78 Spring Street (Tavasz Utca 78)

By Eva Fischer-Dixon

The apartment building where I grew up had peeling paint and unkempt trees and bushes. Perhaps the twenty families living in nineteen apartments didnt even notice that it was not only the walls of the building that were chipping away little by little simply because they were glad that they had a roof above their heads. As I was growing up, each family represented its own soap opera to me. As a child, I became fascinated and, as a teenager, was appalled by the people, the tenants, who lived there and the hypocrisy that surrounded my family and me in our everyday life. One could only imagine how deeply they came to be part of my life with good but, most of the time, bad intentions. After all these years, those memories are as fresh as a harvested bouquet of flowers that still had the morning dew on its buds. I had to write about them; I needed to write about them. Why? Because I owe them a great deal. For what? you may ask. The answer lies in the stories that took place at 78 Spring Street: Tavasz Utca 78.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524532499

Eva Fischer-Dixon

I came into this troubled world during the early morning hours of June 17, 1950, in the city of Budapest, Hungary. I was the first and last child of my 41-year-old mother and my father who was 45 years old at the time of my birth. As I did not know any better, I could not possibly understand that we were living in poverty, as I was growing up with loving parents and there was always a bite to eat. My childhood was poor and saddened with tragedies. As a six-year-old child I witnessed the bloody 1956 revolution and received the first taste of true prejudice by those of whom I thought liked us, yet turned against my family. That tragedy did not match the untimely death of my beloved father when I was not yet seven years old, on February 14, 1957. My mother remarried in 1959 and our financial situation was upgraded from poverty to poor. After finishing elementary school I made a decision to earn money as soon as possible to ease our financial situation and I enrolled in a two-year business college (high school diploma was not required). I received my Associate Degree in 1966 and I began to work as a 16-year-old certified secretary/bookkeeper. During the same period I began my high-school education, which I completed while working full-time and attending night school. I discovered my love for writing when I was 11 years old after a movie that my childhood friend and I saw in the movie theater. We were not pleased with the ending and Steven suggested that I should write a different ending that we both liked. Voila, a writer was born. With my family’s encouragement, I entered a writing contest given by a youth oriented magazine and to my genuine surprise, I won second price. My desire to live in a free country and to improve my life was so great, that in 1972, leaving everything, including my aging parents behind, I managed to escape from Hungary during a tour to Austria, (then) Yugoslavia and Italy. I spent almost nine long months in a rat infested refugee camp, located Capua, Italy, while I waited for official permission to immigrate to the country of my dreams, to the USA. In 1975 I met and married a wonderful man, my husband Guy. Thanks to his everlasting patience, he assisted me in my task of learning the English language. He is truly my partner for life and I remain forever grateful to him for standing by me in some tough times. It is difficult for me to describe my love for writing. I cannot think of a bigger emotional joy for an author than to see a published novel in somebody’s hand and to see a story come alive on the screen. I yearn to experience that joy.

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78 Spring Street

(Tavasz utca 78)

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Eva Fischer-Dixon

Copyright © 2016 by Eva Fischer-Dixon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 08/22/2016

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Contents

Author’s Words

Dedication

My Parents

4th District, Újpest, Budapest

The Location

78 Spring Street (Tavasz utca 78)

The Tenants

Apartment # 1

Apartment # 2

Apartment # 3

Apartment # 4

Apartment # 5

Apartment # 6

The 1956 Revolution, Part One

The 1956 Revolution, Part Two

Apartment # 7

Apartment # 8

Apartment # 9

Apartment # 10

Apartment # 11

Apartment # 12

Apartment # 13

Apartment # 14

Apartment # 15

Apartment # 16

Apartment # 17 ~~~ Part One

Apartment # 17 ~~~ Part Two

Apartment # 18

Apartment # 19

The Roma Issue (The Gypsies)

Epilog

AUTHOR’S WORDS

T HE STORIES YOU are about to read are real, they actually happened. All characters were also real but all names were changed to protect the privacy of those who felt a level of sympathy and expressed some kindness toward my family and me, and also to protect the privacy of those who enjoyed and mandated to reflect hardship on us. In reference to my writing about the 1956 revolution, my words expressed only my point of view and my observations by eye witnessing some of the events and reading about them later. Once again, my intention was not to shame or offend the memories of those who lost their lives in the uprising, fighting for what they believed, only to point out some of the incidents that I had seen and/or learned later on from reliable sources. If individuals read this book and would like to add anything, or have any questions, please contact me at evadixon65@yahoo .com .

DEDICATION

I WISH TO dedicate this book with the greatest gratitude to those who ever mistreated me, who was unfair to me and who betrayed me. Without you, it would have taken longer to realize what kind of person I was and wanted to be.

Without your discrimination against me, and the people of the faith I was born into, I would have never understood that I was a hundred times better person than you were, because to me there is no difference between races and religions. To me only two kinds of people exist, good and bad. There is no between.

A good person is willing to give without wanting anything in return and reaches out to help those who did not ask for help. A bad person simply does not care about others only themselves.

You taught me that behind the smile when you said, Don’t take this personally lies a person who is dishonest and selfish.

I thank you all for helping me to become a good person who is willing to take the shirt off from her back or share her meal with a person who could not afford food. I thank you for making me see that all religions are under one God, and for helping me to hold back judgment against those who simply don’t understand or know better.

MY PARENTS

I LOVED MY mother’s hands. When we sat or slept next to each other, I always held her hand. She had the softest and smoothest hands that I have ever touched, and not just out of respect, I always kissed her hands. I loved my mother as a child was expected, plus a couple of notch higher, although there were times when it did not seem that way.

To get the full picture of the stories told in this book, first I must write about my parents. Although it is not my intention to write about my parent’s background in great detail, but to understand where I came from. I found it necessary to write the basics of my family’s history with some side remarks about other family members.

My mother was born Ilona Willinger in a small suburb called Cinevég of the city of Mátészalka, in Szabolcs-Szatmár Province in the country of Hungary. She was the second oldest child born to my grandparents, Eugenia and Ármin who first met on their wedding day of their arranged marriage. After my mother was born, there were fourteen more children came to this world, but only seven of them lived to see adulthood.

My mother’s older brother’s name was Ignác, and after my mother came Irén, Miklós, Margit, Erzsébet and Béla, the rest of the children were born between the surviving siblings, they have died from accidents to childhood ailments. Only five of them survived the Holocaust, Irén died during the death march outside Stutthof concentration camp, Miklós died when the retreating German and Hungarian Armies no longer had a need for their forced laborers (Labor Service). He and other male Jews who were members of Labor Service Unit dug ditches and performed various military duties other than fighting. Once the Russian Red Army pushed forward toward their lines, Miklós’ unit was herded into a church that was sealed up and doused down with gasoline, and then it was set on fire. I do not know the number of people who were burned alive inside the church, but I guessed their numbers were possibly in the hundreds.

My maternal grandparents owned and operated an establishment, which had a small grocery store in one side and a tavern on the other. The times were hard for the town’s Jewish population and when the business was barely visited by customers, it became obvious that the family needed some additional income. Ignác, who was seventeen at the time already left the house and got a job in a nearby city. He sent most of the money he earned, as did my mother, who just turned sixteen years old, became a nurse’s aide to a wealthy family who had a few sick members.

Because of all the children that were born, my mother never received formal schooling, as a matter of fact; she only had three years of elementary school education. She often told me just how much she loved to go school, just to be pulled out because she had to take care of yet another newborn sibling.

It was difficult for my mother to live apart from her family, especially when my grandmother was diagnosed with a fast spreading breast cancer, an illness that was only whispered or spoke of in a lower tone of voice, even in the doctor’s office at the beginning of the twentieth century. Treatments were out of question, as they did not have any money, not to mention that the bank was breathing down on my grandparent’s neck because they were unable to make mortgage payments and pay property taxes.

The doctor told Eugenia and my grandfather, Ármin, that even if they had money, he thought that my grandmother’s breast cancer spread faster than any he had ever seen and that she may only have six months to live. Despite the fact that my grandparents had an arranged marriage, they loved each other very much, so needless to say that my grandfather did not take the devastating news well. His wish was that he would rather die rather than to see his beloved Zseni suffer almost came true. He died two months after my grandmother, from an undiagnosed in time prostrate cancer.

By the time my mother was let go from her job two years later, due to the wealthy family’s departure for America, she learned enough from the registered nurse at the household that she became full-fledged nurse herself. When she returned home, she learned that the bank sold the house and the business to a wealthy businessman who sent some thugs to throw my bedridden grandparents out on to the street with all of their meager belongings and their five young children. A good-hearted neighbor took my grandparents in, where my grandfather died two months following the death of my grandmother, who passed away a week after their eviction from their home/business.

Although people did not think the same way in the 1920’s as they do nowadays, I found it very sad that my grandmother did not have any life at all. She was eighteen years old when she got married to my grandfather who was twenty-eight and who never had been married. My grandmother got pregnant probably right after their first kiss and there were years when she had two children and two sets of twins, altogether fourteen children. It is worth mentioning that she was only forty years old when she passed away. She grew up, she was married off, worked at the store and had babies and then she died. I could never get an answer out of my mother on the subject; she just said that my grandmother was not a happy person in later years.

Ignác, my mother’s older brother married young and he had no choice but to take in four of his siblings. Miklós found work in town and lived on his own. My mother was unable to find work locally, she had sought work elsewhere. She noticed an advertisement for a nursing position at the Zsidó Kórház (Jewish Hospital) in Budapest; she got on the train and traveled to the capital city. She was hired right away, first as a nurse’s aide again, and then a year later she became a nurse.

By the beginning of World War Two, my mother’s sister Irén was also married, she is the one who was murdered outside Stutthof; they did not have any children at the time of their deportation. My two younger aunts, Margit and Erzsébet, or as we called her Böskoj, there was no meaning of that nickname, also lived and worked in Budapest until they were arrested and shipped to Auschwitz. Béla was an entirely different story, let’s just say that he was wandering around.

The Jewish Hospital was eventually shut down and most of its staff were either shot and killed in Hungary, probably into the Danube River, or were deported to various concentration camps. Prior to the closing of the hospital, someone recommended a private nursing job to my mother that was located on Dob utca (Drum Street). After she was interviewed for the job, she was hired to take care of a wheelchair bound German woman from Düsseldorf who spoke no Hungarian. My mother, who spoke Yiddish, learned the German language real quickly having similarity between the two. The old lady was a severe diabetic and also blind in both eyes. My mother risked her life a great many times when she snuck out of the ghetto to get insulin for her patient.

After a few brushes with death, she managed to survive and save the life of her employer whose family left Hungary for Switzerland, leaving their mother behind, as she was unable to travel, in the care of my mother. The old lady passed away shortly after the liberation of Budapest. My mother returned to work at the reopened Jewish Hospital as a surgical nurse, her previous job for nine years before the war.

One of the male nurses at the hospital, his name was Sándor, mentioned to my mother that his brother also returned from Auschwitz where he lost his entire family. From the Fischer family, only Sándor and my father Arthur survived, Sándor was not deported but had to endure severe hardship in one of those infamous Labor Service Units, under dangerous conditions. My mother reluctantly agreed to meet Arthur Fischer, who worked as a journalist before the war.

I do not know very much about my biological father’s family, as I was way too young to ask questions before my father passed away. What I know is that there were five boys and one girl in the family. My grandmother’s maiden name was Bertha Bruckner and my fraternal grandfather’s name was Jakob Fischer. I am not sure who was the oldest, but there was my father, Arthur, his younger brother Sándor who lives in Israel, their brothers Vilmos, József and Manó. The name of the only female sibling of my father was named Karolina.

Vilmos, József and Karolina died in Auschwitz along with their own families. Manó, the youngest of the brothers died a horrible death, although there is no pleasant kind of death on records. Manó, while serving in the Labor Service Unit contracted typhus, so the German and Hungarian soldiers sent him into a church where all the sick Jewish laborers were located. Once the soldiers were satisfied that they had a lot of sick people inside, they blocked all doors and windows and doused the building with gasoline and burned it down. All of those unfortunate souls were burned alive. Does this sound familiar? Indeed, my mother’s younger brother Miklós died an identical and equally horrific death.

In early 1946, my mother finally gave in to my uncle’s constant talking about his brother and they met over dinner at Sándor’s home. My mother was 37 years old at the time and my father 42. He told my mother right away that he was too old to court anyone and that he liked her a great deal. My mother liked him as well and everything that my father said on that first night pointed at the subject of marriage. He later explained that he didn’t want to wait because he was no longer a young man (he was in his mid forties).

I often questioned my mother if it was true or not, but she claimed that they were married two months later. The problem was that they did not have any place to live. The city of Budapest was in ruins from the bombings by the Russian and the Allied Forces, but somehow Böskoj and Margit found a small two bedroom apartment and my newlywed parents moved in there with them. It was not a pleasant situation for my parents, so my father could not help it, he complained to one of his colleagues where he worked at the time and the following day, his colleague made my father a proposition.

He told my dad that he heard that my mom was a nurse and he had an elderly sick mother who lived in the same house as he did. They took care of her during the day but when his wife and he had to work the evening or night shifts as well, there was no one to look after his mother. He offered to my parents that if they were willing to move in with his mother and take care of her when he could not, they could have the apartment when his mother died. Of course, my father wanted to see that in writing and once the deal was sealed, they moved from my aunt’s small place into a one bedroom/living room, kitchen and pantry apartment.

At the end of 1949, my mother found herself pregnant with me, their one and only child. Ironically, the old lady liked them very much and she was looking forward to my birth but she passed away only a day before I was born. Finally my parents had a place they could call their own, well sort of because the government owned all of those apartments.

Of course, there was the infamous revolution in 1956, but life did not change for us until February 14, 1957, when my father died from a combination of asthma and excess fluid in his body. Basically he drowned in his own fluids. Our financial situation grew very grave, but we somehow managed to remain in that apartment.

In June 1979 my mother’s hairdresser asked my mother if she ever considered getting married again. My mother’s reply was a hundred percent no, but Erzsi, the beautician was persistent and she arranged a date between her brother Gyula Diamant and my mom. I guess it was kind of funny because she took me with her to the date. She said that Gyula had to know what he is getting into if he was serious about marriage, to make certain that we liked each other at all.

Two weeks, yes, two weeks after their first meeting, Gyula Diamant became my stepfather, but I am just going to call him dad. I was nine years old and very much missed my father. I guess I was always a daddy’s girl. My stepfather/dad was also a Holocaust survivor; he was deported to Mauthausen with his parents and first family and with the exception of Erzsi, who was his younger sister, all of them perished in various camps.

My dad was a bread baker by profession, actually since his early childhood. Having him in our family, our financial situation changed from poverty to poor. It was actually a big step up. Instead of coal burning heater, we had a ceramic heater built between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, which from now on I will call the room as everybody in the entire apartment building had the same one room, which I will explain later. Out went the two-burner gas stove and came in the four burner electric stove. Three years later we even got a television set, it was a huge step in my book.

They remained in that apartment until the government moved them into the eighth floor of a ten-story high apartment complex in the late 1970’s. I had already departed by then as I left Hungary in July 1972.

My family’s history is truly fascinating and everybody had something special about them. Their stories will be available in a three volume book titled, And Then the Fat Lady Sang to be published in the near future. This book is about the apartment building where I grew up, and about the tenants whose lives was an open book, purposely or unintentionally, but everybody knew everyone’s business. Either way, I hope that the reader will not only get a glance into the individual lives of the tenants of 78 Spring Street, in the 4th District, also known as Újpest (New Pest) of the city of Budapest, Hungary, but also will get a chance to visualize the life and times of my childhood.

The events, the locations and establishments that are mentioned in this book are as I managed to recall. All names of the tenants were changed. Everything written is valid until July 28, 1972, when I escaped from Hungary during a three-country tour.

4TH DISTRICT, ÚJPEST, BUDAPEST

(4th Kerület, Újpest, Budapest)

B EFORE I BEGIN to write the information regarding the place of my birth, I would like to mention that most of the data below is from personal recollections. Because of the passing of many years, at times I had no choice but to research much of the information pertaining the 4 th District. Just about all of what is written below took place before July 1972; it was at that time that I left the country. Several times I had to write about Budapest in general, as many districts did not break down information and data.

The capital city of Budapest, Hungary was created from three cities, Pest, Buda and Óbuda in 1873. Although the latest population account is less than two million nowadays, it is the most populated city in the entire country as well as the largest, comprising of 23 districts. I was born and raised in the 4th District, also known as Újpest (New Pest).

The 4th District is located on the left bank of the once blue Danube, and it is called as such because it bordered with Pest. It has been a village for over sixty years when in 1907 it has become a town, and in the year of my birth, 1950, it was unified with Budapest and became the 4th District of the capital city. Újpest’s population in the year of my departure, which was in mid-1972, was around ninety-eight thousand, take or leave a few hundred people.

Despite the fact that Újpest was only a District, it still had five different areas and they were called Megyer, Káposztásmegyer, Istvántelek, Székesdűlő and the northern tip of the island Népsziget. The Megyer part of my district was especially important to me as the place I used to work for a few years was only two streetcar stops from Megyer. It was also the location of a large public swimming pool, nicknamed Tungi, where I visited once in a while with my girlfriends in my late teen years.

INDUSTRIES: There were a few large industries in the 4th District which was often called the Munkas Kerület, which meant the Worker’s District because of those large factories. There was a shoe factory, ironically one of the branches of that company was right across the street from where I lived. There were three major and many smaller companies located in Újpest. One was Chinoin, which was one the largest pharmaceutical company in Eastern Europe and which had personal connection to my family. My father was a part time security officer at that company right before his untimely death. Later, after my mother retired from nursing, she got a job there, also in the security department. To the best of my recollection, it was located on Tó utca (Lake Street).

The second large company which also had several branches throughout the country was Tungsram, where I also worked just before I escaped from Hungary. The company was manufacturing anything from light bulbs to X-ray machines, from radio and television tubes, yes, tubes in those days, there is where I worked in Quality Control.

First I was working in the office as a bookkeeper for 1200 forint a month and when I heard that they were hiring, I requested a transfer and I got it. They worked two shifts which was perfect as I was attending evening school as well. I absolutely loved working there and I was friends with just about everybody. The other good thing about that job was that I was able to work overtime which paid time and a half, so I was making more money than my poor father did working as a baker for over 45 years. By the way, Tungsram had over sixty-eight thousand employees countrywide, working in three different shifts.

The third large factory was actually a shipyard called among other names, Ganz-Danubius, where brand new ships were built, as well as older ones were docked there to be repaired.

Other industries also located in the 4th District was a large textile factory and a furniture manufacturing company which happened to be on the right side of the apartment building where I lived. It was a terribly noisy factory, and the tenants, including my parents filed a complaint that the machines were making so much noise that everything was vibrating in the apartments on our side of the house. There were times when chairs moved from the table and dishes fell off the shelves due to the strong vibrations by the machines. Eventually they had something done because the noise had stopped. There was also a branch of a shoe factory whose headquarters was located in another district.

SHOPPING: Not that I ever liked to go shopping, but Újpest did not quite offered much of anything. We had one department store called Állami Áruház (Government Store) which offered anything from shoes to clothing items, from lingerie to televisions and radios. Later on they also began to sell refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, washers, and centrifugat. It was an interesting little machine. The person doing the laundry would have to take out the dripping clothing or washed items and put them into the centrifugas which then squeezed the water out of them. Before I left in 1972, to the best of my knowledge, there were no dryers available yet.

Állami Áruház had a few special meanings to me. During winter school breaks and occasionally a few summer breaks when I cut my vacation short to make some money I had worked there only part-time. Because of my young age I was not allowed to handle money, so I worked as a Sales Assistant in the lingerie department as well as accessory department where we sold umbrellas, gloves, scarves, wallets, ID card holders, and miscellaneous items as such.

The second interesting thing I experienced working at the Állami Áruház was how to remain honest. As I was only a helper, the full time sales ladies often sent me to the basement supply area to replenish the shelves in the sales departments. I would take a list and would put the items into my little cart that I would take upstairs via service elevator. On one of those occasions I was sent down to get a few stacks of umbrellas because it was pouring outside and usually people would stop by to get an umbrella in the hurry. It happened all the time.

So I went downstairs and with the key I was entrusted with I opened the section where the merchandise I needed was located. I heard footsteps and when I looked up, I noticed that the supervisor from the clothing department coming my direction. She was just about the most beautiful woman working in the entire store and I was told by gossiping employees that she was having an affair with the General Manager of the store.

She was always nice to me, she treated me as I was full-fledged employee there. She asked me if I would mind if she looked around. I smiled and told her of course not. It came into my attention that she had her personal bag with her. The rules for the store was the all purses and bags must remain in our lockers where we had to put on our regulation smocks. I did not say anything, I got busy selecting various umbrellas that were on my list. I was finished in ten minutes and since I had to lock up, I went to look for her as she disappeared behind one of the many aisles made out of high shelves.

I turned around a corner just to stop in my tracks so I would not bump into her. She was putting several mohair scarves into her personal bag. They were the most expensive scarves the store carried. I was so stunned that I did not know what to say, I was only fifteen years old and although I was naïve, I was not stupid. We stared at each other for a brief moment and then she gave me a beautiful smile. She reached up again to the shelves and took off a red mohair scarf and wanted to hand it to me. I shook my head and told her no, thank you. She nodded and put that too in her bag. I could not believe her boldness. I told her that I was expected upstairs and I had to lock up. She nodded and left the area. I locked up the place and still in shock I pushed the cart to the service elevator. She was standing there, waiting for me.

Everyone does it, she told me as I pushed the up button of the elevator. I looked her in the eye as I answered.

Not everybody, I replied.

Do you want to come back here next school break too? She asked, still smiling. I nodded. Then you know what not to do. I went home that night after work, completely confused and upset. I told my mother what happened and I mentioned that I felt that it was my duty to report it to the management.

It was then that my ever so smart mother gave me the run down on what honesty and dishonesty was. The question was; who would believe me? The thief was working at the Állami Áruház for fifteen years, out those years, five as a supervisor. It was hard to think that she was probably stealing all that time as well. Since her affair with the General Manager of the store was true, it was very unlikely that he would have done anything to discipline her. There was another thing too, they were both married to other people, so the affair was on my dishonest list. What if she was telling me the truth that others were involved in stealing too? The bottom line was that I could not do anything and not just because I wanted to go back there. I could not do anything because I would have been up against a well-oiled group of thieves. I must also mention that I have never seen anyone else to steal anything from the store. My mother had a saying when I was growing up; if someone lies, that person steals too and perhaps even kills. After that incident, I only worked there another time for a month, but my respect was left at the door as I walked through it. On a footnote, I was wondering how in the world they ever come clear during their inventories?

At the corner of the Állami Áruház, which partially was located on Árpád út (Árpád Avenue) and István út (Steven Avenue) had a huge clock that could be seen from all directions. The clock was a very popular location for those who had a date, and I must admit, I had my share of meeting friends and boyfriends under that clock.

I did have a strange habit, I never waited for anyone who was not on time. I always believed in punctuality and if someone told me that I’ll be there at five o’clock, I expected that person to be there on the agreed time. Since the streetcar had a stop before crossed István út (Steven Avenue), I could see from the window of the streetcar if he was there or not. I usually got to my date five or seven minutes early, and if I didn’t see my date waiting, I did not get off from the streetcar. I went one more stop and I returned to the location on a streetcar going to the opposite location. If the person was there, I would get off the streetcar, but if he was not, I continued my trip home, which was two more stops from the department store. It usually worked.

Needless to say there were grocery stores all over the area, the largest one was located across the street from the Állami Áruház, it was called the ABC store because they were supposed to sell everything from items starting with the letter A. There were also small grocery stores, just about in every other block’s corner, and also there were produce stores that only sold vegetables and fruits.

The best place to shop in my city was the large Market Place where everything was available, from meat products to fresh fruits and vegetables, to fast food like virsli (hot dog) or lángos, which was almost like Indian bread. Lucky for me, one side of the Market Place was located across the street from the business school I attended and we were able to go there every lunch time. Once a year, around big Jewish holidays, my mother would buy a goose and we would eat that for at least two weeks. The fresh sour cream, butter, cottage cheese and eggs were brought to the Market Place by peasants, or I should call them