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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.

Part I Section 1-60
Part II Section 61-121
Part III 121- The End
African Adventure Chapter 5

Part III Section 121- The End

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'.

79 
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.

81 
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.

82 
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 tremendous, it was like two sharp pencils being pushed into my ears. The touch down was very gentle, and we rolled in front of a building that announced 'SHANON AIRPORT'. A few minutes after the plane came to a stop, we were told that everyone had to leave the airtcraft becouse it will be fueld to make the hop accross the Atlantic Ocean. That will be some hop. Everyone was directed to the airport restaurant, and dinner was served. My poor mother, looked like she just came off a three day drunk, she even turned away from the table. She was urged by all concerned to eat from this wonderful dinner, which included a half of grepefruit. The first one I saw and tasted, poor mom forced herself to eat, and by the end of the dinner she was looking and feeling better. Two stewardesses (not the USAF ones) came to our table and gave me a wind up dog and Steve a Teddy bear. The dog would hop along the ground, the bear didn't do anything. Mom was telling us that she felt better and tought that everything will be all right. It was time to board the aircraft, we walked out of the airport, there was the plane bathed by floodlights all shiny and ready to go. As soon as mom cought a sight of it she blew dinner, and hung on the fence saying, "No, no, I can't do this, no, no!" Dad had to help her on board, she knew that she had to go, but her legs didn't want to cooperate. For many years mom wouldn't even go near an airport and refused to fly untill jets came in to regular use. We flew into the blackness of the sky, and two hours out of Shanon flew into a storm.

The DC-3 can't fly above the weather, we were in the thick of it. The seat belt sign came on in time, but we hungarians were ignorant of it.

The stewardess's had to go to each person to make sure that their belt was fastenned. The plane was thrown about, all kings of shit was flying around in the cabin, people too. There were bloody noses, busted lips, and a cut or two, everyone was puking their guts out, me too. The thunder and lightning was terrible, some stupid hungarians tought that we were going to crash and were saying Hail Mary's. I think mom passed out, a stewardess came to check her pulse and checked her airway, I just wished we'd get out of this storm. Nobody got a wink of sleep, many geeted the daylig with white knucle deathgrips on the armrest of their seats. It was about daylight when the storm subsided. 

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Water, water everywhere and we’d been in the air for hours. The flight was smooth, mom wasn't suffering and that was a plus. After the stewardesses’ served lunch, somebody on the starboard side of the plane said, "I see land!" It was probably the same way aboard the 'Santa Maria' because just about everyone from the port side got up to get a glimpse of their future home. I too crowded to one of the windows, but could only see a grayish snow covered coastline. Mom was one of those who would rather rubberneck after we were on the ground. I do not know how much time had passed. Looking down at the ocean I started to see ships more frequently. From the port side again came the news, "I see a city!" This time there was no rush to the windows, the seat belt light was on and the stewardess wanted everyone to keep their seats.

Pressure on my eardrums was increasing, Steve and I were chewing gum and blowing to equalize the pressure. Some of the smaller children were crying. The landing was gentle and smooth, the plane rolled up to the front of the terminal. It was Newark airport, I had no idea where we were, the name didn't register. I knew that Newark wasn't New York, back then I had no way of knowing that we just landed in the asshole of America. I have never seen so many airplanes of all sizes in my life. The little ones were private planes, that was unheard of where I just come from. It was close to Christmas and the airport was beautifully decorated, the only thing confused me was all the red stars. What the fuck, we made a wrong turn somewhere and landed in Moscow? Later I found out that the red star has been part of Christmas celebrations for a long time in america, and it didn't have the same meaning behind it as in eastern europe. Buses were waiting for us outside of the airport, If the German buses were a ten these buses were two's. They were the ugliest buses I ever seen, the hungarian Ikarus buses were a lot nicer than these. Ugly green in color, had ARMY painted on the side, the interior was nothing to write home about either. Just bench type sears and very stark. All the other things I saw my brain had it's task cut out processing it all, after we got on the way, everyones head was on a swivel, and they were pointing things out to eachother. The thousands of cars, stores, decorations, well dressed people. The jolly Santa Clauses we never saw in Hungary. I don't know how long we travelled, it wasn't long enough. I wanted to see more, but it all came to an end when the buses turned in at a gate. Above the gate it said Camp Kilmer NJ. The sun was going down already, this place we turned into must be a military base because of all the soldiers I saw. They didn't have beautiful uniforms like the soldier at the embassy. The buses stopped on a street with buildings on each side, all of them two stories high and exactly the same, just like rabbit shit. Soldiers, some of which spoke hungarian, ushered us into the buildings which were clean and warm. On each floor was a large bathroom with toilets and showers. Downstairs was the Ladies, upstairs was the Gentlemens. The sleeping area was divided off with blankets, we got two bunk beds next to the ladies ablutions. Mom and Dad occupied the bottom, Steve and I the top. After we got settled and put away our meger possessions on the shelves, the soldiers told us that they will escort us to the dining hall.  

85 
It was a large dining hall, when we walked in the band started to play a marshal tune(Stars and Stripes Forever) and we all clapped to the beat of the music. When the band played the last note all the soldiers in unison said, "Welcome to America" I don't quite know how to explain it, but I really felt welcomed, tears welled up in my eyes, and I saw dad dabbing at his eyes too. A high ranking officer, with stars on his shoulder made a speech in English that none of us could understand. He made perfect sense when at the end he said in Hungarian, " Isten Hozott " which means '”God has brought you” I know he had something to do with it, but it really was a DC-4. We were invited to dinner; no one had to be asked twice. It was self service just like in Newfoundland and all you could eat. I heard dad make a comment to mom, "Dear if I was ten years younger I would sign up in this Army tomorrow."

"I believe you would." Mom told him. After not even seeing a bed for thirty six hours, I slept like a baby. When I woke up I was completely disoriented in my strange surroundings and had to pee like a recehorse. Went into the ladies ablutions downstairs, some woman was taking a dump, it didn't bother me, she didn't say nothing. All's well that ends well. After breakfast it was announced that the heads of families had to report building 12 B on Normandy avenue. Mom and dad went there, Steve and I found the Day Room. We have found haven on earth, neither of us, and I venture to say that none of the hungarian kids or adults have ever seen a TV before. From that day on whenever our parents wanted to find us, they just had to stick their heads into the TV room and yell out the names. The cartoons were the most entertaining, laughter is a universal language. Porky Pig, Tom and Jerry, Coyote and the Road Runner, were all new to us. The fact that they were in english didn't make anny difference. I olso got to know Chyene, Gunsmoke, and Wyatt Earp, loved them all. The soldiers would always put the TV on chanells we would like, and were always nice to us kids. Dad had to write a letter to her sister in Germany because he was told that for us to leave this camp we will have to have a ponsor in the United States who is an American citizen. The sponsor excepts the responsibility that we don't go on unemployment or welfare. When it was known that Hungarian refugees were at Camp Kilmer, Americans Came and accepted families or individuals. I wonder what happenned to this sound imigration pollicy. A friend of my aunts who lived in the Washington D.C. area responded to her request, and came to our aid.

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The evening of the 23rd. was designated for a big Christmas Party, presents for everyone. I was looking forward to that. After a nice Christmas type dinner (mom raised many turkeys, but I never had a turkey dinner) we were to go to the post theater to get presents and see the movie White Christmas. The dinner was wonderful I don't know how many turkeys went to turkey heaven, but everybody got a drumstick. Christmas tunes were played at the dining hall and we ate until it ouched. The theater was all decorated in Christmas finery and there were at least a dozen soldiers in beautiful uniforms. The other soldiers wore their dress uniforms too. Speeches were made and I heard several references to Hungarians and freedom and revolution. When the speeches ended the curtain opened and on the stage was the biggest pile of toys that I have ever seen.

We filed onto the stage and the Marines (the ones in the beautiful uniforms) handed out the toys. Then we saw the movie. I didn't like it too much. Bing Crosby was singing all the time; I would have liked a cowboy movie a lot more. One thing puzzled me though, I didn't see anyone wearing pistols. Steve and I retuned to our building loaded down with toys. I had a toy Kentucky rifle and a coonskin hat among other things. The next day dad was called to the administration building and when he returned he was jumping for joy. He was waving an envelope in his hand and said, "We are leaving for Washington D.C. this afternoon.  The bus tickets are in this envelope and we have a sponsor."Mother was happy too, "Who is our sponsor dear?" "They are very good friends of my sisters, Burt and Marion Schattenstein, Marion is hungarian." "It sure is nice of them to thake on such responsibility for a couple of strangers." "Yes it is, we will reinburse them for the bus tickets. Now let's get out things together the bus leaves at 1:30. I wish I could have said good bye to all the soldiers, that was not possible, they were so nice to us. I said good bye to Larry Kruse the soldied kept our building warm. The ugly buses taken us to the Greyhound Bus Terminal. The Pint's came too, the Schattensteins found a sponsor for them too. The Greyhound buses were nice but the Mercedes buses were much nicer. Headed south on US1, The highway was full of cars, most of them passing us. The towns were decorated for the hollidays and were looking clean, rivers were crossed and the road wound through rolling hills. Even under the blanker of snow, this was a beautiful country, and it smelled so free. It was more than a four hour ride to Washington D.C. and it was geting dark when the bus rolled in to the city. The first thing I noticed was a beautiful dome bathed in light. I never heard of or seen this dome before, but I knew that this has to be the nations building. The bus pulled into the terminal and we got off, we must have looked like we just got off the boat too. A tall man with thick glasses stepped up to dad and In toduced himself as Burt Schattenstein and his wife Marion. Introductions were all around, it was suggested that we should go to the cars. A lady who was witn Burt and Marion, drove on of the most beautiful cars that I have ever seen. Margaret had a brand new '56 Chevy two tone hardtop, aquamarine and white, with white interior. Burt drove a cab, said that it was his second job in the evenings. Douring the day he worked for the Washington Post newspaper. Marion told me that the dome was the Capitol, how appropriate for this nation. The wide avenue was straight as a lived (S.E. Washington was nice back then).

Crossed the Anacostia river and went by Bolling Air Field which was jampacked full of airplanes, war planes. Little further on were the apartment buildings where the Schattensteins and Margarete lived. They were two storied red brick buildings, nicely land scaped with shrubs and trees. A friend of Margaret was away on a skiing vacation for a week, and we get to use his apartment for a few days. For now dinner will be at the Schattensteins. The next day Burt brought a photographer and a reporter from the Washington Post to do a story on us, pictures were taken, stories were told. The piece apeared in the paper the next day, from the moment it hit the news stands Burt's telephohe didn't stop ringing.

88.
Uncle George in Silver Spring had problems. His sponsor was creating a tool rental business in the house he had George living in. All of the house downstairs except for the kitchen was filled with tools and machinery. The problem was that he advertised in the yellow pages 24 hour service 7 days a week. The telephone was ringing constantly and since George couldn't speak any English, he was deep in the shit. For a while the sponsor was there during the day, normal business hours, but there were the nights… finally George just unplugged the phone when the sponsor went home. George had everything for rent, from an Abacus to a Zoom lens. I think that covers everything. Learning English was real tough for George.  When I worked for him almost a decade later he still sounded like he just got off the boat. George only stayed with his sponsor until he saved enough money to get his own apartment. He too went to work for a foreign car dealership, Fiat I think. Dad tried to light a fire under his ass and tried to talk him into opening an auto service facility with him. George didn't like the idea. Dad thought that he just wanted to start something on his own. We stayed less then a year with the Byrds. They rented their house and went back to Hungary.

We found a two bedroom apartment on McArthur boulevard near Q street N.W. Dad bought his first American car, a '54 Plymouth two door sedan. It was a very ugly car, dad taken me to the parking lot of the Pentagon and tought me how to drive, I wasn't fifteen yet. The janitor of the apartment building where we lived was a blackman, a very nice fellow. One day when I was coming back from the pallasaides of the Potomac he stopped me and he said, "You that Humgagrian kid ain't choo?" I could understand pretty well by then, if then person spoke slow. "Yes, yes."  "Do you like trains?" I wasn't sure what he asked, but he aded, "Choo, choo, hoot, hoot." I knew what he meant then, "Yes, I like very much." "Good, you come with me." And he motioned me to follow him. I followed him into the basement of the building, down to the storage cages. He stopped at one of the cages and fished some keys from his pocket. There was nothing in the cage just several large cardboard boxes. Duke (that's what he was called) found the key and opened the lock, then he motioned me to go inside. He pointed to the boxes and said, "Trains, you can have them." I didn't understand at first, then he pointed to his eyes then to the boxes while he said, "Look, look." I stepped to the first box and openned it, wasn't taped or glued. The box was full of Lionel trains, just like the ones I gave Pista. The four big boxes were full to bursting. Track up the yang-yang, passenger cars, flat cars, goods cars, tankers, a crane, engines. I didn't know what to say to Duke, I was overwhelmed by his generosity. since I was lacking in words, I just hugged him, and shook his hand. I couldn't lift any of the boxes. Duke brought a hand truck and openned the service elevator so I could take the boxes upstairs. Steve had no idea what I was rolling into the apartment, when I told him he didn't belive me and dove right into one of the boxes. "Imre, there is hundreds of trains here! I never seen so many trains, let's set it up." I didn't think it was a good idea, but I was qurious just how much trains I was given. There was a lot. 

89 
Steve and I worked for a couple of hours before the railroad was functional. Our bedroom was not big enough to contain it all so we ran the tracks into the hall and into the living room, behind the couch and under the window, into the hall again and back to our bedroom. Steve had a complete train to drive and I did too. We were just getting into the swing of things when mom came home. She was not impressed with our track laying and showed her displeasure. We had to remove all the track from the living room and the hall. We ended up with the “Short Line Railroad”.

My first clash with authority was at Americanization school. I can't remember the original problem, but what I do remember is that an older male teacher insisted that I address him as Sir! I refused. My argument was that I wanted to know when and where he was Knighted. "I wasn't knighted you little communist, but you must address me as sir." Said he. I was pissed because of the communist remark, dug in my heels and refused. Told him, "You are not entitled to the title of Sir." All this was done in front of the blackboard, I drew a Knight the pointed at him and crossed it out, He was so fucking mad, but could do nothing. Tried to explain to me that it was a sign of respect and so on, I figured, he dared to call me a communist, you don't deserve to be called Sir. No matter how hard he tried to explain, I just blamed this on my lack of understanding english. Finally he gave up, I used this ploy for the first three years of attending public school. While we were still living with the Byrds, among the generous people who donated things to us there was a man named Johny Mack. He wanted me to join his Boy Scout troop. He was the Scout Master, I heard of the Boy Scouts, it was outlawed in hungary by the cummunists. I joined the troop and Steve joined the Cub Scouts. The meetings were at the church, I went on weekend outings with them, but it was very tame compared to some of my adventures. Some of the kids showed me their merrit badges for woodcraft, archery and firemaking. I couldn't show my merrit badge for washtub canoeing, bomb exploding, or APC destroying. I didn't even tell them, they wouldn't have belived me anyway. Around the end of january Johny Mack gave me this piece of typed paper, and was explained to me that I will have to learn it by heart. How the hell could I learn it if I could not even read it. Then I had an idea, I asked Johny Mack to read it to me real slow, and as he read I wrote it down the way it sounded to me. Now I could learn it by heart, I had no idea what I was saying but Johny Mack was impressed. It was the Scouts Oath. The Cub Scouts Oath got the same treatment so that Steve can learn it. On George Wahingtons Birthday in 1957 I took the Boy Scouts Oath and Steve the Cub Scouts Oath on the porch at Mount Vernon. After we moved away from the apartment on McArthur Buleward, I gave up scouting it was too mild for me. The first time I attended public school was in september of '57 at Eastern Junior High School after we moved to Silver Spring, Maryland. I loved it, I didn't have to do any homework, if I didn't like or didn't want to do something, I just indicated that I didn't understand. I was geting away with murder.

I was very good in world geography and biology. In spite of my pretended ignorance, in january of '58 I was bumped up to the 8th. grade. Dad was pirated from Jack Pry Ltd. for higher pay to Manhattan Auto on 7th. street. Now he was making $125.00 a week.

This was as much money that dad made in a month driving a bus. With mom's contribution I think the weekly income was just over $150.00 per week.

90 
Food shopping was always a hoot, the whole family went. Safe Way was the closest grocery store to us and became the favorite place to shop. It was amazing that we could buy everything in one place, from apples to toothpaste. In Hungary for fruit, you had to go to the greengrocer, for toothpaste to the apothecary, for meat to the butcher. The thousands of products that we never even knew it existed mesmerized us. It was sport to try to guess what was in the colorful packages because we couldn’t read English. Dad was amazed at the many kinds of breads, after trying many different kinds he settled on seedless rye, sliced. This was almost a two month process.

Shopping was an adventure because we had to rely on the pictures on the boxes or cans to know what we were getting. I remember it almost taking us a whole month to find unsalted butter. All kinds of things were purchased just out of curiosity. That is how we fond marshmallows. I picked up the bag, looked at them, squeezed them, first I thought that they were some kind of padding that goes under the legs of furniture. Then I found a bagful that had a picture of a cup of coffee with one of those white things floating in the cup. I told dad, "We should try this, it should be good." It went into the shopping cart. Mom bought nice strawberries and wanted some whipped cream. Steve came with a thing that looked like a paint can, but had a picture of a strawberry shortcake with whipped cream. In to the cart it went. Back then you could push the shopping carts out to your car, we always had four! The trunk of the Plymouth was full. While loading the trunk, dad spotted the marshmallows on top, tore open the bag and popped two into his mouth and slammed the trunk. By the time we were pulling out of the parking lot I noticed that he was trying to say something to mom. He was working his mouth from side to side and was trying to swallow. He pulled over and with his index finger removed a big white glob from his mouth and flung it into the street. He took a big breath, "God damn, I damn near choked on those things! Marie, as soon as we get home, throw them away. They're dangerous."

It wasn't thrown away, later we found out how to consume them. Mom made the strawberry shortcakes, the only thing left was to put on the whipped cream. Mom examined this can with the beautiful picture of the cake on it, she shook the can, then she got a hold of the plastic top, it moved some. With triumph on her face she unscrewed it. There was a pipe sticking up with a spring at the base, she pushed down on the pipe, nothing, pulled up on the pipe, nothing. Out of sheer frustration she slammed it down on the kitchen table, the nozle part must have hit something and broke off, the whipped cream came out in a giant streak and started to decorate mom, the kitchen and me too. I was watching mom battle with this monster and was paralysed by laughter. First she directed the stream on the cakes, but there was only four. Then she tried to plug it with her finger, it kept on squirting. The funniest part was when she stuck it in her mouth and it inflated her face, and whipped cream came out of her nose. Almost in tears she threw the still squiting can in the corner and decided to laugh. I was doubled ower I laughed so hard. Dad came to investigate what was all the laughing about, stuck his head into the kitche and remarked, "Little heavy on the whipped cream, eh Marie!" That started me rolling again.You had to be there. At one time we must have had twenty boxes of cereal in the kitchen, all different kinds, Steve and I were hunting for frosted flakes or sugar puffs, we got to like them at Camp Kilmer and ever since then, we kept buying the cereals hopeing it would be the one we liked. About may another hungarian refugee kid arrived at Eastern Junior High School. Same age as I and in the 8th. grade. Peter had some prior knowladge of english and was making me look bad. I couldn't get away with half the stuff I could before because Peter translated everything for me. I had to do homework, because they said, "If Peter can do it, why can't you?" Oh, I was pissed of at him for ruining my niche. It was lucky that only six weeks of school was left. My parents asked me, "When do you get you're report card?" I became a real good bullshit artist, "Oh mom and dad, in America they don't give report cards. If the teachers think that you did good work, they let you pass to the next grade." I had my parents snowed, never told them about the PTA or any kind of parent and school type functions.

91  
During the summer the neighbors at the Manchester road apartments were making more and more complaints against us about too much noise, jumping, loud music, door slamming, etcetera. But of course, mom and dad both went to work early in the morning, Steve and I had free reign until they got home. We invited friends over, they brought their new 45's that we played full tilt on the hi-fi. “Johnny Be Good” was big back then, "Down in Mississippi, cross from New Orleans, way back in the woods, among the ever greens." The management sent a letter to dad that said we had to move. It couldn't have happened at a better time. Dad was in the process of going into partnership with an Italian fellow named Constantino Marináró. The enterprise was a Sinclair gas station on 14th Street N.W., D.C. below R Street. During the riots in D.C. it was burned down, but that was much later.

Mom and dad went house hunting in the Silver Spring area. They found a house further out in the suburbs in Wheaton, Maryland. It was a cute little two bedroom house with a white picket fence. It had a full basement a nice yard, and it was at the end of a court, Lindell court. My parents paid $18,000 for that house. The mortgage payments were less than the apartment rental. These days these same houses sell for over $120 thousand and D.C. spilled out into the suburbs with it's crime, violence, and gangs. Yes, the blacks brought all that in. It wasn't like that back then. My new school was Belt Junior High School and I was a celebrity again. In such a short time I was transported to such a different world. In Hungary every house was surrounded by a stone, plank, or iron fence, here in Wheaton there wasn't any fences. If there was any at all it was only ornamental or a low fence to keep a small dog in the yard. Kids left their bikes, trikes, and other toys out in the yard. In Hungary it all would be gone in a blink of an eye.

When we moved in, neighbors came and introduced themselves and welcomed us. The first time I heard the expression “Welcome Wagon.” When I went back to Hungary in 2000, to Dömsöd, not one sunofabitch came over and introduced themselves; they watched me from behind closed window blinds and plank fences. When I fired up my Harley, my neighbor’s teenage sons watched me from the bushes. They didn't have the balls to come over and say 'hi'. It's just a whole different mentality; Americans are much more open and willing to share their freedom. Hungarians are closed, suspicious, and not willing to share. This is true of most eastern Europeans.

Well, like I said Wheaton was a different world, the gas station was opened and was called the Globe Motor Center. Dad and Tino ran a full service station. I went down there sometimes to pump gas; there was no self service then. A gallon of Sinclair Regular was .26 cents. I repaired flats for $2 which I got to keep. Soon dad expected me to be down there and I was wearing the change machine. The are of 14th and Corcoran area was a bad place to live. The station was broken into all the time. If they didn't come through the door, they came through the skylight. They stole everything of value, tools, oil, cigarettes from the machine, they broke into the soda machine. All of it done by blacks. A black kid my age tried to rob me with a screwdriver. I hit him in the head with a can of oil. It split his head wide open and the cops found him by following the blood trail.

By the end of the summer I had saved over $300 dollars. I wanted to buy a motorcycle, but dad didn't even want to hear of it. I found one in the paper and dad took me to look at it. He was curious what kind of motorcycle could be had for a 100 bucks. It was a beautiful 1947 Indian Chief 1000 inline four. The man started it up for me and it ran like a Swiss watch. The owner wanted dad to take it for a ride, he declined. I think if he accepted the offer he would have bought it. He told me to thank the man for him, but he said it was too much motorcycle for me. A bike like that today is worth $30,000.

Belt Junior High was a brand new school and I was a brand new kid in the area. A few days after school started I met and made friends with the Brunori brothers, George and Mario. George was the youngest and they both smoked. After school we went to the recreation center which was on the way home. They offered me a cigarette many times until I decided to tell them the story of the cigar. My English must have improved because they laughed their ass’s off.

92
Dad came home from work one day and told me that there is a real nice '51Ford at the station and the owner only wants a $100 for it, "Would you like to buy it son?" What a question, I went for it like a rat goes for cheese, "Yes dad buy it." I only turned fifteen two weeks ago, and I would have a car. I gave him the money and a couple of days later he told me, "Son I can't keep the car down at the station. It takes up room that we need and it will be broken into because of the radio." "OK dad, bring it home then." "Of course son, but the car has to have tags. I need another $25 and $50 to put it on my insurance." Gee, $175 and I haven't even seen it.

Before the weekend the grease man, Leroy, followed dad home in my car then dad had to take him back to town. I was disappointed the car was a four door and an automatic. The car sat in front of the house because we didn't have a driveway. The temptation was too much. One evening while dad was taking a shower, I pressed the ignition key into some candle wax that I prepared earlier. The next day I went to the hardware store and bought a Ford key blank and a set of locksmiths files and went to work. It took me two hours to complete my task. When I stuck the new key in the ignition, it turned like it was made for it (come to think of it, it was made for it). I fired it up and the flathead V8 hummed.

On the right of our house lived the Crosses. Mrs. Cross was the proverbial nosy neighbor. She used to come over to find out what mom was cooking, standard approach, "Oh Maria, something has such a wonderful fragrance, I just had to find out what you're making.” Mom was making tripe like she used to back in the old country. Because of her limited knowledge of English she got out the Hungarian-English dictionary and looked up the words she thought would be appropriate to describe her culinary delight. It came out like this, "I cook cow guts, you want taste?" Mrs.Cross protested and escaped as fast as she could. Her son Jay asked me a few days later, "Do you realy eat cows guts? Mother told me that you all are real nomads, and I read that the anchient huns tenderized the meat under the saddle." "There is some misunderstanding here Jay. In the first place, it's not cows guts, it is the stomack of the cow, you call it tripe I belive." "Only niggers eat that Imre." "That may be Jay, but the way my mom prepares it it's very good." "Well, I sure don't want any." "Who the fuck said you gona get any?" "Oh I just tought you wanted me to taste it." "You tought wrong Jay, just like the tenderizing the meat under the sadle. That just meant that the anchient hungarians eaten their horses when the need arose. Each worrior had a whole string of horses. They didn't ride the same horse from the banks of the Danube all the way to France." "Oh I didn't know that." "Thats all right Jay, you can inform your mother too. And if you really want, I can ask mom to bring over some cow guts." "Naw, that's OK." Jay was a tall lanky guy a whole head taller than I was, and had the biggest feet I ever seen on a kid. Later in High school he played  basketball and he was a star. He went to colledge on a basketball scholarship. My parents wanted me to be like him, and always puting him up as an example. They didn't know that I was supplying Jay with skin magazines from downtown, for a pretty good fee. Well, back to my Ford, one day in the late fall the night before I wasn't feeling so good. Mom checked my temperature, it was above normal. "Son, I will check you in the morning and if you have a fever, you can stay home."  I made sure that I had a slight fever the next morning and stayed home. As soon as my parents left, I got dressed and with my secret key fired up the Ford and eased out of Lindell court. That was the first time I went joy riding, headed out into the country to realy experience how to handle a car. The country roads in that part of Maryland were very tame, went toward Olney, then Spencerville, stayed away from the main roads. I was having such a great time I forgot about the miles the Ford was racking up. I looked at the gas gauge and it was almost on empty, only had two dollars on me. I knew that what I had left in the tank will not get me home, my luck didn't abandon me. On my right I noticed an Esso sign coming up, it was an old country store. Had only two pumps out front, Esso Extra and Regular. I bought two dollars worth of regular at .24 cents a gallon, had over a half a tank and I cruised on home. Put the car back on the same spot. When mom an dad got home, I told dad, "I will have to take an excuse to school tomorrow, to show that I was sick." "All right son, you write it out and I will sign it." I wrote the note out on standard notebook paper, stating that I was sick had a fever ect...ect. Dad signed it and I took it to school.

93 
I gave the note to my home room teacher and thought nothing more of it. After the second period I was called to the principal’s office. Mr. Burkheart was not in a jovial mood and told me so. I asked him what this was all about. When he finished telling me I understood that the whole thing boiled down to that I had to bring my parents in for a conference in a day or two. I told dad in the evening. I expected the question, "What kind of mess did you get into now?" "I didn't do nothing dad, honest." "I can't go tomorrow. I have to call Mr. Grandi and ask him to go with me." Mr. Elio Grandi was dad's insurance man and confidant and helped dad out in business negotiations. I hoped that he would be a big help this time.

Two days later I was in my first period class when I was called to the principal’s office. Dad and Mr. Grandi had already talked to Mr.Burkheart. In front of Mr.Butkheart was the excuse note for my absence that I wrote and signed by my father. That was all the big stink was about. It was obvious that it was my handwriting. Mr.Grandi explained to the principal that although my father knows how to write, he has not yet learned to write in English and that is why he asked me to compose and write the excuse note. I was unjustly suspected of shenanigans. Now that it was all cleared up, I was to reap the benefits of their suspicions. At home there were plenty of papers that featured dad's signature so I practiced and practiced until I was able to forge dad's signature perfectly.

I was able to test my perfection when a form came from the county , I had to read things like that for dad and helped him to fill it out. I told him, "You have to sign this form too." He taken the form from me, looked at it, "Oh, I signed this already." It was my forgery, from then on I wrote my excuses whenever I neede one. Nobody ever questioned them again. A couple of times a week I would ride the bus down to the station and repair a couple of tires, pump gas untill closing time. I could earn some pocket money and if dad was working on something I would watch and ask questions. I kind of eased into the profession, I didn't mind geting my hands dirty and had the best teacher in the world. The Brunori brothers had camping trip in mind for the weekend, I must say that my mom didn't approve of them, she wanted me to pall around with our neighbors sons. One was Jay Cross the other Danny Davis,  both of them were jocks and always went around with their gym shoes around their necks. Poor Danny suffered a serious back injury while playing football the first year of high school. A very handsome all american looking boy, lucky that he wasn't cripled. I lost track of him over the years, I wonder what became of him? Mr.Brunori is going to drive us out into the country and drop us off a little ways from out camping spot. I never been there before, and I couldn't find the place now if someone put a gun to my head. That area has been built up decades ago, somebody's living room is now, where once our campfire burned.

We had all the equiment to camp out, not like Búcsi and I on our washtub trip. I even had an army sleeping bag that was given me while I was scouting. We had RC's and moonpies, hot dogs, and chips, and were ready for the wilderness of Montgomery County. This was only the second time that I went overnight camping in my new homeland, one weekend the whole family camped out on a trip to Ocean City. This will be a little different, with  my buddies it should be fun.

94   
Mr.Brunori drove us down Randolph Road until one of the boys said, "This is the place. Just pull over." We all piled out and got all our stuff. Mr.Brunori's final words were, "When you are ready to come home, just go to the nearest phone, and I'll come and get you." He fired up his car, and we with great enthusiasm headed into the woods.

After a ten minute walk we had to cross a shallow creek on a fallen tree trunk.  Just a little further on at the bend of the creek was a nice grassy meadow. The creek had a high bank on the other side. The tents were pitched and a fire made. There were plenty of fallen trees and logs around. We could have made a huge fire and never had to worry about running out of wood. The boys had everything, binoculars, compass, survival knives, hatchet and guns. This camp was well equipped for a serious expedition. Nothing was lacking. The arsenal consisted of a .22 single shot rifle, a .22 pistol and a .22 Crossman CO2 pistol. It was starting to get dark, so we put off the shooting until the next morning. Allen Thomkinson was the cook designate and was busy laying out the buns, mustard and ketchup. George and Mario were carving sticks to roast the whiners on.

I carved one for myself too and was just taking in all that was going on all around me. What a difference from my earlier experiences of camping out. I was sure that I wouldn't be cold that night. I was also sure that no sheep herd would be coming into camp with a bad mannered stinking herder. If one would I'd shoot him in the ass. I knew I was a third of the way around the globe from where I was born, yet the night sky looked exactly the same. There almost above me the Big Dipper shined, the belt of Orion right where it was supposed to be. I felt at home.

After the roasting of some dogs and emptying some RC's Allen asked me, "Hey Imre, what happened to your upper lip?" Even before I had a chance to answer, George was there with a back up question, "Yeah, I been meaning to ask you. Were you born with a cleft pallet?"  surprised, I said, "Wait a minute guys! What the fuck is a 'Cleft Pallet?' Remember me…refugee kid." He said, "Imre, a cleft pallet is a birth defect, and you have to have an operation to correct it. Did you have an operation?" "Yea, you might say that I had an operation, a bus door operated on me."  "A bus door? How? When?" "Aw guys it's a long story." These guy's were so curious, that if I didn't tell they might put my feet in the fire. "Aw come on, we got all night." "Guy's my english is not so good." "Your english is just fine, so get on with it."  "Well all right, if you promise not to laugh."All three held up their hand in the scouts oath and, "We promise!" I started the tale and they listened straight faced until I got to the part when Steve, whom they knew, slammed the door on my face. The laughter started then, when I told and demostrated how the fat doctor sewed my lips together with fishingline, they were rolling on the ground and laughing. The part when I was sucking on a baby bottle and taking all the harrasment, really set them off. George, and Mario were gasping for air, Allan was wiping tears from his eyes and laughing at the same time. At the end they accused me of making it all up, it was a good thing that I still had the scars to proove it. Mario complemented me, "There is nothing wrong with your english Imre. A person who can't understand you, must be stupid. After we collected some more firewood the boys wanted to hop into Wheaton to shoot some pool. I was no damn good with a pool que, and was sleepy anyway and declined. I put some wood on the fire, climbed into my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

95
I don't even remember what time the boys got back, I slept through it all. I think it was 9am when I climbed out of my sleeping bag. The shots woke me up. George was shooting the .22 rifle at a piece of paper on the steep bank of the creek. I wanted to shoot too, but first I had to eat something, I was a hungry Hungarian. After I stuffed myself with delicious junk food I was feeling good and was ready to show off my shooting skill. This would only be the second time I’d used a firearm. The first time it was a .22 too. I did miserably. I know I'm much better with a catapult. We were shooting away when Allen whispered, "Cops, fucking cops." Two county cops were just crossing the log over the creek while I hoped that they’d fall in. George threw the .22 pistol in the tent and covered it with a sleeping bag. The cops made their way to us, and cordially asked, "What are you boys doing here?" George was the one who spoke up first, typical Italian, answer a question with a question, "What does it look like?"

The taller of the two cops was geting aggitated those pesky grass seeds were stuck all over his pants. He yelled at George, "I'm asking the questions boy?" I wanted to stay invisible, even then I didn't like cops, to me they meant oppression and terror. Mario interveened and said, "Be cool man, can't you see we're camping." "We herd shootig too, were you guys shooting?" Mario answered again, "Yes we were, at that piece of paper there." And pointed in the direction. The short cop went into a tirate about rickochetts traveling a mile and could kill someone. This was a real stupid cop, if I would have asked him how can a bullet bounce off a vertical clay wall, he would have been at a loss. Even if you shoot at the surface of the water, a bullet will not bounce off if the angle is greater than 7 degrees. The cops wanted to see the guns, Mario showed them the rifle and the Co2 pisto. The short cop wanted to get serious, "OK you guys, lets see some ID?" Allen was the one who answered that request, "We can tell you who we are, but none of us are sixteen yet. We don't have any ID's." "And I just suppose to belive you, right?" "You belive what you want, but no matter how big a prick you are, we can't show you any papers." For that, Allan would been slapped several times if we were in hungary, thank God that we were not. The short cop turned to me, "You're awful quiet, what is your is your name and where do you live?" I understood him perfectly, it was time to be the ignorant refugee, "Me no understand." "Come now what's your fucking name?"  "Me no fucking, me make fire, me english no good." George came to my rescue, I whished he didn't, "Why don't you leave him be, he's a new kid in school. Him and his family just recently escaped from eastern Europe." "Oh, he's one of them Humgarians! Are you hungry boy?" I whished that some nausea would come over me so I could throw up all over him. That wasn't going to happen, went back to my standard lingo, "Me no understand." "You guys know his name and where he lives?" "Yea we do, his name is Emery, Emery Baca. He lives at the end of Lindell court 2908 in Wheaton."  "OK, What is your name and address?"

The cop asked George how my name is spelled, George gave him the spelling the way he would write it. They got all of our names and where we lived, Mario made a comment to the taller cop,  "I see you have silver bullets, Do you shoot many werewolfs?" The cop was still picking grass seeds of his pants, didn't appriciate the humor.

"One more crack like that and we'll run you all in." I tought, what the hell they would do that for. We didn't do nothing illegal, camping, having a fire, and shooting, wasn't illegal. The cops were just terrorising, not on the same extent as they did in hungary but terrorising just the same. The cops put a dampner on our enthusiasm for camping, we decided to pack up everything and hike home. The loads were distributed evenly and we headed home, we were only marching for five minutes on the side of the road when a man with a pickup truck stopped and wanted to give us a ride. George asked him, "Can you swing by Wheaton High School?" "Sure can kid." was the answer. He let us off on the corner of Lindell and Randolph road, from here I could spit home. The other guys didn't live too much further. Mom and dad was surprised that I was home so soon and asked how come, "Well we ate everything there was, and ran out of ammunition, the fire wasn't any fun in the daytime, so we decided to come home. I kept quiet about the cops showing up, mom was paranoid about the police and never wanted nothing to do with them. Steve wanted a more detailed account of the outing, but I didn't tell him nothing either.

96
Sunday morning was a very nice fall day. Steve and I were watching cartoons, mom was preparing breakfast and dad was looking at the paper. Most of the time he looked for the name Hungary in the paper. If it appeared, I had to translate the article for him. I heard a sound of a siren from quite far off, but gradually it was getting closer. I got up from the TV and looked outside just as the police car with siren wailing turned into Lindell Court followed by an unmarked car. They pulled right in front of our house and parallel parked next to our cars. Two cops jumped out with shotguns and took up positions behind their cruiser. Two plain clothes cops got out of the unmarked car and were walking to the front door. Mom was in the living room by then, and all the neighbors were out in front of their houses. When dad opened the door, mom was on the verge of crying. One of the detectives said to dad, "Were looking for Emery Baca." Dad said and indicated with his finger, "Me, Imre Baka!" The detective didn't want to screw up and told dad, "You have a kid, about fifteen?" That's when I stepped forward, "Me Imre Baka." He had a piece of paper in his hand and they stepped into the living room.

The one with the paper pushed his hat back and looked at me square in the eye and said, "Emery Baca, you are under arrest on the suspicion of armed robbery." The other detective was already behind me and twisted my arms back and cuffed me. My mother and dad had no idea what the detective said, but they understood hand cuffs. I tried to tell mom in my native language, "Don't worry mom, this must be a mistake." She was just wailing and kept saying over and over, "I knew the Brunori's would get you into trouble.” I was led out of the house with a detective on each arm and put in to the police car. They took me to the Randolph Road police station in Glenmont which was brand new then. After they removed the hand cuffs, I was put into a room, the Brunori's and Allen were in there already. I said hi to my friends, but Mario signalled to shut up.This room had a large mirror on one wall, I wondered why would a stark room like this would have such a large mirror. I went right up to it, pushed my face aginst the glass and shielded the rooms light with my hands. The two detectives and the two cops were siting on the other side, looking at us. I made like I was trying to see some thing in my eye, got out my comb and started to comb my hair, while I was signaling the boys about the two way mirror. The cops showed up at the other boy's houses the same way, causing stress and embarasment to the parents. The Brunori's were at the station with their lawyer in thirty minutes, so was the Tomkinsons. My parents only showed up an hour later with Mr.Grandi. One by one, we were taken to a room with just the two detectives there. The ones that came to the house, they offered me a Cola in a paper cup. I guess they figured that a desperate criminal like me could use a can or a bottle as a weapon. I was going to play the dumb refugee to the hilt, the one sitting in front of me started with, "Now listen kid, your friends already told us about you, are you ready to take the whole wrap. They told us it was all your idea." I just had a stupid grin on my face, who the fuck these assholes think they were dealing with. I paid attention in civics class, they have to have proof and have to charge me in 72 hours. Since I didn't do any thing, there was no proof of nothing, plus I was still a minor and the name on the arrest warrant wasn't my name. "Come on kid tell us how it all went down." I didn't even know at this stage who I supposed to have robbed, I said, "OK I tell!" The detectives looked relived, and waited for me to sing, turned on a tape recorder, "I do nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing." I was waiting for one of them to loose his temper and hit me, I would have loved that. I was already thinking of the false arrest suit and a battery charge next to that would be just fine with me. One of the detectives left the room only to return with a nother man I never seen before. The detective had the Co2 pistol with him and handed it to me. I held it in my right hand, the Co2 cartrige was missing. The detective told me, "Point the gun at him!" I did that, and I pulled back the hammer. The detective asked the man, "Was it him?" The man said, "No it wasn't." I was pointing the gun at the man's head and let the hammer fall and yelled as loud as I could "BANG!" The man flinched and the detectives looked confused. The dirty sunofabitches tried to set us aginst eachother instead trying to find out the truth. The boys didn't take any guns with them when they went to play pool. I didn't even go. The cops were barking up the wrong tree from the start. The man who I was told to point the pistol at was a cab driver, who set down to play poker with the days earnings, and lost his shirt. He made up the story that he was robbed by teenagers. George, Mario, and Allen were seen at the pool hall that night. The propriator gave a description of the late visitors to the police, and they jumped to conclusions. I tried to convince dad to get a lawyer and sue for false arrest, but he would not go for it. God knows he had enough of cops in his life, he too tought the less he has to deal with them the better. From that sunday, I was the bad boy of Lindell court. My mother to her dying days threw it in my face how I embarassed her that day. We never got an appology from the cops in any shape or form. My opinion of the police was lower than whale shit and the way they behaved in my adopted country didn't earn high marks in my book.

97
Dad had two friends who were in the home improvement business and gave him a good price on paneling our basement with knotty pine. When it was finished it was beautiful, this was our play room and we could set up our trains. Dad put in a small bar and he got us a ping-pong table that could be used for many other things. Steve brought a friend home from school who was the same age as Steve and about the same size too. This kid wasn't an Asian, but he had slits for eyes. I didn't like him right off the bat. Herber was his name, Herbert Grubb to be exact. I didn’t trust this kid with the sneaky pig eyes. I always felt that he would sneak up from behind and let me have it with something. I always told him, "Grubb, get over there where I can see you." He had been living with his grandparents in Tennessee and was new to the Wheaton area.

It was sometimes in the spring, when what I always was afraid of happened. Steve and I got into a big argument over something. Herbert was there and took Steve's side.

I was about to pounce on my brother and give him “what for” when I got hit from behind so hard that it knocked me to my knees. It was Herbert. I let him stray from my sight and he did me in. To this day I don't know what he hit me with. There were many items in the yard and around the house that could serve his propose. Of course both of them took of running before I could recover. Steve didn't come home until dad and mom arrived. I told Steve to tell Herbie, that if I get a hold of him, I will close his eyes so that he won't be able to see for weeks. Herbie sent a messege with Steve, that when his big brother arrives, he will take care of my ass. I wasn't worried at all, who ever beat my ass wasn't geting a virgin. Between going to the gas station after school and my grass moving business I kept busy. Everybody was kind to the refugee kid who could barely speake english, for the average yard I got three dollars. If they wanted me to rake up the cutings, which I hated, that was extra. The lady of the house always gave me some lemonade or a soft drink, one beer bellied guy gave me a beer from the cooler he was siting on. It was the first beer I drank in America, it was National Bohemian beer, very popular at that time in the Washington D.C. area. This fella wanted me to tell him about myself while I finished the beer, I found it hard as I spoke to him, to pretend that I didn't know the language. From then on I didn't pretend anymore, my accent announced that I was a foreigner. I met a very cute girl named Karen, she was a straberry blond with freckles, she was already a sophmore at Wheaton High. I really liked her, but could never get home run with her. I think her girlfriends badgered her becouse I was younger, I should have bragged off with my experience. Karen became a stewardess for a major airline after graduation, and was swept off her feet by a rich rancher from Oregon. Only a week into summer vacation and Herbie's brother arrived from Tennesse, Herbie came walking over with him with a 'Now you're gona get yours' on his face. Ever since he hit me, he gave our house a wide berth. His brother was same hight and built as I was, we probably weighed the same. Herbie started yelling from the fence, "Come on out Imre, and just try some thing!" I wasn't in a fighting mode, but that pig eyed sunofabitch managed ti get me there, "You're too chickenshit to come out now that my brother Cliff is here." I was out in the front yard in the blink of an eye, walked right up to Herbie, who had all the confidence in the world in his big brother, and slapped him as hard as I could. Cliff was ready to pounce, but was not sure of himself, I made certain that he was less sure, "Listen pal, I don't have a problem with you, don't make it so. I owed that to your loud mouth kid brother for some time now, he can tell you why. You want to fight? OK, but I tell you before we begin, I'm not stoping at a bloody nose or a black eye. When I finish, your moma won't recognise you. Come, we can fight here in the yard or down in the basement."

Cliff didn't have pig eyes like his kid brother, and from what he said I tought that he was a reasonable fella, "I don't have problems with you either, belive me I know about my brothers mouth. According to him, he didn't do nothing to you, you just don't like him." While Cliff was talking, Herbie was doing a low burn. All his plans went awry, he would have loved to have seen me with a boody nose, black eye, or both. Cliff just said, I'll see you later and dragged Herbie away by the scruff of his neck, while Herbie cussed at him. I met Cliff a few days later at the recration center, Mario and George was there too, we talked and it was the start of a friendship. Cliff was the type of person, most of us met the kind, big on one upmanship. If you showed him your .357 magmum, he has a .44 magnum at home. If you have a nice pick up truck, he has a 4x4 at his uncles on the farm, and so on. I always wondered what would a person like that would say to Buzz Aldrin or Allan Shepherd. Cliff was to be in the 9th. grade too at the start of the school year just like yours truly. Dad taken us to Ocean City a couple times douring the summer, Cliff and Herbie came along too. And down to the bay a few times. My favorite times were at 'Big Rock', this place was on the Nothwest Branch Creek that eventually flowed into the bay. We had to go a good ways down on Radolph road, through a housing development and into the woods until we came upon the creek. Years ago person or persons built a dam accross the creek from stones, some of them quite large. This created a swiming hole with a big boulder on one side, the 'Big Rock'. There was a knoted rope hanging from the tree that could be reached from the top of the rock. The hole was deep enough that you could dive from the rock without geting hurt, the broad leaves of the maple trees provided plenty of shade. All summer long there was always ten to fifteen kids out there, it was like our private resort. What a wonderful country!

99
I asked dad to drive my car to the station so I could do some work on it, I was to be down there a couple of times next week anyway. Just a couple of blocks north of the station on 14^th Street was Strick's Custom and Speed Shop and I wanted to get a few things from there. I wanted to make the car look different; the hot rod fever was on me.

The day dad took my car to work, I was there earlier than usual. I removed the stock grill, and cleaned all the road grime from the radiator opening. With a can of appliance white spay paint I painted the whole opening white, this would make the grill shine even brighter. I couldn't install the grill because it took a long time for the paint to dry.

Dad had to take my car to work four or five times before I thought I spent enough money. Strick's was an expensive place. I bought four spun aluminum wheel covers, cleaned the engine real good, and painted it red.

The guy at Strick's told me that the engine needed to be dressed up so he sold me the things I needed. There were the chrome covers for the cylinder head bolts, chrome cover for the generator. I removed the large air cleaner and replaced it with a smaller chrome one. When I showed it all to my father he said, "Son, this is absolutely useless what you did here. It doesn't make the engine more efficient or make the car go faster." "I know dad, but it does make it look nicer?" "Your engine compartment looks like a circus son."

He just didn't want to understand, and he has never been to Wheaton “Hot Shoppes” like Cliff and I have, and seen the guys cruising around picking up girls. When they pulled into a tel-a-tray, right after they ordered, they’d open the hood so everyone could scope out their engines. There were some beauties there, you could eat off the valve covers. My Ford had dual exhaust pipes, and a pair of real good mufflers, when I reved up the engine it sounded like a big air leak. Those mufflers had to go, the man at Stick's told me I neede a pair of 'Glass Pack's' to give me that mello rumbling sound at idle, and the roar when I stepped on it. That will be next, Leroy the greese man helped me to do a real nice wax job. It really brought the royal blue paint job come back to life, but other then the grill and the wheel covers it looked too stock. I wanted a custom ride, the next time I bought nudie magazines for Jay, I bought myself a Hot Rod magazie to get some ideas. Wow, this was all new to me, all the beautiful cars, parts and accessories were beyond my imagination. There was nothing like this in Hungary, hell, there was nothing like this in Europe. Even now, almost fifthy years later you never see custom car on the street, if you do, you can bet your ass it belongs to an american or brought in by local from the UK. or the USA. I put on the Glasspacks, and the car sounded great. School started and I had less time to spend on my car, Cliff Grubb was campaigning to be the class president of the ninth grade. Since he was a new kid in school, I didn't think he had a chance, but he pulled it off and got elected. He started to date a big titied girl Betty Dickerson, I jusd called her 'Top Heavy', when she asked me why, I told her. After school at the recration center, I was braging off about my car, some of the guys tought that I was lying. I had no other choice than say, "Come and I'll show you." Ten or more kids followed me over to my house, I got right in the car fired it up. Gave them an earfull from my new Glasspacks, and just to convince the ones that were still sceptical I dropped it in gear and peeled out. Did a lap around Lindell cout, and parked it. Openned the hood and let them feast their eyes, everyone liked what they saw. One boy from among the lookers, and one of the sceptics spoke up, "How much do you wan't for it?" It came such a surprise that at first I didn't know what to say, tried to be cool and said, "Make me an offer, and we can go from there." I could hardly belive I said that, I knew approximately how much cash I had in the car. The boy, Tim Cocker was his name, said, "I'll give you $300.00 for it." I tought that was a good price, but my reply was, "Make it $350.00 and it's your's." He didn't even try to haggle, he just said, "I'll have the money for you tomorrow, but you have to leave the tags on it untill I take it home." "OK it's a done deal, let's shake on it." We shook hands, and everyone drifted away. I didn't know it then, but Tim was doing the 9th. grade the second time. He was already past his 16th. birthday and had a drivers license. The next day he was at my house after school, and put three 100's two 20's and a 10 in my palm. The night before I gotten the title from dad, he tought that I made a good deal. After Tim gave me the money I gave him my key, he wanted to leave right away, "Hey Tim, hold it a minute! I want to go with you, and take off my tags when you get home." "Come on then." I got in, and Tim took off none to easy. We must have visited every single friend of his, male and female, because he wanted to show off the car. All his buddies were giving him advise on what he can do with the car, all of which I'm sure cost money. I learned a lot that evening about lowering blocks, Lakes pipes, geting leaded in, and black primer paint. First I tought they were talking about Rock 'N' Roll, but when I listened closer, I realised it was Tuck 'n' Roll and that refered to the upholstery. This was all new to me, and it was dark by the time I got home with my tags. 

Gramps had the time of his life. He made dad take pictures of him at all the tourist spots. He had many extra prints made, and was sending them in letters back to the old country. He told my aunt, "Daughter, it's such a shame for all that beautiful grass to go to waste. Why don't you get some chickens and some geese, I'll be more than glad to take care of them. She had a hard time convincing him that barnyard animals were not allowed in the city. This was the first time in this old man's life when he did what he wanted to do, not what he had to do. Do you know the difference? Gramps didn't smoke or drink, but enjoyed himself to the hilt. He always said to Steve and I, I envy you so much that you will grow up in this wonderful country. I will die in a few years and won't get to see the wonderous things of the future that you will see and experience. I felt sorry for Gramps when he talked like that. He made me feel guily for being young. What I had to do regularly is to attend school, the biggest scource of my agrivation was english class and that most dispised piece by me was Charlie Dickens's 'Salias Manor'. I read some Dickens earlier, like Oliver Twist, but I didn't like his stories because of his loatsome characters. Mark Twain had loatsome charecters in his stories too, but nothing compared to Fagan. Salias Manor was comimg our my elbow,  I just couldn't belive how can anyone could get so enthusiastic about it like my english teacher. He was a young man, around twenty eight years old, and his breath would knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. As soon as he started his instruction, his breath would pollute the air in the classroom. He's gotten plenty of hints too, I myself put some mints on his desk. I think his lungs were roting away, he was a heavy smoker, I could tell that by the first two fingers on his right hand. They were brown from nicotine stains. Even without all that, english was a pain in the ass for me, I relly hated it when we had to diagrahm the sentences. I get all mixed up wit nouns, pronouns, adjetives, and what have you. The oxymorons really fucked me up. All the english teachers were really kind to me thru the school years, they always passed me to the next grade. I gues they never saw in me some one who would become an english teacher on an author. I wouldn't have belived that about myself even if a fotuneteller read my palm. Becouse of my varied shenanigans in high school, next to my picture in the year book it said, "Tall, dark, and handcuffed."

101
Since my fifteenth birthday time was going by agonizingly slow. School was only five hours a day. To me it felt like I was there all day. To make the time pass quicker I built airplane models from kits, the flying kind and the display kind. I also went to the teen club regularly. That’s where I learned to rock 'n' roll. One Saturday night when my parents were away, I drove my car to the teen club and was profiling in front of my friends. Karen's mother spotted me and called me to one side, "Imre if you don't take that car home right now and bring me the key I will be at your house the first thing in the morning and tell your parents." All I said was, "Yes mam, I'll se you in a few." I brought the key back and put it in her hand. Much later she explained that the reason she did it was because she worried about me.

I danced the Stroll, the Bug, and the Hully Golly. I liked it when during Phys. Ed. we just went to the gym, kicked off our shoes and had a sock hop for an hour. Cliff and Betty were a steady couple for several months already. One day Cliff told me that Betty had a baby-sitting job not far from his house, and he was going to go there and “bang” her. I wasn't familiar with that expression and I thought that he was going to beat her up. I asked him, "Did she piss you off that you have to beat her up?" "No Imre, I don't want to beat her up. I want to have sex with her." "Oooh, I understand now, you want to f--k her." "Yeah, that’s right!" "Then why didn't you say so? Does she have a friend? Do you need any help?" Cliff was taken aback, "What the hell? Are you some kind of pervert?" I didn't know that nationality so I told him, "Cliff, you know I'm Hungarian, not Pervert." He didn't know what to say. Cliff was a virgin and I could have given him some advice, but I never bragged about my sexual encounters.

What eventually happened is that Cliff showed up where Betty was baby-sitting and they were making out hot and heavy on the couch when Cliff's mother burst thru the door and put an end to amore. One of Betty's girlfriends had an eye for Cliff and spilled the beans about the love nest by calling Cliff's mother. From what I heard she gave an earful to Betty, called her a tramp and such. That was like an owl saying to a sparrow "How big are your eyes." Cliff's father was a merchant marine and while he was at sea, Mrs. Grubb was f--king everything in sight and beyond the horizon.

Cliff and Betty never became an item. A few years later when Betty was a senior in high school she married her algebra teacher Mr. Meadows. They managed to keep it secret until graduation. One day Tim Coker drove his car to school, he was the only 9th grader that drove. I hardly recognised my old Ford. All the chrome from the body was removed and the holes leaded in. The whole car was sprayed charcoal black, the back was lowered, and the front end was very close to the ground too. At 3:30 he always had a carload of girls to ferry home. The old Ford never had it so good. He gave me a ride home one time, I swear my donkey wagon had a better ride. Tim told me, that he collapsed the front springs by heating them, no wonder it rode so rough. It was in the new year of '59 that I joined the CAP(Civil Air Patrol) Mario has been a member for a few months, when he asked me if I wanted to join. The CAP wore the same uniform as the US air force, only we had to buy our own uniforms. Mario painted me a pretty picture of the CAP, and gave me some books to read about their contributiond in WW ll. We had weekly meetings at a mansion off Colesville road, not far from Four Corners. There was a lot of close ordered drill, Air Force movies, and theory of flight lectures at the meetings. The CO of our Squadron was Capt. Surracy, told us about our important role the CAP had in locating downed aircraft. I imagined that I get to do some flying, maybe learn to be a pilot. I liked flying, and made up my mind that I wanted to be a pilot. I knew I liked the air force uniform, I was already wearing one. I went to talk to my student counselor to seek advice, she told me, "If you want to be an Air Force pilot Imre, you have to get an appointment to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. In order to get an appointment you have to have very good grades and in high school you have to take minimum three major subjects." Wow that was a tall order, but if I want it bad enough I just have to tough it out. I had no idea how hard it's going to be.

102
I don't know if things like this happens to other people, but I was fortunate that it happened to me. I was working at the station, pumping gas, when a large two door hard top pulled up to the pumps. It was a Lincoln Capri, beautiful tan, with a black top. I asked the driver, "Should I fill'er up sir?" Instead of saying “yes” he had a request,

"Is there someone here that can listen to a noise in my engine?" I told him, "I can give it a listen sir." Doubtfully he replied, "I mean somebody who knows about engines." "I know about engines sir, I can tell you about you problem." "How old are you kid, fifteen, sixteen maybe, you don't know Jack Shit." He was right I never heard of the man, but I was sill being courteous.

"Sir, if I bring the mechanic out here it will cost you five dollars. Let me listen to your engine first, and tell you the problem. Then I will call the mechanic if he diagnoses a different problem, I will pay the five dollar fee. If he agrees with what I said, you will pay the fee, and have your tank filled up." "That sounds like a deal to me kid. Go ahead and listen to it." He fired up his engine and popped the hood. Another car pulled in, dad seeing that I was busy, came out to serve it. I asked the man to slowly rev his engine while I leaned under the hood, at around 2500 to 3000 revs the tell tale raping of worn out rod bearings filled my ear. I told the man, "Turn it off! How long has it been making this noise?"  "A couple days, but it has been getting louder. What do you think the problem is?" "I think, I should say, I know that your rod bearings are gone, and if you keep driving like this, there is a good possibility of a connecting rod will come through the side of the engine." "I would still like to have the opinion of the mechanic." The man said.

"As you wish, sir." I went into the shop and came out followed by dad. Dad just told the man, "Start." with his screw driver he adjusted the idle until the engine was turning over at 2500 rpms. He then called the man over next to him where the man could clearly hear the knocking of the connecting rods. Dad started to pull spark plug wires one by one. When he pulled the wire from number seven cylinder the knocking diminished, but the engine still had a distinctive miss. When he pulled the wire from number eight cylinder the knock stopped, but the engine ran very rough, and I just learned a new trick. Dad said to the man, "Rod bearing gone, no load, no noise." The man gave dad five dollars and asked, "Now what should I do?" Dad was to the point, "You no drive car, must fix." The man asked, "Can you tell me how much it’ll cost to fix it?"

Dad wasn't about to commit himself, "No can tell, must open first, must look." "Well how far can I drive this car like this?" I wasn't going to stick my neck out and neither was dad, were not going to arm this guy with 'You guy's said'. "Sir the mechanic said that you should not drive this car, either you take his advice, if not, whatever happens is on your head. You can call a tow from here or call a cab, if you leave it with us the storage is five dollars per day. If you want us to find out the extent of the damage then there is no storage charge, you will be charged by the hour untill the damage is asessed." The man didn't have any more choices than what I told him, he decided to leave the car and followed dad into the office to fill out a work order. On the work order I noticed from his address that he lived just accoss the D.C. line off 16th. street. We were going home that way, and I offered the man a ride, if he could wait a half an hour. He could, and we dropped him off in front of his house. All the way to his house he was saying, how fortunate he is that he pulled into our station. Later I considered myself fortunate too. It was two days later that I was at the station again, dad had pulled the oil pan off the Lincoln, the two connecting rods furthest from the oil pump suffered the worst. An oil pressure valve caused the problem, the proper way to repair the damage was to take out the engine and remove the crank and recondition it. Re-assemble everything with oversize bearings, dad wrote the estimate on a piece of paper and I transfered the figures onto the work order, the total of the estimate was over eight hundred dollars. I called the gentlemen to give him the news, he was not a happy camper, and told me, "I don't want to spend a nother dime on that car. I rather put a down payment on a new car and sell this as is." "Sir this way you'll get next to nothing for it, it is a five year old car and it's not runing." "I know, how much would you give me for it?" "I don't know sir, I will have to look at it closer." "OK, you look at it and make me an offer." "Right sir, I'll do that." As soon as I hung up the phone I had to slow my brain down, it was in danger of over reving. I went out to inspect the car closer, it had the biggest engine Ford put in a car, beautiful green leather interior, am-fm pusn button radio with speakers front and back, AC, power everything, even the antena, it only came out when the radio was turned on. These things are not a big deal these days but in 1959 they were, the seat moved on three axis, the passenger side had a makeup mirror that magnified, with a light. I told dad of the situation, and that I would like to buy the car if the man accepted my offer, "What would be your offer son?" "I was thinking of $200.00 dad." "I don't think he will go for that son, but if you tell him that you will olso pay the shop charges, he might." I called back the owner and boldly made him an offer, "Sir, I looked at the car and I'll will give you two hundred dollars and cover your shop charges." The phone was quiet while he was thinking it over, then I heard a sigh, "Make it three hundred kid, and the car is yours." I was elated and said, "Thats a done deal sir. You bring the signed title to the station and pick up your money." "I will stop in right after work, thank you." I was a happy boy, this Lincoln was a luxury car with prestige just like the president who's name it wore.

103
With most of my money gone, I was contemplating the removal of the engine when dad came to the rescue. He gave me great expectations (another Dickens story that I hated) by saying, "Son, I don't think we have to pull the engine. I think I can replace all the damaged bearings without taking out the crankshaft." "How can that be done dad?" "Very carefully my son, very carefully." He then explained how the damaged crankshaft could be repaired. He said that the biggest problems are the two connecting rods that were knocking. If they measure to be within tolerances, then we are home free. If not, the engine has to come out and be taken apart.

I was keeping my fingers crossed (an American habit that I picked up) dad got busy with measuring calipers and micrometers. He’d gotten hold of a factory manual and had me read out the tolerances for him. He jotted them down and climbed under the Lincoln. When he reappeared an hour later he was smiles from ear to ear, "It's within the tolerances son." I jumped for joy. He had a man come by with a hand held machine that he used on the last throw of the crankshaft and polished on that sucker until it was .005 under size. The bearings were purchased and pre-lubed, then tightened into place. Everything fit as if it were new. Dad replaced the troublesome oil pressure valve, and replaced all the main and rod bearings (except the last two) with standard ones. A new oil pump was used too. He insisted on driving it for a few days, just to make sure that everything was all right.

He has been driving the car for a whole week, and on friday night when he came home, the grease man followed him home in the Plymouth. After he taken his employee back to town I asked him, "Hey dad what gives? How is the car working?" "Son that car is just wonderfull, it runs like a Swiss watch. It's responsive, comfortable, and it rides like a dream." "Is it going to be a reliable car?" "Sure it will son, but this is not the car for you. It uses a lot of gas, you should have sometning sportier and not as thirsty." "OK dad, but before too long I will be sixteen, and I will need something to drive." "I know son, that's why I'm going to give you my Plymouth." "Aw dad the Pymouth is far from being sporty, and it's right ugly." It's funny how a persons demands change according to ones surroundings, in Hungary I would have been happy as a monkey with his dick with that Plymouth, now it was ugly. "OK son, to tell you the truth I fell in love with the Capri, but I want to be fair. What would make you happy,I could pull rank on you. After all, I am your father." "Well dad, I'll take the Plymouth and I like to get back the $300.00 I paid for the Lincoln." "You don't want much do you? You tend to forget who fixed the car, but all right have it your way, I owe you the $300.00. This car will last me the rest of my life." I didn't know it then, but there was irony in those words. I couldn't have asked for a better deal, cleaned up the Plymouth real good and put an add in the Washington Post sunday addition 'For Sale 1954 Plymouth Plaza, clean, reliable transport.$450.00. Sunday after 10 am. the phone started to ring, and by noon the Plymouth was past history. I didn't get the full price, only $400.00. Dad left word with Jack Prey's used car manager to give him a call if something nice comes in, around the $500.00 range. Dad taken me over to the lot, and Hans the manager, and dad tried to talk me into a used Austin Sprite. Ugly little sports car with headlights that looke like the eyes of a bug, it was nicknamed 'The bug eyed Sprite'. I sat in it, and felt like I was siting in a spitoon. It didn't even have door handles, you had to pull a string to open the door, I've seen better door latches on a shithouse. The engine, well, there was hardly anything there, Hans said it was real good on gas. Who gave a shit, with gas .26 cents a gallon. This just wasn't my cup of tea. A bigger sporty car like an Austin Healey 3000 witn a big straight six, and three side draft SU's, and overdrive, was out of my price range. Way out, but I kept going back there, and buging Hans. Even washed a couple cars for him that had to be delivered, he was very greatfull. I hoped that he will remember me when the time comes to treat me right. Hans was a good natured german guy, he and dad made friends when dad had his first job in America at Jack Pry's Ltd.

I looked that car from front to back and couldn't find any dents or scratches. On the chrome strip on the door were a couple of dings per side--the damage from other car doors. It did need a thorough cleaning in and out, but it had coral colored tuck 'n' roll interior with black carpets. Automatic on the column, AM/FM radio, good tires all around. The engine sounded good, it had dual exhaust. I looked at the door stickers for the oil changes, and apparently the car got very good care. I wondered how much this car was traded in for, it had a good spare, and the trunk was clean. The engine compartment was real clean too, the battery terminals were greased, there was a tag around the neck of the radiator, telling me when the anti freeze was installed. This car really had excellent care, now to talk with Hans. "Hey Hans, you krout nazi. How much was allowed on that Ford." "Imre you not zay such thing, me not Nazi. Hans not sold at at all, bad feet." "OK Hans, I'm sorry. How much for ze cah?" "Imre, Mr. Pry tell Hans to get rid of used cah, because we have too many. This Ford we give $500.00 Reichmark, excuse, Dollar. I must get $500.00." "OK Hans, I'm not going to hagle with with you, going to go now and tell dad, and we will be back with the money. Tell your lot boy to get it out of there, and get the papers ready with a temp. tag." "OK Imre, every zeng be ready." I felt like runing back all the way to the station, but taken the streetcar. Dad asked, "Did you looked it over real good son? You're not too eager to buy this car?" "Sure I'm eager dad, next week you can take me to get my learners permit. I have the money for the car, the tags, and the insurance. Will Mr.Grandi let my car piggy back on your insurance."  "You talk crazy son, what does Mr.Grandy has to do with piggy? Mr.Grandi sell insurance, don't know which is front or back of piggy." "I know dad, I meant to say, will he attach my car as a rider to your insurance?" "Sure son, Mr.Grandy will make rider. Elio knows about rider, don't know shit about piggy." We went back to see Hans, he had everything ready. The lot boy even washed the car down, and was finishing vaccuming. Hans seeking dad's approval, "Imre I giveze good deal to little Imre, zes ez shöne cah." "Yes Hans you goot kameraden, I danke." When ever I was by myself with Hans he always treated me as an adult, when I was with dad he reverted me to little Imre. The papers were signed, and the money changed hands. Dad got behind the wheel, and decided to take the long way back to the station. When he crossed 14th.sreet and the tires hit the street car tracks they chirped. When he turned the corner, the car tended to lean too much, it may need new shocks. I was surprised how peppy this car was, although an automatic, I could feel when the trany shifted. On the gear selector it had Park, R, N, D, D2, D1, undoubtedly it was a three speed automatic. Needles to say that I was very happy with this purchase. As soon as we got back to the station, I asked asked Leroy if he would help me to simonize the car. It was freshly washed, so we got right on it. That job requires a lot of elbow grease, but when we finished the black looked like you could reach into it. The bone white wasn't shaby either. I beat feet over to Strick's and bought red engine paint, cyl. bolt covers, and the chrome pipes to replace the two rubber radiator hosed. Before too long, this engine looked like a circus too, but a clean circus. Next week dad will take me to get my learners permit. Who would have belived, that in less the three years, before my sixteenth birthday I woud have my own car. Nobody in Hungary would, I have been braging off to my friend Pista in letters. Either he tought that I was telling lies, or his father has forbade him to answer my letters. As scarred as that man was, I think it was the later.

When I started the 10th grade, Wheaton High's parking lot had the teachers cars, and the students jalopy’s and hot rod's. More than twenty years later my son Joey attended the same school. I went by there on several occasions and was thoroughly amazed. The parking area and the adjacent streets were full of newer cars. There was hardly any that was more than two years old. There were muscle cars, Porches, Mercedes, BMW's and high dollar pick-ups. Isn't America wonderful? It had been good to me.

My learner’s permit was tucked away in my wallet. Of course the stipulation was that I had to have a licensed driver sitting next to me. I mostly ignored that. Mom gave me hell about it all the time and urged my dad to box my ears for breaking the law.

I didn't want my cash reserve to be too depleted, since the mowing business dropped off. Now I was looking for another source of cash. Cliff Grubb the ex-president of the 9th grade and fellow CAP member asked me if I wanted to work on a project with him to make some money. Cliff at that time was working as sort of a male nurse taking care of a paraplegic boy of ten. He said that, "We will talk it over between the two of us soon." I thought, well, that will be one source and looked for some others. Bruce Hadley the war baby told me, "They needed a soda jerk out at Talbot's where I work." We called him the war baby because his father knocked up a cockney girl while he was stationed in England. Bruce's mom had an accent you could cut with a knife. Bruce was a good kid. His only fault was that he liked to stretch the truth. I thought about being a soda jerk and asked Bruce what it entailed. He said, "It's easy work. All you have to do is to keep the counter clean, restock the freezers, and scoop ice cream. The added benefit was that you could eat all the ice cream you want. It was a minimum wage job, equal to 25 to 35 dollars a week. Only 4 to 6 pm. on weekdays and 8 to noon on Saturday and Sunday. Bruce had worked there since the middle of the summer, and liked it.

I decided to give Bruce a ride out to Talbert's and have a talk with Mr.Talbert. Bruce already had his permit, so I was legal. Talbot's was out on Rt.97 which was Georgia ave. extended, had to go trough Glenmont and Norbeck, it was on the left before Olney. It was a dairy farm at one time, the farm store that was now occupied by Talbot's sold farm and dairy products. The barn with a silo were rented by a local hot rod club. Mr.Talbot was a boozer, when we got there a little after four, I could tell he had a few under his belt. He was not a beligerent drunk, and asked me, "When can you start, ah, what's your name?" "Imre Mr.Talbot, remember I introduced myself." "OK, I forget things, so when can you start Im... Im... whatever?" "Tomorrow sir if that's all right with you." "Yeah, OK." That was relatively easy, maybe friday I get some money. Bruce straightenned me out on that one, "They hold back one weeks pay, you will get paid a week from friday." That was all right, because I wasn't exactly broke. Cliff  came to me and said, "I want to talk, let's go to the woods behind your house." I had no idea what all the secrecy was all about. Close to our back fence Cliff settled down on a fallen tree trunk, and I joined him. He started into his scheam, "I was thinking that the two of us could do this real easy." "Cliff, would you like to let me in on what the fuck are you talking about." "Well I was thinking that you and I could go downtown D.C. to one of the high dollar department stores, like Lord and Taylors. These rich women go in there with a lot of cash when they shop. All we have to do is snach their purses." I wasn't sure that I heard him right, "Cliff, would you run that by me again please." He did and now I knew that I heard correctly. "Well, what do you think? Pretty cool ain't it." "NO it AIN'T! Are you stupid or what? How can you even think of such a thing. If you do something like this, I don't want to know you." Hopá, it just poped into my head. Guys have been complaining of money missing from their clothes when they retutned to the lockers after phys ed."Cliff you wouldn't know nothing about the money missing in gym class?" "Yea some, the stupid asses just leave that stuff out, just asking it to be taken. If I take it or someone else, what's the difference?" "The difference is that how do I know that you didn't steal from me?" "I wouldn't steal from you Imre." Cliff has told me that he regularly taken money from his mothers purse, I figured it was some change or one or two bucks that his mom wouldn't miss.

I happenned to be around on one occassion when his mom was looking for sixty bucks she known she had and could not find. Then I knew that Cliff was robing. "I will forget what you suggested and what you said Cliff, but if I'll have money missing or I hear complaints about missing money, I will let the injured parties know who they should ask about it. If you steal from me, get ready for the biggest fucking fight in your life." "I didn't know you're gona feel that way about it, dont tell me you never stole nothing." "Yes I did steal, and often, fruit to eat, then and there, but not to sell." "You see, everybody steals." "Cliff this conversation is finished and I feel much better if you too forget about what you said." Cliff broke up with Betty Dickerson shortly after school started and she stareted going with a wealthy boy named Drew Foster. It was at Drew's house at a party that I saw colored TV for the first time and played a ping pong game on the TV screen, and that was in '58. Cliff tought that in order to win Betty back, he would have to have more money. I never would have belived that Cliff would stoop to do such things.

The middle aged lady, Mildred, who was in charge showed me how to make shakes, floats, and the banana split. The banana split has to rank in Americana with baseball and apple pie. Only in the horn of plenty such a dessert could be thought of and created. I liked working behind the counter. I loved to see the faces of the children and the ones that want to still be children as their faces sparkled with anticipation as I scooped the different flavors. I sampled them all and after two weeks I was so sick of ice cream I got nauseous seeing a Good Humor truck.

Betty invited me to a party at Drew Foster's house. It was to be on Friday. I arrived at the appointed hour and Betty introduced me to one of her girlfriends. A Rubenesque brunette named Paulette. She was an A student and aspired to be a grade school teacher. She was a little shy, but she would open up when I convince her that I just wanted her cherry. We talked, danced, and played spin the bottle, she wasn't at all revolted when I stuck my tongue down to her tonsils. I told her that I wanted to sweep her basement. She didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. With total confusion ruling her face she said, "You never been to my house, how do you know that I even have a basement?" "I know you have one, and this is one sweeping that you will enjoy.” She was more confused than ever, and I dropped the subject. Before the party was over, she gave me her phone number and invited me over to look at her basement. Paulette lived at 12316 Georgia Ave. the house was the spitten image of ours. Most of the houses in the Wheaton Glenmount area were like rabbit shit, it was like Levitt Town in Maryland. Mr.Munson was a large man, like my dad, ran the Esso gas station in Wheaton. He called me the Ferener, I found him to be a frank and straight forward man. Mrs.Munson was the typical suburban housewife, WW ll. vintage who just knew that the only reason this ferener came around was to fuck her daughter. She was rignt. Paulette already had her license, we went to the drive in movie in my car. I introduced her to the pleasures of the flesh, at Drews party she was wearing a girdle and a bra. When I taken her to the drive in I made her take those things off, I told her they were just a fence around the fruit orchard, and I didn't like to climb fences. She never wore those things again, I hope that whoever she married appriciated all the things I tought her.

Oh if that Crown Victoria could talk, Mr.Munson told me, "Imre, you look like a smart boy! I don't want you to get Paulette in trouble." I could appriciate his concerne, and re assured him, "Not to worry Mr.Munson, I will be very carefull." I was expecting Paulette over at my house, when I realised that I didn't have any rubbers. I had to pay my brother to bike up to the Little Tavern on Georgia ave. and buy some rubbers from the machine in the men's room. I don't know if he did it on porpuse, but he bought the biggest one, and it came off in the middle of the heavy breathing. I was in a panic, I had Paulette in the shover in seconds and was making like a vaginacologist to find that rascal. Used my mothers duche to rinse her out real good with a strong salt water sollution. The operation was a success, from that day on rubbers were standard items in my valet, just like money. Paulette had a younger brother whos goal in life was to catch me feeling up, or fucking his sister, he would run staight to his mother to tell. There was no chance of the later because I never did other than swap spit at Paullett's house. Whenever he cought us in a lip lock he would run and tell Mrs. Munson. I dated Paullett for a long time, she broke up with me while was in the army, and she was already in colledge. She attended the teachers colledge at Towson Maryland, I got a Dear Imre from her. She said, "Things will never be right between us, I will be a colledge graduate and an educator, and you will be just a mechanic. Oh how wrong she was, I have been lots of things while she was just a teacher. I visited her five years later, she was living with her mother, after her divorce. Mr.Munson passed away. The last time I went trough Glenmount, 12316 Georgia ave. and a whole row of houses were gone, torn down because of the D.C. Metro. I lost track of Paullette, she is probably retired by now. I hope she had a good and exciting life, like mine.

The big red-winged M on the timing side of the engine didn't mean a thing to me. The polished aluminum fenders shone in the morning sun. The wheels had chromed spokes; it looked the part of a powerful machine. All morning the subject of my conversation with Bruce was that motorcycle. Although it was fourteen years before that day, I still remembered my first motorcycle ride with my father. I remembered the wind in my face and the sensation of flying. When the clock struck noon I was out in the parking lot. It was a warm fall day and I was dressed in my teenage uniform, Levis, T-shit, and loafers. I asked Bruce, "Can I ride your bike back to your house? You can drive my car." "Imre, have you ever rode a motorcycle before?" "Sure I have, lots of times." It was the truth, "Ok, but if you crash it I'll keep your car. Is that a deal?" "Ok, it's a deal here's my hand on it." We shook hands, and I straddled the bike.

Bruce told me, "It doesn't have a key, just a kill button." I knew where the kick starter was and I kicked it over, nothing, kicked it again, nothing, "Imre, you have to turn on the gas at the back of the gas tank and push down the little button on the carburetor until the gas starts to come out." "Thanks Bruce, I think I got it now." I did all those things he said, and kicked it again. The engine came alive, and was ticking over between my legs, thump, thump, thump. I twisted the throttle and the engine roared GRRRRAH, GRRRRRRRRRAH! "Hey Imre, one down, 2, 3, 4, up." "Thanks Bruce." He was already sitting in my car, "You go ahead Imre, I’ll follow." I pulled in the clutch and clicked into first, let the clutch out too fast and stalled the engine. One kick and it started, this time I let the clutch out slower and gave it more throttle. The bike started to move and I made a couple of circles in the parking lot and pulled up next to Bruce on the driver’s side, "Hey, let me use your sunglasses." He passed them over. There wasn't any traffic coming so I pulled out on the highway. The bike seamed to jump under me. I shifted to second and gave it more throttle. I felt like a stallion the first time out of his stall in a long time, full of pent up energy. Third gear, then fourth. The speedometer indicated  60, but it felt twice as fast. I didn't know that I could feel such exhilaration with my clothes on. With the wind in my face and pulling back my hair it was like flying. The asphalt was fast disappearing under me. I was approaching Norbeck intersection. I shifted to third and throttled back, I was still doing 50. A white '58 Oldsmobile sedan was at the stop sign to my right. There was oncoming traffic in the left lane. I was going to give some more throttle. The old guy sitting behind the wheel of the Olds was looking right at me and pulled right into my path. I leaned the bike to the right in the hope of going behind him.  In the blink of an eye he realized that he fucked up and jammed on the brakes. I made contact with the Olds at 50 mph on  the left rear fender behind the wheel. When I was six or eight feet from the car my brain went into slow motion, all the sound muted. I saw the huge white car geting closer and my brain said, "Let go of the handlebars and stand up. I didn't register nothing more, the next thing that I remember was that I was climbing trough a barbed wire fence. Some people were spreading the strands for me and asking if I was all right. Now what happenned started to sink in, I see Bruce in my car looking toward me, I hear my engine bark, and he got the fuck out of there. The bike is siting upright in the side of the Olds. minus the front fork. The old fart who was driving the Olds. is talking to a cop, and he calls me over. "Drivers lisence, registration, son." I get my valet out and give him my learners permit, I notice that I have no shirt. The old fart say's to the cop, "You see, you see, he only has a learners permit, a lisenced driver supposed to be with him."  "Listen mister who would be crazy enough to sit on that thing with him? Would you?" The cop turned to me, "What happenned son?" "I was heading south on 97, and he pulled out in front of me." "How fast were you going? I don't see any skid marks." I almost said, "You have to look in my underware for those." "I was doing 50, but didn't have time to use my brakes, he pulled right out in front of me." The cop asked, "Did anyone actually see what happenned?" A couple and a man came forth. The cop talked to the couple first, "Well the motocycle was heading toward Aspen Hill, we were right behind the Oldsmobil. We tought that he's going to let him go by, but he pulled out in front of him. The kid sailed trough the air like superman, it's miracle that he is unhurt." The other witness said the same thing. The cop ticketed the old fart for not yealding right of way, and me for failure to reduce speed to avoid a collosion. Both of us had court dates. I was in the shit, I supposed to have been down at the station by now. I had no choice but to call my father, the gas station had a public phone I called from there. "Globe Motor Center." "Hello dad it's me." "Where the hell are you, should have been here an hour ago." "I know dad, but I had an accident." "Are you hurt? Where are you right now?" "No dad, I'm OK. I'm at Norbeck at the intersection of 29 and Georgia ave.This is the scene of the accident." "OK son, leave your car at the gas station, and get in here, we will get your car later." "Dad, I didn't have the accident with the car." "Then what kind of accident was it? Did you just shit your pants?" "No dad, I was driving a motorcycle." "You WHAT!! You just wait right where you are, I'll be there shortly. Click." This didn't sound good, I could tell by the tone of his last sentence, he was really pissed. The old fart with the Olds. has already departed, I dragged the bike to the side of the road. Twenty minutes went by, it seamed more like two hours, I saw dad's Lincoln turn onto Norbeck road. He spoted the broken motorcycle, went down to the next street made a U turn and pulled up to the wreck. Before he got out of the car he openned the trunk. He walked to the back without a word, and gave me a look that was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on me. He picked up the back half of the bike as if it were a toy, and slamed it into the trunk. I was strugling to put the front wheel and get the forks lifed, that was only attached to the bike now by the clutch and the throttle cable. He took it out of my hands as it were a straw, and threw it it the trunk too. He slammed the trunk shut and said, "Get in!" This was not good, I must make some conversation to bleed off some of that anger, "It wasn't my fault dad, the car pulled right out in front in front of me. He got a ticket for failure to yeild. It wasn't my fault!" "It is your fault, becouse you went aginst my wishes. You knew I didn't want you to have a motorcycle." Great, at least I got him talking, "But dad, I wasn't buying the motorcycle, I was just trying it out. The bike belongs to Bruce." "Where is your car?" "Bruce took off with it when he saw the accident." "OK, let's get your car, and we give him back his motorcycle." "Can't do it dad." "Why not?" "Becouse I made a deal." "What kind of deal you make?" "I agreed to give Bruce my car if I wrecked his bike." "How can you make such a deal? You stupid boy!" I tought that I blunted his anger, even if not neutralised it. He asked, "What we do now?" "Take the bike home, and I go and find Bruce and give him the title to the Ford." "So it is your motorcycle after all." "Now it is, but I didn't plan it this way." We turned into Lindell court, and parked in front of the house. He poped the trunk, I too walked to the back to help with the unloading. There was no need of me at all, dad seized the wreck, and threw it in the yard. I went in the yard and leaned it aginst the fence so the gas won't leak out and kill the grass. I was opening the front door, I knew dad was behind me. Just as I stepped into the living room, I tought that a mule kicked me. He delivered an openhanded blow to the back of my neck that sent me sprawling on the rug, "Thats for defying me! Where is your shirt?" I was picking myself off the floor, "I don't know dad, I had one before the accident, it just disappeared." "Just like you car, you had it before the accident, and now its gone. Put a shirt on and take care of your business, I'm  going back to the station.

Bob is in the basement with the boys. Come I'll show you the way." She oppenned a door and wooden stepps led down to the basament which was an Alladins cave of motorcycles. Close to the outside enterance a large work bench was set up. A man of less than average hight with a crew cut was assembling or disasembling some kind of engine, intently obsrved by two small boys. "Hello, I'm looking for Bob." the man turned toward me had a smile on his face, and said, "I'm Bob, Bob Myers and these are my two boys. The smallest is Keith the other is Mike. What can I do for you?" "Well Mr. Myers.... "Just call me Bob, please." "OK Bob, my name is Imre."

One of the boys, I think it was Mike, asked, "What kind of name is an IMRE?" "It's a hungarian name, I'm a hungarian." "Really, we never met a hungarian before:" "OK boys, let Imre speak. They will never run out of questions. Go ahead tell me about your problem." "I had an accident up at Norbeck on saturday." "Yea, I heard about that. Centerpunched a car, you are one lucky kid. I heard it pulled out in front of you from a stop sign." "It sure did, and I hit the left rear of the car. Broke the front end right off the bike." "What king of bike is it Imre?" "It's a 1953 Matchless 500 single, rigid frame." "OK, the easiest and least expensive way this bike could be repaired, if you do most of the work. Are you mechanicly inclined?" "If you mean, if I'm handy with tools, yes. My father is a mechanic and I learned from him." "That's great. This is what I want you to do Imre. Take the front end off the bike." "It's already off Bob, only the clutch and the throttle cable have any connection to the bike." "Right, take off the handlebar, that way you don't have to disconnect nothing from the bike. Take off the front wheel. Is the wheel damaged?" "No, the wheel is fine." "I want you to take the front forks apart and bring me all the pieces, the broken ones too. We'll go from there." "OK Bob thanks, I'll see you in a couple of days. Bye boys." "OK Imre." I left by the basement door and legged it home.

109.
It was in the late summer of 1959 and motorcycles were far from my mind. A whole bunch of us were down at our summer resort of Big Rock having a wonderful time. It is inevitable when everyone is having a good time, some no good sonofabitch has to come along and spoil it. This is what happened on that day.

It was a very nice, hot afternoon, but the water helped us to cope with the heat. A group of eight older boys arrived and started ordering the smaller boys around, not waiting for their turn on the rope, and just being a general nuisance. One of them climbed on the top of the rock and pushed all the others off and said, "All of you get the hell out of here. I’ll give you five minutes. If we see you after that you will get a beating." This didn't set right with me at all, everyone was getting their things together and I asked this kid, Kevin, who looked to be my age, "Who is this guy?" "Oh, that's Eddy Stump. He’ll be an eleventh grader next September and he’s bad news." "Kevin, we can't have him run us off like this." "You’re damn right, I'm going home and calling the police and they’ll run him off." I told him, "Bad idea man. The state owns this place and if the cops come and run those guys off, two days later there will be No Swimming  signs posted at the rock." "What do you think we should do?" I answered, "I will need some help to do what I want. Can I count on you Kevin?" "Sure thing, what do you have in mind?" "We need to teach them a lesson, so they don't ever want to come back. Can you get a few more boys to come back?" "Sure thing, how many you want?" "About ten and all should be good baseball players."

"You want to challenge Eddy Stump to a baseball game?" "No, of course not. I want them to throw rocks, not big ones, but ones that will hurt." "All right, I'm with you. Come on, let's go to my house and all the other guys will come there too." "I want to wait at the edge of the woods Kevin. Bring the boys there, but tell them to keep quiet. If Eddy and his friends hear us too soon they will kick our asses." I pointed out to Kevin where Steve and I would be waiting. He was back in ten minutes with a whole passel of boys, it was hard to keep them quiet. I urged them to do so and to listen. "Collect as many stones as you can hold in your glove hand. We will have to sneak up on those guys. As you saw earlier most of them are skinny dipping or only have underpants on. We have to steal their clothes. They will not chase you into the housing development naked. When we have their clothes, that’s when we will give them a shower of stones, then everyone runs like hell with their clothes and shoes. Stuff them down a sewer or take them home and put them in the trashcan. Is everybody ready?"

I was glad they didn't cheer. We got started. The infiltration was perfect. Eddy and his friends were splashing away, swinging off the rope, and dunking each other--they didn't suspect a thing. Their clothes started to disappear from near by bushes or wherever they laid them. I think they came by car and if the keys happened to be in the pants we took, all the better. Some of the boys, as soon as they got the clothes, took off with them to be disposed of. Somebody was spotted! I heard, "Hey you, that’s my clothes you sunofabitch, bring them back." Some of the bolder boys ran to the beach and grabbed armfuls of clothes. "Hey, they're stealing our clothes!" The bathers were coming out of the water to chase us thieves. Kevin yelled, "Give it to them!” And eight good baseball throwing arms loosened a shower of stones on the would be pursuers. They had to retreat and lick their wounds.  

We ran like hell with all their clothes and disposed of them in trash cans and sewers. Most of the boys who lived in the development went home, the others like Steve and me didn't have to worry about Eddy Stump until September.

September did arrive, I was down at the recreation center after school when a girl named Judy Hepburn came up to me, "You are that Hungarian kid Imre ain't you?" "Yes I am, what's it to you?" "Do you know that Eddy Stump is looking for you?" I was a bit worried about this, because if they caught me alone they could easily rearrange my face. But I wasn't about to let onto Judy that I was worried, "He must not be looking very hard, because I'm not that hard to find."  "OK, just remember, I warned ya." "Thanks Judy."

A day or two later I was walking home with Jay Cross (I had to spend an hour in study hall for feeding Mr. Segals fish to death). Jay just finished basketball practice. Through the woods was the shortest way to or from school. I was yards from my back fence when four figures arose from the bushes, a perfect ambush. They blocked my way to my house and safety. One of the four stepped forward, "You must be Imre, we already know Jay. You stole my clothes, and I'm pissed off about that. I had to walk home in my skivvies that day. I decided that you need an ass beating, like right now."

I was taking this all in. I didn't know if I could depend on Jay to fight. I had to come up with something to shake Eddy's self-confidence, I had to  keep talking, "What's the matter Stump, don't think you can handle me by yourself? What kind of name is Stump anyway? Those are dead trees. There is one over there, Hello Stump." He said, "I don't need anybody to take care of a snot like you. Nobody interfere. I mean it."

It was time for the big lie, "Hey Stump, have you ever killed a man?" "No, of course not." "I have! I smashed his head in with a rifle butt and his brain squirted out his ears. I'm going to smash your head against a tree, your brains will squirt out your ears the same way." That had the desired effect on him and he said, "You'll go to prison for that!" "Maybe so, but you will go to the cemetery. Self defense Stump, there are four of you and I was in fear of serious bodily harm. Jay will back me up. You guys were waiting here to hurt me. You told everyone that you were hunting for me." From Eddy's changed mannerism I knew I didn't have to fight, but I urged him anyway, "Come on Stump let's get started." I took off my jacket and laid it on thicket and hoped that he wouldn’t see through my giant bluff. "Jay, you better go and tell your mother to get out the first aid kit, Stump will be needing it. Call an ambulance too."

Eddy's friends left when Jay went to get the first aid kit. Eddy tried to rescue as much of his self image as he could, "You were lucky this time, you bugger. You won't be so lucky the next time." This way was the best way, neither of us had to bleed or get our clothes all messed up. These kids knew nothing of death. The closest they ever come to it was a dead dog or cat in the road.  Most of them never even saw a chicken get killed. The cowboys and soldiers on TV, that's play acting. Even the funeral of Gramps was so sanitary, nothing like my grandmother’s funeral a decade earlier.

In school the word got around, how the Hungarian kid made Eddy Stump back down. The source could only have been Jay or Eddy's friends. I never said anything to anyone. I thought there would be repercussions from Eddy, but we never crossed swords again.

110.
Everyone has had an occasion, at one time or another, when one can hardly wait for the day to arrive, or to get an item or an event to come about. This is how I was, but I didn't want to go and bug Bob. Many years later when I owned TT Cycle, a hippy-looking fellow came in to have some work done. It was early summer and we had work up the ass (mid winter I was starving to death). It never occurred to these people to bring the bike in mid February so on the first sunny day of the year they could go riding. No, they put the bikes away sometime in September or October. They figured if when they stuck it in the garage it should run in the spring. Of course they didn't bother to drain the gas from the carburetor or squirt a little oil in the cylinders. Nobody ever put a match stick between the points and they wondered why it didn't start in the spring. Some didn't even bothered to turn off the petcocks and the engine filled with gas.

This hippy's bike ran all right. He wanted a flame paint job on his gas tank and fenders, plus a tune up and oil change. I told him, "We work on a first come first serve basis and you can see how busy we are. My mechanics and I are working ten hours a day and can't catch up." "Yea I see that, but I want to get my bike done." "Listen fella, I can't even touch it for two or three days. The best I can do is take off the tank and the fenders and send them to the painter." "Ok, I want to leave my bike." It was a Triumph a couple years old, but hardly any miles on it. This guy only rode in the sunshine. I made out the repair order and he left. He was back the next day checking on the progress of his bike. I politely sent him away.

I pulled off the gas tank and one of my guys pulled off the fenders. I was going to take them over to the painters. The painting would take at least three days. The hippy was there again the next day and I started to feel like Jack Nicholson with the french fries. I told him to go away. He did. The following day he was back again. I had one of “those” days anyway and I told him that the painter didn't come to get his stuff and I didn't have the time to take it over. He started to cuss at me. I told him, "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that." He just kept it up, “this fucking place this” and “this fucking place” that. I had enough and asked him to leave before I lost my Hungarian temper. He turned to leave and was still cussing at me. He was about twenty feet from the shop when I yelled after him, "Hey you sonofabitch, you forgot something." I pushed his bike off the center stand and gave it a run and a hard push. It headed right for him, he didn't know what to do. He wanted to catch the bike, but didn't know how to go about it. Just before the bike got to him, it veered to the right and flopped on it's side.

He ran to pick it up and was struggling to lift it, and he  had it half way up when I yelled at him again, "You forgot these too." I threw the gas tank first and the two fenders after it. When he saw the gas tank flying he dropped the bike. I yelled, "Don't ever come back you sonofabitch." He never did and I was glad.

A week and a day later I went to see Bob, he had everything ready, "Imre, I put new seals in the forks, you will have to put in the oil when it's on the bike." "What kind of oil Bob?" "It all depends on what kind of ride you want. If you want a stiff ride, use a heavy oil, if you want a soft ride, use a light oil."  "And how much will I owe you Bob?" "The total is seventy five bucks. I know it sounds like a lot, but the triple trees were thirthy five, then the seals, and bushings, for the forks. I included a packet of ball bearings, because when you install the triple trees you will need some of those." "Bob I think your price is reasonable, I will bring you the money when I get off of work tomorrow." "All right Imre, check your bearing races tonite for damage. If they have pits, I'll give you a new set tomorrow." "Thanks Bob, see you tomorrow." I was more then pleased with the work Bob did. I pushed the forks aginst the floor one by one, they moved up and down smoothly. I had to wait untill dad got home, because I had no idea how to start installing the triple trees. When dad got home, I showed him the two repaired telescopes and asked him if he would help me install the triple trees. "Sure I'll help you son, just wait untill I have a bite to eat, and we'll get right on it." While he was eating, I uncovered the bike, and dragged to the back enterance of the basement. After dad finished eating, he helped Steve and I wrestle the bike in thru the door. I hoped that it will go out the same way, mom was worried about oil pouring out all over the place. Once inside, I had to make it sit upright, there was nothing to lean it aginst. I went out and hunted around in the yard, I remembered the two ciderblocks I put down by the back fence, so I could climb over it easier. I robed one of those, it was just the ticket, when I lifted the bike by the broken off triple tree, Steve slid the block under the frame. It sat there as if it had a front wheel too, I had the good triple trees in my hands, and tried to figure how to get started. Dad took it out of my hands, "First we have to remove the old stem from the frame, son. Get a dirty towel from the hamper, and spread it out under the frame neck." I did that, but I sure didn't know what the hell for. Dad removed the steering dampener first, there were two large nuts with locking plates came off next. As soon as they were loose and the stem started to lower, at least two dozen steel balls fell to the towel. Now I knew what it was for. Dad pulled it out of the frame head and inspected the bearing races, "Son, you can't use these, they got hurt in the accident. You will have to get new ones." "Bob said he will give me new ones dad, he asked me to lookat them and let him know." "Well, you can't do nothing more here son. I'll take one of these stem nuts with me, and tomorrow I'll bring the proper wrench for it, so we can tighten it right." YES! So WE can, that's great. I think I can get him to ride it.

After I coated the steel balls with grease, I put them in the races that dad already had installed. Dad guided the stem up through the frame head and slipped the top race into place. I had to keep pressure on the triple tree from the bottom, while dad put the top of the tree in place and ran the two nuts down hand tight. The triple trees were in place, and were turning free and smooth. I didn't know there was a left and right fork leg, dad pointed that out to me, and sure as shit, there was a lug on the left fork leg that coresponded with the front brake. With dad's assistance I pushed both forklegs into place. When done, I tightened the pinch bolts while dad secured the two kock nuts. The only things that were left to do was to install the wheel, and the bike will stand on it's own. I wrestled the wheel into place, and attached the front brake cable. Dad installed the handlebars, while I put on the front fender. The bike was complete except for the headlight, the front wheel was still two inches off the ground. While dad lifted I slid the block out from under the frame, and put down the side stand. Now that it was standing on it's own, I was ready to fire it up. Mom was down watching some TV and when she noticed what I was going to do, she protested, "Don't you dare start that thing in here, ever." I had no other choice, I asked dad to help me take it outside. We turned it to line up with the door, the basement door was smaller than standard. The handlebars would not fit through, it did no good to manipulate the front left to right. We stood a good chance of braking the window, the handlebar had to come off. That done, now we could lift the front wheel from the stair well, and the whole bike onto the grass. I didn't want to start it now, and wake all the neighbors. I pushed it under the stairs and covered it up with the tent again. Asked dad, "Can you bring me a few wire connectors tomorrow? I will need them to hook up my headlight." "Sure I can son, I just need to know what size you need." "A couple no.2's and a bout five no. 3's should do it dad." He brought the connectors, but it was dark by then and I didn't fell like messing with the wiring by flashlight. The following day being saturday, I had Bruce bring me straight home from work.The bastard was rubing it in at every chance he got, "Imre, this car runs so good. I'm so glad that you talked me into leting you ride my bike." He went on like that untill I told him, "Bruce, you better shut the fuck up, or I'll punch your lights out." He was the kind of guy who loved rubing salt into the wound. Hooking up the headlight was easy, the wires were color coded. When I was done, I bundeled the wires together with electrical tape, and everything looked nice and tidy. Pushed the bike out in front of the house, turned on the gas, tickled the carbutator, and gave it a kick. The engine turned, and nothing. I held down the tickler untill fuel was runing out of the carburator, and kicket it over again. Nothing, sometimes my lawnmover acted like this, then I had to take the spark plug out, clean off the oil, and it was ready to go.Steve showed up from somewhere, "Hey what you're doing?" "I'm baking a cake. What does it look like?" "It looks like you're trying to start the bike. Having any luck?" "No, do you know where I keep my plug wrench?" "Sure I do." "Get it for me stupid." "Get it for me, PLEASE!" "Don't fuck with me now Steve, just get the damn wrench." He went and got it, now he wanted to be here for the event. I removed the plug, it was wet with gas. The porcalain part of the plug was nice milkchochalet brown, like it should be. "Steve, kick it over." It was easy to do when the plug is out. The engine turned over several times, and a little gas came out the plug hole. Then Steve said, "Maybe you don't have any electricity." Now that was a contribution, why didn't I think of that. I checked the horn the lights, all working fine. "I got plenty of electricity Steve. Any other bright ideas?" "Maybe you don't have any at the sparking plug." "You mean the 'Spark Plug', stupid?" "Yea, whatever." I plugged the sparkplug into the plastic cap on the end of the plugwire, "Kick it over again Steve." The engine turned with a lot of sucking and blowing, I was holding the plug and looking. I didn't see any spark, Steve asked,"Want me to do it again?" "Keep your pants on will ya. I will tell you when to do it again." Maybe he's not kicking hard enough. I removed the plug from the wire, and stuck my finger in the cap, my right hand resting on the cylinder head, "Kick it hard now Steve." He did, "GOD DAMN, I found electricity." Steve really gave the starter a heathy kick, the piston went up and down several times, and every time it hit top dead center, twenty thousand volts pulsed through my body. If that doesn't open your eyes, nothing will. I wanted to let go but I couldn't, I didn't know to shit or go blind. It was a terrible experience, a beating by Mrs.Meggyessy, only came close. I was so glad that Steve didn't decide to give it another kick. I guess he couldn't, he was rolling on the ground laughing his ass off. Here and there, he tried to get a few cylebles out. He could barely speak from his merriment, "You should have seen your face. Ha..Ha.. Ha.. All your hair was sticking out all over.HA HA HA HAW. "OK, OK, you can stop your laughing at my expense." "But it was soo funny! Want to do it again?" "Yes, but this time I'll stick the plug wire up you're ass." He didn't like that idea, I put the plug back in, and decided to go over Bob's house. Steve wanted to come too, we walked to the top of Urbana sreet. I saw Bob's pick up out front, we just went to the basement enterance. Bob got rid of the steps and put in a bigger door, he could push bikes in and out. He was working on a beautiful A 10 BSA, this bike had two cylinders, and was 150 cc's bigge than mine. "Hi Bob."  "Hello Imre, what's up." "I have a problem, the bike don't want to start." "You have to have three things Imre, they are air, fuel, and spark. Do you have these?" "I have the first two, I'm not sure about the third." "What kind of magneto do you have?" "I don't know Bob, it's, it's like this one, but only one wire comes out of it." I pointed at the thing on the BSA, "That's a Lucas magneto, Imre. Does any spark come out of it?" "Does it ever, I'd say, it knocked the hell out of me." Steve started to laugh again, "You should have seen his face, and his hair was sticking up in the air." Bob was gigling and so was I, it was funny now, "Yeah, they tend to give you a jolt. That means the magneto is good. There must be too much resistance somewhere, make sure your plug is clean, and clean the points in the magneto." "How do I do that?" "Come here I'll show you." I went over next to the big BSA, and squated down next to him, "Disconect the kill button wire, if it's shorted out you'll never start that bike. Now watch what I do, remove this cover. See there are the points, I'm doing a tune up on this bike, and have to do this anyway. Just watch, you turn the engine untill the points open all the way. Then you take a match out, and put it in the opening of the points it should just fit. Then you turn the engine untill the points are holding the mach tight, but don't pull it out yet. Turn the engine some more while holding the match, and when it comes out easly you are done." "Thank you Bob, I'm going to try that." "Glad to help, Bye." We hurried home, when we turned into Lindell court, dad's Lincoln was siting in front of the house. That's when I remembered, him and Marinaro worked it out that each would have two long weekends a moth. This was dad's turn, but he should have been home much earlier. Went in the in the house for a book of matches, dad was just having some  lunch, and asked, "What are you up to son?" "Just trying to get the bike started." "I'll be finished eating in a minute, and I come give you a hand."

The engine came to life, WRRAAAAAAAH. He came to a stop on the corner of Randolph and worked the throttle a couple of times. WRRRAAAAAAAH, WRRRAAAAAAAAH, sounded good. He selected first gear, and pulled out on Randolph road. He disappeared from sight, we could hear him shift to second, and give it the gas. Steve and I walked back to the house, we tried to listen to the sound of the bike, but it was swallowed up by the warren of streets and houses. Mom asked me, "Where is your father?" "I whish I knew mom, he's out on my bike riding around." "Imre, you let me know as soon as that man get's back." Almost a half an hour went by before we heard the bike pulling up the long hill behind our house, It had a tone that made my dick hard. Both of us ran to the front of the house, so we could see him pull into the court. Out on Lindell he shifted into second and rolled down the hill, leting engine hold him back. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAH. as he came closer, and into the court he shifted to first, GRRRRRRRRRRRAAAHHH. He put both feet down and found neutral, and let the bike tick away under him, thump, thump, thump. He was grining from ear to ear, this was the first time he rode a motorcycle in almost ten years. The wind blew tears from the corner of his eyes, I checked if he had any bugs on his teeth. It was too late in the fall for that, Steve went runing inside, "Hey mom, dad's baack!" Mom came out of the house, her hair tied up with a bandana. Walked up to dad, put her hands on her hips, and tore into him, "Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? Your son I can understand, he's only sixteen, but you're fourtyeighht. Don't you think you should give up this foolisness?"  "Why Marie? I can still ride real good. Almost forgot how good it feels, come climb up behind me and we go for a spin." Motioned with his head and gave her a wink, she looked at the bike and looked her feet. Dad needed to give her just a little more push, "Come Marie, for old times sake." "All right, but I have to change my shoes and put on a jacket." with that she ran into the house, only to appear a few minutes later with the needed jacket and shoes. Dear reader I feel that I must remind you that all this went down in Hungarian, it wasn't a fight or yelling. With the engine runing, it was loud talking. the neighbors came out to see what was happening with the Baka's.There was always something going on with their deliquent son runing amok. Mom sat on the pillionpad behind dad, it wasn't much of a seat. Dad cracked the thtottle a couple of times and they pulled away, before they were out of the court I yelled after them, "Get some gas!" I hoped they heard me. When they pulled away from front of the house, all the neighbors clapped. I clapped too, but I hope that dad won't fall in live with my motorcycle like he did with my Licoln Capri. My father had a long loveaffair with motorcycles, he was in his twenties when he bought his own. The story goes that the 250 cc. Austrian Puch was a very fast bike of it's day. Dad was very proud of his new bike and wanted to show it off to his father. Gramps sat behind him, and they went for a ride. I can't remember hearing the details, but they crashed. No helmet, no leathers, the police went to  the house to inform grany that there has been an accident, and the two injured are at such and such hospital. Grany went to the hospital by streetcar and bus as fast as she could. A nurse taken her to the ward and to Gamps's bed. He was bandaged up on both legs, right shoulder and arm in a cast, "What happenned Imre?" She exclaimed, "I fell off the back of a God Damned motorcycle, thats what happenned," Grany looked over to the next bed where a figure was laying bandaged from head to toe, a slit was left open for the eyes. Shaking her head, she asked Gramps,"Imre, who is that poor unfortunate in the next bed?" "That's your son Sarah, He caused all this!" Grany fainted. The accident didn't take the starch out of dad, Gramps would not get on a nother motorcycle for the rest of his life. Dad went on to race in hillclimbs and ice races. Dated mom on a bike and only got a car when I came along. The car was a DKW a German car absorbed by Audi along time ago. The modern Puch was sold by Sears untill the late '60's under the name Allstate.

113.
Mom and dad were gone for the better part of an hour.  I'm sure if it wasn't for the uncomfortable pillion pad, they would have been gone longer. They must have rode a ways into the country, in those low laying areas it gets cold this time of year because the diagonal scar, received from the crash with Gramps, stood out vividly on dad's forehead, but he was smiling. Mom climbed off the back and said, "That was fun, this motorcycle is a lot stronger than your Puch was." "Of course Marie, this one is twice as big." "Isn't this too big for Imre?" "No mom it's not too big for me at all, really it's not." I was afraid for a moment that I'll be demoted to a scooter or a moped. The good thing was that dad didn't fall in love with my Matchless, or Matchbox as my brother called it.

Monday morning I rode to school on my Matchbox and pulled up where the school buses usually stop. My note book and composition book, held together with a big rubber band, were sitting on the gas tank between my knees. I saw Paulette and waved to her. Dumb move, must wave with the left hand. By taking my right hand off the throttle the engine idled down and almost cut out. Grabbing a handful of throttle made the bike jump. My note book went flying, hit the ground, and slid. The rubber band broke, my home work and papers were blown all over. This convinced me to visit the surplus store in Bethesda and buy a military style canvas shoulder bag.

The guy at the store called it a Musset bag. It was perfect. All my school stuff fit in there fine. I even had room for a few tools, a spark plug, some wire, and tape. The surplus guy wanted to sell me these sheep skin gloves. He called them gauntlets and said they were worn by bomber crews. I didn’t want them. I went to Monkey Wards in Wheaton Plaza and bought me a real motorcycle jacket. It had zippers up the butt.  Zippers on the sleeves, on the sides, in the back, big inside pockets, snaps on the collars (so it won't beat your face to death if you were going fast). A jacket like this could only have been made in America. It was the king of all jackets. After I had mine, I noticed more and more people wearing them, even people who didn't have a motorcycle.

One night riding home from the station, my hands got so cold that when I stopped in front of my house, it taken me a few minutes to staighten out my fingers. The next day I went to the surplus store and bought the Gauntlets, it was real good because it didn't let the cold air rush up my sleeve. Othervise I could get frozen armpits, I olso bought a pair of googles, the army kind, because it had four different kind of lens inserts. Sunglasses wasn't worth a damn in the rain or at night. For head gear I decided on one of those sheepskin bomber crew hats, if Rocky and Bulwinkle show would have been around, I would have been nicknamed Rocky. But becouse Walt Disney had a series that just started, called "The nine lifes of El Fago Baca, I ended up with the handle of this wetback. Soon after the first episode, I was greeted, "Hey El Fago, What's up El Fago? How's it hanging El Fago?" I would have liked Rocky a lot better. After the first semester I was in the crapper, I was flunking everything but Phys Ed. I needed help, I went to see my student counsellor. She suggested that I should buddy up with a good student, and that would help me out. I approached Paulett, she was willing to give it a try. After a while I had to give it up, because after ten minutes of study we just ended up making out. I was draging down Paulettes grades. Back to the student counsellor, I had to tell her that I just couldn't concentrate. She had a further suggestion. Which was, that I should drop all my majors except for english, and shoot for a vocational diploma. I did that, I had three hours of auto shop in the morning. I met guys there that lived for cars, but known about them less than I did. One of them even became a big time drag racer, and openned a hot rod shop in Rockville, his first name was Sam. The second semester I was flunking auto shop, this was becouse I didn't take on my own projects. I rether work with other guys, or just fuck with my motorcycle. The shop teacher wasn't a fan of motorcycles, maybe becouse in place of his right hand, was a claw. He couldn't work the throttle with that. There was only two students that rode motorcycles to school, yours truly and a nother guy. He had a German motorcycle called Zundapp. It was a two stroke of only 250 cc. displacement, even so it was very quick. This time of the year there was no activity on the track that surrounded the football field. One day after school this kid, and I decided to take our bikes out there. Erased all the white lines, we were still having fun when couple of the coaches arrived with the cops. The coaches about had shit fit.The cops tried to put a scare into us. They said that we will be charged with destroying private property, I was close to telling them to blow it out their ass. The school wasn't private property, besides, there wasn't nothing destroyed that some shovels and rakes can't fix That's what me and my cinder track buddy did several saturday afternoons untill the coaches were satisfied. 

Someone said, "Let's go for a Joy Ride" I’d heard the expression before and I went for a Joy Ride in my car several times before I had my license, but that was in my own car. In a blink of an eye all of us were out of the “Tower” and into the parking lot of the Bowling Lanes. Like a pack of hungry wolfs we were hunting for a car with keys left behind. George Brunori found one, it was a '56 Chevy. It didn't have keys in it but the ignition wasn't turned to “lock”. We all piled in. I can't remember who got behind the wheel. "Where to now?" Said the driver, "Wheaton Plaza." I suggested. We backed out of the parking place and out on Viers Mill road. I said, "Hey guys, as soon as the owner comes out, he's going to report his car stolen." I was concerned of the consequences. "Imre you worry too much." Allan said and George backed him up, "Yea, by the time the owned finishes bowling we’ll have the car back and they’ll never know the difference." I was still skeptical. We turned into Hot Shoppes and made a couple of circuits, whistled at girls and said “Hi” to friends. I thought this was very stupid, all these people seeing us in a stolen car. In the olden times they hung people for stealing a horse. A "56 Chevy was worth a lot more than a horse.

Wheaton Plaza was not yet finished, the two big stores Monkey Wards and J.C. Penny were already open for business, many smaller stores in between were still being built. The parking lot was finished, acres and acres of black asphalt. We all took turns driving. Douring my turn at the wheel I noticed on my first pass that at the corner of Monkey Wards a spigot was left on and a huge wet spot presented it's self. I kicked the chevy in the ass. When I got to the wet spot, I hit the brakes for just a moment dropped it into low and stood on the gas. The car started to slide the rear wheels protested as the back end came aroun several times. I just missed one of those huge lighting posts by several feet and came to a stop. George and Allen were holding onto the dash, their eyes big as soucers. The two guy's in the back were a little pale, "Are you fucking nuts! Are you trying ti kill us?" George even hit me in the back of the head, not hard, I jumped from behind the wheel and let George take over. Ran to the passenger side and took the shotgun seat next to Allen, "What the fuck was that Baka?" "It was a manouver I saw on TV, it works. Did anybody shit themselfs?" The response was,"No of course not, it was just unexpected. you shoul given us some warning, you hungarian fuckhead." George drove a couple laps, and did a couple burnouts, I suggested, "We should take it back now." The others were all in agreement, George steered for Viers Mill road, and turned into the parking lot of the Bowling Lanes. The idea was to put the car back in the same place it was taken from. Wouldn't you know, that parking spot was taken. George cruised the lot to find a nother, we were just keeping an eye out for a space , when a guy in the back, "Don't look, but the cops are behind us." Everyone looked, I did too.Sure as shit a white cruiser of the Montgomery County Police was right on our bumper. The cherry on the top started flashing and the loud hailer went off, "Stop, and get out of the car! Hands on your heads." George said, "Fuck that!" And stood on the gas, the car jumped like a jackrabbit and we went to Viers Mill road. The traffic was bumper to bumper and we couldn't pull out, thank God! George slammed it into PARK, and was out the door. I followe his example, he went left, I went right, Allen went a third point of the compas. There were only two cops, one of them decided to have a foot race with me.

I headed for Georgia ave. there were more people more traffic I could hide in plain sight. The cop was determined, I knew he wasn't going to shoot because I was no threat to him, and this wasn't Hungary. There I probably ended up with a bullet in my back. I put myself into overdrive and left his ass behind, when I got to the Anchor Inn, I did a slide on my stomack like the baseball player sliding for home. Right under a pick up truck and I had a chance to catch my breath. My heart was pounding like a base drum and that sweet taste of danger was in my gut. I heard the gravel crunch, and the beam of a flash light sweep the ground. I grabbed the driveshaft of the truck and fulled myself up, put my feet up on the rear end. The cop must have tought I turned into smoke, he came right to the truck, I saw his highly polished shoes, shined his light under me, and saw nothing. I tought he might hear the pounding of my heart, he looked under some of the other cars, then gave up. I slowly lowered myself and laying flat on the ground, looked if I could see any feet. When I was positive that I could leave my hiding place unobserved. I emerged and dusted myself off and headed for home. I didn't walk along Georgia ave. a patrolling police cruiser would stop me and bound to ask questions. I walked on the side street one block in from Georgia ave. and reached my house. Went thru the woods and over the back fence, when I climbed the slight rise in our backyard and survayed the front of our house. Surprise,

a police cruiser was siting in front of the house. How the fuck they found their way to my house? I didn't have my name on my back, I didn't loose any thing. Three of those guys had on Wheaton High School jackets. One of those guy's musta got cought and spilled the beans. It wasn't a good time to go in the house right then, I waited untill the cops left. I went in the house through the basement door, it wasn't a good idea to reveal my pesence just yet, becouse I bound to get smacked. My fear was because the lack of the understanding of english on the part of my parents. The way the cops presented the happenings, who knows what my parents belived. They might think I'm the kingpin of a car theft ring. Whenever the police was involved, they always tought the worst of my involvement, unjustly. I tought it be better lay low untill tomorrow. I fell asleep on the sofabed, it was amazing that neither mom or dad came downstairs. They both were gone when I woke up, I grabbed a bite to eat, brushed my teeth, changed my cothes and called the Brunories.

116.
George answered the phone, "How goes it Imre, how did you make out?" "What the f--k you mean, how did I make out? I wasn't on a date man, I'm in deep shit." George sounded calm, "No you're not, brother. The cops were just here. They talked to my old man. The owner doesn't even want to press charges. There is no damage to the car, and everything is honky-dory." "OK, ok, that's fine for you, but my parents don't understand all this. They think I stole a car, and who the f--k knows what they think about what they heard from the cops. They like cops less than I do. Can you get ahold of the others and we'll meet at the recreation center in an hour?" "Ok, Imre, see you in an hour."

Within the hour all of us were there. I went the shortest way through the woods behind my house. George and Mario were already there and we were waiting for Allen and the two other guys. Finally everyone was present. I felt that I had to say something, "Listen, I don't know about all of you, but I'm in deep shit with my parents. I haven't even seen them yet and if I don't figure out something before they get home, I'm in for a serious beating by my father. So let's hear some ideas." George spoke first, "What do you think we can do? We can't speak Hungarian to your father." "I know that, but Allen, you were the only one that got caught! Why the f--k did you give my name to the cops?" Allen said, "You weren't there man. They said they were going to charge me with grand theft auto unless I gave all the names." "You are stupid Allen, we didn't take the car out of the state; we didn't even take it out of the county. That's what they probably said to my parents to scare them to death. F--king cops." "Sorry Imre, there is nothing we can do. Other than our moral support you're on you're own." "Thanks a lot guys. Thanks for nothing. It wasn't even my idea to go joy riding." "What are you going to do?" "I'm gonna ride down to the station and face the music." "Good luck Imre, we'll see you in school."

I went home, got on the Matchbox and rode to the gas station. As soon as I parked the bike dad approached me with determined steps and grabbed me by the collar. I hoped that he wouldn’t start punching the shit out of me in front of the customers. He talked in a very serious and accusing tone while dragging me to the far corner of the shop, "Where the hell were you all night, now you hiding from the police, the police looking for you. Why do you steal the car, you can have car any time, you make me ashamed. I should beat you like a dog." "No dad, let me explain. I was in the basement last night." "You sonofabitch, you in the basement and you let me and your mother worry all night?" "Yes dad, I was affraid to go upstairs because I knew you misunderstood the cops and wouldn't give me a chance to explain." "What you to explain, you steal car, police look for you." "No dad, the police are not looking for me. I will go to school on monday just like I always do, if the police want me they would certainly find me there. I didn't steal a car dad." "Then why do the police say you steal." "Dad remember what shits the police were in the old country, well they are shits here too, maybe not as much, but still shits. The reason they told you those things last night, was to scare you that you would give me up to them." "They would do that?" "They did do that dad, you were very mad at me when I first arrived. Are you still mad at me?" "I'm mad at you becouse you didn't come upstairs last night, and tell me what you say now." "Would you have given me the chance to talk?" "No, I would have punched your face in."  "You see, that is what the police wanted, that's why I didn't go upstairs." "Yes police shit, they say big trouble, they say you go jail, they say much trouble." "OK dad, now that you understand, I want you to help me to explain to mom." "You expalin it to me real good, you can explain it to mother too. Tomorrow we all go to church at Hungarian Federation at Kossuth House. Don't make any other plans for tomorrow. Now do you stay and pump some gas, and fix flats." "Ok dad I'll stay." Damn, I was lucly that I was able to convince dad to my side, despite the visit from the cops. After work, with dad's help I worked on mother, she was a much harder nut to crack than dad. She never forgave me for staying in the basement that night, and let her worry. In the morning were all off to Kossuth House for the services. I hated to be in the company of other hungarians. I olny started to feel like this after I had the pleasure of their company a few times. Most of the hungarians that arrived to the USA after the war were such phonies. The man introduced himself as the former mayor of a hungarian town, "All right that's nice, but what do you do now?" "Oh now, I read meters for Potomac Power and Electric." Why couldn't he say that in the first place, who gives a shit what he was twenty years ago. When hugarians go to church, weddings, funerals, or hagings, they alwasy put on their sunday best. It was like that now, I had to put on a suit and tie, I wouldn't have minded if we were going to a hanging. The Kossuth House was located at 1801 P street just off of Dupont Circle.It was a beautiful stately house built by Clara Barton the founder of the American Red Cross. Now it belonged to the Hungarian Federation, it was an organization for hungarians in the USA. I have no idea what they did, could care less. In the ball room of the house where the the chuch services were held, folding chairs were put up, and we sat in the first row. The subject of the sermon was honesty, and honor, and the evil deed of stealing. I don't know if my father and this sunday servant of the Lord cooked up some thing between them. I don't care too much for priests, preachers, or reverends. I don't hate them, but I think they are a bunch of lazy freeloading bastards. This bastard all through the sermon looked right at me, was trying to stare me down. I didn't drop my gaze, I stared the bastard right back.

117.
Dad finished a brake job on a VW bug and the only thing left to do was to put the cotter pin into the rear axle. The slots on the castle nut and the hole on the axle didn't line up. Dad put his big socket with a long bar on it and tried to align everything. It was only off by a millimeter so dad stood on the braker bar and asked me to sit behing the wheel and hold the brakes. Before I got in he asked me to open the engine compartment so he could stick his left hand in the right upper corner to steady himself. I sat behind the wheel and stepped on the brakes and said, "OK, dad, you can do your thing!" Right after that I felt the car bounce as dad tried to tighten the nut. The next sound I heard was the slamming of the engine compartment. And then him shouting, "Son, hurry, help me!" I jumped out of the seat and ran to the back of the bug.

Dad was standing there, pain written all over his face. The engine cover closed, trapping his left hand. I opened the cover and he pulled out his hand and grabbed his wrist. Blood was squirting out of the top of his hand and he looked pale. While he was holding his wrist I walked him to the office and got out the first aid kit. His wound was L shaped and looked deep. I poured peroxide over it and some antiseptic liquid. I then applied a pressure bandage and I told him, "You should go to the Georgetown Emergency Room that will need stitches" "Naw, it will be all right. It's just a big scratch." Two days later dad passed out next to his workbench.

The ambulance took him to Sibly Hospital. Diagnosis: blood poisoning. This could have been avoided if he went to the hospital when I said to. Dr.Tauber treated him and dad was soon out of danger, if he didn't pass out, and would have stayed on his feet a couple more days, his left arm would have been amputated. I went to pick up dad when he was released, his insurance covered everything. Just before we depated Dr.Tauber came to me, pressed his card in my hand, "My private number is on the back, call me tomorrow son." That seamed mighty queer, why the hell would he want me to call him, on his private number yet. Dad was feeling good, and wanted to drive. I was glad to give him the drivers seat, while dad was in the hospital, I went to Kensington with Bruce and passed my drivers exam, it was about time.The next day after school I called Dr.Tauber, "Hello Dr.Tauber, Imre Baka sir, you asked  me to call you." "Yes young Baka, thank you for calling. While your father was under my care, we did a battery of blood tests. I am affraid I have some bad news for you." Time seamed to stop for me, and all of a sudden I was very hot, with the phone in one hand I fought my way out of my jacket, "What is it doctor?" "I'm affraid son that your father has the symphtoms of leukemia." "Are you sure doctor, how can this be?" "Ninety five percent sure son." We just burried my Gramps not too long ago of the same disease. He just told me of my fathers death sentence, if this don't knock my dick in the dirt then nothing will, "How will I tell this to my mother doctor?" "Don't say anything son, I will talk to her the next couple of days. Not even a hint of this to your father. I want him in the same frame of mind that he just came out of the hospital, and everything is fine. I will talk to your mother." "Thank you doctor." "OK, bye young Baka." Ain't that a kick in the ass, my father is going to die. I knew he will eventually, but I didn't think it will be so soon. Good God, he has only experienced the freedom and the good life he craved for less then four years, I screamed, "That's NOT FAIR GOD! He deserves to play with his grandchildren, just like Gramps did." I realized I was talking to myself. A few minutes later my brother came home, I didn't say nothing to him. I didn't say nothing to my mother either. Dad came home from the station, sat down to watch TV with us and was soon asleep. He was tireing very easily, Gramps had the same problem. Dad was going to work as usual, and falling asleep early, he complained that he lacked the energy that he had before. It was killing me that I knew about the problem but had to keep it to myself. Mom came home, and I noticed that her eyes were cried out. I knew she talked to Dr.Tauber. From that day the relarionship between my mother and I changed, I really can't put a finger on it, but from then on, in her eyes I could do nothing right. It seamed that she blamed me for my fathers malady. She seamed to enjoy having angry werbal exchanges with me, what pissed me off was knowing all this, I let myself to be sucked in. It got to the point that even dad found her raging on me all the time too much. The shadow of leukemia hung over me too, first it was my Gramps, now my dad. Is this going to be my end too? You can't catch leukemia, it's in your genes, and who knows when it rears it's ugly head.

All of us who taken part in the Joy Ride, had to go to Juvenile Court. The owner of the car wanted to forget the whole thing, stood up in court and told the judge, "The boy's were just having fun, they didn't hurt the car, and were bringing it back." The shithead DA would have none of this and told the judge, "Do not take into consideration the plea of the plaintif. He made the stolen vheicle report and the police and the court has a duty to stop these gangs." What gangs? We were not a gang! Mr.Brunori stated that to the Judge. The long and short of it is that we were put on three months probation. By some strange coincidence my traffic ticket of failure to reduce speed found it's way into the docket. I pleaded not guilty. I told the judge, "Your Honor, I didn't have time to do anything. The car pulled out in  front of me." He didn't want to hear it, the cocksucker suspended my license for ninety days. I tought it was grossly unfair.

118
Because of the bad relations between my mother and I it was essential that I leave the nest as soon as possible. I could not get a serious job that would support me. I had to choose the armed forces. The big problem was that no branch of the service takes recruits under seventeen years of age. My seventeenth birthday was months away. In spite of my suspended license I drove to the station whenever dad wanted me; always minding my Ps and Qs so as not to give the cops a reason to stop me. Dad knew that he could not contribute to his half of the partnership as he did before so he sold his half to Marináro and went back to work at Manhattan Auto. Joe Herson was glad to have him back. With dad giving up the partnership it was the end of my job at the station. It was a good thing that I didn't forget about my yard work costumers in the spring because now they were my only source of cash for the essential things, like gas, and clothes I wanted to buy. Not that I was style conscious, the last time I wore a suit was when dad made me go to church. My total wardrobe was my CAP uniform and my leather jacket and jeans. I really didn't need anything else. You couldn't wear fancy clothes on a motorcycle.

I was on the way home from school, and decided to go to the recreation center to see what was going on. They were ready to start their summer program. Dad always told me, "Son, don't look for trouble, trouble will find you." This must have been one of those days, strangely the doors of the rec. center were open, but it was too early. I decided to go inside and saw that somebody had been there before me. The whole place was a mess. Chairs were thrown all over the place. Boxes of cornflakes were opened and strewn all over. Jugs of milk were opened and soaking the cornflakes. There were large portions of blueberries thrown in to complete this bizarre way of serving breakfast. My mother would call the scene Randalireum. Nothing was broken from what I could see, but who ever did it was an asshole. I was just coming out when a group of kids arrived and went in. They all came back out aghast, asking, "Who could have done such stupid senseless thing?" They all cast a suspicious eye on me. "Hey I just got here a few minutes before you did. It was like this already." This one kid who was in my Phys Ed. class, his name was Jerry Goulden, or Golden, I can't remember. What he said next pissed me off, "You know this is breaking and entering? Because of people like you we can't have a nice place to go to." I went up to him and stood toe to toe, "What the fuck are you talking about Jerry?" "You know very well what I'm taking about 'El Fag-o'." "No, I don't, why don't you tell me." "You were just coming out when we arrived, get the picture El Fag-o." "You better get that picture out of your head, Jerry, before I hit you so hard that you will forget everything." As soon as the words left my mouth he hit me dead in the nose and I heard these strange squeaky sounds in my ears; and when I tried to draw air through my nose it sounded like somebody blowing bubbles.

I staggered back, but didn't fall down. My mother could hit harder than that. I touched under my nose and my hand came away bloody. Jerry was stupid, he should have followed up that surprise punch with at least four or five others, maybe closing my eyes. The blood was driping from my nose rapidly. I cupped my hand and let it collect, all this time Jerry was just standing there like a dumb ass. I smeared the blood all over my face, and charged Jerry. He was surprised at my recover, and fright was written all over his face. My first target was his nose, he had a nose that make a stork proud. When I hit the target I felt the crunch as it moved to one side, he bent over holding his nose. That was a mistake, I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, it was one of those knit shirts, with the aligator on the left breast. He couldn't see nothing, he couldn't use his arms, I just punded on him. In the stomack, on the head on his kidneys. I didn't want to kick him in the nuts because I didn't want him to fall down. I was still beating on him when the cops arrived.They pulled me off Jerry, and staightenned his clothes.

The cops handcuffed me, I heard the cop on the radio say, "You better send an ambulance, one boy is badly cut up." I must have been a frightfull sight, all that blood all over my face, Jerry's blood all over my T-shit. The ambulance guys wanted to haul me away to the hospital, I didn't want to go. I told them, "There is nothing wrong with me that a little soap and water won't cure." The cop took off the cuffs and let me go to the boys room. When I looked in the mirror I almost scared myself, my nosebleed stopped, but my face did look like if I was carved up. I washed my face, and not to my surprise, I didn't have a mark on me. The cops have been talking to the other kids and Jerry all this time, some of the officers of the rec. center arrived. They too were appauled at the mess, all of them were looking at me as if I were some kind of scummbag. I spoke up right quick, "Listen you assholes, I didn't do this, I don't give a shit what anybody say's or what it looks like." The one cop had me sit on one of the benches, quite a crowd gathered by now with the ambulance and all the cop cars there. Pointing and talking amongs themselfs,"That Baka kid, in trouble again, he's in trouble all the time since he got that motorcycle." The cop told me to take off my shoes, when I did, he examined the soles. Evidently the person who did the Randlerium danced through the mess, of course my shous were clean. Jerry didn't learn his lesson, and was runing his face again, he was talkin, no,more like yelling at one of the cops, "I don't care if he didn't do it, I want him arrested for assault and battery." I just had to say something, I went there to bust him in the chops again, but I didn't, "What the hell are you talking about jew boy? You hit me first, you assaulted me. Then I did battery on you." The cops talked to the other kids and got the straight and skinny. From what I heard Jerry went on to study law, and graduated from an Ivy League law school. Became a lawyer and a DA somewhere, probably a judge by now. I sure hate to end up in his courtroom, I hope he reads this book. Fuck You Jerry!

119.
The school year ended and summer vacation began. I flunked every subject but US history, and Phys. Ed. I wasn't about to attend summer school, I had other fish to fry.

I had been extremely fortunate that I had not been stopped by the cops as I was still driving with a suspended license. Back then cops didn't pay that much attention to Motorcycles. You really had to do a big screw up for the police to take notice. There were hardly any motorcycles around. I really don't know how places like Blaylock, the BSA dealer stayed in business. I was just putting around the neighborhood when I spotted a guy walking up ahead. He looked familiar and I pulled up next to him. It was Tim Cocker, "Hey buddy, where you going?" "Hi Imre, I knew that had to be you. I can tell the tone of your bike from a mile away, I'm on my way home." "Come on man, I'll give you a ride." "All right, but where do I sit?" "You sit on the gas tank and put your feet on the engine cases. I just put on a new rear fender and didn't put on the P-pad yet." "And where are you going to seat?" "I'll sit where I normally sit. Come on, Tim, get on." "OK, but how you gonna steer?" "You steer and work the throttle and the clutch, I’ll shift the gears." "Are you sure this is going to work?" "Sure it will; let's get going." We had everything synchronized, Tim pulled away, when I heard the engine reach sufficient revs, I said “Clutch”, he let off the throttle, I shifted to a higher gear, and so on. Everything was going fine when I heard a car behind me. I told Tim to let it go by. He pulled to the right and the car came along side. It was a cop car.

"Pull over boys." Was his instruction, holy shit that's all I need. We stopped, and got off. I was geting out the registration, the cop said, "Let me see your license." "I can't show it to you." "And why is that may I ask?" "Because it's been suspended for ninety days. But officer, I wasn't driving, he was." I pointed at Tim, I knew he had a valid license. Tim looked confused for a second, and took out his permit. The cop looked at it, everything was OK, but he said, "All right, I won't site you for nothing, but I don't want to see this circus riding again. It's your bike." He pointed at me, "You gona have to push it, or let your buddy ride it alone." Whew, I was glad when he left. I pushed the bike twenty yards and sat in the saddle, "Cme on Tim get on." "Imre the cop." "Fuck him, let's ride." We got going again just like before, went about two blocks. I heard a car behind us, and suddenly a blast of a siren. The same cop got us again. He wrote me up this time for operating a motorvehicle while on suspension, and had a date for juvinile court. I signed the ticket, he said, "You push this fucken machine like I told you or..." "Or what, you'll shoot me, beat me up? Like they do in the old country." "Hey kid, are you crazy? nobody's gona hurt you, just don't ride the bike. If you do I will write you again." "Then you can start writing right now, becouse I'm going to ride as soon as you get the hell out of here." The cop didn't want to fill his day up with me. He probably tought "This kid with the foreign accent is a little nuts" got in his car and left. I wanted him to think that, by now Tim tough that I was nuts too. Because when I told him, "Come on let's go." He replied, "Thanks Imre, I'm walking from here." "OK buddy, suit yourself. I'll see you later." "Yea, later Imre." I headed for home. When my court date came up I asked Tim to show up. Like a good friend he came. I didn't wear my leather jacket to court, bought a blue Blazer at Monkey Wards. With a white shirt and Ascot I looked very continental. Even Tim was surprised when he saw me, "What are you made up for Imre?" "I just want to impress the judge Tim. I don't think that my normal attire would help me much." "I think you're right about that." When my name and case was called, I marched right up there. The DA said his thing about me operating my vehicle on a suspended license. Then the cop was called to the stand, he said his piece about how he gave me a chance. and how I ignored his advice. Then it was my turn, after I was sworn in the judge asked me, "You heard the charge young man. How do you plead?" "Not guilty your honor." "How can you say that, you heard the officer. He cought you driving after ample warning." "I wasn't driving your honor." "Were you not siting in....or should I say on this vehicle?" "Yes I was your honor," "Were you not responsible for the starting stoping and the directing of this vehicle?" "No I wasn't your honor. I was just shifting the gears." "Then who the hell was driving?" "My friend Tim...excuse me, Mr.Cocker was." "Is this Mr.Cocker present in this courtroom?" Tim raised his hand and

stood up. "Could you approach the bench Mr.Cocker." The judge turned to me, "You can step down for now Mr.Baka." I was glad to get down from there, I didn't like the scrutiny of all those people. The judge instructed Tim to take the stand, after he was sworn in the judge asked him, "Mr.Cocker, do you have a valid Maryland drivers license?" "Yes I do your honor." "May I see it please?" Tim gave his permit to the bailiff, the bailiff handed it to the judge,"Now Mr.Cocker, were you with Mr.Baka on such and such date while he was driving this motorcycle?" "Yes I was your honor." "And Mr.Cocker, where you present when the officer stopped Mr.Baka while he was driving this motorcycle?" "Yes I was your honor but Im...Mr.Baka wasn't driving." "May I ask who was responsible for starting stoping and steering this wehicle?" "I was your honor, Mr.Baka was just shifting gears." "Thank you Mr.Cocker. You may step down." "Mr.Baka in view of Mr.Cocker's testimony, I accept yout plea of not guilty, and hereby this case is dismissed." And he smacked his wooden hammer on his desk. I was very happy. Tim drove me home, as soon as he dropped me off, I changed clothes and pushed the Matcbox out and was on the way to other adventures. The trouble was that before I entered the service in november, I was busted three more times for driving on a suspended license. Each time the judge doubled the lenght of the suspension.

I remember the summer of 1960 as the most miserable summer of my life. This is mostly due to my father’s illness and the combative nature of my mother. I had to start the tenth grade again while my friends went on, it was kind of humiliating. I didn't think that I would feel that way about it. I had the same kind of feeling as when I gave up the violin. The second week of school I turned seventeen. I motored down to the Blair House in Silver Spring. That's where the offices of the draft board were. I volunteered for the draft. I filled out some forms, had to take a paper home that had to be signed by my parents. They told me the sooner I brought back the signed form, the sooner they could get the wheels rolling.

I was already dreading having to ask mom to sign because we could not exchange a few words without it turning into and argument. I don't know what it feels like for a woman, a wife, to know that she will be a widow soon. I did know how I felt, that soon I would not have a father. It was not a nice feeling. Surprisingly, mom signed the paper without any fuss, Dad signed it too. His signature still had that crispness that I knew so well. I hurried to to Blair house to drop off the paper, I didn't know how long it will take before I will be called. I didn't trumpet it around that I'm going in the service, I was just going to disappear like a grey donkey in the fog. I told a few friends and asked them to keep it to themselfs. Surprisingly I didn't have any loose ends to take care of, Mario is going to buy my Matchless, I could care less about my juvenile court appearence. It was on or about november the tenth that I received an official looking letter addressed to me. With trembling hands I openned the envelope and started to read, "Greetings from the President of the United States of America." I know there was cosiderable increase in my heartbeat, further it said that I'm to report to the Blair House on the morning if the 15th. of november at 7:00 am. I showed the letter to mom, that was the cause of another argument. She brought up all the negative things I ever done, almost included shiting my first diaper. My mother mever remembered the good things I did, the bad things she never forgot. I decided than that I can't stay in the same house with her any longer, called the Brunories and asked if I could stay with them a few days. "Sure thing Imre, come on, stay as long as you like." Was the answer. The next day I told my homeroom teacher that I had to see Mr.Horn, the vice Principal. When the bell signalled first period, I went to his office, "What can I do for you Imre?" I showed him the letter, he looked at it and read it. Handed it back to me, "There is nothing I can do Imre, but I wish you stay in school." "Sorry Mr.Horn, it's a done deal, and this is what I want." "I wish you good luck son." "Thank you Mr.Horn." With that I left his office. I went out the doors of Wheaton High not to return many years later when my son was attending. Fired up the Matchbox, and did a lap around the parkinglot while leting the motor clear it's throat. Went to see dad at aunt Susies, and showed him the letter. He huggeg me and kissed me, he didn't know how to read the letter but he knew my name, and when he got to it, he said his tile of 'Vitéz' before it. He gave me this advice, "Son, now that you are going out in the adult world, you will be in contact with women, I know I don't have to instruct you about sex. Do remember this, always have rubbers with you, they come in very handy for many other things besides what they are intended for. After sex, always drink copious ammounts of water, as much as you can possibly hold, and then pee as much as you can." "Thank you for the advice dad, I will keep it in mind." "One more thing. You will be a soldier, God forbid that there be a war, but if there is and you wind up in it, keep your wits about you, because not everybody dies. First and foremost, if they don't give you one, get a hold of a pistol by hook or crook and you keep it with you all the time, even when you're taking a shit. Mine saved my life countless times in Russia." "I'm sure they will give me one dad." Then he motioned me to come closer as if he wanted to share a secret with me, he pacticly spoke right into my ear, "He was here, and his bones rattled. I told him that I don't want to go yet." And he gave me knowing nod and a faint smile, I knew what he was making me privy to. He hugged and kissed me again, I told him that I will try to come back before I go."God be with you my son." Those are the last words that I heard my father speak. Two days later I was siting on an ugly bus, with twenty five other draftees from all walks of life heading for Ft.Hollibird near Baltimore,I think I was the youngest one. 

121.My father was a forward-looking man and had the kind of insurance with Mr.Grandi that took care of all of mothers financial obligations, even the mortgage was paid off. His medical insurance covered all the hospital bills and medicine. I'm sure the premiums were hefty, but now it was all worth it. From the time dad was unable to work, mom received his monthly salary from New York Life.

A barking sergeant greeted us at Ft.Hollibird by saying, "Why does God in his infinite wisdom keep sending me shitheads? Are you all shitheads?" We answered in unison, "Yes sergeant!" "I can't hear You." "YES SARGEANT!" He then marched us over to a big building where coffee was laid out on a table. That’s where I heard the expression for the first time,"Smoke 'em if you got 'em." We were tested on all kinds of things until noon then we went to the Chow Hall. I knew my way around, remembering it from Camp Kilmer. All afternoon was medical exams, shots, Xrays, and the taking of blood samples. One shithead fainted at the sight of a needle, another shithead, when the doctor said, "Bend over and spread your cheeks.", bent over pinched the cheeks of his face and pulled.  The hall roared with laughter. It was late in the afternoon when we were finally sworn into the Army of the United States of America to serve the people and protect the Constitution from enemies foreign and domestic.

It was a big moment for me when I said, "I do." Now I was Pvt. Imre Baka US 52523212 a soldier of my adopted country which I intend to serve honorably. We all received a $20.00 advance pay, a part of the $72.00 salary per month. A nother ugly bus taken us to Baltimores Friendship Airport where we boarded a Piedmont Airline's DC-3 that flew us to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina. After a fitfull nights sleep and breakfast we were off to haircuts. Paid the barber .25 cents, you can imagine what kind of haircut that was. Skinheads, after the issue of initial clothing (fatigues) we all looked the same same, like rabbit shit. I saw my first palm tree in Ft.Jackson, I didn't realize we were that far south. When we received our class A uniforms, our pictures were taken with the American flag in the background. As soon as mine was ready, I airmailed it to my dad. Aunt Susie told me, he cried when he saw it, kissed it, and was so proud. It was put into a frame, dad kept it next to his bed. From Ft.Jackson, three bus loads of us recruits were taken further south to Ft. Bening Georgia, here I was introduced to 3.2 beer and our training began. Everybody kept refering to me as the Spick from New York, I kept telling them that I was a hungarian and lived in Maryland. Through the first part of basic training, I was the Spick from New York regardles. My brother Steve WAS a spitten image of Freddie Princz, when the actor starred in 'Chico and the Man' his father was hungarian and his moma was a Spick. At Ft.Bening I learned the art of soldiering, foxhole diging, bedmaking, shoe shining, I did well in all these things.When we went out into the Georgia pines, there was none better than yours truly in field craft, like tent pitching, firemaking, and camouflage. I loved being in the field, it was almost like being on the island again, but without my animals. The day we received our M1 Garand rifles I told my sargeant, "If I had a gun like this douring the revolution then there would be fewer russians in the world." First he made me do ten push up's for calling the M1 a gun, then he made me stand in  front of the platoon with my dick in one hand, and my rifle in the other. I had to repeat several times, "This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for shootin, this is for fun." That evening I was shining shoes when I heard, "The Spick report to Sgt.Horton." I went to his room and reported, "Pvt.Baka repoting as ordered." "Come in Pvt.Baka, relax have a seat." There were three other sargeants in the room.The sargeant I made the gun comment to spoke to me, "Baka, this morning you said something about a revolution. Would that be the hungarian revolution of '56?" "Yes sargeant" "I was stationed in Gemany at that time with the 11th. Airborne, and the whole outfit volunteered to jump into Budapest." "I wish you all would have come sargeant." "We wanted to son, but the General wouldn't let us. I read about the revolution, and saw pictures, but never talked to anyone who was there. How far were you from Budapest?" "I lived in Budapest sargeant. I was there from the begining to the end. My father was very active in the revolution, that's why we had to leave my birthplace." "Pvt. Baka, we, the sargeants and I would like you tell us about the revolution, and your experiences. Here is some 3.2 Flagstaff to wet your whistle." They really put me at ease, and I began, had a captive audience the rest of the evening.They asked me about weapons, and vehicles, I decribed them, and they knew what they were. After that evening I wasn't called the Spick from New York  anymore. It was the first week of december, the whole company was at the rifle range. We were killing pop-up targets, some of them as far as 500 yards away. I was not a crack shot, I only qualified as a marksmen. I told the sargeant that I was much better with a catapult. I was picking up brass when I heard my name, Sgt. Horton was yelling for me. I reported to him, he pointed and said, "Go to that jeep, the driver will take you to the orderly room." At the orderly room the first sargeant asked my name and held up a set of typed orders and said, "Turn in all your gear except your personal issue, shit, shover, and shave, report back here in class A uniform in one hour, that's all, dismissed. I didn't now what the fuck was happening, they sure didn't give a body much time. I was back in the orderly room within the hour, the first sargeant looked me over and told me to report to the CO. When I was standing in  front of his desk he said, "Pvt.Baka you have been granted ten days compasionet leave, your father is ill, and has been asking for you." I felt tears runing down my face, the captain continued, "In this envelope are your airline tickets, an MP sedan will take you to Colombus Airport, God speed." I saluted, did a bout face and left. As fast as I could, I jammed everything into my duffle bag, I was stuffing in the last teeshirt when the MP's arrived.They rushed me to the airport. I arrived at Sibly hospital two hours too late, my father passed away while I was waiting for my flight in Atlanta . The final viewing was at Chambers in Georgetown, I didn't know so many people got to know my father, in such a short time. It seamed that people filed by for hours, the viewing had to be extended one more day. I didn't go and look at him, I didn't want to remember him like that. I had a heathy picture of him in my mind, when he was riding my Matchless and smiling. After the casket was closed, I went there, put my arm around the casket and said good bye. Followig the casket out to the hearse, mom was walking between Steve and I, and I heard her say, "Your father finally got his brand new car." Lifting my head, I saw at the curb a brand new Cadillac Fleetwood, and I remembered my Dad's words, "Soon, I will have a brand new car."

THE END

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