiter lamp aimed at his face with an agent standing behind him who would intermittently hit my father on the head, slap, punch and kick him. One evening, my father found himself so tired that he fell asleep on the cell floor and as he could not hear the agent calling his name to go upstairs for his interrogation, he was kicked by one of the guards in the face with a steel toed boot causing damage to his jaw. To this day my father will often cry out in his sleep from nightmares induced by memories of those months spent in the KGB dungeon. It breaks my heart that he ever had to endure such a nightmare....and to think that it would be just the tip of the iceberg....

The Persecution of a Boy Scout...

With the passing of each day, the Communists in Hungary were growing stronger and soon had their hands in everything. They controlled the police, the Ministry of the Interior, and the courts. Everyone had to have background checks and a clearance via the Communist committee. Fortunately, as my grandfather had acted against the Nazis, he was given clearance, yet sadly, it would soon become clear that this "clearance" would not truly be enough.

The Communist Political Police and the KGB started a wild witch hunt, and while they did capture and prosecute many war criminals and sadistic extremists, they also victimized many innocent Hungarians. They removed the people's ability to go to Church and religious schools. The youth were not allowed to socialize in groups such as the Boy Scouts, and anyone belonging to the noble classes were closely monitored. My father remembers this time as being an era of fear, hatred and revenge.

Despite the Communist ban on groups like the Boy Scouts, my father continued meeting with his friends and their troop during school hours. They needed something to stay sane during this time of turmoil, and going on hikes in the mountains, doing homework together, and hanging out making jokes and conversing was one of the only things my father and his friends had left of their youth. Although they were offered to join the Communist Youth Movement, my father and his cronies refused. They contacted the Boy Scouts World Headquarters in London to let them know that the Scouts had been banned in Hungary, yet sadly there was nothing that the London office could do.

It wasn't long before my father started hearing from his friends that several of the boys they knew, as well as some of their professors were being arrested for their involvement with the Boy Scouts. It was assumed by the Communists that since the Scouts were in connection with London, and therefore with the US by proxy, that the Scouts were acting as spies of some sort and the boys were being prosecuted and persecuted as such.

On June 7th, 1946, at about 4:00 in the afternoon, two plainclothes Communist agents came to my father's apartment, arrested and took him to their headquarters. He was interrogated until 10:00p.m. and was then roughly placed into a jail cell where he saw several of his friends who had been arrested earlier. His mother and sister were scared and outraged. They immediately went to seek help from Vice Admiral William Dietrich of the U.S. Navy who was shocked to hear that teenagers were being arrested. He immediately commissioned two 2 Jeeps with six American G.I.'s to go to the Communist Party Headquarters and get my father out. It was to no avail. When they arrived at headquarters the Communist agents denied that they were arresting and incarcerating teens and were turned away. My father spent ten days in the cell not knowing how or when he would ever get out.

On the tenth day, my father would be allowed out of his cell....but where he would be sent after that would turn out to be far more torturous than he could've imagined...

From Prince to Pauper

On October 30th of 1944 my grandmother celebrated her 40th birthday surrounded by close relatives. Although everyone would have preferred to stay together all evening, due to the citywide curfew, everyone had to leave before 5pm. The following day my grandfather was paid a visit by a sergeant friend who reported that the Gestapo had arrested Lt. General Janos Kiss and Major Vilmos Tartsay who were officers that my grandfather often met with. Due to the fact that he consorted with these men, it was a very plausible threat that my grandfather would also be persecuted by the Gestapo.

Immediately after the meeting with the sergeant, my father and his family once again started to pack up their belongings. While traveling by car was becoming more and more difficult for Hungarians due to the puppet government's denial to provide the populace with gasoline, my family was fortunate enough to have their chauffeur obtain 50 liters of gas from the black market. During the early morning hours of November 1, 1944 they were able to make their way out of Budapest to a remote country village called Nagybatony. The town was small, quiet, and did not have immediate access to a highway or a railroad which allowed it to stay under the radar of the Nazis and and away from military confrontation. My father and his family settled in this town and made an earnest attempt to feel safe once again.

One month later, the Soviet Red Army arrived in Budapest and on Christmas Eve the fighting began. Turmoil and destruction were to be found on every street and the Royal Palace was heavily damaged. This battle lasted until February 13th, and the knowledge that their home city was being destroyed lay heavily on my family's hearts. It was a gutwrenching holiday season for them. Luckily, they managed to stay in their small village until May 10th, 1945. At that point the family wanted to go to Pusztamonostor to survey the situation there. As they had lost their car in the interim, they had to travel by horse and buggy. When they arrived at their home in Pusztamonostor they found that it had been completely destroyed and ransacked. The retreating German Army had burned down their barns and silos and stolen all of their livestock, furniture and silverware. Beautiful portrait paintings of their ancestors were destroyed at the tip of bayonets, and antique Persian rugs had been pulled out and used underneath army vehicles by soldiers making oil changes and repairs. Anything else that the Germans had left behind was confiscated by the Soviets. They even so much as trampled and flattened out the lush botanical gardens on my family's property. Nothing was left unscathed.

As their home was no longer standing, my father and his family spent the night at their butler's house. The next morning they woke early to walk to the train station in order to return to Budapest. Once back in the city they discovered that their home there was being squatted in by a Communist apparatchik and they were unable to move back in. On their way to his aunt's house, my father remembers seeing his beautiful city broken and destroyed beyond recognition. All of the bridges across the Danube River had been blown up and the Royal Palace was just a ghost of its former glorious self.

Despite all of this, the schools in Budapest re-opened and my father completed the 5th grade and moved on to the 6th grade with high scores and grades. As the family had lost virtually everything, my grandfather started working as a truck driver and my aunt as a French and German teacher in order to make ends meet. The family went from generations of nobility to poverty in what seemed to be just the blink of an eye. The unimaginable had happened.