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When my father gave me a copy of "The Master of Go" for my 9th birthday, my grandfather remarked that one of his greatest regrets was that he "wasn't exactly in the mood to sightsee after the war". As opposed to, e.g., Robert Heinlein, whose racial attitudes could perhaps be summed up as "Hating Negroes is Stupid Hate the Filthy Nips Instead!".
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They did, despite having turned the guy down twice previously, because "Poor Credit Risk" was, back then and back there, code for "We Don't Lend Money to No Nigras".ĭespite having served when/where he did, he harbored absolutely no ill will toward the Japanese. Upon hearing that an ex-squadmate of his in the Marines (WWII, Pacific Theater) was having trouble, after the war, getting a home loan, he dragged the guy into his bank and barged into the manager's office, demanding that the bank give the guy a loan, with my grandfather as cosigner. When his kids' Catholic schools sent home warnings about the Satanic Drug-Fueled Rocking And / Or Rolling Music, his reaction was to open charge accounts for my father and aunt at three local music stores. I doubt I'd be able to deal with what he went through.ĭo you have any particularly interesting relatives? He didn't do anything that amazing he didn't change the world, or help anyone else particularly, but I respect him for being able to put up with such horrendous treatment and come out on top. There, he got married, had a few children, and then went and died before I was born. He managed to learn enough Russian to be able to speak to and get along with the guards, and, after four years was released back to Hungary. Most amazing, however, is the fact that at one point he was the only one in his work camp of ~40 people who didn't die of an outbreak of typhoid. The sudden change in temperature caused quite a number to die of hypothermia/pneumonia/goodness knows what. The workers were fed pea soup for every meal for months on end, and had to work in the mines (>30☌) whereas above ground it was >-20☌. He ended up working in the coal mines for four years, in absolutely appalling conditions. Anyway, that's what happened to poor István. Not because the people had done anything wrong just because they needed more labour and, of course, everyone should be grateful to support the motherland and so on. Occasionally, what they'd do is simply close off a street at both ends, let all the women and children out, and send all the able-bodied men to Siberia to work in the coal mines. My middle name is István, which is named after my grandfather who lived in Hungary when it was under Soviet occupation. There's various people I admire for various reasons, but I can't think of many I'd describe as heroes.