Amerikai Magyar Szó, 1982. január-június (36. évfolyam, 1-25. szám)

1982-01-07 / 1. szám

2 Thursday, Jan. 7. 1982. The Old Man & The Stairs lying about his age to land a pipeline job. The pipeline would lead him out of the mountains, north towards Detroit. The girl came to him on the second flight up. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Gail.” “That’s a girl’s name,” she giggled. He could feel his face redden. "I know it is. 1 was named after my grandmother.” She smiled shyly and offered her hand. “My name is Rose.” Would she care to dance? . . . She did. A ride in the buggy to the country? . . . She did. Would she care to be a bride? . . . She did. Then more and more beautiful pictures came. He paused on a landing, contented to watch. They began to fade away. The old man resumed his climb. He saw the pictures of France. The strong, young faces of his comrades. He witnessed how sad and homesick he’d been in those filthy, profane trenches. But soon the old man laughed out loud with the young doctor in the Veterans Hospital pictures. His most recent visit was for a stroke. The young doctor was amazed that the old man’s record began in 1913. The army private’s skull had been frac­tured when kicked while shoeing a mule He watched the young hero's reward. Grueling 12-hour days building Henry’s Model T. Five bucks a day if the line didn't stop. Fifteen back-breaking years would pass before another mountain lad named Walter Reuther would leave his West Virginia home. Tears of awe welled up as he watched the separate births of their three babies. A beautiful girl, then two strong, healthy boys. He watched the scolding, the chas­tising, the caressing, and the loving. He cautioned, they obeyed. He provided, they grew. Soon he was suirounded by a whirlwind of grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. Frolicking boys and heart-tugging girls. They were all so lovely, but he just couldn’t remember their names. It took years for the old man to reach the top of the six flights of stairs. Now the pictures would dim and finally stop. It was all right. He knew that soon to follow would be the pictures where Father Time had beckoned to his half-century mate. Through moist, cataract-covered eyes, the old man watched the handsome young mountain boy kiss Rose. He held her in his arms and whispered, "I’ll see you soon.” She smiled and clung to his neck, answering softly. "All right, Gail.” □ David E. Metzier, a machine repairman in the Lordstown, Ohio, GM plant, nrote this story about an elderly acquaintance. His goal, he said, was to compress one lifetime into a few paragraphs. He’s a member of UAW Local 1714. By David E. Metzler The old man shuffled out of his small apartment, closing the door softly behind him. He was mindful to leave it slightly ajar; if it locked again hé knew he couldn’t work the key to reopen it. Whenever that happened he must wait in the cold, dreary hallway until that lady arrived. She came every day in the late afternoon. Sometimes he felt that she really was his daughter like she said, but it just doesn’t seem possible. Their names, Harriet, are the same, but his girl is younger and much more beauti­ful. She has long, flowing, coal black hair and a flawless complexion like her mother. This Harriet doesn’t laugh or talk ipuch when she comes to fix the evening meal or tidy up. Tljis Harriet has lines ip her face and even streaks of gray in her hair. The old. man’s shaking hand searched the cracked and faded wall, finally grasp­ing the handrail. The tapping cane in his other hand found the first step. After two deep breaths, he began his exercise. Ar­thritic knee joints cracked and rebelled. He willed them upward. The old stairs squeaked as each ope bore his weight. The leathery old pump in his chest pro­tested also. It flip-flopped for a moment, then picked up the painful new beat. An old woman listened intently from her bed in the next-door flat, then pounded loudly on the wall. She ppunded both as a salute to his sunrise ritual, an<j as a signal that she too was still in the world, waking for a somber new morning. Halfway up the first flight of stairs, he welcomed the warmth of the cascading Blood as it reached his normally cold hands and feet. He made the bend at the landing and smiled. Soon the pictures would begin. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t see the pictures when he sat in hrs chair or rested on the bed. He could only see them on the stairs. They began as always, faded and in slow motion. Soon he could make out the family’s mountainside farm in Big Isaac, West Virginia. He danced and cavorted with brother Maynard and sister Julia in the one-room school house. The 16 neighboring children were also there. Teacher Mr. Sutton was ringing the hand bell. His.pomade hair split straight down the middle. A high-button collar under extra big ears made him look like a gir­affe. In a moment, the old man shuddered like the trestle in the pictures of the mighty smoke-belching train thundering down off the mountain. The pounding wheels of the engine passed so close he could see directly into the smiling eyes of the sooty faced engineer. A piercing blast from the whistle signaled all the bare- bottomed boys waiting on the railing to spring towards the river water below. The old man watched with amusement as a 12-year old boy stood rigid and tall. Grace Gardos On December 15th, 1981. the ashes of Mrs. Emil Gardos, Grace Blair, were laid to eternal rest in the columbary of the Farkasrét Cemetery in Budapest. A great number of mourners paid their last res­pect to this American woman who fol­lowed her husband, Emil Gardos, in 1948 ahead of his deportation, to Hungary. She chose Hungary, cruelly damaged bv the war, as her second homeland. She was a faithful daughter of her native land, she loved the United States and her people. In her youth she struggled for their well­being; she hardly finished highschool when she joined the youth movement. As a scholarship student, she interrupted her college studies, to participate in the fight against the miseries of the 30’s. Her efforts never ceased in the struggle for the people’s wellbeing. She learned the Hungarian language, and was for a long period a member of the editorial board of the Hungarian Review. She joined her husband in his assignment in India. In recognition of her work she re­ceived several awards from the Hungari­an Government. After her well-earned retirement she continued to work in her district until the last two weeks of her life. This petite woman never spared her­self. Barely two weeks before her death, she spoke at the memorial meeting for our friend, Dr. Henley. Grace Blair Gardos was born in 1911 in Wisconsin. Her unexpected death was a severe shock to the circle of her friends. Assembled at her bier were her former coworkers, the members of the Circle of Friends of the Hungarian Word, her neighbors and friends. She is mourned by her husband, Emil, with whom she lived nearly 50 years in love and understan­ding, her son, John, daughter-in-law, Ma­ry, two dear grandchildren and her large number of friends. N. Egervári, a leader in her district, and Erna Fodor, in the name of the World Federation of Hunga­rians, and the Circle of Friends of the Hungarian Word bade her farewell. Her bier was covered with flowers. May she rest in peace, we shall preserve UAW Protests Bell's Appointment The Reagan Administration’s lack of commit­ment to equal job opportunity was demonstrated again last month with the appointment of William M.Bell, an unknown Detroit businessman , to head the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Urging Reagan to withdraw the nomination, UAW Fair Practices and Anti-Discrimination Dept. Director, Benjamin Perkins, said: “There is ab­solutely nothing in Mr. Bell’s background which even remotely suggests that he could manage the agency” which processes over 50.000 discrimina­tion complaints annually. GIVE THIS PAGE TO A FRIEND AMERIKAI , MAGYAR SZO r************************************* USPS 023-980 ISSN 0194-7990 Published Weekly, exc. last week in July and 1st 2 weeks in August by Hungarian Word,Inc. ; 130 E 16 St. New York, N.Y. 10003, Ent. as 2nd Class Matter, Dec. 31. 1952 under the Act oHMarch 21. 1879, at the P.O. of New York, N.Y. Szerkeszti a Szerkesztő Bizottság Előfizetési árak az Egyesült Államokban egy évre $ 18.— félévre $ 10.—• Kanadabari és minden más külföldi országban egy évre $ 20.— félévre $ 12.— Postmaster $Send address changes to; Hungarian Wordene. 130 E 16 St. New York, N.Y. 10003. her memory. E.F. Let us learn Hungáriáit !>:J anyone leave a message for me? the bell doesn’t work, ' m you bring me .. .? Ih you want anything else? '• \ thank you, I'm all right for the moment. I want to lake a hot bath every morning. I here is no hot water. '■til room hasn’t been •tone {cleaned). Wake me al . . . sharp. I need another blanket. ’i’l'c my overcoat a good brushing. ’■ m you sew this button on for me? I cannot shut that suit­case. Nem hagyott valaki üzenetet nekem? Rossz a csengő. Tudna hozni . . .-t nekem ? Parancsol még valamit? Köszönöm, egyelőre nem kérek mást. Meleg fürdőt akarok venni mindennap. Nincs meleg víz. A szobám nincs kitakarítva. Keltsen (kelcsen) fel pontosan .. .-kor I Kérek egy másik takarót. Kefélje ki jól a fel­öltőmet 1 Fel tudná varrni nekem ezt a gombot? Nem tudom bezárni ezt a bőröndöt. AMERIKAI MAGYAR SZÓ

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