The life and art of the cartoonist György Bodola

Ancestors, descent, family

György Bodola had Szeklers in his ancestral, both paternal and maternal line.

“The famous Szekler figure who entered himself in the football ledger as “Bodola” is my father. My
mother is also Szekler: Blanka Botos. Somebody has a chronicle of the family since the so-called
“Mádéfalvi Peril”, but not me. The Bodolas come from Seven Village near Brassó, but this line has not
been on the pages of history, although my father's brother, who was a trained machinist, was once
drunk by falling asleep under the train, between the rails, and the train passed over him. He didn't
have a problem, although according to family chronicles, his head ached the next day. ”

The Székely noble Bodola family from Zágon and Felsődoboly, which received the coat of arms from
the Prince of Transylvania: Mihály Apafi, in 1767, gave reformed bishops (János Bodola and Sámuel
Bodola), military officers from 1848 (Ferenc Bodola and Lajos Bodola the elder) a scientific engineer
(Lajos Bodola the younger) to his country, as well as a world-famous football player, Gyula Bodola.

Of course, György Bodola was most proud of his father, “Dudus”, the legendary player of the Oradea
AC to this day, after whom the Nagyvárad City Stadium was named in November 2008. Gyula Bodola
played in a total of 334 matches in the Romanian and Hungarian first leagues, he was a 48-time
Romanian and a 13-time Hungarian national team member. He participated in two football World
Cups as a striker. He was the “goal king” of Romania for 58 years. He has played in soccer clubs: CAO
Oradea, Venus Bukarest, IAR Brasov, Ferar Cluj, and Oradea AC. From 1945 to 1949 he was a player
of MTK. After his active career, he worked as a coach in Szombathely, Pécs, Diósgyőr and
Ormosbánya.

Some quotes from Dudus from the contemporary press:

“At the first domestic match in the fall of 1941, hundreds of Romanian-speaking fans shouted in
chorus: Ninjaala Bodola! (that is: a ball for Bodola!) The AC of Oradea won the championship in the
spring of 1944 with a 13-point advantage. The second place FTC was beaten by NAC 4: 1, in the
stormy wind on Üllői út, with the world-class game of Bodola. The carpet bombing of the English air
strike of September 6, 1944, plowed the NAC football field. “We sang with teary eyes the NAC hymn
in a hushed voice.”

“The Hungarian and Szekler heart was always beating fast in me. We experienced the torment of
torment when we had to play against the Hungarian boys in the Romanian national team jersey in
Bucharest in October 1936 and then in 1939. Imagine a team, from which seven members cried
loudly in the middle of the track, during the chords of the Hungarian national anthem. We called
each other - in szekler mode - my souls. If there was something wrong, we hid on the track like little
birds in winter. “My souls, be princes Csaba of our dearest toy, of our eternal love!”

Bodola was a universal talent. He had a huge working capacity. His right, left, running and biting shot
was excellent. Bodola's 20- to 30-meter crossballs as well as his head goals went into the experience.
Bodola enjoyed such respect and admiration in Nagyvárad, that no one got. Even today, after forty
years, old stories are told about Bodola. Before his age, his name sounds like that of Ady or Gyula
Juhász in the field of literature.”

"If Maradona is called the best in the world today, Bodola did the same with both feet." (Elemér
Berkesi, Barcelona, 1984)

“In the bar in Bosnyák tér, in the evening, Dudus measured the beer for the guests. When the clock
showed nine, and it happened that the beer glass was only half full, Bodola turned off the tap. He
handed the glass to his wife and marched into the apartment behind the bar.”

"1989. The Budapest - Countryside football match for free Romania will start on the 31st of
December at noon. The kick-off will be given by Gyula Bodola, who was able to pull on the Romanian
national team’s jersey 48 times and the Hungarian national team’s jersey 13 times. ”

The name of Gyula Bodola can now be found not only in sports lexicons, but also on one of the fresh
headstones of a Transylvanian cemetery. He was born in 1912 and died in 1992. ”

The maternal branch, the Oltszemi Botos family, is also an ancient Szekler noble family. In 1764,
during the Madéfalva peril, three of Botos's four brothers were executed by Maria Theresia's
soldiers, and only one escaped death. The ancient family estate was also confiscated. The Botos
family later became associated with the Count Rhédeys through marriage, and since the Rhédeys
were among the ancestors of Queen Elizabeth of Britain, György Bodola, if very distant, still had only
a “kinship” relationship with the British monarch. Of course, he would have said this in vain in the
Wine Pharmacy and in the other pubs.

The Botos family was one of the founders of the Nagyenyed Reformed College, so they never had to
pay tuition there.

His grandfather, István Botos, began his studies as a student in Nagyenyed, then studied law in
Kolozsvár, and later became a lawyer, chief judge and then a police captain in Brassó. According to
legend, one of the twins born in the family never reached the age of 40. István Botos was also born
as a twin, so before the age of 40 he fled into alcohol for fear of fulfilling the legend, thus ruining the
life of the whole family. Fate did not come to an end, he died in a very old age. His son, Béla Botos -
Bodola's uncle - played cards, drank, and had fun as a teenager. But he later earned a bachelor’s
degree in law from the University of Brassó and then passed the bar exam. He came to Hungary after
1945, where he re-examined. In the early fifties, he traveled to a border village to a friend for
Christmas. At the Sopron railway station, he was arrested by the policemen and sentenced to several
years in prison for attempting to illegal emigrate, in a conceptual lawsuit. He took part in the
revolution in 1956, then left the country and became a successful lawyer first in California and then
Arizona, passing the bar examination at the age of 70 for the fourth time.

In 1993, the uncle (Buba) asked Bodola to illustrate the Szekler folk tales of his grandfather, István
Botos. He wanted to publish a large number of copies of the book. However, he did not make any
drawings.
His passivity was not due to disinterest. He insisted on his creative freedom. He only drew if he could
do it to his own amusement, if he invented something. He only worked to order once in his life: when
he illustrated the Rock lexicon.

It has happened more than once that his clients closed him and did not release him until he was done
with the work.

It was a very good poster. We took it out to England, it was a great success. Gyuri Bodola created it”s
graphics. We locked him in a room for a week with a lot of booze and I told him he couldn’t come out
until he was done. It will also be one of P. Mobil's new clips. These figures will be moved. ” Lóránt
Schuszter.

As a child

The first friends, around the age of ten, appear around Bartók Béla street. First of all, István
Szombathelyi, who still preserves the memories of they common childhood, the photos in the Fradi
puppy, and Gyuri's letters from Ormosbánya, the scene of his first exile.

When he was banned from all the grammar schools in the country because of her fights, even her
mother, Aunt Blanka (commonly known as Botos Pipi), was determined that her sonGyurka would
mature. It came as a rescue idea, to continue his studies at the „world-famous” Ormosbánya
educational institution, because his father was the coach of the football team there.

Two letters he wrote to István Szombathelyi at the age of 16, behind the back of God, next to

Kazincbarcika, from a small mining settlement:

“Pisti!

Monday, September 23, 1968.

On the nineteenth day of the year of the Lord's school. Welcome from Metropolis Ormosbánya! Now
it's Hungarian lecture and I'm writing you a few lines. I’m going to school, and I think I’ll soon exhale
my sinful soul because I’m already starting to go crazy here. If you want to say that this act is long
overdue, when I return home, I will your eyes out! Now we learn about a bastard, named Balassi who
wrote various poems to annoy an unhappy posterity. I think you share a similar view of the work of
mathematicians. Or maybe not? I play a lot of football and learn little, and that’s okay! I am
convinced that you too share this principle! What's new at home in football? How do you get up and
play with whom on Sunday? I'm asking this because I'm looking home! Are you happy about? How
does Vacuum Cleaner kick the ball? When was the last time his mother stabbed him? From a
distance, I imagine the privacy of the Kormos family, as the Vacuum Cleaner barricades himself in the
small room and his mother throws tear gas bombs at him, and the Vacuum Cleaner blows a sulfurous
arrow and Greek fire on his nose at times, (hey, it's easy for him!) And so on. try to keep her mother
away. It is not true?

Something about the class. 7 boys and a million girl. On Saturday, there was a so-called introductory
evening at the school, which I christened, "A mass movement in which cheerful lads can open their
hearts to the slightly depressed, local young ladies!"

It’s chemistry class now and I just answered. You won't believe it: I’ve got four! For the first time in
my life! If my certificate is good in six months, I can go home! Believe me, there is nothing worse if
someone - who loves his environment, where he has friends – is torn out of that community and
forced into a place where there is no company for him and there he cannot rejoice life! Well, I look
forward to your letter, write about everything, and tell Gyuszi, that he write to me too, and tell him
not to be offended by my former joke!(

God God! Gyuri. Learn more about me.

“My Pisti! Monday, February 24, 1969.

Maybe I should start with the fact that unfortunately I don’t have jeans either. Anyway, I spend my
life like a dog. The chicks are very cunning. I was at a ball on Saturday night, it started at 8 and should
have lasted until dawn. It was already about half past ten when the band members began to twitch
and jump with a strange expression on their faces. At first I thought they were in ecstasy, but then it
turned out that this was not the case at all, it just happened that their amplifier had burned down
and shaken by the current. That's how the great ball over there ended. The gentleman's audience
began to reclaim the entrance fee, and after their request was not heard, they rebuked one of the
security men. If his organization is strong, he may be able to survive. There was a quiz at school called
“Knowing What I Fit For”. You also know that I was a well-mannered kid in my life, and so in the quiz I
was tied for third, Don't laugh pig! Well, as for the female single people living here, the situation is
sad in this area. Either stupid or ugly, or both at once. The latter is the most common. One is uglier
than the other, but when a lot of russet animals are combed in the morning and looking at the image
of pimple face in their hand mirror, it’s awful. All this here at school. However, we are passing our
time. There is a good head guy and we laugh good at the cocks. In principle, everyone in hungarian
lectures should have two booklets, one for school and one for homework. Of course we don't have
one. In hungarian lecture, my friend pulls out a crumpled, half-filled math sheet.

Does the teacher ask him, where his booklets are? To this, the crazy boy and shows the
aforementioned sheet and says: this is my homework booklet, then turns the sheet over and
continues: and this is school. I immediately got rid of the laughter.

And such a story: Our class teacher is a little deaf. One day he enters the classroom and sounds like
that. The noise is great! Cries the teacher. I ask him:: What makes you think that ?!
I will go up to the capital of Hungary on March 19th and stay until the 23rd. Write where your
matches will be and I'll go out. After my father and mother forged my transfer formula, I became a
certified member of Ormosbánya S.C., but as soon as I become a resident of Pest again in the
autumn, I would like to go back to Fradi. I think Uncle John will not welcome it.

How does Kormos Cyrano live?

Last time there was a carnival ball here, the band Syconor played quite well. Everything was good,
only one child showed dislike in my direction. I gave this buddy paternal admonitions in the form of
kicks.

I discovered a new complementary sport. This is boxing. We got two pairs of gloves and there are
some serious boxing and table tennis games going on in the basement of the hostel. I also improved
a lot in a game called billiards. Now I'm asking you for something, if you can get a Czech sneaker, buy
it for me and I'll pay.

Incidentally, robbery murders have become fashionable in the area, three of which have happened
recently.

Learning goes better than in the first semester when I was average. Tell the Vacuum Cleaner to write,
and then I'll write to him. Give everyone my greetings at the FTC! I greet you too: Gyuri. ”

The former teammates still remember him in Ormosbánya. One of them writes about Kazincbarcika
in 2008:

“Uncle Gyula Bodola was a coach in Ormosbánya between 1965 and 1969. This small settlement of
3,000 inhabitants was included in National League 2. When Uncle Gyula was a coach at Ormos, he
also brought Gyuri to Ormos, who went to high school there. In the meantime, we played football
together in the youth and the reserve team. He was a technical, a bit trickster style player. He loved
to do the so called „apron trick” the best - he always smiled after it. He treated his father with
respect but fun and loved him. His drawings and caricatures have also "reached out" to the football
field. Many friends and me of that time loved him in Ormosbánya. Zoltán Barnóczki

With István Szombathelyi, they invent the first jokes and misfortunes of their lives. One of their
classmates remembers this:

“I had a good time at the opening of the Bodola exhibition, when the speaker explained that the
Szeklers rarely race, but Gyuri was different in that too! Well no! He's not crazy either! He was 17
years old when he was played with Pisti Szombathely how to talk?Racing, squatting, or lisping? They
both liked the racing. After a year and a half, Pisti stopped. Gyuri thought it fits to his "image," so he
liked it, and he stayed that way.
Her mom therefore always beat him well around the neck. I think if you think about it, when he was
very drunken, he forgot about it and talked normally. ” Ágnes Heringer.”
Friends

He had many friends in his life. Many of them did not even know each other. He had eras, both in
time and space, and each epoch had its own friendships.

Bartók Béla út, Fradi Kölyök, Ormosbánya, Citadel, KSI, III. district TTVE, Tabán, Palatinus, Gellért,
plots, Downtown, Elizabeth Pub, Balatonföldvár, markets, pubs, Wine Pharmacy, Bem Quay, Youth
Park, E Club, Essen, Vancouver - all circles of friends.

In Vancouver, in exile, he wrote down a list of his friends in a booklet. He documented his whole life.
He wanted to capture everything, not just in drawing and photography, but in texts as well.

Many people counts, how many friends he or she had in his or her life. But who took the fatigue to
described who he remembered. And who could describe four hundred names. True, out of four
hundred names, it's good to have two girls. Women were important in her life, but friends, buddies,
parties, and jokes were even more important.

In the footsteps of memories on Béla Bartók út

The question marks multiplied around him as I dug deeper and deeper into the memories.

One evening I went to his parents' former apartment, in front of the house at 134 Bartók Béla út. I
knew there was nothing left to remind me of the Bodola family. But then, as I stood in the dark
descending darkness against the remix, breathing in that early autumn, suburban air, and as I
listened to the squeak of the trams winding into the tram garage, I got a little closer to it.

I also went to his former headquarters, the „Wine Pharmacy” pub, the same day to see if I could find
anyone or anything. I didn’t really know what I was hoping for after twenty years. But as I uttered her
name, the innkeeper pointed with the most natural gesture to a regular guest bobbing in the dim
light of the pub. An elderly, obsolete alcoholic. I introduced myself, but he shouted at me, “Bullet,
don’t you know me? I'm Crazy! ” I couldn't believe my eyes, Bodola’s former friend, János Viglás, is
still sitting here, and for twenty years he has been waiting for his buddy, his racing friend, who is
gilding his life with jokes, to return to the scene of common parties one day.

As I walked out on Bartók Béla street, the scenes of his childhood appeared in a row. The childhood
friend and future wife, Zsuzsa Udvardy, lived here, "Ari" (József Aranka) in the neighborhood, this is
the house of Ervin Horváth in the Circus, with the former Bartók cinema - Tomi Bender also lived
there. This is Váli utca elementary school, further out, in the suburbs of Kelenföld, the other schools
wich he attended. There are a couple of them. Not to mention Pécs and Miskolc, only in Buda were
three educational institutions wich he attended. Váli Street was the determining factor. That's the
place where the friends came from.
School

He jumped out of the school’s upstairs window once and broke his ankle. He didn't dare say at home
what had happened. His parents were scared, maybe it's not because of some kind of onset of polio?
They rushed from doctor to doctor. Weeks later, the truth came to light. Gyuri would not have
spoken, but rather endured all the painful tests.

He was a bad student, but he was so excellent in history that his class teacher wrote a special
commendation in addition to the many poor grades in his certificate. His drawing skills began to
unfold.

This is how this former classmate remembers this time:

“I remember Gyuri very well, we were classmates at the upper secondary school of Váli Street
Primary School. It was so long ago, but I never forgot him. I remember when he showed up in class, I
liked it almost from the very first moment. He didn’t even notice me then, yes later did, but
unfortunately only for a short time. A kind of student love developed between us. But I was happy to
skate together on the loose ice of the tennis court beside the small market and next to Bottomless
Lake. We also walked a lot in the legendary Eszék street, we often went to the nearby Farkas
confectionery, where you could buy very good ice cream. (A dumpling cost 50 pennies!) Gyuri was a
sensible and very talented boy. Not only in art, but also in football, he held his ground very well. In
gym classes, I always watched how well he handles the ball. At school, by the way, he was one of the
bastards. Boys of this type have always been interested, but not the arrowheads! I saw him fight a
few times in class and down the hall. He always won! Of course not seriously, but that was enough
for the class teacher to invite him to a little chat. Gyuri drew many times - even in class - and really
enjoyed what he was doing. He was constantly praised by everyone and envied. And his cartoons
were downright fantastic. I remember making cards with various funny figures and accompanying
texts. He had a very good sense of humor. At that time, my mother worked at the Cultural
Department of the Central Club of the Hungarian People's Army, where she exhibited Gyuri's works.
Needless to say, it was a great success. After that, its popularity and landmarks only curved upwards,
it could not have happened otherwise. He really deserved the success. The last time I saw him was on
the Fehérvár road market. Someone spoke to me, it seemed like a familiar voice, even though that in
the meantime flew away 10 years. When I turned around, I immediately recognized my childhood
love. He sold vegetables, fruits and eggs. I didn’t dare ask questions much, immerse myself in
memories. I was already married and had two kids at the time, I think he was already busy too. To
this day, I can’t digest that he’s not in the ranks of the living. It’s just unbelievable to me why he left
so soon. I am sure I will keep his memory in my heart forever. Valéria Horváth (Quercia), Phoenix,
USA. "
“I went to primary school with Gyuri Bodola in upper secondary school. He scribbled his benches, you
can imagine of what he got for it. I was a "good little girl," so it was a pioneering task that gave me
the assignment to take the lessons for the next day to Gyuri, so he couldn’t claim he didn’t write
down what the task was. Gyuri was a very good guy and of course I was buzzing with him. I was
always terribly embarrassed when I had to go up to them, but he greeted me very kindly, with a kind
of "condescending" kindness. However, the biggest humiliation was caused by the fact that on such
occasions I received a slice of red hazelnut chocolate from Gyuri, which my brother immediately
reached home. So the point is, Gyuri didn't even notice me. Now with an adult head, I smile all the
way, of course. If I think back to my memories, Gyuri lives in me like a boy who always pushes his
limits. Katalin Bujáki "

"Ervin Horváth was a good friend of mine, they were already" big boys ", I was still a little girl. But I
was in a very good friendship with Ervin and he got to know Gyuri. We soon changed our pants, I
wore off a green French velvet pants, and I gave him a Lee jeans in return. I got out well at home, but
I was happy with the coveted pants. Because Gyuri was whatever you could ask him to be, then,
there, in those beautiful years, He gave. Éva Sóti "

Big Nose

The parental house where he spent his youth has a rather bleak look. A standard, circular house, but
even the stucco was stripped from its facade. As I enter, I see the legendary swinging door, which he
fondly kicked in, on his way home to run sportily across the obstacle during the swing. On one
occasion, however, someone propped it up, and he ran straight into the fixed door with full speed.
That’s when the legendary nose, “Big Nose,” was born.

His mother, Aunt Pipi, still beat his bleeding son well, who almost held the remnants of his nose in his
hands. He later thought he was plasticizing him, but thank God he didn’t. Thus, it has retained its
“logo,” which we can “admire” in countless photos and drawings.

He had made a business card with the following text on it: Bodola Big Nose George. "not just anyone"
Apartment: ????????? ” All this in gold letters on a white background.

Trouble Gyuri

"Gyuri's favorite movie was "Handcuffs and Smiles" Gyuri felt the role of Luke was completely his
own, almost identifying with him. Half the cinema was outraged when he laughed out loud at the
misfortune. Viewers in the cinema felt sorry for Luke when he ate from bet the hard-boiled eggs,
annoyed the smasher in the film, entertained his fellow prisoners, Luke almost died.

How could Gyuri laugh! ... My God! He gurgled, hunched over, slapped his knee - oh well it was good!
I mention that there was a small cinema on Acacia Street, I think Gorky, I saw this movie with him
four times, when he was discharged from the military.
He was int he military, "Trouble" Gyuri. Until suicide. We were kids. He felt violent. He suffered.
Maybe it was the reson of all the bad.” Ágnes Heringer.

Like all of us at the time, he did everything he could to escape the call. He did not swim, he had to
march to Pécs in 1972. He made bets with his friends that he would be dismantled very quickly on a
psychic basis, even studying Freud. The end was that when a sergeant ordered him to wash hundreds
of dishes, he simply beat his foreman. He was lucky that he had not yet taken the military oath, and
so the military court imposed only an 8 month in a penal century, which he had to take in Kaposvár.
Here he met Attila Takács, the "Newspaper King". He, in turn, was discharged on a psychic basis
immediately after serving his sentence.

As a Central Sports School student, he sold the –guarded in fear – year round volume of Vailant, a
French cartoon newspaper, for 100 forints, then bought ice cream from the full purchase price - 50
shillings per dumpling - and reportedly ate it all in the place of a planter. If you don't believe, look for
it!

The point was always to upset his surroundings. Once upon a time, Bender Tom had a house party.
Tomi’s graduate college classmates, medics came together, in suits, white shirts, ties, and small suits,
to celebrate their recent graduation. All he knew was that there was a party at Bender. Set up
tousled, barefoot, in a clog, with a curled aluminum fork on his wrist, a hippie-dressed chick on his
side, he said in shocked silence: Sorry, I thought it was a sex party!

Drinks, buddies, loans

He loved to sit and chat with a small drink in a quiet place with friends. Such a quiet place was the
leather painting workshop of Ferencz Kun in Vásárhelyi Pál Street. In the mornings, after the pubs on
Béla Bartók út, (a couple of them) ended up in the leather painting shop. Not only because it was
possible to talk about football, literature, Transylvania, but also to get a small donation to the extent
of financing a few small splatters. And there was Feri's younger brother, Tamás Kun, the former bass
guitarist of Béla Radics, who was always available to sip a lime wine.

Gyuri survived Tamás only a few months….

As a kind of XI. district child, Gellért Hill with the Citadel was a defining place for him. He called the
mountain: The Hump, and on it the “Cita”. Ont he "Cita" spent a lot of pleasant hours with his friends
working here, Ervin Kiss, Pál Kovácshegyi and Alpár Cziglényi. Lots of photos was taken here. He also
brought Béla Tolcsvay here with him many times.

Many times, many people were asked to borrow smaller or larger amounts. It has not been proven
that he returned it all. He once borrowed a larger sum from a relative he loved, which he no longer
saw. To be honest, he was’nt angry with Gyuri, he was still fine with him. He might have guessed
when he gave the money that he could say goodbye to it.
Bodola owed more money to Franyó „Brúder” László. They once meet on the street by accident.
Bodola thought that Franyó did’nt recognized him and he ran into a doorway and jumped into a trash
can. Brúder went after him, lifted the lid of the trash can, and asked him, "Shouldn't I lend you some
money?"

When he left the country for good in February 1989, he asked Zsuzsa for money to pay off his
honorable, “gentleman’s” debts, at least to those he held in high esteem.

So he went to Kun Feri's leather painting shop and opened it racked: Mr. Feri! I came for two things. I
would like to say goodbye, and I would give the price of the small splatters on the other! And with
that, he handed over a few thousand forints.

Madness

At the same time, Bodola went fishing with Crazy to the Lake Balaton. There’s a picture he took of
Crazy pulling his fishing rod out of the water and Csiri holding a small bream up close in front of the
diaphragm. The scene in the picture looks like a huge cod has been hooked.

During the evening fishing Bodola drunk initiated Crazy: he was fed up, he closes the shop that night.
He has a lot of medicine sewn into the leg of her pants and he will takes it. As soon as he fell asleep,
Crazy took the medication out of his leg and threw it into the water. At dawn he heard his friend
digging into his pants and then lying back angrily. There was no mention of the matter the next day.

In Essen, the newly arrived Crazy had to cook paprika potatoes for the “native” dissidents from
German ingredients. Bodola, after consuming enough alcohol and with some obscene introduction,
got a Frankfurt sausage in her mouth and tried to swallow it at the same time. He almost drowned in
front of his friends. Even now, he owed his life to Crazy, who hit his throat with his fists and so the
sausage jumped out of his throat.

Popularity

You can hardly find someone who wouldn’t have known Bodola. It was natural that almost everyone
in his age group was good at partying, playing football, or selling vegetables. But that a theater critic
shouted at the Pesti Theater when he heard the name Bodola: "I played football with him every
summer in the seventies, with Little Ebedli and “Törő” in Földvár!"

Or a downtown lawyer serving a prison sentence at the State Penitentiary immediately exclaimed on
the news of the Bodola exhibition: "Where will Dudus have an exhibition?"

He was known to the pub mainstream of all pubs in Pest and Buda, the whole world of football,
musicians, tramps, greengrocers, actors and writers.

It’s almost unimaginable how so much everything fit into his life. His talent, many hundreds of
drawings, many thousands of photographs, literacy, knowledge, vocabulary, football skills, card
games, billiards, lots of friends, acquaintances, loves, starting three families, two children, four
dissidations, two emigrations, dozens of jobs, and meanwhile constantly partying and pubging as if
he hadn’t had 24 hours a day.

Literature, books, words

There was always a book or magazine under his arm. He collected the “Big World” systematically. He
was unbeatable in crossword puzzles. He loved the language and the words so much that he
“collected” his favorite words and phrases in a booklet:

“A victim of a plot; you would commit if you betrayed me; to sweep out of the city; to the legitimate
outrage of my fans; as a partisan in the taiga; tears drop apart in the corner of his eye; under
customary law; rarity as a half-armed gypsy primate; as Hun paramedics in the Battle of Catalaunum;
middle peasant; gallant mountain killer; earaches; soaked horse-smelling breath; … ”

The prodigal son

His mom was a very strict woman. For both her husband and her children. If Gyuri hadn't eaten lunch
when he was a child, his mother locked him in the dark pantry for hours, but he wouldn't let go, no
matter how long he stayed there, he wouldn't give in.

Because of the things he has done, his mother banned him from home at regular intervals, so he
slept at many, many places. He often fled to his sister's home in Szentendre. Once, back in 1984, his
mother offered him, that if he checked out of the apartment, he would immediately receive 100,000.
Ft. The same day, he went to Mitribusz Gábor (“Troli”) and offered him ten thousand forints if he
could check into his apartment. The deal was done the next day. We have the savings book in which
he put the 100,000. HUF, and there are photos of them throwing thousands into the air in front of a
Greek national flag. According to the passbook, the money lasted for a month. It is said that the good
has turned into small splatters.

In the early 1970s, his American uncle offered him a Fiat 127 on the condition that he cut his long
hair and get the license. He slept in the car - in his car - for a week. Then he didn’t cut his hair and
didn’t get the license. He didn't even get the car.

The uncle (Botos Buba) later gave him a serious sum to become a cartoonist, to be independent, to
create the right conditions. Legends circulate about this money: by taxi to Pécs, hotel room for a
week in Hotel Wien, etc., etc. He called Crazy from Siófok, in the Wine Pharmacy, there's a cab
coming up with two polish chicks and to come down to Siófok immediately. The taxi soon came up
with the Polish girls, and Crazy was already racing with two chicks to Balaton on the road seven. In
the most prestigious hotel on the Gold Coast, he was told that Mr. Bodola had taken out the
presidential suite, but was now sleeping outside on the shores of Lake Balaton.

Football

Football was important. Not just because of his father. Back then, football was the sport, the game
the community experience for almost every guy.
He was a skillful, technical player, but he did not inherit his father’s brilliant talent and perseverance.
His father described him as not bad, but he could be faster. He played in the Fradi puppy, KSI and III.
district TTVE.

She loved to give an “apron”. His whole life was about, pulling, playful heckling. And when a joke
succeeded, a slightly mocking, naughty smile appeared on his face: when he pressed a birthday cake
into Karsai "Lung’s" face, or when he kicked the ball into the goal. This mischievous smile and
laughter also made him “Trouble” Luke’s spiritual relative.

His former teammate András Udvarhelyi remembers:

“Gyuri and I did a lot of nonsense during the matches, he was always happy and cheerful. He was the
leader of TTVE sport clubs youth team. We were already shocked by his drawings, even though it
would be out of it now. As a Canadian, I read with regret that he died here and I had no knowledge of
it. I have another picture of him: he just heads the ball in front of me during a match (I’m the
goalkeeper) The team we had in the TTVE will never be another like that! We got together after
every match, no one went home until we discussed the match! We played better next week. This was
the TTVE best National League youth team! ”

Margaret, Barnabas - Hercules

After primary school, he first studied to be a tool maker at the András Fáy Vocational High School,
then came Ormosbánya High School, and then some unsuccessful enrollments in the evening and
staff department of Kaffka Margit High School. He failed to graduate. He spent the last summer
before the military as a bath attendant on the Palatine spa. Then military conscription, military draft
order and the “big trouble”.

After the disarmament, love and marriage to Margit Lakatos, and then the first son, Hercules
Barnabas, was born.

Margit Lakatos remembers their relationship like this: “Shame or no, but I don’t remember
everything anymore, even though I’ve known Gyuri since he was 17 and I knew everything about
him, the family stories, but it’s been thirty years since then.

For example, I remember being a soldier, too, for a few months, but before enlisting, he bet with his
buddies to play the fool, he became disarmed, with some crazyness.

I also only remember his high schools, it is not certain that he went to Kaffka in fourth class, but due
to some scandal he was knocked out of all high schools in the country before graduation. Her mom
begged for years, promised him everything at least to graduate, but he wasn't even willing to cut his
hair for any amount of money, as when his American uncle once brought him a nice Fiat car from
Germany, but he was not willing to cut his hair, so the uncle took it back.

Demszky was him classmate that year and he beat him several times.

Gyuri was one of the most intelligent guys I’ve ever met. According to his mom, he won history races
in a row in elementary school, and when I heard about a good book, he mentioned them all. He had
an incredible vocabulary and speaking skills, his humor was fantastic, Fábry Sándor is just a faint
aftermath.

He only drew when he wanted to. Tolcsvay, for example, once locked him in the apartment because
he needed a record cover quickly.

He has a drawing in the rock lexicon, wich he made while I was taking a shower, approximatly 1o
minutes.

We were buddies at first, but I really endured how much you could laugh with him, then in the fall of
73 we started dating, our first date was in front of the Film Museum, he always mentioned. He
refused to meet anyone there anymore, as he said.

In January 74, we had an engagement - in a pub, of course, - somewhere else, next to the Eötvös
Club, on the small street. A goldsmith’s student buddy made our wedding rings from the silver cup
that Gyuri routinely stole from home.

We were at a mandatory sexual briefing in February 74, and I keep the paper to this day. Of course
there was a big show there as well. Before that, he made us say we wanted four kids. They talked to
us separately. I stuck to the deal, but of course he said he hated kids, he didn’t want any.

We had our wedding on May 14th. 1974. Gathering at the Penguin Buffet by the Bottomless Lake. I
was wearing a burgundy mini dress with a floral pattern, that barely covered my panties, Gyuri had
jeans, and jeans shirt, one of the witnesses barefoot, in a clump. We also took the music to the
wedding. He loved the songs of Leonard Cohen. The registrar was then wrapped with a wet cloth in
the office, I saw this on the way out.

Gyuri worked hard at the time, he was a bath attendant on Palatinus spa.

In the summer after the wedding, we were so childish that we played hide and seek in the
apartment, we hid in the wardrobe, everywhere, but the point was that our mouths were full of
water and whoever found the other, spat well, we laughed a lot.

On Sundays, he have ceremoniously gone out to Tabán to play football, of course only in very fancy
clothes, and never arrived home at the promised time. I also wore this badly, I am a virgin, I like to
know what it will be, what I will pay the bills from. Gyuri was left cold by these things. I had been
cooking all Sunday morning, I remember exactly, stacked fries, and he arrived so late, something
around 5 p.m. that it cooled down, ruined, and I covered everything on his head in front of the front
door.
If there were 5 to 10 people standing in a circle somewhere in the city and they were laughing a lot,
then in the middle of the circle it was quite certain that Gyuri was standing, but somehow he couldn't
get home on time. There were always pubs and dudes along the way.

Barnabas was born on November 7 (!). When I left for the hospital, Gyuri was certainly not home, he
was having fun somewhere, and he only found out that his son was born when he staggered home at
dawn.

We were so childish kids, 20-21 years old, we shouldn't have got married, but Gyuri insisted and we
both fled from home. But we really shouldn’t have divorced, yet I filed the papers on May 75, and the
divorce was announced in the fall.

The potty upset: He had gone to work every morning for three weeks, and then it turned out he
didn’t even have a job. Of course, there was no money, he was lying, he was drinking. When met
first, he was drunk only on the weekends, and then every day. I couldn’t stand it. I thought, I could
change it. So badly assessed the situation.

He didn’t want to divorce, and when I went to court, with the papers in my hand, he laughed,
photographed me from the balcony. Then he stopped laughing, came to the trial with a bouquet of
flowers, and took me to dinner. He only agreed to a consensus when I threatened to summon my
mutter, who is a full-time witch.

We put up with each other better, after the divorce was pronounced, but he still slept a few nights in
front of the door, on the doormat, because the odor probe judged him unable to come in. Or I sent
him home to his nut, bless him.

After that, Gyuri behaved so well that he lived here with us for years after the divorce, only sometime
around the 80s and 82s did Klári seized Gyuri, by the time I was completely resigned to staying. He
helped me until I went to college in Eger for four years, took care of the child, did everything.

Paying child support was never his strength, and sometimes he disappeared, he didn’t see the child
for weeks, but a veil on it, now doesn’t matter.

There are spikes in Barnabas. He became a normal citizen, which is a nice stunt with such parents.

Gyuri was a cute bohemian who lacked all the malice, was full of good qualities, just unfit for a
husband and father.

When I went to prepare for the Hungarian - history course, from September to May, to Economic
University, we were in a bad relationship. That was from 1976 to 1977. He lived with his mom and
came to Újpalota every Wednesday and Thursday afternoon, death exactly. I went to the preparation
class, then I got home at 8 o'clock in the evening. I politely thanked him and he took a bus home to
Béla Bartók street, because we were not well enough to sleep here.

If he wanted to get good points, he knew he could only go through the child, he brought him a nice
stroller, he drew a huge fairy tale illustration, a very real teddy bear, and nice colorful fairy tale
figures.

Then I was admitted to college, as a correspondent student, and he tried to drink just enough to let
him in the flat, and then he helped me a lot. Sometimes I was in Eger for two weeks, he took care of
the child. I was also sick in 1977, he still did everything he could.

But there were also times when I told him on Monday that the kid was sick, but he only came here on
Friday. Thanks! And he promised to take the child on Sunday morning. The little guy was standing in
the hall in a coat and cap, Gyuri didn't come. We didn't even have a phone at the time, nor an
excuse.

Then Zsuzsi came and took him out to Canada, but even from there, they sent me money, when my
apartment could suddenly be bought.(

Barnabás was out for 1 month with them in Canada, after the military in 1994. ”

Csiri, Péter - Archibald, emigrations

In 1982, he fell in love with Csiri and married her. His second child was born in November 1983: Péter
Archibald.

This marriage was not without problems either. Gyuri emigrated twice. The first took place as a result
of a quarrel and a fight with Csiri. Csiri ran away from home to the police. Gyuri immadietly visited his
friend Gábor “Troli” Mitribusz that morning. Mitribusz was a technician with different rock bands at
the time. Gyuri adviced to emigrate together, but now immediately. A good friend doesn’t theorize
much, and since they both had valid travel permits to Yugoslavia, they were already racing on the
Mistral express train to Ljubjana by noon. From there, they somehow got to Nova Goriza, by the
Italian border, and crossing the legendary fence, they were already in Gorizia, in Italy, in the “free
land”. A quarter of an hour later, they were taken off a bus by police and put in a siren police car and
headed for the guard, where they had to spend a while.

It was very difficult for them to get a free train ticket to the refugee camp near Rome, Latina. They
didn't like the place with the barracks and the many Albanians and other emigrants, so they made a
short trip to Capua near Naples, from where they stepped even faster and now they went in the
opposite direction with the free ticket - towards Turin, amid the busy disputes of the guides.

From Turin they hitch hiked in the Alps, in the direction of Mont Blanc towards the French border.
Later in the mountains, and the valleys, they hoofed in a meter of snow without a penny. By the
border they were captured by the police, and dragged back in Torino. They made the trip back in 3
hours in a jeep, which they went there for 3 days. Their deprivation was not over, they had to get to
Trieste with a ticket to Latina, because by then their emigration fever had run out. They had to flee
from Trieste through the mountains to Yugoslavia, where they were caught by the Yugoslav border
guard, but he motioned for them to count down to three, otherwise they would be handcuffed. They
disappeared in a second. Ljubjana again, Mistral again, but now back and without a ticket. But being
big bilge artists, the guide only found out it about Kelenföld, Budapest.

He begged himself back to Szél Street in Óbuda, to his wife. The idyll did not last long. He set off
again at the end of April 1985. This time, he asks for and receives a “blue” passport and an official
currency transfer valid for 30 days to the west, but his secret plan was, to stay there permanently.
However, he does not inaugurate his wife in his travel plan, she only learns the truth from a friend:
Treko in a few days.

In Essen, his former military colleague, Attila Takács, the “Newspaper Sellers King” is waiting for him,
and recommends him to Miklós Doleviczényi, an Ex - Kex band musician and instrument restorer.

In the photos taken here, an unhappy man looks at us. Many times he lies on a bed faintly drunk,
with a gun directing on his temple, and in a bad mood, which is a rarity for him. You could almost feel
that he had escaped from something that he missed very much at the same time. He returned 364
days later, (just shorter than a year) so there was no police case, only his passport was withdrawen
for 5 years. He's still trying to get her second marriage back - with little success.

Jobs and work

Jobs have changed frequently in their lives. This was also typical of the age, you had to have a place
to work in your identity card, to not to be a coward! These were side-by-side, “fake” jobs.

He also retained dozens of court orders varying City Transport authority penalties to closure or
foreclosure. Allegedly, old Dudus did not let the bailiffs and the police into his apartment, he said:
The name Bodola is obligatory, you can't put your feet in here!

The years went by and the talent was in vain. Just a rock lexicon and two more books (Anecdotes
from the Heroic Age, Vacation '86) to illustrate, drawings and articles published in newspapers, one
or two album covers, (Verkli, Bikini, Tolcsvay) and concert poster (Bikini, P. Mobil, Piramis, Mini) from
its strength and possibilities. How much of this was the counter-selection of the age, and how much
of his almost conscious self-destructive life, should be decided by everyone. For sure, he would have
deserved more from life and himself.

Some articles about him from the seventies and eighties:

“BIKINI book? Yes, it is. How did we become BIKINI? Lojzi Németh narrates. The story is illustrated by
a cartoonist György Bodola. ”

“György Bodola also drew his own caricature, as did so many others. In the pages of Youth Magazine
periodical portraits of the domestic and foreign greats of the pop world often appear. It is considered
by many people, that he is one of the best cartoonists in Hungary. Most recently, though, he as a
carpet cleaner dazzled his admirers. How is this?

“- It's easy! I'm working! I need money. This isn’t the first time I’ve done physical work, I’ve been to
many places already. I recently have an underground job at the subway construction. And when I was
approached to make cartoons for Péter Tardos' rock lexicon, I was selling peaches in the market. You
know, there’s an imagination, that a cartoonist job is to draw.I want that too, but it’s not that simple.
I have no objective opportunity to unpack and immerse myself in the work. I have neither my own
apartment nor my own desk…”

- Fortunately, sometimes you still manage to work. You could even compile a separate volume of
your work.

"There would be a demand for it, and it would be sold if it were released. I recently made a large-
scale poster. It depicts a wild western pub with lots of amusing figures. If I could published it, it
would be in a short tome sold. But I think, I mismanage myself. I draw for fun, you see, I don't live out
of it.” Compared to that, a lot of people know and like you. What has been your biggest success so
far?

"The fact that David Levin, the American cartoonist –whom I consider the greatest, has made an
appreciative statement about my drawings."

“Rock Lexicon. György Bodola is a cartoonist - he presented the greats of pop in front of a graphic,
curved mirror. So successful that some of the portraits compete with a multi-volume oeuvre. ”

“Evening fever on the Danube. Departure at 9 pm from Vigadó Square. Who we are interested in:
György Bodola is a cartoonist. Cartoons. ”

“Bodola could not make a living from his drawings. He worked as a vegetable grocer in almost all
markets of Budapest, he was a casual worker, a bath attendant on the Palatinus spa, and sometimes
drawned as well. P Mobile, Mini, Pyramid, Illés, Phonograph, Tolcsvay posters, drawings for Youth
Magazine. On the Danube musical ship, he was as cartoonist in starring role, and in 1980, sixty
thousand copies of the Rock Lexicon. (Second Edition 1982) It was a miracle that it was completed.
After all, he always stopped when he was given an order. He could not work on request, only at his
own discretion. That's why he wasn't called anywhere later.
One of his friends, István Földes, remembers:

“I’m looking for relics, but the most importantly, unfortunately, has become a hit in the sale of an
apartment. Budapest, Csalogány utca 6. - 10. IV. em. 156. This was my studio in the mid-70s, the
walls of which were scrabbled full by my dear friend during the “Great Closure”. I closed him here for
a few days to work on the illustrations in a book by Áron Tamási. From here, we even wanted to ask
Parliament for asylum at night, crossing the Danube. (We headed to Casanova bar for a cigarette, in a
towel with a dinghy on our backs). I've been very sad ever since. Földes Pisti ("Actor").

Gyuri could not fall asleep in Földes's apartment because, as he said, the red star on the top of the
Parliament was lit, and the statue of Lenin of Pisti’s father was also staring at him, so he always
turned the great revolutionary towards the wall.

Within reach from success

The whole musical cartoon affair began with friendships with lots of rock musicians, during parties,
while drinking, and football matches. Ádám Török, János Závodi, László Komár, Károly Frenreisz, Béla
Tolcsvay, Attila Horváth, János Karácsony, to name a few. At the time, the musicians were gathered
in the evenings at the Elizabeth Pub, where Bodola - when he ran out of money - drew the members
of the table company next door for a round of drinks without a word. Sometime he had drawn a
portrait with both hands at once, but it was usually characteristic of being able to make character
drawings with a few fleeting lines in a matter of seconds. He went to fame. His fame reached Peter
Tardos, who chose him as an illustrator of the Rock Lexikon. By the way, he made the cartoons for
the Rock lexicon in the Rózsavölgyi Music Store, where Attila Horváth worked as a salesman and
handed over the covers of the records to Gyuri from under the counter. He made with the help of
the cover photos the portraits of the musicians in a small corner of the shop.

In the meantime, his larger works, the “Western” series, were made to entertain himself and his
friends. Wild west guys, scenes, pubs, “warrant of caption” posters. He made these pictures with the
utmost care and meticulousness, with plenty of accessories, a real fur cap, a real Native American
feather, a brass necklace and a cross, and of course full of jokes.

If he could have arrive, he would have had arrive with these masterpieces. And not just at home.
These drawings would have been sell in America as well.

Throughout his work, he was accompanied by his narcissism, the continuous and indefatigable
perpetuation of himself, in every conceivable pose, dress, and activity of the world.

Cartoons: Bodola as Caesar as vampire, Yeti, Santa Claus, Francis Joseph, Formula 1 car racer,
homeless, football star, prisoner, angel, wrangler, Blind Bottyán, western hero, gladiator, red soldier.
Photos: Japanese samurai, toilet aunt, proletar with swiss cap, drummer, trumpeter, saxophonist,
street sweeper, hog sheperd, female imitator, prophet, room painter, father pushing his child in car,
easy rider, photographer, cartoonist, fallen flicker, piano tuner, Hawaiian belly dancer, Native
American, suicide candidate, bath attendant, green grocer, scuba diver, sailor, rider, bartender,
soccer player, gipsy dulcimer player, etc., etc.….

He always had a camera with him and captured a lot of things from the world around him, so today
these portraits and group pictures of Tabán and other gathering places are real relics, and
contemporary historical documents.

It should be added that Gyuri not only took the photos, but also collected them systematically, not to
say stealing them. He had a big plan to gather a living “pantheon” from the circle of friends and
buddies of his youth. He also managed to collect at least 500 “faces” of people, as he said. Today, this
collection has become partly a real pantheon. So many of them have left.

More important was his conscious activity of constantly documenting his own life with someone to
be called an unknown photographer. He constantly made sure that he captured all the important
events and jokes and ideas of his life with someone. Someone was always with him, next to him, to
whom he could always give a camera in his hand, and to whom he could always tell what kind of
image he wanted. These images are set shots, yet spontaneous.

The guide had caught all of us on the train without a ticket, but none of us had knelt on the ground
and begged the guide with his hands folded, and photographed it with someone immediately. When
we got more money, we didn’t pose in front of the Greek flag, throwing the money in the air. We
didn’t have in our hands monkeys, rabbits, kittens, big cats, puppies, big dogs, iguanas, parrots, and
guinea pigs just for the sake of one shot. We didn’t sit on a motorcycle, we didn’t play the drums, the
violin, the dulcimer, the saxofon, the trumpet, didn’t pee, didn’t sit on the toilet, didn’t take a sauna
- just for the sake of a shot, and if we were cut in the head with a bottle, our first thought wasn’t to
have a premiere plan, made from our blood-soaked head.

In fact, he was not a photographer at all, but a "photo actor", a clown, an entertainer, who
entertained not only himself, but also his friends and his whole environment. His whole life was a
party. Capturing the moment was more important than living it. He shared his love of life and his
humour with the world. Nothing serious, there's just enough of that in life. It's his job to make it
colourful and fun.

That's why he hugs a gypsy couple on a motorbike with spare tyres on their shoulders, leans
inquiringly towards a beggar, winks at the 90-year-old patron of a wine bar, embraces a gas-masked,
air-intimidated puppet, listens to the musicians of the silent statue in the Népstadion, and jumps into
the water with a hiccup, puts a beret on his head, sits on a rooftop with a tall hat, wears a motorbike
lederhosen, squats over the Statue of Liberty, plays football on the tram, winks at the copious
amounts of returnable booze bottles, dances in a coconut skirt, and poses, shows off his foreskin,
grimaces, and looks in a thousand different ways.

In late 1988, he obtained the necessary papers to travel. At that time, he needed a 30-day exit permit
and a return flight ticket. But it was really a one way ticket. His third "defection". He may have been
the last Hungarian illegal emigrant, because from 1989. januar 1. everybody had the right, to leave
the country. Up there, visitingk the opera Romeo and Juliet at the Verona Arena. All this shortly after
Gyuri was vegetating in a near-homeless state in Pest.

In Vancouver, a miracle awaited him. Zsuzsa was still a successful businesswoman at the time,
running a famous restaurant (Szász Restaurant) where even Endre Szász and György Faludy had
visited. Nice apartment, good car, carefree life, financial well-being. Clean, rich city, surrounded by
snow-capped mountains and pine forests, on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. A small Hungarian
colony of Gruber, Csere, Dóczi, Sztoján, later Karsai "Tüdő" Tamás, Imre "Imóka" Péter, "nearby" L.A.-
In L.A. and Hawaii, as well as in Washington, Gabesz Nagy, Balogh Aladár, Fekete Barna, György Barca
"Jean", Gábor Szemző "Alarm", György Szabó "Keki", Jenő Szekfű "Gino" Szekfű, András Csolák, the
"Gyalogos", in other words, a whole football team could be formed. And work. Painting, even if not
artistic, but a wall. But you can make a very good living at it. Gyuri can finally indulge his obsession
with collecting objects, clothes and books. Mini-books by the hundreds, the complete Omar Khajjam
oeuvre in dozens of languages, Japanese ornamental swords, paintings, hundreds of mini alcoholic
glass bottles, Vonnegut and Hrabal books, Leonard Cohen and AC/DC records, weekend trips,
Hawaiian vacations, trips to L.A., Seattle, Washington, San Francisco, up the mountains, to ski
paradise, Whistler. And love and love with Zsuzsi. Peace, harmony, well-being, a life found again.
Soccer and footy with friends, a decent drinking, cattle-roaring workplace collective, and parties one
after another, one after another.

A few articles about him appeared in the national press at the time:

"Gyurka Bodola a cartoonist like few others I know. But even this is surpassed by his character. ...

Gyurka Bodola sent me ... a long letter ... The letter was not addressed to me, but it was addressed to
me. Bodola wrote ten dense pages - to all his friends at home. "Pass it around" - it said at the end. It
was a great letter, I didn't pass it on. I will do as the Canadian government did with the Vasari picture:
wait for the historic moment. When it can be ceremoniously handed over. A real letter is still a
delicacy years later. Wait for it boys !"

Szabad Föld. 16 XI 1999.

In 1993 my wife and I went on a tour of America. Our plane ticket was not valid to Canada, only to
the USA, but Gyuri was so insistent that we flew to Seattle and he and Gergő Karsai picked us up by
car. (There and back twice: 1600 km in total.) Given that Gyuri couldn't drive and Tüdő Karsai didn't
have a passport, 17-year-old Gergő solved the problem, he had both a driver's license and a passport.
Gyuri greeted us at the airport with an overwhelming welcome, as if we were best friends, and in the
most natural way in the world.

When we arrived, there was a candle burning at every turn of the stairs in the stairwell, and a cup of
drink waiting for us. The care and kindness with which they waited was incredible. A week of
programme after programme. Excursions to the mountains, Whistler, ski resort, pine forests, canyon,
the famous suspension bridge where he loved to watch. Breakfasts at their restaurant, Mexican
restaurants in the evenings, blues clubs, house parties at their place, with the entire Vancouver
emigration in attendance, in short, we had a great week there. The weirdest thing was that George
Bodola was our host. George Bodola, who until the age of 37 never had a real home, now has a
tastefully decorated, spacious, warm home to welcome his guests. He enjoyed it very much, he was
very proud.

It has just been revealed about the "leisurely" Gyuri - as the open-eyed knew - that he preferred to
give rather than receive all his life, if he could, and if he could, he gave, even when he spent his
100.000. Ft. in the form of small spritzers and other drinks and meals, mostly on his friends, and now
that he was living in prosperity for the first time in his life.

"For me, an important factor to note is, that Gyuri, back in the day, got only a pittance from the Rock
lexicon, cca. 50 thousand forints, although it is known that the book was worth several editions with
a large number of copies. I must also say that in those days, the legacy would not have been able to
support the amount of small splashes in that short time. But he gave plenty of it to everyone in his
circle, as they say, with both hands. He favoured us with noble drinks! If wine, then Somlói Juhfark
(he loved it!), spirits, and from the top shelf, which was the "two-deciliter Anglo-Saxon type for the
bastards in the markets at the time." Sebestyén Somogyi (Töpi)

And the flood of guests began. Everyone loved to go to Gyuri's. Not only because of the love of the
guest, but also because of his colourful personality. Once, at a party, he listed who should bring
what. At the end someone asked: What are you bringing? Answer: I'm bringing myself! And he had
every right to say that, he could afford it, because anyone who had fun with him was really
guaranteed to have fun.

There were regular house parties with the Hungarians from Vancouver, but they also came from far
away. It was because of him that Tamás Karsai "Tüdő" moved his whole family from Toronto to
Vancouver in a yellow school bus.

Letters from Vancouver

He began an extensive correspondence with his sister, with Pierre Iványi, with Gábor Szemző, with
György Schneider and others. He sent 10 to 12 pages of diary-like, experiential, humorous, and
reflective writings around the world. You can learn as much about him from these letters as from the
days and weeks he spent with us.

Some extracts from letters to Pierre Iványi and György Schneider:

"In my old age I am getting acquainted with completely new things. One of these is work. I am
working.I am working in a job that is completely in line with my profession. I've become a house
painter and varnisher, and I spend all day long scrubbing rollers on the walls, pestering the spiders
that have taken up residence there. Well, they pay me all kinds of money for all this."

"When I'm not at work, we're decorating and beading our flat. After 36 years of not really having a
real home, I'm now feeling very much at home. We go on trips, and looking around the area for a
hundred years, there's something new to see every day. It's all very beautiful."

"It's risky to walk around Chinatown after dinner because anything can happen unless you're in
disguise. The easiest way to disguise yourself is to have a filthy hangover, because then your eyes
form an approximate mongoloid shape in your face. There are also a bunch of horribly degraded
indigenous Indians who, virtually without exception, are great admirers and worshippers of fiery
water. I think that the totem poles of today would no longer have a shaped eagle and bear, but
would be dominated by the beer can motif, which would be collected, returned, beer bought and the
ring-around-the-rosy started all over again. As for my destruction of fiery water, I'll just write that in
a quarter of a year I have not yet been in the state, common at home, that the lexicons refer to
under the heading of total cuckoo. We'll drink our little sip, but in moderation. What was weird after
Hungary was the number of pubs. There are about as many pubs in this big city as there are in a
radius of about 200 metres around Körtér. And at home the citizen is not animalized, because he
lacks the conditions he is used to in a Pest drinking establishment, such as cursing, hackling,
wrestling, preaching, etc., etc."

"As far as homesickness is concerned, I really miss the tram inspectors, the smell of sweat and
Danubius radio. My little wife and I are doing fine and living in a way that is quite unusual for me -
happily. There are a lot of Hungarians here, but the vast majority are from the category I wouldn't
have bothered with at home, so why bother here? I'm learning the language and I'm also drawing.
I've already had some successes in that respect. Financially too! As far as Hungarian "friends" are
concerned, I have received letters from Australia, the USA, the Czech Republic, Tanganyika, and also
from Tierra del Fuego, but the postal service in our beautiful country is very modest. I'm long past
the point where it annoys me on any level. We have planted our flat with all kinds of greenery, so it
has a very pleasant wilderness feel to it, I hope it doesn't get a forest robber."

"We're celebrating Zsuzsa's birthday today, although for historical fidelity's sake I admit we've been
doing it for about two weeks."
"I'm getting my citizenship papers today, which I'll be submitting on a very tight deadline. Now I'm
going to start memorize the national anthem. There are also qualitative and quantitative changes in
our flat. Our collections are growing nicely, and we are already collecting new nonsense, namely
Omar Khayam's books. Life has been a little hectic lately, with two acquaintances relocating from
Toronto who have been using our apartment's furnishings, food and, most embarrassingly, our drink
stock for a shorter period of time. We are now at the point where I am going to set up a machine gun
nest on the balcony to welcome the visitors. It was a particular boost to our spirits during the locust
walk that we found nothing, but we did make some interesting discoveries. For example, I reached
into the cupboard to retrieve the iron, which I didn't find in its usual place, but I did find a helmet,
two waiter's jackets, a computer, two tennis rackets, a resin for the non-existent violin, and a few
other odds and ends. Tamás "Tüdő" Karsai, who was one of our residents, drank about thirty cups of
coffee a day, no joke, smoked two packs of cigarettes, not to mention his almost assassin-like actions
when he became serious friends with my whisky. ... I may have already written about the local
Hungarian intelligentsia's high-class meeting place at the hugely popular pool club. Well, this is a
place where even Trekó could be considered an academic mind."

"We've grown tired of the fact that popularity has its drawbacks. Lately, all our acquaintances have
got it into their heads that they want to holiday in our refreshing company. Up until now, we were
supposed to go back to Hawaii around January, then an invitation came to Costa Rica. Today I got a
letter from my cousin saying around January-February, fly to Cancun, Mexico. In addition, my little
family also inquired when we would be visiting there. Well, to put it quite accurately, I don't know
what the fuck we're going to do. I'm onto something, and I think you should be proud of your friend's
choice. I'm having a shot of whiskey this very second. ...(Here the letter is continued in a different
colour) Now, I've been a bit lost here for about two weeks, and the sky has been falling."

"There's a Christmas party at the Cseré's on the 21st, and if you think about it, it's quite interesting
that the Csere, Dóczi, Sztoján, Karsai "Tüdő", Bodola troupe is partying together, who knows how
many thousands of kilometres away from Pest. Uncle Sztoján is one of the world's greatest
mysteries, nobody knows what he does for a living, he has as many names as Endre Ságvári, he goes
to various auctions where he beats the price, and you can't say anything that he doesn't have. We
pushed Karsai "Lung" into one of the local VW repair shops - $18 per hour - so he's getting happy.
He's got a new name instead of Tüdő, now we call him Zsazsä, after our great homesmermaid,
because as it turned out, he's been divorced three times and married four times to the same woman.
Quite something, although I think he's a medical case. Other. I do draw now and then. I've got a book
of my illustrations coming out soon, and I'm starting to advertise for occasional print design."

"Well, we wish you and your pals all kinds of clichés for the holidays. I hope to see you soon,
although my homesickness is still non-existent, but I'd like to have a little chat with some of my old
mates."
"It's spring here, which is beautiful around here, walking along the beach and looking at the snow-
capped mountains as the sun tickles my skin. Now, however, a little Smirnoff will tickle the walls of
my stomach within a very limited time. Determination has already been followed by action, without
delay."

"It feels great, but also totally unusual, to go on holiday with our accommodation paid for, our hotel
in the other place, our car rental and our plane ticket, in stark contrast to the older hakniks, when I
was on the tram 49 to Kelenföld station with the goods of my drunken friends, and even then the
journey was not safe, because I was faced with the rail station pub"

"Hawaii. There's also an eye-catching two-day itinerary where you're taken out on a glass-bottomed
barge to a place at sea where killer whales swarm, and you can observe them from near while your
stomach turns from seasickness, which is the equivalent of acute hangover."

"By the way, I suppose it sounds strange, the price of petrol has gone down like the sun. There's a bit
of a recession here too, but I don't think it's anything like the one there. It's tax time for last year, and
there's scratching around like at inventory on Fény Street. Well, that's today's letter, I'm off to play
the lottery. See if I can?"

"By the way, we're planning on sending Trexi a zip-lock, sliding door, removable nylon stomach to see
if that helps. I was surprised when he told me that our faithful Novak is in Vienna on business,
organizing drops for Béres. We took the said medicine for a while, for it was rumoured to work
wonders, the blind would walk and the crippled see. And I feel a little sorry for the city and castle of
Vienna, first the sad horde of Matthias, and now the Novak. So they are under the harrow."

"The Indians on our corner are greeting us from forty yards away, like a Cherokee chief, knowing that
there's a good chance they'll drop a quarter. Sometimes it's a little embarrassing when we go to the
bank with Zsuzsa, and on the street we know a million people, because Zsuzsa worked next to it in
the restaurant for a couple of dozen years. And the tribe is screaming from the other side -HI
PARTNER!

Other.

There are Hungarian House and Hungarian newspapers, written by people with a lot of '56, a lot of
orphan hair, a lot of cockades, and with a one-wave brain, and they are so stupid in every category
that I only pick up this kind of press when I'm in a really bad mood, because then I laugh myself to
death at their stupidity. And because I'm not in a bad mood, or even half a bad mood, I don't read
this rubbish. Besides, Hungarians here, as anywhere else in the world, play their favourite social
game, which may be called "little intrigue", or "dissension", or "how to fuck the other person for no
reason at all." The newspapers have recently been exclusively devoted to the Hungarian price
increase. A friend of mine sent us a pile of election leaflets, much to our amusement. Until the lousy
communists are retroactively shot in the head, there will be no meaningful change. I don't
understand how it is that worms like Ribánszki, Czinege, Maróthi, Berecz, etc, etc, are still sitting
quietly in their little tussockuleanum, when it was long overdue to throw the red cock in their door!
When I get newspapers from home, I still get upset about the situation."

"During the week, we lead a sober lifestyle as respectable citizens, but on weekends I do some
serious experiments with scientific rigour on the very interesting subject of what might be at the
bottom of the glass. This problem, as we all know, has plagued mankind for thousands of years, and
of course, after a while, it plagues others, as exemplified by the life of another extremely curious,
exploratory Treko friend. Knowing this, I eat very tasty food, producing rotten matter inside me."

"Pubs are very different from pubs at home. Eighty per cent of them, not only do they measure
booze, but all sorts of lecherous womenfolk produce themselves on the pavement, by turning their
pussy in and out, much to the delight of the local shit kickers, who can't wait to get home and
hammer their cocks into their baseball caps, which are the convention for the beasts to wear around
here."

"Hey! Aloha! A little late, but not broken, I write a few lines. I'll write little about our short three-
week trip to the Hawaiian Islands (Oahu, Maui), because you wouldn't believe what we saw. It was
amazing. God must have been in a great mood when he created the aforementioned environment,
and I dare say not - he may even have been drinking some bizarre idea-enhancing spirits, in any case
he must have been in a bright good mood, unlike when he created the cockroach bug, Lenin, Marx,
some of my relatives, some of my ex-friends, the sorrel soup, the tax inspectors, Klara Fehér, Ibolya
Bende, and I could go on and on with his blunders. It's all over for Maui. This island is paradise. There
are nowhere near as many serious gay American and Japanese tourists as Honolulu, and there are
places that I couldn't believe my eyes. Craters, lunar or Martian landscapes, jungle, waterfalls,
fantastic mountains, and I haven't even mentioned the sea, its bays, islands, waves and last but not
least its colour and temperature."

"We were in what is called Luau, which is the local pig slaughtering ceremony. It is done by hunting
down the pig in the morning, putting it in a pit with hot stones, covering it with banana leaves and
digging earth over it. In the evening, the pig is exhumed and served up between fire dancing, hula
dancing and all the tricks, along with a heap of other delicacies. (including my first taste of dolphin
meat, which was delicious) The entertainment is enhanced by the fact that during the show, included
in the price of the performance, the Bar works, and it works like a charm! We gave the bartender a
$2 tip and were subsequently given Bloody Marys that were the exact colour of weak raspberry juice,
proving the thorough preponderance of the vodka component."
"Then we arrived home a bit adventurously, because we were not seated in the neighboring seats on
the plane, because my name was Bodola and Zsuzsa was Horváth, from her previous marriage. At
first, we were all a bit grumpy, but soon the bar of the plane opened. The rest of the story is for
those of my poorer imagination to recount. Let's just say that the Honolulu - Vancouver trip is five
hours long. At the airport here we rented a limousine of about eight metres in length and drove
home with a lot of shopping, including 84 (eighty-four) of my small bottles. "

"Unfortunately, I put the wrong wood on the fire last weekend. We happened to be visiting a friend.
There I threw three glasses of a liquid biological weapon called moonsline behind my collar, and fog
before me, fog after me. To this day I don't know why I wanted to drive away from the scene, but the
fact remains that I got in the jar and drove a distance of one metre. That's how far another car was
parked in front of us. By the time I'd said ukmukfukk (fuck) I'd already gone for it. No serious damage
was done, but since then I've been laughed at by my friends and Zsuzsa, and I've been called awk,
with a 'ward' sound added to the end."

"I had just returned from a soul-searching job, and I was delighted to see that the bumblefoot
postman had passed by in the meantime. As a result of my brief search for your letter, I found the
printed mini book and immediately dialled my Zsuzsa to inform her of the arrival the beautiful
cultural amoeba. Zsuzsa skipped home for a few quick minutes, saw the book, flew around the room
a few times in delight, and then retired to her workplace, which is in the far distance, about sixty
meters away from our tiny badger cave."

"Autumn has arrived (he said: hello!) which means that the end of the painter season is near and
Gyuri is sadly (?) retiring on unemployment benefit, a dazzling state of affairs. Just think about it. The
son of a man sits at home, does a job or two every now and then for cash, and every two weeks the
postal worker comes by, and whoosh, he brings a check for $560. I don't find it unbearable."

„Neki láttam rajzolni. Éppen egy duhaj csárda jelenetet alkotok, mindenféle huncut betyárokkal,
ledér fehérnépekkel, nyalka kondásokkal, és egyéb haramiákkal, perzekutorokal stb. Már az eddig
elkészült figurák is szemrevalóak. Ha elkészült lerepróztatom, és majd küldök egy példányt.”

„Télen, valamikor el kirándulunk Hawaiiba, mert néhány hiteles szemtanú azt állítja, hogy ott abban
az időszakban, van valami nagy sárga az égen. Mit ne mondjak, kíváncsivá vagyok téve.”
„Meghívtak idén is egy Hallowen partira, ami a helyi busójárás. Én azt hiszem rendkívül találó jelmezt
eszeltem ki, ráadásul olcsó is. Nylon fóliából kialakítok egy kapitális kotont, oszt én leszek egy nagy
fasz. Olybá tűnik, hogy az ismerőseink azért megfognak ösmérni.”

„Addig is bízzál Istenben és tartsd kezed ügyében a dugóhúzót!”

"Well, Hi! We've had a lot of beer down our throats since I last wrote. The truth is, we've had too
much blood boiling, or blood freezing, going on around us. I don't even know if I've posted from our
current digs. In any case, we still love bedding out here on the 15th floor, with a view of the
mountains, a pine tree about 60 meters tall directly in front of us, and a huge bird and squirrel traffic.
The bird crowd is mostly digged by our cat, Muki Bodola, who hunts down the demented birds that
fly onto our balcony, unbottoming their jackets off and tickling them to death. Yes, the balcony
measures 2 x 8.5 metres, and in summer we have here our dining set and café, formed by two car
seats and a car wheel with a glass window on top. This is also where the empty bottles can be found,
averaging between two and three hundred. With great difficulty, I managed to get the
unemployment benefit hour number, so that I now get a thousand and threehundred a month for 20
weeks. Of course, I work when I can, and now I'm like a commuter.

Vancouver has the highest crime rate and the highest number of stolen cars on the continent (!). A
huge gang of thieves has just been caught, the boss of which was Hungarian, of course. Hungarians
have been coming here in droves, claiming gypsy origin and other bullshit to try to get refugee status.
In two years they chased 7500 Hungarians out of the country. Where we live (speaking of the tops) is
the richest neighborhood in all of America, we are listed as statistic spoilers around here. The good
thing is that we can't fuck up the beauty of the neighborhood."

"All I need now is my big dream, a hussar's chest. I should talk to Dini Újlaki, because he's got some
props."

"After twenty-two years, my cosmopolitan friend Stojan has become an American citizen, so now
he's a Yankee bastard. My other main man, "Lung" Karsai, my dick already does'nt knows how many
second jobs he will take, weighs at least forty kilos and his moustache is oily from work. I bitterly
persuaded him to sneak off to Hawaii with us. He hasn't had a character-coordinating, shock-
absorbing drink in about eight months, and it shows."

"In the meantime we have formed our little football team, as you can see I have created a very smart
little phallic emblem for the great pleasure of the female audience. I myself will be wearing my 00
jersey as a symbol when I take the field in the championship."
"After a long soul-searching, I shaved off my sideburns with my own hands, which had grown to the
size of a train conductor, and Zsuzsi even cut off some of my hair, because it was tickling my ass."

"We'll slow down a bit at work these days, so I'll have time to draw and stuff. I should illustrate my
grandfather's Szekler tales, which my uncle wants to publish. He was willing to write a short letter
after seventeen years. Well, something might come of it. The old individual has sold his golf club
membership in California and my sister's son and Barnabas are supposed to get ten to ten grand in
currency.

"I still haven't given up on getting an incredible biceps tattoo of the sun and moon in the
Transylvanian coat of arms, the symbols of Szeklers, although Zsuzsa is threatening divorce just in
case."

"Well, the boss was here, he brought a small pile of money and some whisky, so that I was in a crazy
mood. I may eat a deer foot stuffed with bear's mushrooms, or vice versa, but it's decided that I'll
have a beer, by gosh!"

"Meanwhile, Karsai has also dropped in with his 'tremendously witty' gift, a lavishly lined toilet brush
in some kind of Chinese pig-shaped holder. Well, that's good, at least we'll have a toothbrush for an
unexpected guest."

"The local, native beasts have no idea who the R-GO is, and even the quick eared know nothing
about Napoleon Boulevard. However, I do know from hearsay that János Koós, Teri Harangozó and
their ilk are hanging around the Hungarian House on their prostitute cadging road shows. The said
institution, like all similar ones in the world, must surely be a wonder of wonders in terms of
standards. (I was in the FRG-once and for all) It's where the cockade-wearing 56-era blokes who are
all revolutionaries to the core, congregate. In 1955, they once got drunk off the ground and tore the
roof off the neighbour's pigsty, and the last forty years have crystallised their revolutionary
consciousness in their minds. The favourite pastime of the Hungarians (not only here) is that when
someone comes here (there), they get together, pat each other on the back and rob the newcomer.
This is called, I suppose, "incoming money" or "student money". Our tactic is this. If we hear a
Hungarian word somewhere, we act like a genie in a bottle (not gin) and don't say a word, or we start
conversing in Ashanti and Amhara, while keeping our eyes bloodshot and fraught with danger, even
rolling them, growling in case of danger."

"It would be worth a mass if you would look into the family of Zsuzsa's mother, the Újfalussy family.
It's an interesting task, if only so that you could find out, knowing us, what these wild shoots of the
centurion family trees have grown into."
"We're planning some shopping this weekend, because we haven't redecorated our apartment in at
least two weeks, and I have some quirky ideas swirling around in my twisted brain, from a Japanese
garden to be formed in a tenor saxophone, to a candelabra-like flower holder, etc., etc., etc."

"Wishing all the best to all, health to the infirm, always a full cup to the drunk, companionship to the
lonely, and in fact contentment to the empty, and though anyone can call me - therefore what I have
- lucky, no one should give up. Before I put more barrels of rhetorical bullshit, phrases and clichés on
paper, I'll finish my serial letter, but I really would like to see a liberated smile on the face of Alpi, a
girl holding hands with Tommy walking without thinking about the contents of her ridicule, a calm
roof over the Trexi, a calming Gyula, Attila. And for you, optional whatever you wish. (So be it) I've
had my morning beer and now it's up to happy painting."

Letter from parties of yesteryear

In the nineties, I sent Gyuri my memoirs with the title: "My generation".

His reply:

"Hi, "Golyó" family! Great piece of writing, apart from its minor errors. For example, it somehow
doesn't make it clear exactly how fucking cool I am. You write a lot about your interest in music, to
which I might add that I knew you ten years ago, when you first knew Joe Cocker distinguish from
Karel Gott, and even, according to the bad language, you were a collector of Josif Kobzon's singles in
the greatest secrecy. Oh well, I'll write down a few little jokes about the characters in the book.

The Kukszi's (QXY) ID card had the good-sounding name Béla Melcsák scratched out of it and the
name Ben Hur written in. The occupation entry under a somewhat illegible stamp read: gladiator.

And Scotty buried his ID because, as he said, no ID is better than bad ID. And then, on a related
subject, the so-called "home worker papers". When two-metre-tall, lively and cheerful individuals are
checked in, the policeman reads that one is a bib sewer and the other is employed as a doll stuffer
handyman. Let's just say I can think of another thirty or forty jokes about identity cards, and maybe
I'll write a memoir about the good old days myself.
By the way, in Agárd I think the biggest joke was that the policeman took us out on his motorbike to
the football field, and two of us at the same time. I was sitting behind him and the hook-headed
Klamár, who was pushing toothpaste on his helmet all the way. I nearly shitted the bike laughing.

Riasztó: rented gym, somewhere in the city centre, we have the court from seven to eight, then
basketball or similar training for the girls. We started bathing at eight, anecdotes in the locker room.
Girls' coach comes down and yelps that our time was up minutes ago. We didn't pay much attention
to her, just a few snide remarks. Alarm comes from the bathroom, in a towel. He notices the
coaching woman. He immediately wraps the towel around his shoulders, hugs her, who doesn't
notice for a moment that Gabi looks like a cow born today. Gabi begins to say in a harp voice, but
with a slightly deceptive tone: 'Kids, who said anything about this nice, sympathetic middle-aged
lady, suddenly turning up the volume to maximum - she's a cock-sucking whore! Needless to say, that
was the last time we played there.

That's another story again, if the commies hadn't stolen the diploma from the Hungarian Football
Assosiation (unfilled) and the stamp from the Central Sport Office, but from the police college, then
Riasztó is not a soccer coach in Washington, but probably a police captain somewhere in Virginia.

It's a different story that in his summer soccer camp brochure he describes himself as having played
in both the Hungarian and English leagues. Of course, this is not without elements of reality, but it
does not mention that he made a lasting impression as a spectator.

With his current physique, I don't think „Tüdő” Karsai would be a complete hit as a character in a
Móricz book, unless as a day labourer with a frosty moustache (he is a smart dude, though he did
attempt to kick me off two good legs in the match last week).

While you're on the subject of Belga's acts, you can't forget the incident when he asked the five-year-
old boy to fetch him the camera from his bag. True, the camera was far from his property. And when
an advertisement column-sized figure called out to Belga, who was waist-deep in his sports bag,
saying: 'Dude, if you put something in it, take it out, if not then.......!
And that the "Belga" listened to the weather report, if there was a running shower he arrived at the
beach, and if it started to rain and everyone was scrambling to get their stuff under cover, he would
grab something and retrace his steps towards the back fence.

One time „Szilvi” invited me - for a drink in the wine bar - in the woman's flat on Rudas László street
where he was temporarily staying, and I went to visit him. He says: if we go down to the tavern now,
it will be three forks, a ladle, plus a few small spoons! He was right, although the girl's silverware was
already in an incomplete state.

Otherwise, a book could be written about Szilvi, as well as about QXY and a few other daredevils.

I just had a chat with Pipo a few days ago. I think he's now partying the night away with a third
generation, which is quite an achievement for someone in his fifties.

Buddy Zimako will be rolling in on you soon, although he seems to be doing well on the island of
Hawaii, which I totally understand, and we may follow his lead.

The same thing is on Sztoján's mind. Fekete Barna (also of a novelistic life) is sending me an
employer's letter from Hawaii saying that he is employing me as a graphic designer in his company
from 1 July, and that I will use this letter to apply for the mystical green card. After that, probably my
Zsuzsa will take a short week trip for assessment, job, pad, sick insurance etc. etc.....

And then I'll suddenly think of some interesting names to add to your book, and then the great Gyapi
will proofread the list of heads. Names, among others: Degesz, "Nagy Lackó" (he fell off the second
floor and was in no trouble) Németh Kálmán, Baráth Balog Ali (L. A. ), Sepsi, Lencz Pityú (D) , Trekó,
Ambrus Attila, Stanley, Motyovszki Tacsi, and Misi, Föci, Béci, Lafi, Baka Csuti, Raccsos (+), the Greek
dissident group who were the first to leave from our generation, the two Csutak, Rucsisz, Fundasz,
Evan, Szpiros, etc., Kacsa (from the big tree gang), Richard Bartha (the poet who in broad daylight
was able to step on the hand of QXI in the open street, who was already lying on the ground), Fityma,
Vörös Karcsi and his brother Lutyu (they were very old boys), Attila Gerencsér (+), Rocco's brother
Dóczi Pityu (Vancouver) , Csere, Holubek "Spencer" (he made the trouble, among others, at the first
Spencer Davies Group concert on Friday, hence his name). Iványi Pierre (he has a serious written
material about the era), Gréfi, Tony (one of the oldest masters) and I could go on and on, not to
mention the cool girls: Gizi, Zsóka, Kis and Nagy Lófejű, Joplin etc.
A few comments. Don't write about the Sztojansz being on drugs, because that was a long time ago.
Kyril has been a lathe operator in L.A. for many years and works double shifts. Peter, besides painting
with me, is a honest junk dealer (he buys shit and junk and sells antiques).

Uncle Poppo shits in all kinds of mafia but he's the biggest mover in LA. He sneaks in everywhere, and
in every such place he presents the landlords (who provides housing, food and drink ) with a shelf of
chopsticks he has invented, which in terms of art value far exceeds his three months' supply of food
(not an item), booze and fun smokes (he is demanding).

As far as football is concerned, don't mention Zoli Katavics as a secondary player, because he plays in
NB I B (Székesfehérvár Máv Előre) I should mention that I also played in two NB II. adult teams
(Ormosbánya, III.ker.TTVE)

Dárdai Durung, is, however you look at it, world champion in doubles foot tennis (this is official
result).

The QXI did nine years in jail for his iron pipe trick, as far as I know, but he reprimanded the alleged
bastard seducer, not the girl.

Riasztó's godfather was Scotty, just like the Sündöri. The former was formed from some striped pants
our Gabor was wearing at the time, and the full name was Zebra Alarm.

And Sündöri could"nt create the fountain hairstyle that was fashionable at the time and Scotty said
that just a wick was on his head. (By the way, if you see him, I'll kiss him, because we had a
confrontation once, but I think it was accidental, he never hurt me and I never hurt him. In fact some
photo could come of him).

As for my opinion, I would expand the writing with a lot of jokes and a lot of characters not
mentioned, because I think it would be more interesting, although it's still good. As far as finding
stories, there's Gyapi, the anecdotal Köteles, one of the, perhaps oldest, meeting places, Cila Hallai
from The Red Stagecoach, Pierre Iványi (from the older ones), Jenő Szekfű (Gino) from L.A., and many
others, and the work would be much more colourful, while retaining the autobiographical backbone.

Fucking interesting that I had just started scolding my dictaphone about two days before I started a
similar book when we were chatting on the phone. If you decide to expand on it, I'll be happy to
write you some more about the many idiots you'll find on this continent, and after all the hell I've
been through, I've got a few stories to tell, because I've been through a lot of things over the last
twenty-eight years. I count my "gang" era from 67, which, God willing, and especially with the
countless "idiot" friends I meet anywhere in the world, continues to this day. So be it.

Otherwise I'll be very happy to copy a soldier's box photo if needed and send it, either by Sneci if it
arrives, or by post, which I hate because of my bad experiences. I'll have photos of everyone in the
archives, in fact I'll have old ones of most of them, and then I'll have an update. The originals will
remain in the cupboard, because I was afraid of them, as it took me twenty years to bum, steal,
misappropriate (there are still, I suppose, some terms used in criminal law) them. Unfortunately, I
was only at the Parizer once, but then I was very interested in a Dali album.

Here too I occasionally get access to odd photos. Scotty, Gyapi, and Pierre have sent me some pretty
good stuff, among others, and the other day I found a museum shot at Ervin Horváth's (we've
reconciled in the meantime). Dárdai Durung (pronounced Dürünzs) is running, with his usual
movement, across the peachy grey concrete of the Tabán football pitch towards the goal, in his self-
designed sports kit. It consists of a pair of Polish underpants masquerading as swim trunks, a pair of
nylon mid-short socks and a pair of Czechoslovakian blue and white 'gym shoes' with high heels. The
outerwear is replaced by Ervin Dárdai's frenetic torso, in very poor taste. If I'm looking at the picture
correctly, he's wearing a quarter beret on half his forehead, made of extremely durable mohair
material.

Back to the book for a moment. Jean was running the star show about ten years ago, if not longer,
when he was most secretly on the island of Oahu, as he had no license whatsoever, was kicked out,
back to Sweden, where he got papers and a wife (wife, simple creature, pure Lapp). Then he legally
wandered back to Hawaii, and now works as a night watchman at some meteorological institute, and
claims it is Paradise (not the not the vegetable).

Talk about a joke! You could write down that this considerable group of partygoers knew each other
by nicknames, and after a few years together you could call your buddy your best friend, but you
didn't know his real name.

I myself found out after about ten years that the Szpari's honest civil name was Géza Hluchány.

I don't know what your plan is either, but if you've already started to write what you've written so
far, expand it with a typewriter. I'm thinking of some more dialogue, a lot more free-speech, some
more hard-hitting stories. (there's been enough between us)
Talk about 300-400 people actually, that's the minimum, just in different cliques, but everybody
knew everybody and somehow everybody was together, there and then, at the party that was
coming up. And then (you described this well) half of the troupe emigrated. Some we know about,
some are gone for good (e.g. Tibi Nagy). Then there are some very defective guys (Dixi, Qxi), there
are a lot of "bourgeois" individuals, there are career stories, and there are even more tragedies
(Kristóf, Raccsos, Tamás Péli, Attila Gerencsér, Keki, Anton, etc. etc... died) And out here, the lives of
our people are also going in strange directions.

So I think the "work" is nice, but not enough to even be a success, although there is a chance. Also, I
don't know how much time, energy, or knowledge you want to put into this book, but I think it would
be worth, because this age group, based on the party interval between Gyapi and his younger
brother, no one has ever tried to describe it. For my part, I'll help you with anything, anytime, so that
if not on a "war and peace" scale. You can put together a weird bibliography of this fucking troupe
(generation?) It sounds crazy!

It would be interesting to write it down, if only because it's weird that Gyapi on the phone said
"Gyurika" to me, whose reappearance in 1967 put me in a frenetic mood. And we meet each other all
over the world, and although long, long years have passed, and we were only peripheral friends, we
talk to each other as if we had drunk a bottle of watered vodka last week at some fuck knows what
school party, company ball, club. (I didn't see Fekete Barna for about twenty years, and we never
talked, and then in L. A. he was greeted me as if we had really supported each other the day before
after our teenage drunkenness).. - The same with e.g. Riasztó (eleven or so years) Nagy Gabesz (13
years) Emmer Gyula (phone (?!)~25 years after the phone call).

So guys we kiss you absolutely, also like (house) Dragon Edit (very big kiss).And to the girls, hoping
that they won't be brought together with Imóka David (or Bodola Barnabas Hercules), because then
the difficult, bloody, cloud-battles years will come in the Golyo family, although you are quite a
bullett proof. We'll kiss the remains of hobos and you with lots of friendship (hey-hey I got that right,
but now the hocky game has started) I'd love it if you did! Love Gyuri.

P.S. Don't call me Dudus, call me Duda. My dad was the real Dudus."

Vancouver hobbies

He was finally able to indulge his ornament and trinket collecting tendencies. Their apartment was a
veritable museum. His main acquirer was Sztoján, who used to go to flea markets to trade in an old
school bus full of junk. Gyuri also had a burglar acquaintance, a certain Gyalogos, who always carried
out his sneak thievery on foot, taking care to steal only a few things and do no damage. So most of
the time, they either didn't notice or it was months before they realised there was a burglar in the
house. Gyuri did not hesitate to take over useful or interesting objects from Gyalogos at a good price.
The Vancouver Brigade also formed a soccer team called the Old Hungarian Straycats Soccer Club.
Naturally, the team logo (which at first glance looked like cats, then you could realize these were
penises ) was so well done by Gyuri that orders came in by the dozens: Hawaii Huns, Washington
Philosopher, and the rest. A veritable new genre was born.

Another of his favorite pastimes was creating photo montages of his circle of friends. He made
dozens with great characterization and humor, from newspaper clippings and collaged photos and
texts.

Difficult years

Then, all of a sudden, the success streak ended and the poverty struck. Zsuzsa's restaurant went
bankrupt and Gyuri's work dwindled. They went bankrupt. They had to give up the apartment, the
car, the trips to Hawaii, the parties. In desperation, Zsuzsa started drinking, even tapping their
collection of 500 half-decent liquor bottles, and to keep Gyuri from noticing, she filled the empty
bottles with tea.

Their health was failing, and after a few years of suffering and deprivation, they were getting old.
Slowly friends began to disappear, and the letters stopped coming. Sztoján's wife Lia Bozsó
committed suicide, Gabesz Nagy died, Sztoján moved away, and friendship with Karsai also
deteriorated. The Hungarian colony in Vancouver, which had grown up around Gyuri, fell apart.

Last time at home

In 2004, a friend of his, a former machinist from Dunaújváros, came to see him and asked him when
he had last seen his sick, elderly mother. Without thinking, Gyuri replied that it had been 15 years or
so. The friend said: Well, buddy, here's 2,000 Canadian dollars, buy a plane ticket and go home. Gyuri
looked at the money thoughtfully, didn't reach for it and said: "If you give two more thousend, I
could get my teeth fixed. After a little thought, the friend, who was making good money, put two
more thousand on the table. Truth be told, he also charged dental expenses to a few more of his
childhood friends back home.

When he arrived, he jokingly escaped from the airport terminal, run away from family and friends
who were waiting for him, and they didn't even notice him. After an hour of perplexed waiting, the
welcoming committee decided to get into a car and tour his former haunts. That's how they
stumbled upon him in the Wine Pharmacy, bobbing around in a jingling red clown hat with round,
soda-glass glasses with Crazy. Crazy would occasionally exclaim: "You're back after 15 years, my
friend Bodola!"

Gyuri was staying at his wife's parents' apartment on Bartók Béla Road. The first thing he did was to
mark his arrival with a huge Canadian flag, which he hung out of the window. Sure enough, within
days everyone in town knew he had arrived. The only thing he forgot was that he hadn't met certain
payment obligations, which turned into a court case. Because he didn't show up for the hearings, a
warrant was issued for his arrest. It almost got out of hand. He was only able to flee the country
because a friend lent him his passport. He then "defected" from the country for the fourth time.

The last years

In Vancouver, things have not improved. A series of financial problems, illness, unemployment
benefits, and drink, drink, drink. And then tragedy struck, a fatal illness. Gyuri bore it bravely, with
dignity. He even lived to see his illustrations published in Vancouver in 2004 in a book called
"Cicanapló" by Györgyi Hegedős, and in October 2005 he was able to participate in an international
exhibition of his musician caricatures in Prague. ("Music in a curved mirror")

In Hawaii, he loved to spend time on Eternity Beach, looking out into the distance. He thought that
after his death his ashes would be scattered here. But in 2007 he knew that would not be possible. In
one of his last letters, he sent Crazy two photographs of Vancouver. In one, he is standing on a forest
suspension bridge over the Capillano River canyon, in the other he is sitting on the shore of the
Pacific Ocean. The first picture is titled: on the bridge, the other: infinity.

His last wish was fulfilled: his ashes were scattered from this suspension bridge by Zsuzsa and Imóka
into the Capillano River, which is heading for the endless Pacific Ocean.

The next day, Crazy took the photos to the Borpatika and lit a candle.

The exhibition

In 2007 Gábor Szemző borrowed the remaining drawings and photos from his widow. Later that
summer, two of his sons and ten friends formed the György Bodola Friendship Society and decided to
organise the Bodola oeuvre exhibition and publish a book on the life's work of György Bodola.

More than five hundred people came to see the exhibition. The opening party turned out to be a
special meeting of generations.
Some feedback from the exhibition:

"I am writing just to let you, the organisers, know that we, the former friends of Gyuri Bodola, are
looking forward with love and emotion to the opening of the exhibition tonight, and of course we
hope that many of the old friends will be there. Bearing the marks of the passage of time, but with
their humanity and love of the times." Laci Tóth

"For a few people who may also be interested in the cause, paying the entrance fee may be a
problem, "for the moment". This is what I wanted to indicate. We'll give out the tie and the season
ticket through the grille window, or, more definitely, sign up for the band, and someone will come
out and take you in. A fact that you don't know about, I have a photo pass for the Sakk - Matt parties
in that culture house, which I think is still valid today. I suppose I don't need to tell you in detail who
'played'." Sebestyén Somogyi (Töpi)

"I was there yesterday. Gyuri got what was coming to him. I hope, as he sits with his legs dangling
over the edge of a cloud, contentedly twirling his moustache. Congratulations for the organisation, I
enjoyed every minute of the party yesterday! Kata Bujáki, former classmate."

"I was addressing you, but I included everyone who helped you or did something to make what was
for me an unforgettable evening, a journey back in time to a beautiful era. There were people I
hadn't seen or met in 30 years. Gyuri even managed to do that. It was a joy to watch the inquisitive
gazes as we discovered in the person of a grey, paunchy, sometimes consolidated pop head an old
friend, a pal, a partner in our youth. And the girls remained beautiful... (The three points are not
public, they had to put up with us after all...) Unfortunately, many people were missing besides
Gyuri, but being together made their absence easier to understand. Their absence made me less, but
they remain with me in my heart. Because of the costumes that time had imposed on us, it was
often a guessing game as to who was who. Next time, everyone could come with a badge: a
nickname, a proper name, so as not to waste time on yakking. With my last sentence, I just wanted
to ask you not to break up the Committee, but to find a reason for another meeting. E.g. Easter boat
trip, Tabán football derby, whatever. Yours sincerely, i.e. hello: "Gréfi" József Gerhardt"

"Thank you all for the old atmosphere, the memories of Gyuri's land. You brought the past back to
the present, everyone was in his old form, the drunkards got drunk, the talkers talked, the then
teasers teased, the booze was still as drunk as before, Adam and his band played music as before,
only the facial features changed, the party heart is not, and the sucking effect that a party produces.
You have to go there, who's going to come? Has it started yet? No? Are you in the pharmacy? Wait,
I'll have a shot too! Our memories! Jani Góré."
"Well, hall-keeper, Golyó. I, unfortunately, arrived late to the party and went down to the alpha at
breakneck speed. I flirted, that's for sure. I got home in a taxi at nine o'clock on Sunday morning, in a
very shabby state. My faithful wife said nothing, as if thirty-some years had passed in time. But when
I started to undress and packed my pockets, and took three grains of fried mushroom heads from the
left pocket of my jacket, the storm broke out, and I was out in the middle of nowhere. Routinely I
blamed everything on Bodola, but that only made things worse, and that's nice, she knew Gyuri too.
József Drucza"

Exhibition opening speech by Ferencz Kun

"Before I forget a very important point at the end, I would like to put it right at the beginning. And
that is that there are a few people here to whom we say thank you, thank you for being here and
thank you for this collection being here together. Let me name Jimmy Gábor Szemző, who ran with a
suitcase between Washington, Vancouver and Budapest to bring the oeuvre home. Let me mention
Gyap Winkler, who worked night and day to do the installation, the graphics and the printing, and
the lion's share was taken by András Golyo Mezey, who took on a case that, if he didn't do, could
very well be blown to smithereens by a strong gale of wind somewhere in British Columbia. So I bow
my head to the ground and salute these three gentlemen!

Blessed surprise that irregularities bring. I am here, at this moment, waving the flag of hidden talent,
because pretty much everyone in this room knew that Gyuri was very good at photography and
drawing, that he was quite good at football, that he was an excellent conversationalist, that he was a
real "charmer", but I never knew that his writing skills were above the average for publications, and
that he was even talented.

What is more familiar or understandable is that, in his feelings and in his everyday life, someone is on
the move - not to say a vagabond - and someone who is on the move very often passes by happiness
that is tied to a place, and he passes by because there is no destination, but the journey itself is the
destination.

By the way, he was a Szekler on his father's side. Now, the interesting thing is - I don't know if it
makes any difference here and now - but it's quite interesting that Szeklers very rarely speak with a
burr! They drink hard.

There's a picture, you can see it, where someone took a weekend shopping trip with the camera. No
salt, no flour, no sugar, no potatoes, just beer and whisky. The whisky, I'd estimate at about five
gallons, maybe a little more. C'est regular", says a Canadian Frenchman who watched Gyuri Bodola
and Tomi Karsai's weekend drink reservation from his window.

And you would expect some kind of eulogy, but I only promised impressions to Dr. Mezey "Golyo"
András, - who was also the main director - when I was invited.

"In such an age I lived on this earth..." goes the poetic line.

So what was the era in which Gyuri and we lived? Girls, the music was playing and there was booze
everywhere. That's not my line, that's what George Harrison said when he described the sixties. But
Harrison never went to the "Penguin" bar, drank in the Elizabeth pub, stood in the Körtéri bar, or
slept on the Palatinus spa grass in the blazing sun, stood knocked out of a stale Kinizsi beer.

Miki Zelei wrote that in Transcarpathia, at the time of the regime change, people said that beer was
much better, but still undrinkable. This reminds me of Kinizsi beer.

At a time when some of the chicks from the square could express themselves in the style of literary
salons. Once, before a game, Kristóf Somogyi said, "Mark the ellipse on the pitch where I will circle."

At a time when the young people in the village of Heréd, Heves County, once loudly celebrated Béla
Radics at a "Tűzkerék" band party. Béla stepped up to the microphone and said: Kids, the band is
saying goodbye, we're going to sea now, but we'll be back soon. He said this - I mean the sea - when
neither he, nor Gyuri Bodola, nor anyone else in this room had been given a passport as far as Győr -
Sopron County, because the border is close there. And Steppenwolf screamed from the tape
recorder "Born to be free!"

In an age when children wanted their monkshood, women and girls discovered the wig, and middle-
aged gentlemen wore blazers instead of jackets, if you remember! And there was a car, the Inserta,
which you had to get into from the front.

In an era when identical photo crazes of John Lennon, Frank Zappa and Gyuri Bodola were published.
Photos in pompom nightgowns and berets pulled down to the ears. Photos of him sitting upside
down on a horse, or even on a potty. Well, in this trio John Lennon is a bit of a cuckoo's egg, because
although he put his bed out on the street and hid under the covers with his Japanese wife, he was
still just wandering into this whole thing, it wasn't his own, while Gyuri and Zappa had at least ten
ideas like this a day, because their whole life was happening.

At an age when the Gyuri did not join in, he was, therefore, if not banished, then he could not get
behind the bars. In a set-up where the emergence of talent and ability was not garanteed, where the
generosity of not joining the queue - because you choose your own star, because you don't want to
choose the factory's star, of any colour, - was not known. This was hard to take.

If you walk around here in front of the pictures, you will notice that, for example, there is never any
landscape, there is never any environment, there is hardly any nature. What is interesting is that in
his letters he writes about the Canadian landscape, the area around Vancouver, but he could not
depict it. It is also very interesting that women do not appear in the pictures, certainly not
predominantly, although it cannot be said that in this area he was doomed to abstinence.

One of the reasons for this - that Gyuri's pencil has not wandered into foreign territories - is the
strong self-knowledge, which is the virtue of kings in this world, believe me. The so-called art world is
full of worm works, because if they knew that they must not wander into areas they are not good at,
then, for example, Klara Fehér would never have become a writer, and the "Játékszín" theatre could
have been closed down, because it is only a quasi-theatre, as if it were a theatre, and Zorán and the
Hobo would not be singers. (The speech is subjective!)

In his paintings, the mockery taken to the extreme is a powerful experience, but also the self-irony
alongside the mockery. Warty noses, lyrical rascals, and all around, all around, revelry.

And then, to give you a summary, this was the age of daytime darkness - the title is Koestler's, of
course, not mine. The darkness of the day, which, fortunately, is gone. The trouble is that Gyuri is
gone too.

I've been called Mr. Feri twice in my life. One was "Philosopher" Laci Cseh, the other was Gyuri
Bodola. Laci Cseh also likes polite talk. Now, he is famous, among other things, for being able to ask
questions that I guarantee you will give you a headache to answer honestly.

On one occasion he practically ripped the door open and asked me, "Mr. Feri, if Jesus went to
heaven, could he come down? Well, we can discuss this later in small groups, and if the verdict is that
He could come down, we can add a small request to this, and that would be to bring the Bodola
Gyuri with him, and the drawings and photos he have made up there since then. I am now writing
here that St Peter's will have a red nose the size of a potato.

So bring the Gyuri with you, because we miss him. Because we were not really prepared for the
departure of someone who, throughout his life, in text, drawing and photo, has brought his
phenomenon to his environment. That the one who performed this service for the rest of his life will
also die. And even beyond that now, for here, between us, and with us, on the walls, is the spirit of
the rogue, and his image, with the broken cartilage in his nose, and the snail hair framing his face,
and the aristocratically trilled "r" sound, - that will be forever in the heart.

And where is the essence, where is the point? The essence is there, at the end of his letter to Pierre,
where he wrote:

"I don't give a shit about anybody, whom it may concern, but I've entertained you and loved you."