Amerikai Magyar Szó, 1986. július-december (40. évfolyam, 27-49. szám)
1986-10-23 / 40. szám
Thursday, Oct. 23. 1986. AMERIKAI MAGYAR SZÓ 9. team; you never get into trouble. So wnat is wrong?" she asked in a pleading tone. "I don't know. We're not mad at anything. We just wanted to see our family." "I have something here for you that will make you think twice before running off again," she announced while walking to her office closet. She returned with a stout stick about 2 feet long. "Hold out your hand," she commanded. She gave me hard smacks with her stick, counting slowly up to twenty. I gritted my teeth and bit my tounge to keep from crying. "Now reach out your other hand," she ordered. Before reaching twenty, she swung her oak stick at an angle, drawing blood from the fleshy part of my hand. She stopped suddenly. "Go wash up, and if your hand., is still bleeding, show it to the nun nearest the first aid station," she snapped. "She's blaming me for bleeding," I muttered, walking swiftly out of her office. Feeling her anger and bitterness through that oak stick, suddenly the awe and reverence I felt for her was gone. I did not hate her, but I no longer liked or respected her. The next crisis which shamed the Gojack boys was at Christmas. Traditionally the orphanage had a fine Christmas program, to make all the children happy, whether they had family or none. For children with family, these people were asked to bring gifts, Christmas wrapped, to place around the large, decorated tree in the assembly room. There were so many children that gifts had to be stacked on tables around the stage. For those children with no one, the orphanage arranged for contributions. All children could expect gifts during the Christmas celebration right after Mass on Christmas Day. Farmer Brown, dressed as Santa Claus, called out names, and the children would go up to the stage for their packages, with the younger children getting a warm hug from Santa, and a warm handshake for the older ones. The process took a long time. However, no one grew impatient. There was nothing more important than getting your Christmas gifts and showing them to friends. Andy, Mickey and I were sitting together, waiting. We were getting worried when most children were called. "Our names are probably in Hungarian and they can only read English and German," said Andy, with his droll sense of humor. Mickey, who never complained, said nothing. "Shit, maybe somebody stole them," I said in disgust. It was getting past the joking stage when the piles of gifts dropped to only a few. When these were called for, Farmer Brown asked if anyone had been missed. We three raised our hands and he called us up to the stage. "Did your folks know about the Christmas celebration?" he asked. "Yes, we told them during their last visit," Andy said. When Mr. Brown said he couldn't understand the problem, we all three started crying. All of us were steeled to accept adversity, yet here we were, sobbing our hearts out. Being slapped for using our only language could be handled. Having our heads shaved bald because we were Hungarian, and then teased and tormented for it a long time was difficult, but not enough to cry over. Christmas was something else. To our Hungarian family, with days of preparing delicious foods and goodies, Christmas was something to look forward to all year. Now, to be left with nothing, we three alone among the hundreds of children happy with Christmas cheer, was more than even tough boys could take. Farmer Brown asked us to walk over to his farmhouse across the cornfield. The Browns had no children and were always kind to the orphans. Within minutes, we were each given a large bag full of candies, oranges and cookies, and asked to have a glass of hot cider with them. "I'll bet your folks just forgot the time and will be along soon with your presents," said Farmer Brown, smiling. He received a phone call while we were drinking our cider. "Drop your bags off at the boy's dorm and go to the reception room to see if anything has happened," he said. They each gave us a hug and a kiss and we hurried out in anticipation. In the reception room, we had a surprise that made up for the tears. Waiting for us was Bessie, and a man she introduced as her husband, Adam Lambre. She was now seventeen and married, and that was a big surprise. They each had carried two large bags full of Christmas gifts. We told them nothing of our anxiety, fears, and tears of that horrible morning, and were enjoying a pleasant visit without thinking of our gifts. "Don't you boys want to open your gifts?" asked Bessie. Most kids I had seen opening gifts at Christmas tore into them like a tornado. We, three boys must have set a record for opening gifts politely and slowly. Our aim i was to drag out their visit. When we finished, they hugged and kissed us and were on their way. "What do you think of Bessie's husband?" I asked my brothers. "He asked me how I liked it here and I told him it was all right, but home would be better," Mickey said. For years Adam proved to be more than a good brother-in-law. He was always a helpful friend and had a great influence on the direction of my life. "Let's run away and go home again," I told Mickey on the first warm and sunny day of spring. "Okay, let's meet at the front gate right after school." I forgot to figure on money for streetcar fare, so we walked all the way across town. We had an early start and having the address of Bessie and her husband, we went there to save time. They greeted us warmly but explained we could not stay overnight. Adam had a car, so they planned to take us back before dark. Asked about supper, we fibbed that lunch was too much. "Could we have a little ice cream instead?" I asked as Mickey smiled in agreement. Gem City Ice Cream Company, with a lovely ice cream parlor featuring iron chairs and tables, was everyone's favorite. We chose the largest and fanciest dishes of ice cream and stretched out the party until Adam told us it was time to go. They had to wake up the Mother Superior, who took us back with a minimum of ceremony and no lectures. We kissed our family goodbye and slipped into the darkened boys' dormitory. Next afternoon after school, I was instructed to see the Mother Superior. "Why do you run away and cause such problems for your family and the orphanage?" She seemed genuinely interested. "Are you having trouble with some other boys?" "I just wanted to go home." Seeing that I would not communicate beyond that, she got her sturdy stick, ordered me to drop my pants and bend over. She drew no blood this time, although sitting down was painful for a few weeks. "How are you boys getting along?" Bessie asked on her next visit. "We have Mass every morning and with the ringing of the first bell we should be on the way to church," I explained. "Some of us were playing ball, and just as the bell rang, the ball was hit over our heads. I went after it. By the time I got to church, Mass had started. I took the holy water and an empty seat on the aisle. While kneeling, the back of my head felt like it was hit by a cannonball. I had forgotten to remove my cap. The nun who spotted this sin was a Hungarian-hating German weighing over three hundred pounds, with a hand like a ham. After Mass, some kids told me she ran up the aisle and hit my head with a full running swing. My cap flew over the pews in front of me, over the altar rail, and hit one of the altar b°ys- ( To be continued.) (If you wish to receive "JÓcsák and Son" from the beginning, please let us know and we'll gladly send it to you.) about my bald head," I said. Arriving at St. Joseph's, we went straight to the Mother Superior's office. She scolded us mildly, and listened to my father's complaints which he recited politely. Everyone was extremely courteous. Pop and Bessie took turns telling the Mother Superior they were convinced this would never happen again, asking me to agree to Map of Dayton, Ohio. My home town. mese pieages. my responses were always a polite and quiet "yes, Sister" or "yes, Pop." I was subdued, not on account of running away, for which I felt no guilt, but because I held the Mother Superior in awe and esteem. At the time, steeped in Catholic training, I considered her to be somewhere next to Mary, Mother of Jesus, in church ranks. Finally, she bade goodbye to my family, they kissed Mickey and me goodbye, and the Mother Superior asked Mickey to go out to the playground. "Now I want you to tell me why you ran away. The sisters tell me you are a good boy. You study and work hard on your
