Folklife Ambassadors Help Celebrate a Legacy That Spans Oceans and Generations
By Panni De Cheke Qualls
A Journey Across Oceans
Mary Anne Troncone Brundage’s story begins in the rugged Carpathian Mountains of the old Kingdom of Hungary. Her ancestors lived in Kisgejőcz, a village in Ungvár (now Uzhhorod, Ukraine), before embarking on a voyage to America. They left from Fiume—today’s Rijeka, Croatia—seeking opportunity in a new land. Their destination: Vintondale, Pennsylvania, a coal-mining town where dreams were forged in soot and steel.
Brundage’s family roots run deep in northeastern Hungary. Her maternal grandparents, Julia Kurtzman (also written Kerecman, born 1886) and Ferencz Zseliczky (born 1880), came from that region, part of a lineage established there for generations. Ferencz’s father, György, was a cottager, and from him Ferencz inherited a closeness to the land—something he carried with him across the Atlantic.
Julia came to the United States with her mother, Mary Demchak—affectionately known as Nagymama—bringing with her the rhythms of the old country into a new and uncertain world. Families lived close, relied on one another, and shared what little they had. During World War II, Nagymama baked bread, sending it to relatives and neighbors.
Nagymama (right) (credit: Brundage family)
“Once a week, she’d deliver us hot bread fresh out of the oven,” Brundage remembers. “We’d eat it with the butter we could get with ration stamps. Butter was rationed, so we didn’t usually have it. We looked very forward to that.”
By the time they emigrated, Demchak was widowed; Julia’s father, Joseph Kurtzman, died young. Demchak married Joseph Hidi, and the family carried on through loss and adaptation, shaping the resilience that marked the generations that followed.
It’s unclear whether Julia and Ferencz married in Hungary or the United States, but what is known is that he adopted the name Frank Monar (Molnár, meaning “miller”) after immigrating, following the common practice of changing one’s name to ease integration. Variations of the name—including Molnár—appear in U.S. census records. The couple settled in Pennsylvania, where they raised six children, among them Anna Monar Troncone.
Anna’s daughter, Mary Troncone Brundage, recently celebrated her 90th birthday in true Hungarian style, thanks to Folklife Ambassadors Hajnalka Guti-Izsó and Lajos Hunor Izsó.
Wedding photo of Julia Kurtzman and Frank Molnár. (credit: Brundage family)
Seeking a Better Life
Between 1870 and 1920, more than one million Hungarians immigrated to the United States. Mary Brundage’s family was part of that migration. Those who settled in Vintondale and nearby Wehrum originated mostly from northeastern Hungary – Bereg, Ugocsa, Ung, and Szabolcs-Szatmár Counties – the same region her ancestors left behind. Economic hardship, land shortages, and political instability pushed these families from rural Hungary into industrial America.
The coal mines of Pennsylvania and steel mills of Ohio offered steady wages—though at a steep cost. Immigrants often lived in company-owned “patch towns,” where housing and even schools were controlled by mining companies. Vintondale itself was a company-built coal town, established in 1892 around the Vinton Colliery, where everything about daily life was closely tied to the mine. According to Pennsylvania Magazine, “the mining companies demanded that miners purchase their groceries, clothing, and household goods at the company store. Miners who disobeyed were reprimanded for the first offense, then fired for further infractions. Miners who showed union tendencies were immediately discharged, evicted if they lived in company houses, and sometimes beaten.” (1922, Pennsylvania Magazine)
Despite ongoing civil liberty struggles, communities like Vintondale and Wehrum became cultural enclaves, where language, faith, and tradition endured. For Frank and Julia Monar, immigration did not mean erasure; it meant planting Hungarian roots that have reached across generations and remain alive today.
Mounted officers from the Vinton Colliery Company’s coal and iron police, 1920s. In the center is Chief of Police, Jack Butala. (Photo: Chris Reese and Denise Weber Coal Miners Collection, #MG 139, Indiana University of Pennsylvania.)(Ung County, Photo: Wikipedia) Coal miners in Pennsylvania (Photos: Raystown Historical Society)
Life in a Coal Town
Monar worked deep in one of Vintondale’s four mines, owned by the Vinton Colliery Company. In 1901, those mines were acquired by the Lackwanna Coal & Coke Company, a subsidiary of the Lackawanna Steel Company. The nearby town of Wehrum was the other well-known Hungarian coal town.
As coal dried up in Wehrum by 1922, Vintondale became a much bigger town. According to researcher Laszló Kürti, “by the 1920s, the town was in full blossom of prosperity. More than 500 Hungarian families (or 2200 individuals) made up 60% of Vintondale’s population, among Russians, Slovaks, English/Irish, and German settlers.” (Kürti, 1977) There were churches, schools, stores, community halls, cultural festivals by ethnic groups, and weekend balls headlined by Roma/Gypsy bands from Johnstown.
And yet, for many, including Monar, life upon arrival was far from expected. The work was dangerous, the pay low, and living conditions primitive. Coal never provided a stable economy; by the 1940s the mines were empty and layoffs widespread. Because Monar kept his job longer than many others, he watched friends and coworkers pack up and leave for larger towns such as Johnstown, Ebensburg, and beyond.
Like many miners, Monar set out at dawn on the one-mile walk to the mine. During the summer—when his granddaughter, Mary Brundage, was visiting from Connecticut—she packed his lunch before first light. At the end of the day, they walked home together. The work was relentless, and years underground had etched themselves into his body; he looked older than his years.
View of company houses in a typical mining town in the 1920s. Miners in company towns typically lived in two-story, wood-frame houses laid out in a linear pattern and in close proximity to the mine. (Photo: Nant-Y-Glo Tri Area Museum & Historical Society.) Hungarian miner, and his wife in the coal mining town of Calumet, PA (Photo: Youghiogheny River Valley History), Map of the area (Photo: Hungarian Settlement and Building Practices in Pennsylvania & Hungary: A Brief Comparison by László Kurti) Two Hungarian miners (Photo: Youghiogheny River Valley History)
Summers of Dust and Delight
Born in Manhattan, New York, and raised in South Norwalk, Connecticut, Mary Brundage spent her summers in Vintondale, where she forged a deep bond with her grandfather. She never met her grandmother, Julia, who died young—collapsing in the backyard while hanging laundry—leaving behind six children between the ages of fifteen and three.
“I used to pack my grandfather’s lunch to take to the coal mines. It made me so happy he took the lunch I made, and when he came home, I checked to be sure he ate it. From head to foot, every day, he was totally black. Black coal dust clung to every inch of him. It was hard work digging in the mines. He came home, and the first thing he did was to take a bath. There was no indoor plumbing, so no indoor bathroom. In the winter, the big metal tub was set up in the kitchen. In the summer, it was on the back porch,” recalls Brundage.
Mary Brundage (middle) with her grandfather Frank Monar (left) (Credit: Brundage family)
Despite hardship, Monar’s spirit was not broken – he remained kind, playful, and loving.
“One of my favorite memories is of him shaking the plum tree to let its fruits fall. He’d call to me “Kisanyám! Kisanyám! “ – My sweet girl! – and I’d run over to him. He’d grab hold of the tree trunk and shake it, and all the ripe fruit would fall – which was usually one solitary plum,” remembers Brundage.
They also shared simple summer meals together. “I loved eating with him on the steps of the back porch. He’d cut pieces of raw bacon for us to eat with hot pepper he got from his garden. I tried to eat the hot pepper – but, boy, was it hot! It would take a whole lot of bread and bacon (szalonna) for me to eat even a little speck of hot pepper,” says Brundage.
Monar, like many Hungarians today, prided himself on having a beautiful garden. It was his little slice of Hungary in the middle of Pennsylvania. And he wouldn’t let just anyone in. “When I played outside, he let me go into his garden and pick the very small ripe vegetables I wanted to cook for my dolls. There was never a harsh word from him toward me. Always kindness,” says Brundage.
The mines were more than a workplace; they were a world of fire and steel. From the family’s back porch, Brundage often watched the coke ovens glow against the night sky—orange, yellow, and red flames dancing like magic. “Only later did I understand they were cooking coal into coke for steelmaking,” she says. For a child, it was mesmerizing; for the miners, it was survival.
Hungarian Pride and Family Tradition
Hungarian heritage was the heartbeat of Brundage’s childhood. Her mother, Anna Monar Troncone, taught her words, songs, and recipes that became lifelong treasures. “I loved telling people I was Hungarian,” says Brundage. Bedtime ended with jó éjszakát (good night) and holidays echoed with the carol Mennyből az Angyal (Angel from Heaven).
Food was the other centerpiece of their Hungarian culture – stuffed cabbage, galuska, and pastries filled with prune jam or walnuts. “Making galuska with my mother was pure joy,” recalls Brundage. “Spreading dough, scraping it into boiling water, watching the dumplings rise—was magic.”
These traditions continue to live on through her four daughters (Bonnie, Beth, Briana, and Brita) and nine grandchildren. Brundage delights in teaching the next generation how to make stuffed cabbage by hand—how to pack the filling (never cook the rice), roll the leaves (gentle, gentle), and nestle each one tightly into the pot—passing down the way these dishes are made and the love that goes into them.
A Heritage Embraced
Brundage’s pride in her roots has only deepened over time. “Maybe it’s even stronger now,” she says of the connection she feels to her Hungarian heritage, “because I have had more years to appreciate the experiences I had as a child.” At 90, she continues to teach her family Hungarian words, songs, and recipes, ensuring the culture thrives.
At her recent birthday celebration, Brundage enjoyed performances by Folklife Ambassadors Guti and Izsó, and participated in Hungarian folk dancing with her entire family – in ways similar to the festivals in Vintondale so many years ago. And despite the passage of time, and the diversity in those who attended, there was a warmth and profound connection thanks to a shared culture.
“I have such a love for all the things Hungarian my mother taught me, and I tried to pass them down,” she says. “It’s a rich heritage, and I’m grateful for it.”
Gallery of Photos (Credit: Brundage family) of Mary Troncone Brundage’s 90th Birthday Celebration in Massachusetts
Sources:
- HUNGARIAN SETTLEMENT & BUILDING PRACTICES in Pennsylvania & Hungary: A Brief Comparison by Lászlo Kürti, Pioneer America, Vol. 12, No. 1 (February, 1980), pp. 34-53
- Youghiogheny River Valley History website
- Nant-Y-Glo Tri Area Museum & Historical Society
- Pennsylvania Magazine, 1922
