Eulogy for My Father

I've been asked to share the eulogy I wrote for my father's eulogy by family and friends who were not able to attend his funeral...I have decided to share it here as an epilogue of sorts and as final closure to his story. To everyone who has read this biography, I thank you from the bottom of my heart....

On April 14th, 1929 a little boy was born in Budapest, Hungary. A little boy known as Laszlo Kamillo Makay of Mako and of Gelej de genere Csanad Duke and Prince of Transylvania. A little prince who would grow up in the great palaces and castles of Hungary, dining in his homes as a child with historical figures like General Douglas MacArthur and Prince Edward of England. Who would grow to help his father save seven Jewish families from the Nazis, as well as help the United States defeat plans for a military base by the Soviet Army. A little boy who would eventually endure torture at the hands of the KGB and help his own sister escape Hungary to a life of freedom in the US.

My dad. The prince. A hero in his own right…after escaping Hungary he had one vision in mind. His California dream. He turned down the opportunity to live in Lord Rothemere’s manor in England and a chance to live near his sister in Boston because he wanted to be close to the beach…the warm weather….the palm trees…you know…all of the things we love so much about our city. ;) He came here with nothing but that dream…not a penny to his name…not a lick of English in his vocabulary. Nothing but faith. And he made his life here. He met a Cuban lady on the beach in Santa Monica who would become his wife of 43 years….and then…he had me. I know I came as a surprise and quite late in life…as I think he had come to the conclusion that he’d be an eternal bachelor and never have children….but God had a different plan. And thankfully so! I quite enjoy being alive…thank you Apa! ;)

And even though having kids was not in his original plan, he fell into the role like a dream. I was his little princess….and later I was to understand that I wasn’t just his little princess like all little girls are to their daddies…my father had bestowed upon me his lineage….he had gifted me by birthright the titles of Duchess and Princess….and regaled me with stories and pictures of our family heritage. All of which were fascinating to me no matter how often it was repeated. I imagined dancing in grand ball gowns with my daddy…twirling around to the likes of Liszt and Mozart….but we lived humbly, always…but most importantly …my dad lived by the credo of always being kind and humble despite his roots. He taught me by example. Never raising his hand or voice…forever patient and loving. Just as you all know him to be. And he was funny…and so smart. Sharp as a tack until his last day on earth. Imagine working full time at the age of 87! He should’ve been laying on a beach somewhere in retirement bliss…but he wanted to feel useful…..and he loved everyone that he worked with….they were like an extended family to him (and I want to thank you all so much for loving him as much as you did….his Mercury Media family…God bless all of you).

He was also something of a rascal and I don’t know if that’s a side many of you were aware of….but over the years we had our inside jokes and he’d make me laugh to the point of tears. He loved me and I loved him more than I can put into words….He was, after all, the first man to ever hold my heart. I think if he could’ve handed me the moon on a platter he would have. I actually know he would have. But since that’s an impossibility, he did the next best thing….he’d sneak out and buy me cheeseburgers and fries anytime I was hungry or didn’t like what my mom had made for dinner! =) He’d say he was going for a walk and head to Jack In The Box and smuggle me the goods with a wink and a high five. That was my dad.

My bond with this incredible man ran so deep that even before I was old enough to think of marriage I vowed to never change my last name when I someday did….I knew that the Makay name would someday die with him and I wanted to keep it alive… and that is what has been done…and now there’s a new generation of Makays….his legacy lives on.

My father truly touched everyone he ever came into contact with….the words I hear most often are “noble”, “kind”, “humble”, “warm”, “generous”, “thoughtful”, “gentleman”….and they are all spot on. He was all of that….and so much more. I was not ready to say good-bye to this extraordinary man….I don’t think I could’ve ever been…..but I know he’s always going to be here with me…with all of us…that he is surrounded by the loved ones that passed before him….that he left this earth as much of a beautiful and honorable Prince as he entered it and that someday we’ll be reunited again. Nagyon szeretlek, Apa…. nyugodjék békében herceg (I love you daddy....rest in peace dear prince).

I want to thank all of you for coming to send my father off….allowing him to go home to his heavenly Father. I know that all of you loved him dearly and he loved you all as well. Thank you.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince

Around the 5am hour on May 4th, my father passed away. I had been meaning to finish his story this year and he had sent me a couple of emails with notes about his life here in the States when he arrived from Hungary. The week before his passing he started complaining about chest pain and was admitted to the hospital for observation and a possible valve replacement surgery. During his few days at the hospital he suffered from multiple heart attacks. He was under sedation the entire time. The last time I saw him truly cognizant I had visited him with the kids, he was joking with them to make them feel less worried. He said to them "I will have my surgery on Monday and then BOOM! I will be all better. Do not worry!" He never did get all better. As I walked away from his hospital room, he was eating his lunch and he looked up at me and gave me a wink and a nod. That kind, most beautiful man...how I miss those winks of his.

The day before his passing, my father came to.....for just a few minutes he opened his eyes and was able to understand me when I told him that I loved him, that the kids loved him. He squeezed my hand. He was so uncomfortable with the tubes down his throat, he couldn't speak. He was so fiercely independent and seeing him like this was extremely painful. When it came time to leave, he gave me a thumbs up...it was really all he could do....it would be the last time I saw him alive. Shortly after 5am the next morning I got the call from the hospital...the doctor saying they had tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate him and giving me his condolences. Nothing prepares you for this. Nothing. Ever.

This past week I spoke with a friend who is deeply intuitive. She told me that my father would come to me in the form of something that flies...something that would make itself very obvious. For the past week a very loud little bird has perched itself on the trellis in my backyard at the same time every, single day. He is singing now as I type this. Living in LA we always have birds chirping...but this one is different in tone, and in volume...and in consistency. And has driven me to sit and write this final chapter.

I will not transcribe my father's last bits of information in my own voice, but rather will copy and paste his last emails to me and place them here. In his voice. His words. As it was his life.

To all of you who have read this far...thank you. It means a lot to me. My father was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life....he was selfless and kind, he was a gentleman of the oldschool. He taught me to be the person I am today. I adore him beyond measure.

Story‏ Laszlo Makay - Mercury Media 3/23/16 [Keep this message at the top of your inbox] To: Morayma Makay

January 29, 1957, finally the U.S. Navy’s ship after 10 days stormy voyage, middle of night, stopped a few miles before Newark, NJ. Many refugees who woke up went upstairs then we saw Newark in night. We felt exited. January 30th at 9 a.m. the ship started to move to the port. At the port, the Army’s orchestra welcomed us with the Hungarian anthem. Then we slowly moved down to the Army buses. The army officers handed President Eisenhower’s welcoming/greeting letter. We went to Camp Kilmer army base which that time was refugees reception center. There I was for 10 days. I enjoyed the military breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At the end a bus took me to the railway station. I was going to Los Angeles, California. To Cleveland, Chicago, El Paso 4th day early morning I arrived Union Station. There my cousin Magda waited for me. Taxi took us to her home. I got breakfast. Then we went to the rented furnished apartment. So started my life’s new chapter. I was so happy to see hard to believe the good life in America. In 1957, affordable furnished apartment. I started to learn English. Soon I got a job at Citizens National Bank/Crocker Bank, Supply department. I did such menial job. I was surprised that many Hungarians are lived in California. I found Hungarian church and Hungarian Club House. 2 Hungarian newspapers. I helped in founding a Hungarian Boy Scouts in Exile. Time passed. I could write and read English. Since English in not a phonetic language, so communicating in English was extremely difficult.

In 1950s the life and so the economic situation was fantastic. Every Sunday, after church (mass) in the parish hall we had good lunch for $1.00. Now it is $7.00. my first apartment rent was $40.00 and the utilities were included. Now it is unbelieve. Such apartments are $1,400.00 I could afford to have dinner in the restaurants. Then a good dinner cost me $2.00 or 3.00. everything were affordable. (except Rolls Royce) Postage stamp was 3 cents.Shirt was $ 4.00, and 5.00. time to time the Hungarians got married, I was many weddings. We had a great social events. Hungarian balls etc.

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My story‏ My story Laszlo Makay - Mercury Media 3/23/16 [Keep this message at the top of your inbox] To: Morayma Makay

In the meantime, for 11 years I had a girl-friend. We played tennis, ping-pong, went to skiing, traveling to many areas. The friendship ended because of her chain smoking. Once in July 4th 1972 Nemeth Vince and his wife invited me to a barbecue party in the Palisades Park. They asked me to help other friend, Nagy Laszlo who had a new friend Tere Kennedy. So I picked them up in the morning and went to the party. Tere is a cheerful, sweet young lady. Too sweet. Since then we were dating. We had a beautiful wedding in 11th street Methodist church. After wedding party we went to Santa Barbara honeymoon. Our first home was 1022 Second Street, Santa Monica. Since then we used visiting or accepting lunch or dinner invitations of Hungarian friends. The time passed too fast then my beautiful little Morayma arrived on May 25th. Coincidentally on my niece’s birthday. Morayma grew up too fast. Two years later, my mother came to visit my family. It was too sweet. Elementary school … we moved to 9th st. where I could still walk to the beach. I would take Morayma to walk in the Pallisades Park and feed the squirrels and watch her climb the trees, few year later again moved to Tampa FL.

Now again, I have to work. Make a list or I will tell you coming Sunday. Or I will type more tomorrow. I love you. I am always so proud of you. You are a strong woman like my mama was.

A New Life

Now comes the time where my posts become less frequent as I have my dad work on questions that I have about his first impressions of life in America. I want to know everything that he felt, saw, did, and encountered in this new country that he would call home. My father is oftentimes quiet and reserved and while I know what my life was like with him, I want to be able to purvey to you, and most of all, record for posterity, the emotions that he felt and still feels as a new American.

This past Sunday I sat with him and got his very first thoughts on life in America as a new refugee. He at times would tear up, and other times glow with the remembered excitement of what it was like to be in this new, free, land.

My father boarded the train in New Jersey to head to Los Angeles with nothing more than a small pack of toiletries and a change of clothes. He remembers looking out the train window at the landscape whizzing by and taking in the new scenery, architecture, people passing by like specks in the wind. It was so interesting and he was fascinated. The train stopped at few times but he didn't get a chance to disembark until he got to Chicago. There he would be transferring to another train and would have to wait four hours for it to arrive. Even though it was February and freezing cold, he took the opportunity to explore this modern American city. He walked around Chicago and remembers as if it were yesterday, how beautiful it was. He was in awe of the beautifully lit restaurants, bars, shops, and galleries. After so many years of living in war-torn Hungary, this city was dazzling and magical.

Before boarding onto his next train, my dad took a moment to write and mail a postcard to his mom whom he dearly was missing and who he wished could see all that he was seeing.

The next leg of his trip would take him to El Paso, Texas. There he'd have another long layover and once again he took the opportunity to explore this city. He was intrigued by how close he was to the Mexican border, and saw trains departing for exotic locations. Here was a city from the Wild West of lore, and he was taking it all in and not wasting a second doing so. He had never seen a desert, cacti, or flatland like he was seeing then in Texas and it was so interesting to him. Like a different planet!

It wasn't long before he was once again, back on a train and heading to the final destination of Los Angeles, California. He arrived at Union Station on February 19th of 1957 at 6 a.m. and was greeted by his cousin, Magda. At the time, the area around Union Station was lovely, well kept and "quite fancy". He noticed right away how well dressed everyone was, ladies wore long gloves, and the men were extremely polite. He noticed how everyone would nod their heads in greeting and stopped to tell me how much things have changed since then....I could not agree more.

Magda hired a taxi and together they went to the apartment that she had rented for him only two blocks away from her own home. After eating a "good, big, American breakfast", my dad and his cousin checked out his new place and he started to settle in. One of the most pleasant surprises he said he remembered having in his new place was the fact that now he could have hot water in the bathroom 24 hours a day and 7 days a week! In Hungary, people only had the gift of hot water once a week, on Sundays. He was so excited to have this small luxury, that every day until he found a job, he would take a long soak in his tub full of scalding water.

After a few weeks, my father was able to find a job at Crocker Bank in the supply department/mail room. It was menial labor, but he was grateful and worked hard. It wasn't long before my dad met a nice German fellow and they became friends and were able to communicate as my father still barely spoke a word of English, but he could speak fluent German. He also started to attend St. Stephen's Catholic Church in downtown Los Angeles where there was a thriving Hungarian community. While the mass was in Latin (it wasn't until Pope John the 23rd that masses would be able to be given in a language other than Latin) he was still able to have Sunday lunch with the congregation after mass. Everyone spoke Hungarian and shared stories of their motherland over plates piled high with Wienerschniztel, potatoes, green peas, sausage, and poppyseed cake. Everyone was very welcoming, and my father started to feel more and more comfortable and at home.

Things were all falling into place, yet my father's life in Hungary would continue to haunt him. He often would wake up screaming and drenched in sweat from PTSD nightmares of his time spent in the KGB dungeons. To this day, he still has these nightmares from time to time. He lives with nothing but kindness and no resentment, yet his subconscious still deals with the terror.

California Bound

Once my father and his shipmates and fellow refugees were allowed to disembark they were once again greeted by the melancholic yet sweet strains of the Hungarian National Anthem being played by an Army band. Everyone stood with wide eyes and expectant hearts awaiting their next step in this new country.

The refugees were all assigned a number once off of the ship and had to line up numerically in order to pass through the checkpoint and register their status. Once through the checkpoint they walked out into a parking lot where several Army busses stood waiting to take them all to their next destination. After about an hour's ride, my father's bus arrived at Camp Kilmer, which was a large army base that had been converted into a refugee reception camp. My father was a assigned to a two bed room which he would share with a roommate and his sister and her family were assigned larger accommodations. They came together in the mess hall for lunch and everyone ate with gusto as the food was well prepared, fresh and plentiful. At the time my father had lost so much weight he was a mere 123lbs. and he was eager and ready to pack the weight back on!

After their lunch, everyone lined up once again to go to the commissary where they would receive a package with new underwear, shirts, socks, soap, toothpaste and toothbrushes. It wasn't much, but it felt luxurious and they were free and safe.

The following day, all of the refugees had to go through a thorough background check, health screening and official registration process. The refugees who already had family or relatives living in the United States were being allowed to leave the refugee reception camp sooner. Fortunately for my father, his cousin in California sponsored him so he would soon be on his way to Los Angeles. His sister and her family received an invitation to live in Boston where not longer after, Eva would gain employment at Harvard University in the International Affairs Office. So, once again, my father would be saying good-bye to family as he boarded the bus to the Newark railway station and his sister boarded another bus towards Boston. A new chapter was about to begin.

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.

California Dreaming in Vienna

The first few days in Vienna passed like a whirlwind for my father. On their first day there, my father, his sister, brother-in-law and niece went to the Police Headquarters in order to apply for and receive their refugee ID cards which afforded them free transportation around the entire city. After receiving his ID card my father parted ways with his family and headed straight to the American Embassy to meet with the Air Attache. The deputy Air Attache welcomed my father and named him an ex-Air Force Intelligence Agent because of the undercover work that he had done while still in Hungary. As a thanks for his efforts, my father was promised that he would receive help in getting to the United States.

Feeling positive about his meeting, my father went back to his accommodations to meet with his family and after a nice lunch they decided to make use of their free transportation and see the city. Vienna was preparing itself for the Christmas holidays and the city looked magical adorned with festive decorations. On street corners he saw boy and girl scouts with signs reading "Ungarnhilfe" (Help Hungary) and boxes ready for donations. It was so touching for my father to see and experience the love and compassion that the Austrians had for the Hungarian refugees such as himself and his family.

On his second day in Vienna, my dad was able to visit the office of the Order of Malta. As his great uncle was a Knight of Malta, the Order was happy to offer and provide financial help for the Makays. Finally it felt like the pieces of a long broken-apart puzzle were starting to fall into place and that life would soon become functional again.

When Christmas Day arrived, my father and almost every Hungarian refugee in Vienna attended mass at St. Stephen's Cathedral. The ceremony was beautiful, yet everyone sat in their pews in tears....this special holiday reminding them of loved ones left behind in war torn Hungary.

The first of January, 1957 signaled the start of a new year...a year of freedom for my father and all of the refugees. Plans were being made to make the long journey to the United States. My father had his heart set on starting his new life in the "Land of the Free". He was so dead set on living in America that when a secretary from the British Embassy paid him a visit conveying an invitation from Lord Rothemere, who was a good friend of my grandfather, to stay in a private suite in his castle in England, my father politely declined. My father had dreams of warm weather and sandy beaches. His cousin, Magda, was already living in Los Angeles. He was 27 years old and ready to see what the next chapter of his life would bring in a new land. The thought of living in a castle in a cold climate again was not what was calling him. He also knew that he wanted to live independently and not as a permanent guest. Lord Rothemere was gracious and my father felt nothing but gratitude for the offer, yet he stood his ground. He was going to America!

A Taste of Freedom and Royal Treatment

Exhausted and traumatized, my father and his companions were transported to the nearest Austrian town of Andau. The Red Cross had set up a refugee reception center in the auditorium of a local school where they would treat, feed and register everyone until they were transported to their next location. My father remembers seeing tables laden with foods he had not been able to purchase or eat in Hungary for years. Chocolates, oranges, bananas, cofee and tea...It felt like Christmas to have the opportunity to enjoy these treats along with their newfound freedom.

After Eva had her cut and bleeding feet cleaned and bandaged, and everyone had eaten, my father and his family got in line to register. Thus far there were already 100,000 refugees who had entered Austria and the number was growing. After my father gave his name to the Red Cross attendants at the registration table he was told to go outside and get in another line to wait for transportation to a refugee camp. As he waited in line a Hungarian speaking Austrian official started walking towards him calling his name. My father stepped forward and the following conversation took place:

Laszlo: "I am Makay, Laszlo."

Official: "Are you related to Makay,Istvan, Duke Csanad?"

Laszlo: "Yes. He is my father."

Official: "Welcome to Austria. I am glad that you were able to cross over safely. Your Highness, would you mind following me to my office?"

Laszlo: "Sir, I want to remain incognito. My parents are still back in Hungary."

Official: "Do not worry, your Highness, we will not publish your arrival in the papers."

Laszlo: "Thank you very much, sir. I am also not here alone. My sister and her family crossed with me."

Official: "No problem, your Highness. Please find them so they may join us."

Laszlo: "Thank you very much!"

My father then located and waved down his sister and she, her husband and daughter stepped out of their line and followed the official to his office. They were asked to sit for a moment and when he returned he let my father know that he had spoken with the President of the German Red Cross and that her chauffeur would be taking them to Vienna to stay at the Spitz Kasarne as they did not want my father and his family to have to stay at a refugee camp. My father was overcome with gratitude and gave his heartfelt thanks to this official who was saving him and his family from anymore undue hardship.

After a short while, the President of the German Red Cross and her driver came to get them from the office and they were on their way to Vienna. From the car windows my father marveled at how beautiful and well kept the Austrian towns looked. As they entered the Viennese city limits he was dazzled by the well-lit, beauty of the city. Having lived for so long in war-torn Budapest, it was difficult to remember what a city could look like in its unscathed splendor.

Upon arrival at the Spitz Kasarne, my father and family were met by members of the German Boy Scouts who opened a VIP suite for them. It was luxurious, clean and spacious. My father was overjoyed and grateful yet also felt as if he would break down emotionally when he thought of his parents still stuck in Hungary and living in complete destitution, while he was now in a free country being treated royally as he so well deserved to be treated.