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Back then I began speculating that I could settle down permanently. But I couldn't live in a dormitory. At work they suggested that I start building a house, that they'd help me. So the director issued an order: "He's building a house, so bring him everything that he'll need, as far as equipment is concerned." One day a van arrived, and delivered everything from shovels, picks, nails, wire, boards to who knows what else. Basically everything. I asked the company committee, and got it officially. When I needed to order something in the workshop, I wrote up a request, that I need such and such piece of sheet metal, welded in such and such a way. They billed me for it, but as an employee I paid a lower rate.
Our old director was transferred, and a new one arrived. He was a bit flighty. He didn't understand the work at all, and he became the director of Gabcikov. About a month after I'd booked out of Bratislava, he submitted my papers for transfer to Gabcikov. I told him: "Put in the papers what I'll be doing there!" At that time I could boast that I wasn't just an ordinary Urban, but was the only PhD candidate at that location, that I was in charge of all the technology, in charge of the concrete plant. Everyone respected my authority. Once he transferred me, that I had 24 hours to go to Gabcikov. My wife was pregnant, we were building that house, and he suddenly transfers me. I told him that it wasn't possible. I had ambitions to be the head plant engineer, which carried with it a certain salary and prestige. They didn't want to give the job to me. Finally they threw me out. That was in about 1983. First we wanted to go to Bratislava. I'd found a job for my wife Eva, and as far as I went, work wasn't a problem. Vahostav wanted me to come work for them too, but Eva was a Party candidate for the position of hospital director in Komarno. But the regional committee jumped in. There was this one Jew there, named Tibor Breiner. He said: "What are you thinking, you don't have to go anywhere, you're our man. You'll stay here, and well find you work." He was the director of Agrostav [Agrostav: a company extant in all of Czechoslovakia, that performed project design, construction, trades and installation work and so on – Editor's note] and didn't have an technical deputy, so they installed me in that position. Under me was Edmund Klein, an engineer. He was already an older man. He was head of the project engineering department. I managed 50 people: designers, engineers, and technicians. It wasn't easy, but we excelled at it. We regularly ended up amongst the best when project engineering organizations were evaluated. We even prepared a potato germinating project for Russia. We supplied the project plan for the building of an automated computer-controlled germinating warehouse. I worked there for about ten, eleven years. I built solar grain dryers, did geothermal shafts. I drilled five of them: in Marcelov, in Zemianska Olse, in Komarno, in Svaty Petr, and by Chotin.
At the beginning of the 1990s I retired. I started a small business, I was the first small businessman in the entire region. Even still during the time of "bad socialism" ["bad socialism": an expression for the last stage of socialism in the former Czechoslovakia, and the beginning of the Velvet Revolution, see [21] – Editor's note]. The regional party secretary summoned me, and asked me what I was living on. I told him to not worry about it, that he didn't have the right. The heads of individual cooperatives were very good acquaintances of mine, two or three were even excellent friends. They were the ones I worked for. I worked on contracts. And so what? I always thought up all sorts of things. A member of the Federal Assembly, and at the same time the chairman of the Marcelov co-op, came to see me, and said: "Think of something that others won't have, so I can brag." So I thought it up. Besides this, one of my sons-in-law is also a project engineer, so I look at his work, advise him...
Now that I'm retired, I devote myself to politics, history and mainly concentration camps. I work on perfecting my knowledge, speak to people and sometimes I even find subject matter that I've already forgotten about. When they call me from the Komarno Jewish community to say a few words, I go. Once a year I speak during a memorial ceremony for the victims of the Holocaust. That's even in the papers.
Our old director was transferred, and a new one arrived. He was a bit flighty. He didn't understand the work at all, and he became the director of Gabcikov. About a month after I'd booked out of Bratislava, he submitted my papers for transfer to Gabcikov. I told him: "Put in the papers what I'll be doing there!" At that time I could boast that I wasn't just an ordinary Urban, but was the only PhD candidate at that location, that I was in charge of all the technology, in charge of the concrete plant. Everyone respected my authority. Once he transferred me, that I had 24 hours to go to Gabcikov. My wife was pregnant, we were building that house, and he suddenly transfers me. I told him that it wasn't possible. I had ambitions to be the head plant engineer, which carried with it a certain salary and prestige. They didn't want to give the job to me. Finally they threw me out. That was in about 1983. First we wanted to go to Bratislava. I'd found a job for my wife Eva, and as far as I went, work wasn't a problem. Vahostav wanted me to come work for them too, but Eva was a Party candidate for the position of hospital director in Komarno. But the regional committee jumped in. There was this one Jew there, named Tibor Breiner. He said: "What are you thinking, you don't have to go anywhere, you're our man. You'll stay here, and well find you work." He was the director of Agrostav [Agrostav: a company extant in all of Czechoslovakia, that performed project design, construction, trades and installation work and so on – Editor's note] and didn't have an technical deputy, so they installed me in that position. Under me was Edmund Klein, an engineer. He was already an older man. He was head of the project engineering department. I managed 50 people: designers, engineers, and technicians. It wasn't easy, but we excelled at it. We regularly ended up amongst the best when project engineering organizations were evaluated. We even prepared a potato germinating project for Russia. We supplied the project plan for the building of an automated computer-controlled germinating warehouse. I worked there for about ten, eleven years. I built solar grain dryers, did geothermal shafts. I drilled five of them: in Marcelov, in Zemianska Olse, in Komarno, in Svaty Petr, and by Chotin.
At the beginning of the 1990s I retired. I started a small business, I was the first small businessman in the entire region. Even still during the time of "bad socialism" ["bad socialism": an expression for the last stage of socialism in the former Czechoslovakia, and the beginning of the Velvet Revolution, see [21] – Editor's note]. The regional party secretary summoned me, and asked me what I was living on. I told him to not worry about it, that he didn't have the right. The heads of individual cooperatives were very good acquaintances of mine, two or three were even excellent friends. They were the ones I worked for. I worked on contracts. And so what? I always thought up all sorts of things. A member of the Federal Assembly, and at the same time the chairman of the Marcelov co-op, came to see me, and said: "Think of something that others won't have, so I can brag." So I thought it up. Besides this, one of my sons-in-law is also a project engineer, so I look at his work, advise him...
Now that I'm retired, I devote myself to politics, history and mainly concentration camps. I work on perfecting my knowledge, speak to people and sometimes I even find subject matter that I've already forgotten about. When they call me from the Komarno Jewish community to say a few words, I go. Once a year I speak during a memorial ceremony for the victims of the Holocaust. That's even in the papers.
Location
Slovakia
Interview
Ladislav Urban