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Everyone… — 14 Comments

  1. The wave of Hungarian refugees after the 1956 revolution came when I was a boy. It was tens of thousands to be absorbed in the days before multiculturalism and diversity hustling. There was no bilingual education as the author notes.

    What has always struck me was after five or ten years there few Hungarians to be seen beyond the odd restaurant. The author’s description is what I recall.

  2. This is a wonderful story that reaffirms much of what I have learned, albeit by a different route.

    In traveling to many countries and experiencing many cultures I have learned what we Americans are not taught in books. Namely, that we are different, that we are blessed beyond our wildest imaginations, and that too many of us don’t understand why that is.

    Professor Shramm explains what being an American means and why we need to understand our heritage and unmatched freedoms much better than I could. I am forwarding the link to everyone on my e-mail list.

  3. George Friedman (also a Hungarian by birth) writes of his similar journey (both physical and metaphysical) from Old Europe to America in Flashpoint. Well worth the read.

  4. My grandparents were Hungarian immigrants 100 years ago. One member of the family that stayed in Hungary ended up an officer in the Hungarian Army in WW2, after which he spent tens years in Siberia courtesy of Stalin. He also came here after the ’56 revolution and spent the next fifty years as an American, in Upland, CA. He passed on in 2012. Reading your account echos his.

  5. Michael: Was his name Don Rosen? If so, I knew of him, although we never met other than on line. I’m sorry to learn of his passing if that was him. He was a gifted writer.

  6. My Grandpa, Francesco Vitucci, was born in Italy in the 1890s but came to America as soon as he could in his teens.

    His birthday was July 4 and I can still hear him say the reason he was born on that day was because “God knew he was a Yankee Doodle Dandy!”. He too was born an American but in the wrong place. He never went back, never wanted to. When we found his immigration papers a few years ago, we noticed that his birthdate was stated as July 6. But we still celebrate on July 4 because that was his story and we’re sticking to it.

  7. Snopercod, Neo,

    Fabulous link. Paris 1968, I was 17, my Hungarian fencing teacher introduced me to his boxing teaching friend and I fell into their ferociously anti-communist crowd.
    I was a hoot!
    Story tellers, womanizers and scammers and finely tuned martial artists all of them.
    They taught me chess.

    Strangely, I bumped into the fencing master in London in the 1990’s. Still teaching in his late 70’s. We had a few bouts for all times sake. He then wanted to play chess for money … I politely declined. He knew I knew.
    Nothing had changed but for the venue ….

    Look into the Hungarian language. An intriguing subject.

  8. Professor Schramm’s story brought tears to my eyes. I was in Austria as a teenager in 1956, reading about what was transpiring just across the border in Hungary. I have always felt the Hungarians had a bitter pill to swallow — twice. Reading Mila 18 years later brought those memories back, as did reading this life story. I showed it to a friend of mine who was born a year earlier than Schramm in England and immigrated at the same age. His youth was probably harder than Schramm’s due to difficult family circumstances, and he ran away to the US Navy at 17. After reading this story he said he too thinks America is a special place but that there is a strong move afoot to change it into Europe with a shorter history. We need to fight that effort.

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