You've made me an orphan at age 51! All of a sudden, I have neither you nor Anyu to turn to, to celebrate my triumphs, to worry about my risks. Fortunately, I do have your memories and your values, and will try to honor you through them for the rest of my life.
You lived in very hard times. You lost your father at age seven in the Great War when he
fell in northern Italy. Your mother
was left with seven children to support from a tiny grocery store in a tiny town
in Eastern Hungary.
You had to
leave school to become a shoemaker's apprentice at age ten, and as the second
son of the family, you took responsibility to help support your mother, to help
earn the dowries for two of your sisters (you were always thankful to the
youngest, when she married for love, without a dowry!), and for helping to put your
little brother through engineering school.
You quickly became successful as a shoemaker, helped to organize and run
your uncle's shop (where you were apprenticed), and by your mid twenties you
had established yourself as an independent master and a successful businessman.
You built a good life, married, and celebrated the birth of your first
son. You read voraciously, learned the mathematics and electronics
that I am sure would have been your profession if you had lived in better times,
built your own radio, and learned to love opera, history and politics -- all
the topics that made you a welcome conversational partner in your circle of
friends.
Alas,
the grim terrors of the 20th century for middle Europeans again
descended on you as anti-Semitism and Nazism swept Hungary. You were drafted into a Jewish labor battalion that was supposed not only
to exploit your work but to kill you before the end of the war. You suffered through the Russian campaign as a slave to the German and
Austrian armies, fell gravely ill with typhus, and were in danger, cold, hungry
and miserable for years. Nevertheless,
unlike so many others in your circumstances, you survived and persevered.
Returning to Polgár
after the war to discover that the Nazis had murdered your wife and child, you
still managed to rebuild your life, marry my mother, and create me.
Communism was your next plague. The new government of 1948 decided that as an independent businessman you must be exploiting the masses, and they took your business, livelihood, and even your beloved motorcycle. We moved to Budapest, where you went from being your own master to working in a shoemaker's collective, and your big mouth (as Anyu put it) often put you in danger. The Hungarian revolution of 1956 finally allowed you to realize your life-long ambition to escape and, after two years in Vienna, come to America in 1959. We settled in Los Angeles, where your shoemaking abilities were not much appreciated. But you worked in shoe factories, made handbags, and finally orthopedic shoes, where your skills mattered and were rewarded.
From
1964 to 1972, you and Anyu ran a small liquor store in Los Angeles, where you
had the joy of being your own master once again.
We all worked incredibly hard; the store was open 365 days per year, 91
hours per week, and you and Anyu were both there almost all the time.
It was also a scary business, especially when we were burgled or robbed,
or when the Watts riots swept close to our store.
Nevertheless, you made a good livelihood, bought a house, put me through
college, and saved enough to give you financial security throughout a long old
age.
For over twenty years, you
enjoyed meeting your friends, traveling all over the world, and taking pleasure
in the growth and success of our family.
You
always loved to tinker, and your back-porch workshop became your hobby and joy.You learned how to fix TV sets at age 65, repaired tape recorders for the
Braille Institute until you turned about 80, and occupied yourself with your
hobby and the beautiful roses you so loved until just two years ago.
When Anyu became seriously ill in 1995, you learned to cook, to clean
house (sort of), and to be her nurse throughout the day and night.
The last few years were not easy.
As your hearing got worse and worse, you could tell wonderful
stories, but hardly hear those of others.
Your
mind stayed sharp, but in a body growing frailer each year.
Anyu's death a year ago took your love of 52 years and left you
stoically bearing the pain.
You did
it bravely to the end, skeptical, but still hoping for some good from each new
day.
They say if you are given lemons, make lemonade!
Life faced you with a series of tragedies and horrors, but you always had
the strength and the wisdom to overcome them, to make a good new life for
yourself and your family.
Your honesty and self-reliance never wavered.
Your pure core stood as a rock against the storms that attacked it.
I hope that the world continues to smile on my generation and our
children, so we will not be as severely tested as you were.
If we are, though, I hope that we find in ourselves the same wisdom,
strength and determination that you had to overcome adversity.
Thank you for your love, guidance, and example. I love you, admire you, and will always miss you. Szervusz.