Hollosi Information eXchange /HIX/
Copyright (C) HIX
Új cikk beküldése (a cikk tartalma az író felelőssége)
Megrendelés Lemondás
1 Re: *** HUNGARY *** #467 (mind)  53 sor     (cikkei)
2 Recollections from 1956 (mind)  53 sor     (cikkei)
3 HUNGARY Comment what you may not like (mind)  6 sor     (cikkei)
4 Re: 1956 Recollections (mind)  37 sor     (cikkei)
5 Re: AMOSZ (mind)  21 sor     (cikkei)
6 Honor the memory (October 26-27, 1956) (mind)  317 sor     (cikkei)
7 1956 (mind)  34 sor     (cikkei)
8 Buta magyar and Benes (mind)  27 sor     (cikkei)
9 Hungarian Revolution (Anniversary) (mind)  16 sor     (cikkei)
10 October 23 in New York (mind)  32 sor     (cikkei)

+ - Re: *** HUNGARY *** #467 (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

csaba wrote:
> : >        'find' the Carpathian base , they followed an oral history of thei
> : >        forebears.I repeat again as 1996 approaches that we should really
> : >        face the facts about this.There is nothing to be ashamed about the
> : >        Huns.I hope some people will understand this.

then wrote:
>         no country borders and nomadic people mixed quite a lot.In my opinion
>         the defeated Huns were going back to the East met up with other
>         tribes coming westward ( these included probably 'hungarians' plus
>         others).After quite a few generations living together the persistent
>         legends about a rich,western plain clearly figured in the minds of
>         these tribes who lived off the grassy plains.I am bit sceptical
>         about 'western' historians who always put down everyone else and
>         their history. People Europe always try to maintain that civilisation
>         did not exist elsewhere before the Greeks,etc.Well the East have a
>         much longer civilised history --> China,etc... Many things came from
>         the East which now attributed to more recent, 'civilised' people.
>         a Hungarian living nowadays in a western country.I just would like
>         to put things right in a world where everyday history is lost and/or
>         distorted ( in my opinion ).'Political correctness' doesn't allow
>         truth expressed , truth is frequently ugly and not always fit into
>         the plans of people who want a 'sanitised' society. Anyone who read
>         1984 by George Orwell now should be horrified to see how right he
>         was, what we already have is Newspeak and Doublespeak.
>         I don't want to think what will come in the future, not pretty I'll
>         hazard to guess.        Thank you for reading.
i really dont see where your argument follows, the evidence that you have
supplied (DNA) proves nothing other than the Hungarians are
probably  of eastern descent.To argue that that equates with being
related to the Huns is bad scholarship and seems more to be what George Orwell
would fight against. I understand and sympathize with your anger towards
"political correctness" but it does not apply here.

believe me, if a hungarian or western scholar could get a
hold of evidence indicating that the huns were long lost relatives of the
HUngarians, they would not hide it from the world for the sake of political
correctness. it just so happens that your hypothesis is tenuos at best
and reminds me of the theories devised by many eastern european so clled
"historians" who are driven more by nationalism than anything else. (one such
"historian" had the audacity to argue that the hungarians were related to the
ancient sumerians!). Now i am not accusing Csaba of being chauvanistic, or in
any way driven by nationalistic motives, but i thinnk that it is important to
try to stick to the real evidence or lack thereof(in which case
strong caution is necessary). Although western scholarship may have its biases,
they are entirely seperate issues then whether or not the huns are our

dini metro-roland
+ - Recollections from 1956 (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

I just came back from the local Hungarian community's celebration of the
1956 uprising and the main feature of it was the playing of that old
Walter Cronkite film from the "20th Century" series.  It was a perfect
companion for Prof. Liptak's reminiscences here.  Indeed, the pro-Polish
signs in the student crowd were very prominent, including the Polish
eagle, their national symbol.  It was great to see all the gleaming
faces, especially in the ELTE crowd, which was most prominently featured
in the film.  Maybe I saw Eva there somewhere, too. ;-)

There is one thing I'd like to ask in this connection from the
participants reading this.

On the afternoon of Oct. 23, at around 2 or 3 PM, I was catching a tram
at Moscow Square (Moskva ter) to Moricz Zsigmond Square (#61), and
that's when I became aware of something going on.  I saw a large group
of people marching on the East side of the square toward the Martirok
street with signs and flags.  These people were marching on that higher
level street at the edge of the square, from where the Varfok utca and
Ostrom utca runs up to the Royal Castle.  I noticed the people at the
tram station asking each other what that march was about, and somebody
then mentioned that it was a sympathy demonstration of students for
Poland, more spcifically for Poznan.

To this day I can't figure out what group of students might have been
marching in that direction at that place, for I don't know of any
college or university in that area.  Does anybody have any idea?

Finally, I also would like to put my 2 cents down to the debate about
the nature of the uprising.  I think initially nobody in his or her
right mind thought that the regime could be overthrown as it later
turned out.  So the initial goals of the organizers and most
participants were a simple reformation of the system, something what
might be called socialism with a human face.  This doesn't mean,
however, that socialism was what the people really wanted, in my
opinion.  Only that they resigned themselves to make the best out of a
given situation.  As the events unfolded later, and freedom seemed
within reach, the demands became more and more radical, expressing the
REAL hopes and wishes of the people they did not even dare to imagine
possible before.  I think this was the dynamics of the revolution.

I also happen to believe that Imre Nagy was not really a leader of the
revolution, though a leader of the revolutionary government.  Let's
remember, that he was pulled to that position by the demand of the
people and he certainly was not leading the people at any time.  By his
later bravery facing death made him a genuine hero nevertheless, at
least in my opinion.  What I'd like to know though, why is it that the
film and transcripts of his trial is not made public.

As to his famous "comrades" gaffe, I seem to recall it from the radio,
though I am not sure.  Was that really on radio?

Happy anniversary to all of you!
Joe Pannon
+ - HUNGARY Comment what you may not like (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

*.: Ern Ger is Erno: Gero: in Hungarian. The Ern is OK, but why
the Gero is Ger ? His official name was Gero at that time.
Also Rakosi Matyas changed his name from Roth Mor, but in 1956
his name was Rakosi officially.
    Marylin Monroe's name is also a picked up name (she was Narma Jean ?),
but thereafter that was the official.
+ - Re: 1956 Recollections (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

Joe Pannon asks in connection with Imre Nagy:

>As to his famous "comrades" gaffe, I seem to recall it from the radio,
>though I am not sure.  Was that really on radio?

The way I remember it was in his impromptu, reluctantly given speech to the
crowd at the Parliament Square on the 23rd. I was there, I remember clearly
the booing, and disappointment with his speech starting with the hated word

I don't think this speech was broadcasted. Based on Bela Liptak
recollection, he did not even use a microphone. David Irving in his book
"Uprising" describes this event as follows:

'' With an ocean of faces looking at him Imre Nagy croaks into the grille of
the microphone: "Comrades -"

Nothing happens. Somebody sees what is wrong and switches on the
microphone. He repeats his salutation: "Elvtarsak -"

A deafening whistle goes up, like a cup-tie crowed blasting a footballer
after an own-goal. Nagy is bewildered, furious. A section of the crowd
helps him "we are not comrades!"

He adjust his pince-nez nervously and tries again: Compatriots, and
friends!" The whistle turns into faint cheers... ''

I think this is a pretty good description how it was.

According to the record of radio broadcasts during this period, the radio
reported this speech at 10:03 pm as a news item.

On the next day, on the 24th he did make a radio-speech to the country at
12:10 pm. In this broadcast, he used several salutations: "People of
Budapest!", "Hungarians, Comrades, Friends!",.

Barna Bozoki
+ - Re: AMOSZ (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

Eva Balogh writes:

>>For me it is enough to know that they are giving a helping hand to Dr. Endrey
>>and his ilk.

I might not like Louis Farakhan, (I hope I wrote the name right), but
I was for the Million Man march to Washington, since I thought that the
idea behind it was noble and good.

I guess the main questions is, that if a person has a good idea, (in my
eyes), should I support him in that idea, even if he is wrong in some other
fields. Antisemitism does put a black mark on a man in my eyes, but will
not make hin worthless, and I might respect some of his other qualities.
But I am just as tolerant with some other faults, (like someone being a
communist.) Now Eva has right for her views, since for her Dr. Endrey
has no redeaming qualities at all. Not only consideres him antisemetic,
but nor very smart either. But in total, it is very hard not to see
some good point in the AMOSZ. Even if there are spots in it here and
there, in total it is a valuable organization.

+ - Honor the memory (October 26-27, 1956) (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

NOTE: This is the 6th of a 15-part memoir on the Hungarian Revolution. One
segment is published each day. At the conclusion of the series, to those who
ask me to (spouses, children, or grandchildren of the participants), I will
E-Mail the complete, 330,000 bit text.

          The memoir was written to honor the memories of two martyrs:

Istvan Angyal, the leader of the freedom fighters at Tuzolto Street, an
Auswitz survivor, who's last words, before being hanged were: "Hungary always
fought for the freedom of all mankind. It was an honor to be the son of such
a nation."

Janos Danner was the personal secretary of Colonel Marian, the leader of the
Petvfi Batallion at the Technical University of Budapest. He was assassinated
by the "pufajkas" (the Hungarian traitors, working for the occupying enemy),
on the 1st of November, 1956.

Bila Liptak

On Friday morning, there were more people in the MEFESZ office. I must have
entered with my usual grin, because Pista (Colonel Marian) winked at me, as
he was in the middle of a discussion, while the full-bosomed young professor,
Kati Sz ke, (who's real last name was Nemes, yet everybody called her  Sz ke
, which is Hungarian for Blond) offered me a French roll and the always
serious Jancsi (Danner) actually smiled. The the big bear, Gyurka
(Vereczkey), mockingly bowed, implying, that I must be too refined for early
rising, implying that the commoners are already up. As a peace offering, I
gave him half of my roll, and proceeded to join the group around Pista. I
felt completely at ease, in this warm, friendly atmosphere, where the
frenzied, yet well focused activity never stopped.
       Pista stood at the window. He must have been up all night, his eyes
were bloodshot. He is lighting one cigarette after another. He is talking to
three students, Sandor Varga, Imi Mics and Jancsi Danner. He is constantly
moving and the students move with him. Outside this inner core, are his
officers, a captain and a lieutenant. They follow the inner group on an outer
orbit. Beyond the officers is yet an other ring of people. They are the
messengers. They all move and circle the core, the smoke is rising from their
cigarettes, the identity of the participants change, but this slow waltz,
this hypnotic dance goes on from morning to night, day after day. There is
something harrowing yet also splendid, in this whirling and swirling
activity, in this process, which just might give birth to a new world, a
better society.
       Having swallowed my half roll, I move to the core of this human
whirlpool. Pista immediately turns to me:
        Vcsi, you go to Kopacsi's headquarters and bring us his spare guns.
Take one of the trucks from the university garage. Vereczkey will be your
driver. From now, you and him are a team. Tell Kopacsi that we need arms! I
soon expect a couple thousand stu dents here, I also invited the cadets of
the Pet fi Academy, so we need small arms. Tell him that I am forming a
national guard division here.
        It's done, Pista, but take a nap. Your hands are shaking. Please!  -
I plead, but the process is unstoppable, a new face, a new problem, and the
swirling continues around the red eyed little colonel.
       Gyurka heard what Pista said, so he bows deeply and opens the door for
me. From then on, whenever there are people around, Gyurka stays behind me.
He also lets me speak first, but when we are alone, he treats me as if he was
my father. He is at least five years older than I. That is a lot, when you
are 20. I love and respect him.
       Gyurka was to graduate from medical school, when the Communists kicked
him out.  Politics you know  - he says, but I do not know, and he does not
tell me more. He got this driver's job through the influence of Endre Smk,
the father-in-law of her sister. The story of the Smk family is a typical
Jewish-Hungarian story. One brother, Sandor Smk, is Hungary's best known
Catholic poet, a converted Jew and an anti-Communist. The other brother,
Endre Smk is a Communist and a Russian collaborator. He was Hungary's
ambassador to Moscow, and after the Revolution became Hungary's foreign
minister. Gyurka's brother-in-law is Igor Smk, Endre's son, who was born in
Moscow, speaks fluent Russian, yet, as I am to learn later, is a Hungarian
       We get the truck from the garage on Budafoki Street. As we turn on the
corner of Bertalan and Bartsk, I see a crowd. Because it is our job to
maintain order in this district, I ask Gyurka to stop. Some 20 people are
listening to a man, who is sitting on his bicycle with one foot on the
ground. As we get closer, I begin to hear fragments of his repulsive oration:
 We the real Hungarians...Jewish AVH renegades...they are our inner enemy...
 As I get closer, I realize that he is trying to incite his listeners against
Jewish- Hungarians. It is the first and only anti-semitic incident I witness
during the Revolution. I know that I have to be firm and decisive, but I have
no idea how I should do that? The people see my tri-colored arm-band, so they
open a path. As I am walking toward the cyclist, I sense that the people
expect me to take care of this situation. I also know that we can not
tolerate such disgusting provocations.
       I guess I have to arrest him  - I whisper to Gyurka, but I have no
idea how one does that? And once arrested, what should I do with him? Should
we take him back to the university? Where do we put him there? I have no
answers to any of these questions, but I do know, that the honor of the
Revolution is at stake, and it is my duty to act. Now the cyclist has noticed
me, so he shuts up. The people are all looking at me, I have only a second or
two to decide what to do. At that instant I see the bearlike figure of
Gyurka, who seems even bigger is his quilted driver's parka, passing me on my
right. He does not speak, just lifts his arm and muzzles the guy with a
backhanded smack in the face. He falls over his bike. Gyurka does not even
look at him, instead casts his eyes on his listeners and says:  Now, you know
how it's done. Next time do it yourself!
        You don't waste too many words, do you?  - I compliment him, as we
are walking back to the truck.  I despise these hate mongers. Look at what
they did to the Smk family. They scared one brother into becoming a Catholic,
the other into becoming traitor, while their kids are disgusted by both and
do not truly know who they are. These racist fanatics did that not only to
the Smks, but to all Jewish-Hungarians!  - he says.
        It turns my stomach!  - I reply -  although I never thought much
about it. I never seen an animal like your punching bag here! The only Jew in
our family was the mother of my godmother. I was eight when the Germans took
her away in 1944. My father got his pistol and went to the camp to try to
free her. He failed and nobody really explained to me, why nobody else even
tried or why there was so little resistance?
       I also remember, that in Sopron, in 1944, every afternoon, my
grandfather would take a long walk in his much decorated uniform. Nagyaptyi
refused to take the oath of loyalty to the nazi government, which was
installed by the occupying Germans and for that reason he was retired. During
his long walks, he would stop every Hungarian who is wearing a yellow star
and would ask for the time from them. This was his was to tell them, that
they are not outcasts, but fellow Hungarians, it was his way of trying to
protect his countryman from the heinous humiliation of being marked as
outcasts. This went on for months, in the city of Sopron. And then one day,
there were no such people to ask the time from. At that time, we did not know
where they went!  Gyurka smiles, I can tell, he likes my grandfather and I
know, I like Gyurka.
      On our way to the police headquarters on Deak Square, I try to fix my
disintegrating sandal. The sole has separated and in my attempt to reattach
it, I am using a piece of wire. By the time I am done, we have arrived.
Gyurka stays with the truck and I enter the building. It is almost empty.
      Sandor Kopacsi, the police chief of the capital, is alone in his
office. In many ways, he reminds me of colonel Marian, he is also dark,
short, and young. On the other hand, he seems to be a stronger leader, a
tougher person. His handshake is firm and while talking, he looks me directly
in the eye. I feel completely at ease. My eyes wonder around the big office
and settle on a portrait of Louis Kossuth. This is unusual. In the offices of
Communist leaders, you expect to see Stalin and Rakosi, but not Hungarian
patriots. I wonder when that Kossuth portrait got on the wall? He seems to
read my mind:
        In my village, every family had a portrait of Kossuth and an other of
the Blessed Virgin. They were like husband and wife, the two sides of the
same coin. A home wasn't a home without them. Well, I am a son of my village,
I would not feel home without Kossuth. It would only be an office, but it
would not be my office without it.
      He tells me about the previous day, when the survivors of the bloodbath
at the Parliament, with their bloody flags, marched on his headquarters.
 Their leader was a kid like you, a worker named Istvan Angyal. At the age of
16, the Germans deported him to Auschwitz. Now, at 27, he was leading a
demonstration. He asked for the release of all political prisoners and for
close cooperation with the regular police. He had a bad cold, he was coughing
all the time. Ibolya, my wife, gave him a hot tea and some medication. I gave
him a pistol. You all should have at least a pistol! Do you have one?  - he
      I shake my head. Since my rifle disappeared, when leaving Duduke's
apartment on Wednesday, I did not have a gun. Now he hands me one. It is a
silvery, tiny little gun, not much larger than a large lighter.  A lady's
pistol. I got it in Prague.  - he says. I slip it into my pocket and forget
it. (How could I know, that in ten days, when I am captured by the Russians,
it will still be in my pocket?)
      I tell him about colonel Marian's plan to arm a couple thousand
students, so that we might hold the district between the two bridges and
Msricz Square. He gets on the phone and while he is talking, a dark haired,
attractive lady walks in:  I am Ibolya Kopacsi  - she says and offers me some
crackling cake. I introduce myself only as Vcsi (the Hungarian equivalent of
Junior, which I use to hide my full identity.) The offer of the cake was
perfectly timed, as the half bun I got this morning from Kati Sz ke was less
than a breakfast, and now its past noon. I take two. She smiles with a warm,
motherly smile:  Take one more.  - she says.
      I look out the window and see that police officers are loading handguns
onto our truck. Now Kopacsi gets off the phone:  My people will give you our
spare guns, but we don't have too many. On the other hand, tomorrow, you can
get a few thousand guns for your students from the Zrinyi Military Academy.
They will be waiting for you in the morning. Bring a receipt from colonel
Marian. Be careful, because Russian tanks are still stationed at the
bridge-heads!  - he says. As I leave, I have the same warm feeling towards
them, as for our own group at the university. I just know that they are
outstanding people. I don't know how or why I know it, but I am absolutely
positive about that. I feel so lucky to be working with such decent and brave
people. I am proud to be part of it, I am proud to be Hungarian.
       On the way out, I call Agnes. The phone rings, and rings, nobody picks
it up. When I get back to the truck, I learn, that we got some 50 guns and
Gyurka is ready to go. We stop at his apartment, just to say hello. His
sister is so beautiful that I can't help staring at her. She is the wife of
Igor Smk, the son of our ambassador to Moscow. She smiles at me and that
embarrasses me. On our way back to the university, we stop at the Piterfy
Street hospital, just to see how their supplies are holding up. It turns out,
that they are low on blood. I ask them to call us at the university, if the
blood situation gets critical.
       As we are ready to leave, I see a young man, carrying a large kettle
of coffee to a truck, which is parked next to ours. A Red Cross flag covers
his truck, I also see some food and bandages, which are already loaded.  You
plan to stay up late?  - I ask, just to say something. He looks at me,
coughs, blows his nose and says:  This is for the fighters at the T|zolts
Street garage.  I have the strange feeling that I know this guy.  Did you get
a pistol from Kopacsi yesterday, after the massacre at the Parliament?  - I
ask. Now he is surprised:  How do you know about that?  I show him my little
pistol and say:  When he gave me one today, he also mentioned you and your
cold. It was your cough that made me wonder.
        He holds out his hand:  Istvan Angyal  - he says. His handshake is
firm, his eyes are penetrating.  My name is Vcsi, I'm taking some guns from
Kopacsi to the Technical University.   Was there much fighting in Buda?  - he
asks.  No, nothing like in your district! But we are getting ready, just in
case!   Well, we are at T|zolts Street 36. Who knows, maybe I will see you
again?  - he says, while lifting the coffee kettle onto his truck. I wave,
get into our truck and tell Gyurka:  Kopacsi said, that this guy was in
Auswitz and now he is leading the T|zolts Street freedom fighters. He is yet
another reason why the cyclist deserved your punch!
      We pass some scary Russian tanks at the Pest side of Freedom bridge,
but they are passive and stay quiet. It is dark, by the time we get back to
the university and unload the guns in the gymnasium. I give myself a
 sub-machine-gun, which from that point on becomes a permanent part of my
wardrobe, together with my, no longer beautiful, corduroy jacket and my
strange, wired sandals. By now there are about as many students here, as the
number of guns we have obtained, so in a few minutes, everybody is armed.
     After that, Jancsi Danner set down to organize our regular, armed
patrols. He scheduled 12 patrols a day, one every 2 hours.
      There are heaps of food in the gym. At this late hour, a lorry is still
in the process of unloading a dozen, millstone size, home baked country
breads. The smell of the fresh bread, the sight of the circular, gigantic
loafs, makes the gym feel like home. There are also boxes of fruit, cheese,
cookies, cans of milk, even a wine-basket. We sit down, Gyurka and I, on the
gymnastics mats and have a gourmand dinner of fresh bread, cheese and
water-melon. Pinned to the cheese, I find a slip of paper with childish
handwriting. It reads:  We love you!
      The bicyclist this morning and now the water-melon reminds me of uncle
Petik, my father's melon farmer. He cultivated ten acres of our rented land
until forced collectiv ization has put an end to our farming. He lived in a
hut, dug in the middle of the field, where he stayed with his family from
spring to fall. He worked from sunrise to sunset, every day except Saturday.
On that day, he dressed up into his black suit and spent his time reading the
Bible. He also sang. The tunes were different from any other I heard. On
Saturdays, the otherwise reserved uncle Petik, became talkative.
       He explained to me, that he is a Sabbatharian and a Sekler-Hungarian.
Decades later I learned, that some Sekler-Sabbatharians believe that their
ancestors were the Kabar tribe, one of the ten Hungarian tribes, which
settled the Danubian basin in 996 AD. The Kabars were of turkic stock and of
Jewish religion. When I get this far in the story, Gyurka interrupts:  I bet
the cyclist did not get here in 996 AD!   Yeah! I would not be surprised, if
he called his mother: 'mutter'  - I add in agreement.
      When I finally get back to the MEFESZ office, I get a hug from Kati Sz
ke, who does not believe in wearing bras. This, I don't mind at all, but it
makes me blush all the same. While I give my report to Pista, the room gets
quiet, people listen. Then, Pista writes out a receipt for 1,200 rifles, 600
sub-machine-guns, 150 pistols, 50 light and 20 heavy ma chine-guns, but uses
pencil to write in the numbers, so that I can ink it over with the actual
numbers, that we will get.
      With that, I am done for the day. Pista is not. His eyes are even
bloodier than they were in the morning. This is Friday night and he probably
did not get a decent sleep since our meeting Monday in the Aula. The swirling
is continuing around him. The discussion is about sending a delegation to the
Minister of the Army and an other one to the Parliament. They are debating
the conditions under which we should disarm.
      The blond, blue eyed giant, Jancsi Danner feels, that our minimum
condition should be the disbanding of the AVH and the withdrawal of all
Russian troops from Hungarian soil. I agree with Jancsi.  The short, stubby,
and bright, Ivan Szabs argues that our government has no control over the
Russians, therefore the Hungarian authorities should not be asked to promise,
what they can not deliver. The debate is passionate, the debaters are going
through their usual swirling dance-routine. Pista can barely stand up, his
shaking fingers are yellow from nicotine, but his brain is still in fifth
gear, he hits the nail on the head:  The Russians claim, that they were
invited into the Hungarian capital by our government. If they needed a
Hungarian invitation to enter, then the Hungarian Government can also ask
them to leave!
       It is around 2 AM, when Ili Tsth, the medic who last night invited me
to sleep in the medical emergency room, declares:  Vcsike! Time for bed.  -
and although she is younger than me, I still obey her command. This lovely
girl has that particular look in her eyes, but besides being an unexperienced
chicken, there is also Agnes (with whom I have maintained my inexperience for
more than a year), so I just get on the miserable single bed on wheels and
sleep like a baby.
       On Saturday morning, we first inspect the Russian tanks stationed on
the Pest side of each bridge on the Danube. They are at every bridge head,
except that of the Chain Bridge.  We'll use the Chain Bridge on our return,
when we are loaded with weapons!  - suggests Gyurka and I agree. On our way
to the Zrinyi Barracks, we hear machine-gun firing from \ll i Street.  This
could be Mr. Coffee Man himself!  - I say, referring to Istvan Angyal, whom
we met yesterday at the hospital.  Would you like to visit him?  - asks
Gyurka and I admit, that I would, but not now.
       At the Zrinyi Barracks, they take us to the head of their
Revolutionary Council: a captain. In a few days, every factory, every office,
every village has elected their Revolu tionary Councils. Nobody planned or
suggested this, it occurred as naturally as leafs grow on trees. These
councils were the leafs of democracy. Aptyi was elected to the council in
       The captain studies the list, which Colonel Marian gave me.  We have
no machine- guns, neither light nor heavy, but we do have hand-grenades and
flame-throwers. You want some of those?  -he asks.  Sure.  I say without much
thinkig. He also makes a quick calculation of weights and suggests that, we
better bring a second truck for the next round, because to deliver everything
Colonel Marian asked for, will take 5 or 6 loads.
       Our first load is 40 crates of stick and egg grenades, plus some
flame-throwers. This is a heavy load, the truck is kind of sitting down on
its back wheels.
       Gyurka aims for the Szichenyi Chain Bridge. We are already on
Roosevelt Square when we notice, that the Russians have dug in at the
bridge-head. Gyurka lies down into my lap and floors the gas. I sink down
too, so that all the Russians can see, is a driverless truck racing toward
the bridge. Now I hear a big bang, followed by three enormous crashlike
detonations in quick succession. The truck is still speeding ahead, Gyurka
and I are still on the floor. I see no blood, I feel no pain.
       We must be at the middle of the bridge, when Gyurka sits up:  Hey,
they did not smash the windshield!  - he says. As we look around, there seem
to be no damage at all.  So, what were those explosions?  - I ask.  I think I
know  - grins Gyurka.  When I saw the Russians, I got scared and took my eyes
off the road. So instead of driving on the road, we drove over their
trenches, which made our crates jump. Taking off and falling back caused the
big boom and than the crashing sounds.
     As Gyurka is parking at the university and I see the lanky Jancsi Danner
staring at the demolished crates on our truck. He comes over and hugs me. It
is unusual for him to show emotion, so he must think that we have been
through a lot. I hug him back, and say:  It was nothing, just rough driving.
 His bride, Gabi, is standing next to him. She is a tall girl, but barely
reaches the shoulders of Jancsi's 6'-6  frame.
      While we were away, Pista obtained a dozen Hungarian tanks. They came
with their crews from Pilisvvrvsvar and will be staying at our university. He
also got some anti- aircraft guns, which are parked behind the library.
Jancsi does not know, where they came from.
      We take the grenades to the gymnasium, the flame-throwers to the
basement of the library. By the time we have unloaded, Imre Majoross arrives
with the second truck. As we start on our second trip, I ask them to drop me
off at the Pest side of Pet fi Bridge and pick me up there, when they come
back with the next load of arms, at around 4 PM.
+ - 1956 (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

Bela Liptak's description of his day on October 25:

>There is a crowd at the Astoria restaurant, on the corner of Kossuth
>Street and Museum Boulevard. They are surrounding some Russian tanks. The
>tank hatches are open, the commander has climbed out and is talking with the
>people in the crowd.

Obviously, Bela and I crossed paths during the revolution. I was watching the
came tank hatches being open and the Russian commander talking to the people
from the windows of Rakoczi ut 5, right across from the Hotel Astoria. The
tanks began to lurch forward and thousands of people followed. Hungarian
flags were stuck on top of the Russian tanks. A bunch of us was able to leave
the building first time in three days. We had not eaten since Monday night;
now it was Thursday. About ten of us, boys and girls, followed the tanks on
the Kiskorut toward the parliament building until one of the fellows with us,
perhaps sensing danger, suggested that we change our route and try to get to
the university on Pesti Barnabas utca. To our utter surprise the cafeteria
was open, serving absolutely everybody off the street. The only staples they
had was canned tomatoes and cabbage. Thus, they cooked tons of "paradicsomos
kaposzta" without meat, of course. I don't think that I ever tasted anything
better in my life! Bread was really in short supply but we managed to get two
50-liter containers of the cabbage concoction and a couple of loaves of bread
for 400-odd students at Rakoczi ut 5. It took us ages to get back: in every
two seconds we had to duck into gateways because the fighting by then resumed
and bullets were flying everywhere. An old man begged us for some bread. We
answered that we couldn't really spare any because these two loaves were
hundreds of students. "Oh," he said, "for the students! Anything for the
students! God bless you all!"

Then came the task of trying to serve 100 liters of "paradicsomos kaposzta"
to 400 some people! We managed to serve everybody but almost everybody kept
saying, "Can you give me a little more?"

Eva Balogh
+ - Buta magyar and Benes (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

Kristyan writes:

>Imagine that slovak boys about a quarter of century ago.
>    I was in a car (Mockbu) and that boy was shouting to me "Buta magyar".
>    I was not hurt by the world "buta" but by the motivation : Obviously
>    he hated me... Why ?

Considering that the Hungarian soldiers of Janos Kadar were giving a helping
hand to the Soviet troops in quelling the Prague Spring, you shouldn't have
been terribly surprised. Hungarian tourists were summarily thrown out of the
country by the local Slovak authorities.

But the fact was that the overwhelming majority of the Hungarian population
kept their fingers crossed for Czechoslovakia. During the summer of 1968 I
witnessed an absolutely touching moment: we were in a pub in the Citadel and
at the next table there was a group of Slovak tourists. The Hungarian guests
sitting at the next table paid the Gypsy to go over to the Slovak table and
play a few favorite Slovak tunes. Everybody in that pub understood the
political motive behind the gesture: yes, we are with you!

Kristyan again:

>(Benes! Yes! He was STUPID!!!)

No, Benes was not a stupid man. He was only short-sighted.

Eva Balogh
+ - Hungarian Revolution (Anniversary) (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

Yesterday I attended a commemoration for the anniversary of the '56
Revolution at our local Magyar Haz.  It was the usual poems and songs
(all very nice, I may add).  However, I was caught off guard by a speech
made by one of the members.  He referred to the present political
situation in Hungary, mainly the government making empty promises to the
people and giving them false hopes while filling their own pockets (so
far nothing new)...BUT what he said next threw me for a loop...he claimed
that another " '56 Revolution" is right around the corner.  Now, my family
and I keep in regular contact with our relatives in Hungary and receive
daily newspapers from Europe and Hungary itself (via the NET), and have
heard nothing to prove this statement to be true.  My question is has
anybody else heard anything regarding this (based on facts), or was this
just a personal opinion, or is it a few know it all American/Canadian
"Hungarians" trying to stir the **** by filling people's heads full of false
information, so that they can look like martyrs when they attempt to save
their fellow Hungarians?
+ - October 23 in New York (mind) VÁLASZ  Feladó: (cikkei)

I just got home from the Hungarian consulate where a large invited crowd
celebrated our national holiday.  It was a moving occasion for me, for we
rarely have a chance to salute our homeland and the most memorable event in
our lives in the presence of the head of the Hungarian Republic, President
Arpad Goncz.

I am, of course, fully aware of the irony as to what brought the  President
to our city:  the fiftieth anniversary of the same United Nations that
during those fifty years did precious little to defend freedom, independence
or human rights in our corner of the world.  Soviet tanks rolled in Budapest
and Prague without a peep from them.   I still remember the bitter
disappointment I felt that our Prime Minister  Imre Nagy's appeal to the UN
and to the world went unheeded.

Still, I felt uplifted tonight, not by the small, gray figure of the man,
whose somber words about conditions in Hungary tonight cast a chill in the
room, but by the very fact that his presence here in New York symbolizes
that we are a free people taking our rightful place among the nations.  I
saluted in President Arpad Goncz the Republic which he represents and hoped
for its future. Tonight, may we all be able to suspend our divisions and
arguments, constructive as they may be, and dedicate ourselves for a better
future for all 15 million Hungarians.

Perhaps it was a fortuitous omen that for the first time since ever, the
anniversary of the revolution was celebrated by not just one, or two, or
three, but FOUR heads of state in the same room:  our consulate was hosting
the Presidents of Latvia, Lithuania and Sloven ia, who joined in our
celebration.  May good fortune smile on us all.

Charles Mikecz Vamossy
Oct 23, 1995, New York, NY