{"id":1043462,"date":"2019-01-02T17:26:16","date_gmt":"2019-01-02T22:26:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.bocskairadio.org\/?p=1043462"},"modified":"2019-01-02T17:26:16","modified_gmt":"2019-01-02T22:26:16","slug":"the-spirit-of-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bocskairadio.org\/en\/the-spirit-of-christmas\/","title":{"rendered":"The Spirit of Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"

by Ferenc N. Somogyi
\nFor Christmas Eve, December 24, 2018<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He wore his weather-beaten black fedora at a slight angle. As he walked along the quiet brick street, he held the collar of his charcoal-gray woolen overcoat close to his neck. The street was sparsely lit by a few old streetlamps, which shined gentle beams of light toward the ground and illuminated the fragile snowflakes flurrying about in the windy night. The street itself was lined on both sides by turn-of-the-century American houses, most of them gray or white or beige. Those houses, most of them dark at this hour, were most properly workingmen\u2019s estates, but in that dismal year of 1930, they were palaces to their residents.<\/p>\n

By his own standards, the man in the black fedora felt himself lucky. In his fifteen years in the United States, he had made for himself a respectable, but by no means glorious, living. Factory work was dull and repetitive, of course, but it was certainly a step up from the farming lifestyle of his youth. Somehow, though, he missed those days. The rolling plains of his native northeastern Hungary were where he had grown up and eventually met his wife, God rest her soul. There was something so temptingly simple about that past life, so beautiful and pure, something no smog-producing factory tower in \u201cthe land of the free\u201d could replace.<\/p>\n

It was true, America had been good to him. It truly was a place of opportunity\u2026 but it was also fraught with problems that had never interested the man in the black fedora in the slightest. Mortgages and stocks and politicians and billionaires and all sorts of other hoopla \u2013 in his opinion, everybody should\u2019ve just kept to themselves, and the Depression would\u2019ve never happened. But it was what it was, the man scolded himself, and there was no point mulling over the past now. The situation would have to be dealt with. He had been out of work for nearly three months, and he didn\u2019t fancy himself accepting help from Cleveland\u2019s soup kitchens. He was Hungarian. He could fend for himself.<\/p>\n

As the man made his way along the street, focused intently on the steps he made in the snow, a movement on the other side of the street caught his eye. Stopping, the man looked up and through the snow. His gaze fell upon a male figure heading in the opposite direction who, by the looks of him, was about the same height as the man with the fedora. Strangely, the figure was not clad in the customary overcoat of the time, but instead he was wearing some sort of white shirt. He did not notice the man with the fedora. His arms were held close to his body as if to conserve heat.<\/p>\n

More out of curiosity than anything, the man with the fedora watched the white figure for a few seconds. Suddenly, the figure seemed to stumble on the icy sidewalk, and fell over into the snow. Then, driven by a strange impulse his very private self usually neglected, the man with the fedora set off in a brisk walk on an intercept course with the figure.<\/p>\n

When the man with the fedora had reached the other figure, he held out his arm for the person to take. The figure accepted the help, and, with a strange calmness about him, smiled pleasantly, as he stood up. Slightly out of breath, the man with the fedora promptly asked, \u201cWhat are you doing out here in the snow? It\u2019s Christmas Eve. Don\u2019t you have family?\u201d Only after he had said this did he realize he had fallen back to the same type of abrupt talk he had always tried to break. After an awkward pause, he continued, \u201cMy name\u2019s J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri,\u201d and he held out his hand.<\/p>\n

The other man, who looked about the same age as J\u00e1nos, took his visitor\u2019s hand and shook it firmly. \u201cYou have an accent,\u201d he said, continuing to smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, do you,\u201d said J\u00e1nos, slightly too defensively.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Nicolae Sibianu. You\u2019re Hungarian, are you not? From Satu Mare. I worked with some Hungarians back at home, so I could tell your name gives away your hometown.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos responded cautiously. \u201cYou are Romanian. From Nagyszeben. I\u2026 also speak some Romanian. Similar reasons. Your name… also gives away your hometown.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae smiled some more. \u201cLook at us. We call our home-cities different things, but both our peoples live in them. And somehow, we both end up in this foreign place, meeting as neighbors again. And we recognize each other by our last names! And, most importantly, we seem to get along. That <\/em>is a rarity in these modern days among our peoples.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos digested Nicolae\u2019s words. Then, he said, \u201cAre you from around here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom a little way to the west, yes,\u201d Nicolae answered, \u201cIn the Romanian neighborhood. But tonight, I wander into the Hungarian neighborhood.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos thought this strange. \u201cHave you no home or family?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae shrugged in reply. \u201cMy family is in Romania, awaiting my return. I came here five years ago to make money to take home, and things looked good until the stock market crash. I have been stuck here since. As for my home\u2026. Another Romanian family, one with fourteen children and no house for two months, needed it more than I did. I gave it to them for now \u2013 it is Christmas, after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos listened to this quietly. He looked the Romanian up and down, and to his surprise, realized the white clothing was nothing other than the traditional peasant clothing of Romanians.<\/p>\n

Nicolae saw J\u00e1nos\u2019 expression. \u201cMy clothing is peculiar here, isn\u2019t it? But it\u2019s all I have. I sold the American stuff just recently for money. But this\u2026 well, I would never sell it. Besides, I doubt anyone would want it.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos suddenly felt a pang. Only weeks ago, he had sold his own traditional coat from Hungary. Maybe he should have kept it, like this man kept his clothes. It would have kept him warm\u2026.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy friend, you seem better off than me,\u201d Nicolae added. \u201cDo you not have a family? Or a home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI \u2013 well, no. I am staying with some friends down the street. They are nice people \u2013 wanted to share a humble Christmas with me \u2013 but\u2026 no, I didn\u2019t feel right there. My wife has been dead for seven years and my two children are in New York with a better-off cousin of mine,\u201d J\u00e1nos revealed.<\/p>\n

Nicolae twisted his mouth in thought. \u201cWell, neither of us have anywhere to go \u2013 except onward, of course. Do you mind if I join you in your walk? No one should spend Christmas alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos apprehensively considered, then nodded in agreement. \u201cYour people and my people don\u2019t get along, but \u2013 you are different.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae gave another grin. \u201cThank you. You, too, are a welcome symbol of friendship among our peoples.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos objected quietly. \u201cI do not make friends quickly… not with you, not with anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae shrugged. \u201cWhich way shall we walk?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYours,\u201d J\u00e1nos said briskly. There was a stubborn reason to this decision that Nicolae chose to not explore. The situation was fragile enough as it was: members of two proud nations, brought together under extreme circumstances and cordially accepting each other. It was best to leave it at that, and find bonds between the two, not divisions.<\/p>\n

Silently, as the two began to walk, they seemed to subconsciously agree that no political discussions would tarnish their extraordinary relationship. It was Christmas, after all \u2013 a time for unity.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Nicolae and J\u00e1nos did not talk much as they walked. Their only discussion was about the nature of Christmas \u2013 something to which they could both relate.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow beautiful, that our Lord would come to earth as a baby boy to save us,\u201d Nicolae sighed. Looking to his left at his quiet counterpart, he asked, \u201cAre you religious?\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos grunted. \u201cReligious? I\u2026 I\u2019ve always been Catholic, but I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m not religious. Stopped going to Mass a few years ago. You know, work. God has to understand that. I work to keep my children and myself well. God won\u2019t force me to go to Mass. He probably doesn\u2019t care anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae disagreed, but he changed the topic. \u201cYour mustache is very manly. I have always envied Hungarians for their skill with mustaches.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos looked over at Nicolae, some rare brightness in his eyes. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two had been walking for a good time by then. While the style of the houses around them hadn\u2019t changed, the residents certainly had. The two men had entered the edge of the west side German enclave, and the German spirit was strong and steadfast. All seemed quiet for a while, but as Nicolae and J\u00e1nos admired some of the nicer homes of the better-off poverty-stricken immigrants, some yelling pierced the cold night air. Curious, Nicolae and J\u00e1nos turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small hardware shop nestled between two houses. At the door of the hardware shop was a bedraggled, red-bearded man in dirty brown overalls and an undersized newsboy\u2019s hat. The man was banging on the shop door, angry and fierce.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen up, you rascal! I ain\u2019t going to tolerate this here attitude! I work here an\u2019 I wanna stay here tonight! The weather\u2019s a wee bit chilly, if you hadn\u2019t noticed!\u201d The man had a heavy accent.<\/p>\n

A voice from inside the shop responded, overpowering even the strength of the shop walls and reverberating in the night. \u201cNo one is staying in this shop! Nein<\/em>! I am the owner and I decide!\u201d This man also had an accent, but of different sort.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos would\u2019ve rather stayed away from the fight, but Nicolae ran over to the shouting. \u201cWhat\u2019s this noise? It\u2019s Christmas Eve!\u201d<\/p>\n

The red-bearded man turned on Nicolae. \u201cGo away, you Easterner!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae was unfazed by the nationalist insult. \u201cWho\u2019s in the shop?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy German boss, that\u2019s who,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019ve got no family, and he won\u2019t even let me in his place on Christmas to sleep!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae narrowed his eyes. Then, turning to the door, he said something angry in German.<\/p>\n

A dark-haired, dark-eyed man emerged slowly from the tiny shop, eyeing Nicolae with amazement. \u201cYou \u2013 you speak German? You do not look <\/em>German!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cI\u2019m Romanian, but I have family in Germany. I spent time there as well. And I\u2019m from one of the biggest Saxon-German cities in Romania.\u201d<\/p>\n

The German looked thunderstruck, but regained himself quickly. \u201cWell \u2013 stay out of our fight! This Irishman and I will not be disturbed!<\/p>\n

Interestingly, the Irishman seemed to agree.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, J\u00e1nos stepped up. \u201cExcuse me, but this is ridiculous. It is Christmas Eve and you two want to fight.\u201d He peered into the rickety shop carefully. In the darkness, he could just barely make out an old camp bed (military grade, by the looks of it) and a dirty bucket. J\u00e1nos then glanced at the German. The man was wearing pieces and parts of what must once have been a fine black suit. He was unshaved and jittery. He was also unnaturally thin, and his overall composure was one of rugged self-reliance and mistrust of anyone else.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos spoke slowly, but confidently. \u201cThis shop is no home, nor is it a proper substitute for one\u2026 do not lie to me and tell me it is,\u201d he said, addressing the German. He waited for a response.<\/p>\n

The German\u2019s eyes drifted, embarrassed, to the ground for a moment, after which they darted silently back to focus on the other men.<\/p>\n

His assumption proven, J\u00e1nos continued, addressing the German and Irishman. \u201cIf you don\u2019t have a place to go\u2026 why don\u2019t you join my\u2026 my friend and I?\u201d This was unnatural for him \u2013 that is, labeling others as friends.<\/p>\n

Nicolae watched with awe. J\u00e1nos, no longer reserved and unfriendly, had extended a hand of companionship to lonely souls \u2013 and <\/em>called someone he would have considered a foe a friend!<\/p>\n

The German surveyed the scene carefully. He looked to the Irishman, who was also processing the situation. Finally, he clicked his heels together, bowed slowly, and said, \u201cI am Klaus Schmidt. My company is yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Irishman, feeling pressure to not be left alone, quickly added, \u201cBrian O\u2019Flaherty, at your service,\u201d extending his hand.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos shook O\u2019Flaherty\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

Nicolae jumped to introduce himself. \u201cMy name is Nicolae Sibianu. I am Romanian.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I am J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri. Hungarian,\u201d J\u00e1nos said.<\/p>\n

More handshaking followed, after which the four set off in the direction the original two had been heading, towards the middle of the city. Conversation was easier now, with four men instead of two. They exchanged backstories as they walked. As it turned out, all were in a similar economic predicament. They were friends before too long, and the Irishman and German forgot their argument.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, once back in Cork in Ireland, I drank so-ooo much whiskey I \u2013\u201d Brian was cut off in the middle of his story as the four saw two figures running toward them. One was throwing snowballs at the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo away, you foreign runt!\u201d the snowball-throwing figure called in a young male voice. \u201cGo back to your own neighborhood!\u201d That voice was without accent\u2026.<\/p>\n

The smaller figure was looking behind him at the apparent bully, running without hesitation. Suddenly, he ran straight into Klaus, sending the two flying to the ground. Before any apologies could be exchanged, the bully caught up, surveying the crowd with apprehension. A glance at Nicolae convinced him his lingering hunch was right, but as he prepared to spew nativist insults, Brian inched towards him, as red in the face as he was in the beard.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, you listen here, boy\u2026 you may be an American, but I\u2019ve got news for you. So are we! And the fact that we\u2019re not like you doesn\u2019t change one bit of the fact that we\u2019re stuck together, and we\u2019ve got to get along! And how dare <\/em>you take this holy night for your sinful activities! Go home to your family! Go! Your clothes give it away, you\u2019re not poor! Go, and learn a lesson about common human decency!\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy darted away quickly. Brian\u2019s attention turned to the other boy, now up from the ground and apologizing profusely to Klaus.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your name, sonny?\u201d Brian asked.<\/p>\n

The boy looked about nineteen. He was skinny and dressed in clothes too small for him. Nervously, he said, \u201cThank \u2013 thank you. My \u2013 my name is Andrzej Nowak. I \u2013 I speak bad English. I \u2013 I am Polish.\u201d The boy seemed to want to say something else but couldn\u2019t find the words.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are also foreign,\u201d Klaus said. \u201cWe have no families. Do you have one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cY-yes,\u201d Andrzej answered slowly. \u201cI \u2013 I was with my friends \u2013 they are American, and they are kind\u2026 not like that boy. They help me learn English. But I was chased by the no\u2026 no kind boy and need to get home, for I am\u2026 I am\u2026 la\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLate,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cYou are late is what you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

Andrzej nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs your house far from here?\u201d J\u00e1nos asked. \u201cWe can accompany you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is\u2026 it is not f-far,\u201d the boy stuttered. \u201cF-f-f-follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so, the group, now five in number, set off together. Andrzej proved to be an intelligent and kind young man. Soon, he was reminiscing with the others and feeling at ease with them.<\/p>\n

Finally, the group came upon a modest house in the Polish neighborhood \u2013 the Nowak residence. As J\u00e1nos, Nicolae, Brian, and Klaus prepared to bid Andrzej goodnight, the boy spoke up. \u201cPlease \u2013 my friends \u2013 come share Christmas Eve with us. It is just my parents and I.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDanke<\/em>, but \u2013\u201d began Klaus for the group, but Andrzej insisted.<\/p>\n

The men looked at each other cautiously. In the short time of wandering through the streets of Cleveland, they had become companions, and friends. They were all quite different, but their American stories made them all similar. They were nothing less than brothers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe would be delighted to join you,\u201d Nicolae said to Andrzej politely.<\/p>\n

The group then entered the warm household, following the beam of light from the open door that beckoned them warmly. And as the last man shut the door behind him, a clearing in the cloudy winter sky appeared. A star \u2013 brighter than any other \u2013 shone from that clearing onto the home. In that place, the spirit of Christmas was alive and well.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Spirit of Christmas <\/em>by Ferenc N. Somogyi<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

NOTE<\/em><\/strong>: This story is based on how Cleveland\u2019s West Side neighborhoods existed in the 1920s and 1930s. The characters are entirely fictional, but are meant to reflect and explore the ethnic composition of early twentieth-century Cleveland. Below is a map showing the progression of the characters through the city, starting from the left star and ending approximately at the right star. Key: Rm=Romanian; Hu=Hungarian; Ge=German; Po=Polish<\/strong>. The blank area to the right of the Polish neighborhood is American and where the American boy in the story lives<\/em>.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Ferenc N. Somogyi
\nFor Christmas Eve, December 24, 2018<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He wore his weather-beaten black fedora at a slight angle. As he walked along the quiet brick street, he held the collar of his charcoal-gray woolen overcoat close to his neck. The street was sparsely lit by a few old streetlamps, which shined gentle beams of light toward the ground and illuminated the fragile snowflakes flurrying about in the windy night. The street itself was lined on both sides by turn-of-the-century American houses, most of them gray or white or beige. Those houses, most of them dark at this hour, were most properly workingmen\u2019s estates, but in that dismal year of 1930, they were palaces to their residents.<\/p>\n

By his own standards, the man in the black fedora felt himself lucky. In his fifteen years in the United States, he had made for himself a respectable, but by no means glorious, living. Factory work was dull and repetitive, of course, but it was certainly a step up from the farming lifestyle of his youth. Somehow, though, he missed those days. The rolling plains of his native northeastern Hungary were where he had grown up and eventually met his wife, God rest her soul. There was something so temptingly simple about that past life, so beautiful and pure, something no smog-producing factory tower in \u201cthe land of the free\u201d could replace.<\/p>\n

It was true, America had been good to him. It truly was a place of opportunity\u2026 but it was also fraught with problems that had never interested the man in the black fedora in the slightest. Mortgages and stocks and politicians and billionaires and all sorts of other hoopla \u2013 in his opinion, everybody should\u2019ve just kept to themselves, and the Depression would\u2019ve never happened. But it was what it was, the man scolded himself, and there was no point mulling over the past now. The situation would have to be dealt with. He had been out of work for nearly three months, and he didn\u2019t fancy himself accepting help from Cleveland\u2019s soup kitchens. He was Hungarian. He could fend for himself.<\/p>\n

As the man made his way along the street, focused intently on the steps he made in the snow, a movement on the other side of the street caught his eye. Stopping, the man looked up and through the snow. His gaze fell upon a male figure heading in the opposite direction who, by the looks of him, was about the same height as the man with the fedora. Strangely, the figure was not clad in the customary overcoat of the time, but instead he was wearing some sort of white shirt. He did not notice the man with the fedora. His arms were held close to his body as if to conserve heat.<\/p>\n

More out of curiosity than anything, the man with the fedora watched the white figure for a few seconds. Suddenly, the figure seemed to stumble on the icy sidewalk, and fell over into the snow. Then, driven by a strange impulse his very private self usually neglected, the man with the fedora set off in a brisk walk on an intercept course with the figure.<\/p>\n

When the man with the fedora had reached the other figure, he held out his arm for the person to take. The figure accepted the help, and, with a strange calmness about him, smiled pleasantly, as he stood up. Slightly out of breath, the man with the fedora promptly asked, \u201cWhat are you doing out here in the snow? It\u2019s Christmas Eve. Don\u2019t you have family?\u201d Only after he had said this did he realize he had fallen back to the same type of abrupt talk he had always tried to break. After an awkward pause, he continued, \u201cMy name\u2019s J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri,\u201d and he held out his hand.<\/p>\n

The other man, who looked about the same age as J\u00e1nos, took his visitor\u2019s hand and shook it firmly. \u201cYou have an accent,\u201d he said, continuing to smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, do you,\u201d said J\u00e1nos, slightly too defensively.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Nicolae Sibianu. You\u2019re Hungarian, are you not? From Satu Mare. I worked with some Hungarians back at home, so I could tell your name gives away your hometown.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos responded cautiously. \u201cYou are Romanian. From Nagyszeben. I\u2026 also speak some Romanian. Similar reasons. Your name… also gives away your hometown.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae smiled some more. \u201cLook at us. We call our home-cities different things, but both our peoples live in them. And somehow, we both end up in this foreign place, meeting as neighbors again. And we recognize each other by our last names! And, most importantly, we seem to get along. That <\/em>is a rarity in these modern days among our peoples.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos digested Nicolae\u2019s words. Then, he said, \u201cAre you from around here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom a little way to the west, yes,\u201d Nicolae answered, \u201cIn the Romanian neighborhood. But tonight, I wander into the Hungarian neighborhood.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos thought this strange. \u201cHave you no home or family?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae shrugged in reply. \u201cMy family is in Romania, awaiting my return. I came here five years ago to make money to take home, and things looked good until the stock market crash. I have been stuck here since. As for my home\u2026. Another Romanian family, one with fourteen children and no house for two months, needed it more than I did. I gave it to them for now \u2013 it is Christmas, after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos listened to this quietly. He looked the Romanian up and down, and to his surprise, realized the white clothing was nothing other than the traditional peasant clothing of Romanians.<\/p>\n

Nicolae saw J\u00e1nos\u2019 expression. \u201cMy clothing is peculiar here, isn\u2019t it? But it\u2019s all I have. I sold the American stuff just recently for money. But this\u2026 well, I would never sell it. Besides, I doubt anyone would want it.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos suddenly felt a pang. Only weeks ago, he had sold his own traditional coat from Hungary. Maybe he should have kept it, like this man kept his clothes. It would have kept him warm\u2026.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy friend, you seem better off than me,\u201d Nicolae added. \u201cDo you not have a family? Or a home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI \u2013 well, no. I am staying with some friends down the street. They are nice people \u2013 wanted to share a humble Christmas with me \u2013 but\u2026 no, I didn\u2019t feel right there. My wife has been dead for seven years and my two children are in New York with a better-off cousin of mine,\u201d J\u00e1nos revealed.<\/p>\n

Nicolae twisted his mouth in thought. \u201cWell, neither of us have anywhere to go \u2013 except onward, of course. Do you mind if I join you in your walk? No one should spend Christmas alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos apprehensively considered, then nodded in agreement. \u201cYour people and my people don\u2019t get along, but \u2013 you are different.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae gave another grin. \u201cThank you. You, too, are a welcome symbol of friendship among our peoples.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos objected quietly. \u201cI do not make friends quickly… not with you, not with anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae shrugged. \u201cWhich way shall we walk?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYours,\u201d J\u00e1nos said briskly. There was a stubborn reason to this decision that Nicolae chose to not explore. The situation was fragile enough as it was: members of two proud nations, brought together under extreme circumstances and cordially accepting each other. It was best to leave it at that, and find bonds between the two, not divisions.<\/p>\n

Silently, as the two began to walk, they seemed to subconsciously agree that no political discussions would tarnish their extraordinary relationship. It was Christmas, after all \u2013 a time for unity.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Nicolae and J\u00e1nos did not talk much as they walked. Their only discussion was about the nature of Christmas \u2013 something to which they could both relate.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow beautiful, that our Lord would come to earth as a baby boy to save us,\u201d Nicolae sighed. Looking to his left at his quiet counterpart, he asked, \u201cAre you religious?\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos grunted. \u201cReligious? I\u2026 I\u2019ve always been Catholic, but I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m not religious. Stopped going to Mass a few years ago. You know, work. God has to understand that. I work to keep my children and myself well. God won\u2019t force me to go to Mass. He probably doesn\u2019t care anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae disagreed, but he changed the topic. \u201cYour mustache is very manly. I have always envied Hungarians for their skill with mustaches.\u201d<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos looked over at Nicolae, some rare brightness in his eyes. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two had been walking for a good time by then. While the style of the houses around them hadn\u2019t changed, the residents certainly had. The two men had entered the edge of the west side German enclave, and the German spirit was strong and steadfast. All seemed quiet for a while, but as Nicolae and J\u00e1nos admired some of the nicer homes of the better-off poverty-stricken immigrants, some yelling pierced the cold night air. Curious, Nicolae and J\u00e1nos turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small hardware shop nestled between two houses. At the door of the hardware shop was a bedraggled, red-bearded man in dirty brown overalls and an undersized newsboy\u2019s hat. The man was banging on the shop door, angry and fierce.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen up, you rascal! I ain\u2019t going to tolerate this here attitude! I work here an\u2019 I wanna stay here tonight! The weather\u2019s a wee bit chilly, if you hadn\u2019t noticed!\u201d The man had a heavy accent.<\/p>\n

A voice from inside the shop responded, overpowering even the strength of the shop walls and reverberating in the night. \u201cNo one is staying in this shop! Nein<\/em>! I am the owner and I decide!\u201d This man also had an accent, but of different sort.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos would\u2019ve rather stayed away from the fight, but Nicolae ran over to the shouting. \u201cWhat\u2019s this noise? It\u2019s Christmas Eve!\u201d<\/p>\n

The red-bearded man turned on Nicolae. \u201cGo away, you Easterner!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae was unfazed by the nationalist insult. \u201cWho\u2019s in the shop?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy German boss, that\u2019s who,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019ve got no family, and he won\u2019t even let me in his place on Christmas to sleep!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicolae narrowed his eyes. Then, turning to the door, he said something angry in German.<\/p>\n

A dark-haired, dark-eyed man emerged slowly from the tiny shop, eyeing Nicolae with amazement. \u201cYou \u2013 you speak German? You do not look <\/em>German!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cI\u2019m Romanian, but I have family in Germany. I spent time there as well. And I\u2019m from one of the biggest Saxon-German cities in Romania.\u201d<\/p>\n

The German looked thunderstruck, but regained himself quickly. \u201cWell \u2013 stay out of our fight! This Irishman and I will not be disturbed!<\/p>\n

Interestingly, the Irishman seemed to agree.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, J\u00e1nos stepped up. \u201cExcuse me, but this is ridiculous. It is Christmas Eve and you two want to fight.\u201d He peered into the rickety shop carefully. In the darkness, he could just barely make out an old camp bed (military grade, by the looks of it) and a dirty bucket. J\u00e1nos then glanced at the German. The man was wearing pieces and parts of what must once have been a fine black suit. He was unshaved and jittery. He was also unnaturally thin, and his overall composure was one of rugged self-reliance and mistrust of anyone else.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos spoke slowly, but confidently. \u201cThis shop is no home, nor is it a proper substitute for one\u2026 do not lie to me and tell me it is,\u201d he said, addressing the German. He waited for a response.<\/p>\n

The German\u2019s eyes drifted, embarrassed, to the ground for a moment, after which they darted silently back to focus on the other men.<\/p>\n

His assumption proven, J\u00e1nos continued, addressing the German and Irishman. \u201cIf you don\u2019t have a place to go\u2026 why don\u2019t you join my\u2026 my friend and I?\u201d This was unnatural for him \u2013 that is, labeling others as friends.<\/p>\n

Nicolae watched with awe. J\u00e1nos, no longer reserved and unfriendly, had extended a hand of companionship to lonely souls \u2013 and <\/em>called someone he would have considered a foe a friend!<\/p>\n

The German surveyed the scene carefully. He looked to the Irishman, who was also processing the situation. Finally, he clicked his heels together, bowed slowly, and said, \u201cI am Klaus Schmidt. My company is yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Irishman, feeling pressure to not be left alone, quickly added, \u201cBrian O\u2019Flaherty, at your service,\u201d extending his hand.<\/p>\n

J\u00e1nos shook O\u2019Flaherty\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

Nicolae jumped to introduce himself. \u201cMy name is Nicolae Sibianu. I am Romanian.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I am J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri. Hungarian,\u201d J\u00e1nos said.<\/p>\n

More handshaking followed, after which the four set off in the direction the original two had been heading, towards the middle of the city. Conversation was easier now, with four men instead of two. They exchanged backstories as they walked. As it turned out, all were in a similar economic predicament. They were friends before too long, and the Irishman and German forgot their argument.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, once back in Cork in Ireland, I drank so-ooo much whiskey I \u2013\u201d Brian was cut off in the middle of his story as the four saw two figures running toward them. One was throwing snowballs at the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo away, you foreign runt!\u201d the snowball-throwing figure called in a young male voice. \u201cGo back to your own neighborhood!\u201d That voice was without accent\u2026.<\/p>\n

The smaller figure was looking behind him at the apparent bully, running without hesitation. Suddenly, he ran straight into Klaus, sending the two flying to the ground. Before any apologies could be exchanged, the bully caught up, surveying the crowd with apprehension. A glance at Nicolae convinced him his lingering hunch was right, but as he prepared to spew nativist insults, Brian inched towards him, as red in the face as he was in the beard.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, you listen here, boy\u2026 you may be an American, but I\u2019ve got news for you. So are we! And the fact that we\u2019re not like you doesn\u2019t change one bit of the fact that we\u2019re stuck together, and we\u2019ve got to get along! And how dare <\/em>you take this holy night for your sinful activities! Go home to your family! Go! Your clothes give it away, you\u2019re not poor! Go, and learn a lesson about common human decency!\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy darted away quickly. Brian\u2019s attention turned to the other boy, now up from the ground and apologizing profusely to Klaus.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your name, sonny?\u201d Brian asked.<\/p>\n

The boy looked about nineteen. He was skinny and dressed in clothes too small for him. Nervously, he said, \u201cThank \u2013 thank you. My \u2013 my name is Andrzej Nowak. I \u2013 I speak bad English. I \u2013 I am Polish.\u201d The boy seemed to want to say something else but couldn\u2019t find the words.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are also foreign,\u201d Klaus said. \u201cWe have no families. Do you have one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cY-yes,\u201d Andrzej answered slowly. \u201cI \u2013 I was with my friends \u2013 they are American, and they are kind\u2026 not like that boy. They help me learn English. But I was chased by the no\u2026 no kind boy and need to get home, for I am\u2026 I am\u2026 la\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLate,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cYou are late is what you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

Andrzej nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs your house far from here?\u201d J\u00e1nos asked. \u201cWe can accompany you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is\u2026 it is not f-far,\u201d the boy stuttered. \u201cF-f-f-follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so, the group, now five in number, set off together. Andrzej proved to be an intelligent and kind young man. Soon, he was reminiscing with the others and feeling at ease with them.<\/p>\n

Finally, the group came upon a modest house in the Polish neighborhood \u2013 the Nowak residence. As J\u00e1nos, Nicolae, Brian, and Klaus prepared to bid Andrzej goodnight, the boy spoke up. \u201cPlease \u2013 my friends \u2013 come share Christmas Eve with us. It is just my parents and I.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDanke<\/em>, but \u2013\u201d began Klaus for the group, but Andrzej insisted.<\/p>\n

The men looked at each other cautiously. In the short time of wandering through the streets of Cleveland, they had become companions, and friends. They were all quite different, but their American stories made them all similar. They were nothing less than brothers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe would be delighted to join you,\u201d Nicolae said to Andrzej politely.<\/p>\n

The group then entered the warm household, following the beam of light from the open door that beckoned them warmly. And as the last man shut the door behind him, a clearing in the cloudy winter sky appeared. A star \u2013 brighter than any other \u2013 shone from that clearing onto the home. In that place, the spirit of Christmas was alive and well.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Spirit of Christmas <\/em>by Ferenc N. Somogyi<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

NOTE<\/em><\/strong>: This story is based on how Cleveland\u2019s West Side neighborhoods existed in the 1920s and 1930s. The characters are entirely fictional, but are meant to reflect and explore the ethnic composition of early twentieth-century Cleveland. Below is a map showing the progression of the characters through the city, starting from the left star and ending approximately at the right star. Key: Rm=Romanian; Hu=Hungarian; Ge=German; Po=Polish<\/strong>. The blank area to the right of the Polish neighborhood is American and where the American boy in the story lives<\/em>.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1043465,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[166],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1043462","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-news"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Spirit of Christmas – Bocskai R\u00e1di\u00f3<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.bocskairadio.org\/en\/the-spirit-of-christmas\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Spirit of Christmas – Bocskai R\u00e1di\u00f3\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"by Ferenc N. Somogyi For Christmas Eve, December 24, 2018   He wore his weather-beaten black fedora at a slight angle. As he walked along the quiet brick street, he held the collar of his charcoal-gray woolen overcoat close to his neck. The street was sparsely lit by a few old streetlamps, which shined gentle beams of light toward the ground and illuminated the fragile snowflakes flurrying about in the windy night. The street itself was lined on both sides by turn-of-the-century American houses, most of them gray or white or beige. Those houses, most of them dark at this hour, were most properly workingmen\u2019s estates, but in that dismal year of 1930, they were palaces to their residents. By his own standards, the man in the black fedora felt himself lucky. In his fifteen years in the United States, he had made for himself a respectable, but by no means glorious, living. Factory work was dull and repetitive, of course, but it was certainly a step up from the farming lifestyle of his youth. Somehow, though, he missed those days. The rolling plains of his native northeastern Hungary were where he had grown up and eventually met his wife, God rest her soul. There was something so temptingly simple about that past life, so beautiful and pure, something no smog-producing factory tower in \u201cthe land of the free\u201d could replace. It was true, America had been good to him. It truly was a place of opportunity\u2026 but it was also fraught with problems that had never interested the man in the black fedora in the slightest. Mortgages and stocks and politicians and billionaires and all sorts of other hoopla \u2013 in his opinion, everybody should\u2019ve just kept to themselves, and the Depression would\u2019ve never happened. But it was what it was, the man scolded himself, and there was no point mulling over the past now. The situation would have to be dealt with. He had been out of work for nearly three months, and he didn\u2019t fancy himself accepting help from Cleveland\u2019s soup kitchens. He was Hungarian. He could fend for himself. As the man made his way along the street, focused intently on the steps he made in the snow, a movement on the other side of the street caught his eye. Stopping, the man looked up and through the snow. His gaze fell upon a male figure heading in the opposite direction who, by the looks of him, was about the same height as the man with the fedora. Strangely, the figure was not clad in the customary overcoat of the time, but instead he was wearing some sort of white shirt. He did not notice the man with the fedora. His arms were held close to his body as if to conserve heat. More out of curiosity than anything, the man with the fedora watched the white figure for a few seconds. Suddenly, the figure seemed to stumble on the icy sidewalk, and fell over into the snow. Then, driven by a strange impulse his very private self usually neglected, the man with the fedora set off in a brisk walk on an intercept course with the figure. When the man with the fedora had reached the other figure, he held out his arm for the person to take. The figure accepted the help, and, with a strange calmness about him, smiled pleasantly, as he stood up. Slightly out of breath, the man with the fedora promptly asked, \u201cWhat are you doing out here in the snow? It\u2019s Christmas Eve. Don\u2019t you have family?\u201d Only after he had said this did he realize he had fallen back to the same type of abrupt talk he had always tried to break. After an awkward pause, he continued, \u201cMy name\u2019s J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri,\u201d and he held out his hand. The other man, who looked about the same age as J\u00e1nos, took his visitor\u2019s hand and shook it firmly. \u201cYou have an accent,\u201d he said, continuing to smile. \u201cSo, do you,\u201d said J\u00e1nos, slightly too defensively. \u201cMy name\u2019s Nicolae Sibianu. You\u2019re Hungarian, are you not? From Satu Mare. I worked with some Hungarians back at home, so I could tell your name gives away your hometown.\u201d J\u00e1nos responded cautiously. \u201cYou are Romanian. From Nagyszeben. I\u2026 also speak some Romanian. Similar reasons. Your name... also gives away your hometown.\u201d Nicolae smiled some more. \u201cLook at us. We call our home-cities different things, but both our peoples live in them. And somehow, we both end up in this foreign place, meeting as neighbors again. And we recognize each other by our last names! And, most importantly, we seem to get along. That is a rarity in these modern days among our peoples.\u201d J\u00e1nos digested Nicolae\u2019s words. Then, he said, \u201cAre you from around here?\u201d \u201cFrom a little way to the west, yes,\u201d Nicolae answered, \u201cIn the Romanian neighborhood. But tonight, I wander into the Hungarian neighborhood.\u201d J\u00e1nos thought this strange. \u201cHave you no home or family?\u201d Nicolae shrugged in reply. \u201cMy family is in Romania, awaiting my return. I came here five years ago to make money to take home, and things looked good until the stock market crash. I have been stuck here since. As for my home\u2026. Another Romanian family, one with fourteen children and no house for two months, needed it more than I did. I gave it to them for now \u2013 it is Christmas, after all.\u201d J\u00e1nos listened to this quietly. He looked the Romanian up and down, and to his surprise, realized the white clothing was nothing other than the traditional peasant clothing of Romanians. Nicolae saw J\u00e1nos\u2019 expression. \u201cMy clothing is peculiar here, isn\u2019t it? But it\u2019s all I have. I sold the American stuff just recently for money. But this\u2026 well, I would never sell it. Besides, I doubt anyone would want it.\u201d J\u00e1nos suddenly felt a pang. Only weeks ago, he had sold his own traditional coat from Hungary. Maybe he should have kept it, like this man kept his clothes. It would have kept him warm\u2026. \u201cMy friend, you seem better off than me,\u201d Nicolae added. \u201cDo you not have a family? Or a home?\u201d \u201cI \u2013 well, no. I am staying with some friends down the street. They are nice people \u2013 wanted to share a humble Christmas with me \u2013 but\u2026 no, I didn\u2019t feel right there. My wife has been dead for seven years and my two children are in New York with a better-off cousin of mine,\u201d J\u00e1nos revealed. Nicolae twisted his mouth in thought. \u201cWell, neither of us have anywhere to go \u2013 except onward, of course. Do you mind if I join you in your walk? No one should spend Christmas alone.\u201d J\u00e1nos apprehensively considered, then nodded in agreement. \u201cYour people and my people don\u2019t get along, but \u2013 you are different.\u201d Nicolae gave another grin. \u201cThank you. You, too, are a welcome symbol of friendship among our peoples.\u201d J\u00e1nos objected quietly. \u201cI do not make friends quickly... not with you, not with anyone.\u201d Nicolae shrugged. \u201cWhich way shall we walk?\u201d \u201cYours,\u201d J\u00e1nos said briskly. There was a stubborn reason to this decision that Nicolae chose to not explore. The situation was fragile enough as it was: members of two proud nations, brought together under extreme circumstances and cordially accepting each other. It was best to leave it at that, and find bonds between the two, not divisions. Silently, as the two began to walk, they seemed to subconsciously agree that no political discussions would tarnish their extraordinary relationship. It was Christmas, after all \u2013 a time for unity. * * * Nicolae and J\u00e1nos did not talk much as they walked. Their only discussion was about the nature of Christmas \u2013 something to which they could both relate. \u201cHow beautiful, that our Lord would come to earth as a baby boy to save us,\u201d Nicolae sighed. Looking to his left at his quiet counterpart, he asked, \u201cAre you religious?\u201d J\u00e1nos grunted. \u201cReligious? I\u2026 I\u2019ve always been Catholic, but I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m not religious. Stopped going to Mass a few years ago. You know, work. God has to understand that. I work to keep my children and myself well. God won\u2019t force me to go to Mass. He probably doesn\u2019t care anyway.\u201d Nicolae disagreed, but he changed the topic. \u201cYour mustache is very manly. I have always envied Hungarians for their skill with mustaches.\u201d J\u00e1nos looked over at Nicolae, some rare brightness in his eyes. \u201cThank you.\u201d The two had been walking for a good time by then. While the style of the houses around them hadn\u2019t changed, the residents certainly had. The two men had entered the edge of the west side German enclave, and the German spirit was strong and steadfast. All seemed quiet for a while, but as Nicolae and J\u00e1nos admired some of the nicer homes of the better-off poverty-stricken immigrants, some yelling pierced the cold night air. Curious, Nicolae and J\u00e1nos turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small hardware shop nestled between two houses. At the door of the hardware shop was a bedraggled, red-bearded man in dirty brown overalls and an undersized newsboy\u2019s hat. The man was banging on the shop door, angry and fierce. \u201cOpen up, you rascal! I ain\u2019t going to tolerate this here attitude! I work here an\u2019 I wanna stay here tonight! The weather\u2019s a wee bit chilly, if you hadn\u2019t noticed!\u201d The man had a heavy accent. A voice from inside the shop responded, overpowering even the strength of the shop walls and reverberating in the night. \u201cNo one is staying in this shop! Nein! I am the owner and I decide!\u201d This man also had an accent, but of different sort. J\u00e1nos would\u2019ve rather stayed away from the fight, but Nicolae ran over to the shouting. \u201cWhat\u2019s this noise? It\u2019s Christmas Eve!\u201d The red-bearded man turned on Nicolae. \u201cGo away, you Easterner!\u201d Nicolae was unfazed by the nationalist insult. \u201cWho\u2019s in the shop?\u201d he asked. \u201cMy German boss, that\u2019s who,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019ve got no family, and he won\u2019t even let me in his place on Christmas to sleep!\u201d Nicolae narrowed his eyes. Then, turning to the door, he said something angry in German. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man emerged slowly from the tiny shop, eyeing Nicolae with amazement. \u201cYou \u2013 you speak German? You do not look German!\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cI\u2019m Romanian, but I have family in Germany. I spent time there as well. And I\u2019m from one of the biggest Saxon-German cities in Romania.\u201d The German looked thunderstruck, but regained himself quickly. \u201cWell \u2013 stay out of our fight! This Irishman and I will not be disturbed! Interestingly, the Irishman seemed to agree. Suddenly, J\u00e1nos stepped up. \u201cExcuse me, but this is ridiculous. It is Christmas Eve and you two want to fight.\u201d He peered into the rickety shop carefully. In the darkness, he could just barely make out an old camp bed (military grade, by the looks of it) and a dirty bucket. J\u00e1nos then glanced at the German. The man was wearing pieces and parts of what must once have been a fine black suit. He was unshaved and jittery. He was also unnaturally thin, and his overall composure was one of rugged self-reliance and mistrust of anyone else. J\u00e1nos spoke slowly, but confidently. \u201cThis shop is no home, nor is it a proper substitute for one\u2026 do not lie to me and tell me it is,\u201d he said, addressing the German. He waited for a response. The German\u2019s eyes drifted, embarrassed, to the ground for a moment, after which they darted silently back to focus on the other men. His assumption proven, J\u00e1nos continued, addressing the German and Irishman. \u201cIf you don\u2019t have a place to go\u2026 why don\u2019t you join my\u2026 my friend and I?\u201d This was unnatural for him \u2013 that is, labeling others as friends. Nicolae watched with awe. J\u00e1nos, no longer reserved and unfriendly, had extended a hand of companionship to lonely souls \u2013 and called someone he would have considered a foe a friend! The German surveyed the scene carefully. He looked to the Irishman, who was also processing the situation. Finally, he clicked his heels together, bowed slowly, and said, \u201cI am Klaus Schmidt. My company is yours.\u201d The Irishman, feeling pressure to not be left alone, quickly added, \u201cBrian O\u2019Flaherty, at your service,\u201d extending his hand. J\u00e1nos shook O\u2019Flaherty\u2019s hand. Nicolae jumped to introduce himself. \u201cMy name is Nicolae Sibianu. I am Romanian.\u201d \u201cAnd I am J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri. Hungarian,\u201d J\u00e1nos said. More handshaking followed, after which the four set off in the direction the original two had been heading, towards the middle of the city. Conversation was easier now, with four men instead of two. They exchanged backstories as they walked. As it turned out, all were in a similar economic predicament. They were friends before too long, and the Irishman and German forgot their argument. \u201cYou know, once back in Cork in Ireland, I drank so-ooo much whiskey I \u2013\u201d Brian was cut off in the middle of his story as the four saw two figures running toward them. One was throwing snowballs at the other. \u201cGo away, you foreign runt!\u201d the snowball-throwing figure called in a young male voice. \u201cGo back to your own neighborhood!\u201d That voice was without accent\u2026. The smaller figure was looking behind him at the apparent bully, running without hesitation. Suddenly, he ran straight into Klaus, sending the two flying to the ground. Before any apologies could be exchanged, the bully caught up, surveying the crowd with apprehension. A glance at Nicolae convinced him his lingering hunch was right, but as he prepared to spew nativist insults, Brian inched towards him, as red in the face as he was in the beard. \u201cNow, you listen here, boy\u2026 you may be an American, but I\u2019ve got news for you. So are we! And the fact that we\u2019re not like you doesn\u2019t change one bit of the fact that we\u2019re stuck together, and we\u2019ve got to get along! And how dare you take this holy night for your sinful activities! Go home to your family! Go! Your clothes give it away, you\u2019re not poor! Go, and learn a lesson about common human decency!\u201d The boy darted away quickly. Brian\u2019s attention turned to the other boy, now up from the ground and apologizing profusely to Klaus. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name, sonny?\u201d Brian asked. The boy looked about nineteen. He was skinny and dressed in clothes too small for him. Nervously, he said, \u201cThank \u2013 thank you. My \u2013 my name is Andrzej Nowak. I \u2013 I speak bad English. I \u2013 I am Polish.\u201d The boy seemed to want to say something else but couldn\u2019t find the words. \u201cWe are also foreign,\u201d Klaus said. \u201cWe have no families. Do you have one?\u201d \u201cY-yes,\u201d Andrzej answered slowly. \u201cI \u2013 I was with my friends \u2013 they are American, and they are kind\u2026 not like that boy. They help me learn English. But I was chased by the no\u2026 no kind boy and need to get home, for I am\u2026 I am\u2026 la\u2026?\u201d \u201cLate,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cYou are late is what you mean?\u201d Andrzej nodded. \u201cIs your house far from here?\u201d J\u00e1nos asked. \u201cWe can accompany you.\u201d \u201cIt is\u2026 it is not f-far,\u201d the boy stuttered. \u201cF-f-f-follow me.\u201d And so, the group, now five in number, set off together. Andrzej proved to be an intelligent and kind young man. Soon, he was reminiscing with the others and feeling at ease with them. Finally, the group came upon a modest house in the Polish neighborhood \u2013 the Nowak residence. As J\u00e1nos, Nicolae, Brian, and Klaus prepared to bid Andrzej goodnight, the boy spoke up. \u201cPlease \u2013 my friends \u2013 come share Christmas Eve with us. It is just my parents and I.\u201d \u201cDanke, but \u2013\u201d began Klaus for the group, but Andrzej insisted. The men looked at each other cautiously. In the short time of wandering through the streets of Cleveland, they had become companions, and friends. They were all quite different, but their American stories made them all similar. They were nothing less than brothers. \u201cWe would be delighted to join you,\u201d Nicolae said to Andrzej politely. The group then entered the warm household, following the beam of light from the open door that beckoned them warmly. And as the last man shut the door behind him, a clearing in the cloudy winter sky appeared. A star \u2013 brighter than any other \u2013 shone from that clearing onto the home. In that place, the spirit of Christmas was alive and well.   The Spirit of Christmas by Ferenc N. Somogyi   NOTE: This story is based on how Cleveland\u2019s West Side neighborhoods existed in the 1920s and 1930s. The characters are entirely fictional, but are meant to reflect and explore the ethnic composition of early twentieth-century Cleveland. Below is a map showing the progression of the characters through the city, starting from the left star and ending approximately at the right star. Key: Rm=Romanian; Hu=Hungarian; Ge=German; Po=Polish. 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The street was sparsely lit by a few old streetlamps, which shined gentle beams of light toward the ground and illuminated the fragile snowflakes flurrying about in the windy night. The street itself was lined on both sides by turn-of-the-century American houses, most of them gray or white or beige. Those houses, most of them dark at this hour, were most properly workingmen\u2019s estates, but in that dismal year of 1930, they were palaces to their residents. By his own standards, the man in the black fedora felt himself lucky. In his fifteen years in the United States, he had made for himself a respectable, but by no means glorious, living. Factory work was dull and repetitive, of course, but it was certainly a step up from the farming lifestyle of his youth. Somehow, though, he missed those days. The rolling plains of his native northeastern Hungary were where he had grown up and eventually met his wife, God rest her soul. There was something so temptingly simple about that past life, so beautiful and pure, something no smog-producing factory tower in \u201cthe land of the free\u201d could replace. It was true, America had been good to him. It truly was a place of opportunity\u2026 but it was also fraught with problems that had never interested the man in the black fedora in the slightest. Mortgages and stocks and politicians and billionaires and all sorts of other hoopla \u2013 in his opinion, everybody should\u2019ve just kept to themselves, and the Depression would\u2019ve never happened. But it was what it was, the man scolded himself, and there was no point mulling over the past now. The situation would have to be dealt with. He had been out of work for nearly three months, and he didn\u2019t fancy himself accepting help from Cleveland\u2019s soup kitchens. He was Hungarian. He could fend for himself. As the man made his way along the street, focused intently on the steps he made in the snow, a movement on the other side of the street caught his eye. Stopping, the man looked up and through the snow. His gaze fell upon a male figure heading in the opposite direction who, by the looks of him, was about the same height as the man with the fedora. Strangely, the figure was not clad in the customary overcoat of the time, but instead he was wearing some sort of white shirt. He did not notice the man with the fedora. His arms were held close to his body as if to conserve heat. More out of curiosity than anything, the man with the fedora watched the white figure for a few seconds. Suddenly, the figure seemed to stumble on the icy sidewalk, and fell over into the snow. Then, driven by a strange impulse his very private self usually neglected, the man with the fedora set off in a brisk walk on an intercept course with the figure. When the man with the fedora had reached the other figure, he held out his arm for the person to take. The figure accepted the help, and, with a strange calmness about him, smiled pleasantly, as he stood up. Slightly out of breath, the man with the fedora promptly asked, \u201cWhat are you doing out here in the snow? It\u2019s Christmas Eve. Don\u2019t you have family?\u201d Only after he had said this did he realize he had fallen back to the same type of abrupt talk he had always tried to break. After an awkward pause, he continued, \u201cMy name\u2019s J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri,\u201d and he held out his hand. The other man, who looked about the same age as J\u00e1nos, took his visitor\u2019s hand and shook it firmly. \u201cYou have an accent,\u201d he said, continuing to smile. \u201cSo, do you,\u201d said J\u00e1nos, slightly too defensively. \u201cMy name\u2019s Nicolae Sibianu. You\u2019re Hungarian, are you not? From Satu Mare. I worked with some Hungarians back at home, so I could tell your name gives away your hometown.\u201d J\u00e1nos responded cautiously. \u201cYou are Romanian. From Nagyszeben. I\u2026 also speak some Romanian. Similar reasons. Your name... also gives away your hometown.\u201d Nicolae smiled some more. \u201cLook at us. We call our home-cities different things, but both our peoples live in them. And somehow, we both end up in this foreign place, meeting as neighbors again. And we recognize each other by our last names! And, most importantly, we seem to get along. That is a rarity in these modern days among our peoples.\u201d J\u00e1nos digested Nicolae\u2019s words. Then, he said, \u201cAre you from around here?\u201d \u201cFrom a little way to the west, yes,\u201d Nicolae answered, \u201cIn the Romanian neighborhood. But tonight, I wander into the Hungarian neighborhood.\u201d J\u00e1nos thought this strange. \u201cHave you no home or family?\u201d Nicolae shrugged in reply. \u201cMy family is in Romania, awaiting my return. I came here five years ago to make money to take home, and things looked good until the stock market crash. I have been stuck here since. As for my home\u2026. Another Romanian family, one with fourteen children and no house for two months, needed it more than I did. I gave it to them for now \u2013 it is Christmas, after all.\u201d J\u00e1nos listened to this quietly. He looked the Romanian up and down, and to his surprise, realized the white clothing was nothing other than the traditional peasant clothing of Romanians. Nicolae saw J\u00e1nos\u2019 expression. \u201cMy clothing is peculiar here, isn\u2019t it? But it\u2019s all I have. I sold the American stuff just recently for money. But this\u2026 well, I would never sell it. Besides, I doubt anyone would want it.\u201d J\u00e1nos suddenly felt a pang. Only weeks ago, he had sold his own traditional coat from Hungary. Maybe he should have kept it, like this man kept his clothes. It would have kept him warm\u2026. \u201cMy friend, you seem better off than me,\u201d Nicolae added. \u201cDo you not have a family? Or a home?\u201d \u201cI \u2013 well, no. I am staying with some friends down the street. They are nice people \u2013 wanted to share a humble Christmas with me \u2013 but\u2026 no, I didn\u2019t feel right there. My wife has been dead for seven years and my two children are in New York with a better-off cousin of mine,\u201d J\u00e1nos revealed. Nicolae twisted his mouth in thought. \u201cWell, neither of us have anywhere to go \u2013 except onward, of course. Do you mind if I join you in your walk? No one should spend Christmas alone.\u201d J\u00e1nos apprehensively considered, then nodded in agreement. \u201cYour people and my people don\u2019t get along, but \u2013 you are different.\u201d Nicolae gave another grin. \u201cThank you. You, too, are a welcome symbol of friendship among our peoples.\u201d J\u00e1nos objected quietly. \u201cI do not make friends quickly... not with you, not with anyone.\u201d Nicolae shrugged. \u201cWhich way shall we walk?\u201d \u201cYours,\u201d J\u00e1nos said briskly. There was a stubborn reason to this decision that Nicolae chose to not explore. The situation was fragile enough as it was: members of two proud nations, brought together under extreme circumstances and cordially accepting each other. It was best to leave it at that, and find bonds between the two, not divisions. Silently, as the two began to walk, they seemed to subconsciously agree that no political discussions would tarnish their extraordinary relationship. It was Christmas, after all \u2013 a time for unity. * * * Nicolae and J\u00e1nos did not talk much as they walked. Their only discussion was about the nature of Christmas \u2013 something to which they could both relate. \u201cHow beautiful, that our Lord would come to earth as a baby boy to save us,\u201d Nicolae sighed. Looking to his left at his quiet counterpart, he asked, \u201cAre you religious?\u201d J\u00e1nos grunted. \u201cReligious? I\u2026 I\u2019ve always been Catholic, but I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m not religious. Stopped going to Mass a few years ago. You know, work. God has to understand that. I work to keep my children and myself well. God won\u2019t force me to go to Mass. He probably doesn\u2019t care anyway.\u201d Nicolae disagreed, but he changed the topic. \u201cYour mustache is very manly. I have always envied Hungarians for their skill with mustaches.\u201d J\u00e1nos looked over at Nicolae, some rare brightness in his eyes. \u201cThank you.\u201d The two had been walking for a good time by then. While the style of the houses around them hadn\u2019t changed, the residents certainly had. The two men had entered the edge of the west side German enclave, and the German spirit was strong and steadfast. All seemed quiet for a while, but as Nicolae and J\u00e1nos admired some of the nicer homes of the better-off poverty-stricken immigrants, some yelling pierced the cold night air. Curious, Nicolae and J\u00e1nos turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small hardware shop nestled between two houses. At the door of the hardware shop was a bedraggled, red-bearded man in dirty brown overalls and an undersized newsboy\u2019s hat. The man was banging on the shop door, angry and fierce. \u201cOpen up, you rascal! I ain\u2019t going to tolerate this here attitude! I work here an\u2019 I wanna stay here tonight! The weather\u2019s a wee bit chilly, if you hadn\u2019t noticed!\u201d The man had a heavy accent. A voice from inside the shop responded, overpowering even the strength of the shop walls and reverberating in the night. \u201cNo one is staying in this shop! Nein! I am the owner and I decide!\u201d This man also had an accent, but of different sort. J\u00e1nos would\u2019ve rather stayed away from the fight, but Nicolae ran over to the shouting. \u201cWhat\u2019s this noise? It\u2019s Christmas Eve!\u201d The red-bearded man turned on Nicolae. \u201cGo away, you Easterner!\u201d Nicolae was unfazed by the nationalist insult. \u201cWho\u2019s in the shop?\u201d he asked. \u201cMy German boss, that\u2019s who,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019ve got no family, and he won\u2019t even let me in his place on Christmas to sleep!\u201d Nicolae narrowed his eyes. Then, turning to the door, he said something angry in German. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man emerged slowly from the tiny shop, eyeing Nicolae with amazement. \u201cYou \u2013 you speak German? You do not look German!\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cI\u2019m Romanian, but I have family in Germany. I spent time there as well. And I\u2019m from one of the biggest Saxon-German cities in Romania.\u201d The German looked thunderstruck, but regained himself quickly. \u201cWell \u2013 stay out of our fight! This Irishman and I will not be disturbed! Interestingly, the Irishman seemed to agree. Suddenly, J\u00e1nos stepped up. \u201cExcuse me, but this is ridiculous. It is Christmas Eve and you two want to fight.\u201d He peered into the rickety shop carefully. In the darkness, he could just barely make out an old camp bed (military grade, by the looks of it) and a dirty bucket. J\u00e1nos then glanced at the German. The man was wearing pieces and parts of what must once have been a fine black suit. He was unshaved and jittery. He was also unnaturally thin, and his overall composure was one of rugged self-reliance and mistrust of anyone else. J\u00e1nos spoke slowly, but confidently. \u201cThis shop is no home, nor is it a proper substitute for one\u2026 do not lie to me and tell me it is,\u201d he said, addressing the German. He waited for a response. The German\u2019s eyes drifted, embarrassed, to the ground for a moment, after which they darted silently back to focus on the other men. His assumption proven, J\u00e1nos continued, addressing the German and Irishman. \u201cIf you don\u2019t have a place to go\u2026 why don\u2019t you join my\u2026 my friend and I?\u201d This was unnatural for him \u2013 that is, labeling others as friends. Nicolae watched with awe. J\u00e1nos, no longer reserved and unfriendly, had extended a hand of companionship to lonely souls \u2013 and called someone he would have considered a foe a friend! The German surveyed the scene carefully. He looked to the Irishman, who was also processing the situation. Finally, he clicked his heels together, bowed slowly, and said, \u201cI am Klaus Schmidt. My company is yours.\u201d The Irishman, feeling pressure to not be left alone, quickly added, \u201cBrian O\u2019Flaherty, at your service,\u201d extending his hand. J\u00e1nos shook O\u2019Flaherty\u2019s hand. Nicolae jumped to introduce himself. \u201cMy name is Nicolae Sibianu. I am Romanian.\u201d \u201cAnd I am J\u00e1nos Szatm\u00e1ri. Hungarian,\u201d J\u00e1nos said. More handshaking followed, after which the four set off in the direction the original two had been heading, towards the middle of the city. Conversation was easier now, with four men instead of two. They exchanged backstories as they walked. As it turned out, all were in a similar economic predicament. They were friends before too long, and the Irishman and German forgot their argument. \u201cYou know, once back in Cork in Ireland, I drank so-ooo much whiskey I \u2013\u201d Brian was cut off in the middle of his story as the four saw two figures running toward them. One was throwing snowballs at the other. \u201cGo away, you foreign runt!\u201d the snowball-throwing figure called in a young male voice. \u201cGo back to your own neighborhood!\u201d That voice was without accent\u2026. The smaller figure was looking behind him at the apparent bully, running without hesitation. Suddenly, he ran straight into Klaus, sending the two flying to the ground. Before any apologies could be exchanged, the bully caught up, surveying the crowd with apprehension. A glance at Nicolae convinced him his lingering hunch was right, but as he prepared to spew nativist insults, Brian inched towards him, as red in the face as he was in the beard. \u201cNow, you listen here, boy\u2026 you may be an American, but I\u2019ve got news for you. So are we! And the fact that we\u2019re not like you doesn\u2019t change one bit of the fact that we\u2019re stuck together, and we\u2019ve got to get along! And how dare you take this holy night for your sinful activities! Go home to your family! Go! Your clothes give it away, you\u2019re not poor! Go, and learn a lesson about common human decency!\u201d The boy darted away quickly. Brian\u2019s attention turned to the other boy, now up from the ground and apologizing profusely to Klaus. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name, sonny?\u201d Brian asked. The boy looked about nineteen. He was skinny and dressed in clothes too small for him. Nervously, he said, \u201cThank \u2013 thank you. My \u2013 my name is Andrzej Nowak. I \u2013 I speak bad English. I \u2013 I am Polish.\u201d The boy seemed to want to say something else but couldn\u2019t find the words. \u201cWe are also foreign,\u201d Klaus said. \u201cWe have no families. Do you have one?\u201d \u201cY-yes,\u201d Andrzej answered slowly. \u201cI \u2013 I was with my friends \u2013 they are American, and they are kind\u2026 not like that boy. They help me learn English. But I was chased by the no\u2026 no kind boy and need to get home, for I am\u2026 I am\u2026 la\u2026?\u201d \u201cLate,\u201d Nicolae said. \u201cYou are late is what you mean?\u201d Andrzej nodded. \u201cIs your house far from here?\u201d J\u00e1nos asked. \u201cWe can accompany you.\u201d \u201cIt is\u2026 it is not f-far,\u201d the boy stuttered. \u201cF-f-f-follow me.\u201d And so, the group, now five in number, set off together. Andrzej proved to be an intelligent and kind young man. Soon, he was reminiscing with the others and feeling at ease with them. Finally, the group came upon a modest house in the Polish neighborhood \u2013 the Nowak residence. As J\u00e1nos, Nicolae, Brian, and Klaus prepared to bid Andrzej goodnight, the boy spoke up. \u201cPlease \u2013 my friends \u2013 come share Christmas Eve with us. It is just my parents and I.\u201d \u201cDanke, but \u2013\u201d began Klaus for the group, but Andrzej insisted. The men looked at each other cautiously. In the short time of wandering through the streets of Cleveland, they had become companions, and friends. They were all quite different, but their American stories made them all similar. They were nothing less than brothers. \u201cWe would be delighted to join you,\u201d Nicolae said to Andrzej politely. The group then entered the warm household, following the beam of light from the open door that beckoned them warmly. And as the last man shut the door behind him, a clearing in the cloudy winter sky appeared. A star \u2013 brighter than any other \u2013 shone from that clearing onto the home. In that place, the spirit of Christmas was alive and well.   The Spirit of Christmas by Ferenc N. Somogyi   NOTE: This story is based on how Cleveland\u2019s West Side neighborhoods existed in the 1920s and 1930s. The characters are entirely fictional, but are meant to reflect and explore the ethnic composition of early twentieth-century Cleveland. Below is a map showing the progression of the characters through the city, starting from the left star and ending approximately at the right star. Key: Rm=Romanian; Hu=Hungarian; Ge=German; Po=Polish. 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