Julius liked the geography of the East Coast, seeing in it a resemblance to Hungarian topography. When he was passing Rochester and Buffalo on his way to Chicago, he noted that these places were strange."

STUDY PROBLEMS

Now that they are here, they have become immersed in study, and in writing papers in a foreign tongue. "I have to read math problems three times before I understand them," Julius says. Though they like Harvard they are not entirely in accord with Harvard's methods of education vis-a-vis the Hungarian and continental way. "You are not exactly students in the same way I was in Hungary," Heimlet asserts. "You have more freedom here, but I don't think it is good. You have a course, you write four or five papers a year, you write two finals, and they give you a grade. It doesn't really show your knowledge. I think you ought to have oral tests--every day--as we did in Hungary. There spoken tests count a lot more than written tests, and you never knew when you would be called on. They want to make sure that you study, and you've got to keep up."

Julius likes the greater freedom of choice at Harvard, but prefers the Hungarian method of placing "all civil engineering freshmen together, and having them attend all classes together. Here, you don't know many people in your classes and you lose the opportunity of helping one another. Harvard, though, gives the possibility of expanding your interests."

Now that they are in the United States, most of them want to stay. They see only gloom in Hungary's future, and feel that to return there unless it is free is foolish. I don't believe Hungary will be liberated in the near future," says one; "and my decision not to go back springs from an appreciation of the American way of life. Pretty soon I will grow roots here, and I will not want to go back."

Julius is somewhat more hopeful. "If Hungary is freed, I would like to go back immediately," he says, "but I think I would like to finish my studies here first. If the country becomes free, we must have contact with all foreign groups; if there is such a need, one can help who is studying abroad." Heimler, however, definitely wishes to remain here. Asked if he might go back, he throws up his hands and says, "No, no, no, no, no--not back. I'm staying--even if Hungary is liberated."

But though they have been away from fighting and rebelling for a year, the anti-Russian spirit still flames hot within them. They have not yet been approached by Soviet agents who have been trying to persuade some refugees to return, but they wish they would be. "I wish I could talk to one, so there would be one less alive," Julius says. Another refugee says glintingly, "If such a person approached me, he wouldn't survive too long. I have a little energy I would like to expend."

Happy in the United States, they still correspond with home, but letters are few and widely spaced. Parents sometimes say the opposite of what they feel, and often adopt codes so they can tell their sons at Harvard what is really going on in Hungary. "Your friends" means "America;" "red ink" means "the truth;" "winter coat" means "changes;" "he's resting" means "he's in prison;" "the Square" may mean "secret police."

But for most of them, home now means the United States. One of them sums up their feeling: "I find that this is a country where one's aim of life can be realized, where nothing impedes your facilities, and where the individual can realize his dream. The United States means a happy future," he concludes, putting his feet on the table