Zelmira went to high school in Rakovník and then studied journalism at Charles University in Prague. Zelmira was an excellent student and, along with Jiří Dientsbier (who became a close friend), was offered membership in the Communist Party after her first semester. Zelmira had several summer jobs, including at a county newspaper in Podbořany, very close to where she had been born. During her last year in university, Zelmira worked at Czech radio (Český rozhlas). She and her husband, Milos Zivny, married during this last year as well and the pair stayed in Prague.
Zelmira worked as a journalist for the magazine Svět v obrazech for many years and traveled throughout the Eastern Bloc, including to Uzbekistan. Zelmira says that things began to change after the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. She gave up her Party membership and helped Jiri Dientsbier publish a book. Coupled with her connections in the West (professional contacts as well as distant family members ), Zelmira began to feel a lot of ‘pressure,’ and she was taken in for questioning several times. When her daughter did not get into the high school she had hoped to attend, Zelmira and Milos began to think seriously about leaving the country. In 1984, they received passports and permission to take a vacation in Yugoslavia. Zelmira, Milos and their two children crossed the border into Austria and spent several months at Bad Kruezen refugee camp. With the help of the American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees, the Zivnys moved to the United States and settled in Oakland, California, in February 1985.
In September 1985, Zelmira was offered a job with the International Rescue Committee as a refugee resettlement worker. She later joined her husband who had started his own cabinetry business. Zelmira and Milos have been heavily involved in the local Sokol organization since their retirement. Although she says that Prague will always be in her ‘heart and head,’ she is very happy in the United States. Today she continues to live with Milos in the house they bought shortly after arriving in Oakland.
]]>Zelmira Zivny was born in the village of Blšany in 1937. Zelmira’s mother grew up in Komárno on the Slovak-Hungarian border and had met Zelmira’s father while he was stationed here with the Czechoslovak Army. He then took a post teaching at a Czech school in Blšany, which was in the Sudetenland. When this area was annexed by Adolf Hitler as part of the Munich Agreement in September 1938, Zelmira’s family was forced to leave. After moving several times in six months, Zelmira’s father found a teaching job in Kněževes, a town near Rakovník. Following WWII, Zelmira’s family moved to the nearby town of Jesenice where she attended school.
Zelmira went to high school in Rakovník and then studied journalism at Charles University in Prague. Zelmira was an excellent student and, along with Jiří Dientsbier (who became a close friend), was offered membership in the Communist Party after her first semester. Zelmira had several summer jobs, including at a county newspaper in Podbořany, very close to where she had been born. During her last year in university, Zelmira worked at Czech radio (Český rozhlas). She and her husband, Milos Zivny, married during this last year as well and the pair stayed in Prague.
Zelmira worked as a journalist for the magazine Svět v obrazech for many years and traveled throughout the Eastern Bloc, including to Uzbekistan. Zelmira says that things began to change after the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. She gave up her Party membership and helped Jiri Dientsbier publish a book. Coupled with her connections in the West (professional contacts as well as distant family members ), Zelmira began to feel a lot of ‘pressure,’ and she was taken in for questioning several times. When her daughter did not get into the high school she had hoped to attend, Zelmira and Milos began to think seriously about leaving the country. In 1984, they received passports and permission to take a vacation in Yugoslavia. Zelmira, Milos and their two children crossed the border into Austria and spent several months at Bad Kruezen refugee camp. With the help of the American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees, the Zivnys moved to the United States and settled in Oakland, California, in February 1985.
In September 1985, Zelmira was offered a job with the International Rescue Committee as a refugee resettlement worker. She later joined her husband who had started his own cabinetry business. Zelmira and Milos have been heavily involved in the local Sokol organization since their retirement. Although she says that Prague will always be in her ‘heart and head,’ she is very happy in the United States. Today she continues to live with Milos in the house they bought shortly after arriving in Oakland.
“When I was one year old and Hitler got the Sudetenland, my parents had to move. Today you would say they were refugees, and they were. My mom was 24, 25, and suddenly there she was with my sister who was three years old and I was one year old, and she had to leave that town within 24 hours, with two kids and whatever she could carry, because my father was still in the Army; they didn’t release them yet. So she did. She didn’t have any place to go being from Slovakia and her husband’s parents were relatively – from the Czech point of view – far away. But there were more people who had to leave, so they said ‘There is a parish there the small town of Městečko and we know that that monsignor is ready to accept refugees.’ So this is where she landed with us, and they had to move three or four times within six months. Then finally my dad got another position as a teacher in small town or large village – a rich town, a lot of hops – which was called Kněževes , close to the town of Rakovník, and this is where we spent the War.”
“One of my first remembrances is the middle of the night and we were awake because there was that very deep sound, and there was a pinkish or yellowish shine all over the sky and my father was standing close to the window and said ‘Has to be Leipzig or Dresden. This is where they are bombarding tonight, but it’s terrible; it’s very, very intense.’ So it was the night that Dresden got bombarded.”
“I was joined to the Communist Party when I was two months at the university. No, actually, the first semester. After the first semester, Jiří Dienstbier and myself had the best results, and the professor who was in charge of the department called us both and told us ‘Congratulations, you are good students, you will be good journalists, and let me tell you that I am ready and I am supporting you’ – you had to have a grantor – ‘I am your grantor so you can join the Communist Party.’ And then he left, and we were sitting there in the lobby. Both of us were from sort of old democratic families. His parents were treating poor people during the depression and so on, so they were socially oriented. So we were sitting there because we didn’t expect it, and you could say ‘thank you, no’ and you wouldn’t get a job in a factory, and then Jirka said ‘Maybe it will be good for something. We will at least be part of the people who make decisions.’ So this is what happened, but nobody ever asked us to sign anything, any petition or whatever. We were just… this was it. It might be part of why Jiří was later on sent to that internship to Czech Radio and why I was accepted there. And in the foreign broadcast the Communist Party wasn’t the main point there, and when ’68 came I said ‘I’m so sorry; I cannot take it anymore.’”
“We got Americanized quite quickly I have to say. Maybe next generation. But we are very happy to live here. There are plenty of things we like about America. Nobody whines; people understand that they come somewhere and they have to take care of themselves. That’s your business; that’s your problem. Which is not that much… The Communists were telling you ‘The state will do it. The country will do it. You don’t do it.’ People got used to it. We never liked it and we are happy that mood is not in the air. And our children are happy here, so we would never left. Of course, if we never left we would be living in Prague and being happy there, but we prefer to be here. We prefer to be Americans.”
“Nobody will take Prague out of our hearts and heads. We know it and we’ll always feel it. And it’s nice to see that it’s changing and so on. But also, the country has changed a lot and we would have to start again. For the third time? No. I really like the spirit of America, I have to say.”
Yvette Kaiser Smith was born in Prague in 1958. Her father Karel worked in theatre, and her mother Vlasta was a secretary. Yvette’s sister, Miroslava, was older by 18 months. Yvette recalls having ‘total freedom’ as a child in Prague, walking the city streets alone and taking the tram to extracurricular activities and doctor’s appointments. She participated in what she calls ‘typical’ after-school activities such as swimming and theatre. In January 1968, Yvette’s father traveled to the United States for work; although his visa was valid until 1969, he returned for a brief period following the Warsaw Pact invasion in August 1968 and made the decision for his family to join him in the United States. He then returned to the United States and Yvette’s mother went about securing passports for the family. In late December 1968, Yvette, her mother and sister left Czechoslovakia for England, where they stayed with a relative. After one month in England, Yvette’s father sent the family money for plane tickets, and they flew to Dallas, Texas.
The Kaisers lived in an apartment in the Highland Park area of Dallas. Yvette’s father worked in construction and her mother found employment as a maid. She began school in March 1969 without knowing how to speak English. Yvette says she learned quickly, thanks to help from her classmates and teachers. She says that although the family spoke Czech at home and her parents kept a Czech household, once she became fluent in English she ‘became American overnight.’ In 1990, she earned a degree in fine arts from Southern Methodist University and married her husband Tim. They moved to Chicago in 1991 and she enrolled in a masters program at the University of Chicago. After receiving her MFA, Yvette began her career as an artist. Although she started out as a sculptor, Yvette says that her first trip back to Prague in 1998 changed her direction as an artist and she now crochets fiberglass. In 1999, Yvette’s parents moved back to Prague to live and she often went to visit them. She says that she has retained a few Czech traditions at home, mainly celebrating Christmas on December 24 and making traditional foods on other holidays. Today, Yvette lives in Chicago with her husband and father.
]]>
Yvette Kaiser Smith was born in Prague in 1958. Her father Karel worked in theatre, and her mother Vlasta was a secretary. Yvette’s sister, Miroslava, was older by 18 months. Yvette recalls having ‘total freedom’ as a child in Prague, walking the city streets alone and taking the tram to extracurricular activities and doctor’s appointments. She participated in what she calls ‘typical’ after-school activities such as swimming and theatre. In January 1968, Yvette’s father traveled to the United States for work; although his visa was valid until 1969, he returned for a brief period following the Warsaw Pact invasion in August 1968 and made the decision for his family to join him in the United States. He then returned to the United States and Yvette’s mother went about securing passports for the family. In late December 1968, Yvette, her mother and sister left Czechoslovakia for England, where they stayed with a relative. After one month in England, Yvette’s father sent the family money for plane tickets, and they flew to Dallas, Texas.
The Kaisers lived in an apartment in the Highland Park area of Dallas. Yvette’s father worked in construction and her mother found employment as a maid. She began school in March 1969 without knowing how to speak English. Yvette says she learned quickly, thanks to help from her classmates and teachers. She says that although the family spoke Czech at home and her parents kept a Czech household, once she became fluent in English she ‘became American overnight.’ In 1990, she earned a degree in fine arts from Southern Methodist University and married her husband Tim. They moved to Chicago in 1991 and she enrolled in a masters program at the University of Chicago. After receiving her MFA, Yvette began her career as an artist. Although she started out as a sculptor, Yvette says that her first trip back to Prague in 1998 changed her direction as an artist and she now crochets fiberglass. In 1999, Yvette’s parents moved back to Prague to live and she often went to visit them. She says that she has retained a few Czech traditions at home, mainly celebrating Christmas on December 24 and making traditional foods on other holidays. Today, Yvette lives in Chicago with her husband and father.
“I love my mom and I have no complaints about my upbringing, but I think we were just, like, running wild. I remember running around the city when I was really young. Getting on the tram unattended. Going downtown, running around. It’s not like here where you’re worried about what’s going to happen to your children. We’d walk to the doctor on your own. That’s what I remember. It’s a strange thing to say, but I remember total freedom as a kid.”
“We landed at Love Field in Dallas, Texas. I remember that very clearly. Karel made some friends, they picked us up, we drove down Lemmon Avenue, went through my first drive-thru, I had my first hamburger and a Dr. Pepper. I still love Dr. Pepper; the smell has a very specific smell. Because Dallas has the plant where they make Dr. Pepper and, to me, it’s just a feel-good thing. Good drive-thru hamburger – Princess burgers – and a Dr. Pepper. That was my first American joy.”
“I had no English; I started school. Every hour, the teacher took the smartest kid in the class, and that student and I went to the back of the room or in the hallway, used flashcards and first-grade readers and I can tell you this – this is what I remember, I could be exaggerating – but I remember at the end of that school year, what is that? Maybe two months? Two and a half months? I understood and was able to speak probably 90-95% of what I know now. My English was perfect, very heavy accent.”
“If they would have stayed in America, they would have had to work their crap jobs until they died. They were sort of bound to the mortgage; bound to paying for life. Really, their American success story is us, is me. That I have choices. That I can get away with being an artist and not having a ‘real job.’ That I was able to realize who I am. That’s their American dream. I think they didn’t benefit from it they way I clearly did.”
“You know, it’s a funny thing. When I go back there [to Prague], I’m a foreigner. Living here, I’ve been here most of my life, but I’m realizing I don’t actually fit. I’m more of a Czech-American than American. When I go back to Prague, I’m a total foreigner. They don’t recognize me as a Czech person, so it’s funny.”
“When my mom and I went back for three weeks, it was like this emotional roller coaster. When you walk through big streets and little streets and all these places, the park where you grew up. I was like a really dried up sponge and all the sudden I was soaked in water and I just, it was like a wafer that expanded. I was so emotional back then, I couldn’t even tell you. It was crazy. It’s like I was asleep and I woke up. And I can’t even define it. It was like in a big stroke way, not in little details. Literally, that’s the image I get. I was like a little wafer and I just puffed up. That’s the big thing. If you have to sort of identify the Czech-ness and the American-ness, that’s when the Czech-ness sort of woke up. And I thought ‘Oh! Hello.’ Part of it was, it’s that time, there’s like there’s this big, dead, blind gap between then and what was then now. There was no memory. But all of the sudden, going back to those streets, to the smells, to the same stores. Like Bílá labut’, it was just a department store – and it actually finally closed a few years ago – but we went there when I was a shorty. It was still there. Obviously Prague didn’t change a whole lot, but a lot of the places were still there and all of the sudden it woke up all these memories; and it was like dead silence for, what, 30 years, filled up with pictures and smells. It was crazy. So that was sort of the identity awakening.”
Upon graduating, he was sent to a military airfield in Hradec Králové where he was an electronic communications specialist. After the split of Czechoslovakia, Vlado returned to Prešov to work at a military base there. At this time, he became interested in psychology and decided to pursue a degree in the subject. In 1997, he began studying psychology at Charles University in Prague after being discharged from the Army. One year he spent studying abroad in Finland. While at university, Vlado spent several summers working on the resort island of Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts, and met his future wife, Rebecca, there. After he graduated, Vlado decided to move to the United States. He and Rebecca settled in the Milwaukee area where Vlado found a job as a case manager. He is now a licensed therapist with his own practice. In 2006, Vlado began a training program at the C G Jung Institute of Chicago where he is studying to be a Jungian psychotherapist. Vlado and Rebecca have two children, a son named Emanuel and a daughter named Veronika. Although his daughter is not yet talking, he says that his son is learning Slovak and that they keep several Slovak traditions at home. Vlado lives in Glendale, Wisconsin, with his family.
]]>Vlado Šolc was born in Prešov in eastern Slovakia in 1972. He grew up with his mother, Anna, who was a sewing teacher, his father, Julius, who taught at a military school, and his older sister, Martina. Vlado’s family had a cottage near Lake Domaša, and many of Vlado’s fondest memories are of his time spent in the countryside where he loved to camp and fish with his friends. Vlado says that when he was younger, he loved animals and dreamt of being a zookeeper; he owned many pets, including snakes, mice, and guinea pigs. When Vlado was 14, he began attending a military school. His first year was spent in Košice, and he lived in a dormitory in Prešov for his final three years. The Velvet Revolution in November 1989 broke out during the time Vlado was at school; he says that he and his friends snuck out of the barracks to join the demonstrations in the city.
Upon graduating, he was sent to a military airfield in Hradec Králové where he was an electronic communications specialist. After the split of Czechoslovakia, Vlado returned to Prešov to work at a military base there. At this time, he became interested in psychology and decided to pursue a degree in the subject. In 1997, he began studying psychology at Charles University in Prague after being discharged from the Army. One year he spent studying abroad in Finland. While at university, Vlado spent several summers working on the resort island of Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts, and met his future wife, Rebecca, there. After he graduated, Vlado decided to move to the United States. He and Rebecca settled in the Milwaukee area where Vlado found a job as a case manager. He is now a licensed therapist with his own practice. In 2006, Vlado began a training program at the C G Jung Institute of Chicago where he is studying to be a Jungian psychotherapist. Vlado and Rebecca have two children, a son named Emanuel and a daughter named Veronika. Although his daughter is not yet talking, he says that his son is learning Slovak and that they keep several Slovak traditions at home. Vlado lives in Glendale, Wisconsin, with his family.
“You have to imagine this beautiful nature. This crystal-clear lake with cottages around. We are all friends. We knew each other so visited each other. At night we made fires in a fire pit – the stones in a circle. We’d play music; we’d sing; drink beer. We’d have fun. We’d grill a goat or a little pig on a fire and it took hours, and we’d go fishing and bring fish. We’d go to a pub and buy a lot of alcohol and celebrate. Or we’d go in a pub – and we all are friends – you have imagine, we’d go this plechač [disco], you’d go there and you know everybody, and guys come and bring their guitars and drums and violins and everything and we’d start singing, and we’d dance on the tables and drink beer. It was just so unbelievable and transformative. I can’t even describe the experience; it was just great.
“We would go camping. Right at Domaša there were cottages, but we would go camping in the woods, and we would stay by the lake and be fishing for three, four, five days. It would be raining and we would still be sitting and catching fish. We just ate the fish we would catch. It was really a connection with nature. It was a pure nature experience.”
“She’d get to travel because she was very good at what she was doing and they were designing new clothes. So she would have her students design new clothes and they would compete and they would go to these international competitions. She won a lot of prizes actually.”
Was she really fashionable?
“She was fashionable, yeah. That was the thing about it; they would have to be fashionable and they would have to design something new, and that’s how they would compete and win the competition. She was great. Right now, when I’m thinking about my mom, I think how much she was able to do. Taking care of the family, having a full-time job, catching up with the food. Our cottage was always clean and taken care of. Bringing up two children and basically sewing clothes for the whole family. Once in a while we would buy something, but most of the clothes we had, she would actually make it. Even things like a blazer or nice pants or complicated vests. Amazing. She still does it; of course, much less.”
And did she also sew for friends?
“Oh yeah. Doctors. We had a family doctor. She would sew for them and it was for exchange for the good stuff. For example, good meat, if we wanted to get good meat, there was the exchange.”
“I was kind of oblivious to what was going on in politics. I think I started paying attention to it when I was 14, 15, 16. I remember sitting in a pub in Domaša, drinking beer and having a discussion with friends. My older friends, three years older were saying ‘Communism is going to fall. I am telling you guys, it will end.’ I was like ‘Wow, so there is something wrong with the system that communism is going to fall.’ We had very lively discussions about it and two, three years later, it really happened.”
“It was prohibited to leave the base, but we would hide our civil clothes – non-Army clothes – in the bushes. So after 10:00, we would dress, jump the fence, run down to the city, and we would [jingle keys] do the Revolution like everybody else.”
Were lots of people out in Prešov? Because you see pictures of Prague and Bratislava, but what was the Revolution like in Prešov?
“Oh yeah, there was a revolution like everywhere else. Thousands of people in the streets. Full streets..”
Was it exciting?
“Of course! It was so exciting. That was the time people were so full of ideals and the revolution spirit. So peaceful. That’s why it was called ‘Velvet.’ Not an aggression. We were just connecting one with the other in spirit. November, October, that’s when it was happening, so it was cold out, so you would be out, bundled up, with the keys and shouting slogans.”
“I believe this is a part of who their father is and I’m trying to preserve that piece at least for a little bit. I know it’s sort of an illusion because it’s going to disappear in a few generations. You meet these people who say ‘My grandfather was a Czech. I know, say, ‘Dobrý den’ and that’s about it.’ So I know it’s going to disappear. My son is not going to teach his children Slovak, but he’ll speak about it. More, it’s not really to preserve the culture; it’s not really about it. I think it’s more about having exposure to the language and the culture and having this different fabric of experience. The passing on to him something very special, which he otherwise wouldn’t get.”
At his school in Prague, Vladimir studied English, which was unusual at the time. In high school he started working as a tour guide for foreign tourists and also became involved in Jazzová sekce, a state-sponsored cultural organization that was able to promote jazz and other Western-style music, mostly through the efforts of young people and jazz enthusiasts among higher-ups. Vladimir’s family owned a cottage in the Krkonoše mountains where he enjoyed cross-country skiing.
Vladimir attended law school at Charles University and then spent one year performing mandatory military service. Following his military service, Vladimir started working for a law firm in Benešov. Living in Prague at the time of the Velvet Revolution, Vladimir witnessed first-hand the fall of communism, and worked as a guide and translator for an American reporter during that time. After living in London for under one year, Vladimir returned to Prague and continued to practice law. He also developed a hydroelectric plant with a partner, which is still a successful enterprise today.
In 2002, Vladimir visited the United States for the first time. He moved to Washington state in 2011 following his marriage to his Czech-American wife. Vladimir says that he enjoys a certain freedom moving to the United States has given him, which is the feeling of being a citizen of the world and being able to move around freely.
]]>Vladimir Zeithaml was born in Hradec Králové, a city in Bohemia, in 1955. Both his parents were natives of Hradec Králové, and when they moved to Prague for their jobs, Vladimir stayed with his grandparents for several years. He joined his parents in Prague at the age of six. Vladimir’s father was a military doctor while his mother was a nurse who later worked in the Ministry of Health. In the mid-1960s, Vladimir moved with his family to Egpyt where his father was working as a military translator. Vladimir says the several years that he spent there were ‘formative’ and ‘beautiful’ times.
At his school in Prague, Vladimir studied English, which was unusual at the time. In high school he started working as a tour guide for foreign tourists and also became involved in Jazzová sekce, a state-sponsored cultural organization that was able to promote jazz and other Western-style music, mostly through the efforts of young people and jazz enthusiasts among higher-ups. Vladimir’s family owned a cottage in the Krkonoše mountains where he enjoyed cross-country skiing.
Vladimir attended law school at Charles University and then spent one year performing mandatory military service. Following his military service, Vladimir started working for a law firm in Benešov. Living in Prague at the time of the Velvet Revolution, Vladimir witnessed first-hand the fall of communism, and worked as a guide and translator for an American reporter during that time. After living in London for under one year, Vladimir returned to Prague and continued to practice law. He also developed a hydroelectric plant with a partner, which is still a successful enterprise today.
In 2002, Vladimir visited the United States for the first time. He moved to Washington state in 2011 following his marriage to his Czech-American wife. Vladimir says that he enjoys a certain freedom moving to the United States has given him, which is the feeling of being a citizen of the world and being able to move around freely.
“At the age of 12, my father was there working as a military expert as a translator. There was massive military aid from Russians and the Czech Republic to the Nasser’s regime in ’66 and ’67. Actually, we were there during the Six-Day War which was quite an experience. My mother missed it and she thought, after the bombing was done, she said ‘I heard some noise and I thought somebody was dusting the carpets,’ because we were in the center and it was with a surgical precision; the military targets were on the outskirts, so nothing happened in the center.
“That was the beautiful time where it was the last weeks before you are distracted by women and you already have the capacity to understand what’s going on. So we had school activities close to the pyramids and there was an Egyptology institute of Prague university [Czech Institute of Egyptology at Charles University], which is quite famous, so we were, as pupils of a Czech school, taken there and we had these afterschool activities walking these mastabas and around pyramids. So it was a formative experience.”
So there were enough Czechs there to have a Czech school?
“My guess is about close to 10,000. We had our school there and a couple of houses, our own school bus. And the Russians – I think it was a military secret; I’m glad to reveal it now – about 50 or 60,000. Quite massive.”
“I was an active part in the Jazzová sekce [Jazz section] and we helped to organize concerts in Lucerna. I was not at the headquarters; I just went there and helped with some manual work. It was the first experience for me to meet other people. Meet other people who I could identify with, and they were in the jazz culture and that’s for me what for the previous generation could be the tramping tradition, because the jazz music was something that I identified with American culture, and films as well.”
“This is not an isolated world anymore; even if people think that it is, it’s not. And what’s happening in Europe will be here really, really soon. So we are in one world. That’s why I feel more like a citizen of the world, and I can imagine that I can live in some other place and it’s still one world. And that’s what I am enjoying most. I learned how to pack. First time in my life that was sincere packing, and I still did not unpack after the refurbishment. But once I’ve done that I can do that again. That’s one of the main differences. When I was in Europe I actually could not imagine ‘I am packing and there is flat which is empty,’ and I’m able to get all these formalities here, with the help of my wife, done. It’s nice because I felt stuck there and now I feel I can move.”
“I distinguish between internal freedom and the freedom of convenience – if you want to get a service or some good, you can find them easily and it works, which is what I would call an objective freedom, yes. If I want to have something done then I can find it. But the internal freedom… I’m not that really convinced that this is the case. It could be really easily confused that what I can buy, where I can go with what I can do. Now I realize that I enjoyed a substantial part of an internal freedom back in Europe. It’s kind of an open-ended issue for me.”
Viktor Solarik was born in Prague in 1961. He lived in the Smíchov district of the city with his parents (who were both chemists) and his older sister, Helena, who still lives in the family home in Prague. Viktor began elementary school in 1968, right after the Warsaw Pact invasion, which occurred in August of that year. He says that it was apparent that the Communist Party had an ‘arm in every organization,’ including sport activities and youth organizations. After graduating from high school, Viktor attended ČVUT (Czech Technical University in Prague) where he studied architecture. An avid windsurfer, he asked permission to travel to Malta to represent Czechoslovakia in a global competition, but the dean of architecture refused to sign for him. Shortly after graduating from ČVUT, Viktor married his wife, Eva, whom he had known since high school, and they decided to emigrate. Viktor says that the pair had the full support of their families who, even though there was a chance they would encounter repercussions, felt fairly secure in their professional lives. They signed up for a tour going to Austria and Germany and, in August 1987, left the country. When the bus stopped in Munich, Viktor and Eva went to the police station where they claimed asylum. After two months in a refugee camp, Viktor found work with a surveyor and the couple were able to move into a small apartment while waiting for their paperwork to clear. They were granted immigration visas to the United States after 18 months and arrived in New York City in March 1989.
Viktor and Eva’s sponsors were friends of their parents who had emigrated in 1968 and lived in New Jersey. They stayed in New Jersey for a few weeks while looking for a job. Viktor was offered a position at the architectural firm Kaeyer, Parker and Garment in Mount Kisco, and the pair moved to Westchester County. In 1998, Viktor started his own firm (VKS Architects) which focuses on residential design and construction. Viktor and Eva have two daughters who are now in college. They both speak Czech and, when they were younger, spent summers with their grandparents and cousins in the Czech Republic. Viktor tries to visit his home country every year to spend time with family and friends. Today he lives in Carmel, New York, with his wife Eva.
]]>
Viktor Solarik was born in Prague in 1961. He lived in the Smíchov district of the city with his parents (who were both chemists) and his older sister, Helena, who still lives in the family home in Prague. Viktor began elementary school in 1968, right after the Warsaw Pact invasion, which occurred in August of that year. He says that it was apparent that the Communist Party had an ‘arm in every organization,’ including sport activities and youth organizations. After graduating from high school, Viktor attended ČVUT (Czech Technical University in Prague) where he studied architecture. An avid windsurfer, he asked permission to travel to Malta to represent Czechoslovakia in a global competition, but the dean of architecture refused to sign for him. Shortly after graduating from ČVUT, Viktor married his wife, Eva, whom he had known since high school, and they decided to emigrate. Viktor says that the pair had the full support of their families who, even though there was a chance they would encounter repercussions, felt fairly secure in their professional lives. They signed up for a tour going to Austria and Germany and, in August 1987, left the country. When the bus stopped in Munich, Viktor and Eva went to the police station where they claimed asylum. After two months in a refugee camp, Viktor found work with a surveyor and the couple were able to move into a small apartment while waiting for their paperwork to clear. They were granted immigration visas to the United States after 18 months and arrived in New York City in March 1989.
Viktor and Eva’s sponsors were friends of their parents who had emigrated in 1968 and lived in New Jersey. They stayed in New Jersey for a few weeks while looking for a job. Viktor was offered a position at the architectural firm Kaeyer, Parker and Garment in Mount Kisco, and the pair moved to Westchester County. In 1998, Viktor started his own firm (VKS Architects) which focuses on residential design and construction. Viktor and Eva have two daughters who are now in college. They both speak Czech and, when they were younger, spent summers with their grandparents and cousins in the Czech Republic. Viktor tries to visit his home country every year to spend time with family and friends. Today he lives in Carmel, New York, with his wife Eva.
“I guess, as a kid, one doesn’t necessarily see all of the suppressiveness of the regime, but one example I can give you is that in 1968, when I was about to go to first grade, of course in August 1968, the Russians and the Warsaw Pact army marched in and it was obviously very stressful. Tanks everywhere, soldiers everywhere, nobody knew what was happening. My father, with a stoic calm, told me ‘Well, I went to school when the Nazis were here and so you go to school when there’s another occupation. So just keep your mouth [shut], don’t tell anybody what we talk about at home, don’t make any contacts with people that you don’t know, and be very careful.’ For a seven-year old kid, that’s kind of a harsh lesson to learn.”
“That was one thing I can tell you about the presence of the regime, or the omnipresence of the regime. As an athlete, I wanted to go to the Academic World Championship in windsurfing in Malta in the Mediterranean. I think it was probably the early ‘80s, ’83 or ’84. So I went to the dean of the faculty and I asked him to sign my paper so I could travel abroad to represent the socialist Czechoslovakia in the Academic World Championship, which I thought was great for the country – and of course I would have enjoyed it very much. And he wouldn’t sign the paper. He thought that it was not appropriate for me to travel abroad. One thing I remember that he said [was] ‘Well, do you want to be an architect or do you want to be an athlete?’ but I saw it as curbing my freedom to decide what I wanted to be. Why was it his decision to decide what I wanted to be? And I could have been either, I guess, or both. But who was he to tell me what I wanted to be? But he didn’t give me the opportunity to do that.”
“We experienced Chernobyl in 1985 and we didn’t know about it for I don’t know how many days after it happened; after the press was forced to admit that something happened. They were denying [it]. Of course, it was all over the world, everybody was talking about it. If you listened to Radio Free Europe or any other station from abroad, it was discussed or talked about it, and the official line was nothing happened. When you find out things like that, how do you feel about living in a state that is hiding such important facts from you and expects you to just accept it on face value?”
How did you experience Chernobyl?
“I think it was late spring in 1985 and I was in a windsurfing camp, because I was on the official Czechoslovak national team, and we were at a lake in western Bohemia – Nechranice, near Chomutov – and so we were practicing and surfing and having a good time, actually. It was beautiful weather; it was clear days and very nice weather, and then we heard this rumor about the nuclear disaster, but nobody could verify anything, so I don’t know how much radiation we received or not. When we came back to Prague, and of course rumors spread very quickly, we found out that this horrible thing happened and there was a discussion about prevailing winds and which way they blew, and whether it was north across Poland and Sweden and back down to Czechoslovakia, or how much radiation was possibly in the air. Nobody knew anything. There was no testing to be checked. It was very upsetting. You feel like you’re being nuked and you don’t even know about it.”
“They encouraged us. We told them that we were planning on leaving and we asked them sort of for their approval. We asked them how they felt it was going to affect their lives, because they’ll be staying behind. In my case, I was also concerned for my sister who had a job. She was young and starting out in her position and the concern was that if she had a brother who emigrated, it would have an effect on her ability to get jobs or work where she was working. But she felt that she had a good enough position to stay where she was and her work would not be greatly affected. My parents didn’t feel that that would affect them tremendously. My wife had the same discussion with her parents. Of course they said how sorely they would miss her, and both of us, but they would certainly encourage us to seek a better life elsewhere.”
“In the early ‘80s, Solidarity in Poland was gaining a lot of interest and was becoming well-known as an opposition, but it seemed to be moving in small steps. Then, in ’85, I went to the Soviet Union and Gorbachev was then president, and there were some signs of glasnost, they called it, and certain liberties that were allowed to people much more than the Stalinist tight regime allowed before. It felt like it might loosen up a little bit, but it never felt like the whole thing is going to collapse. Of course by the time in East Germany when the Berlin Wall came down, we were already here and we were watching it in disbelief. It was something we could never envision or imagine. We were in Berlin not long before that, before we escaped, and you couldn’t even get close to the wall on the Eastern German side. There were police everywhere; there was no-man’s land, all these barbed wires. Everything was so well protected that one could never imagine that it could come down so fast. Unbelievable.”
“Here, everybody has an immigrant story. Everybody’s grandmother or grandfather or great-great-grandparents came from some place, and so everybody relates to the immigration story. I think the story can be told a million times and every time it’s slightly different, but every time it’s the story of people coming here, looking for new life, and then making it better for themselves. I think on a certain level it makes this country better because people have the spirit to succeed and do something better and something with their lives.”
Tom says he does not have many memories of Czechoslovakia, as he left the country when he was only seven years old. His mother was able to secure exit visas in 1949 when the department she worked for at the Dutch embassy came under scrutiny after her supervisor was named as a spy. Tom and his mother moved to Australia, where, he says, he did not make an effort to retain his Czech heritage. In 1958, Tom and his mother were sponsored by an acquaintance to come to America.
They arrived in Santa Barbara, California, but shortly thereafter moved to Connecticut. Tom began college at age 16, due to the differences in the American and Australian education systems. He studied political science at Hobart College (in New York) and received his master’s degree in journalism from University of Michigan. Tom interned atThe Daily Star, the English-language newspaper in Beirut, in 1968, where he remembers hearing about the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia. He also met and married his wife, Bonnie (a New Yorker) while in Beirut. Upon returning to the United States, Tom accepted a job offer from the Baltimore Evening Sun. He became an American citizen in 1975, but says he recently also got his Czech citizenship back.
While growing up, Tom knew little about his father. However, more recently he says he has made an effort to discover as much as possible. In 2007, Tom was the co-producer and subject of a documentary titled The Immortal Balladeer of Prague [Písničkář, který nezemřel] which chronicles his search for his father’s work and legacy. He says he is fascinated by the ‘political side’ of his father’s music, which, he adds, led ultimately to his father’s death. He also discovered his mother’s memoirs and diaries which has given him insight into his father’s personal character. Tom has visited Prague several times and says that he no longer feels like a tourist there. He currently lives in Baltimore, Maryland.
]]>
Thomas Hasler was born in Prague in 1941. His mother, Charlotte Jurdová, was a linguist with a doctorate in philology from Charles University, and his father, Karel Hašler, was a very popular Czech songwriter, actor, director, and playwright who, before his son’s birth, was arrested by the Gestapo because of the patriotic nature of his songs. Karel Hašler was killed at Mauthausen concentration camp one month after Tom was born.
Tom says he does not have many memories of Czechoslovakia, as he left the country when he was only seven years old. His mother was able to secure exit visas in 1949 when the department she worked for at the Dutch embassy came under scrutiny after her supervisor was named as a spy. Tom and his mother moved to Australia, where, he says, he did not make an effort to retain his Czech heritage. In 1958, Tom and his mother were sponsored by an acquaintance to come to America.
They arrived in Santa Barbara, California, but shortly thereafter moved to Connecticut. Tom began college at age 16, due to the differences in the American and Australian education systems. He studied political science at Hobart College (in New York) and received his master’s degree in journalism from University of Michigan. Tom interned atThe Daily Star, the English-language newspaper in Beirut, in 1968, where he remembers hearing about the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia. He also met and married his wife, Bonnie (a New Yorker) while in Beirut. Upon returning to the United States, Tom accepted a job offer from the Baltimore Evening Sun. He became an American citizen in 1975, but says he recently also got his Czech citizenship back.
While growing up, Tom knew little about his father. However, more recently he says he has made an effort to discover as much as possible. In 2007, Tom was the co-producer and subject of a documentary titled The Immortal Balladeer of Prague [Písničkář, který nezemřel] which chronicles his search for his father’s work and legacy. He says he is fascinated by the ‘political side’ of his father’s music, which, he adds, led ultimately to his father’s death. He also discovered his mother’s memoirs and diaries which has given him insight into his father’s personal character. Tom has visited Prague several times and says that he no longer feels like a tourist there. He currently lives in Baltimore, Maryland.
“At the time, she [his mother] was working as a press attaché at the Dutch embassy. This is under the communist regime. And the communists had a spy in the Dutch embassy, and they identified my mother’s boss as a spy. So she was under pressure. And she told me, already, under the communists, she had all kinds of pressure – things were being stolen. They didn’t particularly appreciate middle-class, bourgeois people. So there was pressure, but this embassy situation increased the pressure, and so she negotiated with the secret police to be able to leave. The standard of leaving was you get one suitcase; she was able to take a couple of crates. And the Dutch government helped, because she was working for the Dutch government. They arranged for a ship, and at that time there was very little shipping, so [we took] a freighter from Holland to Australia, six weeks. And I have some vague memories of that. I’ve got sort of a King Neptune certificate for crossing the equator.”
“Initially, when I came to Australia – I think partially under my mother’s influence; she literally was disgusted with Europe, with the Nazis and the communists, and I, reflecting that, my attitude was ‘I want to learn English, I want to assimilate and to hell with the background.’ Yes, my father was a famous guy, so what? And so in Australia, I had virtually no connection with anything Czech.”
“Baltimore, at that time, was really the pits. This was post-‘68 riots, but, I was going to the paper of H.L. Mencken, and that swayed me. And I felt I needed some metropolitan newspaper experience, because I was working for a small newspaper in Beirut, and that’s how I ended up here. After moving here, we said, ‘Oh we’ll stay here a couple years.’ But then, part of my assignment was to write about, back in the early ‘70s, [William] Donald Schaefer was mayor, and they made efforts to revive the city, and I was writing about that and I got into it. I got interested in urban affairs. Also, I liked city living. That’s one thing rubbing off on me from Prague was liking living in the city. And my wife was from Westchester County, New York, so she’s rebelling against suburbia. So basically, living in the city suited us, walking to work. And then in ’75, we moved here.”
“Radan Dolejš organized another concert at Lucerna where leading contemporary Czech musicians played my father’s music. And to me that was a revelation. Compared to in ’72 when I found the records which made the whole sound very schmaltzy, who cares – now we had contemporary musicians giving it a real contemporary interpretation. I said, ‘Wow. This is something.’ Suddenly energized me into the music. Plus, I learnt that he composed jazz music, and dance music. I mean, he was no fuddy-duddy. And, the leading Czech rock group, called Olympic, play one of his songs. So one of his songs was adapted to rock music.
“And this reconnecting process is multifaceted. From seeing my father, a stony figure in the movie which I had no connection [to] – and my wife said she saw an eerie resemblance, they way she put it. I didn’t see it at all – to hearing Česká Písnička [one of his father’s best-known songs] for the first time and not understanding one word and being hit by it emotionally, to starting to find documents, to mama’s memoirs, to reconnecting to the music through these concerts in Prague, to the documentary, and going through the process of that.”
“And Arnošt [Lustig, the author who featured in The Immortal Balladeer with Tom], the interesting thing is, he saw my father as a symbol of the non-Jewish victims. Which, to me, elevated that. And he appears in the documentary, and he adds a sort of philosophical level, a humanistic level to it. Which is above and beyond my father, and that’s the part that so fascinates me. So one of the things I’m really interested in now is to use my father’s story, not for itself, but in conjunction with other people – not only Czechs – other people who are musicians, artists, writers, who defy oppression. And oppression doesn’t have to be Nazis or Communists; it can be anywhere.”
After two years in Milwaukee, her family moved to Detroit. Susan says she had a very Slovak upbringing and remembers speaking Slovak at school and church. She attended the University of Detroit for her undergraduate degree, and then Syracuse University for her doctorate in East European history. Susan traveled to Bratislava in 1969 while writing her dissertation on Milan Hodža, and remembers the tense atmosphere following the Warsaw Pact invasion. Now, Susan lives in Chicago and is a professor of history at Benedictine University. One of her specialties is Slovak politics. Susan regularly returns to Slovakia and has kept in close contact with her family there. She says she still strongly identifies with her Slovak heritage and has considered retiring in Bratislava.
]]>
Susan Mikula was born in Bratislava in 1943. Her father, Jozef, was very involved in the Tiso government in the First Slovak Republic and, Susan says, left Czechoslovakia following WWII. She moved with her mother, Edita, and sister, Katherine, to her mother’s native Ružomberok at this time. Abroad, Susan’s father worked for the U.S. Army Counter Intelligence Corps (CIC), gathering information on communist activity in Czechoslovakia. Jozef was also a leading figure in the Slovak resistance, heading the underground group Biela légia [White Legion]. As a result of his activities, in 1949, Susan’s mother was arrested and held in prison for three days. After her release, Susan’s mother decided to escape with her daughters. Aided by the Biela légia, Susan and her family crossed the Morava River into Austria in November 1949. They were reunited with Susan’s father in Vienna. This was the first time that Susan had seen her father in close to five years. They stayed in Salzburg for three months, and then spent one month in a refugee camp at Bremerhaven. Sponsored by the CIC, Susan’s family arrived in Milwaukee in the spring of 1950 where they were warmly welcomed by the Slovak community.
After two years in Milwaukee, her family moved to Detroit. Susan says she had a very Slovak upbringing and remembers speaking Slovak at school and church. She attended the University of Detroit for her undergraduate degree, and then Syracuse University for her doctorate in East European history. Susan traveled to Bratislava in 1969 while writing her dissertation on Milan Hodža, and remembers the tense atmosphere following the Warsaw Pact invasion. Now, Susan lives in Chicago and is a professor of history at Benedictine University. One of her specialties is Slovak politics. Susan regularly returns to Slovakia and has kept in close contact with her family there. She says she still strongly identifies with her Slovak heritage and has considered retiring in Bratislava.
“My father, who by that time had been working with the U.S. Army quite a while, had set up an underground, once the communists took over after ’48, they set up an underground, an organization called the Biela légia – the White Legion, whose purpose was anti-communist activities. They were going to try to broadcast into the Czech and Slovak territories, they were going to try to get people out, they were thinking about writing pamphlets and anti-communist literature to be distributed. So they had this active underground and once the communists took over, the underground kind of kicked in.”
“The Communists then arrested her in the summer of 1949. They took her into prison, they kept her in prison. They didn’t torture her, but they threatened torture. They kept her awake for three nights and three days, they would use sleep deprivation, they would use threats against her children, they would touch her skin with razor blades and say ‘You have to tell us this information.’ They were asking her to actually name some people, and, in her confused state, after a few days – after three days and three nights of this – she did name one man, who then, when they told her stand there and then to turn around, she heard a wheelchair coming in and this man was beaten so badly, but he still looked at my mother and denied that he knew her. But, of course she had identified him and that was enough. Even though she didn’t know politics, it wasn’t political in her mind, nevertheless, the association with us was enough.”
“I teach at a university, and my students believe kind of ‘the American ideal’ that you can come to America and you can make it – anybody can make it. And I use my story to kind of say yes, and no. Yes, because we came with two suitcases, nothing. My father worked in a factory for a while but then got a job in a company, and eventually – we moved to Detroit two years after we came to Milwaukee – and my dad joined Massey Ferguson, an international corporation and he was Chief Financial Officer at the end for Massey Ferguson in the United States, a branch of it. So yes, the adjustment was difficult, but not impossible. On the other hand, when I tell my students that and they think this validates the American myth, I say, “But you might think a couple things.” We didn’t come as poor refugees. We came as educated people. My father was fluent in English, he had a doctor of law degree. So it’s easier to make it, especially if you know the English.
“It was much harder for my mother. When she came to America, she literally did not know how to cook – she had had cooks. She literally did not know how to clean, and she went to become a cleaning lady in a department store. And she owned only two dresses when she came, one of which was hand sewn for her, navy blue with white lace, and she went to clean in that dress because that’s all she had. So it was very hard for her. I’m very proud of my mother that she learned to cook, that she learned to do all these things because she was forced to.”
“I didn’t get a chance to go back until 1965 and for a very short trip, and everyone was really scared. They had me stay in a hotel; nobody wanted me to stay in their house. My older cousin had married an army doctor; he left town so that he wasn’t even anywhere near the fact that this American escapee was in Bratislava, so that his status in the Army wouldn’t be contaminated by being with me.”
“I had a grant from the university to research my dissertation and I arrived in May of 1969, spent five months there. So I experienced not the Prague Spring, but the undoing of the Spring by the following year. I arrived in May, there were still signs of some freedom. On every building in Bratislava was štyri-dve, 4-2, because that was the score that the Czechoslovak team beat the Russians in the World Hockey tournament [1968 Olympics/World Hockey Championships]. And every wall in Bratislava had 4-2, you know, the kind of subtle protest that people were doing. They couldn’t protest anymore, the army was still there, the Soviet tanks were still there, but 4-2 on every wall.
“Over the summer you could see it slowly progressing towards more and more control. I worked in the archives, and we would sit and talk politics in May and June, and by July, as you’re getting closer to the first anniversary of the Soviet invasion, every one of the archivists would come up to me and say, ‘It’s ok to talk politics with me, but maybe we better not in a group.’ And the tragedy was that everyone said that. So none of them was a police spy, but they couldn’t be sure. That system totally undermined any sense of trust you had between people. And so you could see that. And as the anniversary approached, two, three days before, you of course had flowers everywhere – a couple of the people had been killed in Bratislava and then some in Prague. And then on the day of the anniversary of the invasion, a huge silent crowd gathered in the main square in Bratislava, and the soldiers were there with guns and tanks. And I was standing to the side and my cousin Igor came up and he grabbed me and he pulled me out of there, and he said ‘They’re broadcasting on Slovak radio that all these demonstrations are the work of foreign students. You’ve got a foreign student passport here, get the hell out of here.’ So he pulled me out of there, because that’s what they were blaming the people’s protests on – foreign students.”
“McDonald’s. Come on, I knew communism ended when there was a McDonald’s in both Praha [Prague] and Bratislava. This had really changed. What particularly impressed me, last summer when I was there, I did an experiment. So sometimes I would pretend I didn’t know Slovak and just try English. Every young person speaks English. There was virtually no place that I went in Prague or in Bratislava where, if I pretended I didn’t know any Slovak, I couldn’t get help in English. If not the actual person who was serving me, then somebody would call over. And so, the presence of a much more international culture, the young people feeling free to go everywhere. The children of my cousins who are in their twenties and thirties, they’ll hop to Barcelona for the weekend. For my cousin’s generation who grew up under communism and couldn’t get to Vienna, the idea of hopping to Barcelona…the young people don’t know that at all. It’s a very cosmopolitan, to me, very European culture now. Very much part of Europe.”
Robert studied to become a waiter at vocational school in Prague and then worked at Klášterní vinárna, near the city’s National Theatre, and Restaurace Beograd, a Yugoslav restaurant not far from Wenceslas Square. At this time, Robert also took part in cycling competitions and worked to earn some extra money as a hair model. In 1976, he met his wife Yvonne; the couple’s first daughter Andrea was born the following year.
Robert’s sister-in-law had emigrated to Downers Grove, Illinois, in 1968. He and Yvonne decided that they too wanted to leave Czechoslovakia. After one failed attempt to emigrate to Switzerland (which resulted in Yvonne’s passport being confiscated), Robert found someone willing to accept a bribe and help them assemble the papers they needed. The family came to Downers Grove to stay in 1984. In America, the couple’s second daughter Tina was born.
Robert’s first job was as a bartender at a hotel near Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. He started working for a friend at Little Europe restaurant in Brookfield before he heard of a Czech restaurant coming up for sale in Berwyn. Robert bought Pilsner Restaurant in 1987 and ran the business with his family for the next 13 years. He says the family ‘loved’ running the restaurant, but that they sold the business as Czech custom in the neighborhood declined. Today, Robert runs a remodeling and construction firm based out of Bolingbrook, Illinois. He and his wife Yvonne enjoy spending time with their grandchildren and are determined, says Robert, to teach them to speak Czech.
]]>Robert Dobson was born in Prague in 1956. He grew up in the Nové Město part of the city. His father Vilém worked in construction and died in a workplace accident when Robert was still a child. His mother Alena subsequently raised Robert on her own and worked as an office manager. Robert says his childhood in Czechoslovakia was extremely happy and, once his own family was settled in the United States, he sent his children back every summer to stay with their grandparents and ‘gain exposure to nature’ at summer camps.
Robert studied to become a waiter at vocational school in Prague and then worked at Klášterní vinárna, near the city’s National Theatre, and Restaurace Beograd, a Yugoslav restaurant not far from Wenceslas Square. At this time, Robert also took part in cycling competitions and worked to earn some extra money as a hair model. In 1976, he met his wife Yvonne; the couple’s first daughter Andrea was born the following year.
Robert’s sister-in-law had emigrated to Downers Grove, Illinois, in 1968. He and Yvonne decided that they too wanted to leave Czechoslovakia. After one failed attempt to emigrate to Switzerland (which resulted in Yvonne’s passport being confiscated), Robert found someone willing to accept a bribe and help them assemble the papers they needed. The family came to Downers Grove to stay in 1984. In America, the couple’s second daughter Tina was born.
Robert’s first job was as a bartender at a hotel near Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. He started working for a friend at Little Europe restaurant in Brookfield before he heard of a Czech restaurant coming up for sale in Berwyn. Robert bought Pilsner Restaurant in 1987 and ran the business with his family for the next 13 years. He says the family ‘loved’ running the restaurant, but that they sold the business as Czech custom in the neighborhood declined. Today, Robert runs a remodeling and construction firm based out of Bolingbrook, Illinois. He and his wife Yvonne enjoy spending time with their grandchildren and are determined, says Robert, to teach them to speak Czech.
“You know, there was an issue, why you want to leave, how, why did you come here, what was the situation, you know? We were approached by a lot of different agencies trying to find out what the problem was, why we came, why we decided to leave the country and stuff like that. But it wasn’t really like serious issues, but the problem was the language. We did not speak any English at the time we came over so obviously it became really hard to deal with these issues because of the language.”
“We did have to pay some money to people there to give us the… At that time, you had to have a visa to the United States and all that stuff that comes with it. And fortunately enough I had somebody who was willing to take some money and give me the permission to go. And so that’s how we actually ended up leaving – the whole family – because at that time, they did not like to let a family leave as a whole family, for this particular reason, because people did not want to come back. And because I was working at the restaurant as well, you know, there were a lot of people; they were coming in and so I did find somebody who was willing to take the money and get me the permissions and let me go.”
“The favorite dish was the pork tenderloin. Roast pork, dumplings and sauerkraut, as well as breaded pork tenderloin as well as potato salad and stuff. Obviously roast duck, no one can go wrong with roast duck, and goulash. So the typical Czechoslovakian dishes. But out of all, the roast pork and pork tenderloin were the biggest seller. And we baked our own bakery items, everything was made on the premises where we baked the bread. And so it was kind of emotional when we got to the point where we were closing the door. We had tons of daily customers, they literally were going to the restaurant every day for lunch.”
“It’s very, very funny, because Andrea was born in the Czech Republic, or Czechoslovakia at that time, and she was seven years old when we moved here. I don’t know why the kids didn’t want to speak Czech – once they started learning English, they didn’t want to speak Czech. And we were sending them to Czechoslovakia every summer for like two or three months for the language and just to see where their parents came from. And so she learned how to speak Czech, she can read a little bit (Andrea) but she can’t write, right – or she does a funny way. Tina, on the other hand, Tina was born here. And she can speak, she can read and write in Czech. So she’s… And I say ‘Guys, if you want to talk to grandma, she doesn’t speak English, it’s the only way to communicate with her.’ So that works out well. We have a little issue with the grandkids, because my daughter’s husband is American and they speak English at home. So it’s kind of harder for us to force them to speak Czech, but we will get there, we will make sure they can speak Czech.”
“I was 28 years old [when I left] so obviously I am going to feel more Czech than American because I grew up under different circumstances. My kids, Andrea, I would say 50-50. The grandkids obviously, you know, they’re American. But there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m just trying to keep them aware of where mommy came from and where their grandmother and grandfather and all that stuff so that they understand that. But as far as feeling American or Czech? I would say 60-40 Czech. And, you know, like I said, most of our friends… we have a lot of American friends as well, but most of our friends are Czechs and, like I said before, we are getting together as much as we can, just to get together, you know.”
Richard says that one advantage of living in Bratislava was being able to watch Austrian television and gaining some knowledge of happenings in the West. In 1989, Richard graduated from high school and began studying computer science at Slovak Technical University. He also acted in the Slovak National Theatre as part of the background cast of Carmen. On the night of November 18, Richard arrived at the theatre to be told not to dress for the show. To support the student protests in Prague that had happened the previous day, his company went on strike – a moment that Richard says was the beginning of the Velvet Revolution in Bratislava. A few days later, Richard heard that the borders had opened and drove to Austria for the day; he returned home and then took his parents across the border.
Richard went to Finland for three months in 1990 to work on a translation project for computer systems, and he received his bachelor’s degree in 1991. He then enrolled at the University of Economics in Bratislava where he received his master’s degree in international business. In 1995 Richard went to the University of California, Santa Barbara, on a student work program where he developed the first web pages for the university. Although he was offered a full-time job there, he returned to Slovakia to finish his degree. For several years, Richard managed an internet service provider company. He married his wife, Monika (whom he had met during his time in the United States), in 1997. The pair decided to move to Canada in 1999. They arrived in Toronto where Monika quickly found a job with CitiBank. Richard worked as a project manager for five years before branching off to work as a project management consultant – a job he still holds today.
With his friend Pavol Dzacko, Richard began a non-profit organization called Canada SK Entertainment, which brings contemporary Slovak music and cultural acts to Toronto. Richard has one son who visits his grandparents in Slovakia each summer and has learned to speak Slovak. Richard himself returns to Slovakia several times a year and says that he feels both Toronto and Bratislava are his homes. He lives with his wife and son in Toronto.
]]>Richard Stilicha was born in Bratislava in 1971. His mother, Danica, a researcher, and his father, Peter, an editor, were both studying at university at the time he was born. Richard’s maternal grandparents helped to raise him in the family home in Bratislava’s Old Town. His maternal grandfather, Eugen Suchoň, was a very well-known composer who wrote the first Slovak national opera, and Richard himself began playing the piano at the age of four.
Richard says that one advantage of living in Bratislava was being able to watch Austrian television and gaining some knowledge of happenings in the West. In 1989, Richard graduated from high school and began studying computer science at Slovak Technical University. He also acted in the Slovak National Theatre as part of the background cast of Carmen. On the night of November 18, Richard arrived at the theatre to be told not to dress for the show. To support the student protests in Prague that had happened the previous day, his company went on strike – a moment that Richard says was the beginning of the Velvet Revolution in Bratislava. A few days later, Richard heard that the borders had opened and drove to Austria for the day; he returned home and then took his parents across the border.
Richard went to Finland for three months in 1990 to work on a translation project for computer systems, and he received his bachelor’s degree in 1991. He then enrolled at the University of Economics in Bratislava where he received his master’s degree in international business. In 1995 Richard went to the University of California, Santa Barbara, on a student work program where he developed the first web pages for the university. Although he was offered a full-time job there, he returned to Slovakia to finish his degree. For several years, Richard managed an internet service provider company. He married his wife, Monika (whom he had met during his time in the United States), in 1997. The pair decided to move to Canada in 1999. They arrived in Toronto where Monika quickly found a job with CitiBank. Richard worked as a project manager for five years before branching off to work as a project management consultant – a job he still holds today.
With his friend Pavol Dzacko, Richard began a non-profit organization called Canada SK Entertainment, which brings contemporary Slovak music and cultural acts to Toronto. Richard has one son who visits his grandparents in Slovakia each summer and has learned to speak Slovak. Richard himself returns to Slovakia several times a year and says that he feels both Toronto and Bratislava are his homes. He lives with his wife and son in Toronto.
“He was the best person in the world. I never saw him arguing about anything. He had a really, really great soft-spoken personality. He never raised his voice, he was never yelling, and he was a really family-oriented person. I remember we had a cottage in Modra, which is about a half an hour from Bratislava, and always for the weekend the whole family gathered there. Weekends were dedicated to the family. He was working during the week, but weekends it was family. And he was the one who was keeping all the family together, which was really nice of him.”
“We had no choice. We were forced to become Pioneers, which was sort of the starting ground for communism. It was mandatory; you couldn’t say no. And then as we went to high school we had to be in a different communist organization; it was called Zväzáci [The Czechoslovak Union of Youth] and we had to be in that organization as well. Always from the very beginning, we had political propaganda in our classes where they were telling us in really plan children’s language ‘You are living in a really great side of the world, and on the other side of the fence there are bad people, capitalists, imperialists. People are suffering there. There are people who work long hours that are not paid for that and their life is so miserable. You should be so happy you’re here because we all together will build a better future for us and together with the Soviet Union it’s going to be wonderful. Eventually we’ll reach the time where money will no longer be needed; everybody will take only what they need, and this is how people will co-exist.’ So at first I was like ‘Ok, this sounds good. I’m happy,’ and then I started to grow up and I started to realize that not everything is the way they are telling us, especially because Bratislava had a great advantage; we were able to watch Austrian TV. So we were also able to get Western news. We were able to get a look from the other side of the fence. I think that was a big plus and, my grandparents, they were always watching the Austrian news at 7:30. The ORF, the Österreichischer Rundfunk, always had the news from America. So, for example, I saw when there was an attempt to kill the American president [Reagan] and how it was.
“My grandpa, the communists were threatening and trying to get him to join the Party. They said ‘Look, you are a showcase of Slovak culture. You composed the first national opera. It’s appropriate for you to be in the Party.’ And he always refused. He said ‘I’m not going to do that. I’m sorry; I’m not going to do that.’ But he was trying to make peace with them. He was not fighting against communism. He said ‘You know what. You leave me alone, I’m going to be composing, and I’m not going to work actively against your regime.’ He was also very religious, so he was refusing to be in line with the communist propaganda.”
“I was acting in the Slovak National Theatre as a background person and that night we were supposed to play Carmen. Usually we came to the opera – it started at 7:00, so we came at 6:00 – we put on our clothes and we were waiting for our performance. That night, we didn’t know what was going on. I finished school at about 4:00, on the way I went through the city, and then at 6:00 I came to the dressing room and, suddenly, there are no costumes and nobody knows what is going on. I’m in the background and the director of the theatre – at that time it was Juraj Hrubant who was actually a great baritone and acted in all my grandparents’ operas – says ‘Don’t dress up. Just go to the stage and stay there.’ And the stage was not ready as well. So at 7:00, the whole opera ensemble stays there, the singers in the front and us in the back together with the players, the whole orchestra. Everybody on the stage. 7:00 comes, the curtain goes up and suddenly there is huge applause. As I said, I was 18. I had no idea what was going on. At that time, Hrubant says ‘We’re going to strike because of what happened in Prague yesterday.’ That was the start of the Velvet Revolution in Slovakia. I was right there. By coincidence, but I was right there.”
“We were just driving down toward the New Bridge in Bratislava, and we hear on the radio that the borders are open. That was the first day that the fence actually went down and they opened the borders to Austria. Coincidentally, we had our passports with us. So I’m telling my buddy, ‘You know what? Let’s see. Let’s check.’ So we go to the [Bratislava-Berg] border crossing which was already crowded and we said ‘We want to go to Austria.’ The guy said ‘No problem. Here is a piece of paper. Just write your name, give it to us…’ and suddenly we got to Hainburg. The feeling was unbelievable. Something which our parents couldn’t achieve for 40 years, suddenly, without any papers, just my passport, I was able to go to Austria. I saw a guy at the borders; he went back and forth 20 times. He couldn’t believe it. He was crying. He filled out 20 papers, because for every crossing you had to fill out one, so he was going back and forth; he was crying, kissing the ground. He said ‘I never believed that something like this would ever happen during my life. And then I go to Hainburg and we park in the main square, and there is a guy with a coffee shop and he says ‘You’re from Slovakia right? You can finally travel. Come; let me treat you guys for coffee.’ So he gave us cake. They were really welcoming. They said ‘You guys are finally free. We live so close to each, but at the same time we were so far away. Suddenly you’re here.’ The feeling was unbelievable.
“I come home and my parents know nothing. So I tell my dad – he was sitting in the kitchen – I said ‘You know what? I just came from Hainburg.’ He says ‘What do you mean you just came from Hainburg?’ I said ‘I went to Hainburg. The border is open.’ He says ‘You are crazy. I can’t believe that.’ I told him ‘Come.’ So I load them in the car, said ‘Bring your passports,’ I drive through the borders. They didn’t watch TV; it was very fresh news, and they started to cry. As I said, I was 18. I went a couple of times for a family vacation to the former Yugoslavia and back, but for them – for all of us – it was a life-changing experience. Really life-changing experience.”
“We had this philosophical discussion with my dad last time and he said ‘Really, tell me. Where do you feel at home?’ And of course he was expecting that I’m going to tell him here in Bratislava. I said ‘I’m at home here. I’m at home in Toronto as well. Really, when I’m returning from Slovakia, going back to my work, and my plane is landing at the Toronto airport, I feel at home here.’”
In March 1997, Rasto arrived in Cleveland where he studied for one year at Cuyahoga Community College. He then received a scholarship from Cleveland State University, from which he graduated with a masters degree in music. In Cleveland, Rasto became involved with the Slovak community. He translated Jan Pankuch’s History of Slovaks in Cleveland and Lakewood into English, and assisted with the creation a cataloging system at the Slovak Institute. In 2000, he decided to stop pursing a professional music career and found employment at a residential real estate firm. In September 2007, he moved to Chicago, where he found a job selling commercial real estate.
Rasto knew as soon as he arrived in America that he did not want to return to Slovakia to live. He tried several approaches to gaining American citizenship. He says he was able to gain permanent resident status in Canada because his translating skills were considered valuable; however, in 2000, he also entered the U.S. green card lottery, which he won. In 2006, Rasto became an American citizen, an event he calls “one of the best days of his life.” He has been back to Slovakia several times to visit family and friends. Today, Rasto lives in Chicago.
]]>Rasto Gallo was born in Lučenec, Slovakia in 1970. His father, Zdenko, was a bank manager, and his mother, Eva (an ethnic Hungarian), was a teacher. When Rasto was four years old, his father received a promotion and the family moved to Banská Bystrica. The Gallos had a piano in their home that Rasto enjoyed playing; he later took music lessons. He remembers skiing and hiking in the nearby mountains. Rasto attendedgymnázium in Banská Bystrica where he began learning English. He says that he became interested in popular Western music, and that the only way to listen was from bootlegged cassette tapes because records were not readily available in Czechoslovakia at the time. Following gymnázium, Rasto enrolled at Matej Bel University (which was then a teacher’s college) to study music education. His first year there was marked by the Velvet Revolution. Rasto says he was out in the streets “almost every day” during these protests. He also says that the revolution had a “huge effect” on his life, as he was able to start studying English at university and was influenced by the Western culture that subsequently crossed the border. At university, Rasto became interested in jazz music and began playing the saxophone. He was admitted to study music at the conservatory in Bratislava, where he subsequently won a scholarship to the United States.
In March 1997, Rasto arrived in Cleveland where he studied for one year at Cuyahoga Community College. He then received a scholarship from Cleveland State University, from which he graduated with a masters degree in music. In Cleveland, Rasto became involved with the Slovak community. He translated Jan Pankuch’s History of Slovaks in Cleveland and Lakewood into English, and assisted with the creation a cataloging system at the Slovak Institute. In 2000, he decided to stop pursing a professional music career and found employment at a residential real estate firm. In September 2007, he moved to Chicago, where he found a job selling commercial real estate.
Rasto knew as soon as he arrived in America that he did not want to return to Slovakia to live. He tried several approaches to gaining American citizenship. He says he was able to gain permanent resident status in Canada because his translating skills were considered valuable; however, in 2000, he also entered the U.S. green card lottery, which he won. In 2006, Rasto became an American citizen, an event he calls “one of the best days of his life.” He has been back to Slovakia several times to visit family and friends. Today, Rasto lives in Chicago.
“My father especially, was very careful not to – back then, you didn’t know who you could trust and if you mentioned something in front of your kids, then they go to school and they talk to their friends and you can get your parents in trouble that way – so he was very careful not to show his opinions one way or another, so I don’t know what his views were. But I can tell you he was one of the few people who transitioned successfully [following the Velvet Revolution], he remained in his position, actually improved. Not because he was a Communist, but because he was a very capable guy and fair to everybody and never really got involved with the Communists, so people weren’t after him trying to get his head. It worked out well for him, not expressing his opinions, publicly anyway.”
“At that point I got into music, and I was listening to a British heavy metal band, Iron Maiden – they were my gods – so what helped me was I wanted to know what they were singing about, so I translated all their lyrics, and that’s how I really got much better at English. They were using different words than you’d usually find in high school textbooks and my level of interest was obviously much higher, so that always came very easy.”
“Well, we were there almost every day, but I was just in the crowd. I didn’t want to get involved, and not because I was against or for any of it, but I really didn’t know what was going on, and I’m the type of person that I’m not going to get involved unless I know what’s going on because what I don’t want to do is cause harm to somebody not knowing why. So I knew that I didn’t like communism and we wanted to get rid of that, but beyond that point, I really wasn’t going to get involved on a larger scale and get into the frontline, because it was unclear what the intentions were. And a lot of shady people come to the surface when something like that happens, because they recognize the opportunity to be in the spotlight or to better themselves, and people can quickly switch sides, and that’s what happened in a lot of cases back then. So I was just basically there to support, but as part of the masses and not in any sort of leading position.”
“Oh, I loved it right away. It’s one of those weird things I cannot explain. I felt like I was away from home for 27 years. Right away I liked it and I wanted to stay. I love Americans. They’re the most wonderful people in the world. They’re very friendly, funny, easy-going. I like them much more than Europeans, that’s why I would not go back. So, I liked it right away. When I came here, I knew I wanted to live here.”
“I always made a conscious effort to assimilate. I don’t want to stand out – it’s not that I don’t like to stand out – I don’t want to stand out as an immigrant. Because it always carries a little bit of a negative connotation, no matter what. You’re just not local, you’re not one of us, in a way. Although I’ve never felt that way, nobody ever made me feel that way. Americans are very open and liberal when it comes to that. After all, this country was established on those principles. I’m not afraid of telling people that I’m Slovak, it doesn’t bother me. But actually I feel much better when people tell me that ‘Oh you hardly have any accent.’ I like to hear that, not ‘Oh, are you from Slovakia? Where are you from?’ I don’t want people to pick up on that. Of course they do, but you know what I mean.”