In mid -December 1956, the capital of Austria was bright with the lights of Christmas.
Vienna, one of the gayest and loveliest cities of Europe, was preparing to celebrate its most important religious holiday of the year.
By tradition, this is a time for the giving of gifts.
It is a time when Vienna's magnificent boulevards are ablaze with ornamentation.
It is, above all, a time of joy.
But only 60 kilometers from Vienna, these scenes were taking place along the Hungarian frontier.
Here were people fleeing their homeland, struggling to escape an intolerable tyranny.
Day after day, following the Soviet repression of Hungary's uprising, this flight continued, though the lines got thinner as time went on.
Some were not sure just where the border was.
They had walked a long way to freedom.
My name is Istvan Csepos.
I, too, crossed that frontier a few days before Christmas.
With me were my mother, my sister Mary, her husband Paul, and their three little daughters, Boriska, Margit, and Ilanka.
There are so many things to remember, but I shall never forget that first policeman who directed us to the refugee camp.
In Hungary, the police were cruel.
In Austria, they were kind and helpful.
We were safe now, but we were tired.
We had walked eight kilometers that morning.
Here we met others from our country who had crossed into Austria before us.
We Hungarians have much feeling for each other.
We felt great love for these people who spoke the same language we did and who had gone through the same hardships.
At once, there were questions.
Where did you come from? From Budapest.
And how did you get through? From Meldz, across the Bermuda Bay.
We crossed ourselves on the Russian border, crossing two kilometers.
We had just been taken away last night.
Last night? Yes.
And then the Russians? They shot us, and then they attacked us, even on the Hungarian border.
We knew refugees were in a daze.
When you stopped talking, you started dreaming.
As soon as we could, we went to Vienna, a city on the Danube like our own Budapest.
We were free to go about as we wished.
The Caritas House.
Here began our search for a country to go to.
We happened to be Catholic, like three -fourths of our fellow Hungarians.
The National Catholic Welfare Conference, a voluntary relief agency, gave us the first assistance.
We told them we would prefer to go to the United States, for my father had gone there years before and now lived in Chicago.
We learned that 30 ,000 refugees were to enter the United States.
The welfare agency agreed to sponsor us and help us resettle in America.
Those bags we were issued read the United States escapee program.
It seemed strange, but to us it spelled identification with that land of freedom across the sea.
For Boryshka, Margit, and Ilanka, it was almost like a picnic.
Here they wanted general information in order to assist us.
Identification, name, age.
Always we were cared for with sympathy and dispatch.
I explained that our little family wanted to stay together, and the authorities assured us that this was possible.
We refugees learned early that there would be waiting.
There were so many of us, so many of us at once, looking for a place to go.
So we waited, for certain things take time.
But for those of us who already had a country to go to, the waiting was not so bad.
Music We went to the airport to get our papers in order.
Music Again, a kind policeman.
Always patient, always helpful.
Music Our first concern was that of health.
As usual, when you are traveling to a foreign country, certain requirements are necessary.
The U .S.
Public Health Service arranged this medical attention for the refugees.
Austrian doctors and nurses helped give vaccinations to all who needed them.
Music Margeet was very brave.
Music To my father, whom I hadn't seen in 12 years.
Music Music Music Music Music Music Music ICEM.
Those initials were etched into the mind of every refugee, for here was another agency that was working for us, the Intergovernmental Committee for European Migration.
They arranged transportation for all of us who were outward bound.
This was a huge job, for a total of 28 countries in all parts of the world had agreed to accept refugees from Hungary.
Music This was the land that first offered us refuge.
Just a tiny country like our own.
But we Hungarians can never forget the kindness we received in Austria.
Music While we slept.
At Munich Airport, huge planes were lined up on the ramp.
This was one end of an airlift.
Several hundred refugees were being flown across the ocean every day.
Operation Safe Haven, they called it.
Perhaps a refugee had thought of that name.
Most of us had never been in an airplane.
We tried to be casual, but it just didn't seem real.
Music Weather conditions, we were told, were excellent, and the airmen seemed to think nothing of flying across the ocean.
The time had come to say goodbye to Europe.
We were taking off for a long flight.
Music Inside, we were 76 Hungarian refugees.
There was a U .S.
Air Force stewardess aboard who made us feel that we were one of her family.
Music Coffee and sandwiches were served in the plane.
Music America ahead, we're not far away.
Music It was near the east coast of the United States that our plane landed.
At Maguire Air Base in the state of New Jersey on the 23rd of December.
A name, a place, a date.
These things you remember, but memory plays tricks.
Can any of us fully recapture the emotions we had upon landing in America for the first time? Music Here we boarded buses for the reception center established for the refugees by the U .S.
Army.
It had a sign over the gate that said in Maguire, God brought you here.
The communists, I thought, would not have said that.
The officer who helped us out of the bus, he may not remember me, but I remember him.
He made each of us feel welcome with a helping hand.
Music The relief agency that had started us on our way back in Vienna now helped us again in the reception center.
It arranged for us to go to Chicago where we would meet Father.
Its people checked on the many details that are necessary when you come as a traveler and even more when you come as a refugee.
Music Everywhere there were signs in Hungarian.
I recall especially the one in the mess hall that said, eat all you want.
Music My nieces had great appetites.
Music It all seemed like a dream that first day in the mess hall, though there were hundreds of others like us in that room.
Music Music An army sergeant took the part of St.
Nicholas, the traditional giver of gifts.
We knew he had a mask on his face, but to the children the effect was like magic.
Music You relished the spirit of Christmas.
Music In response, the children sang a familiar Hungarian carol.
Music Music Music Music Music Music Music The kindness of America's people was expressed in many ways.
There was the Red Cross, a symbol so familiar, its volunteers so helpful.
At the reception center, they provided a variety of services and every kind of assistance.
They had a place where we went to get clothing.
They made sure every single refugee was provided with the necessities that we must have until we were settled.
In the evening, Boryshka and Mardit felt like grown -up ladies.
But the best part of it all was yet to come.
The Red Cross had arranged to place a phone call for any of the refugees who wished to get in touch with relatives.
And we were going to call father, 1400 kilometers away.
We were so excited that we all wanted to talk at once.
We wanted to talk to his father.
This is the American Red Cross, Sir, at Camp Kim in New Jersey.
Your son and his family are standing beside me.
They would like very much to talk with you.
Here he is now, Sir.
Hello? We were on our way to Najago, we came to the Super Constellation.
Here is the whole salad.
Everyone is fine.
Hello, what's your name? Wait, wait, I'll give it to him.
Here is your mother, I'll give it to her.
I'm giving you a nice meal.
Hello, hello, Mr.
Secretary.
Fortunately, we arrived at the Christmas present.
I brought you your whole family from Hungary.
I'm sorry, I'm very sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm very sorry.
Hello, father, I'm very sorry.
Here are the children.
Hello, hello, they are coming to say hello.
Hello, hello, happy Christmas.
Happy Christmas.
Happy Christmas.
Happy Christmas.
Happy Christmas.
Hello, father.
Hello, father.
Hello, father.
Hello, father.
We are very happy that we came to America.
We will visit you in two days.
It was hard to believe that we would actually be seeing father very soon.
But seven hours later, our last move towards our new home began.
A train came into the railroad station near the reception center.
How different trains look in a new country.
And this train was to take us to Chicago, to our meeting with father.
Our little family had gathered many things since we'd left Hungary scarcely two weeks before.
Again, we were on the move.
The railroad station in Chicago.
This was the station where our train came in that Friday morning.
This was where I met my father.
The father and son, 12 years apart.
The sight of the train, the joy of the train, the joy of the train.
The light and touch of loved ones.
Mother, Mary, and Paul crowded around him.
And his granddaughters.
He'd never seen them before.
In 12 years, only one of his letters got through to us in Hungary.
Now we had found each other in America.
We were now homeward bound.
As we rode through Chicago, I couldn't stop looking.
This was a city we had pictured in our minds many times.
From the taxi, we looked and stared.
Everything was so strange to us.
A huge American city, its people, and its stores.
We all couldn't ride in the same train.
We all rode in the same taxi.
And mother and father and I arrived home before Mary, Paul, and the children.
At last, I could lie down and breathe a sigh of relief.
The next day, Paul came home with a surprise.
A reporter had written about our arrival and our reunion with father.
There was a picture in the local newspaper.
Our phone rang that day many times.
Strangers called to offer us hospitality.
Could they help, they wanted to know.
Some of them came to our door.
Please take this clothing, they said.
If you can use it, we will be grateful.
The most important phone call for me came from the state employment agency.
An official there had been informed about our arrival, and he wanted to help.
He wanted to find me a job, something that I needed to make myself self -sufficient in this new country.
The employment agency did this service for all refugees.
Once he had the information he needed, he consulted his files, and he found an offer of employment.
Would I accept? I could hardly wait.
I was on my way to my first job in the United States.
I started as a grinder with a company making road building machinery.
Already I was helping to support the family.
Paul went to work the same day I did, as a wiper in a factory manufacturing office equipment.
It was not easy to start again at the bottom, but we knew he would advance quickly when he learned to speak English.
Mary, too, found employment working as a draftsman in still another company.
We all were making a contribution, and by working hard we could begin saving money for something we wanted very much, a new home.
The children started school two days after we'd been settled.
It was strange when you think about it, but they started without knowing any more English than we did.
Yet children learn quickly.
Certainly Margit learns quickly.
And little Ilanka, one grade above kindergarten.
Ilanka is the mischievous one, but I know she, too, will do well.
And Boriska, so serious and responsible, just like an oldest sister.
At home, while we are working and the children are in school, Mother does the shopping.
I always smile when I see her in this modern store.
In America, they have food markets where you help yourself and pay at the exit.
I am Iszt van Kepos, and these are my loved ones, formerly of Budapest, Hungary, of a city and a nation under communist rule.
Now we are free, in a land where the police do not come to the door at night, where all of us will start new lives.
When I look at my mother and father reunited, I am grateful beyond words.
I recall that greeting sign at our reception center, and I say in my heart that its message was right.
God brought us here.
The End
