Dateline July 13th, 2022

This morning I woke up with a mission: to fix my broken telephoto camera lens. Someone at a camera shop in Holešovice told me that there was a repair shop in Prague 4 that might be able to fix it. Since my future residence is also in Prague 4, I decided that I would strike two birds with one stone.

My first stop at the camera shop in Prague 4 was interesting. This is a part of Prague that might look like Paris or Vienna. As usual, I fumbled through what little Czech I understood, before finally asking revealing myself to be a native English speaker. Since the shopowner’s English was vastly superior to my Czech, I was able to explain what I needed without any problem.

“It might take two months to fix,” said the shop-owner.

“No problem, I’m here for two years,” I replied. “Maybe more.”

The shop-owner chuckled at my reply. “Bye-bye,” he said.

“Have a good day,” I said, as I exited the door. No sooner than the words left my mouth than I realized that the standard Czech greeting for “hello,” “Dobrý Den,” quite literally means good day. As soon as that thought occurred to me, I was the one chuckling as walked the picturesque streets of this particular part of Prague 4.

Such beauty would not last forever. I needed to take a tram to a bus that would take me to my future student housing for the month of August. I boarded Tram 11, then after a few stops I transferred to bus 139. The diesel engine roared as it made its way to the far reaches of the Prague city limits. In a way, this was bold territory for me. After all, it was my first time outside the tram lines of the city of Prague.

The edge of Prague reminded me somewhat of my brief time when I lived at the edge of Austin’s city limits. In one direction, you can see the city skyline. Turn around, and you see wilderness . . . sort of. There’s some new development that is mostly apartment complexes and shopping mini-malls, and there is also a great expanse of public parks and undeveloped land. I got off the bus and took a photograph of what will be my new home for the month of August. Rest assured, this part of Prague will never be confused with Paris or Vienna. One look at this Soviet-style panel building, and you would think you were in Moscow or Warsaw. Well, I thought to myself, at least I’ll have an idea of what is what is like to live in the USSR.

I didn’t stay long. I quickly hopped back on bus 139 opposite the way I came–I wanted to go back to the center of Prague. I ate lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant, but I went with a choice safe my Anglo taste buds–Pad Thai. Once my calories were sufficiently replenished, I decided to take a walk through one of Prague’s many pristine parks: Havlíčkovy sady.

Bordered by one of Prague’s many manufactured canals to the south, and sandwiched between several intersecting tram lines, Havlíčkovy sady features step hills, luscious green trees, many fine renaissance-era style statues, and something else entirely: Soviet gun turrets.

I saw one such gun turret that had been graffiti-ed many times over by Czech dissents over the years. I thought of the historical significance of the land of which I was standing: The Nazis wanted it, the Soviets wanted it, and the Czech’s just wanted this little corner of the earth to call their own. I quickly posed for a selfie and flashed a peace sign. I wanted to show my reverence for President Havel and the rest of the Czech underground who defeated their imperial occupiers without dropping a single bomb or firing a single bullet. When I saw what I looked like, I couldn’t help but marvel about the man I am slowly turning into.

For as long as I can remember, I simply understood that my grandfather, John J. Donohue, Jr., was a World War II Veteran. The local VFW chapter was one of his many civic obligations, he marched with his fellow veterans at every Memorial Day Parade, and he was only 18 years old when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Yet it wasn’t until I was 26 years old that I finally asked the man, “what exactly did you do you in World War II?”

“Wellllll,” he said with his gruff Bronx accent, and then he proceeded to tell me everything. Bits and pieces were familiar to me, such as how he enlisted immediately after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, how he was assigned to the California coastal defense at Monterey, and how the U.S. military taught him to speak Italian before sending him off to France. Some things were very new. This particular story stood out:

“I was in the Signal Corps at the Battle of the Bulge. I was a Sargent. I was my job to relay the information from the men at the front lines to the officers at back. One thing that I’ll never forget was how bright the sky was that night. So bright! I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen the sky so bright at nighttime, not even during the day. There were explosions everywhere, happening constantly. It was brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July. After that, I decided that I had no interest in fighting any war ever again, nor did I have any interest in anyone else fighting any war ever again.”

Let me tell you something: If I had a nickle for every time my grandmother called me “Johnny,” I’d be a very wealthy man right now. As I’ve gotten older, I understand what she meant. I see my hair graying slightly at the sides into a distinct salt-and-pepper look–the so-called “silver fox” look that John J. Donohue, Jr. took to his grave. I’m his living emissery, and whether I’m in Prague or Peru, I’ll promote the message of peace wherever I go.

I continued hiking up the hill, then wandered around Vinohrady to soak up some more sights of that unique neighborhood. I walked until me feet hurt, and by evening, it was late, hot, and I was tired. Where did I go to relax and unwind?

Of course, where else but the Letná Beer Garden. I saw the moon rise over the city of a thousand spires, felt the cool air as the temperature dropped, and read more about the doomed romance between Tomaš and Theresa. Their sad story seemed incongrous juxtaposed against the happy couples enjoying their night under the light of a full moon. I thought to myself, someday, perhaps soon, I will invite just the right person to enjoy the Letná Beer Garden with me, and all of it’s magnificent splendor.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .