My Stan Mikita Story(ies)

I was saddened by the passing of hockey legend, Stan Mikita, this past week.  I was first introduced to him as a child watching hockey on TV with my dad. Those were special times with dad – sitting on his lap or next to him on the couch as he explained the game of hockey to me. He introduced me to the players via the TV. He was especially proud of Stan Mikita, a fellow Czech (well actually a Slovak) so I guess a fellow Czechoslovak would be more accurate.

Memories of the many times spent watching the Blackhawks with my dad are some of the most special father/daughter memories I have. Because money was tight, dad didn’t go to many games at the Chicago Stadium, however he did take me once. It was awesome!

Our next door neighbors were friends with Stan Mikita’s in-laws and sometimes they would have barbeques in the summer and the Mikita family would be there. I remember that once even Bobby Hull was there. In those days, it was impolite to gawk at celebrities and I had strict instructions not to bother them during those barbeques. However, being the teenager I was at the time, I asked for Stan’s autograph. He was very gracious about it. I remember when his son Scott was a toddler and they told me to ask him who his daddy was so I did. It was soooo cute as he answered “Staaanley”. And when I asked him, "Stanley who?", he answered “Mikiiita”.  His wife, Jill, gave me one of Stan’s old blue plaid shirts (I still have it somewhere). It had been mended but I wore it a lot for several years.

I’m not sure how it came about, but when Stan’s sister, Vera, was visiting from Czechoslovakia, I was asked if I could take her out somewhere. It was summertime and I was working as a waitress to make money for school. The ‘in’ thing was to go to Old Town (I had never been there before so it was going to be a treat for me as well). Since we didn’t own a car, I had to beg one of my Slovak friends to talk one of her brothers into driving us. I don’t know how she did it, but she talked one of them into it. I was promised that I would be able to leave work early that day.  Unfortunately, as it happens in the restaurant business, we were shorthanded and busy and I got stuck at work til almost 9pm. I ran home (a couple of miles) where everyone was waiting for me.  Evidently, Stan and his wife had dropped Vera off between 6 - 7pm. They were supposed to drop her off at 8pm.  I guess they thought if they dropped her off earlier, she would get home earlier, not taking into account that I and my friends had summer jobs to make money for college tuition. My mom had tried to explain to them that I was at work and so we would be getting a much later start.

After I changed my clothes, Vera, Yvonne, Yvonne’s brother and one of my friends (who was interested in Yvonne) and I took off for Old Town. By the time we got there, it was almost 10pm. We had a nice time walking around and enjoying the late 1960’s atmosphere of Chicago’s Old Town. I am not sure when Vera was expected home, but we knew we were definitely late as it was after 11pm. Marian drove like a maniac down the Eisenhower Expressway to Elmhurst where the Mikita’s lived. During those days, traffic was very light at that time, not like nowadays, and it was clear sailing. We passed an accident on our way there but it in no way impeded us. I think Marian got us to Elmhurst in well under 20 minutes – don’t ask how fast he was going, no one will admit to it.  As we pulled up, Stan and Jill were standing outside – not a good sign.  Stan came toward me as I walked Vera to the door yelling at me for bringing his sister home so late.  I tried to explain and even tried to blame the accident we had passed for us being late but he was having none of it.  This is my ‘Stan Mikita claim to fame’ story and also the last time I actually saw Stan and his wife. 

When I got home, my mom said that Stan and Jill kept calling her wanting to know why we hadn’t brought Vera home yet. She tried to explain that the original plan was that we would leave the house around 8pm (the earliest I and our ‘chauffeur/chaperone’ could get there from work) but I had gotten stuck at the restaurant and we didn’t leave until after 9:30pm so they had to account for the late start. But Stan was in big brother protective mode. He and his wife were probably questioning whether they should have let his sister go with a couple of teenage girls and two twenty year old guys they didn’t really know to Old Town with its reputation for access to drugs. We were a pretty responsible group and not into drugs and Marian and Mike were given the task of keeping us girls safe. Except for the speeding (and that was only because we tried to mitigate the trouble we would be in by shortening the amount of time we were late), his sister was in the best and safest company. I hope that Vera has counted her excursion with us as one of her most memorable memories. 

My condolences to the Mikita and Gvot families..

Who Do I Think I Am?

I am trying something new.  Comments would be welcome.

Who Do I Think I Am?

On my mother’s side, I am the great granddaughter of an educated and compassionate Czech farming family who were known for helping people however they could including hiding two paratroopers (part of the team sent to assassinate Reinhard Heydrich and who’s navigational crew had overshot their target by more than 100 kilometers) in their barn after they landed in their fields during World War II - at the risk of their own lives. Their whole town participated in keeping the airmen from being caught by the Germans who were actively looking for them. My grandmother and her brother (not Jewish) were imprisoned in Nazi concentration camps for listening to the BBC on the radio. My mother had to run for her life during the Communist purge after the coup in 1948. She had minutes to leave her home, run and hide out for days before being smuggled out of Czechoslovakia into Germany. She wasn’t even able to say goodbye to her mother.

My father’s family was an intelligent mix of journalists, newspaper editors, writers, educators and engineers who were persecuted by the Communist regime (especially my grandparents, who were hounded to the day they died) because they refused to join the Communist party and give up practicing their Catholic faith. They were continually tyrannized by the top ranking STB official for the region of southern Bohemia, who had my uncle bring me in to be interrogated when I had the opportunity to visit Czechoslovakia and meet my family for the first time at the age of 15 in 1966.  

I was born in a refugee camp in Germany. My father worked for Radio Free Europe and my mother worked as an interpreter in the medical facility of the camp before my parents became eligible to immigrate to the United States as part of the quota for workers needed during the Korean War.  Because ‘officially’ our ‘sponsor’ was a farmer from North Dakota, my father was physically prevented from going to his scheduled interview with Radio Free Europe New York by small minded immigration agents exercising their power over these DPs (displaced persons).  They were insistent that my parents needed to go work on a farm even though my mother was six months pregnant, had a degree in accounting and spoke English and German in addition to her native Czech and my dad had been studying journalism and law at the university before the communists kicked him out of school.  We were rescued from the train to North Dakota in Chicago with the help of the Benedictine abbot and other displaced Czechs already in Chicago.  Unfortunately, the Radio Free Europe position had already been filled by this time and my dad ended up working in a factory making pontoon parts for the war. Because he was underweight and small and relatively clumsy (he managed to break several machines in the first weeks he was there) they were at a loss as to how to utilize him until they realized he had an aptitude for numbers and put him to work taking inventory. My father continued to freelance for Radio Free Europe for many years while working at various factory jobs.

So who do I think I am?

I am a child of dual cultures, Czech and American.  I am, also, a child of the fifties and sixties. I was brought up to be an idealistic realist, to have compassion, to do what is right not what is comfortable, to stand up against injustice and in my own small way make this world a better place.  I have hope in the face of hopelessness, the courage to speak out when I am most afraid and faith that good will always prevail.

I am an altruistic optimist and I will never be silenced. 

Event - Chicago Book Expo

Shadows on the Carpet Trilogy

I will be at the Chicago Book Expo this Saturday, at the Tamale Hut Cafe Writer's Group table. If anyone can make it, I would love to see you there.

Free Admission

Saturday, December 6, 2014

11am - 5pm

Columbia College

1104 S. Wabash Avenue

Chicago

Vladislav Blaha Chicago Classical Guitar Concert November 2014

For anyone that might be interested, world renowned Czech classical guitarist, Vladislav Blaha, will be flying to the Chicago area to delight us before he is to perform at Carnegie Hall. 

The concert will be held at the Czech Mission in Brookfield, IL:

Saturday, November 15, 2014 at 8:00pm

Czech Mission/Church of Saints’ Cyril and Methodius

9415 Rochester Ave.

Brookfield, Il. 60513

Cover - $15.00

He plans on captivating us with works by Tesar, Morel, Janacek, Koshkin, Falla, Tucapsky, Rak and Duarte. 

Do not miss this golden opportunity to hear such an outstanding musician, winner of 4 International Guitar Competitions, Professor of Guitar at Conservatoire of Brno and Janacek Academie of Music, President of the Czech Classical Guitar Society and Director of the International Guitar Festival and Courses in Brno, Czech Republic.

Those of you who have previously experienced Vladislav Blaha know what a treat it is to see him live and in person.  Those, who have not, will not leave disappointed.

An example of Blaha’s mastery:

Druha Trava at Red Line Tap in Chicago

For those Chicago fans that missed Druha Trava's concert at Klas earlier this month, they will be playing at the Red Line Tap, 7006 N. Glenwood Ave., Chicago IL 60626 on November 4, 2014 along with the Chicago based band, Mudflapps. For more info Red Line Tap

Fire Art

After yesterday's misadventure, I decided to share something upbeat.  This poem, "Fire Art", was inspired by the awesome work of Dale Chihuly.  I was first introduced to Chihuly in 2002 when he exhibited his art at the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago.  After seeing it with my husband, I was so taken by the beauty of his pieces that I then took family members who were visiting from the Czech Republic to see it.  That was not enough and I persuaded someone I worked with to come so I could experience the joy a third time. In 2011, while visiting my son & his family in Seattle, I persuaded them to take me to the museum so I could revel in his magical world of glass once again.

photo taken from the Chihuly web page

Fire Art

Glowing colors in

Free flowing glass

Emanate strength

Fragility

Asymmetrical

Architecture

Large images

Strange unique grace

Insightful designs

Delightful art

My heart – my soul

Engage in awe

© Alice Vedral Rivera – 8/26/12

Inspired by the glass art of Dale Chihuly