Once Upon a Time…
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a kingdom in Europe called Bulgaria.  Just like in the ferry tales, this distant land was ruled by a king.  His name was King Boris III and his people liked him very much.  My grandfather Pavel Groueff (my mother’s father) was the Chief of Staff for his majesty and also his right hand man.  As World War II spread throughout Europe, this small Balkan nation had no other choice but to side with the Axis and that was only because of its long-standing diplomatic ties with Germany. However, old Bulgaria was the only country in Eastern Europe where the Jews had been saved from being exterminated by the Nazis. Unfortunately, not many people know about this almost-forgotten historical fact. It was thanks to King Boris III (the czar of Bulgaria), Dimitar Peshev (The Man Who Stopped Hitler) and many other people including Pavel Groueff (my grandfather) that not a single Jew was killed in Bulgaria by the Nazis during World War II.  On August 28, 1943, King Boris III died suddenly and mysteriously after a stormy meeting with Hitler.  Some people speculate that King Boris III, as savior of the Bulgarian Jews, may have been poisoned by the Nazis in retaliation for his refusal to commit Bulgarian troops, and/or deport the Jews but no one really knows for sure.

The Evil Communist Empire
On September 5, 1944, the soviet Russian army invaded Bulgaria.  Only four days later, the communist were in control of this once prosperous country.  They began persecuting anyone who was in any way affiliated with the government of the king, and arbitrarily accused them of being “enemies of the people”.  Before World War II was even over, 2,730 death sentences were issued by the People’s Tribunals to people who were totally innocent.  Such was the horrible fate of my maternal grandfather Pavel Groueff, a very kind man who was admired by many.  Fifty years later, he was pardoned by the government, but it was for a crime that he never committed.  It would have been impossible for a wonderful person like him to be anybody’s enemy!  My paternal grandfather, George Rizov, whose name was the same as mine, as it is traditional in Eastern Europe to name the first-born son after his grandfather, was also executed by the communist.  Both my grandfathers were exceptional people and were loved by everyone.  I would have liked to have met them, but unfortunately, they were both killed before I was even born.  As for my mother, my grandmother and my uncle Boubi, they were put in concentration camps and forced labor camps for several years.  And why would innocent people like them be treated in such a cruel way?  It was because of my family’s affiliation  with King Boris’ government that they were accused of being an “enemy of the people”.  How absurd! These were some of the many horrible injustices that resulted from the evil of communism in Bulgaria, a country that was once upon a time, a very peaceful kingdom.  For the next half century or so, the tyranny of communism ruled this land.  This nation would be plagued by misery and suffering for many years to come and with no hope in sight.  The spread of communism also created a phenomenon that became known as “displaced persons”.  That was the case with my uncle Stephane, who was studying in Switzerland at the time of the communist takeover.  When he found out what was going on in his native country, he decided not to return there.  Instead, he later moved to France and pursued a career in the field of journalism.  A few years later, he moved to the United States and became the New York correspondant for Paris-Match.

Friday the 13th - Part 1
Although many people tend to think that the number 13 is bad luck, it wasn’t so for me.  For one thing, I am not superstitious.  I was born on a Friday the 13th and even though it was during the height of the cold war and behind the Iron Curtain, things turned out quite well for me considering.  It was in the Balkan Peninsula, in a city called Sofia (the capital of Bulgaria) that my mother gave birth to me.  Tipping the scales at about 12 pounds, I was healthy and big all the way around, and so were my cheeks.  The doctors decided to call me “Boozy”, which means “cheeks” in Bulgarian.  This would be my nickname up until the age of 6, although even to this day, a few people insist on using that silly name that I hate so much instead of my real name, George.

Baby George
During the first three years of my life, I lived in the outskirts of Sofia, out in the country with my mother, my father, my grandmother and my uncle Boubi.  My mother, who was an English teacher back then, spoke to me in English rather than in her native tongue, Bulgarian.  She had dreamed that someday, we would move to the United States, the land of freedom (her dream would someday come true).  Because of health problems, my grandmother was allowed to leave the country during a time when almost no one was allowed to do so.  She moved to New York and was finally reunited with her son, Stephane after being separated for more than a decade.  As I grew older, I wanted to speak the same language as the other kids, so I started speaking Bulgarian more and English less.  By the time I was about 6 years old, I totally forgot English.

Sofia, the Capital of Bulgaria (not Sofia Loren!)
By the time I was 3 years old, my parents moved right into the heart of Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria.  We lived in an apartment with my uncle Boubi.  Although the living conditions for most people were deplorable, I was still too young to understand what was going on.  In any case, things were not all that bad for me.  My mother used to say that I was the best-dressed kid in town.  That was thanks to the generosity of my uncle Stephane and my Aunt Lil who sent us many packages all the way from the United States, with lots of clothes and toys for me, including a fancy Märklin train set.

Georgie Porgy
I have quite a vivid recollection of the early days from my childhood:  When I was 3 years old, one day, I swallowed a nail!  I have always had a very good appetite and still do.  I must have been hungry and back in those days, food was scarce behind the Iron Curtain, so what could possibly be wrong with eating a rusty old nail? Well, my mother happened to be around when I put that thing in my mouth and was unable to stop me from swallowing it.  She panicked and rushed me to the nearest hospital immediately.  It turned out that nothing bad happened.  I must have had a strong stomach, and even to this day, I still do.  At the age of 4, my parents took me to the zoo one day.  I was really fascinated by all the animals.  One time, I saw a beuatiful lion.  I walked up to his cage and started petting him.  My mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw me do that.  As usual, nothing bad happened.  Apparently, I must have thought I was invincible!

Flight to Freedom
By the age of 6, I was old enough to go to school but my mother tried to prospone this because she did not want me to attend one in a communist country.  In July 1962, a French journalist by the name of Dominique Lapierre came to our apartment in Sofia.  He told her to start packing because we were going to be leaving the country is just a few days.  My mother could not believe what was going on at first and she thought this was some kind of practical joke, but no, this was for real!  On July 22, I left Bulgaria with my mother, my uncle Boubi and Mrs. Vetka Tchaprachikova (a dear friend of the family) on a KLM flight that would eventually take us to freedom!  After a stop in Vienna to refuel and a connection in Amsterdam, we finally arrived in Paris, our destination.  This was quite an incredible story, as back in those days, almost no one was allowed out of any communist countries.  The person who made all this possible was my uncle Stephane.  After he graduated from college in Switzerland, he moved to France and got a job as a journalist for a magazine called Paris-Match.  With the help of his colleague Dominique Lapierre, a deal was negotiated with the Bulgarian government that would allow me and a three other people to leave the country.  For more details about this absolutely fascinating story, please read Chapter 26  “My brother Boubi and sister Radka leave Bulgaria” from the book My Odyssey by Stephane Groueff (my uncle).

France - Part 1
I started school about two months after arriving in France and went to first and second grade there.  Of course, I had to learn a new language, French, and I had to learn it quickly, as I had no other choice.  For two years, I lived in a city called Bois-Colombes, which is just outside of Paris.  My mother got a job working for a magazine called Paris-Match.  Their offices were in the heart of Paris, and she took the train and subway to go there.  This was actually the same magazine that my uncle Stephane worked for, although by that time, he no longer lived in France.  He had moved to New York a few years earlier and had become Paris-Match’s representative there.  When I was in first grade, I became interested in art and I would draw pictures often.  I was probably inspired by Walt Disney animated movies like Snow White, Pinochio and The 101 Dalmatians, which happened to be my favorite ones back then.  Although I lived in France, I got to go to other places, too, including Switzerland.  My mother would usually send me there when school was out, both during the summer and around Christmas time, too.  I stayed in a chalet near Saint Maurice with other children who were about my age.  I would ski in the winter and go hiking during the summer with the other kids who stayed there.  One time, I went to Lausanne with my mother.  Another time, I went to Gstaad, where my uncle Stephane had a chalet of his own back then.  To this day, I find that Switzerland is one of the most beautiful countries I’ve ever been to.

Spain - The King and I
After living in France for barely two years, my mother was offered a job to work for King Simeon II (the son on King Boris III) who was in exile in Spain.  It turns out that my grandfather Pavel Groueff had worked for the previous king and therefore, my family had close ties with the royal family.  My mother accepted King Simeon’s offer and we moved to Madrid.  For whatever reason, I continued to go to French schools, but was still required to learn Spanish, a language that would come in handy a few years later.  For about a year or so, my mother and I actually lived in the king’s palace.  This was a really cool place with servants, bodyguards and the whole works!  King Simeon had at least four cars including a Citroën DS 21, a Jaguar E-Type, a Maserati and what looked like a Jeep (probably a Land Rover).  Sometimes, he would take me on a ride in one of his sports cars and I found this very thrilling especially when he drove them fast.  I also had fun playing with his kids, Prince Kardam and Prince Kiril.  I particularly enjoyed going to the swimming pool at the palace.  It was there that I learned how to swim, and I learned just in time because both Kardam and Kiril (who were younger than me) managed to fall in the pool (on separate occasions) when there was no one else around.  Of course, I rescued them and the king was very thankful.  He gave me many presents to show his appreciation including a toy Mercedes car (I’m still waiting for the delivery of the real Mercedes-Benz he promised he was going to have for me a long time ago!) and a bicycle, too.  My mother and I eventually moved out of the palace and went to live in an apartment in Madrid.  After living in a mansion, moving into an apartment took some getting used to.  However, it wasn’t all that bad and we even had our own maid who lived with us.  It didn’t take me long to become fascinated by soccer, a sport that is very popular in Spain.  My favorite team was the Real Madrid.  Their stadium was within walking distance of the apartment where I lived and I would go to their games often.  Eventually, my mother got me my very own leather soccer ball and a uniform with the same colors (all white) as the Real Madrid.  I remember one soccer game in particular that was quite exciting:  It was the Brazilian national team versus the local Atletico de Madrid.  During that match, I got to see  one of the best soccer players ever to play that game:  Pelé.  Needless to say, Brazil won by a score of 5 to 3.  I visited other parts of Spain and went on vacation to Barcelona as well as Palma de Mallorca, a beautiful island with lots of nice beaches.

France - Part 2
After living in Spain for just barely two years, my mother and I went back to France once more.  Unlike the previous time, this time around, we lived right in the heart of Paris.  Our first apartment was near Place Vichy, which was not far from the Moulin Rouge.  I was in 5th grade and my school was only a couple of blocks away from where I lived, which was very convenient.  There were also several movie theaters nearby with really good movies.  My favorite one became Grand Prix starring James Garner, which is widely considered the greatest racing film of all time.  The first time I saw it was on a large Cinerama screen and I have seen it many times since then.  It was about Formula 1 car racing and I soon became fascinated by this dangerous sport.  I also liked the music from this movie a lot, so I bought the album with the soundtrack, which was composed by Maurice Jarre.  I would listen to it almost every day for many months.  I was hoping that someday, I would become a race car driver.  My favorite one was Jim Clark from Team Lotus.  Unfortunately, he died in a race car accident not long after I became obsessed with this interesting hobby.  My mother and I later moved to the Trocadero district in Paris.  This was a quite a neighborhood:  Just a few blocks from my apartment was a museum called “le Musée de l’Homme”.  Right behind it were some fountains with big jets of water.  I would  go there often to roller-scate with other kids.  The road there was at an incline and we could pick up a lot of speed that way when going downhill.  On the way back up, we would try to hitch a ride by grabbing on to the bumper of a car!  And if I walked a few more meters (yes, they actually do use the metric system everywhere else in the world) and go over the bridge, I would end up right underneath the Eiffel Tower!  Such was my youth in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities in the world.  In May 1968, student riots broke out at a number of universities and high schools in Paris.  Needless to say, my mother was terrified by all this.  After all, she had already gone through one revolution when the communist invaded Bulgaria and was definitely not looking forward to see more of the same.  Because of all the turmoil, we ended up going to Milan, Italy for a few weeks until the situation settled down.  Not long after we came back to Paris, we were already on our way to a new land:   This would turn out to be the land of freedom and opportunity.

Skyscapers Bloom in America, Cadillacs Zoom in America…
At the age of 12, I finally made it to the United States, with my mother, and her dream was finally realized.  It goes to show you that if someone really wants something bad enough, chances are that it will happen. Sometimes, it may take a while (my mother waited 24 years for this to happen).  Also, having support from a wonderful family such as mine made all the difference in the world.  It was my uncle Stephane who came through for us again and he was the one who arranged for all this to happen.  The first thing different that I noticed after I arrived in New York was that everything was a lot bigger, compared to what I was used to: I was impressed by the tall skyscrapers in Manhattan.  The cars were bigger, the roads were wider, etc. Upon my arrival, I stayed at my uncle’s apartment on Fifth Avenue, which overlooked Central Park. School was out, so I then spent the next few weeks at my uncle’s beautiful house in Long Island.  I had lots of fun with my cousin Paul and we went to the beach in Southampton almost everyday.

Miami Beach, at Last! Yipee, Hurray, Yahoo…
Unlike Bugs Bunny who ended up in the dunes of the Sahara desert thinking it was Miami Beach, my mother and I really did end up in Miami, and it was not by coincidence either. A couple of years before, while we were still in Paris, my mother had gotten a job working for a travel agency there. Her boss also had a branch in Coral Gables, Florida.  This arrangement worked out well for my mother: All we had to do was to move to South Florida and she was pretty much guaranteed a job there.  Although moving to a new country can be a stressful event, doing so with a job lined up certainly makes it a lot easier.  After moving back and forth between so many different countries, Miami would finally become my permanent home.

To be continued…