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.

Crossing to Freedom

Hours passed and the group kept walking and praying that they would not be discovered. Daylight started to subside and evening was upon them when they heard the rumble of military tanks approaching. Without a moment of hesitation, my father and his companions all jumped underneath dense bushes that were lining the road and held their breath. Within minutes three Soviet tanks drove past them, less than 200 yards from where they lay hidden. After about half an hour, when the coast looked clear, they climbed back out of their hiding places and continued their trek.

Before long, night was upon them and they only had the light of the moon to illuminate their path. My father and the others made their way through cornfields, pastures, forests, ploughed up fields and over frozen creeks. Everyone was exhausted but knew that they could not afford to stop and rest. On they went, throughout the night until dawn began to break. Knowing that once again they would have to walk in the daylight, more exposed to the danger of being caught, everyone became desperate. They knew that even if they got to the border, crossing it by the light of day would be unsafe.

Just as everyone was starting to feel as if they could not go on, a lone woodsman (who I cannot help but think was another angel watching over my father and his companions) walked up to them and advised that they not walk any further. He led them to his remote cabin. It was 8 o'clock in the morning at this point, and everyone knew that this would be their only chance to rest in relative safety. The woodsman's wife made a hearty breakfast and after eating, everyone fell asleep on the floor. In the late afternoon, they woke up to a nice dinner and pooled together all of their money to give to the woodsman and his wife. They knew that their Hungarian currency would get them nowhere once they reached the West, so better to leave it with someone who had shown them so much kindness. Once it became dark enough they set off again with the woodsman who generously offered to guide them to the border. A short distance away from the Austrian border, the woodsman told my father and his group to walk straight ahead with caution, wished them luck, and made his way back home.

The group carefully made its way across an empty field zone that had been clear cut and before they had a chance to get to the other side of the field, the Soviets shot up flares....less that 300 yards behind them. The dark of night that was keeping them hidden was now as bright as day and the group was exposed. Terrorized, they ran towards the Austrian border which was just over 200 yards in front of them. Eva's feet were bleeding yet she managed to keep up with everyone. As they were crossing the final stretch towards freedom, they heard the Soviet soldiers start shooting. Would they lose their lives only inches away from freedom? Suddenly, a pair of Austrian border guards ran up to my father and his family and shouted for them to hurry and run towards them. They sprinted and made it across to Austria where the guards made it clear that they were safe and under their protection.

My father, his family and a few others hugged each other with tears of joy and relief. They were finally free after eleven years of oppression, yet their elation would be short lived for as they were celebrating this moment of victory they heard more gunshots and the other refugees that had been walking behind them, tragically, were robbed of their chance to gain their freedom.

A Solemn Farewell...

A few miles prior to reaching Budapest, the milk truck that my father was traveling in was stopped at a Soviet checkpoint. The soldiers were looking for contraband weapons and my father sat struck with fear that they would find out who he was. The truck driver insisted that everyone on his vehicle were his assistants and, once more but with the grace of God, they were able to pass through the checkpoint and on to Budapest.

My father got off of the truck at the railway station and walked 21 kilometers to his sister's apartment. At the time, Eva was already 5 months pregnant and his niece, Judit, was 8 years old. He found that they were all ready to leave and early the next morning (November 22nd) they were on their way. They took the long walk back to Kelenfold Railway Station arriving at approximately 9:30 a.m. They found an enormous crowd of people already waiting in the station. At 10:15 a.m. the train approached and everyone anxiously got to their feet. To their dismay, the crowd realized that the approaching train was already overpacked with passengers.

My father and his family were struck with the fear and realization that they may not be able to get on this train. People starting running towards the train cars and forcing themselves in however they could. All around was panic and chaos. My father and his family remained as calm as they could and walked alongside the train cars observing and calculating how they could manage to get inside. They found that one train car towards the middle had a little room left in it. Some of the passengers inside started motioning to him to climb in through the windows...they starting offering their hands for help. Pali and my dad lifted up Eva and then Judit into the train via the windows after which they followed in the same manner. They were packed tightly, unable to move, but grateful to have found a place inside the train car. As my father looked out the window he realized that the steam locomotive was being disconnected from the rest of the train. Would they end up stuck, like sardines in a can, at a station soon to be overtaken by the Soviets? He could not help but imagine the worst.

As panic was once again mounting inside the train, my father noticed that a new, electric engine, was being connected to the train and by 11 a.m. the train was on its way moving faster and ever faster. They were headed West and my father stayed at his spot by the window watching his homeland go by in a blur. He was leaving his country. The country where he had lived for 27 years, 15 of which had been happy and normal, 1 year of German occupation, and the other 11 of insufferable Soviet rule. His emotions at that moment were mixed, and painful. The train continued on gaining momentum and everyone in the train car prayed as they knew they were still in danger.

The train didn't make many stops, but it did halt at a few larger towns like Gyor where some people disembarked to catch another train to Sopron. My father and his family stayed in their train car until they got to Horvatkimle. That is where all of the remaining passengers got out as they were warned by the conductor that at the very next stop, Mosonmaggarovar, there would be a Soviet checkpoint. Everyone walked out of the station and headed West by foot. It was 3 p.m. at that point.

After a few miles the passengers started to separate and my dad and family found themselves walking with a group of thirteen other people. Among them were three little children ages 3,4, and 5. They walked 45 miles towards Austria always with the hankering fear that at any point Soviet soldiers could show up and they would fall into captivity or worse. My father remembers how quietly his niece and the other three children walked alongside their parents for hours on end without complaint. Somehow they understood that they must remain quiet and that they were in great danger. Everyone was vigilant and kept their ears and eyes wide open lest they hear or see soldiers coming their way. It was a solemn farewell to their Motherland.

The Journey Towards Freedom Begins...

When the fighting ended, on November 10th, my grandfather, Istvan, was forced to return to Dunaharaszti where he and my grandmother were living. He was under Communist police surveillance and expected to return from Budapest immediately. On November 13th, my father and grandmother headed to Dunaharaszti to join him and wait on further developments.

Six days later, a young boy arrived at the small house with a message for my dad. The boy was one of Eva's neighbors and had made the trip from Budapest by bicycle. The note that he delivered was for my dad and it simply said that he must return to work. My father knew immediately what the message really meant as it was written in his brother-in-law's hand....it meant that he and Eva had decided that it was time to leave Hungary and head to the free West. Now my father would have to make the decision to go with them or stay behind with his parents.

The decision proved to be extremely difficult. My father asked his parents to join him, Pali and Eva and leave together, but they declined. My grandfather was already very ill as he had been administered poison while in the forced labor camp. The poison was slowly thickening his blood and would eventually kill him. He knew he would not be able to make the journey and that he and his wife would only slow things down for the others. He told my dad to go, as he was still young and would have no future if he stayed in Hungary. The threat of being taken back to a forced labor camp or worse was also plausible. My father had to face the fact that he would have to leave his parents behind and possibly never see them again. He also knew that he would be thrust into a foreign land not being able to hear or understand the new language which only added to his anxiety, but he knew he had to do what was best and made his decision to go. His father's words, "Be brave, and you will overcome. God bless you and help you. Go ahead in whichever direction life points you.", would stay in his heart and mind forever.

Tearfully, my grandmother started to put items on the kitchen table...toothpaste, a toothbrush, a towel, underwear, some shirts, socks and a shaving kit....all of the things my father would be able to carry in a small case. My father got dressed and together they walked to the nearest roadway. In about 10 minutes a milk truck stopped to let some people on. My father hugged and kissed his parents good-by with an aching heart, then climbed into the back of the truck and sat down watching as they waved farewell until they became nothing more than specks in the horizon.

Hearing this from my father and writing it down is more than I can bear at the moment. As a mother, I cannot imagine how painful it must be to watch your child leave not knowing if you would ever see them again or if they would actually make it alive to their destination. As a child, I cannot imagine the converse. To leave behind aging and ill parents in a country overrun by a nefarious government. It kills me that such a kind and lovely soul as he is should've ever had to endure so much heartbreak. Ever.

Troops that Never Arrived...

After a while, the sound of gunfire and tanks started to be commonplace in Budapest. Life before the ravages of war was becoming nothing more than a distant memory and my father, along with the rest of his countrymen, were starting to wonder if peace would ever prevail in Hungary.

On October 29th, 1956 Hungarians were given the possibility of hope. My father and his family sat around the radio listening to a broadcast on "The Voice of America" via London's BBC Free Europe Radio. The news sounded promising as they were told that Cardinal Mindszenty had been freed and was returning to Budapest. The days that followed were quiet...there was a hiatus from the constant din of gunfire...and the people were starting to feel somewhat optimistic. All of the prisons were opened and prisoners were set free. The Soviet High Command promised that they would soon retreat from Budapest. It truly seemed as though everything was headed in the right direction. Sadly, this "light at the end of the tunnel" would soon be extinguished. Before long, the people of Hungary got news that instead of retreating, the Soviets were moving in even more....new Soviet reinforcements had started to enter Hungary from Romania and the Soviet Union.

On November 2nd, Day of the Dead, the scene in the city was grim and heartwrenching. My father remembers with emotion, seeing thousands of women lining the streets holding candles in memory of their husbands, sons, fathers, uncles, brothers...all fallen heroes. Thousands of Freedom Fighters had lost their lives trying to regain hold of their country and yet more and more Soviet troops continued to pour into Hungary.

On November 3rd, my grandparents left their home in Dunaharaszti to visit my father and his sister in Budapest. Having the family all together felt like a blessing. That evening, they gathered once again around the radio to hear the speech Cardinal Mindszenty was to deliver to the nation. Would they be able to hold onto any glimmer of hope? After the speech, they sat and tried to analyze what they had just heard. It was with heavy hearts that they had taken in the fact that the Hungarian Uprising had taken place at what would turn out to be an "inconvenient" time....as across the ocean the American Presidential election and on yet another continent the Suez Canal crisis were taking place simultaneously. It seemed that the situation with the Suez Canal was more important and therefore British and French troops were sent to Egypt while Hungary was left flailing. No one dared asked what would happen next.

On Sunday, November 4th at 4 o'clock in the morning everyone was literally shaken out of bed by a barrage of explosions emanating from the Soviet artillery. My father and his family ran into the sitting room to check on each other and turn on the radio in order to find out what had just happened. At 4:30 a.m., the Prime Minister, Imre Nagy, announced in a worldwide address that the Soviet Empire had officially attacked Budapest to obliterate any last vestiges of freedom. This message was repeated in English, French, Spanish, Italian, and German. The Freedom Fighters were sending their desperate appeal for help....my father remembers hearing the words "HELP! HELP! HELP!" coming from the radio as he sat next to it with his ear upon its side.

The news reported that the Peace Delegation which had been invited to the Soviet Headquarters in Tokol for discussion had been interrupted, disbanded and all members of the Peace Delegation arrested. Kruschev had decided that there would be no way he would let Hungary regain its freedom. Soviet helicopters began shooting all over the city and everyone was forced to stay in underground shelters. The heavy fighting continued for six days and the Freedom Fighters did all they could while waiting for the UN to send in peace keeping troops....troops that never arrived.

Saved by God's Grace....

On October 25th, during the first opportunity that presented itself, my father left Oroszlanbanya to try to make his way back to Budapest. He easily found transportation to the town of Bicske where he planned to transfer onto another train to Budapest.

When the train to Budapest finally arrived and everyone had boarded, my father recalls that all of his fellow passengers were discussing the uprising. No one knew what exactly had happened or what was going on in their city. Everyone was attempting to analyze the situation and interpret the events as best as they could. The anticipation to get to their destination and witness in person what was really happening was palpable in those train cars.

About 13 kilometers from the Budapest-Kelenfold Station, the train came to an abrupt halt. The passengers were told that the train would not be allowed to continue on to the city. My father took it upon himself to find the conductor and asked what had just happened and what they were supposed to do. The conductor responded that he was planning to disconnect the postal car from the rest of the train and continue on that way in order to make it home to his family. He told my father that if he acted quickly he could join him and complete the journey to Budapest. Hearing this, my father and a few other passengers jumped onto the postal car and they sped away with the conductor to Kelenfold Station. Once there, they discovered the station packed with people. The city was now in curfew and no one dared leave in order to go to their homes as the Soviets were threatening to shoot anyone they saw on the street after curfew.

My father walked to the station exit and looked out at the empty street ahead. Three young men let my father know that that particular area around the station was controlled by the freedom fighters and urged him to leave the station with them. He did. They walked out into the desolate streets keeping close to the walls and shadows in order to remain unseen. My dad remembers the city gave the impression of being haunted in its solitude and silence. All of a sudden, the small group's progress was halted as a car drove up to them. They stood petrified not knowing who was inside. Thankfully, the men in the car were supporters of the freedom fighters and offered my father a ride to his sister's home. Just as my dad thought he was finally on the last leg of his trip, the car was stopped by a band of freedom fighters warning them that Soviet tanks were coming and that they must immediately turn around.

My father did not want to retrace his steps so he got out of the car, and hunkered down in the shadows. The last thing that he wanted was to come face to face with the Soviets. He stood in the gateway of a darkened building and looked around for safe sidestreets down which he could escape. Finally he realized that just a few buildings away was the apartment where his mother's former doctor's widow lived. He knocked on her door and was let in. As he stepped through the threshold a resounding blast of gunfire was heard that rattled the entire building. No one dared look to see what had happened. My father finally fell into a restless sleep on the widow's sofa. He awoke the next morning at 7am but could not leave her home as curfew would not lift until 8:30am. He sat and had breakfast with the widow's nephew, and as soon as he could, he left in order to find his own family.

Once on the street he walked back towards the building where he had gotten out of the car. The same building where he stood surveying the neighborhood to find his best way out the night before. My father remembers his blood running cold as he saw that a huge gaping hole had appeared in the front of that building overnight. He knew in that instant that only minutes after he had left that building's gate, and just as he was walking into the widow's apartment, a Soviet tank had shot at the edifice. It was but by the grace of God that my father had acted as quickly as he had. A moment or two of hesitation would have seen him blown away along with the front of the building that he was standing next to. Hearing him recall this story gives me chills and a feeling I cannot describe in the pit of my stomach. Once again, he had angels watching over him. I have no doubt of this.

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.

My Father the Prince...My Father the Freedom Fighter.

Once in a while, the workers were allowed to go back to Sap from the factory in Debrecen and visit with their family members. My father looked forward to those days and the chats he could have with his mother over dinner. During one such dinner my father found out that Stalin had died and that the new Soviet leadership had executed Stalin's KGB chief, Beriya. Dare he hope that things would start to change for the better? It would be too soon to tell. During another weekend in Sap with his mother, he was woken early in the morning by to hear the news delivered by a kindhearted postal employee (who was one of the only people in town with access to a radio), that Rakosi was gone and Imre Nagy would be the new prime minister.

They both hoped beyond hope that soon Hungary would go back to being what it once was. At 5 o'clock that evening, they joined the postman at his home and they gathered around the radio to hear the news and Imre Nagy's speech. He gave a 30 minute speech in which he told everyone that he had taken over Rakosi's post, that he abhorred the injustices that had taken place and that he wanted to restore law and order. He commanded that all forced labor camps and illegal internment camps be shut down. My father was flooded with relief, and my grandmother cried tears of joy at this news. This meant they would be able to leave their forced labor camps in Debrecen and Sap and finally be reunited with my grandfather after five long years.

Gradually, the camps were shut down and the prisoners/forced labor workers were released. My father and grandmother found themselves back in Budapest after three arduously long years, yet they were only given permission to stay there for three days to sort out their affairs. My father's sister and brother-in-law found them a small house in the outskirts of Budapest in a town called Dunaharaszti where they were soon joined by my grandfather. My father found employment with a Geodetic Surveyors Group as an assistant to a surveyor who needed help with some outdoor projects.

After a while working in the outdoors, my father was given a position working in the Geodetic Surveyors' offices. My father was happy to accept more responsibility and be able to work indoors....that is until the day he found out that the company he was working for was making maps for the Red Army. He felt that by working with this group of people, he was collaborating with the enemy. Guilty by association. My father had to make a decision and battled with himself...should he quit? Should he stay and continue to make some money to help his family? Finding another job would be practically impossible, and going back to the University would not be allowed as he was blacklisted as an ex-deportee. In the end, he decided to stay put, but his conscience would not allow him to stay "silent". With extreme caution, my father was able to make copies of the new military road maps and every Saturday would forward them to the US Air Force Attache. In this way, my father started his lone freedom fight against the Communist military. He was following in the footsteps of his ancestors who since 1301 always did whatever they could to fight for Hungary's independence and freedom. He was only 25 years old.

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.

Saved from the Horrors of Nazi Germany....

In 1942, the Makays grew tired of splitting their time between Cegled and Budapest and made the decision to stay in Budapest full-time. My father enrolled in the exclusive and very strict Budapest Benedictine school to continue his studies, and in the evenings the family would gather to listen to the BBC's radio reports to keep abreast of what was happening. In early March of 1944 the Makays were feeling optimistic enough to celebrate my father's 15th birthday a month early. They rented a box at the National Theater and watched a play alongside other dignitaries. That would be my father's first official public appearance.

The family continued to live with as much of a semblance of normalcy as possible, and were grateful that at that time, Hungary was relatively quiet compared to other neighboring nations. Sadly, not long after my father's birthday celebration, everything took a turn for the worst. On Sunday, March 19,1944 Germany invaded and occupied Hungary. The Prime Minister at the time, Miklos Kallay, escaped in the early morning hours and sought asylum at the Turkish Embassy. While this was all happening, my father was attending mass at his school's chapel, and once mass was over he and his classmates were greeted with the shocking news that the Germans and Gestapo had arrived in their city.

When my father got home, he found his parents devastated, and his uncle, Kamillo, shaken at the news that his friends had been arrested by the Gestapo. The family's somber mood only grew as they discovered the very next day that Edmund Veesenmayer, who was Hitler's personal representative and Gauleiter had arrived in Budapest accompanied by General Winkelman the Gestapo Chief. All Hungarian Jews were then ordered to wear a yellow Star of David and register themselves with the new Nazi government. The populace went into a panic.

My grandfather started taking meetings with several of his Jewish friends who came to him for help. The Makays had to be very cautious about who was seen entering their home or calling them as they suspected their phones of being bugged. Although he knew he would be risking his life as well as that of his own family, my grandfather made the decision to do whatever he could to save the people who had come to him for help. He had the family's loyal butler drive six Jewish families and their belongings to a remote hunting lodge in the mountains that the Makays owned. Once the families were settled in the lodge, my grandfather warned them to make sure all windows and doors remain closed at night so that no light would escape and draw attention. He promised to return the next day with news and more provisions.

When the next day arrived, the Makays not only came back to the hunting lodge with whatever they could to make the families feel comfortable, but they also brought along one more family. As they were getting ready to leave for the lodge earlier, a young Jewish boy arrived at their residence on his bike pleading for my grandfather to save his family. So, once again, the butler drove his truck to pick up the boy's family in a town called Nagykata and took them up to the join the other six families. This made for close quarters with 35 men, women and children in a four bedroom dwelling. Extra beds were brought in, sheets were hung up to create separate rooms, two outdoor toilets were built to accommodate the extra occupants, and my father attempted to occupy the kids by playing with them.

My grandfather had the difficult task of telling all of the families that now Hungary was completely under Nazi occupation. He had to ask them not to use the fireplace or wood stove for fear that smoke would escape the chimneys and attract the attention of German planes or surveillance patrols. Instead of cooking for themselves, my grandfather told the families that he would have his chef prepare them their daily meals which would be delivered by either the butler or my father. They would be given a petrol heater to keep warm and the children would have to play indoors and quietly. He offered them what little hope he knew of himself...that the Anglo-American forces as well as the Soviet Red Army were both advancing and that soon they would be liberated from German rule. He warned them that should they hear any suspicious sounds coming from outside the lodge that they should all immediately leave the building and run into the woods in different directions and find cover. Seven families to run in seven different directions....always on alert, always fearing the worst.

My grandfather kept true to his word, and the families were fed daily by his chefs. They did not have access to kosher foods, but he provided them the cleanest foods possible and made sure the children had plenty of milk and fruit. The butler made it a point to take different modes of transportation, horse and buggy or motorbike, and varied his routes daily on his trips to deliver food to the families in order to avoid raising suspicion from the Germans who had declared martial law which stated that violators were to be promptly executed.

The seven Jewish families lived in my family's hunting lodge from March 23, 1944 until March 2, 1945 for a total of 344 days. While they lived there in hiding, the Makays bore witness in horror to so many other Jewish families being taken to Germany or to forced labor camps in and around Hungary, and feared themselves that somehow it would be discovered that they were hiding those seven families. Luckily, the families remained undetected and safe, yet sadly, this would not be the end of the nightmare that Europe was enduring.

Of Family, Altruism, and a Crumbling Europe

Not long after my father lost his hearing, the Makay family was subjected to more changes, more turmoil, more life events than they could not have imagined would happen in a lifetime, much less in such rapid succession.

In the Spring of 1939, after nearby Czechoslovakia was occupied by Hitler and split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Hungary was able to re-establish a Polish-Hungarian border. Since one of the Makay family relatives was Istvan (Stefan) Bathory, one of the most beloved Kings of Poland, my grandfather was elated and went to celebrate this victory with the Polish Generals. Sadly, this celebration was to be short lived. On September 1, 1939 war broke out between Germany and Poland, and while the Polish Army fought valiantly, they could not overcome the new German Wermacht. Germany's tactical Blitzkrieg broke up the Polish resistance and Poland was split between Germany and Russia. At this point, thousands of Polish refugees poured into Hungary and Romania. My grandfather and great-uncles rushed to the Polish border to help as many of the refugees as they could.

My grandfather was able to offer sanctuary to three Polish colonels and their families. He had them move into the elegantly appointed apartments that had been vacated by the Austrian diplomats who had left Hungary to find refuge of their own in Canada, as they were anti-Nazi. The Austrian Embassy was closed down and the feeling of impending doom was becoming more and more palpable. My father, his family, and all of Hungary were caught between two vicious, totalitarian forces, Germany and the Soviet Union.

During this time, my father, who was 10 years old, befriended the Polish colonels' children, as they spoke some French and my father was fluent in the language. He played with them and tried to make them feel as comfortable as a young child is capable of. His mother invited them all in to their home for dinner, and my father remembers all of the wives crying, brokenhearted at having to leave their homes, and possessions behind with no knowledge of if they would ever be able to return. On Sundays, the Makays took these families to Church with them and on outings to the Zoo, the Royal Palace, and Cegled. When Christmas came around, all of the families were invited to spend the holidays with the Makays at Keszthely, and while the children tried to make the best of it, my father remembers the atmosphere being rather somber as the parents were all too wise as to what was brewing on the political front as well as melancholy about holidays past in a home country they were not able to return to. New Year's Eve was just as dismal with the women worrying about their childrens' futures and the men trying to analyze the political situation and what it would mean for all of them.

After the holidays, the families returned to Cegled and the children went back to their studies. Besides learning their lessons, my father and his sister were also taught protocol and etiquette. On Sundays, they continued to visit the Polish colonels' families and play with the children, until my grandfather was able to secure safe passage for the Polish families to Ankara, Turkey with help of a high powered Turkish attache. Life was made to be as normal as it could be under the circumstances, even though my father remembers that more and more government VIPs were coming in to consult with his father from Budapest and both my father and his sister were instructed to keep quiet about who was visiting. The months to follow would see Europe broken and faltering further and further with the passing of each day, and the Makays would find themselves saving more families from certain death.