Itt-Ott, 1990 (23. évfolyam, 114-117. szám)
1990 / 116. szám
Something that, well, you cannot have, they desire even more and Mother would not drink or would not allow any intimacy from anyone. Then her father-inlaw said “This is it. You and my son will have to leave. Leave our home and we’ll see how your God will take care of you.” He was an atheist. He didn’t believe in anything. My mother says, well, she was sorry, but she had conviction and she couldn’t go against it. She stood up for her convictions and he stood up for his, so they had to part. They settled near the Romanian border where the people were very, very poor, and he said, the father-inlaw said, “One of these days you’ll come back. You’ll come back crawling for food because those people won’t be able to support you. Neither will your God feed you.” So they went. All that the father-in-law gave them was a black goat and that’s about all so that we children would have milk. We went there on the Romanian border. It was a very high, hilly place and they had an artesian well there and that was for the group of people that she would serve. The water was there, too, but because my mother wasn’t in the same denomination they put a padlock on their artesian well and they would not allow mother to — our family to — have any water. They had to go down to the bottom of that, oh, it was a huge, high mountain, or hill. And at the very foot of it they would have to get water, in barrels, and by the time they’d bring it up that very high hill or mountain, half of it would spill out. The water to us was very, very precious. Well, Mother did do a lot of praying and weeping and asked God to undertake because she did have faith in Him and she had to have the freedom of her conviction. They were there about a month and then some illness broke out and then they came to Mother. Then Mother, with the help of God, was able to help everyone and there was not one death there. Then the padlock went off the artesian well. She delivered many babies there and not a one had any problem. You know why? Mother depended on the wisdom of God. Also she was well trained in Vienna. Then they began to love her and they knew that she wasn’t a demon or something they thought she was, you know, because we weren’t of their faith. After that they — oh, every Easter, they would bring us all kinds of rolls and bread and put it on our porch. They’d take it to the priest and have it blessed. We would have more bread and some would bring us chickens and different things like that. That’s the way they paid Mother. The government paid only a little there. If she would have stayed with her father-in-law she would have taken care of the high class people and trained and been paid very highly but then she would have to socialize with them and she couldn’t do that. L.M.: So, then part of the reason that she came over was that very reason? J.L.: Yes, that was the reason. Then during 1918 father-in-law passed away and gave all the wealth to his son, my father, and my mother. But then here came the war and the banks took all the money. So the money wouldn’t have done us any good. My, we were spared so many wars by coming to America. Our prayer is that God will keep this shore from war, that we may still live in peace here. L.M.: What was the reception or the feeling between the Hungarian community and the rest of the town of Orenco? Were you accepted readily? J.L.: Yes, we felt we were. Yes, we felt we were. They saw that we were industrious and that we liked pretty things. Like we would have the most beautiful formal gardens, like we went back to Europe, like we’ve seen there. Daisies and different beautiful flowers and little formal gardens... L.M.: Then it was only called “Hunky Town” until they got to know you? J.L.: Well, no, it kind of stuck. L.M.: Was it an affectionate term, or what? J.L.: No, I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t really like it. But I didn’t know the meaning or anything. They really accepted us after awhile but at first, of course, the way we dressed, we were different. It’s like moving into a family of Indians with their costumes. The Hungarian women wouldn’t go to church without their bandanas on. The older women wore black and the younger women, of course, all kinds of bright colors. We all had to wear those kerchiefs on our head and the little aprons to finish the costume. They were beautiful, but I guess to the Americans it seemed funny. L.M.: What happened to the Hungarian families living down Quatema Road once the nursery went out of business? J.L.: Then they had to look for other work... L.M.: What other kinds of work did they become involved with? Did they continue on in the nursery business? J.L.: No, no, then they worked in factories, I believe. Oh yes, my uncle worked for a millionaire back (in Cleveland, Ohio), taking care of his beautiful landscape. Took care of the flowers and everything. He had a wonderful job because he understood plants. My aunt was working as a maid in that home and he met her there and fell in love and they got married. Then during the depression... they moved back here... L.M.: It must have been quite sad, especially for the children, to see the town gradually grow smaller and disappear. J.L.: Oh, really it was. Like a part of you dying, really. When I go back there and see those lovely trees that my uncles and father and the rest of them planted there so big and lovely, and everything deserted and the buildings looking quite shabby — they’re dilapidated now. It really broke our hearts... L.M.: How about your mother and father? Where did they go? J.L.: Well, we came back here because Mother was able to support us and then we youngsters went out to work. I went to do housework for rich people and went to school. So that way we were able to keep the family together. L.M.: I’d like to turn our attention to your experiences here in Oregon, here in Washington County. You talked quite a bit about your mother’s Christian faith and... the oppression that your family felt in Hungary. Did you find religious freedom once you arrived here in America? Here in Washington County? ITT-OTT 23. évf. (1990), őszi (116.) szám 35
