Keszthely....

While I continue to go through the small mountain of handwritten journals that my father has given me to peruse and write about, I wanted to take a moment to post some photos of one of my father's childhood homes, Keszthely. This was one of the largest, and most beloved homes of my father and his sister. With acres of park-like grounds, an impressive library, and what seemed like miles of banisters just waiting to be slid down, it is no wonder that my father genuinely enjoyed his times there.

Keszthely is also the only family home that is still standing. The other Makay estates were reduced to rubble by the invading Communist military, or abandoned and left to decay. While several other former Communist countries have graciously given their former royals, nobles and aristocrats their properties back, or at least significant monetary compensation for all that was confiscated from them, the Hungarian government has never done so. My aunt, Eva, spent many years and much money working with attorneys in Budapest in an attempt to regain what was taken from our family, yet nothing ever came of it. Sadly, Eva passed away in her home in Toulouse, France this past year, and our family has given up all hopes to ever regain our properties. Keszthely is currently a museum and its grounds are a public park.

These pictures show a partial exterior of the the home, the library, a sitting room, one of the staircases, another angle of the library, a partial view of the grounds, and the entrance gate. These are the only images that our family has left of this home, but it is enough to see how grandiose and beautiful it was, and still is. You can imagine what it was like for me as a little girl seeing these pictures. I remember fantasizing about what it would be like to prance and twirl in those rooms in gowns opulent enough to put Disney Princesses to shame. Every little girl dreams of being a princess, and there I was with that reality so close yet so very far away. However, what mattered most is that I was my father's little Princess....and still am.

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.

Quo Vadis, Europa?

Much of my father's early childhood, aside from those very exciting occasions that I posted about earlier(!), were spent enjoying time spent with family, playing with his sister in the countryside, attending puppet shows, traveling throughout Hungary to visit relatives, going to school, traveling to France and Austria. He recalls these years as being very peaceful, happy and normal. It was not until 1938 that things started to go awry, and I know that is an understatement.

During one of the family trips to Austria in 1938, the Makays only made it as far as Monichskirchen and not all the way to Vienna as was accustomed. As they traveled to this smaller Austrian city they noticed that the traditional red and white Austrian flag was being replaced by flags bearing the Swastika. Austria had started its dark descent into Naziism. Being that the Makays were of nobility, it was decided that they should stay as under the radar as possible in order not to gain the attention of the Gestapo (Geheimstaatpolizei). This prompted my father and his family to stop traveling abroad soon after. With Austria as Hungary's neighbor to the West, Nazi propaganda quickly passed over the borders and into Hungary and became accepted in great part by many German expatriates who were living in Hungary at the time. This greatly shocked and saddened my grandfather and great grandfather, and their worries only grew as they watched more and more newsreels showing the people of Austria cheering Adolph Hitler on and welcoming them to their country.

My father recalls that when 1939 rolled around, his father and grandfather, as well as the other adult members of the family, started deeply worrying and discussing the political situation in Europe. They could only foresee a very dark future, especially since Hungary no longer had any form of strong defense with their very weak military. With Hitler to the West and Stalin to the East, Hungary was a sitting duck. My dad still recalls his father asking aloud "Quo vadis, Europa?" in consternation, and his grandfather stating "Someday we will all be homeless". A bitter prophecy that would all too soon become a reality.

A Brief History in Pictures

This past weekend, my father came over with the two albums of family photographs that he was able to acquire after his escape from Hungary in 1956...which is a story for another day. He sat with me over tea and patiently showed me each and every photograph, reliving the moments as if they were just yesterday. I find these moments with my dad both fascinating and heartbreaking. I have heard all of his stories time and again throughout my childhood, but the older my dad gets, the harder it is for me to see him so sad at the bitter memories of having his life and family literally torn apart by the invasion of Communist Russia....again, another story for another day.

In the meantime, I want to share some of the pictures from my father's albums.

1.My grandfather, Istvan Makay

2.My Aunt Eva, my father, and my grandmother Erszebet Makay.

3.My grandfather (on the left) with one of his assistants.

4.Our family's Coat of Arms.

5.My father's Aunt and Uncle, Margit and Kamillo Karpathy.

Shaking Hands With General Douglas MacArthur and Lunching With Prince Edward

My father's first five years of life were spent in what he recalls as being a peaceful and harmonious time. He and his sister got along well, even though she did like to dress him up in her clothes from time to time, as most big sisters are prone to do. They spent time in their homes in Budapest, Pusztamonostor, Kestzhely, and Tiszaug. Along with their parents, Eva and my father lived with three full time nannies their father had hired. He made sure that each nanny spoke a different language so that my dad and his sister would be exposed to and learn as many languages as possible. One nanny hailed from Germany, another from France, and the third was native Hungarian. On Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays the kids spoke only in Hungarian. Tuesdays and Wednesdays they spoke French, and Thursday and Friday they conversed in German. Try as he might, my grandfather could not find an English nanny, but he would have loved for his children to also become fluent in English. I can only imagine how much of a blessing learning English early on would have been for my dad. He had to learn the language after coming to the United States with over 90% of his hearing lost, yet somehow managed to master the language by spending time in the public library in downtown Los Angeles reading books and without actually being able to hear it.

One of my dad's fondest memories from his childhood occurred in 1933 when he was 4 years old. At the time he and his family were staying at the Royal Palace visiting his godfather, Colonel General Kamillo Karpathy, who was the Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Hungarian Defense. One evening, during their stay, General Douglas MacArthur came to the Royal Palace for a gala dinner. As the American General was entering the foyer, my father happened to be crossing the hall and he recalls being surprised to see someone in what he thought was such a strange uniform, one which he had never seen before. General MacArthur was surrounded by my dad's father, godfather, godmother, the American ambassador, Nicholas Roosevelt, a few Hungarian generals, and the American military attache. When General MacArthur caught sight of my father, he called out to him cheerily; "Hello, young boy!", and asked my godfather whose son he was. Kamillo answered gesturing towards my grandfather that he was Istvan Makay's son and his godson. My grandfather then waved my dad over and General MacArthur shook his chubby little hand. This made such an impression on my father, who had no way of knowing who General MacArthur was at that age, that he remembers that moment to this very day. The General's presence and persona were so commanding yet friendly that the wide-eyed little boy could not help but be starstruck.

Another exciting occasion for my dad was when the heir to the British throne, Prince Edward, visited Budapest. It was 1935 and my father was 6 years old. The British Prince came over to the Royal Palace and watched the ceremonial change of guards from a balcony in the Palace's inner court. There was much pomp and circumstance as the marching royal bodyguards, crown guards, and palace guards in their colorful uniforms made their procession, and then the Prince and my father's family gathered for lunch. Just as any of us would have a friend come over for some sandwiches or a BBQ, my dad and his family had the future King of England as a lunch guest. So normal for them....yet so far fetched for the rest of us. These were just two of the childhood memories of great individuals who he and his family spent time with. I can almost imagine....my father being a typical young boy, probably wanting to go play outside while having to display impeccable manners in front of such impressive guests. A little prince through and through.

Getting Back to the Roots....Part I

Even though I want to jump right in and start telling you all of the stories that I grew up hearing about my father and grandfather, about the people they met, the experiences they had, the atrocities they endured....I know that to make it all make sense I have to keep things chronological. So, I will start off with some deeper layers of my father's history, it may get boring at times, but bear with me...the history lesson will soon enough give way to what I think merits being an award winning documentary. =) Over the course of the next few blog posts I'll go over all that I've gathered from my dad in regards to his bloodlines, otherwise this one post could easily become overwhelming to read...and write!

My father tells me that one beautiful summer's day in August of 1940 the family was gathered in Pusztamonostor (another of their homes) and after lunch on the terrace his sister, Eva, asked their father to tell them about their family. My father was 11 years old and it was at that time that he got to learn about his ancestors in detail. Until then, he and his sister were just kids who were growing up in a life of privilege, but really not privy as to why. The following is some of what they learned that day.

The Makay family are the direct descendants of St. Stephen (Istvan in Hungarian), the first Christian King Of Hungary. King Istvan's mother, Sarolta, was sister to a woman named Karolin who married Duke Doboka, the ruling Prince of Transylvania at the time, and who is the farthest back to whom we can trace our bloodlines. Duke Doboka had a son, Duke Csanad, who then became King Istvan's cousin. When King Istvan was coronated in 997, my father's ancestors (the descendants of Csanad) stayed in the royal court and became members of the Royal Council.

The Makays were one of the seven biggest landowning families in all of Hungary at the time. Sadly, the Hungarian Royal House of Arpad died out in 1301 making way for foreign dynasties to move in and take over. Foreign dynasties ruled over Hungary until 1918 with the Habsburg family as the longest ruling. Due to the fact that the Makays were well known for being independently minded, pure blooded Hungarians, they were ostracized and expelled from the Royal Court and sent to live on their private estates. Sadly, things didn't stop there. Over time, the Imperial Court in Vienna started confiscating the Makay estates one by one and ordered the family to live incognito. The land and estates that were taken from the Makays were then given to Austrian families that the Imperial Court recognized as princes, counts and barons while the larger parcels of land were kept by the Habsburgs. Although the Hungarian people were unhappy with Austrian rule and several upraisings took place (in 1514,1609,1703,and 1848) all of them failed and the Habsburgs continued their reign. The Makay family had a particularly difficult time with the Austrians as they avidly participated in the upraisings as well as helped the freedom fighters. One of my father's ancestors was executed in 1711 for his activity against the Austrian Empire and after the failed War of Independence (1848-1849) my father's great-grandfather, Imre Makay, was sentenced to 10 years in an Austrian Prison. His son, Istvan (this is very much a family name as you will see throughout this history lesson), was left to govern the remaining family estate in Tiszainoka. Istvan later had two sons, Imre and Istvan (little Istvan if you may) who was to become my father's father.

It wasn't until 1868 that the Imperial Court and Emperor Franz Josef became more lenient in their governance of Hungary and allowed for a limited Hungarian government in Budapest at which time a dual monarchy with limited independence and freedom was created....this became known as the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My great-great-grandfather was unhappy with the outcome as he wanted Hungary to regain its full autonomy, but, as a private citizen there was not much he could do other than go home and finish raising his sons. Although he did all that he could to ensure that the boys had a rich education leaning towards agronomy, both Imre and Istvan decided that they wanted to join the cavalry. This disappointed their father and he tried, unsuccessfully, to change their minds. He did not want his sons to end up serving the Habsburgs and infantrymen, but the boys had plans of their own,

After four years of vigorous military training little Istvan (not so little anymore) became a lieutenant at the age of 22. Unfortunately, WWI had broken out a year earlier, and he was ordered to go to the Eastern Front to fight against Imperial Russia. Three months later, Istvan was captured by the Russians in the Ukraine and spent 5 years in Irkuts, Siberia as a prisoner of war. Upon his release and return to Hungary he and his brother, Imre, were promoted to Captain and their new assignment was at the Royal Hungarian Defense's Personnel Dept. located in the Royal Palace. Not long after, at a debutante ball, Istvan met and fell in love with an 18 year old girl named Erszebet. On August 14, 1924 they were married and on May 28th, 1925 their daughter, Eva, was born. My father graced the family with his presence four years later on April 14th, 1929....and so the story begins....

St. Stephen

An Afternoon With My Apa

Since moving back to Los Angeles from Portland, Oregon I've made it a tradition to go to Church with my parents every Sunday. Then, after lunch with their friends, they come over and spend the rest of the day at my house. Even though my father is now 84 years old he still works full-time as a bookkeeper for a media company in Santa Monica, and seeing him during the week isn't always an option. So Sundays are our day together and may there be many, many more Sundays like this.

Today, I got my dad to sit with me and give me dates and some chronology in general so that I can better write the story of his life. I know he would have rather played chess , but he sat patiently and once in a while very emotionally retold some of the stories I grew up hearing of his childhood and escape from Hungary. Some stories make him laugh and smile as he remembers them, and many have him on the verge of tears. He gave me copious amounts of geneological information too about his own father, grandfather and great grandfather. I plan to steal some of his time every Sunday until I get all of the stories just right, and in between, on this blog, I will piece together what I already have.

As for today, I will share a picture of one of my father's childhood homes. The one I got to visit with him when I was 16 and he returned to visit Hungary for the first time after his escape in 1956. This is where he would get caught sliding down the bannisters of the great hall and received reprimands from the butlers as well as his father. To imagine, he was just a normal, rambunctious little boy growing up in a fantasy-world....with no idea that this world would be brutally ripped away from him and his family just years later.