A New Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farewell to Europe...

My father's journey to America began on January 12th when he, his family, and a few others were transported to Salzburg where they would stay for a few days at Camp Roeder. On the 18th they were bussed to the railway station and boarded a special train with comfortable Pullman cars headed towards Breherhaven...a far cry from the crammed, desperate conditions of the last train ride he took towards his freedom in Hungary.

The train ride to Bremerhaven took 24 hours and once they arrived into the seaport terminal, the passengers were greeted by the US Army band playing the Hungarian National Anthem. Everyone was pleasantly surprised and overcome with emotion as they heard the song and made their way onto the General LeRoy Eltinge, a US Navy transport ship.

After finding their berths, my father and his fellow passengers were free to explore the giant ship. He still remembers with teary eyes that as the ship slowly started to move he was overcome with emotion....he was bidding farewell to Europe, farewell to Hungary. It was bittersweet. He was leaving all that he had ever known behind, and going to a country where he would be able to start a new life, a life of freedom.

The first two days of his sea voyage were pleasant. My father remembers the ship moving along the coasts of Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, then the English Channel. He remembers being in awe of the White Cliffs of Dover. Slowly, Europe and England started to become nothing more than specks in the horizon before completely disappearing. The ship was headed towards high seas and soon they would be caught in the middle of a winter storm on the Atlantic.

Small waves made way for ever larger ones and the ship was tossed about tumultuously. Passengers became seasick and the ship took on the pungent scent of vomit. By the fourth day, my father also became terribly seasick and for 6 of the 11 days that he was on the ship he was unable to eat anything. He subsisted off of coffee and juice. By the 10th day, the waves became smaller and everyone started to recover. On the 11th day, at 3 a.m., the ship arrived at the Navy port near Newark, NJ. My father woke up to join the other refugees as they stood looking out at their very first glimpse of America. They had finally arrived.

California Dreaming in Vienna

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

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

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

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

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

A Taste of Freedom and Royal Treatment

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

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

Laszlo: "I am Makay, Laszlo."

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

Laszlo: "Yes. He is my father."

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

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

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

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

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

Laszlo: "Thank you very much!"

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

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

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

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.