By John Toth
The Bulletin
It was a busy day on March 6 while I was working on The Bulletin, when I realized that this was not just another day.
On March 6, 1966, a 40-year-old woman did what nobody thought was possible - she escaped from a Communist Soviet Bloc country with her 10-year-old son. The woman was my mother.
We were going to visit Vienna, Austria, for two weeks on Spring Break. It was a shallow cover story, and the plan took more than a year to put in place before we could even purchase train tickets to the West.
Many were surprised that this quiet, mild-mannered woman would even try it. But she did, and it worked.
I wrote a few sentences on my Facebook page commemorating this day 59 years ago and went back to work. Then the post started getting likes and comments. I was touched. My friends wanted to read more.
I have written about this subject before. If you are an avid Bulletin reader, you already know part of the story. But I always like to take a trip back in time to relive the moments as a woman and her son slipped through the Iron Curtain and headed West.
I can’t remember eating any breakfast that morning. I probably got really nervous after waking up. It started to sink in that we were leaving the country, even though I thought it was just for Spring Break. I had barely made it out of Budapest since I was born, and now I would go to a totally different country, where they speak a different language.
I was caught up by all of the excitement. I was a kid about to embark on the biggest trip of my young life. The train station itself was a magnificent structure that I had not seen all that often. I looked up. The glass cover of the station towered way above me. The cars were clean and shiny. They put the best trains on the Western routes.
My father stood below our window until the train started rolling. He walked alongside for a while, then he stopped. He stood there and waved. I waved back. My mother did not. I had a smile on my face. My mother did not. I saw him getting smaller and smaller as the train pulled out of the station. We cleared the big roof above. My father was just a little dot now, and then he was gone.
After all the planning, my mother had to be worried that the whole thing would fall apart in a matter of minutes. The reason for the trip, after all, was pretty shallow. Maybe some of the people she paid off to get the needed documents sold her out. Maybe the authorities were onto us and were letting us go through with the plan, only to be nabbed as we tried to cross the border.
About a half hour into the trip, a soldier entered the cabin very politely, to check our papers again. He was looking through everything. My mother had it all in a neat package. It was all there - permission slips, visa, passport. He kept looking at them and asked her why we were traveling to Vienna. “We’re taking a little vacation. My son has never been out of the country. I want him to learn a little about other places … No, we are not visiting anyone … Yes, we are staying in Vienna for the whole time, planning to sightsee and visit museums … Yes, I am looking forward to returning. I have all my family here and my job.”
The soldier wrote something down, gave her the papers back and went to the next cabin. My mother’s face was white as snow.
The next stop was at Hegyeshalom-Nickelsdorf. Hegyeshalom was on the Hungarian side and Nickelsdorf on the Austrian side. My parents mentioned Hegyeshalom many times.
The train would leave Hungarian territory there. That’s the area where tall high-voltage fences, landmines and guards with machine guns and German shepherd dogs kept Hungarians in Hungary. Many tried to overcome these barriers and failed. A few succeeded.
The train came to a stop, and my mother said that it was as far as the Hungarian diesel locomotive would pull us. A few yards away, the railroad cars would be attached to an Austrian engine that would take us to Vienna.
All Hungarian border guards and soldiers on the train would leave, and the Austrians would board and check everything again. To me, it was all very interesting, but I didn’t comprehend the significance. Who cares who drove the train, right?
But this stop was the most dangerous for us. Everything could have fallen apart right there.
Another Hungarian border guard entered our cabin. He questioned my mother, then turned towards me. I even answered questions that weren’t asked. I talked about soccer, swimming and riding once to Debrecen in a steam locomotive. I think he got tired of hearing my voice. He went through all the paperwork and started writing on it. My mother looked normal to me, like she always looked. Her voice was normal. The guard was through with me. I think if I said another word he would have arrested me for disturbing the peace.
In a few minutes, the train started moving, but just far enough to get to the neutral zone, where the locomotives were changed out. That’s when the Austrians would board the train, and the Hungarians would leave. The train slowly rolled out of Hungary. All of our papers were in order. All of our answers were satisfactory.
Years later, when we talked about this, my mother asked me why I said that I could not wait to go home and tell my friends about all I had seen.
It was the truth. I was going to be the big shot in the class. I said exactly what was on my mind as a 10-year-old. It was perfect, she told me. That was what the guard needed to hear.
When we rolled into neutral territory, we were officially out of Hungary, a first for both of us. The train stopped, and there were a few pulls and pushes on the railroad cars.
We were now in Austrian hands. There was nobody left on the train to arrest my mother. We were rolling into Nickelsdorf. We just escaped with forged documents from behind the Iron Curtain.
Today, there is no border checkpoint between Hungary and Austria, both being European Union members. You can just drive through like driving between states in the USA. But in 1966, it was a different world, a much harsher, controlled world in Hungary.
This 40-year-old woman with a 10-year-old child pulled off what few, if anyone, thought was possible.
She leaned back in her seat, relieved that the ordeal was over. But only one part was over, the first part. There were many more parts to come as we rolled on those tracks of uncertainty towards the Austrian capital. We breathed “free” air and marveled at the Austrian countryside. It was The West - and we were looking at it for the first time.
(I have a book in the works and will keep you updated on how it’s progressing. Until then, enjoy snippets from time to time of my not-so-ordinary childhood.)