The Eighth Hungarian Tribe, 1983 (10. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1983-03-01 / 3. szám
Page 8 THE EIGHTH HUnwniAix 11UBE March, 1983 and the ice gave way under her. She fell into the freezing water. Emma’s expressive dark eyes were clouded with compassion, as she recalled the scene. “We helped pull her out and into some of our warm, dry clothes. They stayed behind to rest and we never saw them again.” “At the river-bank our guide left us,” Dómján continued. “Dawn was not yet breaking, and in the semi-darkness we saw two lights in the distance. One was a bright, steady light and the other, further to the left, was a pale blinking light.” Wondering which way to go, Emma said: “Let’s follow the blinking light, — it must be a signal for tlie refugees.” “If they did that, it would be too obvious to the Russians,” Dómján reasoned. The two girls ran ahead; they had spotted a house. An old man with an Austrian accent pointed to the building a short distance away, saying: ‘Amerikán.’ We were jubilant over our luck. We had arrived right at the American Red Cross building! The place was crowded, wall to wall with Hungarian escapees. There was a layer of straws on the floor of the small building. The people were lying all over, trying to rest after their nightmarish experiences. “We were offered hot chocolate, coffee and sandwiches,” Emma stated. “But, all we wanted was water. We had sweated so much during our stressful ordeal that we were totally dehydrated. After gulping a tremendous amount of water, we settled ourselves on the straw-covered floor.” Dómján interrupted her matter-of-factly: “Within minutes, we were all fast asleep, unmindful of the noisy activities around us.” Next morning, they crossed the Austrian border into Salzburg, the birthplace of Mozart. There was a huge camp with thousands of Hungarian refugees trying to make contact with relatives and friends in countries that might take them in. Mrs. Dómján picked up the story: “An American Airliner flew us to camp Kilmer, New Jersey. The plane was packed with refugees, There were many older people and children of all ages. Nearing New York harbor, we strained to get a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty; it was an unforgetable sight. Everyone cheered. Many of us cried with joy!” At the Kilmer barracks they were each assigned a cot in a huge room, with a bedsheet separating them, for privacy. There were about a hundred people in each barrack,” Dómján recalled. “But, the most amazing thing was our first experience with American food. In a large mess hall we saw all kinds of food on steam tables. Everyone got a tray and was served enormous portions of unfarrtiliar foods.” Emma interrupted: “There was so much on our plates, we thought it was to serve the whole family. We had never seen fresh fruit and lemonade in the wintertime; to us, that was unbelievable,” she added with a laugh. They both volunteered their services to the Red Cross at the camp. Emma, with her teaching background, helped with the newly arriving children. Dómján proudly told of his first “job” in America. “I was designated as ‘room monitor’ for the princely salary of two dollars per week. The rate of exchange made a tidy sum in Hungarian forints,” he explained. “I held that position during the month we spent at Camp Kilmer, and had a private room, to boot!” Most of the refugees had left or lost their belongings during the long and arduous trek to freedom. There were truckloads of donated clothing and supplies coming into the camp. A Hungarian couple, residents of New Brunswick, near Camp Kilmer, were eager to help their displaced countrymen. Assigned the job of distibuting warm clothing, they made huge piles of men’s and women’s coats, and hundreds of people came in to pick whatever suited them. Finally, after midnight, completely exhausted they were ready to drive home to New Brunswick. To their chagrin, the man could not find his brand new camel-hair overcoat — a Christmas present from bis wife. They looked through the collection of clothes several times, expecting to find it. But it was’t there. Finally, he had to choose a coat from the pile, in which to go home in the freezing night. His keys and driver’s license were in the lost coat. A locksmith had to be awakened to come and make new keys to the car. Hours later, the wife’s spare housekey let them into their home. Next day, they inquired if anyone had seen his coat. No one knew about it: He advertised in the Hungarian newspaper, telling the finder to keep the coat and just return the keys and the papers. Three weeks passed and there was no reply.
