In 1948, Miroslav’s older sister Ester gained U.S. citizenship, on grounds that her father had been considered an American at the time of her birth. She came to America in December 1949 and encouraged her brother to do likewise. Miroslav heeded her advice, applied for U.S. citizenship, and left Czechoslovakia on May 25, 1950. He arrived in New York two weeks later, aged 15, and traveled straight to Chicago, where he was met by his sister who had already found a job for him in a sheet metal factory. When work dried up towards the winter of that year, Miroslav took a job with the Czech newspaper Svornost. He worked there for one year and a half until he decided to become a carpenter. Miroslav’s family friend, whom his father had worked with in Chicago, helped him enroll in an apprenticeship program and join the carpenters’ union. Two nights a week, Miroslav attended Morton High School East to learn English and complete his education.
In 1957, Miroslav decided to move to California to gain more professional experience. He stayed there until he was drafted into the US Army in 1958. After completing basic training at Fort Ord, Miroslav returned to the Chicagoland Area, where he has lived ever since. In 1963, he married his wife, Ingrid Chybik, whom he met at a local Czech folk dance group. Miroslav and Ingrid have three children who all speak ‘some Czech.’ An active member of the United Moravian Societies, Miroslav also mentions his involvement with CSA Fraternal Life and, up until recently, the patriotic Czech athletic association Orel in Exile. Today, Miroslav lives in Burr Ridge, Illinois, with Ingrid.
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Miroslav Chybik was born in Jalubí, Moravia, in 1935. His mother Josefa and father Miroslav met in Chicago, Illinois, in the 1920s, but had returned to Europe to care for their ailing parents in 1930. Miroslav’s father retained his American citizenship and attempted, unsuccessfully, to bring the whole family back to the United States in 1937. Instead, the Chybíks spent WWII at their farm in Jalubí, parts of which were commandeered by Nazi troops who set up a vehicle maintenance shop in one of their barns, says Miroslav.
In 1948, Miroslav’s older sister Ester gained U.S. citizenship, on grounds that her father had been considered an American at the time of her birth. She came to America in December 1949 and encouraged her brother to do likewise. Miroslav heeded her advice, applied for U.S. citizenship, and left Czechoslovakia on May 25, 1950. He arrived in New York two weeks later, aged 15, and traveled straight to Chicago, where he was met by his sister who had already found a job for him in a sheet metal factory. When work dried up towards the winter of that year, Miroslav took a job with the Czech newspaper Svornost. He worked there for one year and a half until he decided to become a carpenter. Miroslav’s family friend, whom his father had worked with in Chicago, helped him enroll in an apprenticeship program and join the carpenters’ union. Two nights a week, Miroslav attended Morton High School East to learn English and complete his education.
In 1957, Miroslav decided to move to California to gain more professional experience. He stayed there until he was drafted into the US Army in 1958. After completing basic training at Fort Ord, Miroslav returned to the Chicagoland Area, where he has lived ever since. In 1963, he married his wife, Ingrid Chybik, whom he met at a local Czech folk dance group. Miroslav and Ingrid have three children who all speak ‘some Czech.’ An active member of the United Moravian Societies, Miroslav also mentions his involvement with CSA Fraternal Life and, up until recently, the patriotic Czech athletic association Orel in Exile. Today, Miroslav lives in Burr Ridge, Illinois, with Ingrid.
“Well, in ‘47 or ‘48, my sister was somewhere and someone said, ‘I just heard on the radio that any child born of American citizens can come and reclaim the American citizenship of their parents. Why don’t you look into it?’ So she said to my parents; ‘I’m going to go to Prague, [to find out] the details.’ So, she came back from Prague and she said ‘Yes, I can claim my American citizenship because you were an American citizen when I was born.’
“So she wrote to her cousin, and her cousin brought her here [to America]. And while she was leaving Prague, my father said ‘Since she’s going, you might as well join her.’ So, he applied for my citizenship and that was in October and in April, I get a letter from Prague that it was okayed and that I could come and claim American citizenship after him.”
“When I tried to bring my parents here, and send an affidavit in 1952 or ‘53, I got a letter from my father. ‘Please do not attempt to do anything right now. Because the situation right now, the only place we would wind up or could get to would be Siberia’ because it was at the time when Stalin was insisting on his program. That was when the Cold War actually started. He just followed the Yalta Treaty, which was for 40 years or 50 years. They were in charge of the Eastern Bloc; US, England, and France were in charge of the Western Bloc. You see, Vienna had four different zones; a Russian zone, an American zone, English and French. The same thing was with Berlin. And that treaty was honored until President Reagan said ‘Okay, the time is up. Take the Berlin wall down.'”
“One thing I learned, and this is where the Czech people have a hard time to understand the American people because, over here, Chicago is called a ‘melting pot.’ You had everybody here: Slavs, Poles, Italians, Frenchmen, Germans, Russians, Spaniards, Norwegians, Swedes, everything. So especially me, in construction, you never knew from week to week who you were going to run into. You might be working one day with a Swede, the next day, you are working with an Italian, and then, you’re working with a German. But one language is the key, the one language. You could be in the army, or come from New York, and you wind up in Chicago, or you wind up in California, it’s still one language.”
“After 60 years of living in America… A lot of times I say, I’m like the kid who has two mothers; one that gives you birth, and one that gives you a home. I’m grateful to Moravia and Czechoslovakia for being born there, as a birthplace. And I’m grateful to America for having the home here.”
Mira left Czechoslovakia in 1979 with his four housemates. He says that an agreement had been made that if everyone in his home received exit paperwork, they would emigrate together; otherwise not at all. The five (including Mira’s partner and future wife, Tonička) traveled to Munich and stayed there for one year while American visas were processed. In 1980, Mira came to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where two of his former housemates had friends. Mira says he found work within four months of moving, as he was able to show prospective employers some of the films he had made in Czechoslovakia, which a friend had smuggled to Munich. In Minneapolis, Mira worked initially for large corporations producing in-house films, on public service announcements and occasionally a small independent feature or documentary. He says the film and theatre community in the Twin Cities was ‘intense’ and remembers his time in Minnesota fondly. In 1987, Mira moved to New York City. There, he worked on a number of films with the director Geoffrey Reggio and the composer Phillip Glass.
In New York, Mira followed the Velvet Revolution and refers to these events as ‘a big excitement,’ although he says he did not consider returning to Czechoslovakia at the time. He returned to the Czech Republic in 1996, when both he and his wife were offered work there. Mira made several documentaries for Czech Television Ostrava, including Nespatřené [The Unseen], which received a number of awards on the festival circuit when it was released in 1997. It was around this time that he was approached by FAMU’s documentary department and asked whether he would join the staff. He has taught at the film school ever since. In more recent years, Mira is perhaps best-known for co-directing Občan Havel [Citizen Havel], which follows the late Czechoslovak President Václav Havel through his time in office. Mira says work on the film ‘deepened [his] admiration’ for the former president. Today, Mira lives in Prague with his wife, Tonička.
]]>Mira Janek was born in Náchod, northern Bohemia in 1954. Both of his parents worked in office jobs at a textile factory in the nearby town of Úpice, where Mira and his sister were raised. Mira says he had a normal ‘small town childhood,’ playing tennis and volleyball and skiing. His father was an amateur filmmaker and introduced Mira to photography and film at an early age. Mira attended gymnázium and then applied to study at FAMU film school in Prague. He was rejected and embarked upon mandatory military service instead. Mira was recruited by the Armádní umělecký soubor [Army Arts Studio] as a photographer, which he refers to as a ‘fantastic’ experience. He left the military after two years in 1976 to take a job as an assistant editor at Československá televize [Czechoslovak Television]. Working with a number of established documentary makers at Czechoslovak Television was a ‘wonderful school,’ says Mira, who had applied to FAMU on two subsequent occasions, and twice more had been turned down. He stayed at the state broadcaster until emigrating.
Mira left Czechoslovakia in 1979 with his four housemates. He says that an agreement had been made that if everyone in his home received exit paperwork, they would emigrate together; otherwise not at all. The five (including Mira’s partner and future wife, Tonička) traveled to Munich and stayed there for one year while American visas were processed. In 1980, Mira came to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where two of his former housemates had friends. Mira says he found work within four months of moving, as he was able to show prospective employers some of the films he had made in Czechoslovakia, which a friend had smuggled to Munich. In Minneapolis, Mira worked initially for large corporations producing in-house films, on public service announcements and occasionally a small independent feature or documentary. He says the film and theatre community in the Twin Cities was ‘intense’ and remembers his time in Minnesota fondly. In 1987, Mira moved to New York City. There, he worked on a number of films with the director Geoffrey Reggio and the composer Phillip Glass.
In New York, Mira followed the Velvet Revolution and refers to these events as ‘a big excitement,’ although he says he did not consider returning to Czechoslovakia at the time. He returned to the Czech Republic in 1996, when both he and his wife were offered work there. Mira made several documentaries for Czech Television Ostrava, including Nespatřené [The Unseen], which received a number of awards on the festival circuit when it was released in 1997. It was around this time that he was approached by FAMU’s documentary department and asked whether he would join the staff. He has taught at the film school ever since. In more recent years, Mira is perhaps best-known for co-directing Občan Havel [Citizen Havel], which follows the late Czechoslovak President Václav Havel through his time in office. Mira says work on the film ‘deepened [his] admiration’ for the former president. Today, Mira lives in Prague with his wife, Tonička.
“My father discovered film for me, because he was an amateur filmmaker. That means that I grew up with still cameras and movie cameras – 8mm – around the house. And I, my first memories are that I am walking on skis and my father is [makes camera sound] with an 8mm camera. So he taught me how to take pictures, how to develop photos, etc. And I was ten then. So it started like that. And when I was 14 he showed me how to shoot a camera, and from that moment a new group was formed, a group of friends, and we were making movies together all the time.”
“They were short fictional films, and I remember very well the first one. The first one: it was winter time, lots of snow, and all the trees were like white with frost. And I took the girl I was in love with at the age of 14, I think, and I took her to nature and I shot beautiful shots of nature and her, and then I put some Bach music with it. But that was not a fiction. That was just an impression. But the first fiction was a boy and a girl. They are in love. They walk in nature and look at each other and hold hands, etc. And then they are coming to town, my home town, and all of a sudden an angry father comes (and it was played by my father) and he comes to them – and this is his daughter in the film – and he is very angry and tells her to come home. That was the story.”
“If they wanted some pictures from the symphony orchestra or this band or this band, they would send me to a tour and I would take some pictures. But most of the time I did my own pictures, I just went to the dark room in the morning and I did whatever I wanted. It was great, fantastic. And you know, you can imagine, there were also actors who were announcers during that year etc. I met lots of musicians, very interesting people. I met a lot of interesting people there. And of course, we were basically more or less free, you know.”
“Well, of course, every film had to be approved. So, when it was finished, some person came and looked at it and they said ‘Yes’ or ‘[Change] this,’ you know? But it wasn’t anything very oppressive, because people were used to these kind of guys. So sometimes, intentionally, they put something wrong in the film. Because they knew this will have to go out. And, it’s like bait for fish – because these, the approval guys – they would come and would say ‘Ah! This has to go!’ And they were happy, satisfied, that they did their job. They went away, and the film was the way the director wanted it. That was a typical trick of the directors.”
“I didn’t like the idea of immigration, not only for myself, but also for other people. I thought that it is not the thing to do, that one should stay here and put up with the bulls**t here. So I don’t know how all of a sudden it changed. There are two things in my life that I was refusing or that I was not likely to do – it was my belief not to do them – two things: one is immigration, and the second is a country house. And I did both.”
“Well, Minneapolis is a bit of a provincial town. But the film community and the theatre community was very tight, because in all this big place, you found this island of basically creative people who liked to hang together every night somewhere, and that means friendship. So we had many very dear friends in Minneapolis. And it was also the time of the excitement about independent cinema. Everybody was hoping that he’ll make some film without Hollywood and it will make it into the movie theatres and everything. So there was a lot of enthusiasm.
“I made a feature film in Minneapolis, I think for $20,000 or $30,000, because everybody was working for free on the film. And it was full of actors and cars and all kinds of stuff. And it took a long time to shoot, but everybody was so excited that ‘We are making a film! Great!’ So if you have this kind of experience, and you know the people really did it with pleasure – and then, when somebody else was making a film, we would help him or her, whatever, you know. It was this kind of excitement. We did jobs to make a living, and then in our free time we did all these films for grant money. And this kind of shoestring kind of production with people who do it voluntarily and gladly, that creates tight friendship, you know. And that’s why I say it was a very intense family there, which in New York cannot happen like that easily.”
“It was something incredible. Of course, the first public screening was like a dream. Because the reaction of the public was exactly as I would wish. It is a very funny film and everybody was laughing all the time. So, if you have people laughing for two hours it is like the biggest reward and you know that you did it right. What happened was the first month of distribution there were maybe like 15 prints or something, the first month of distribution, there were many theatres in Prague sold out – totally sold out. And they kept telling us, sold out, sold out. And I didn’t go to them, but many people kept telling me ‘I went yesterday to Citizen Havel, it was sold out.’ And people after the film, they stood up and they were applauding. And I said ‘This is fantastic!’ But I also knew that they were not applauding the film or the director. They were applauding the idea of a decent politician. Not even Havel, but a decent politician, you know? Somebody who cares. And that was wonderful.”
Milos began working for Vodní stavby, the largest building company in Prague. He started as a draftsman and later worked his way up to engineer and manager. Milos says that because he was not a member of the Communist Party he was denied higher-level management jobs. He is particularly proud of working on the Prague Metro system during his years at Vodní stavby.
With his wife under some pressure from the secret police and his daughter being denied entrance to a high school she hoped to attend, the Zivnys began to think about leaving the country. In 1984 they received permission to travel to Yugoslavia for vacation and, the first day there, Milos, Zelmira and their son and daughter crossed the border into Austria. Milos says that his first thought was to go to Australia, but instead they were helped by the American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees. In February 1984, the Zivnys moved to the United States and settled in Oakland, California. Milos found a job working for a cabinet shop – thanks, in part, to his knowledge of the metric system. After a few years he opened his own cabinet-making company with a partner and ran it for close to 20 years. After retiring, Milos and Zelmira became heavily involved in the local Sokol organization and enjoyed other opportunities with the Bay Area Czech community. Today, Milos and Zelmira live in the house they bought shortly after moving to Oakland.
]]>Milos Zivny was born in Kroměříž, a city in Moravia, in 1935. His father worked as an accountant for a state health insurance company while his mother stayed home to raise Milos and his two younger sisters. Following the Communist coup, Milos’s mother worked as a nurse and his father was kicked out of his job and worked in a factory in Brno. As a boy, Milos was a member of the svaz mládeže youth organization and also enjoyed playing sports, particularly basketball and volleyball. Prior to attending a technical high school in Vsetín, Milos was sent to Zlín to work in the Bat’a factory for one year. After four years of high school, Milos studied engineering at Vysoká škola železničná, a technical university in Prague. It was there he met his wife, Zelmira. The couple married in 1955, before graduating from university.
Milos began working for Vodní stavby, the largest building company in Prague. He started as a draftsman and later worked his way up to engineer and manager. Milos says that because he was not a member of the Communist Party he was denied higher-level management jobs. He is particularly proud of working on the Prague Metro system during his years at Vodní stavby.
With his wife under some pressure from the secret police and his daughter being denied entrance to a high school she hoped to attend, the Zivnys began to think about leaving the country. In 1984 they received permission to travel to Yugoslavia for vacation and, the first day there, Milos, Zelmira and their son and daughter crossed the border into Austria. Milos says that his first thought was to go to Australia, but instead they were helped by the American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees. In February 1984, the Zivnys moved to the United States and settled in Oakland, California. Milos found a job working for a cabinet shop – thanks, in part, to his knowledge of the metric system. After a few years he opened his own cabinet-making company with a partner and ran it for close to 20 years. After retiring, Milos and Zelmira became heavily involved in the local Sokol organization and enjoyed other opportunities with the Bay Area Czech community. Today, Milos and Zelmira live in the house they bought shortly after moving to Oakland.
“I don’t remember too much the beginning of the War but I remember especially the end of the War. The situation of Kroměříž, in central Czechoslovakia – or this time, Böhmen und Mähren – was on the way for American pilots going from Italy bombarding Germany, going over Czech Republic. And every day we heard this humming and saw thousands and thousands of B-17s and B-24s flying over, and the sirens of course. The Germans had flights all around but they were not shooting because the plans were really high. But it was something that I never forgot because all over you see the [hum of the planes], and they were floating down these small strips against radar. And this I remember very well.”
“There was some special rule at this time. Communists will tell you when you graduated from high school or university, they tell you ‘You will be working in this town at this post.’ They gave you a special paper called umístěnka and they shipped you there. But we got married the last year of university because we knew when we got married they would send us to one place, not husband to Slovakia and wife to west Czechoslovakia or something like this. We were married in the beginning of the last year, and she started working in Prague in Czech rozhlas [radio] and after we graduated we had some special meeting with the people from university and they were actually sorting out where we were going. I claimed that my wife is already working in Prague; she has a place in Czech rozhlas and I would like to get my special paper for working in Prague. And they accepted it. It was actually good. The special paper meant that I started working for a company in Prague, and the company was Vodní stavby. It was the biggest building company in Prague. They had around 10,000 people working there; it was a huge company.”
“My first year in university. Because I was playing very good volleyball and basketball and our school team had some friendship with DDR (Deutsche Demokratische Republik) with a school in Dresden and I was on this team. We went there for one week, playing volleyball and basketball, and some travel. This was the first time I was able to go to a foreign country. I was already in university – 1955.”
Was there a marked difference between East Germany and Czechoslovakia at that time or were they quite similar?
“They were very similar, but the DDR was not strict about… Everything in Czechoslovakia was government owned. In East Germany, there were still some private, small shops at this time. You could go to a small bakery and buy something; there was absolutely nothing like this in Czechoslovakia. But the system of produce was very similar. They had maybe some more stuff – for example, I remember raisins. They had more raisins; we could buy raisins in Dresden, but not very often in Prague. But we had more lemons; they had almost no lemons. Some things were really strange. They had restrictions in foreign trade in all communist countries, but each communist country had some slight difference. But there was no big difference.”
“There is two parts of the Czech community. There is one Czech community which is old. They are immigrants or daughters and sons of immigrants which are getting very old. This is Sokol itself. We are mostly around 60, 70 or 80, and this part is unfortunately going down. There is no way to get young people. We are trying, because there is a new Czech community in Silicon Valley. There are really a lot of young people who came here for work or girls who came to au pair and got married here. A couple of years ago they asked for a contribution to a Christmas party, making vánočka (Želka baked I think eight vánočka). We went there and there were 200 kids! Czech origin, Czech parents or half Czech. This is the young community we are trying now to bring to Sokol, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work too well. Because Sokol, even in the Czech Republic, it’s not… The younger generation has a completely different point of view.”
Mila attended Masaryk University’s medical school in Brno which she refers to as one of the “best times of her life.” She says she graduated after her father signed his property, which included several businesses, over to the state. Her family was moved into a much smaller building on their property which her father renovated. Mila worked at a hospital in Strakonice for two years, then, in 1961, married her husband, Jaroslav Kyncl, and that same year moved to Prague. They had two children, Marketa and John. Mila found a job in a hospital in Prague, but was not allowed a specialty because of her anti-communist views. However, she says this ultimately worked in her favor as she received training in all departments.
After attempts to leave the country legally by applying for jobs abroad (in places such as Tunis), Mila and her family left Czechoslovakia on August 30, 1968, shortly after the Warsaw Pact invasion. They lived in Vienna as refugees for a few months before moving to Heidelberg when Jaroslav was offered a Humboldt scholarship. Mila also found work as a physician in Heidelberg and stayed in that position until 1972, when she and her children joined Jaroslav, who had moved to Cleveland a year earlier, in the United States. They settled in Lake Bluff, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, where Mila retrained as a doctor and eventually opened her own practice. Both of Mila’s children speak Czech, and she and Jaroslav regularly visit the Czech Republic. They are active in the Czechoslovak Society of Arts and Sciences (SVU), and Mila retains many Czech cultural traditions.
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Mila Kyncl was born in Trhový Štěpánov, Bohemia, in 1935. her father was a businessman and worked the land that their family owned while her mother stayed at home to raise Mila. During WWII, Mila says German troops occupied her home, which was very large. Overall, she recalls having a happy childhood, sprinkled with trips to Prague to attend the ballet or opera with her parents. A student at the village school until the age of ten, Mila then transferred to a larger school in Čáslav. At age 14, Mila was chosen by her teachers to assist the local doctor. She attributes receiving this opportunity to her good student record and her background in math, physics, and chemistry.
Mila attended Masaryk University’s medical school in Brno which she refers to as one of the “best times of her life.” She says she graduated after her father signed his property, which included several businesses, over to the state. Her family was moved into a much smaller building on their property which her father renovated. Mila worked at a hospital in Strakonice for two years, then, in 1961, married her husband, Jaroslav Kyncl, and that same year moved to Prague. They had two children, Marketa and John. Mila found a job in a hospital in Prague, but was not allowed a specialty because of her anti-communist views. However, she says this ultimately worked in her favor as she received training in all departments.
After attempts to leave the country legally by applying for jobs abroad (in places such as Tunis), Mila and her family left Czechoslovakia on August 30, 1968, shortly after the Warsaw Pact invasion. They lived in Vienna as refugees for a few months before moving to Heidelberg when Jaroslav was offered a Humboldt scholarship. Mila also found work as a physician in Heidelberg and stayed in that position until 1972, when she and her children joined Jaroslav, who had moved to Cleveland a year earlier, in the United States. They settled in Lake Bluff, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, where Mila retrained as a doctor and eventually opened her own practice. Both of Mila’s children speak Czech, and she and Jaroslav regularly visit the Czech Republic. They are active in the Czechoslovak Society of Arts and Sciences (SVU), and Mila retains many Czech cultural traditions.
“Well, he [my father] was a few times threatened with the concentration camp, because he wanted to have order in the house. Thank god, he didn’t go, but it was a daily fear for my mom because practically the Germans were coming every day and checking on everything. I remember we had a big band radio, and there was a death sentence if you listened to London, [Radio] Free Europe. Through this, my dad, because it was a very good radio, he was every day listening in the same house where you have Germans, to London, risking his life. But he was able to give all the news and everything to the people they were able to trust. So this was going on during the war.”
“I lived in college housing, and I had very good company with the girl, we studied together. And no one has money, we were all in the same [boat], sharing whoever got something from home, bakery or so, and we are still friends today. And second, the pressure of the communists was not like in Prague. There was much more freedom and we were very lucky in medical school because at the time they believed body and spirit go together. So every year we had a very good exercise program. One year gymnastics, one semester swimming – we had Olympians who trained us. Running, skiing, kayaking. We went every Friday or Saturday with a rucksack on our back and we were in the mountains. It was an incredible six years. I said I wish my kids went through [this]. We were at the opera, because five bucks, five korun [crowns] was a ticket to go to anything for a student. So, you saw every week an opera, you saw every week Janáček. You just lived the life fully.”
“Then my husband was able to get some small apartment and I got a job in Krč, Thomayer Hospital. Because I was not communist, I was going from one department to the other one; wherever they needed help, I was there. No central anesthesiology, surgery. So, thanks to the communists, when I came out of the country, I knew more than my colleagues because they were sitting in one place whereas I was all over – internal medicine, pulmonary medicine, infectious diseases. So I got the best training you can wish to survive. Thanks to the regime, and my belief not to sign ever to become a communist.”
“My husband must have been so frustrated, because I really was depressed and the kids were sick. First John, then Marketa got an earache. We have to go to a hospital, they gave her streptomycin. And when he saw where we lived and what happened to us, he said ‘Go back home and you will come back when I will be more stable.’ And we went on the train and when we were on the train we didn’t have a single penny; he didn’t give me even one dollar, nothing, because we were going home. And the people we met on the train said, ‘This is the most stupid thing you are doing, when you are already here. As a doctor you will have so many opportunities. Stay here.’ And they bought us soap, they bought the children chocolate. So when we came to the line on the Austrian border, I took my luggage, and with the children, we were out. And we didn’t pay the train; we didn’t have a single penny, he had just put us in. We were sitting there and they were calling him, but he was sick too. And he didn’t know what they were saying. So were about three hours sitting outside, we have two luggages, the kids were hungry and not too good. Then finally he came and he said, ‘With God’s blessing, we are together and we will do the best.”
“It was complicated because, first of all, I still speak with an accent today, and I had still a lot of learning to do when I started to work. I didn’t know how to sell all my experience. I didn’t use anybody to help me; I just studied three or four hospitals that I was able to reach in the car, and I said ‘This is what I am, I passed the test if you are interested.’ And I got hired in a residency in one day. It was not the best one – I could go a much, much better one, but I didn’t know how people do it. But the training was very harsh the first year because you have a 36 hour [shift] when you didn’t sleep. You went home at 4:00, you slept, you were half dead, the kids were screaming and my husband didn’t know what to do because it was already two days without anybody. So then my mom came, and second year I was already supervising so it was much easier.
But you know what? I really liked it. I couldn’t complain about it because I was ten years older than the other [residents] and learned so much again, and survived. After my second year, they already gave me recognition; I didn’t need to finish three years, I was already eligible. But I went to endocrinology because I didn’t want to cheat on the training, I wanted to finish like everybody else and learn something different, which I didn’t know. So I finished and then I went to the practice in 1978.”
“Roráty [Advent mass] was 6:00 and as a child I woke up, I was there every single day, the six weeks before Christmas. And it was such a medieval atmosphere, you never saw [anything like] it. The candles, cold, darkness, and the old prayers, the old songs, they are hundreds of years old. I wish somebody could see it. Once I came back after communism was over, and I have a cousin from Vancouver. He couldn’t believe it. He still, until he died, talked about the impression, because it was like two, three hundred years back. Church full of mostly ladies, and praying. Such a strong feeling in the church. And this is until now. When I go over there, it’s unbelievable. The church is full of people, the singing – they sing ‘Svatý Václave’. And when they sing it comes from the heart. It is something you will never see here, never.”
Melania married her husband, Fedor Rakytiak, in 1957. She says they had three weddings – a civil ceremony, a Catholic service and a wedding in a Lutheran church. The couple had four children. In 1969, Melania’s husband and brother, Ivan, devised a plan together to immigrate to Canada. Melania says she was strongly opposed but suspected her husband would relent at the last moment. He did not, and on April 30, 1969, Melania, Fedor and their four children went to Austria, on the premise of visiting an aunt. They spent the whole of May at Traiskirchen refugee camp before moving to Bad Kreuzen, where they lived for a further two months. Melania says Canada was not accepting refugees at this time, and so the family decided to apply to the United States. They arrived in Cleveland in August 1969. At first, Melania says the family was greatly supported by Joe Kocab and Karlin Hall. Melania worked as a cleaner before she and her husband purchased a dry cleaning business, which they ran until 1981. In 1989, Fedor was diagnosed with lung cancer and died the following year. Melania lives close to her children and grandchildren in Parma, Ohio, and, as an avid cook, she is working to collate a family cookbook of Slovak recipes.
]]>Melania Rakytiak was born in Paris in March 1936. Her father was a Slovak laborer at a furniture factory while her mother, also Slovak, was a maid in the home of a wealthy French family. Melania’s mother died when she was only 10 months old. Her aunt came to Paris and married Melania’s father. In 1941, the family moved back to Šúrovce, Slovakia, where Melania’s brother was born. In 1945, the family moved to Bratislava, and Melania’s father, Valent, took a job at the city harbor, on the Danube River. All his life, Melania’s father was a fervent communist and, come the takeover in 1948, he became active in politics, says Melania. He worked for Bratislava Region with secret documents and conducting political screenings on county employees. Meanwhile, Melania enrolled in Bratislava’s Stredná pedagogická škola and trained to be a teacher. Upon graduation, she went to work in an orphanage before being placed in a two-teacher rural school in Čierna Voda, not far from Bratislava. It was here in 1956 that Melania herself became a member of the Communist Party.
Melania married her husband, Fedor Rakytiak, in 1957. She says they had three weddings – a civil ceremony, a Catholic service and a wedding in a Lutheran church. The couple had four children. In 1969, Melania’s husband and brother, Ivan, devised a plan together to immigrate to Canada. Melania says she was strongly opposed but suspected her husband would relent at the last moment. He did not, and on April 30, 1969, Melania, Fedor and their four children went to Austria, on the premise of visiting an aunt. They spent the whole of May at Traiskirchen refugee camp before moving to Bad Kreuzen, where they lived for a further two months. Melania says Canada was not accepting refugees at this time, and so the family decided to apply to the United States. They arrived in Cleveland in August 1969. At first, Melania says the family was greatly supported by Joe Kocab and Karlin Hall. Melania worked as a cleaner before she and her husband purchased a dry cleaning business, which they ran until 1981. In 1989, Fedor was diagnosed with lung cancer and died the following year. Melania lives close to her children and grandchildren in Parma, Ohio, and, as an avid cook, she is working to collate a family cookbook of Slovak recipes.
“In 1948, when the communists finally took over in Czechoslovakia, people were not accepting it very well, they didn’t want it. Because first of all, people were losing their own property, they didn’t own anything. And my father thought everything belongs to everybody – you couldn’t be having more than I do, or I shouldn’t be having more than you do – we all should have the same. And his own sisters, who lived in a different village, Dubovany, by Piešťany, his own sisters didn’t want to accept that people have to leave their property or something and let Communists run it. And he went over there to talk to his sisters to sign, they had some farmland. My aunt had a small amount of farmland, and my other aunt, and he didn’t feel that they should own that – they should all own it and all together work. So he was very, very strict about it, he would talk and say ‘No, you have to agree, it’s going to be a better life for you, I guarantee you’.
“He had really good ideas, and those ideas which I heard, which he told me, I liked them, because I felt yeah, everybody should… there shouldn’t be hungry people, there shouldn’t be poor people, everybody should have a little piece of something, everybody should have free school, free health program. And that’s what communists promised. So that’s how he believed it.
“Until, I believe, after we left, in the late seventies – he died in 1976. After 1968, it was that Prague Spring and everything, and things were changing. And he went outside, in the city, in Bratislava, and he sees these big shots, these communist leaders talking and being rich, suddenly they were rich, loaded with money and he would say – later on I found out, he never said anything to me, because we were over here – ‘Now something is wrong! Because this is not how I wanted. I wanted to have everything equal, this is not equal.’”
“It was a small village, farmland, there were about 300 population, that’s it. And that teacher who was working with me – her name was Rosie, Ružena, Rosie – she got me involved with the people. We had a drama club, we had the kids involved in pionieri, that was kids… I was a Pioneer when I was in sixth or fifth grade or something! And sväzáci, that was a teenagers’ club, they wore blue shirts, so we were involved with them. With the drama club we put on some play, that was a teacher’s job in the farmland or villages, the teacher has to do that. And because of that, somebody came up with the idea of ‘Why don’t you become a Communist?’ So that woman, that Rosie said ‘Uh-uh! I don’t want to be!’ She was single, 36 years old, she didn’t want to be. I wanted to be because, I think it was something I wanted to prove to my father, or I wanted him to be proud of me or whatever. I thought that he would be proud.
“And when I told him I was asked to be a Communist Party member, first you are on a waiting list for about a year, and then you are promoted, a full-blown… He looked at me and he says to me ‘Wait a minute! Do you want to go because you believe it, or do you just want to go because you think it’s not time to do it?’ I said ‘No, I want to believe it.’ He said ‘Alright then, you have to live by that!’
“So, I lived by that except one thing: I never claimed that I don’t believe in God. That was my private thing. When somebody asked me the question ‘How are you doing with your view on God and religion?’ I said ‘I’m still working on it.’ That was my answer. That was the only thing that I kept with me, I always believed in God. Because I thought, that has nothing to do with it, communism and God. God is taking care of even communist people.”
“I know my husband one time brought some radio, it was about midnight, we were listening to something, but we called it propaganda. I didn’t believe that. I said ‘Yeah, they tell you anything they want to.’ We say in Slovak ‘keď vtáčka lapajú, pekne mu spievajú’ – did you ever hear that? ‘If you want to catch the bird then sing to him.’ So I thought, this is a nice, nice, speech, but that’s not my idea… When my husband brought up the idea of leaving Czechoslovakia, I said to him ‘You know what, why don’t you go, because I know some people, older people, men went to the United States and made money and then supported their wives, sent for their wives. Why don’t you go?’ And he says ‘Well, I think I have some place a marriage license, and on the marriage license you’re in my name. So, that makes no sense, me going without you. We all go, or nobody goes.’”
“My father, because he had contact with everything, he knew what was going on. He said to my husband, ‘You know what, probably you are going to be called to service, because Cuba is happening, and a lot of soldiers are being called and sent to protect the country. Probably you are going to be called too.’ And my husband says ‘Dad, why me? I already did my… I am not like a regular soldier!’ And my father says ‘Well, it can happen.’ We got home and about 10:00 in the evening somebody knocked on the door, a man, in a uniform, and he says to my husband ‘You have to report at the airport tomorrow at 6:00 in the morning.’ And that’s when reality hit me. I had a two year-old daughter, and he left in the morning, he went to the airport, and then, at the end of the day I didn’t hear from him, and it wasn’t like here where everybody has phones. We didn’t have a phone, I was living with my mother in law, she didn’t have a phone, I didn’t have a phone. So, the following day, I went to a phone booth, and I called the army reserve or somebody, and I asked about my husband, and they said to me ‘Oh, you know what, súdružka, you don’t have to worry about it, but we can’t tell you where he is, it’s a secret.’ And I didn’t know anything. So, a week went by, I didn’t know anything, and then about maybe ten days later, he called me and he said that he is in Trenčín – I don’t know how many miles it is from Bratislava – he’s in Trenčín, he’s with the army, he is safe, and he is working as a driver. He was driving some big surgeon or big shot in the army, driving him from one place to another. That’s about it. And I said ‘Are you coming to visit or something?’ And he said ‘No, I can’t even talk to you for long, I have ten minutes only.’”
“It was a beautiful day and I took my kids to play outside. We had an apartment building with a little kind of playground; there was a sandbox, trees and a line for hanging your laundry. And I used to, in those days, I used to wash diapers by hand, we didn’t have disposable ones, it wasn’t that good a time like now. So I took those diapers and I hung them on a line and my youngest one was in a stroller sleeping, his afternoon nap. And a helicopter was flying. I was in the building already, and then I heard people, I went on the balcony and I saw people on the other balcony screaming ‘Take the children in! Take the children in!’ So, the helicopter was shooting, I don’t know at whom. So I ran downstairs, a couple of people helped me get the kids inside, and then we find in a couple of diapers holes. I wish I saved those diapers those days!
“I’m sure they were not shooting at the children, probably because it was the center of the city, probably some commotion was going on on one of those streets and one little bullet got lost or something. So I had another reason, I’m not going stay here, I’m moving out of here, I’m going to live with grandma. Because I thought in a village, it’s nice and quiet, what is the city offering you? Nothing!
“Then, later on that afternoon, my husband – I sent him to get the bread, he came home without bread – he says ‘The stores are empty, no bread!’ I said ‘I need milk for my youngest one.’ Over there for babies, you need a prescription for baby milk, you can’t buy it just like that. And it’s also only in drugstores or pharmacies, they were equipped with the milk for babies. So I said, ‘I’m going to get milk for Lubo,’ so I went down the street, I lined up in front of the pharmacy, I’m standing in line, and they say to me ‘We need a birth certificate, we are not giving you this milk, because anybody can come with a prescription. And we have a shortage, look at the shelves, they are empty.’ So I went back home, walked about ten minutes, meantime helicopters were flying and shooting, we were hiding in one house, in a building, we ran. The whole street, everybody ran into the building. They were shooting, nobody got hurt. I got home, I got the birth certificate, I went back to the pharmacy. No more milk.”
“In 1969, when we left Slovakia, it was secret, nobody knew about it, not even my father, because my father would call the police and lock us up. He wouldn’t allow it – he said it later on. He said if he knew we wanted to leave, he would have taken precautions so that we won’t leave, even if we went to jail. Yes, he was very upset. Because he was a devoted communist, and he thought he had raised me the same way, and how can I leave my country?
“And he wrote us letters, kind of mean letters, and in those letters he said ‘I don’t think you have an idea what is waiting for you, life out of your country is very hard. I remember my life, it wasn’t easy, and it’s not going to be easy for you, especially because you have four children.’ And ‘Why did you do that? Did I raise you the wrong way, or did I make a mistake raising you? You left this country, you left your family! You shouldn’t do that.’ And he was very upset, and my husband wrote him a letter and apologized to him for me, saying he shouldn’t be mad at me, because it was not me who was doing that, it was my husband who wanted to leave, and I just followed him because I was his wife. So I don’t think my father ever made peace with me leaving.”
“The language was really tough, my husband went to Berlitz, so he picked up quick, he was talking all day. The kids, they didn’t have problems at all. My daughter, she was a fourth grader when we left Czechoslovakia, when we got over here they put her in second grade, because they said that’s where she should pick up English. About three months later, she went to the principal, that was a nun, and she said to her ‘I think I speak good enough English, I want to go to fourth grade.’ And they transferred her to fourth grade. So she picked up really good, she didn’t have problems, my boys didn’t have problems. My problem was I didn’t want to talk to anybody, when we were living in that town house, I would go outside, my kids were playing and the next door neighbor would talk to me, I turned I went inside because I didn’t understand her. So, I watched TV, there were soaps, and I would watch them and I said ‘Every day it’s the same people!’ I didn’t understand what was said, I didn’t understand when is the story and when is the advertising, the commercials! I didn’t know, I couldn’t.
“Then my kids were watching a lot of kids’ shows and I would watch with them. And you know what show? Sesame Street! Sesame Street helped me… I watched Big Bird ‘one, two…’ and that’s how I learned English from the TV.”
In 1960, Meda and Jan moved to Washington, D.C. where Jan continued his work as a director of the IMF. Meda studied art at Johns Hopkins University, and the pair started a foundation to promote Central European art in the United States. Meda regularly returned to Czechoslovakia, where she made contact with prominent Czechoslovak artists and provided opportunities for their works in the United States. She organized a well-received exhibit concerning Central European art in the 1960s and 1970s at the Hirshhorn Museum.
Following the Velvet Revolution in 1989, Meda decided to return to Czechoslovakia on a more permanent basis. She donated the couple’s art collection to the city of Prague (Jan had died just prior to the fall of communism), and founded the Museum Kampa, a modern art gallery on the site of Sova’s Mills on Kampa Island. Meda has been given many awards for her contributions to Czech art and culture, including, most recently, the Gratias Agit award from the Foreign Ministry for ‘promoting the good name of the Czechs abroad.’ Today Meda splits her time between Prague and Washington, D.C.
]]>Meda Mládková was born in Zákupy, northern Bohemia, where her father was the director of a brewery. Her family moved to Brandýs nad Labem, a town close to Prague, a few years after she was born. Meda says that she saw ‘horrible things’ at the end of WWII, particularly aimed at the ethnic Germans remaining in Czechoslovakia, and she decided to leave the country. After a few years in Vienna, Meda moved to Geneva, Switzerland, where she studied economics. On her way to London to continue her studies in economics, Meda stopped in Paris where she had a meeting with Jan Mládek – a fellow Czechoslovak émigré who held a prominent position in the International Monetary Fund (IMF). The pair would later marry, and Meda decided to stay in Paris where she studied art at the Sorbonne and L’Ecole du Louvre. She was also active in exile publishing in Europe – she fundraised for the journal Současnost while in Switzerland, and, in Paris, started the publishing house Edition Sokolova which published the works of Ivan Blatný and Ferdinand Peroutka.
In 1960, Meda and Jan moved to Washington, D.C. where Jan continued his work as a director of the IMF. Meda studied art at Johns Hopkins University, and the pair started a foundation to promote Central European art in the United States. Meda regularly returned to Czechoslovakia, where she made contact with prominent Czechoslovak artists and provided opportunities for their works in the United States. She organized a well-received exhibit concerning Central European art in the 1960s and 1970s at the Hirshhorn Museum.
Following the Velvet Revolution in 1989, Meda decided to return to Czechoslovakia on a more permanent basis. She donated the couple’s art collection to the city of Prague (Jan had died just prior to the fall of communism), and founded the Museum Kampa, a modern art gallery on the site of Sova’s Mills on Kampa Island. Meda has been given many awards for her contributions to Czech art and culture, including, most recently, the Gratias Agit award from the Foreign Ministry for ‘promoting the good name of the Czechs abroad.’ Today Meda splits her time between Prague and Washington, D.C.
“I saw horrible things here when the Russians came, and I was totally shocked. It was horrible, horrible how the Czechs behaved badly to the last Germans here. It was something unbelievable; it’s starting to come out now slowly. I didn’t want to live here, and I went to Vienna. I spent several years in Vienna, and from Vienna – the Gestapo were looking for me – I went to Switzerland.”
“The artists would come, I would find them scholarships, and they stayed with me. For example, [Jiří] Kolář, [Stanislav] Kolíbal, they all had shows; I arranged them. Glass shows [that] traveled through all of America. I helped them a lot, I think. And also, buying them. That was, for them, very important.”
And did American audiences, in your experience, react well to this Czech art that you were presenting, or was it quite unusual for them?
“I did a show which was called Expressiv where I also [included] the Poles and Yugoslavs, and it was a sensation in America. I have articles and articles [about it].”
“I came, and immediately I said I will give all our art to Prague.”
Why did you want to do that?
“Because I realized that they needed it. I was the only one who had it. The sculpture by [Novchorecky] would not exist; there was no space to put and he would have had to destroy it. My husband loved this country so much, so it was my duty to do it.”
What was the central idea of Sovovy mlýny [Museum Kampa] when you opened it? To present Czech art?
“Central European art. Everywhere the Russians occupied. And it’s very similar. Artists from, say, Hungary or Yugoslavia from the same period – you may not even realize who is Czech and who is Yugoslav. Because they were living under the same pressure. No freedom. And they are very, very similar.”
Well before his graduation from university in 1974, Martin had been thinking seriously about leaving the country. A very close family friend, Litti Manzer, lived in Miesbach, Bavaria, and Martin decided to get a tourist visa to visit her. He did not have any luck obtaining the exit permit until an acquaintance with connections assisted him. In April 1975, Martin arrived in Miesbach and quickly found a job playing, coaching, and teaching lessons at a tennis club. Martin says that his time in Germany ‘exceeded expectations’ and that he lived in ‘extreme luxury;’ however, it was always his desire to go to the United States. He received sponsorship from the International Rescue Committee and arrived in New York in October 1976. Martin was accepted to a doctoral program in economics at Cornell University which he started in January 1977. A summer job at the World Bank in Washington, D.C. led to a full-time job there in 1978, first as a research assistant and later as an economist. Having left Cornell to pursue his career, Martin finished his master’s degree at George Washington University. In 1980, Martin married his wife Eva, a process which he says was made very complicated because she was told she needed permission from the Czechoslovak government to marry a foreigner. They were able to convince a German judge to waive this requirement, and they married at City Hall in Miesbach. Martin traveled a lot for work, but he says he was repeatedly denied requests for a visa to visit Czechoslovakia. After numerous attempts, in 1984, he was able to visit Prague.
Martin’s work at the World Bank put him in touch with leading Czech economists, politicians, and businessmen; upon retiring in 1998, he looked for business opportunities in the Czech Republic. Martin conceived of and is managing the American Fund for Czech and Slovak Leadership Studies’ Young Leaders and Young Talents programs; these programs provide opportunities for young people in the Czech and Slovak Republics to pursue a course of study and/or work in the United States. Today, Martin is an international consultant, and he lives in Arlington, Virginia, with his wife, Eva.
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Martin Herman was born in České Budějovice in 1948. He was only a few months old when he moved to Prague, where his father, Karel, had a job at a glass export company. While Martin and his siblings Jana and Peter were growing up, his mother, Jana, stayed at home, and Martin remembers her hosting many parties. Later, Jana had several good jobs, first working in a hotel and then in the Ministry of Finance. As a boy, Martin participated in recreational and competitive sports; he was on a basketball team, and also enjoyed soccer, tennis, and hockey. After elementary school, Martin attended Secondary Agricultural School in Čáslav. He graduated in 1968 and spent one year working, traveling, and studying for the entrance exams for university. Martin was in Vienna during the Warsaw Pact invasion in August 1968, and he says that he considered staying in Vienna, but his mother convinced him to return home. In the fall of 1969, he started studying at VŠE (University of Economics, Prague). While in school he worked as a night watchman and wrote summaries of foreign economics articles for the National Academy of Sciences. He also learned English and played tennis regularly.
Well before his graduation from university in 1974, Martin had been thinking seriously about leaving the country. A very close family friend, Litti Manzer, lived in Miesbach, Bavaria, and Martin decided to get a tourist visa to visit her. He did not have any luck obtaining the exit permit until an acquaintance with connections assisted him. In April 1975, Martin arrived in Miesbach and quickly found a job playing, coaching, and teaching lessons at a tennis club. Martin says that his time in Germany ‘exceeded expectations’ and that he lived in ‘extreme luxury;’ however, it was always his desire to go to the United States. He received sponsorship from the International Rescue Committee and arrived in New York in October 1976. Martin was accepted to a doctoral program in economics at Cornell University which he started in January 1977. A summer job at the World Bank in Washington, D.C. led to a full-time job there in 1978, first as a research assistant and later as an economist. Having left Cornell to pursue his career, Martin finished his master’s degree at George Washington University. In 1980, Martin married his wife Eva, a process which he says was made very complicated because she was told she needed permission from the Czechoslovak government to marry a foreigner. They were able to convince a German judge to waive this requirement, and they married at City Hall in Miesbach. Martin traveled a lot for work, but he says he was repeatedly denied requests for a visa to visit Czechoslovakia. After numerous attempts, in 1984, he was able to visit Prague.
Martin’s work at the World Bank put him in touch with leading Czech economists, politicians, and businessmen; upon retiring in 1998, he looked for business opportunities in the Czech Republic. Martin conceived of and is managing the American Fund for Czech and Slovak Leadership Studies’ Young Leaders and Young Talents programs; these programs provide opportunities for young people in the Czech and Slovak Republics to pursue a course of study and/or work in the United States. Today, Martin is an international consultant, and he lives in Arlington, Virginia, with his wife, Eva.
“He [my father] always tried convincing me, ‘I know you don’t like the situation in this country, but you’re born here, you should stay here, you should change things here.’ I said, ‘Well, I don’t think I can do that,’ and I was telling him ‘Look, if I really get involved, then I’ll be in jail.’ At that time, it was very easy – the communist police were very smart. They would not nail you down on some anti-communist activities. If you worked somewhere they would set up a scheme, let’s say you misappropriated some money and they will nail on that, and there will be no way of getting out of that. So I knew all that and I said, ‘Well, I think I need to really work hard to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“In Vienna, some guy I met said, ‘Well, do you want to make some money?’ I said ‘Sure.’ Right on the 22nd of August, I started selling newspapers – Wiener Express Extra Ausgabe. Everybody was hungry to get papers. I didn’t know Vienna that well, but I thought I need to go somewhere where there’s a lot of traffic, so I put myself right on the corner of Kertnerstrasse and Am Graben – it’s very busy, it’s the center of Vienna. I stood there, I had a little outfit and I put a Czech flag here, and the Viennese were so generous. They’d say ‘You are from Prague and you are already working here. That’s wonderful.’ The newspaper was one shilling and they would give me 100 shillings – ‘Here’s 100 shillings, you will need it.’ And so I made tons of money right there.”
“I remember all the time, I had BBC World Service on the radio all the time, and it worked pretty well. So, very nice British English, and they used to have these sessions for teaching English, and it was wonderful. And I taped it and repeatedly listened to it. I started reading when I was a night watchman. My first book I read was The Graduate. Even though I didn’t understand it really, I understood maybe half of it. I just read it, and reread it again. That’s how I studied. Then I also somehow managed to get some other people interested and we started this English speaking club, and I was a total beginner. Twice a week, sometimes three times a week, we met in the evening, just like a book club or something. Similar set up, dictation, spelling, some discussion on a topical issue, and then at the end, everyone had to say a little story. It was very challenging for me, because I was way down. So I remember, guests in the hotel, they left sometimes Reader’s Digest or some books so my mother brought it home. So from Reader’s Digest at the bottom in the footnote, they had little stories, three or four lines. So I memorized that and used that – ‘This is my story for today’ you know.”
“A couple of times we did a big job, that was in the early ’70s – ‘73,’74,’75 – scientific calculators became a big thing, and there were not really so many in Czechoslovakia. So we had a friend in Berlin. His father was at the embassy there, and somehow they had some permission – they could go to West Berlin. He had a son there that studied and he was a good friend of ours. So what we did is we would get an order list from engineers and people that wanted these calculators. We had a catalog and we got the list. People gave us money up front; we got money on the black market, made a good exchange there, and went to East Germany – that was a very cheap flight, Prague to Berlin – gave our friend the list, in the afternoon he brought us the calculators. Maybe we stayed one day or two days, bought some other things, like good shoes or something they didn’t have, a little different. And then went back to Prague, because people knew us at the airport and we had some friends there. They had very good sausages in Germany, or some pate. So we brought that to some of the airport people and they just let us go through, we had a bag full of calculators.”
“In order to go as a tourist, I needed to get what is called výjezdní doložka, and it’s sort of an obstacle course that you had to take. You had to have a stamp from your supervisor at work, you submit this to the bank, the bank gives you stamps – you get eight dollars a day for ten days, so you get 80 dollars – and then you go to the police and the police will issue an exit visa, and then you go the embassy of that country and they will give you a tourist visa. That sounds very simple, but it was very, very difficult.”
“I got into this hotel, and my god, you know. Coming from extreme luxury, beautiful flowers in the windows and everything, to this hotel which was for welfare recipients on the last leg and drug addicts. So I end up in this room, I want to take a shower because I’m all sweaty, open the shower, and cockroaches all over the place, I thought ‘Oh my god, what is this?’”
In 1977, Luba began studying philosophy at the University of Leipzig. She says that her education was rather limited, as ‘everything was based on Marxism-Leninism’ and scholarly materials were not always available. During vacations, Luba worked as a tour guide for Čedok (then a state-run travel agency) and, in this capacity, was able to travel to Western countries on bus tours and cruise ships. Upon graduation, Luba began studying for her PhD at Comenius University in Bratislava and found a job at a library in a technical university. At this time she was also ‘determined to learn English’ and started taking private English lessons. In 1983, Luba met her future husband, Richard DeWitt, an American whose mother was from the neighboring village of Luba’s grandparents. The pair married in November of that year and Luba moved to Florida shortly thereafter.
Luba became an American citizen ‘as soon as it was possible,’ and she has fond memories of her naturalization ceremony, which took place on a presidential yacht in Biscayne Bay. After teaching history and social studies at several area high schools, Luba became a language professor at Florida International University and Miami Dade College. She has been a real estate agent in the Miami area for over a decade.
Recently Luba has become quite active with the American Czech-Slovak Cultural Club, sitting on the board and spearheading the refurbishment of the organization’s clubhouse. A dual citizen, Luba reads Slovak newspapers and continues to follow the politics of her home country; she says she is ‘very passionate about Slovak causes.’ Luba and Richard’s daughter is also a Slovak citizen. Today Luba lives with her husband in Coral Gables, Florida.
]]>Luba DeWitt was born in Nitra, a city in eastern Slovakia, in 1957. Her father, Michal, was a high-up intelligence official while her mother, Božena, was an office clerk in the police department. Luba lived with her mother and younger sister in Nitra and Banská Bystrica before settling in Bratislava, and often spent holidays in the village of Krtovce where her maternal grandparents lived. After going to elementary school in Banská Bystrica, Luba attended gymnázium in Bratislava. Her final year was spent at a school in the mountain town of Banská Štiavnica learning German and preparing to study abroad during university. Luba says that she made the decision to study abroad because she was somewhat unhappy and ‘wanted to experience something else.’
In 1977, Luba began studying philosophy at the University of Leipzig. She says that her education was rather limited, as ‘everything was based on Marxism-Leninism’ and scholarly materials were not always available. During vacations, Luba worked as a tour guide for Čedok (then a state-run travel agency) and, in this capacity, was able to travel to Western countries on bus tours and cruise ships. Upon graduation, Luba began studying for her PhD at Comenius University in Bratislava and found a job at a library in a technical university. At this time she was also ‘determined to learn English’ and started taking private English lessons. In 1983, Luba met her future husband, Richard DeWitt, an American whose mother was from the neighboring village of Luba’s grandparents. The pair married in November of that year and Luba moved to Florida shortly thereafter.
Luba became an American citizen ‘as soon as it was possible,’ and she has fond memories of her naturalization ceremony, which took place on a presidential yacht in Biscayne Bay. After teaching history and social studies at several area high schools, Luba became a language professor at Florida International University and Miami Dade College. She has been a real estate agent in the Miami area for over a decade.
Recently Luba has become quite active with the American Czech-Slovak Cultural Club, sitting on the board and spearheading the refurbishment of the organization’s clubhouse. A dual citizen, Luba reads Slovak newspapers and continues to follow the politics of her home country; she says she is ‘very passionate about Slovak causes.’ Luba and Richard’s daughter is also a Slovak citizen. Today Luba lives with her husband in Coral Gables, Florida.
“That’s probably the only place in Slovakia that has not changed. It remains always the same, and that reminds me very much of my childhood, of my happiest days. Perhaps they have internet nowadays but I doubt it, and people are still genuine and the same, and there is a road there and people probably have cars but there is still only the one shop, one pub. Nobody ever moves and the traditions remain, and I love that. There are very few places in the world that you can come and still find the same after many, many years away.”
Growing up there in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, how equipped was that village then? It seems that things like electricity, etc., came quite late to parts of Czechoslovakia.
“I do remember, yes, they did not have electricity when I was little; we used candlelight. The water was pumped from the pumpa. The news was announced on the public loudspeakers. When the butcher came to town it was always announced – first it was a drummer announcing that; then later, when they brought the electricity, the loudspeakers were announcing that the butcher is coming to town. Now I think there is some kind of more sophisticated way to do it. People get newspapers and they have television.”
“We were one of the five families that were Lutheran. The majority of the population in the village were Catholics. We had our own bell tower; so when a child was born in a Lutheran family, the bells were ringing in the bell tower and when a child was born to Catholics, the church [bell] was rung. Or if somebody died… We were very proud of our bell tower. So when my husband’s mother died – she was originally from the village next door – we dedicated the bell tower to his mother and to my grandmother. So if you would go to our small village, there is a plaque remembering both.”
“Everything was based on Marxism-Leninism: interpretation of beautiful objects, the sciences, everyday life, psychology. Everything was based on Marxism-Leninism. And we did not have any access to literature that we would have a desire to read. At the university library in Leipzig, there was room called the ‘black room,’ and you had to have special permission from the head of your department to go and read the daily news, and, certainly, they had all the West German magazines and publications and so on. So no, it was not accessible.”
“I was absolutely determined that I was going to learn English, so I had hired a private teacher. It was a couple, Graham and Angela. They were British, and they were working at Comenius University teaching English and they needed extra income. So I hired them and I said ‘My goal in life right now is I must learn to speak English’ and they said ‘Alright.’ I gave them my entire salary. Whatever I was making, I gave it to them. I said ‘This is all that I have. I can’t pay you any more, but I’ve got to learn English.’”
Why were you so keen to learn English?
“I just felt that if I speak English I would have better opportunities in life, I would learn more, I would read more that’s not accessible, and, you know, ‘As many languages as you speak, so many times you are a human.’ I spoke a very basic, conversational English. After three months learning the language, I remember that Angela gave me a magazine, People magazine, and she ‘Read the article to see how far you are developing.’ I read the article – it was about the death of John Lennon – and I understood everything. It was like you were in the dark and suddenly light came about. It was wonderful, wonderful.”
“I was happy that the regime collapsed, of course, and that was because of my family. On the other hand, I was unhappy that the republic was divided into Czech [Republic] and Slovakia. There was no reason for it and the sad results of it too, because the Slovak nationalism developed in a quite awful way. That made me feel very sad about my people. But it was just beautiful for my family; I was very happy, of course, for all the struggling people that they would have a new life, better life, better opportunities. It was better for them.”
When Nazi forces occupied Prague, Kveta and her family were separated. Her father lost his job in the Ministry of Defense and moved to Plzeň for work. Kveta’s mother returned to Jičín, and Kveta remained in Prague. She says that she only saw her father a few times during WWII; later, she was told that her father had been active in underground resistance and did not want to jeopardize his family. Kveta recalls other changes the Nazi occupation brought to her life. Hitler mandated that all people born in 1925 would be sent to Germany to work unless they could prove they had employment. Kveta says that she immediately found an appointment as a dancer for a theatre company housed in the basement of her apartment. She says she was able to continue studying, but only German, as her other studies were banned.
Immediately following liberation, Kveta and her mother traveled to Plzeň to find her father; however, he was traveling to Prague to meet up with them. Kveta says that the few days she and her mother spent in Plzeň while waiting for things to get straightened out were fun, as they were able to celebrate liberation with the American soldiers. Once back in Prague, Kveta began working at another theatre and dating an American soldier her father knew. They married in September 1945 and for one year traveled around Germany to various military stations; Kveta says they spent time in Nuremberg during the war criminal trials. Kveta and her husband then moved to San Antonio, Texas, but in December 1947, she returned to Czechoslovakia to visit her parents. The Communist coup occurred while she was visiting in February 1948, and Kveta found herself unable to return to the United States, as her father was arrested and made to stand trial. She was offered a job processing visas at the American Embassy. In 1949, her father’s trial ended and Kveta’s boss arranged for her to receive a visa back to the United States. Divorced from her husband, Kveta settled in Washington, D.C. where she found employment as a receptionist in an apartment building. She later married her second husband, Bruce Schlosberg and had three children. Today, Kveta lives in Washington, D.C. with her former classmate from Jičín, Lubomir Hromadka.
]]>Kveta Gregor-Schlosberg was born in Jičín, northeastern Bohemia, in 1925. Her mother’s family owned the chateau, Čeřov Jicin, in which she was born, and Kveta describes her childhood there as a ‘fairy tale.’ Kveta began ballet lessons in Jičín when she was six years old, and says she made her debut at the National Theatre in Prague at the age of seven. When Kveta was ten, she moved to Prague with her family, as her father Josef, a military officer, was transferred from his regiment to the Ministry of Defense. In Prague, Kveta attended a language school where she studied English, French, and German, and continued dancing.
When Nazi forces occupied Prague, Kveta and her family were separated. Her father lost his job in the Ministry of Defense and moved to Plzeň for work. Kveta’s mother returned to Jičín, and Kveta remained in Prague. She says that she only saw her father a few times during WWII; later, she was told that her father had been active in underground resistance and did not want to jeopardize his family. Kveta recalls other changes the Nazi occupation brought to her life. Hitler mandated that all people born in 1925 would be sent to Germany to work unless they could prove they had employment. Kveta says that she immediately found an appointment as a dancer for a theatre company housed in the basement of her apartment. She says she was able to continue studying, but only German, as her other studies were banned.
Immediately following liberation, Kveta and her mother traveled to Plzeň to find her father; however, he was traveling to Prague to meet up with them. Kveta says that the few days she and her mother spent in Plzeň while waiting for things to get straightened out were fun, as they were able to celebrate liberation with the American soldiers. Once back in Prague, Kveta began working at another theatre and dating an American soldier her father knew. They married in September 1945 and for one year traveled around Germany to various military stations; Kveta says they spent time in Nuremberg during the war criminal trials. Kveta and her husband then moved to San Antonio, Texas, but in December 1947, she returned to Czechoslovakia to visit her parents. The Communist coup occurred while she was visiting in February 1948, and Kveta found herself unable to return to the United States, as her father was arrested and made to stand trial. She was offered a job processing visas at the American Embassy. In 1949, her father’s trial ended and Kveta’s boss arranged for her to receive a visa back to the United States. Divorced from her husband, Kveta settled in Washington, D.C. where she found employment as a receptionist in an apartment building. She later married her second husband, Bruce Schlosberg and had three children. Today, Kveta lives in Washington, D.C. with her former classmate from Jičín, Lubomir Hromadka.
“Hitler ordered [everyone] who was born in 1925 has to immediately stop all schooling and go work, and you have to have an Arbeitsbuch, (a working book). So, my gosh, I didn’t know what to do, because that year, everybody was sent to Dresden to work. So, my gosh, my father was in Plzeň, my mother in Jičín, and I didn’t know what to do. So where we lived for school, in the pensionat, downstairs was a theatre. And I decided to go down and ask for a job, and explain to them otherwise if I don’t have an Arbeitsbuch I’m going to be sent. So they said ‘What education do you have? What do you do?’ I said that I do ballet since I was 16 with Madame Nikolská. So they said, ‘Go to her and she will write everything, and go to the Arbeit office and they will give you a book. I ran to Madame Nikolská’s house, woke her up at 6:00, and she signed everything she had to do, and I went with it to the office and they gave me an Arbeitsbuch. And they gave me an engagement in the theatre. So I went to school – I kept on with German – and had school, and in the night I would go dance in the operetta, it was an operetta theatre.”
“When he wasn’t there, we had fun with the Americans. They were throwing cigarettes at us. Plzeň, the only place where the Americans came, and I would practice the little bit of English that I knew, and we would look out from the window; we smoked so much with my mother.”
“My father went at 6:00 to the Ministerium, and we didn’t see him for a year. We called the office, ‘Where is he? He didn’t come home.’ ‘Oh, just look in all the hospitals.’ That was their answer; there were already Communists there. And Jake [her husband] calls and says ‘Get out of there. Get on the plane and get back.’ The next day, for us came two Czech communists. They interrogated us in our home.
“So anyhow, finally he got sent to military prison, and we could not visit, we could do nothing, and for us, come two gentlemen. So they locked my mother in the kitchen and they locked me in the living room. So one interrogates my mother, another one hits me over my mouth. Horrible, horrible. And from then on, they watched us. They stayed in front of our door downstairs. And we would go listen on the balcony, with my mother and they would say ‘It’s 10:00, they’re not going to go anywhere. Let’s go.’ Can you imagine, to put two communists to watch us two? What were we going to do?”
“One day, the bell rings about 8:00. And I said ‘Mommy, don’t open, don’t open. It’s those idiots from downstairs.’ Mom says ‘They’re not there anymore. Let’s look who it is.’ So we looked, and we see a man; I never saw him in my life. It was the consul from the American Embassy to come check on me and to ask ‘Please come work for us. We need you.’ Boy, I got a job like you don’t dream. And the money! I could take my mother for dinner, and pay everything. So I was there at the American Embassy for two years.
Did you come under extra scrutiny for working at the Embassy? Did they watch you more closely? The secret police?
“No, they watched the Embassy. One time, they locked us all there, but they had to give up. It was a beautiful job. Of course, my mother was scared all the time that something would happen, but I felt good. I felt that the Embassy would know about me if something would happen.
“We were the permit office. We decided if [the applicant] was a little bit communist, and we would say ‘Oh, we don’t have a visa [to the free zone] for you yet.’ I knew, so we would hold them. ‘Oh, I want to go to Germany’ and so on. ‘Yeah, come next week. Come in two months.’ In the meantime, they would check him. Always, I was right.”
That year, Kveta started her studies at Kent State. She graduated in 1980 with a major in psychology. Ten years later, she returned to university to gain a masters degree in rehabilitation counseling, which is her current area of work. Kveta is now settled in the Cleveland area, where she is active in the Czechoslovak Society of Arts and Sciences (SVU) and the local Czech drama group, Včelka. She has one son, Paul.
]]>Kveta Eakin was born in Karlovy Vary, in western Bohemia, in 1956. When she was 18 months old, however, she moved with her mother to her maternal grandparents’ home in Brno, Moravia. Her father, Arnošt, was a successful agricultural engineer, who subsequently moved to Cuba to work for the government there. When Kveta was eight, her mother (also called Květa) remarried. Kveta’s stepfather was Dr. Vladimír Šimůnek, an economist who became one of President Alexander Dubcek’s advisors during the Prague Spring in 1968. Dr Šimůnek had been teaching economics in Brno, but shortly after marrying Kveta’s mother gained a fellowship in Prague, and so the pair moved there, while Kveta herself remained with her grandparents. In 1969, Kveta’s mother and stepfather moved to the United States, when the latter was offered a position at Kent State University in Ohio. The pair defected and Kveta was, in her stepfather’s words, ‘kept hostage’ for six-and-a half years in Czechoslovakia. Following the signing of the Helsinki Accords, Kveta was reunified with her mother in Cleveland in February 1976. She says she was the second person released from the country as part of a pledge to reunify families torn apart by the Cold War.
That year, Kveta started her studies at Kent State. She graduated in 1980 with a major in psychology. Ten years later, she returned to university to gain a masters degree in rehabilitation counseling, which is her current area of work. Kveta is now settled in the Cleveland area, where she is active in the Czechoslovak Society of Arts and Sciences (SVU) and the local Czech drama group, Včelka. She has one son, Paul.
“He was always bothered by inequality in wealth between people. He had trouble accepting that there’s a class of people that’s very wealthy and a class of people that’s very poor. But I don’t think he actually actively did anything in that direction. But he supported equality or fair treatment: that was his objective. But I think what happened with him was that he was so extremely intelligent and knowledgeable that his frame of reference was horribly skewed, because I don’t think he understood that not everybody was as smart as him. So, he could easily… he didn’t care, he could easily give up what he had today, because tomorrow he would have double. Do you understand? He could easily earn money quickly. So, he didn’t understand the struggles of most people because he was definitely above an average person – he spoke four languages fluently, he was, you know, extremely good at what he did, at college his picture was on the wall way after he graduated as one of the best students they ever had, you know. But they did send him to Cuba and he was drinking with Castro. Yes, so, when he left for Cuba, he was already involved with someone else who would be my stepmother and my brother was born in Cuba.”
“They did want to take the whole house, and they would come every so often, I remember, when I was a little kid, people would come to our house and they would measure the whole house, because they had some rule, if your property exceeded some whatever square feet, or meters in our case, they had a right to take it. And they wanted to convert our house into a department store, but we were right on the money. Like, by just a centimeter – one more centimeter and it would be over, but they just couldn’t find that one centimeter! That’s what happened.”
“The idea was that I would come and visit them for summer vacation, and I got a passport, and I was pretty much set to go, but then my grandmother got an idea that I should not be traveling alone and she wanted to come too. And at that point… so she went to apply for a passport, and that triggered my stepfather’s sister saying she wanted to come too. And then everybody was applying for a passport, which delayed the whole thing. I was 16 years old. And by the time it was processed or anything could be done, they actually called me to the passport station and took my passport away. So, nobody went.”
“I heard later, and I don’t even remember at what point that was, that when they finally released us, I was the second one to go and that the first child released was a child who was terminally ill. I don’t know for sure, the story goes that she got hit by a car crossing a street and so somehow, whether that triggered something, or whether she had an infection anyway, she had only six months to live, so they let her go, to die with her parents. And I guess she was only ten years old. Whether that is true or not, I really don’t have anything to substantiate that. And I was told I was the second one. But again, whether that’s the truth, I don’t know. And supposedly it was 35 of us they let go, from the whole country. So you have to imagine, it’s, you know, even though it’s not a big country, but still, that’s hard to find somebody else like, in your situation.”
“Of course, the sad part is that it’s bad enough to deal with family issues – you should not have to have politics interfere in your family life, because then, it’s almost like you have no place to go. And that’s what happened to me at that one point, you know, when I graduated from high school. I was completely stuck. I didn’t know if I could go to school, I did not know if I could leave the country, I just did not know. There was nothing. And I was, you know, becoming an adult. I did not know how to survive. I was really scared to death. I did not have any skills, any, any skills worth mentioning as far as who would hire me, you know… to do what?”
“We landed around 7:00 on February 10, in the middle of the winter. And of course, unknown to us, there were reporters waiting. So, when we were getting off the plane, the stewardess came and told us we had to wait, to be the last, because they already knew. You know, and at that time I’m already thinking ‘That doesn’t sound good!’ And sure enough, we get off the plane, and you know, there is my mother, my stepfather and a bunch of photographers and then they drag us into a room and I had a press conference, right off the bat. Yeah. I could answer questions, but I didn’t understand what they were asking so my stepfather had to translate for me.”