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.

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....

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.

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.

How the World Went Silent Overnight....

As if living with the fear that life as they knew it would soon be over was not enough, on Christmas Eve of 1938 my father and his family were dealt a tremendous, personal blow.

It all started off innocently enough...the Makay family had gathered at their home in Pusztamonostor for the holidays. My father was 9 years old. It was December 24th and they were enjoying a family dinner while the children excitedly anticipated the arrival of their gifts from Little Jesus. After dinner they were led by their butler to the green salon as the custom in Hungary was that the children were not allowed to view the Christmas tree until later in the evening, and the tree was holding state in the red salon. At 7:30 that evening, a handbell was rung and the children were allowed to enter the red salon and were greeted by a beautifully, candle-lit Christmas tree. The family gathered around and sang caroles and recited poems while my father and his sister opened and played with their new toys. The atmosphere was warm, cheerful and inviting...there was not a hint of what was about to turn their bright holiday so dark. At 10pm everyone said their good-nights and the children went to bed.

Shortly before midnight, my father remembers waking up in a panic. He was having difficulty breathing, and felt an increasing amount of pain with every breath he took. He was unable to make a sound when he tried to shout out for help. As if by divine providence, his sister walked into the room to check on him and saw that my father's face was turning a dark shade of blue and that he was starting to suffocate. She ran, horrified, to her parent's chambers and told them that Laszlo couldn't breathe. The adults, including their Uncle Miklos, ran to see what was wrong and realized that my father was near death, struggling to take a breath and losing consciousness. Within a second, Uncle Miklos had taken a nearby pair of scissors and clipped off one of my grandmother's fingernails and had her shove her finger down my father's throat in order to open his airways by force. My father then was able to regain his ability to breathe. Uncle Miklos suspected that the swelling in my father's throat was being caused by the onset of diphteria.

While my father lay in his bed with his mother and sister by his side, my grandfather called for a doctor to come to their home right away. As their local doctor was away for Christmas, they had to call in a medic from a neighboring town who rushed in and gave my father a diphteria vaccine. By 2:30 in the morning my father started to feel better and was able to fall asleep and everyone retired to their rooms. At 10:00 the next morning which was Christmas Day, my father awoke to see his mother standing by his bedside. He sat up and stared at her blankly not understanding why she was moving her mouth but he couldn't hear any words. He asked her "Mama, why are you speaking so softly?" and at that point she knew something more was wrong with her son. As she started to run in terror to find her husband, he happened to walk in and also spoke with my father who, again, could not hear anything that was being said to him. My grandfather decided that they would leave at once and head back to Budapest. Their butler packed all of their belongings in a rush and the chauffeur was called to have the car ready immediately. When their family limousine pulled up, four mounted policemen also joined them in order to escort them as they rushed to the city.

At the Royal Officer's Hospital in Budapest, all of the on-duty army doctors and nurses were waiting for my father's arrival and immediately checked his ears, nose, throat and eyes. They discovered that his left ear had lost all sense of hearing and that his right ear had suffered a 75% hearing loss. They determined that this loss would be irreversible. Up until this point in my father's life, he had had normal hearing, so this news came as a terrible shock to my father and his family and they were left stunned. The following day my father was taken to see the best ear specialist in the city and it was discovered that my father had had an adverse vaccine reaction that caused him severe nerve damage and rendered him profoundly deaf. There was speculation as to whether my father was injected with a spoiled vial of vaccine serum, but whether the vaccine serum was spoiled or not, there was nothing that could be done to reverse the damage done other than to simply move on with life and learn to live it in a new way. That is exactly what my father did.

My father continued to see different hearing and ENT specialists over the course of the next year, and was able to learn how to lip-read. He says he remembers that it took about a year for him to "get used" to his new and silent life. He went back to school, and then after the school day was over he would have to come home and re-do his lessons in order to make sure that due to his deafness he wasn't missing out on any information that was given during lectures. His sister, Eva, his mother, and the nannies all helped him to keep up with his studies and learn as if not at all disabled. Thanks to his strong will, discipline, determination and the love and support of his family and staff he was able to maintain his status as an excellent student and excell at all that he put his mind to....and continues to do so to this very day. A feat that all too many people without a single disability never accomplish. My father, gentleman to the core, yet with the valiance of a warrior.