PLEASED to meet YOU! I am the Hungarian Yankee from Chicago who wrote this book. I learned the English language from the British Broadcasting Corporation while listening to short waive radio on the Russian Front in World War II. I loved it. I mean the language not the war. This book started with Grandmother at my birth and will end 90 some years later when Saint Peter, our gatekeeper calls me. This book documents that for almost ninety years I was not just alive, but also loving the people who made it worth living. This book is neither a fiction,-it is real life, -nor is it a documentary not being chronological. It is rather an interactive Chit-chat between the author and the reader. The main characters are often funny and occasionally dramatic, always proving that the fruit of learning and working during the day, loving and hugging during the night will be HONEY.

I REMEMBER!-DO YOU?

LEARNING+WORKING+LOVING CARING equals LIVINGBy JULIAN GYULA ANDORKA

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Julian Gyula Andorka
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-5564-6

Contents

PROLOGUE...............................................................................ixPart I HUNGARY.........................................................................1Part II AUSTRIA........................................................................30Part III MADRID AND PARIS..............................................................46Part IV TORONTO AND CHICAGO............................................................46APPENDIX—ELEVEN PICTURES.........................................................181

Chapter One

JULIAN

PART I HUNGARY

"Liking" and because of it, preferring certain things, or the company of certain people, is the result of experiences. When someone has everything served to him or her on silver platters the chances of accumulating experience will elude him

Julian, the child was never served anything on silver platter, though an aunt, on the day of his baptism, gave him a silver spoon. His mother saved it as a memento reminding her of the day when her baby became the center of festivities.

Forty two years later, when she came to the United States to visit Julian, she reminded him that once upon the time he was baptized and gave him the spoon.

At the end of her stay with them, when she was ready to board the Lufthansa Flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, Karin kissing her and whishing her Bon Voyage, she said: "I am going home with peace in my heart knowing that my son is well taken care of. Thank you Karin."

She still cared for Julian and his sister. She did not need money to show affection. She needed someone, or something to take care of, to feel useful at her age. To her the "someone" were her children and the "something" was her rose garden.

Julian was not aware of her contributions to the congregation she belonged. He knew only that she was supportive, that the parcels he sent to his sister were converted to currency to support the needy.

His sister asked him to send phonograph records of classical music played by the best U.S. Symphony orchestras; she sold to music loving doctors using a fair exchange rate, circumventing government usury.

Julian felt good every time he mailed a parcel to the family knowing that indirectly he also supported their church. Though he was not a very religious person, he had a very strong belief in the superior being, who was Our Father and his Guardian leading him through our shadowy world.

Hungary, before the Russian trained Bolsheviks took over, supported four religions according to the number of heads attending services, Roman Catholics, Jews, Lutherans and Presbyterians. The State paid them to teach Religion in elementary and middle schools. They were very few Muslims since the Ottoman Turks army retreated 600 years ago.

Julian's preacher, Reverend "Luther", used parables to acquaint the class with the good book. Parables were like short stories with a punch line. But when the teacher injected too much theatrics in the delivery, the punch line got lost.

Julian loved short stories. He loved the parables, but disliked the amateurish theatrics. He had an impulsive character letting his words fly, while his preacher was acting a character from one of his parables. "Sir", he turned to Reverend Luther, "You are such a big clown," The whole class was laughing His father warned him to watch his words.

During the second incident Julian was in church sitting next to his mother on the ladies side. In those days men and women were segregated in Lutheran churches but he was only 8 years old.

Reverend Luther must have felt relief when he permitted that, hoping that mother would have better control over her son. Well, this time Julian embarrassed his mother.

He noticed how the worshippers stood up to sing a hymn to start the Sunday service. Everybody, but he was singing. Everybody, but he had a book. He wanted to be part of the congregation. So, when everybody sat down, he got up and started to sing a song he learned from the kids in school: "Mr. Stuck! You bad boy! What are you doing, when the night is still so long?" Mother grabbed Julian's arm and rushed out of church with her budding tenor.

Many years later, when Julian was already a grown man, retired, singing his theme song: "When you're smiling, when you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you ..." Cutie, Julian's partner for life used to say how happy she was that he had an education, because with singing he would not had made a living. During his formative years Julian's teacher and mother implanted traits in him that stayed in him when the boy became a man. Of course when you listen to, and trust your instinct, whether you are a man or a woman, eventually you will find a partner whose looks kindle you amorous glands and who is genuinely concerned about the physical, mental and spiritual well beings of both of you. The little beach ball did not teach him and his mother did not explain how Julian would know that he was facing the one and only for him. He had to find that out for himself much later in life. He took the lady's hand and went for a walk hand in hand. At the end he kissed her hand and gave her a big, but gentle embrace. Both of them enjoyed the contact, the next day they did it again, stopping at the altar eventually.

Julian's years at home with his family were very happy years producing lasting impressions. Love and respect of women was the first one. He remembers entering an elevator with his father, with a cap on his head and his father whispering in his ears, "Take your cap off, there are ladies here."

The second impression starting in school shaped his attitude towards Religion guiding and protecting his spiritual wellbeing through tragedies and ordeals, through bliss and joy. It did not start by the clowning of the reverend teacher, nor by the singing of the interactive congregations. It started with reading the New Testament.

Much later, the snatching of Julian's wife and driving her into her grave by her son, Julian's stepson, to grab inheritance prematurely, incited Julian with hatred. He began to search for the key to his gun cabinet where he kept his handgun. When he found it, it was time for the evening prayer. "Our Father who are in heaven" ... and when he came to the words, ..." forgive us our trespassing as we forgive those who trespass against us," he stopped and put the key to the gun cabinet back in the drawer. He believed that God, Allah and Jehovah sent their emissaries to us for teaching all men and women to love each other.

When asked to define "religion" Julian used words that should be known to everybody in our country, or to every other nation when translated to their language.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God indivisible, dedicated to liberty and justice for all." That has been Julian's credo.

In 1848 the Hungarian revolted against the rule of Hapsburgs coming from Vienna. They wanted to speak Hungarian, not Latin, in their own Parliament. The leader of the revolution was Louis Kossuth for whom Julian's town was the first to build a statue. The last statue builder was the mayor of New York, Jimmy Walker. Julian's father was part of the delegation sent to attend the unveiling, carrying thanks to Jimmy Walker and the USA.

When he returned to Hungary he brought Julian pennants displaying Mohawk Indian motives, with profiles of Chiefs wearing feather headdresses. Julian was an avid reader of cowboy and Indian stories. He cherished the pennants and every story that came from America. He let his affinity for stories grow and lo and behold, just now his daughter handed him two stories that came in on the Internet from a friend. The stories are very American and reflect the love lurking between fathers and sons, from baseball fields to golf courses, from church to work. The stories may help you understand why the pledge of allegiance became part of Julian's credo.

Story number one plays in Chicago. The euphoria that drove the country in the 1920's was beginning to descend into repression that turned into depression. People were prohibited to ease their pain with a shot of whisky from Canada, or two shots of rum from Jamaica.

By providing what was prohibited "Al Capone virtually owned Chicago." That is how the first story began. Julian enquired and searched to find the person who wrote them to no avail. Not to be able to give him, or her credit, all he could give the writer is a Big Thank You.

"Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious enmeshing the windy city with everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution, to murder of the competition.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddy was very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big AI out of jail for a long time.

To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced in mansion with live-in help and all the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.

Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars and good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. Despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.

Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he could not give his son; he could not pass on a good name, or a good example. One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify the wrongs he had done.

He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about AI "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against the Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great when he testified.

Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he has given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion and a poem clipped from a magazine.

The poem read:

"The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell when the hands will stop. Now is the only time you own. Place no faith in the clock may soon be still. Live, love and toil with a will, for the clock may soon be still.

The second story from "Anonymous" is just as powerful as the first one, but it will touch the hearts of more readers than the first one, as only a few readers lived through Prohibition and are still alive, while many of us remember World War II and the heroes the war produced. One of them was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.

One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship.

His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircrafts was speeding toward the American fleet.

The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He could not reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. His wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was spent.

Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing, or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.

Finally the exasperated Japanese planes left and Butch's tattered fighter limped back to the Carrier.

Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had in fact destroyed five enemy aircrafts.

This took place on February 20, 1942 Butch became the Navy's first Ace of World War II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Medal of Honor. A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of twenty-nine.

His home town would not allow the memory of this W.W.II. hero to fade, and today O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great young man. Next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch Memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor.—It is located between Terminals 1 and 2.

Butch O'Hare was "Easy Eddie's" son, who was gunned down by the Mob.

Butch and Julian were about the same age. They were the core of World War II generations, but the theaters where they saw action were a world apart, one in the East, the other in the West.

Easy Eddie did not encourage his son to become a Navy fighter pilot. It was his son's decision and he supported it.

Julian's father had the same unselfish love for his son just like Eddie and he lost him to World War II, just like Eddie did. Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare was taken by the Grim Reaper after a dogfight in the air. Julian was driven away from his home by Bolshevik agents who wanted him to become a mindless slave of their ruthless ideology.

Julian's father never told him what he expected his son to become when he grew up, but I can still hear him saying on the telephone when his son called him in Hungary from the U.S. Zone of war ravaged Vienna he said: "Son, you have a new life ahead of you. Mine is behind me, almost over. Don't come back until we are free again. Build your new homestead, but never abuse our moral standards and disobey the law of the land where you are. Go with God."

All that happened more than sixty years ago and he only now realized how much influence his laidback father and his genes had on shaping of his character, on his attitude towards freedom, violence, and loyalty not to mention liking—loving—caring.

The third member of Julian's family was his sister, four years younger than he was. She was a genuine tomboy always wanting to play with the boys, no matter what they were doing. That sometimes meant trouble because sometimes the boys played games not suited for ladies, or did things that were not kosher in the eyes of the neighbors.

On Julian's birthday his mother invited a handful of his friends to share the birthday cake and have a party in their huge backyard garden. The boys decided to play Cowboys and Indians and of course Julian's sister wanted to be part of the game. She wanted to be Pocahontas, the Indian Princess father told stories about, after he came home from America.

To cut a long story short, when the eight years old Pocahontas became too bossy the cowboys tied her with their longest lasso to a tree and hosed her down with the garden hose. She screamed. Mother came running from the kitchen with a ladle in her hand redressing Julian, while his friend a close neighbor, Miki Muller, was untying her from the tree.

The other story Julian remembers quite clearly also involved Miki Muller.

By the way, Miki in Hungarian is the nickname for Nicolas. Miki and Julian were in the same class in school. The Muller and the Andorka backyards were adjacent, back to back. All it took for the boys to be together was to clime the fence. They did that quite often to study or play together and occasionally to commit mischief. That was one of the occasions Julian remembered, the one he is writing about, leaving permanent marks on his memory.

They were young teenagers only twelve years old in the early spring of 1934. Every day they were more and more people outside of their homes attending to their rose gardens, or planting fresh vegetable gardens. Being impressionable youngsters, they decided to do the same with a twist. They will plant only vegetables they liked. They were no broccoli, or cauliflower on the list.

"But, Julian," asked Miki, "from where are we going to get the plants?"

"We are going to jump a few more fences. A nice old Lady, a few houses down from us, has the biggest and most beautiful vegetable garden on the block. She can't eat all she grows," Julian kept reasoning.

"I don't like that. It is steeling and I will not do it," Miki was the most straitlaced guy among Julian's friends.

"No. It is not steeling. We are going to borrow the plants and give her back twice as much we borrowed."

When Miki mentioned to Julian's sister the expedition, her immediate response was, "I want to be part of it." Reluctantly the boys let her join them.

First they dug up a comer of their back-yard. Eszter, Julian's sister, knew where mother kept the fertilizer. They helped themselves fertilizing the prepared soil and then with a small basket in hand, all three of them started to climb the fences. Julian's sister needed some assistance as she was only nine years old at the time.

They had some green onions and sprouting asparagus in their basket, what they dropped when jumping on the fence. The "nice old lady" of the house was charging out of the house like a hurricane ready to hit.

The boys were on the top of the fence, but Julian's sister did not make it. Miki had to jump back and help her to get over. Of course he was caught in his heroic rescue effort and was slapped in his face from right to left, and left to right before he could jump on the fence again.

Julian said that he will never forget his sister's words after their escapade. She looked straight into Julian's eyes and said, "Miki is a gentleman. He always was, but you never will be."

That evening their mother took her son and daughter to the neighborly lady to apologies. At the end of this summer Julian was enrolled in a military school and his sister became the friend of the widowed hurricane Lady for the next ten years. Their very dear friendship with Miki was ended by the gathering storm clouds over Europe.

The two photographs introduced here are for the readers to see the people of the first Family and a friend who was part of it.

The family picture was taken shortly after Julian's parent's 25th wedding anniversary. The shooting war was over. Hungary was governed by an Allied Commission, British-U.S.-Russian commissionaires, but no French man on board.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from I REMEMBER!-DO YOU?by JULIAN GYULA ANDORKA Copyright © 2012 by Julian Gyula Andorka. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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