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The Hungarian, My Life
by Baka Imre

Mr. Imre is a former long time Keys resident forced to live in Hungary. This is his story.

Section 1-60

Sections 61-120 Opened

Section 61-121

61
By going around the theater we could see the communist party headquarters. It looked very different from the other buildings this one was your typical communist architecture concrete shoebox style. It was everybody's target. Freedom fighters had taken up positions in the park and in the surrounding buildings and were keeping up sporadic fire on the shoebox. Fire was returned from the Shoebox with machineguns. This was the place and time where I found out what a gun sounds like on the receiving end. From where Pista and I were taking cover we could see a couple of dead freedom fighters and several others that were wounded. What I found out later was that the whole thing started when the freedom fighters approached the ÁVO building en mass and asked the occupants to surrender. The ÁVO opened fire on them and the dead and dying were hauled to nearby buildings where they returned the fire.

One wounded guy next to a park bench was yelling for help alerting the ÁVO to his position causing them to sweep the ground all around him by fire several times. It would have been better for him to have shut up. His yelling and waving drew more fire. The only cover he had was the concrete stands of the park bench. Two very brave souls with a stretcher made a dash for him, while the other fighters concentrated fire on the windows of the ÁVÓ building. Since we’d been watching, this was the first concentrated effort that we observed. The stretcher bearers made it to the wounded man and loaded him up and were almost out of harms way when the supporting fire slackened and the rear stretcher bearer was hit in the lower legs and the butt. He too had to be taken to the hospital.  The wounded man's rifle was still laying next to the bench. To run out there after it was paramount to suicide. I could sense that Pista was getting anxious. I’ts not good to be like that in these situations, one must think things thru. "Imre, I want to get closer, I want to see more." "I do to Pista, but I don't want to get shot." "Neither do I, but there must be a way of getting closer without going thru the park." "Yes there is, we will have to go around the block.  If we go back to Rákoczy Avenue and walk to Luther street then down to Pöttyös street. The ÁVÓ building will be fifty yards to our right." "Are you sure?" "No, I'm not, but it's worth a try and we won't get shot." "OK, let's go."

We looked around the corner at Pöttyös Street and the shoebox was there where I said it would be. There were fighters above us in the building that we were standing next to. If we stepped out into the open we could be seen from the ÁVÓ building and that was not healthy. A truck entered the park from next to the theater and headed for the ÁVÓ building. At the same time a storm of fire was hitting the ÁVÓ building so much so that a dust cloud was forming on the facade. The noise was numbing, ricochets filled the air. Several men were using the truck as cover, that driver must have had some balls. From my cover I could see that one of the men had an RPG-2 rocket launcher. When they were thirty yards from the building the RPG man stepped from behind the truck and fired his rocket at the heavy wooden door. Contrary to popular belief, the RPG rocket doesn't go off with a WOOOSH, but an ear shattering BANG! The rocket hit the door, there was a flash and a loud explosion and a large puff of black smoke. I was disappointed; it only left a hole the size of a man’s head in the door. The rocketeer was killed about the same instant.

The assaulters were getting killed one right after another in spite of the intense covering fire. Two of them managed to seek shelter under the truck, but in seconds all the truck’s tires went flat and they were pinned underneath. The punctured gas tank soaked the ground under them and a tracer started a fire. The screaming of the two hapless young men was horrible and could be heard above the din of the gunfire. In utter frustration I was beating the wall with my fists. The two men either died by their own hands or were killed by the ÁVÓ. I think they burned to death. I looked at Pista, his face was turned toward the wall and he was crying. I asked him, "Pista, what's wrong?" "Oh nothing, I just never seen anyone killed before." "Neither have I, Pista, not humans, but don't cry about it now. If these guys see us crying they’ll never give us guns. Most of the side streets held a number of freedom fighters. 

From the direction of the Erkel Theater a tank entered the park with several armed men in its wake. On top of the turret flew a Hungarian flag with a big hole in the middle. On the side of the turret the Kossuth emblem was painted. It headed straight for the wooden door of the Shoebox. Bullets were bouncing off it like hail off a tin roof when it stopped next to the burning truck, leveled the 85 mm gun at those wooden doors and fired. When the smoke and dust cleared only a few pieces of the door were hanging on some of the remaining hinges. The tank machine-gunned the dark opening of the door first then turned its attention on the windows and started hosing those down. As if this was the signal, the freedom fighters emerged from the side streets and charged the gate. It reminded me of a Russian propaganda film about the storming of the Winter Palace by the Bolsheviks (which never happened). The ÁVÓ building was completely surrounded by freedom fighters. Firing was heard from within the building for a few minutes then it was all quiet.

The park started to fill with spectators. When the shooting stopped I ran to the bench from where the wounded man was rescued, but the gun was gone. Pista and I went closer to the entrance of the building. Where the hell had all these people come from? A few minutes ago Pista and I were the only spectators.

62
Me in blue police uniforms were led out of the building and stood against the wall just to the right of the door. An impromptu firing squad was formed. The eight miserable bastards were begging and pleading for their lives; pulling large sums of money from their pockets and were trying to buy their life. All signs of dignity had abandoned them. They were holding their hands in front of them, palms out, as a shield. The volley of the firing squad roared and the eight men became so many bloody rags at the base of the wall. These ÁVÓ henchmen paid for their deeds. Pista asked, "Why, why were they shot? Before I had chance to explain a middle-aged woman did the explaining for me, "Because they were ÁVÓ! They tortured innocent people to death. These got off easy, the rest will not!" The park now was a sea of people; most of the freedom fighters were close to the building. More men in blue uniforms were being brought out, they looked tussled, and several of them had black eyes and bloody noses. No doubt after they were captured they were roughed up. No Geneva accords here, not in a revolution.

The ÁVÓ prisoners were escorted to a vehicle. But as they entered the sea of people the escort was overwhelmed. From where I was I couldn’t see real well so I turned to Pista who was at a little higher position. "Pista, can you see anything?" "No, just a lot of commotion. I think they're beating up the ÁVÓ." "Hey, let's climb a tree." "Let's Go!" We pushed thru the milling crowd toward the commotion and picked a tree in the vicinity with stout lower branches. I gave Pista a boost and he reached his perch. As hard as I tried I couldn't reach the first branch, but then I was grabbed by the seat of my pants and the back of my jacket and was boosted up. I was secure on the branch when I looked back at my assistant who was a middle aged man in need of a shave who had a carbine on his shoulder,” Thanks brother." He didn't say anything, he just nodded.

The spectacle from our perch was horrible. We could not observe all that was happening, only what happened close to us and time has not faded these things from my memory. The mob, that's what it had become, were beating an ÁVÓ bastard with fists and kicking them. His uniform was ripped from his upper body.  The assaulters pulled their belts and were hitting this bastard with the buckle ends. This one, was about thirthy-five with light curly hair and a mustache, I couldn't tell the color of his eyes because they were already swollen shut. He was a bloody mess. He was getting a terrible beating. Probably no worse then he gave to hand-cuffed prisoners in some ÁVÓ dungeon. Whenever he fell down he was jerked to his feet by the hair and the blows and the kicks rained upon him. I didn't feel any sorrow or compassion for him. I remembered how my mother was terrorized just by having to show up at ÁVÓ Headquarters. I was hoping that Colonel Banki was getting the same treatment somewhere or laying at the base of a wall in a bloody heap.

The curly haired ÁVÓ man fell again, but no one jerked him to his feet this time-he was stomped, I mean stomped into the ground. Someone brought some cordage and his feet were tied together and he was dragged to the tree right next to us. He was hung by his feet. Blood was dripping from his nose and mouth making a dark puddle on the ground. I think all the bones in his body were broken. The same thing was happening all over the park. I started to climb down and Pista followed, he was white as a sheet. Once on the ground we pushed closer to the hanging corpse when an armed man reached into the corpse's pocket and pulled out a large wad of money and offered it to anyone who would have it. Nobody wanted it. He pried open the mouth of the corpse and stuffed the money in it. He then took out his lighter and set it on fire. Pista was jerking on the sleeve of my jacket. I turned to him and asked, "What is it?" "Imre, I've seen enough. I want to go home." "Ok, let's go. Mom's probably wondering where the hell I am."

Neither of us had a watch and I was wondering what time it was. I saw the clock on the rail terminal when we walked by. It was ten thirty. We should be home by eleven. Pista was unusually quiet. We had a lot to discuss, but he didn’t' say a single word, "Pista, is something wrong?"

"Sure there is something wrong! Do you think its right that Hungarians should be killing each other like this?" "No I don't think its right, but this is revolution and the traitors who have murdered our brethren have to be punished to death." "Imre, that was the scariest thing I ever saw. I was scared when we beat up that kid by the well when Miki was starting to go overboard and I was afraid that we were going to kill that kid. That was nothing compared to this. Please promise me not to mention any of this in front of my parents. I'm going to tell them that I went down to the embassy to look at the tanks." "All right Pista, if that's what you want, that's the way it will be."

My friend was an idealist. We were jut about to turn the corner by the Yugoslav Embassy when Pista stopped, "Oh shit, my father is out front looking for me. If he see's us come from this way he will never believe that we were by the Russian Embassy." "No problem, let's go back a block and walk parallel to the avenue to Bajza Street and come up that way." "Good idea, let's go." We started out at a light trot and followed the route. When we approached from the desired direction and Pista's father spotted us, he started to wave his arms in an attempt to hurry us. We didn't hurry, but when we got to him he looked very agitated and turned on Pista. "Where have you been you stupid kid? Don't you know there is a curfew on?" "Dad, we just went down to the Russian Embassy to look at the tanks, that's all. "Then he turned on me, "I know this was your doing, I want you to stay away from my son.  You'll get him into trouble." Pista looked embarrassed as his father pushed him thru the gate. 

"Don't any of you guys know how to siphon? You just have to push the hose in way down deep like this, then you block of the end with your thumb and pull the hose out quick and hold the end low into the bucket." It was a successful demonstration, the gas started to fill the bucket.

I pulled the hose out of the tank when the bucket was two thirds full. I got the hell away from the vicinity of that burning tire, "Hey Veréb....." "Veréb  went home to rise out his nose and mouth." I felt sorry for the kid, "Zoli, can you get a rag or something out of the back and make a torch?" "What the hell for Imre?" "Don't tell me that you're going to stand next to that thing and drop a match into it." "Hell no!" "Make a torch."  "Can one of you get in the back and I'll hand you this bucket." I hardly finished my sentence and one of them was in there. I handed him the bucket and told him, "Pour it all over, on the seats too, and get out of there. Zoli had the torch ready, the kid climbed out of the vehicle. Zoli wiped the torch around in the almost empty bucket and called one of his buddies, "Hey Csülök, give me some fire. Hey everybody back away!" Csülök was next to  Zoli and lit the torch. Zoli threw the torch underhand; it arched high in the air, even before it dropped in to the back of the BTR it went off with a terrific WOOSH. The flames leapt so high that some of the small branches and leaves were set on fire. All of us cheered, and it was time to get out of there in case that recovery vehicle showed up with a squad of soldiers. This BTR will never be any use to anyone again. "Hey you guys, I'll see you later." I walked back to Dozsa George Avenue, I looked toward Tököly Avenue but only saw very few people. Started walking home.

66 
A girl friend of mom's arrived. She lived close by and told mom that she heard some terrible news. I opened my ears wide. "Maria do you remember when this morning the protesters marched down the avenue?" "Of course I do, Imre and I went with them." "You did? Then you probably know what I was going to tell you." "No I don't know anything, so tell me anyway." "Well, did you go all the way to Parliament Square with them?" "God, no, we only went a little beyond the Octagon. We had to get back because Steve was home alone." "Lucky you. When the square filled with people the ÁVÓ started shooting at them from the roof of the Department of Agriculture and the Defense Department building. I was told there are six hundred dead and two thousand wounded." "Really? Who told you all that?" She answered, "A friend of mine has a friend whose friend was there. Thank God she didn't get hurt." Mom said, "I wish she was shot in the mouth for spreading such ridiculous rumors, and you should be ashamed of yourself for passing along such drivel."  The friend replied, "To tell you the truth Maria, I didn't really believe it myself." "Than why do you pass it on? Let it die with you." That wasn't information from the horse’s mouth for sure. I would have to hear it from a more direct source. If only half of it was true I am very glad that mom didn't feel like walking any further this morning. Several days later I heard a more realistic version of the event.

The ÁVÓ did shoot with heavy caliber machineguns from the roofs. These bullets were powerful enough to take off appendages. One hit on the torso and its curtains for you. There were seventy to eighty dead and two hundred and fifty wounded. The Russian tanks protecting the parliament returned fire on the ÁVÓ. They thought that they were being shot at, and they let the people hide behind the tanks, many saved their lives that way. In the early morning hours I heard rumblings from the avenue, I knew they were tanks. I could not see out on the avenue from my room. With the arrival of daylight I went to the living room and looked out. What I saw was scary, in front of our building sat nine T-55 tanks. Looking toward Hero's Square the sight sent chills down my spine. The whole Square and the surrounding roads were covered with T-55 tanks. From the window I counted fifty, and my vision was restricted. The Freedom Fighters fought against all that with just rifles, submachine guns, and Molotov Cocktails? It was virtual suicide.  It was like taking on a bear with a BB gun. The 'Kids from Pest' (Pesti Srácok) did just that. They grabbed the Russian Bear by the balls and squeezed.

They fought this mighty armored force to a standstill. They had no chance against a T-55 on the wide avenues so they developed a rouse to make the tanks go into a narrow side street. One of them would put aluminum plates, face down, on the pavement close enough to each other that the tank could not avoid them. The tank dared not drive over them, thinking they were anti-tank mines; so they went down the side street in order to go around the “mines”. Other tanks followed and when the last tank was well into the narrow street the 'Kid's from Pest' attacked the lats tank from the upper levels of the surrounding houses with Molotov Cocktails. The other tanks couldn't give any support to the stricken tank. Their crew was shot while trying to leave their flaming coffin. The lead thank was attacked in a similar fashion and the whole column was trapped.

On the Buda side they coated the steep cobblestone streets with machine grease so and the tank couldn't go up the hill. Without tank support the Russian infantry were easy pickings. When the ammunition inside a burning tank explodes, that tank is dead. I have not seen this happen but have seen the post-explosion results. The turret of a T-55 complete with gun weighs several tons. I have seen the turret upside down a block away from the hull. Looking at all that power I couldn’t help wondering, how all this would end?

I dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs to look at the tanks. I was standing next to a tank when a Russian soldier came up to me with a bottle in his hand. I understood enough Russian that I knew he wanted me to bring him some water. I went back upstairs, but before I filled the bottle with fresh water I pissed in it. When I gave him the bottle he wanted me to take a drink first because they knew we hated them. No problem, it was my own pee so I took a swig.

I liked the scene in the afternoon a lot more. The tanks coming back from downtown were loaded with dead or dying Russians or wounded ones. Not all the tanks came back. This continued the rest of the day with the accompanying sounds of gunfire from downtown. Later it became known that the tanks in front of our building were sent against the core of the resistance at the Corvin Alley and the Killian Barrks. Both of them were located at a major intersection downtown. All day we kids stayed very close to the house. In the evening the radio announced that a further twenty thousand Russian troops had arrived in Budapest.

I wanted to dress and go outside right away, but mom wouldn't let me. She said, "You can go outside as soon as it's daylight. I don't want some jumpy, trigger happy Russian to shoot your ass. "I called Pista, luckily his sister picked up the phone, "I’d like to talk to Pista." "Is that you Imre?" "Yes it is." "OK, I'll get Pista." Pista came on the phone, "Hello Imre, what's up?" "Hey, Pista, how about meeting me downstairs as soon as it's light?" "OK, I’ll see you then." The late autumn sun was well above the buildings when I went out front. Pista joined me a few minutes later. The signs and litter of battle were everywhere; all kinds of cartridge cases littered the street and the sidewalk. Pista and I walked down toward the end of the block.  Before we reached the corner we saw a lot of blood flowing across the sidewalk, then we saw why.

A young man of eighteen or twenty years and a girl of about the same age lay dead on the other side of the fence. It was obvious that they were killed on the sidewalk and the bodies thrown over the fence. Russian boot prints were in their blood and led away from there. We went into the yard thru a side gate and over to the bodies. They lay in a grotesque position next to the fence. We pulled them away from the fence and placed them next to a flower bed, now empty of flowers, and arranged them as if they were just resting. Both had light brown hair. The girl’s eyes were still open and I thought that she was smiling. The light was gone from her eyes and I closed them. Both of them were dressed warmly with several layers of clothes. The boy may have had a rifle because he had old fashioned leather ammo pouches on his belt. Both of them suffered multiple gunshot wounds. We checked their pockets for papers or any kind of ID, but there was none. Perhaps the Russians took them.

The caretaker of the house came out with a pick and shovel. He said that he saw the Russians throw the bodies over the fence. Yes, the boy did have a rifle and the girl a Davy Guitar. We helped him with the digging. The grave wasn't as deep as it should be, but we made it wide enough that they could lie side by side. The man went and got cardboard boxes that we opened flat and covered their faces and then covered them with the dirt. The man was careful when he started digging and put the top layer of grass aside to be replaced after the grave was filled. When he finished you could hardly tell that anything was there. I didn't cry then but I have many times since. I went back there after forty-four years and inquired if anyone ever exhumed the bodies. Nobody knew anything about them. I wondered about those two young people's parents. They probably died and never knew what happened to their children.

The freedom fighters attacked the Russians in front of our building, but with a force too small. Because of that and the lack of anti-tank weaponry they were beaten back. I never found out what losses the freedom fighters suffered other than that boy and girl, but I saw that the Russian medics were very busy. The tanks departed for downtown in the afternoon with supporting troops. Each time they went, fewer and fewer came back. The Russians, too, left blood stains on the sidewalk and the asphalt of the avenues.

The communists and the Russians sent bigger and bigger forces against the rebels of the Corvin Alley and the Killian Barracks. The intersection at these two strong points looked like a tank junk yard. On the Buda side at Hay Square it was the same story, Uncle Szabó and his youthful rebels beat off every Russian attempt to dislodge them. Uncle Szabó was an old man of sixty, a veteran of the first World War. His driver and body guard, Peter Masfeld, was only fifteen years old.

Hungarians sense of humor didn't abandon them, on all the barricades I saw busts and large portraits of Lenin, Stalin, and the Hungarian traitors

Everywhere the litter of the conflict, crashed and burned vehicles, light artillery pieces, burned out BTR's and tanks. Saw several fallen freedom fighters their body covered with the national flag and flowers, people lighted candles for them on the sidewalk. I saw open suitcases at several locations full of money, and a sign on them 'For the relatives of the Fallen', people dropped in large bills and made change. Shattered display windows and the goods were removed, and had sign in it's place 'Removed items with buildings manager'. Looting was not tolerated, but it didn't happen. Mom said, "Son, the city looks worse now than after the siege in '45" I can't remember any of that, but I can't imagine being worse than this. The intersection at Üllöi ave. and Franz Joseph circle road really looked like a tank junk yard. The odor that dad told me about that he smelled on the russian front was heavy in the air. I can only compare it to the smell of singed pigs.These were not the odor of pigs, but russians. I've seen them indifferent state of prepairdness, rare, medium, well done. Thinking back it would have been funny if they had signs on them like at Sizzlers, or Outback. The well done was so shrivelled up in the featal position that I could have tucked it under my arm and taken it home. Many years later I read a book 'Jane's Armoured Vehicles' and it said that russian tanks were so cramped for space inside that they used their smallest soldiers as tankers, maybe they used Munchkins. At this intersection on one corner is the Killian Barracks, accross the street Is the Corvin Alley. It may sound confusing but it's nor really an alley at all. It's a large city block with a hollow center and in the center is the Corvin Theater, hence the name. There are a couple places where there is access to the theater thru the buildings, alley's. The freedomfighters turned the place in to a fortress. The theater nowdays houses six movie projection theaters, it's one of the biggest movie houses in Budapest. The corner of the Barracks were totally destroyed, I could look in and count the floors by layer. The Alley didn't fare too much better, it was not destroyed down to the ground. Right outside of the Alley I saw a russian soldier that was squashed flat by a tank. Ivan was infantry support, was shot, and the following tank ran over him from his feet to his head. All his innards squirted out of him, in his clothes, flesh, and steel helmet I could see the pattern of the tank treads. It flashed through my mind, I could roll him up, take him home and use him as a throw rug. Absurd for sure. We entere the Alley and I could imagene the desperate strugle that went on here, the hungarian dead were all gone, claimed by relatives. The russians lay where they fell some in grotesque poses. They all looked like statues. A man suffering major trauma and bleeds out, he becomes ashen, the skin turns grey, these dead were like that. That and the dust of battle that settled on them. made them look like statues. I did't know it then but Molnár 'Wooden leg' Jani faught in this place, and was to die here just eight days later. Thinking back, it would have been great to run into him. Many people were out and about gathering in groups, enjoying their new found freedom. Not having to worry about the cops hassleing you for gathering or the ÁVÓ hauling you off for telling a political joke. A price was paid, but everyone tought it was worth it . 

69  
We took a different route home so we could see more of the city. The rest of the city  wasn't nearly as bad. When we arrived at our building most of our neighbors were out in the street, Pista was there too, "Hey Pista how have you been?" "I've been just fine, dad just won't let me go anywhere especially with you." "You can tell him that I'm no great fan of his either. Hey, I saw some kids on the square, let's go over there." We went and I bragged about frying the BTR and that mom and I just got back from Corvin Alley. The square was full of military litter, containers of every kind, the Russians shit at every single lamp post and at the base of the memorial. Searching through the litter Pista and I found two huge tank munitions; they looked just like a rifle bullet but much, much bigger. Both of them were damaged where the projectile went into the big brass shell casing. They were black with a red stripe painted on them. I just assumed that they were amour piercing and would not explode. Pista and I worked up a little sweat by the time we pulled out one of the bullets from the brass case. The case was full of spaghetti, well it looked like spaghetti. They were long yellow sticks as long as the brass casings, with a little more effort we removed the other projectile and discovered more spaghetti. I couldn’t possibly get these things into the apartment, but a solution was at hand in the form of an innocent looking box that was the right length to accommodate the spaghetti. It was packed in the casings rather tightly, I had to turn them upside down and shake and bang them against the asphalt a few times before a few started to slide out. The rest came out easily. I filled up two boxes. This was how Pista helped me take them home. I hid them in my room, and we would have some fun with them later. Pista and I made a date to meet on the bridge behind the square the next day, we planned to explore the park…

When we met on the bridge we started to walk toward the Vajdahúnyad Casle, there was no fighting here but there was damage. The castles main tower was shot through by a cannon shell, luckily it didn't catch on fire. It was done by a tank for sure. The smaller tower was shot to pieces and fell into the lake, it was just restored the previous summer. This was just sensless distruction. All over the park foxholes and other infantry positions were dug. We checked out most of them. Pista found an entrenching tool in one, an RPG(light machinegun) ammo drum in another, it was empty. We were on the zoo side of the lake as we approached one of the last positions, on the edge of the foxhole I spoted two things that I tought were handgranades. I didn't want to run there and pick them up, they might be booby trapped and go off in my face. I broke off a long branch from a nearby tree, went close enough that I could reach those things with the branch. Got on my stomack and crawled closer, with the branch I showed both of them in the foxhole, and waited a minute. neither of them exploded. Hot Damn, I had me two handgrenades. I went into the hole to retrive them and give them a closer examination. They were identical, both painted light green with some cyrylic writing and numbers on the side in black. They were the size and shape of a can of evaporated milk. A round tube like thing about three inches stuck out of the top. Half way down this tube was a cotter pin  stuck through a hole with the ends well splaid, on the other end of the cotter pin was a keyring type circle. As long as this cotterpin stays where it is, these things are perfectly safe to handle. Pista asked, "What are you going to do with them Imre?" "I'm going to give you one, and I really don't know, they will keep for ever, just keep it in a dry cool place." "I don't want it Imre, I'll just keep the little shovel, that wont blow up on me." "This wont blow up either if don't pull this pin out." And I flicked the key ring with my finger, Pista cringed. Not known by me at the time these were soviet offensive fragemantation granades, developped for house to house or room to room fighting. If thrown into an average size room no one would survive without being severly wounded. I suffed them in my jacket and we were on the way home. As we were crossing Dózsa George ave. Dénes came by on his scooter and stopped.

"Hey Imre, I'm glad ran into you." "Hi Dénes, what's up?" "The 'Boy's from Pest' are raiding the BOQ right now, I'm going there. See  ya." Jumped on his scooter and he was gone, we ran after him but couldn't keep up. The BOQ was a nondiscript four story shoebox of a building only a block from Dénes's home, I went by there many times. It was full of young cops and halfbaked ÁVÓ officers. By the time we got there the fun was over, there wasn't any shooting, All the occupants surrendered and were lined up in front of the building, partialy dressed under the submachineguns of the 'Boys from Pest'. There were twelve of them, four were checking papers, eight were standing guard. The prisoners were none to relaxed, this is the way I liked to see cops, when the swager is removed by someone else with a gun. The Boys arrived on a two and a half ton Csepel truck the back of which was canvas covered, on both doors with block letters MÁVAUT was painted. That's when I realized that this was the truck that dad gave the Boys. Some of the prisoners were put in the back of the truck, the others told to go inside.

Just before they were ready to depart, Pista and I walked up to the leader he was in his early twenties, "Hey brother, I have something for you that you can use." He looked at us with a half smile, and asked, "And what would that be 'Öcsikém'(little brother)?" I reached into my jacket and pulled out the two grenades. His eyes openned wide, "God damn boy, where did you get those?"  "My buddy Pista and I found them in City Park where the russians were." "Thanks guys, I can sure use these, Here you can have this." He pulled off his tri-colored armband and handed it to Pista. Got in the truck, and they were gone. I wished he had two armbands. Pista offered to cut it and give me half, I told him that it should stay intact and he should keep it.

"Really no foolin’?" "No foolin’ Dénes. There is enough of it that if we lay it in the street it will reach Bajza Street." "God damn boy, that's three blocks. I went to the square but I didn't find anything among all that trash, just stepped into some Russian shit." "Yea I know, I want to use your street. I was going to do it on the avenue, but with the embassy's there it would attract too much attention." I had Dénes's attention now, "Yea, my street would be better." "Do you want to help Pista and I? Maybe get a couple of your buddies to come too?" "Sure Imre, when do you want to do this?" "Is tomorrow evening too soon for you" "No it's not, how about around seven." "OK Dénes, we'll see you then."

Pista and I walked home, I was trying to think of something that would get me out of the apartment tomorrow night. Maybe if I mention Dénes and some modifications to be done to the scooter, just might swing it. The next morning I turned on the radio and heard that the English, Fench, and the Jews attacked Egypt, and the Suez Canal. They were far away from Hungary, it will mean nothing to us. I couldn't have been more wrong. After breakfast I put out a feeler, "Mom since the fighting has stopped can I go down to the Octogon and look around?" "No you can't, but if you take your brother to City Park and bring him home for lunch, you can go wherever you want this afternoon." "That's a deal mom. Hey come on Steve, were going out, lets go." "I'm coming Imre." We got going, Steve slid down on the banister too, but at the bottom he always fell on his ass.

Steve and I circled the lake from the oposite side than I did with Pista, here too the park was littered with foxholes and infantry positions. We were checking all of them, Steve was like a ferret he jumped down in every hole. I told him to becarefull not to step into any shit. We started to find things, nothing significant, an oil bottle, cleaning kit and sight adjusting tool for an AK. On the top of a grassy knoll a position was dug in the shape of a U. This was a position for a heavy machinegun, Steve jumped down in the trench and confirmed it, handed me up three pieces of ammunition. They were big and heavy all right, the russian 12.7 millimeter is a big machinegun, they shoot down airplanes with bullets like these

Since I did't have nothing to shoot it out of and they were slightly damaged, I decided to take them home anyway. Had to swear Steve to secrecy, oner slip of the tounge and I'll be in trouble. On this day october 31'st the round up of the ÁVÓ was still going on, the symbols of communismwere being destroyed by the people. Imre Nagy the revolutionary head of the government announced the end of the one party system, and the outlawing of the communist party. Cardinal Mindszenty is freed from prison, he was serving a life sentence for being the leader of the catholic faith. At the Killian barracks Paul Maléter the new defense minister names the heads of the new National Guard, and Hungary

whithdraws from the Warsaw Pact. Late afternoon I got my boxes of spaghetti and headed over to Dénes's home. Pista was already there waiting for me, it was good this way, didn't give a chance for his old man to see us together. The buddies of Dénes arrived on their scooters, there was a dozen of them, I didn't think this many will come. I don't know what Dénes did but there were a lot of people out on this normally empty street. I gathered all of them around me, "Listen guy's, we have to lay down the spaghetti in a sraight line as possible toward Bajza street. There can't be any gaps between them, they must touch." There were a bunch of girls rubber necking already. I passed out the spaghetti.

"Be carefull with them they are brittle don't break them, after you lay five make a big X and keep going." Some of them headed for Bajza street on their scooters. It was almost a half an hour before everyone returned and I was told by Dénes,"Imre all the spaghetti is laid out." "Dénes, have a couple guys ride down along the line and tell everybody not to stand too close." "OK Imre, but can I light it?" "Sure Dénes, here are the matches." I handed it to him," Just wait a few more minutes." I expected a same kind of performance like I got from the fiery snake a few years ago on the island. Dénes was ready with the matches, I told him to go ahead. The match flared, there was a hollow pop and a bright flame like electric welding. The flame disappeared toward Bajza street with the speed of a rocket, Dénes fell on his ass and was laughing,"Shit, that surprised me." I didn't think that thin spaghetti wiil make so much smoke, Dénes said, "By the time I got to my feet it was over." "Yea, but just think, this stuff when packed in to one of those casings and fired from a cannon can drive a piece of steel through six inches of armour from a half a mile away." Dénes was amazed but asked,"How do you know all this shit Imre?" "I read it somewhere."

71 
This morning the radio told us that large numbers of Soviet formations have entered Hungary from the east and asked all members of the national guard to report to their units. Imre Nagy is to have a meeting with Uri Andropov about the status of soviet troops on Hungarian soil.

I didn't like at all what I was hearing. Radio Free Europe was encouraging the Hungarian population to fight the Russian oppressor. During the past week one convoy of humanitarian supplies arrived in Hungary from the west. Not one single bullet came. Bandages and antiseptic aren’t worth a crap against AK-47's. It sounded like the west was willing to fight the Russians to the very last Hungarian.

I was disappointed in last night’s fiery display and wanted to do something else. I pulled the machine gun bullets apart and poured the powder in a shoe polish tin. This powder looked like tiny lentils. I put a little in a spoon and put a match to it. It flared up with a big yellow flame, but there was no smoke and hardly any residue in the spoon. Mom went out to try to find a store that was open; Steve stayed behind and was watching what I was doing with much interest. I brought out my musket barrel and poured a level teaspoonful of gunpowder down the bore.  I had Steve hold it upright for me until I got the bottom curtain rod off the kitchen window and a handful of toilet paper. I rolled the toilet paper into a ball and stuck it in my mouth to dampen it a little. This way it stayed as a ball. I put it in the barrel and with the aid of the curtain rod I shoved it to the bottom. Steve was asking, "Are you gonna shoot it? I want to shoot too!" "Just pipe down will you? I have to see how it behaves first, for that I'll just lay it on the table right here." I laid the barrel on the kitchen table with the touch hole pointing up and sent Steve to my room. He didn't like that at all.  I had to settle with him that he could watch from the door. I held the matchbox close to the touch hole and struck the match. While the match was still flaring I stuck it to the touch hole. Nothing happened. I tried it three times and--nothing. I went to my room to find a paper clip, I thought the hole might be blocked. The paper clip went in the hole without any problem so it wasn't blocked. I had an idea, I struck another match and held the paper clip into the flame. When the wire was red hot I stuck it into the touch hole. KABOOM! It scared me. In the enclosed confines of the kitchen it was very loud. The air was full of thousands of pieces of tiny toilet paper. Steve was laughing his ass off and wanted me to do it again. The musket barrel disappeared from the table. After the loud bang I didn't hear the clatter as it flew to the far corner of the kitchen.  Wow, I sure don't want to do that again. I will have to clean up this mess before mom gets home.

Mom walked all over hell and didn't find a store open, she was almost in a panic when the neighbor lady came over, and asked her if she needed anything. The neighbor lady knew the purchasing agent for the Tünde Restaurant that was on the ground floor and had the keys to the restaurant’s pantry. Mom returned a half hour later loaded down like a pack mule and cussed herself for walking so much today. She said that the restaurant's pantry was like Aladdin’s cave, it had everything.

At 10 pm. János Kádar delivered a speech on the radio where he praised Imre Nagy on forming the government and admits the mistakes of the past. Unbeknown to us the speech was on tape. That traitor sonofabitch was in Moscow at the time betraying Imre Nagy and the Hungarians. He cut a sweet deal for himself with that fat little Al Capone wannabe Khruschev. The Chinese, Tito, and the Rumanian government, all urged the Russians to crush the Hungarians. The Russians closed the border with Austria, occupied all the airports and transportation centers, came down from the north, and occupied every bridgehead on both sides of the Danube effectively cutting the city in half.

[Hungarian is one scary kid] No I wasn't. I did have an imagination, but I never made up wild tales like some kids do. I'm proud to say that I never got one of my pals injured other than minor scrapes or cut. I think we would have been great pals. I can't remember who said it, "Without fright there is no courage." I always liked things with the element of danger. Later in life people said that I had a death wish. Hell no, but I was always willing to take a risk.

73
All day yesterday and all night I kept hearing the sounds of a desperate struggle. In my naiveté I expected to hear the drone of hundreds of aircraft like I’d seen in the movies and white parachutes blossoming in the sky bringing us the needed things. The only airplanes that I heard were Russian planes. They were probably adjusting artillery fire. Mom heard while she was out that on the evening of the 3rd. of November a delegation went to the Russian commander at the airbase at Tököl. The new defense minister Paul Maléter was the head of the delagation. As soon as the delegation arrived they were arrested. On the morning of the 5^th, at about 9:30, my father came home and had a worried look on his face. He was definitely not the happy person we saw on the 29th.

I heard him talk to my mother, "Maria, we have to go now!" That got her upset, "What the hell you mean, now?" "Just what I said dear, NOW! This minute, this instant, an hour ago." "What about all our things that both you and I worked for all these years." "Maria, the ÁVÓ is looking for me!" Mom's attitude changed like switching off a light, "All right, let me get a few things together for me and the children." "Maria, a very few things. We can't look like were traveling." Then he called me to him, "Son we will have to go away. I'm depending on you to use your head. Now get dressed as if you were going out in the park to play, help your brother dress too. Do it and I'll tell you more," I hurried to do as he said, and had a feeling that big changes would be happening in my life. When Steve and I were dressed I tore a page out of one of my composition books and wrote on it. 'This is my friend Pista Árkossy! The electric train under my bed belongs to him. I borrowed it and didn't have a chance to return it. IMRE!' I folded the paper and ran up to the fourth floor and slipped it under Pista's door. Nobody even missed me. Dad called both of us and warned, "Listen to me carefully boys. You are going to visit grandma over in Buda," "But dad, we don't have a grandma in Buda." "I know that Steve, we will just pretend. Just listen and do as I say. The two of you will leave from here and walk to the Duda side of the Margit bridge. There is a bus stop and a bench. Sit on that bench and wait there until your mother and I get there. You will probably be stopped on the way. Don't say anything else other that you are on the way to grandmothers. If anybody wants to know the address show them this paper, the address is written on it. When you leave, your mother and I will follow fifteen minutes later. Any questions?" "No dad, no questions." "OK get your bags and get....."
There was a loud knock on the door.

I got a knot in my stomach. There was tension and fear in that foyer. Dad opened the door. Gramps was standing  there with his fur hat, overcoat and a large haversack on his back, "Father how did you get here?" was my dad's question. "I thought you all might be hungry so I rode up on Imre's bicycle and brought some food." I was amazed, the man was sixty-eight years old and pedaled a bike thirty miles with a heavy pack just because he thought that we might need some food. That was my Gramps. Dad said, "You two better get going and do as I told you." Gramps took off his pack and hugged us and we got going.

I could have cut some distance off our route but I didn't want to run into Dénes because he knew I didn't have no Granny in Buda, and I didn't want to make up stories. We just walked down the Avenue to the Octagon and turned right on Lenin Avenue toward Margit Bridge. The ÁVÓ guy was still dangling from the lamp post and Steve asked if I thought it stank yet. "I don't know, but it's not rotten enough because his neck is still holding up." We just kept on walking. I was carrying dad's old attaché case. I had no idea what was in it, but after a while I had to switch hands because of its weight.

The first place we were stopped was when we approached the Western Rail Terminal. The soldiers were Mongol sonofabithces and had ÁVÓ with them. The blue collar tab bastard asked, "Where are you kids going?" I answered, "Going to granny’s in Buda." I was glad that Steve decided to keep his mouth shut. This ÁVÓ was the curious kind, "And where are your parents?" It came out so naturally that I even surprised myself, "They are still working at party headquarters." "Be on your way then" The traitor bastard patted me on the head and we walked away nice and easy. A few more blocks and we could see the Margit bridge head.

74 
The bridgehead was lousy with soldiers, Mongol ones. Two T-55 tanks were blocking the bridge and the soldiers were milling around. It took me a while to figure it out. A group of Mongols would line up off to one side of the bridge with the Danube in the background for a posed picture with the front row kneeling and the back row standing, with all their guns of course. The Mongol who got to be in the middle always held a sign painted on poster board and I could only make it out when we got closer. It said The Suez Canal. If these assholes thought that the Danube was the River Nile then they must have thought that St.Gellért mount was a pyramid. I don't think these Mongols had ever been in a city. After the picture was taken, another group would take their place.

If I wasn't so scared I would have been laughing. Nobody showed any interest in us just the ÁVÓ.  They asked the same questions again and I gave the traitor the same answer. Margit Bridge is the longest of the Budapest bridges because it is shaped like a boomerang. In the middle of the river where it makes the bend is Margit Island. A ramp from the bridge goes down to the island.  Just after we passed the ramp we could see the far end of the bridge, the tanks and the soldiers. The bus stop was beyond the check point. Coming off the bridge even the ÁVÓ didn't bother with us. It was a long walk and I was glad the bench wasn’t occupied and I could sit down. I didn't have a watch and fifteen minutes is a long time to wait under those circumstances. Steve started asking, "When are they going to get here?" "I don't know, just be quiet." The time dragged by, I kept glancing toward the bridge.

Because of the arch of the bridge the first thing you saw was peoples heads as they came across. I looked toward the bridge again and I recognized dad's bus driver’s cap, then mom came into view, and a man was walking next to her also wearing a bus driver’s cap. Only after they came a lot closer was it that I recognized the man. It was Gyuri Bácsi (Uncle George), dad's shift partner. He was a big man, as big as dad. Dressed in his MÁVAUT overcoat with the big fur collar he looked like a bear. I always thought it was funny that a big man like him had a  last name of Pint. If you read his last name an his nickname together, Pintgyuri, it meant very tiny. Mom and dad looked just as if they were going or coming from work. Mom had her purse and a shoulder bag, dad was carrying an attaché case just like I was. Uncle George didn't have anything.

Dad was the first to speak when they got to us, "Hello boys, everything all right?" We chorused, "Yes, dad." "Now listen, a bus will arrive and stop right here. When it opens its door just get on, there will be seats for you. Don't say anything. Don't do anything. Just sit down. Is that clear?" All this was said in subdued tones, but as always Steve had to ask, "Where are we going dad?"  "You will find out when we get there, son." The bus arrived about twenty minutes later and the seats were available just like dad said. All the other passengers were men and women from their mid twenties to their late forties. Later I found out that this was a theatrical group from the town of Sopron that had been stuck in Budapest because of the revolution. This was the first bus available to take them home,

Sopron was a town on the Austrian border. We had about a hundred to a hundred twenty mile ride ahead of us--and a lot of check points. The first check point was just outside of the city limits. A tank was blocking the road with it's huge gun pointed at us. I hoped the asshole inside had it on “safe”. When the bus stopped and the door opened an officer stepped on board. Not one of the Mongol gnomes but a White Russian. The driver gave him a paper and the officer counted heads. He finished quickly, gave the paper back to the driver, and we were done and got on our way.

Just before we got to the town of Tatabánya one of the rear tires got a flat. While dad and uncle George put on the spare everyone got off and stretched their legs. The roads in Hungary in the 50's were real shitty. This one was macadam and was built in the 20's over a dirt road. This road that we were traveling on at the breakneck speed of forty miles an hour was relatively good, even so the driver had to keep an eye open for pot holes. It should have been only be a three hour trip. We had  already been on the road for four hours and we still had a long way to go.

75
On the outskirts of Győr another roadblock was waiting for us. A mean looking Mongol stepped aboard our bus. This guy could be blindfolded with dental floss. He had his weapon in his hand waving it all over the place and was speaking in an unintelligent language on my part. Between the waving and the few words of Russian he made himself understood that he wanted everyone off the bus. When everyone was off, he got the paper from the driver and lined us all up in single file with the help of his comrades, none too gently either. This mental giant ordered us on board one at a time while he counted, adgyn, dwa, chitiry, piat, when he got to ten I expected him to take off his boots. He finally finished the count, and happy with his success sent us on our way. When I was eighteen and nineteen years old I rode the Greyhound several times from Ft. Campbell, Ky. to Washington D.C., that's 600 miles. I swear this 120 miles seemed longer, the uncomfortable seats and the tension took their toll. Before we entered Sopron there was another road block, but this one went smoothly. Other than the Mongols, there were some local cops that knew some of the passengers and we sailed right on through. All the passengers debussed at the depot, and the five of us rode back to the garage with the driver. He was a friend of dad's and showed us to the driver’s locker room area.

Let me tell you, it was no Motel 6 and they didn't even leave the light on for us. The driver had to light a match to find the light switch. Steve was saying, "I'm hungry mom." I was hungry too, and tired. Mom, as if by magic, conjured up some rolls and salami that she sliced with dad's big pocket knife. That was dinner. As I was stuffing my face I was looking around for a place to lay down. This was a locker room for the drivers with adjacent showers. The floor was rough, damp concrete and not a very good place to lay down. There was a long wooden bench bolted to the floor in front of the lockers. It looked like that was the only choice when Uncle George said, "I don't know about you people, but I'm sleeping on the back seat of one of the buses." Damn, why didn't I think of that? Mom took Uncle George’s lead and picked one of the buses closest to the locker room. Hers was the long back seat. Steve and I made do with a regular bench seat. It was still dark when mom woke us. She went into the locker room to freshen up. Steve and I went in there too, to the round sink where you stepped on a bar on the floor and water squirted out all around. As I washed the sleep from my eyes Steve was complaining, "Imre the water's too cold." "Don't be such a baby. Nobody's going to warm it for you." "Mom! Imre calle me a baby!" "Come on boys, stop bickering, we don't have much time."

Dad and Uncle George had to shave, it would be out of place if the bus driver looked like a bum. Our driver from yesterday arrived, he brought along a colleague to whom he introduced everybody and said, "Lukács will be your driver on this leg of your trip. He knows the area real well and he is a trustworthy man." That sounded good to me, Lukács motioned us to follow him to his bus. Dejavoo, Lukács's bus was the twin of the one that trapped my lips in Dömsöd when I almost ended up looking like a rabbit. I looked with suspicion at that door as I climbed aboard. I knew we were in Sopron, but I didn't know where we were. I didn't know Sopron. I knew which way east was because the sky was getting lighter that way. We should be traveling in the opposite direction. Lukács drove the bus thru town and stopped at a bus stop. There were many people at this bus stop. It was known that Lukács's task was to drive coal miners out to the mines located in the hills outside of town. None of these people at the bus stop looked like coalminers.

The bus was packed; people were standing in the aisle. I wondered what was going to happen at the next roadblock, thankfully, there were none. Just before daylight we arrived at a place that looked like the entrance to a mine from the machinery sitting around. Lukács stood up behind the steering wheel and yelled back into the bus, "End of the line. All the miners get off the bus!" Nobody moved, with nothing further to say Lukács closed the door and we started to move. The bus took a narrow dirt track on a side of a hill. There were pine trees all around and I saw snow on the ground. It didn't occur to me before but this bus didn't have a muffler and as we were climbing in second gear the sound reverberating was tremendous. We could be heard probably a mile away. Only a deaf person would take no notice of this noise. Looking out the window I saw the heavy fog lying in the valley. The bus stopped. Lukács opened the door and spoke into the bus, "Everyone who gets off here please give me five hundred forints." Damn, Lukács was in business for himself. The people were filing of and handing him the cash, we did too, this was a wide place in the side of this hill where the bus could turn around. The road didn't go any further. When everyone was off Lukács called everyone to him and directed, "Listen up! See this foot path going down this hill? Just stay on it until you get to the border. It will be a plowed up strip twenty five yards wide. On the far side Austrian flags are nailed to the trees. Cross quickly and go deep into the woods and you'll be all right. 

76  

Uncle George took the lead, and was the first to descend from the road. I was right behind him. When we were on the side of the hill on the footpath it was easy walking. The snow wasn't deep and Uncle George had big feet, I trod in his footsteps. To our right the hill dropped away fifty yards and started up again. The next hill’s crest was even in height with the footpath, and everywhere there were pine trees. These were planted trees, not a natural forest; you could look down the rows. We’d been walking a half an hour or so at a quick pace, Uncle George had a long stride. The poor sonufabitch at the end of the line was probably running. Behind me was my mother then Steve then dad. I was checking the moss on the trunks of the trees to find which way we were traveling. Moss only grows on the north side. We were heading west. As I glanced to my right on the skyline between the trees, I saw people walking in single file.  We were far enough away that we didn't hear their footfalls. I looked again and Christ all Mighty, they were soldiers!

I couldn't tell if they were Hungarian border guards or Russians. Now I really started to sweat. I grabbed Uncle George’s greatcoat and yanked on it and said just loud enough that he could hear me, "Uncle George, there are soldiers on our right." He didn't look that way, he didn't turn around, he kept up the pace and it was barely audible when he said, "Don't worry about them, they been paid too." Not likely, because as soon as the words left his mouth I heard louder words, "Hey you people! Where are you going? Stop where you are!" They were not Russians. I looked to the rear; nobody even looked in their direction. Like if they don't acknowledge it, it will go away, but it didn't, "Hey didn't you hear me! STOP or I'll shoot!" Nobody stopped, "STOP!"  TRRRRRRRRRRAH!  TRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAH! I could hear the bullets crashing through the branches and saw pine needles falling. I knew that we were being shot at.

The sound of a PPSh 41 Davay Guitar was familiar to me and the flee instinct kicked in. Everybody disappeared. As far as I was concerned I had to get away from there. The shooting was from the right, I went to the left. I was running uphill between the pines. Because of the snow I left clear tracks behind me and all the strength in my legs left me. I spotted a pine whose lower branches were all the way down on the ground and covered with snow. I went right by it, then I did a dog-leg around a couple of other trees and climbed under the branches of my chosen pine. If anyone followed my tracks they would walk by me first. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer.  I lay on a thick soft carper of pine needles and tried to sort out my thoughts. The same thing kept popping up. YOU'RE IN THE SHIT! This happened until I caught my breath and started to relax. Don't panic,  think. I didn't know where my parents or little brother was. My parents and Steve might be captured at the least or dead at the worst. We were still in Hungary close to the Austrian border. I had an aunt and two cousins in West Germany. My aunt’s husband’s name is Sgt. Frank Santelli. From here I'm not going back! I waited until dark and started walking toward where the sun went down. I heard dogs barking, they were looking for us with dogs. Eventually I would be found and sent to Siberia. I’d rather be shot, it will only hurt for a while. These were the thoughts that were racing through my head. I heard footsteps as they crunched in the snow. I flattened my body real close to the ground. I was curious and lifted my head a little and saw just the top of a helmet as it went by. I didn't hear the dogs anymore. I had no idea how much time went by, but I listened real hard and all I could hear was the breeze among the pines.

I got up on my knees and parted the branches and looked out at my surroundings. Every way I looked was the same. When the sun starts going down I would know which way to go for sure. I heard a noise, “psst, psst” that was a person, “psst, psst”, there it goes again. I tried to locate the sound, “psst, psst.” I looked directly toward where I thought the sound come from, and looked right into my mother face thirty yards away under a pine. Without hesitation I left my hideout and ran to my mother. She parted the branches so I could easily get under. Steve was there with her too. Mom was contemplating what to do next. I told her my idea and she supported it. We waited in silence. I heard footsteps again but these steps were not of a determined walk, but of slow caution. We waited not daring to move the branches. The walker came into view.

It was my dad. It was simply amazing that I was back with my family. Dad came under the tree when mom signaled him. Dad said that Uncle George was captured, but didn't know of any casualties. It was decided that we would walk toward the west with dad in the lead and all of us behind him would have to walk in his footprints. We started of cautiously. Dad tried to pick his way trough the trees with the least disturbance.

77 Dad stopped and motioned for us to stop too. Ten yards in front of him was a footpath and a funny little man in a hunting getup walked by at a rapid pace. When he spotted us he motioned for us to follow him. Were about to do that when a whole slew of people came marching by carrying all kinds of weird stuff on their backs, like radios, and gramophones with the big funnel. When the last guy came by we attached ourselves to the tail end and followed. After a brisk twenty minute walk the border lay before us. It was a strip of plowed land twenty-five yards wide and on the far side Austrian flags were attached to the trees, just like the bus driver said earlier that day. The funny little man was waiting at the edge of the plowed strip and told us to run across as fast as we could and pointed to our right.  A sinister looking guard tower loomed about five hundred yards away. The crossing was a little uphill and mom went first as fast as she could. I could hear her labored breathing as she climbed. She was only a few yard short of Austria when she collapsed.

I stopped by her side and asked what was wrong and there was no response. Dad hurried to her and grabbed her left arm and told me, "Grab her other arm!" I did and we dragged her across the border and into the woods. We stopped next to this seldom used vehicle track. Dad sat next to mom and turned her over and cradled her head in his lap. He was gently slapping her face and talking to her, "Come on Mari, it's over we are safe now." Steve was holding mom's hand. I tried to figure out what happened. At least there was no shot. All the other refugees were gone and we were again alone. Mom started to come around and wanted to sit up, but dad told her to lay still. He asked her what happened, "I don't know dear, I was just running, trying to reach the woods. I felt a little dizziness and everything went black." Dad said, "OK, Mari, just relax. We got plenty of time.” Mom wanted to sit up and he helped her. She adjusted her scarf on her head and looked around.

"So this is Austria?” she mused. “It looks just like Hungary. And here we are with nothing, poorer than church mice." Dad wasn’t letting that go, "You are wrong Marie. We have each other and we have our freedom. I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder in fear of the ÁVÓ. When the rats at MÁVAUT finish giving all the details to the commie bosses I'm sure I would been hung by Christmas." My father wasn't a religious person, but he did believe in God. What he said next surprised me, "Gather around boys and let’s all hold hands. I think we should give thanks." He looked up at the darkening sky and began.

"Thank you Lord for delivering us from evil. Thank you for keeping my family out of harms way and thank you Lord for letting us be together. Amen." With all that said he stood and helped mom to her feet. She was still a little wobbly and leaned on dad's arm. She was looking around and said while at the same time pointing, "Look at that!" We all looked where she pointed. There at the base of a pine tree was a curious site that I only saw before in books of fairy tales. A large mushroom with a dark red crown. It had a strong looking stem eight to ten inches high and the red crown had white polka dots. Mom was overwhelmed by the sight and said, "Isn't it beautiful, the only thing missing is a dwarf sitting under it playing a flute." This woman, who has seen men at their worst and have been brutalized by war still could see beauty in a simple thing as a mushroom in the Austrian woods. That was my mom. 

78
"Yes that is unusual, it's the first time I saw anything like that." I had to agree with dad on that. He went on, "Let's go boys.  Marie, we will have to make it to a town or a village before dark. Let's follow this track, see where it will lead us." We got going two by two,  me with dad and Steve with mom. The pace was a lot easier than before, but my feet were cold. My shoes were soaked through. The track was fairly straight, just the elevation had a tendency to change. Two men stepped out on the track seventy yards in front of us.

"These are Austrian border guards, I'm going to try out my rusty German." "I didn't know you spoke German dad?" "I didn't know either son, I'll just try." He greeted the two soldiers, "Goot en tag soldaten!" (Good day soldiers!) They answered his greeting, "Goot en tag mein herren!" (Good day to you mister) " Ish Hungarishe refugee und family." I think that was the extent of my fathers conversational German. What he said was “I am a Hungarian refugee and family” The two guards were very friendly and looked spiffy in their forest green camouflage with short carbines on their shoulder. They understood what we were all about, pointed down the track and said, "Worlensdorf, Worlensdorf." We understood that’s where we had to go. That was the name of the closest village or town. It was about time we got to a place where we could get something to eat and drink. I know the others were feeling the same as I did. It was strange that brother Steve was so quiet. All day long he had conducted himself in an exemplary fashion. I was proud of him. "Auf widerzain soldaten!" (Good bye soldiers!) that was dad’s last effort. We started walking again, now knowing that our destination was Worlendsdorf. I wondered if it would look anything like Dömsöd? I didn't expect the storks and the animals on the road because it was early winter. I was curious about the houses and the streets.

We topped a small rise and in the not too far distance street lights beconed to us and friendly light flooded into the night from homes. On the right side of the track fixed to a post a sign, said Worlensdorf. When we arrived at the first house dad's plan was to ask for directions, he didn't have to. White plackards were tacked to trees with a redcross on them and an arrow showing the direction. Worlensdorf was unlike Dömsöd in many ways. The signs directed us to the local school where under a big redcross in hungarian it said 'Refugee Aid'. All the way here I didn't see one thatched roof. The roads were very good with curbs and sidewalks. The streets were well lit, not with cheesy lightbulbs either. The school was beautiful compared to what I attended in Dömsöd or Budapest. We were directed to the schools auditorium where locals and redcross workers had tables ser up with food, hot coco, and coffee. I didn't need to be prompted, hot coco and doughnuts went down well, Steve was puting doughnuts away with both hands. The austrian ladies were encuraging us to have some more, from their tone I assumed they were saying, "Have some more, plenty more where this came from." As we are munching away I heard dad say, "My God look who's here!" It was Uncle George minus his great coat with that big fur collar. Dad called out to him, "George, George, over here!" When he spoted dad a big smile came over his face and came over to us. "Gee I'm so glad to see you all, I didn't think I was gona get here." Dad asked, "What hapenned to you George?" Uncle George was busy obliging the austrian ladies by taking their doughnuts in custody and slurping some hot coffee. "Well, when the shooting started I ran along with everyone else. That's when I decided to dump my coat. In the process of doing that I ran right into a tree and knocked myself out. When I came to, I was surrounded by border guards." "Then how did you get here?" "After they taken us back to their base, and locked us up." "Wait George! How many did they catch?" "Fifteen of those who were on the bus, but after holding us for four hours they let us all go. You're not gona belive this! They said we should have come in the afternoon, becouse there was a russian officer with them this morning. I just walked out of there and walked accross the border, an austrian gave me a ride all the way here in his car."  "Glad to have you back with us George." He hugged his friend. On the other side of the auditorium they had all kinds of clothing. Steve and I were interested in some shoes, both of ours were soaked through. A young man in his twenties, so typical of the area. Blond hair, blue eyes, very aryan was very helpfull. Many shoes were lined up, tied in pairs with the laces, the young aryan, I assume was asking us, what size I was was wearing, shoes that is. I was looking for something I liked, my eyes came accross a pair of mountain climers boots. They were used but hardly, the previous owner must have grown out of them. I tried them on, they were a little loose but my feet were still growing. They were black and had the quick lacing feature. Steve insisted in having the same king of shoes as I, and after much searching the aryan Deiter, that found him a pair, Steve was so happy. A man standing on a chair announced in hungarian that the buses have arrived, everyone was to go and board the buses.

The buses were things of beauty, built by Mercedes and MAN, from bumper to bumper they announced 'This is the free West'.

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The bus ride to Gratz was beautiful. The seats were comfortable and you could lean back, and they were warm and comfortable. The only draw back was that we didn't see anything because it was dark outside. The ride was only ninety miles and it was over very fast. The buses pulled into a complex of buildings and stopped. We were told to get off the buses. As we got off I noticed that the buses were surrounded by a phalanx of soldiers in field grey uniforms blocking all other ways except to the entrance of this one building. I had the same feeling as Jews must have had on arrival to Auschwitz or Buchenwald; a kind of uneasiness on the inside. There was no reason for worry, a pillow, a blanket, and an army cot, waited for everyone inside. I don't remember any more from the rest of the evening because as soon as my head hit the pillow I was asleep.

The next morning the first order of business was breakfast. Everyone was directed to a huge dining hall. The breakfast was scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, milk, and orange juice. It was the first time I had orange juice, on leaving the dining hall everyone received a plastic bag. In the bag was toilet articles, soap, a comb, toothpaste, toothbrush, and a towel. On the ablutions it was posted in hungarian from what time it is to be used by females and males.

The place we arrived last night are to this day called the Franz Joseph Kasserns, and is still used by the austrian army. The place must have been built before the end of the nineteenth century, solid as a brick shithouse. After Steve and I had shovers with the men, we went exploring. Behind the buiding that we were in we came accross the play field, it had horizontal bars, concrete rings to climb through, a rope climb, a wall to climb over, and a huge rope net that went over a log high in the air and down the other side. Found wooden potatomasher typehandgranades that we could throw into a bunker.  We told other kids about it, in the afternoon there were a whole mess of kids playing out there. I didn't know it then, but Steve and I stumbled accros an assault course. About midafternoon dad came looking for us, he said, "Come boys, we are leaving."  "Where are we going dad?" "I will tell you later son, just hurry up for now." Once back at our cots, I gathered up my pitifull posessions, and once again we headed for the buses. These were nice buses too, not as big as the ones on the previous night but nice. After the buses pulled out of the Franz Joseph Kassern, dad revealed what was happening. The two buses arrived from the town of Krems a town on the Danube. The town decided to sponsor twenty refugee families untill those families decide where they want to go or if they wished to stay. Dad was there when the buses arrived and right away let them know that we wanted to go. Krems was ninety miles from Gratz, the only thing that sucked was that we were traveling at night again and couldn't see a thing. It was late at night when we arrived at Krems. When we debussed, nuns were waiting for us and directed to our lodgings, inquired if anyone was hungry, and they brought food and drink. I dont know what was their order but they had head gear like 'The Flying Nun'. We were in a convent, a very old convent in a very old town.

Krems on the Danube was a medival town, it had a wall all around, and a gate that they could close at night if they wished. Of couse there were houses outside the wall now, and the gate wasn't guarded. The whole town was picture postcard beautiful. Of course I found this out the next day, I'm geting ahead of myself. In the morning I realized that we were housed in one of two dormatory rooms, that olso served as a hospital in

times of need. Everyone had a comfortable bed, the ceiling was arched, three collums runing down the center of the room supported it for centuries. The women, mom included, volunteered to help the nuns with the chores, cooking and cleaning. One nun came around with a notebook and asked all the men their occupation and if they wanted to work. Dad gave his occupation as a mechanic, the nun came back that afternoon.  Explained to him that he had a job waiting for him at the local VW dealer if he wanted it. Dad jumped right on it, Uncle George could have had a job too, but he wanted to do something first. I heard when he told dad, "Imre I feel real guilty for leaving my wife and little girl behind.

I'm going back for them." "Hey George don't push your luck, you had one close call, they catch you, for what we did you will hang." "They won't catch me my friend."  The next morning he was gone.

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The previous morning, our first morning in Krems, two young girls came in during breakfast. They were very pretty.  I thought that I was seeing double. My eyes were fine, Erika and Grechen were identical twins, wearing identical ethnic dress. Their straw blond hair was worn in braids, and their blue eyes were like mountain lakes reflecting the clear blue sky. I think I fell in love with both of them. The trouble was that they were at least sixteen years old. Later I learned that they were almost seventeen. They came right over to Steve and me and asked ,"Ve fil järe?" I had no idea what they wanted, but after a lot of hand motions and ghost writing on the table cloth, they got it. "Ah ishe firczen järe." I was nodding with my head, and learned that 'Firtczen järe' meant, thirteen years. After that everything went much easier, they wanted to know if we wanted to see the town, Steve and I jumped at the offer of a guided tour.

This old town was so charming and so well preserved that it could have been built since the end of the war. Of course the war didn't touch this town, but there was a memorial for the soviet armed forces. There was an agreement in the Vienna accords where the austrians promissed not to tear down the soviet memorials, after the russians left in 1947. We walked into the town proper through the main gate. On the ground floor of all the houses were little shops, the butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker, and so on. Erika and Grechen were explaining things but, I wasn't undrestanding too much. As we walked with the two girls, I had this feeling that everyone knew us. Certainly everyone smiled  and sent  a  friendly greeting our way, they could have said drop dead, but I knew what 'Auf Weiderzein' meant. We just arrived in front of a toy shop, "I want to go in there," Was Steve's request, the girls ushered us in . Steve's eyes were big as soucers as he was mesmorised by the sight of the beautiful toys, I was very impressed too. In the glass counter I saw a beautiful silver colored sports car, and indicted to the elderly lady that I wanted to see it. She reached in and set it on the counter in front of me. I didn't even know that such cars existed. I was telling the lady that I wanted to pick it up, I could tell by her gestures that it was all right if I did. This car wasn't some cheap stamping like Ede's train. This was a casting finished in silver enamel with rubber tires, the hood openned to reveal engine, and the doors openned upwards like a wings of a bird. I turned it over, and on the belly of the car it said Mercedes  Benz 300 SL. I t was such a lovely car that I didn't want to put it down, but we had to go. As I put the car down and turned to go, the old lady stopped me and handed me the car. She wanted me have it as a gift, I know I should have refused, that would have been good manners. I just couldn't do that. There is a rhyme in hungarian and it goes like this: If someone is giving, take with both hands. If someone is hiting, run  with both feet. I chose the prior and thanked the lady from the bottom of my heart. Steve was not a happy boy, he was asking me, "Why didn't I get a gift?" "The lady tought that since we are brothers I will share with you, don't you worry, you can play with it if you promise not to put your whole weight on it." "OK, I promise." when Steve wanted something, he promise that he turn into smoke. It was after we returned to the convent that I heard Uncle George talk to dad. Dad wanted to go to Australia, and let his sister know of his plans in a letter. My aunt Susie wrote back and told him that it wasn't a wise move because it will be many more years before the Australians achive similar level of life what has prevailed in the states at that time. Dad was convinced , and because my aunt planned to settle in the Washington D.C. area, he planned to go there too.

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Five days went by before Uncle George returned. Dad thought that he was going to get caught for sure. His luck held out and he was able to bring out his daughter Georgia, and wife Ilona. They thought that they were already abandoned and the first time Uncle George told his wife that it was time to make tracks, Ilona refused to go. She didn't have to be asked twice this time. Uncle George told us of the thousands of arbitrary arrests and deportations to Siberia. There were many discussions of communist Kangaroo Courts handing down life sentences and death sentences that were carried out within forty-eight hours. Good luck had smiled on Uncle George again. Steve and Georgia were the same age, Steve hated her and told her so. Georgia was a kind of girl only a mother could love. She was constantly whining, I don't know what her mother did with her hair, but stork nests on top of chiney's looked better. She had buck teeth and her legs were so skinny that I think her father tied knots on them for knees. And just to show you that there are miracles in this world, I met up with Georgia ten years later when I was working for Uncle George in his foreign car shop. If you have ever heard of an ugly duckling turn into a beautiful swan, this was the case. The orthodonist did a miracle with her mouth, she filled out front and back, her shaply long legs went up and up and made asses of themselfs. I didn't recognize her, when I was told who she was my jaw dropped. I never would have belived if someone didn't tell me. Dad and uncle George went to work together the next day, and worked thru the next two weeks. When we had some money the told the nuns that all the Baka's and Pint's will be going to Vienna for a day. I think it was on the following wednesday that we all got on the train and went to Vienna to the American Embassy. It was a good thing that we arrived early and we were in the first batch of fifty people that was let in. There were interviews, pictures taken, and fingerprints. By noon Steve and I were real thirsty. In the hall where we were waiting there was a big red box aginst the wall, the fancy white lettering said Coca Cola on it. Along came a young man in a beautiful uniform, reached in his pocket and put some money in the machine. Some noises came from the machine and from a hole on the bottom a bottle came out. The young man picked up the bottle and stuck it in hole on the machine, there was a fhssst, and the young man started to drink from the bottle. This was more than Steves curiosity could stand, he ran over there and looked in the hole where the bottle came out, then he found the little yellow box where the empty bottles were. He started pulling out the bottles one by one, and if there was any brown liquid was left in  the bottom he drank it. The young man just watched, then he reached in his pocket and bought my brother a bottle of Coca Cola. Steve didn't know how to thank him, so he snaped him a salute. The young man saluted him back, I was qurious what was this young man, he looked like a toy soldier I once saw somewhere. The snow white cap with the shiny black visor, dark blue jacket with red piping and high collar, the gold buttons, light blue trousers with a red stripe runing down the side, it was beautiful. I went over by the front door where the young man was standing, to look at him from up close. I could see my face in his shoes, it was so shiny. On his cap badge was an eagle with spread wings, a globe, and an anchor. I knew this young man was an American Soldier. When dad came out of the office, I asked him for two shillings, he asked, "What do you want the money for?" "I'm thirsty dad I want to buy a Coca Cola from that machine." "From the machine?" "Yes, come I'll show you." He came along and watched me drop in the coin, and the bottle dropped out. I opened the bottke and tasted it, Iliked it. Dad tasted it too, he liked it, he dug in his pocket for some more change. He bought himself one. and one for mom. Mom didn't like it, Steve was glad to take it off her hands. Coca Cola gained three new costumers that day. I wanted to let my dad in on my discovery,

"Hey dad do you see that young man by the door with the white cap, wearing a blue jacket?" "Yes I see him, what about him?" "Dad, he is an American Soldier." "I think you're mistaking son, that's only the door man."  "No dad, why would a doorman wear a pistol holster?" "Because son, in America everyone wears pistols." "Can I wear a pistol too dad?" "I'm sure you can son, when you're old enough." For the time being I forgot all about the soldier by the door.  I know I was very proud when many years later my youngest son became a Marine! The word was that we will have to return to Vienna in a week to fly to the USA.

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The week practically flew by, the Austrians and the nuns couldn’t have been nicer to all the Hungarians. The others were on the way to their chosen destinations too, I can't remember how many, but some families chose to stay. I said good bye to Erika and Grechen knowing that I would never see them again. We boarded the train and the town of Krems was left behind. At the American Embassy a doctor examined us and we received several shots. It was late afternoon when the buses delivered us to the Vienna airport. Before we boarded the buses everyone received a box lunch. I was looking forward to my first airplane ride. My dad was the only one that has experienced flight one time in a Koma glider.

It was dark by the time we boarded the plane. I had never seen an aircraft so huge. It had four giant propellers. Two on each wing that would pull that metal bird thru the air and inside it was cavernous, much bigger than the buses I rode lately. Two rows of seats were on each side with a narrow isle in the middle, the uniformed young women helped to seat us were very nice, I think they were soldiers too. Much later I found out that this was a MATS flight (Military Air Transport Systems) everyone involved with the flight were USAF personel. Steve and I both had window seat right behind the port wing.The engines were started one by one, they  were loud, and there was a lot of vibration. At the end of the runway the engines were reved to maximum revolutions, dad said, "If stayed together now, they will stay together." We started to roll faster and faster, I heard the wheels as they rolled on the runway. The front of the plane started to lift and the noise of the wheels ceased, and I left the continent of Europe not to return for twenty years. We were flying, it was a wonderfull feeling, as we were gaining altitude my ears were poping just like when dad taken me to the mountains. Ten minutes into the flight mom started to get sic, the soldier lady kept bringing her air sick bags and she kept on filling them up. She was white as a sheet, had her head almost between her knees. The stewardesses, I learned that they were called that, brought us food, and they urged mom to eat. She couldn't even look at food without heaving. I was looking out the window, but only now and then I spoted a point if light for a few seconds. The stewardess came around, and told us that the seatbelts have to be fastenned, and mom will have to sit up. We were going to land. Poor mom she was really suffering, but surely we couldn't have flown the Atlantic Ocean is such a short time. The stewardess said that we are landing in Shanon, Ireland. Not that I understood, but she made a motion with her hand that indicated landing. Now I was in pain, Steve was cying and was rubbing his ears. The stewardess bgouht us chewingum to chew and told us to hold our nose shut and blow real hard, that helped some. The pressure on my ears were