A Connecticut Yankee in King Wenceslas's Court

Dateline: 5 May, 2024

What an event. What an experience. What a day.

An authentic WWII US Army tank leads the way through PIlsen’s Republic Square, to the delight of joyous onlookers

The 8th of May is a national holiday in the Czech Republic, as that was the day that Germany officially surrendered to the Allied Forces, effectively ending World War II in Europe. However, residents of Pilsen celebrate with grandeur on the 6th of May, with WWII re-enactors as well as descendants of Allied veterans, who drive authentic WWII era vehicles through the center of PIlsen. People also celebrate with music, speeches, and copious consumption of one of their favorite American imports: ice cream. It’s a big deal.

You might wonder, why Pilsen? And why two days early? It’s a good question, and the answer illustrates one of the few hidden chapters of World War II.

Those who know their World War II history know that Czechoslovakia was on the other side of the Iron Curtain, and its true that most of the country was “liberated” by the Soviet Union. However, people often forget that Prague, the capital of this Slavic nation, is actually west of Vienna. And even those who know the name of legendary General George S. Patton are unaware that he actually advanced his forces clear past Germany and into Western Bohemia.

Here’s a little background: The City of Pilsen, better known among Americans for the beer which bears its name, is located in Western Bohemia, midway between the German border and the capital city of Prague. During World War II, it was home to a major weapons factory. It was vital to the Nazi war effort, as Bohemia was out of range from Allied Bombers–at least until the 25th of April, 1945. That day, American B-17 liberators bombed the factory into oblivion. The following day, P-51 mustangs with their massive .50 caliber mounted machine guns mangled the railways beyond function. Thus, the occupying German force had no means of reinforcements, and were effectively trapped. Patton pounced, and after nearly two weeks of heavy fighting, the Nazi-appointed mayor of Pilsen surrendered the city, and Pilsen residents were able to celebrate their freedom two days before the rest of Czechoslovakia.

Soldiers from General Patton’s 5th US Army Brigade greet the crowd on their liberation ride through Pilsen, 6 May 1945

Patton didn’t want to stop there, and formally requested permission from Dwight Eisenhower to advance all the way to Prague. Eisenhower, ever the diplomat, declined. “I will not an endorse a strategy that is militarily unwise to gain a political advantage,” wrote Eisenhower to Patton. Even as Eisenhower wrote the letter, Prague resistance fighters attempted to liberate the city on their own the following day, to no success. The day after that was V-E Day, and Soviet tanks rolled into Prague unopposed, as Germany had already surrendered.

Unbeknownst to Patton, Eisenhower’s decision came from above. Months prior to V-E Day, and even before the Yalta Conference, Winston Churchill and Josef Stalin reached the “percentages agreement,” by which the Soviet Union would occupy all the Slavic nations as well as East Germany, while the British and the Americans would be tasked with the occupation of rest of formerly Nazi-occupied Europe. The people of Czechoslavkia , Pilsen in particular, were pawns in this game, and although American forces initially worked to rebuild the damage that they had incurred in Pilsen, they left a few months later.

This ended a chapter that the opposing sides of the Cold War consciously chose to forget. Josef Stalin wanted to be seen as a “hero” to the Slavic people, and any mention of America’s role in the liberation of Western Bohemia was deliberately omitted from “official history.” Winston Churchill was obsessed with blaming Stalin for the creation of the “Iron Curtain” that he himself helped design, and Americans would rather not remember how little leverage they had in crafting postwar Europe, nor would they like to remember any fissures between Roosevelt and Churchill. And so for nearly half a century, this little chapter in World War II history was simply overlooked.

But the people of Pillsen never forgot. And as soon as the Iron Curtain finally fell, residents of Pilsen commenced what has become an annual tradition: Liberation Festival. From Friday, 3 May to Monday 6 May, celebration is a mix of the somber and the euphoric. 79 years after the actual Liberation Day, few people are alive to remember the original, but their children and grandchildren come to reflect and remember. And as the grandson of World War II Veteran who witnessed the parade on Sunday, I have to say it is a very moving experience.

I wore my grandfather’s dogtags and traveled to Pilsen with Petra, We enjoyed some American style grilled sandwiches and lemonade before the parade, then stood and cheered with everyone else in attendance for the big show.

Mere words will never be enough to sum up the magnitude of gratitude for this experience

Having grown up in a country that prides itself in high standards, then seeing said country repeatedly fail to live up to such standards can be rather depressing. Hell, just a read any book by WWII Kurt Vonnegut and you’ll understand. But the way that the descendants of this historical event keep this memory alive, as well as the gratitude shown by the people of Pilsen is something that simply quite uplifting.

The old and the new: Czech soldiers equipped with their modern uniforms can’t help but admire the classic look

The parade was a sight to see, to put it mildly. I snapped more than my share of photos, and clapped especially hard for the descendants of the veterans who traveled halfway around the world for this little celebration. And when the parade was over, I even had a chance to experience some of the hardware first hand. Yes, for the low price of only 200 Czech Koruna one could sit in the actual cockpit of an exact replica of British Spitfire.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Petra. “200 Crowns is a lot of money for such an experience.”

“True, but I’m an American, we love this gimmicky stuff,” I replied enthusiastically. “Besides, it’s only about 8 dollars!” I invited Petra to sit in the take a chance in the cockpit, but she declined anyway. Although she got quite a kick out of seeing me get ready to take off and do a celebratory city flyover.

Actually, it’s closer $8.50, but as my grandfather liked to say, “who’s counting?” The experience was quite valuable. Once I sat in the cockpit, I felt that flying in such a plane over the English Channel, even without dodging enemy fire, would basically be suicide. Nothing makes you feel more respect for the R.A.F. than feeling the flight controls and seeing the spartan instrumentation panel of this winged weaponry.

Are you ready to fly over the English channel in this one-man fighter plane? Yeah, me neither.

After my moment in the pilot’s seat, Petra decided to indulge in another way to celebrate America’s liberation of Pilsen: ice cream! We looked at some other exhibits, saw some celebratory musical performances, and then finally made our way to George S. Patton museum to get as much historical context as possible.

I scream, you scream. We all scream for ice cream!

By late afternoon, it was time to head back Prague. As we were leaving, it was if we got to the see the parade all over again. Obviously, we weren’t the only one’s leaving town.

Ahoj!

And with that, we waved our final goodbye–or was it hello? After all, “Ahoj,” like Aloha, means both hello and goodbye. And we will certainly return to Pilsen for the 80th Anniversary of Liberation Day next year.

Dateline, July 2, 2023

One year. One year since connecting flight from Dublin landed at Havel international airport. One year since I first set foot on the mainland of the European Continent. One year since this great adventure began.

I celebrated with a very casual afternoon at the Letná Beer Garden.. As I purchased my drinks, I reflected on how at first I fumbled through what little Czech I knew to order a beer (for example, saying ‘jeden pivo’ rather than ‘jedno pivo’) to order a beer, or getting the grammar right but the context completely wrong (saying ‘půl litre’ rather than simply ‘velké’), and how with authentic practice, I can now make such a maneuver with ease. Hey, I may not have mastered the seven Czech grammatical cases, but at least I can speak enough Czech to feed myself!

I also thought about going back to my favorite restaurant, but in a way that may seem counter-intuitive, I decided against it. I was surrounded by tourists in Letná who were snapping selfies and not even attempting to speak any amount of Czech. I felt almost outside of the experience, as if on the outside looking in. I wanted to something to reflect that I was a traveler and not a tourist.Thus, I decided that I want to celebrate in a way that would make me feel like I was of Prague rather than simply in Prague. So, since it was Sunday evening, I decided to head back to flat in Břevnov, and make a nice meal for myself.

I headed back towards Brevnov, but took time to enjoy a nice scenic walk through the shade of Lentá park’s many trees, rather then head out to the urban jungle of brick and concrete. The crowd was a little more mixed and I walked forward, and the collection of towards blended towards a mix of locals and foreigners by the time I reached the metronome.

I continued further towards the Letna Park’s western edge on my way to the tram when I saw a dog swimming in Letenské jezírko. Optimistically known officially as “Letenské Lake,” it’s really a small pond, man-made at that, and manicured to perfection to serve as a mildly majestic gateway to the park for those traveling by way east from Prague Castle. Quite beautiful, but no lake. Part of me wanted to hope in the water and swim with dog, but I knew I would have plenty of chances for swimming in more suitable waters at a later date.

Once home, I cooked one of my favorite meals, lemon chickpea broccoli pasta, and sat down with a nice bottle of Budvar, a.k.a. the real Budweiser. Unlike the fermented rice water that naïve Americans know as “the king of Beers,” this bohemian brew has the name that American merchants stole for marketing purchases but the actual taste to make it worthy of a crown. Drink one of these, and you will better understand and appreciate the phrase, “na zdraví” before sipping on fermented spring water from the mountains of southern Bohemia.

When I looked at my photo, I noticed that my sunblock-soaked hands had left quite a mark around my shirt-collar. Oh dear, good thing I’m pitching in the major leagues in this photo! Anyhow, it’s an reflection of my attempt to stop my Irish skin from frying in the Bohemian summer sun–of which I will be seeing plenty in the days and weeks to come.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline, July 16, 2022

Some people in this world are great singers. Others are great songwriters. And some are very good singers and songwriters.

Amy Winehouse was one such person. There are very few people in this world who have the gift of matching music to words. Paul McCartney has it, Carole King has it, and Amy Winehouse had it. However, McCartney and King did their best work as part of a duo, whereas Amy’s lyrical and musical genius seemed to reside entirely within her amazingly complex soul. Although it is certainly sad that she was taken from us too soon, Forever Amy rises like a phoenix from the ashes, so that her immortal music may live in. Featuring Amy’s musical director/bassist Dale Davis, Amy’s guitarist Hawi Gondwe, Amy’s drummer Nathan Allen, and Amy’s horn section of Henry Collins (trumpet) and Jim Hunt (saxophone), there is no doubt about the authenticity of the music. Bristol native Bronte Shande sings Amy’s immortal words, and while Shande may not be blessed with the same extremely think vocal chords that Amy possessed, but she sings pitch perfect and with the the same passion and intensity that Amy had. The fact that two women share the same working-class English accent is an added bonus.

And lucky me. As soon as I saw the poster for the Forever Amy show, I purchased a ticket. The concert venue took place at Mystic Skatepark, a small platform with bleachers on the eastern edge of Štvanice Island. As fate would have it, Štvanice sits right between Karlín and my student flat in Holešovice. I made sure to arrive nice and early, as my ticket was standing room only, and I wanted a good view of the band.

Everything about the show was simply electric. The band clearly enjoyed themselves on stage, and Bronte invited the crowd to sing along on more than occasion. People sang, they danced, they clapped. At times, I wondered which was more unbelievable: that 15 years had passed since Amy Winehouse took an unsuspecting world by storm with “Rehab,” or that such a complex song like “Rehab” would even rush to the top of the music charts in the first place. Some people tried to clap along during the show, only to realize that it’s not a simple 4/4 beat song. Like Amy herself, it’s very complex. And like all of her songs, the musical melody fits with the whimsical lyrics perfectly. It’s fitting that one of Amy’s only cover songs was a Gerry Goffin/Carole King number, “Will you still love me tomorrow?” And of course, Bronte and Forever Amy played that song live to perfection. This rendition was so hauntingly beautiful, that some in the audience had misty eyes by the song’s conclusion. In other words: yes Amy, it’s tomorrow, and we still love you.

After the show, Bronte stayed to pose for photographs and talk to literally every single person who wanted to on they out. I thanked her for doing such a great job at keeping Amy’s legacy alive. As I did so, Amy’s musical director must have overhead me and gave a smile for the camera as he walked on by.

I was a little nervous asking a stranger in a large, foreign city to take my photo, as I wasn’t even sure that anyone would be able to understand my English–and then I realized: Literally every single one of these concert attendees speaks English, because they just saw an English music show! After I thanked Bronte, I thanked my photographer, and headed back to Holešovice.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline: July 15, 2022

What better time than to write about my first trip to Prague castle than after the disappointing box office debut of Indiana Jones and the diaper of dysentery?

Prague castle is situated just below the crest of a hill and overlooks the historic neighborhoods of Staré Město and Malá Straná. Conversely, those in the aforementioned neighborhoods on the banks of the Vltava River stare up in awe of the castle that perpetually gazes down upon them. I arrived early in the morning–so early that the ticket office wasn’t even open yet. It was 8:45 AM, and the hordes of tourists had yet to clog castle complex. The castle grounds are open to the public at 6, while the historical buildings don’t open until 9. And although the grounds of Prague Castle are free, its most prominent attractions–such as the cathedral and the bell tower–require a ticket prior to entry. I enjoyed a few luxurious moments of near-solitude as I casually strolled across the castle’s main square, and as soon as the ticket office opened, I made like a bee line to the front desk to purchase my ticket.

Visitors have the option of purchasing tickets for individual buildings, or what they the “circuit ticket.” The per unit price is lower, and it gives the visitor a chance to visit all that Prague Castle has to over: St. Vitus Cathedral, Old Royal Palace, St. George’s Basilica, the bell tower, and Zlata Ulice. I opted for the value pack and saw that my ticket was marked with Roman numerals, each of which corresponded to a historical building within the castle. In my excitement, I opted not to take a complimentary map and instead explore the sights on my own terms. Prague Castle, here we go!

Roman Numeral I is the easiest to find. As soon as you exit the ticket office, you walked from the auxiliary square into the main square of the complex, and a massive cathedral greats stares you down as you gaze up in awe. Although construction of St. Vitus Cathedral commenced in 1344, it was not completed until 1929. Yes, it is a structure six centuries in the making. After I admired its splendor in the morning light, I took a deep breath and walked through its majestic doors.

Once inside, the morning sunlight illuminates the stained glass windows within. Perhaps the hunchback of Notre Dame could have visited this Cathedral, as its splendid artwork forces one to look up and admire its sheer beauty. If you’ve got bad posture, St. Vitus Cathedral is a must visit.

I circumnavigated the cathedral from front to back, and took time to visit its multitude of auxiliary rooms as well. All the while, I kept an eye out for Roman Numeral X: the bell tower. Seeing none, I exited the Cathedral and walked onward, past the fountain in the main square, and towards the lesser sized of the two religious buildings, the Basilica of St. George. Constructed in 920 AD, it is the oldest edifice in Prague Castle, and a sense of the ancient permeates the air within its very walls. There is a visceral sense of the many people who lived here and died here, and you are humbled in the knowledge that you to are just a passing visitor through time and space. In a moment of thoughtful contemplation, I placed my hand on one of the walls, and thought of the artisans who constructed these walls almost two thousand years ago.

It’s not all a drab, dark interior, either. Look up, and you are treated to quite a sight.

Hardly satiated, my quest for history was a hunger that was only heightened as I walked back outside. I searched further for Roman Numeral X, and instead saw a sign for Zlatá ulička.

In my limited Czech, I understood “Zlatá ulička” to mean something like “Street of Gold.” Loosely translated, this phrase means “Golden Lane.” So when I looked at my ticket, I saw that I had purchased the right to passage through this part of history.

Up until the 1950, Golden Lane was home to the workers of Prague Castle. These tiny dwellings, no larger than a typical college dorm room, were home to the blacksmiths, the seamstresses, and goldsmiths who manufactured the metals, clothing and jewelry for the castle. It was the preponderance of goldsmiths that gave this street it’s moniker, “golden lane,” although today, it’s most famous historical resident is a writer: Franz Kafka, who lived there for a the summer of 1916. These two dozen small apartments (which shared one bathroom!) housed workers up until the 1950s, when Soviet authorities declared such living unsuitable for modern life and moved the few remaining residents to panel houses. There are some historical artifacts on display, but mostly souvenir shops with exorbitant prices. For example, I saw a bar of soap for sale at the price of 79 crowns (roughly four dollars). I thought to myself, I do need soap, but I can literally buy this exact same bar at a neighborhood shop for less than half the price.

After Golden Lane, I continued to walk downwards–down the slopes of the hill and downward into the depths of humanity. I saw a sign for “Dalibor Tower,” but it’s quite a misnomer, as this tower is a dungeon that housed the few political prisoners who dared to defy the kings of medieval Bohemia. With no numeral X in sight, I knew this wasn’t the tower I was looking for, and turned around. I still had to to find the entry for the palace and the bell tower.

I saw a small line at a building on the edge of the western edge of the main square, and saw a sign marked “Palace.” Well, it obviously wasn’t a massive bell tower, but it was another place I could visit with my purchased ticket, so I headed inside.

This ticket allows entry to the top floor of Old Royal Palace. Unlike the cathedral and the basilica, this building has been reserved for strictly secular state affairs. The third floor, named Vladislav Hall by King Vladislav II (clever name, eh?) is still used for official Czech state functions in the modern era. Just a few months after my visit, it is where Petr Pavel was sworn in as Czechia’s fourth president.

As I excited the palace, I seriously contemplated heading back to the ticket office to obtain my complementary map of the castle grounds. However, I thought about what Henry Jones, Sr. said to his son Indiana in The Last Crusade. “I find that when I take a look back, the situation reveals itself. So I walked to the southern edge of the main square, gazed up at the massive bell tower that stood before me, and sure enough, the situation revealed itself. At the foot of this massive structure is a small sign with a large x. I was so fixated with the top of the structure I hadn’t noticed the entrance at the bottom when I first walked right past it! I smiled at thought back to the last good Indiana Jones movie. X marks the spot!

A birds eye view from the top of the Great South Tower. On the left is Charles Bridge. Just beyond the castle walls is Malá Straná. On the right, Petrin Tower.

Officially named the “Great South Tower,” the view from the top is as dizzying as it is breathtaking. I climbed 287 steps to reach a height of over 100 meters from the ground below. The fact that this building is already close the the crest of one of Prague’s largest hills makes the view all the more magnificent.

This trip was a success, map be damned. I had seen the world in a way that I had never seen it before–seen things and touched things that were (and still are) an integral part of Czech society. Who knows what exciting adventures await?

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline: 4 April, 2023

When people told me that Americans have difficulty adapting to shopping in Prague, I simply had to see it to believe it. And my goodness, after living here for nearly a year, this Sunday morning marked quite another saga in this interesting and unexpected adventure.

First, a little background: Since the breakup of the Warsaw Pact in 1989, when the former Soviet block countries dismantled the total control of a state-owned economy in their respective countries, the result has been, how shall we say, mixed? Here’s just a list of a few unusual things I’ve had to adopt to when shopping for food and other necessities:

Variety is a luxury, as is consistency. I’ve lived in three different neighborhoods since my arrival in Prague last summer, and only one neighborhood grocery store had the exotic food item known as tofu. Tofu! Sure, if I lived in Vinohrady or Little Hanoi, tofu would be easier to find, but the rest of Prague hasn’t really caught on to such cosmopolitan cuisine. But there’s always an abundance of Pilsner and Budvar!

However, not everything in the supermarket is as consistently stocked as Prague’s prestigious piva. For example, the Tesco in Hradčanska has chickpeas but not baked beans. The Tesco in Anděl has baked beans but not chickpeas. Same store, different neighborhood. In other words, American expats can forget about one-stop shopping or simply narrow their tastes.

But that’s just food. Another thing that is interesting is that drugstores don’t sell drugs. Seriously. There is no pharmacy in any drugstore. Picture CVS or Walgreen’s without any food in the front or pharmacy in the back. But you’ll see plenty of cosmetics and vitamins! Anyone in need of any actual medicine will have to go to a Lékérna, which, in and of itself isn’t particularly problematic, but it raises the question: Why call your store a drogerie when you don’t sell any drugs?

I’ve navigated this new environment without much difficulty (and it helps that I’ve had local Prague person helping me obtain groceries since September), but today’s adventure at the local Billa seemed worthy of commemoration.

I promptly arrived at the Petřiny Billa at 8 am to purchase a few staples: rolík, mléko, Budvar, and soap. Yes, soap. I filled my basket with the food and drink that I needed, but when I walked to the health and beauty isle, one item was conspicuously absent.

Of course, it was soap. Even though they had every other health and beauty product known to humankind, every variety of shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, toothbrush, hand creme, shaving cream, and face cream, somehow the most essential cleanliness product of all was completely absent from the shelves. So if I wanted soap this morning, I would have needed to go the the drogerie. And yes, as you can see in the photo, this supermarket even had a supply of pre-fabricrated pomlázka whips for Easter Monday.

For the unitiated, the pomlázka is a whip constructed from willow branches, which boys are supposed to go out into the forest and construct by hand, after which they return to whip the girls. This annual Easter Monday dates back to pagan times, and somehow has managed to last in our present, 21st century. Many Czechs believe, as their ancestors did, that whipping women with the “stick of youth” endows her with health and fertility. In fact, the word “Pamlazka,” roughly translated from old Czech into English, means “stick of youth.” This springtime tradition is restricted solely to Easter Monday. So of course, today my neighborhood Prague supermarket had this nugget of ancient superstition in its healthy and beauty aisle (Na zdraví!) but not soap!

Fortunately, my bathroom isn’t completely empty at the moment, so my trip to the drogerie can wait for another time. So I left without soap, and of course, without the Pomlázka. Not to brag, but I think there are other ways to stay forever young.

Until next time, Na zdraví!

*This article has been edited from its original form to more properly reflect the true origin of the Czech word, “pomlazka.””

Dateline: March 3rd, 2023

Two milestones, actually.

The first milestone is that I now have a cell phone service plan with a European provider, so I am no longer at the mercy of my prepaid sim card. The other milestone was far more important in the grand scheme of things, and tasted much better as well.

What you see before is my first meal that I ordered and paid for entirely with my use of the Czech language. No translation apps. No spurts of me stumbling and fumbling in Czech before I finally asked the server if they spoke a word of English. I could read the menu. I spoke with perfect pronunciation, courtesy of the many people here in Prague who have helped me practice my “ř,” a skill that took months to master (In case you’re wondering, ř is pronounced by simultaneously rolling your tongue with the Spanish “rr”sound, while also pushing your tongue to the roof of your mouth to make the “zuh” sound in pleasure.) As is nearly always this case in Prague restaurants, the food was fantastic, but I really that I had earned something with every bite. It made the food taste so much better in ways that I previously hadn’t though possible.

When I was done eating, I placed my knife and fork neatly parallel on the plate, as is the traditional Czech custom. The server asked me if I wanted another Pivo, and I said I would pay, as well as add a spropitné (gratuity) of 20 crowns for service. The server’s pupils dilated like saucer plates. “Tip is not included,” she said in English, as she pointed to the bottom of the bill which stated the same in plain print. “Ja vim,” (I know) I said. Then reiterated again, in Czech, that I would like her to add 20 crowns to my bill for her service. She smiled and obliged.

With a “hezky den” and a “na shledenou,” I was out the door, and into Vítězné náměstí, or “Circle Square” as the locals call it. Another week was over, and I had achieved another milestone. I reflected on what had just happened, and looked to the setting sun with anticipation of the milestones yet to come.

Dateline: 29 December, 2022

What a long, strange year it has been.

So much has happened to me just in the the last three months alone that I don’t even know where to begin. I had a wonderful summer in Prague. I completed my certification in teaching English as a foreign language. I started my new career as an English foreign language teacher. I met some very interesting people. And I fell in love with a beautiful Bohemian woman.

In our era of instant gratification, people ask my why I don’t publish here more often. I humbly remind them then when it comes to writing, I like to put quality first, and if that means I must write less often, then so be it. However, even though I haven’t been publishing, I have been writing. Rather than publish a few half thoughts and photos on the various (anti) social media platforms, I wrote my thoughts with ink on paper, mere drafts to be published at a later date.

It was during this drafting process that one of my students asked if I, an American and therefore an obvious fan of baseball, was aware that that the Czech national baseball team had defeated Spain and thus, qualified for the 2023 World Baseball Classic. I told my student I wasn’t even away that the the Czech Republic even had a national baseball team.

“Oh, we do,” my student replied. “It’s a baseball team like no other. The pitcher is a fireman; one of our other players is a doctor.”

When I heard that, my thoughts immediately raced back what many refer to as baseball’s Golden Age. Before free agency. Before television. Before multi-million dollar player contracts. I thought of Dominic DiMaggio’s memoir, Real Grass, Real Heroes. Dominic, younger brother of the much more famous Yankee slugger Joe, also played major baseball, but for the arch-rival Boston Red Sox. Dominic’s memoir focuses almost exclusively on the summer of 1941. When that was summer over, baseball nearly ended with it, as nearly all the most famous players of the era–as well as all military-aged young men who would have played in the minor leagues to grow and develop into better players–enlisted or were drafted into World War II.

Bob Feller was the first to enlist–a mere 48 hours after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Feller enlisted in the United States Navy. At the time, he had been averaging 25 wins per season and over 250 strikeouts per season. For three years, Feller served in the United States Navy, seeing combat and serving in both the Pacific and North Atlantic. His career numbers, impressive as they were, would have been all the more spectacular if not for his military service. Fans would ask Feller how he felt about sacrificing so much of his career to World War II, and Feller would invariable respond: Defeating the Germans and the Japanese was the Greatest Victory.

And yet after this Greatest Victory, when players returned to the field on opening day in 1946, baseball, and the world, would never be the same again. Dominic writes about these changes in his memoir, how some are easy to identify, but others, hard to describe in words, just a general feeling of difference. Baseball would change much more in the years to come–astroturf being the chief atrocity among them–but Dominic doesn’t let his opinion to which changes are good are bad, and simply lets you, the reader, decide for yourself. For example, only the most blatant racists would ever take issue with Jackie Robinson, a man who broke baseball’s color barrier before the 1964 Civil Rights Act, before Rosa Parks and the Montgomery Bus Boycott, and before Harry Truman desegregated the U.S. military.

One jaw-dropping difference is that of player salaries. According to Dominic, his brother Joe was one of the only ballplayers who could afford private transportation to spring training in Florida. Others had to carpool, and in the era before the Interstate Highway System, this was a long, grueling trip. If you got stock behind a truck moving slowly uphill–to bad. You and your teammates had to wait until after the crest of the hill to pass the truck. You and your teammates also had to take turns driving. Another point of contention was whether or a ballplayer had to work a second job during the offseason. While the top players of the era earned enough money to rest and recover during the winter months, other players had to work second jobs to make ends meet. Obviously, these players were less than enthused about driving from end of the country to another at the start of spring training. One can only wonder what those conversations as to “it’s your turn to drive!” would have sounded like in the time before American athletes were multi-millionaires.

And yet here in Prague, that time is now. Baseball, America’s national pastime, is catching on in the Czech Republic. Granted, the Czech’s I speak to are either unaware of their own baseball team, or very cynical about their team’s chances–one Czech baseball player even told me: “I think we are going to get our asses kicked!” Given that their best player is a catcher who never played higher than AAA and is currently studying for his Master’s in Business Administration, it’s a hard point to argue with. And yet my response each time is the same. Dismal as the Czech national baseball team’s chances may be, the way they play is simply inspiring. With grit, determination, hustle. Heart. No matter what the statheads say, that is the winning formula for any championship team. And I warmly invite anyone who doubts me to simply look up which team defeated the 2002 “Moneyball” Oakland A’s.

So yes, I have much to write about. And I will continue writing about my experiences this summer, this fall, and during my first Christmas in Europe. I will continue to hope and state publicly for peace in eastern Europe and elsewhere. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I will continue to humbly hope that in the some way, I can contribute towards the greater good of mankind simply by documenting my experience in heart of Europe.

Until next time . . .

Dateline, July 14th, 2022

Somewhere floating out there in cyberspace is a photo of inside New York City’s Museum of Modern Art, standing beside Salvador Dalií’s most famed piece, The Persistence of Memory. Oh, wait, here it is!

Memory. It distorts. It decays. Sometimes, it destroys. I wanted to displays all of these feelings as I posed next to this timeless masterpiece at the MoMa on that sunny day back in the summer of 2006. But that moment, even though it was memorialized with a mediocre camera, is indeed, like memory itself, fleeting.

Memory is a tricky thing: It can weigh you down, but it can also lift you up. The word “nostalgia” is the same in nearly every single indo-European language, and literally means “return to pain.” To remember something, even fondly, can be a very, very painful experience.

If only someone had the fortitude and foresight to construct giant bronze sculptures. Some way to express the permanence of this fond sadness in a three-dimensional format.

To the fans of the world’s most famous surrealist, someone already has: Salvador Dalí. Yes, the artist was also a sculptor. And the largest private collection in the world of his sculptures is right in the center of Prauge, located less than 100 meters from Wenceslas Square.

A perfect choice, I thought, to imbibe in my daily dose of culture.

Some of these sculptures are small and petite, others are quite massive–even taller than I am.

The exhibit itself is dark and mysterious. All of the fixtures of this exhibit are in black, the bright lights serve to illuminate the shapes and colors of the world’s most famous surrealist.

Like any good Dalí collection, one can see how the the return to common themes.

And of course, something stamped in his signature style, yet stands out as entirely different from the rest.

I spend a solid two hours examining this surrealist exhibit before I set out back into the real world. With my thirst for culture sufficiently satiated, I returned back to my flat. Storm clouds were forming, so I sought shelter indoors. After a brief thundershower, I briefly thought about cooking yet another meal in the common area kitchen of my student housing. Yet when I saw the evening sunlight illuminating the street outside the window, I scrapped that plan and headed to Czech-German restaurant right next door. Once seated, I took out my trusty pen and pocket notebook, and started writing:

My God in heaven, how beautiful this city is. Right now it is 8:15 pm, and after a brief thundershower, the sun is shining. The brief but potent rainfall has broken the day’s oppressive humidity, and it is now quiet, cool, and calm.

Prague is a good place to be. This morning I awoke on a mission: to prepare all my own meals, and to refrain from drinking any alcohol. This mission lasted until 8pm, when I finally surrendered myself to the beauty of this golden city.

Shortly after I wrote this, my food arrived. I devoured the Czech chicken and vegetables, and slowly sipped my pint of pivo. When my waiter asked if I wanted another, I simply said no. He looked at me as if I had suffered serious brain damage.

Maybe next time I will order that second beer 😉

Until then, tomorrow is a new day . . .