Az Ember, 1943 (18. évfolyam, 25. éves jubíleumi szám)
1943-07-04 / 25. éves jubileumi szám
54-ik oldal. Az Ember July 4, 1943. A “Szabadság” vezércikke “Az Ember”-rel A Gombos Zoltán szerkesztésében megjelenő SZABADSÁG cimü clevelandi napilap, Amerika legrégibb napilapja, amely több mint ötven éve szolgálja töretlen hűséggel a demokratikus magyarság ügyét, junius 23-iki számában “AZ EMBER 25 ÉVE” címmel vezércikket közöl Az Ember jubileumáról. A jóleső kartársi megemlékezést az alábbiakban közöljük: “AZ EMBER” 25 ÉVE Julius 4-én hatalmas jubileumi számmal ünnepli Göndör Fejrenc kollégánk kitűnő hetilapja, a New Yorkban megjelenő “Az Ember” fennállásának huszonötödig évfordulóját. A véletlen úgy hozta, hogy Göndör huszonötéves jubileuma összeesik Amerika függetlenségének évfordulójával. Van ebben valami szimbolikus a számunkra. Göndör immár közel két évtizede a csillagos lobogó védelme alatt és az amerikai demokrácia jegyében folytatja lankadatlan, egyéni és erőteljes harcát az általános emberi jogokért és különösképpen pedig egy független, demokratikus Magyarországért. Huszonöt év nagy idő egy lap és egy szerkesztő életében. Sok minden történt e fél emberöltő alatt, szerte a világon. A harc már nagyon sokszor elveszettnek látszott, kortársak, politikusok, irók, újságírók gyengéknek bizonyultak koreszmékkel és divatos áramlatokkal szemben, megalkudtak vagy feladták minden ellenszolgáltatás nélkül a küzdelmet. Nagy európai lapok úgy változtatták a színüket és meggyőződésüket, mint a szél fújt. De nem úgy Göndör Ferenc, aki gyakran egyedül állott a gáton, gyakran már donkizsotti szélmalomharcnak tűnt az egész, de Göndör nem hátrált, nem adta be a derekát. És huszonöt év után, mikor már a legreménytelenebbül állott a demokrácia ügye szerte a világon, amikor már Amerikában is azt rebesgették, hogy a nácizmus “valamilyen formában” itt is meg kell, hogy valósuljon, mert “erős kézre van szükség” — mintha földöntúli hatalmak avatkoztak volna az emberiség sorsába, egyszerre megfordult minden. A demokrácia feltámadt, erősebben, diadalmasabban, mint valaha és a vesztett ügyből nyert ügy lett. A tét, amelyre feltette egész sorsát és életét, jó tétnek bizonyult, mintegy igazolva, hogy amiben rendületlenül hiszünk és ami mellett ingadozás nélkül kitartunk, az előbb-utóbb sikerülni fog. Göndör kitartott a jó ügy mellett és most, a jubileumán, azt hisszük, nem kaphat kedvesebb gratulációt barátaitól és tisztelőitől, mint amit a győzelmi jelentések harsognak a rádión, hogy ime, eljött az ő ideje. Nem volt pusztába kiáltó szó “Az Ember” huszonöt éven át megjelent sokszáz cikke. Nagyobb, szebb elégtételt újságíró nem kaphat a jubileumán, minthogy megérte eszméinek győzelmét, hogy együtt marsolhat a felszabadító sereggel, melynek 25 évig egyik legderekabb, megnemalkuvó katonája volt és maradt. GRANDMA SENDS AN APRON By JOSEPH SZEBENYEI The artist, Ernest de Nagy, thought I was crying. He didn’t say so in so many words, he didn’t even suggest anything of the kind, but I could see from the way he looked at me that he thought I was crying. If ever a person had no right to think so it was Ernest de Nagy for he looked at me through hazy, watery eyes and I had perfectly good reasons for suspecting him of crying. I am sure that in my case it was only the usual weakness of my eyes after a hard day’s work. They always water whenever I have to look steadily at anything. The artist was drawing my portrait. He had insisted for wreeks that I sit for him. So there we sat at the table in his studio opposite each other. In order to keep the pose I had to look at his broad forehead, as he raised his head and lowered it a thousand times at least during that hour of torture. In order to keep me awake h^ was relating ! stories about his early ex-: periences. I sat there motionless and weary like a statue. He had a drawing board in front of him and was sketching with a pencil. He talked and I just sat and listened. “At that time I was summering in a small peasant village near Budapest, painting landscapes,” he said. “The famous blue Danube flowed majestically a few hundred feet from our garden. I painted it from every angle, thinking that I might catch the blue of it, but in vain. It looked as greyish and dirty as the Thames on a foggy day, and I wondered who the fool was who had christened it blue.” “He must have been color-blind,” I put in, just to keep awake, for the monotony of his movements as he raised and lowered his head every two seconds or so, made me drowsy. “There we lost our little daughter, an eight-year old girl, the most beautiful child you can imagine. She was the eldest of three, and her sudden death almost drove us mad. My poor wife, j whom I had lost also, since, j was inconsolable. So was I.! It was the most tragic event j of my life. She lay on her' bed covered with a sheet, a bunch of white flowers on her chest. One of the neighbor’s children had | brought the flowers. My wife and myself sat beside the bed silently weeping. “Then, next morning they brought a tiny coffin. We placed it on a bier in the center of the room with our little girl in it nicely dressed in her best Sunday frock. She looked as beautiful as an angel, calm and serene. We sat down next to the coffin, as miserable a pair of parents as could be. At about noon an old peasant woman came in. She was just an ordinary, old peasant woman with sad face, and weeping ,eyes. We thought she had come to view the body, as is customary among the peasants whenever there is a death in the village. She bent her head as she slowly entered and knelt down in front of the bier. She prayed silently. We were very grateful to her for coming to share our sorrow. We had never seen her before, and this made her visit even more comforting. One felt that it didn’t hurt so much when others came to share one’s grief.” He raised his head, drew some more, raised his head again and went on drawing. I was annoyed at the heart-breaking story. Why! should a man annoy me with such stories? But I didn’t want to hurt his feel- j ings so I listened on. “Then she rose, went overi to my wife and said in a respectful voice: T have a; little request to make if you | don’t mind.” “Certainly, certainly,” said my wife half-weeping. “Certainly.” “My little granddaughter, Marika, left us not long ago just the same as your little Julisea. She was about her age. While she was sick I promised her that I would crochet a little apron for her; but first one thing and then another delayed it. Once I had no money for wool, then again I had no time to work on it. So the little dear died before I could finish the apron. She did not get the present.” “The old woman wiped off a couple of tears with her blue apron and then continued: ‘Now I have had the pinafore done for some time, but most of the people in the village are Catholics. There hasn’t been a single Protestant death all this time. I know my little angel is expecting the apron but I could not send it to her. When I heard that a little Protestant girl—your little one there—had died, I thought I would ask your permission to send the little apron with her, to the Protestant heaven, to give it to my Marika,—if you don’t mind.” “My wife began sobbing aloud, and I too, wept softly. The old peasant woman cried silently to herself. It was easy for all three or us. We were used to it by pow.” “ ‘I’ve got it here with me. I am sure Julisea will be good enough to give it to her, and Marika will be pleased . . .” “She unwrapped a parcel and proudly exhibited a tiny apron with red and yellow flowers crocheted upon it, with a blue ribbon for tying it around the waist. It was very pretty indeed.” ‘So if ■ you’ll permit me, I shall send it with her.’ “We nodded assent. She went back to the coffin, lifted the lid and carefully placed it next to the little girl’s hands folded over her chest. She stood there for a moment then in the most natural tone, as if she were speaking to a live person she said, ‘Julisea, dear, you’ll take this apron along with you and give it to Marika. You’ll find her in the Protestant Heaven where the good children are. Give this to her please and tell her that I am sorry I could not send it to her earlier, for there was no Protestant death in the village up to now. Tell her she must not be angry with me for it wasn’t my fault. And tell her, dearie that I am sending her many kisses and that I pray for her every day.” “She smoothed out the apron over the sheet that covered the body, closed the lid of the coffin, knelt down and murmured another prayer and then returned to us at the other end of the room. We had witnessed this strange scene with tearful eyes, awed by the simple faith of the peasant woman. She did not say another word. She sat down at the window, and did not move from there until the coffin was taken out at four in the afternoon. She then followed the hearse to the cemetery. There she stood in front of the grave and watched (everything with great attention. She did not let the coffin out of her sight from the moment she had placed the pinafore into it. And she stood next to the grave until the last piece of earth was turned. She followed us back to the village, walking next to my wife, and at our door she took my wife’s hand and said, half smiling, ‘Thanks very much’.” “In two weeks’ time she came in again. We wondered what she wanted now. She said she came j ust for a minute, just to tell us that Marika had received the apron, for she had appeared to her grandmother in her dream, and told her so. The old woman was smiling and happy. ‘Marika liked it very much,” she said. I was searching for my hankerchief in my pocket, and the artist was making every effort to suppress the wetness in his eyes and was trying to impress me with the fact that the light wasn’t good enough for such detailed work, and that it affected his eyes. At the same time he looked at me as if he suspected me of being sentimental, and thought it was of no use my explaining to him that working all day at a typewriter is very bad for the eyes, and that he could ask any doctor . . . Our Space In The ONE WORLD Fenti cim alatt jelent meg T. G. Kemény-Harding uj könyve angol és magyar nyelven egyidejűleg. A könyv a magyar kérdés megoldási lehetőségét tárgyalja főleg nemzetiségi problémák szemszögéből. Kiadóhivatalunk vagy a szerző kívánatra bárkinek küld tiszteletpéldányt. — T. G. Kemény- Harding cime: 1 Hudson St., New York City. SOHASEM RAJZOLT? Kézügyesség, diszitő tehetség jellegzetesen magyar adomány. Próbálja meg! Korhatár nincs. Mindenki tehetséges. Iparművészeti tervezés, rajzolás, festés, műkedvelőknek és gyermekeknek. Egyéni és csoport tanitás. LESZNAI ANNA MŰTERME 246 Lexington Ave., N. Y. C. Phone: LExington 2-3957 Előzetes felhívás csütörtökön 9-től 1-ig, szombaton 3-tól 5-ig, kedd este 8—10-ig
