To those he served, he was one of those larger than life people, a pastor who basically did it all in a time when no one else could, or would. And for that, parishioners and families in St. Stephen Church are always grateful.

Indeed, the fact that this tiny parish in South Los Angeles thrives today is due in large part to the work of its founding pastor, Father Mathias Lani, who made sure that people facing persecution and worse under the Communist rule in post-World War II Hungary had a place to resettle and to begin a new life.

"Father Lani was an amazing man," says Norbertine Father Hermann-Joseph Rettig, St. Stephen's current pastor. "He saw people in misery, the terrible conditions in European refugee camps, and wanted to do something. So he went to Washington and got the law and quotas changed so they could come over. He sponsored thousands of people. He found them jobs and housing."

A man who believed in getting things done one way or another, Father Lani asked friends in the Jewish community to help his refugees get jobs and begged for donated musical instruments for his young people so he could start a band. He coached the soccer team, too. He wanted his people to continue the lives they left behind.

Arrival in L.A.
Parishioners Regina Greger-Hight and Karl Bajer recall the day they, as young people, arrived in Los Angeles. Father Lani was down at Union Station with as many as 100 taxis lined up. They became more of his family that day. "He brought us here and we had lunch," says Regina Hefner Greger-Hight.

Karl Bajer notes that he also let them know that it was their "last free meal" in America, too. "And he picked out places for us to live," says Regina. "He had volunteers take us. The next day the men had to come here and he would take them in his old Plymouth and would go to one company or another and the men all had jobs."

Father Lani established a spirit that continues, and the people of St. Stephen Parish have never forgotten him. No gathering is held today without a Hungarian or German meal prepared by parishioners. The Hungarian boy and girl scouts still meet and both children and adults still perform in the Danube Swabian Folk Dance group. Most Hungarian and German speaking parishioners have moved out of the area, but they still return for Sunday Mass, at least once a month or for special feasts like Corpus Christi or Christmas eve. And they bring their children and grandchildren, too.

On a recent Sunday Katie Wolpert's daughter, Rosemary, brought her mother to church. Katie, called "oma" or "grandmother" by parishioners as a title of respect, drives from her home in Anaheim, and never misses Sunday Mass at St. Stephen. Nor does she miss her First Tuesday German luncheon. She is joined by as many as 200-300 parishioners.

Rosemary says her mother and other parishioners see St. Stephen's as the "village" they left behind. "This is like their village because even if they didn't know each other back there, they all came from the same background," she says. "This was a place where they could come and feel at home and still do."

Post-war terror
Katie, born in 1916, saw the geography of Europe torn apart by war and conflict. Her land became Yugoslavia and later Serbia. It went from a monarchy to Nazi rule to communist dictatorship under Tito. Post-WWII rule under Tito was unbearable for those of German descent who were persecuted. Partisan groups would kill with little or no provocation.

During the 1950s large numbers of men and women were sent to concentration and work camps in Russia. They worked in salt and coal mines --- and large numbers never survived the deprivation.

The children of those workers, like six-year-old Frank Schneider, were often placed in a "weissenhaus." Periodically they would be sent by train to Russia and never seen again.

Frank, today a St. Stephen's parishioner, remembers that one night his grandmother came from a village far from his town and snuck into the "weissenhaus" because she had heard that a train was coming for the children. She took Frank and hid with him all night in the fields until after the train had gone. Then they escaped to Austria and refugee camps.

Parishioner Anni Bajer says her mother was sent off to Russia to work in mines and she and her three-year-old brother and grandmother were put in Gakowo, a concentration camp in Yugoslavia. Her grandmother was beaten to death and her brother died of starvation.

Anni lived in that camp for four years. It is estimated that after the war at least 70,000 died in Tito's concentration camps. Looking back on why she survived, Anni says, "God had plans for us."

Later, somehow she was reunited with her mother and they made it to the United States and St. Stephen Parish. "It's this church that brought us together," Anni says of those who helped them get started again.

'There was nothing'
A number of St. Stephen parishioners spent time in concentration camps or working in mines. "Within a week in the concentration camp there was no cat or dog left," Liz Schneider says. "There was nothing."

She recalls one day burning her hands trying to put a bowl of oatmeal on the family table. She dropped the bowl on the floor. The wasted oatmeal was devastating to her mother. "I knew that that was all the food we had for that day," Liz says. "It's hard when a kid tells a mother, 'I'm hungry,' and there is no food."

If a mother was caught stealing food for her children she "could be shot or dumped in the cellar." One day, Liz remembers, "my mom was up to the waist in cold water in the cellar because she got caught."

Post-World War II changes in Europe and the lowering of the Iron Curtain deeply affected Catholics in Hungary, too. The Hungarian Uprising of Oct. 23, 1956 profoundly affected the lives of parishioners like Elizabeth Gasztonyi. Tens of thousands of young and old marched in the streets. They sang their national anthem for the first time in years --- and then the Soviets crushed the uprising.

Elizabeth remembers the tanks on her street in Budapest. The Soviets and secret police quelled the revolt in a few days. About 2,000 died and approximately 200,000 fled Hungary. Oppression of Catholicism was symbolized in the house arrest of Cardinal Joseph Mindzenty. And again St. Stephen Parish welcomed more refugees, carrying the tradition of Father Lani who had died two years earlier.

In fact, for each wave of newly arrived refugees, St. Stephen Parish created a village, under the leadership of its pastors and parishioners. Many today have come from El Salvador, a land that has also known bitter fighting.

Parish plant manager Adilio Galdamez came to the United States in order to live in peace and raise his children in safety. Like many of his fellow parishioners, he lost a family member (a brother) in a civil war. Adilio proudly says he has learned some Hungarian by helping parishioners as they prepare their Sunday meal.

Clearly, the parishioners of St. Stephen's are family --- a family united by a pastor whose spirit lives and nurtures the community to this day.