Magyar News, 2001. szeptember-2002. augusztus (12. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
2001-12-01 / 4. szám
was not certain about the connection. Were they just being polite? Then elderly Mrs. Répási went to the attic and brought down a carefully wrapped photograph. There were my grandmother, my father and mother, and my sister Pat and I on the front porch of our Fairfield home, on Memorial Day, 1937. We were in the right place! The next day, while Aunt Margaret visited with her relatives in Kazincbarcika, Uncle Mike, Louise and I decided to press our luck. We found relatives in Viszló. Why not in Tornakápolna? So, off we started, from the hotel Avas Szálló in Miskolc, north along the Bodra River, left at Szalonna (great name for a Hungarian town) and past the town of Szin. The sign said "Tornakápolna" and it pointed up the mountain. So, we drove up a steep mountain road, to the very top, where there lay a village right out of Hans Christian Anderson, complete with the geese in the road. We marveled at the views north into Slovakia from this promontory in the Karst Hills. The village appeared deserted, except for the geese. Then, we spotted a lone black car out in front of a house with a red tiled roof and a yard abounding with flowers. I volunteered to seek help at the house. As I walked up to the gate, the front door suddenly opened, and out walked a a minister in a black suit, clutching a bible (This was Magyar Református country, the religious persuasion of my mother's family) He was followed by a dozen or so older women, also dressed in black and carrying bibles. I approached the minister and addressed him in Hungarian. He immediately pointed to a woman, who stepped forward to speak with me. I told her that I was Maria Mato's grandson from America, and that I was looking for any relatives who might still be here. As in Viszló, she took me by the hand, walked out to the center of the road, pointed to the house directly ahead, and said, "This is the house in which your grandmother was bom". A knock on the door resulted in four people coming out onto the porch, while the kind lady from across the street explained who these people from Mars were. We were assured that we were with relatives, but I was not so sure. There was an older woman, a couple, and a highschool aged girl. The girl had just graduated, and there had been a party the day before, so we had plenty of cake, and coffee was quickly made. But were we in the right place? Perhaps sensing our uncertainly, the older woman left the room and came back with a photograph. The photograph was of a man in a coffin. I was the only one who recognized that the man in the coffin was my grandfather, István Mazalin, who had been laid out, in the living room of my grandparents house at 1383 Kings Highway, Fairfield before burial. (That was the custom in those days) .Although my grandfather had died before I was bom, I recognized him from pictures that we had at home. Score two for these intrepid seekers of relatives! Now, years later, most of the "Hungarians" are gone .Nearly all of the Hungarian Americans are gone, too. Some of my generation of American Hungarians have been fortunate to have lived to see their children and grandchildren grow up. Mostly, by now, they were Americans of mixed ethic heritages. My grandchildren, for example, have Hungarian-Irish- Lithuanian- German roots. Like most other young people, they reflect a mixing of cultures and ethnic heritages. But, my hope for the continuation of our Hungarian culture was buoyed when my twelve year old granddaughter recently expressed an interest in learning Hungarian. Given that she had equal justification to learn Gaelic, Lithuanian, or German, I was proud that she had chosen one of the worlds most unique languages, spoken by perhaps 14 million people in all the world. The Legacy of the Hungarians Although most of the hardy immigrants are long gone, the legacy which they bestowed on us remains. It has become part of the fabric of my generation's culture and has helped us to shape our view of the world. It contributed significantly to the success of the "greatest generation" and to that of American Hungarians like me who came of age during the post World War II recovery. Some of the more important parts of that legacy include the following: Hard Work The Hungarians were exceptionally hard working people. They always gave 100% and any suggestion of laziness brought on immediate criticism. The strong work ethic of these people rubbed off on many of their children and grandchildren. This ethic was certainly a key to success for many of us. Self-sufficiency The first generation demonstrated a marvelous ability to do for themselves. They built their own houses, grew their gardens, and did virtually everything for themselves. Most of them had to fend for themselves out of economic necessity. As a result, many of my generation developed the skills needed to do many things around the house. This was not a generation which routinely called “the service”. Rather, as our grandparents did, so did we. We gained satisfaction, and we saved money. Humor The Hungarians loved humor. Some of it was very deep. Other of it was earthy. It was woven into the lives of the immigrants and those who followed. Our legacy of humor has made life more pleasant, and has helped us to face problems in a more salutary way. Laughter is good for the soul. Family The first generation survived in a difficult and often hostile world by working together. Their collaboration and mutual assistance resulted in homes being built, and in an improvement of the quality of life for most. The assembly of grandparents, parents, and cousins on a regular basis to celebrate holidays and special occasions was routine in our generation as children. Unfortunately, it is fast becoming an exception rather than the rule as families disperse across the nation and the world. I don't think that I would have learned Hungarian in Connecticut if my grandmother had lived away in Oregon. Food Hungarian food is a gift to the fortunate few. Although growing up on an Hungarian diet may not always be good for your health, it is surely a gastronomical experience of epic proportions. It took our generation a while to recognize how well we ate on a daily basis. Though we lived in modest circumstances, the plainest and cheapest Hungarian meal was tasty and satisfying. Not until we got out into the world and ate typical mundane fare did many of us realize that we had been dining gourmet all those years. Although I no longer miss the szalonna or the kocsonya, I still long for the rye bread from the West End bakeries. Pride Although many of us may not have felt this way when we were young, the perspective gained through education, travel, and the work helped our generation to appreciate our Hungarian heritage. We marvel at the many contributions to the world made by the Hungarians. With out them, science, entertainment, medicine, and music would not be the same. All of this from a nation of less than twelve million souls. It is a heady experience to speak, although in a limited way, a language understood by less than 14 million persons the world over. And, we came to this through our Hungarians. I came to it through “My Hungarians”. Isten áld meg a Magyart! ^ Note: ^ Robert D. Kranyik was born and raised in Fairfield, Connecticut, and is a Charles A. Dana Professor Emeritus from the University of Bridgeport. He received his Ph.D.from the University of Connecticut, and was a professor and administrator at the University of Bridgeport for 30 years, after which he spent 5 years at the Yale Child Study Center. He has written several books and numerous professional articles. Bob now spends his time enjoying his family, including two grandchildren, sailing, preserving open space, writing, and attending the Hungarian classes at Magyar Studies. He is presently working on a family geneology, and contributes opinion columns to local newpapers. \_______________________J Page 6
