Fraternity-Testvériség, 1964 (42. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1964-03-01 / 3. szám
10 FRATERNITY family worship was interrupted by visitors, who, finding the office door closed, would come upstairs to our living quarters. Mami had never kept house without a staff. In Budapest, she had a cook, a chamber maid and the German nursemaid. Here in New York she was left entirely alone to cope with the three floors to be cleaned, the meals to be cooked and six small children to rear. She rose at dawn to start her cleaning and cooking. When the older children were gone to school, she had to dress the little ones and walk a mile to Central Park so that they could see a little green grass and breathe some fresh air. Very early in life we realized that our mother was different from others. She had to play the organ for the church services and lead the Sunday school. On Saturday morning there were Hungarian classes to teach. Evenings she attended innumerable committee meetings or visited the sick. Fridays there were choir rehearsals in the parlor. Magdalene and I being the eldest, we were permitted to serve the refreshments. This is how Mami made sure the attendance would be good. She coached musical plays, and many a night we fell asleep to the strains of gypsy music. When I returned to Hungary many years later and people asked, “How do you like our gypsy music?” I would shock them with my answer, “I hate it!” I had listened to too many amateur groups in my childhood. When we entered school at P. S. 183 on 66th Street, none of us could speak a word of English. Back in Hungary my parents only spoke English when they didn’t want us to understand what they were saying. One of the teachers warned my mother that if she wanted the children to learn to speak English correctly, she would have to stop speaking Hungarian to us at home. Of course, German would have to be dropped at once. Well, Mami was determined that we would never forget our mother tongue. While she was mending or ironing, we would sit at her feet and read from our Magyar story books. Frequent letters were written to our grandmothers in Hungary, and to our uncles and aunts. But least of all she taught us to sing Hungarian hymns. During evening worship, as we stood around the Steinway grand piano in the parlor, we learned the old Hungarian psalms set to Gregorian chant. They were slow in tempo and easy to read. Then came “halleluja” songs, faster and lighter — and old folk songs which we learned to sing in four parts when we grew older. At eight or nine we were given piano lessons, and before our feet could reach the pedals, we were permitted sessions at the organ. Viola and Edith, who were born in this country, learned to speak Hungarian fluently, but they had a funny accent, and to this day we laugh at some of their expressions. (To be continued)
