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The Birth of a Cultural Centre
(Delightful Stories)
Kedves Vendégeink, Honoured
Guests, Boys and Girls,
We hope
you will find many happy memories
in our wonderful Cultural Centre. You have been dreaming about it over the
decades. You have been working hard for having one. You have been saving
for it. And now, here it is! It took some courageous ladies, including
Katalin Kövér, Valéria Kelemen, and determined gentlemen such as Edmond
Vlaszaty, Endre Dolhai, Miklós Fischer. Your dream has come through. All
the credit belongs to you, pioneer members of the Hungarian Society of
Victoria. And to the many people who gave so generously. And to those who
volunteered their hard work. We should also pay homage to the Canada/B.C.
Infrastructure Program for the sizeable grant issued to our Society. (The
speaker turns to the honoured guests, Sheila Orr, MLA, to the Hon. David
Anderson, MP, and to His Worship, Alan Lowe, Mayor). Thank you for the
financial support, and many thanks for your confidence in us and in our
project. We shall remember this for years to come. Even in May, when the
Provincial election comes. This is a promise, Madam MLA! (Ms Orr clapped
with her hands in delight, saying “Thank You!” The audience gave a
thunderous applause.)
Now I would like to
tell you a few stories that have taken place during the reconstruction
work. I should know quite a few, as I have been present right from the
beginning. I was there, especially when it came to eating and to having a
beer or two. (Laughs.) The first time I entered the premises, there was a
bunch of guys huddling over a pile of papers, what they called blueprints.
There was John Nagy, we call him Nagy Jancsi, Master Builder. There was
Julius Karpati, or
Kárpáti Gyuszi, and the Farkas brothers, Nick and Joe, as well as Nick
Fischer, then President of the Society, and a couple of architects. They
were studying the blueprints. Big Deal!
I am a pragmatic
person. When I see an empty wall, a pile of long nails and a big hammer
lying about on the floor, I know what needs to be done. I picked up a
handful of nails, grabbed the big hammer and mounted the ladder. The poor
thing was shaking under the enormous weight. The guys over the blueprints
stopped for a minute, looking at me in amazement.
“Well,” I said to
myself, “I’ll show you what an elderly fellow can do!”
I put the long nails
under my left arm, one nail against the wall, and gave an enormous swing
to the hammer. BANG!
Missed. You could hear the hubcaps in the neighbouring store falling off
the wall on the other side. Nagy Jancsi sat down on a pile of lumber,
lowering his face in his palms. Smartening up, I put the nails in my left
jacket pocket, placed one nail against the wall and gave another swing
with the hammer. This time it said: PINGGG!
The crazy nail took
off like an American missile in happy Baghdad. George Fias could hardly
duck to save an eye.
Seeing this
performance, Nagy Jancsi got up and called up to me:
“Johnny, come on
down for a second, man.” He figured, that an ordinary accident, such as
the break of an arm or a leg, would be covered by the insurance company.
But if it came to a serious one, like the break of a neck or the back,
like that poor Superman fellow, Christopher Reeve, better not think of it.
Jancsi is a tall,
handsome fellow. He does not say very much, but when he does, it makes
sense. No wonder his co-workers respect him so much!
“Listen,” he said to
me. “We have a problem here. There is a guy coming to do community work
for us and we’d need someone highly educated to keep record of his time.
Would you do the honour for us?”
“Well,” I said, “if
there’s no one…”
“Good,”he cut in.
“Go on, then, pick up the phone and make all the arrangements.”
Well, like so many
times in my life, I got lucky again. I got promoted right there and then.
Of course, some of the guys over the blueprints called it a matter of
being kicked upward. It’s all right, though. It happens in life all the
time. Even in the government offices. (Laughing.)
This place didn’t
always look as neat as it does now. Oh no! It used to be a total mess.
Especially after the guys knocked down the old walls. The place looked
like a battleground. There were old drywalls and plywood and pieces of
metal and bent nails all over the place. You couldn’t possibly receive a
city inspector here. If our mayor had found out about the chaos he would
have hit the roof. (Laughs.) There was one person, Julius Karpati, who
thought of picking up the broom, the rake and shovel and clean up the
site. Gyuszi is a Renaissance man. He is knowledgeable in matters
intellectual and technical. He knows all about planning a project. He
knows how to prepare and read the blueprints. He has a special talent for
coordinating the team work. He is also familiar with the market, he knows
where to find the best material at the lowest price. He bought those
comfortable chairs you’re sitting on for peanuts. And he bought them not
for the expensive, Jimmy Carter grown peanuts, either. (Laughs.) In
addition to those wonderful personal qualities, Gyula would do the lowly
cleaning job as well.
He usually did this
during the weekends, when it was nice and quiet in here. One morning he
was standing in the middle of the lower floor, leaning on the handle of
his broom. He looked around, left and right, and he said to himself with
his usually quiet sound: Sepertem eleget, seperje mán
más is / Öleltem a babám, ölelje mán más is... (Loud singing, laughs.) The
neighbours gathered in front of the unit, peaking through the window,
shaking their head. „Poor guy,” they said. „Works too hard.”
They did
not realize that with a rich bariton like his, a fellow could easily find
himself a place in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir! (Laughs.) Or, if he tried
it really, really hard, he could get into the Red Army Choir in Moscow...
(Laughs.) Oh, Mr. Anderson tells me that the Red Army Choir does not exist
anymore. Oh yeh, I remember now. After the collapse of the Soviet Union,
that most magnificent empire that was famous for having had five harvests
every year, one in Poland, one in Hungary, one in Czechoslovakia, one in
East Germany and one in Rumania, Bulgaria and Albania. (Laughs.) After
the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Red Army Choir was unable to cover
the electricity bills and simply folded up. (Laughs.)
And there
were some disappointments, too. Take the case of Imre Csorba. That fine,
markant fellow was assigned the function of preparing the grounds for the
pipes. Now, that was a gruesome job. Some of you may still remember that
the lower platform is covered by cement floor, made of some special kind
of reinforced concrete. It’s like a thick layer of sheet metal, strong
enough to hold a regiment of Russian military tanks. The late T-72
models. (Laughs.) Now look, what am I talking about! We better leave the
Russky tanks out of this place (laughs), or else the Molotov cocktails
will start flying around (loud laughs).
Anyway,
Imre did a fine job at it. He used a heavy sledge hammer, a pick and
shovel. It took him five days of hard work, but he did it. It looked just
great. The ditch was about ten meters long, one and a half meter deep, and
one meter wide, beautifully cut like a piece of chocolate
cake – we haven’t had our dessert yet,
Maria and I, that’s why the strange metaphor. (Laughs.) The dugout looked
like a piece of art: gentle sloping along the sides, straight vertebra on
the top and the gentle facade looked really cute. The whole thing reminded
you of the Mátyás király Koronázó Templom in Budapest. (Laughs.) Imre was
most satisfied with his work. On the way home from the university, where
he works, he often got off the bus, stood in front of the unit, admiring
the result. It showed on his fine Hungarian moustache that he was
satisfied with his creation. And then what happened? The plumbers came,
laid the pipes and those insensitive guys jumped at the soil, filled the
holes and that took care of the cathedral! (Laughs.)
And then, Gyuszi
fell and broke his leg while cutting the grass on their estate. He got
laid up for six weeks. Gosh, we missed him dearly. However, the project
had a deadline on it, the work had to continue. We did come in all right,
volunteers and professionals, and carried on as best we could. But there
was no one to pick up the broom and clean up the place.
“Oh yeah?!” said
Nagy Jancsi.
And you would not
believe what he did. He replaced the front door. (Laughs.)
Well, not out of
revenge. János is not a malicious man. He is a perfectionist. He is
relentless when it comes to perfection. Have a look at the door on the
Editorial Office. It used to have a fine sliding door on it. However,
Jancsi looked at it, and looked at me, fat as I am, and said, No! It’s no
good. I’ll have it replaced. “You don’t have to do it, János,” I said
apologetically. But in reality I’m glad he did it. This way, when walking
in and out of the office, there’s no need to hold in my belly like this.
(Laughs.)
Well, this is what I
have time for. There are a great number of other stories, funny ones and
heroic ones. And I hope they’ll find their way into the annals of our
Society for the next generations to remember us by.
John Miska
(Presented at the
Official opening of the Hungarian Cultural Centre, Jan. 9, 2005.) |
