December 1989: My month of living Dangerously, Part II
By Bob Ford Special to
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I met Anna my third day in Czechoslovakia, 1989. She was a cute artist working in an art gallery extremely excited to meet my cohort from the Getty Museum, J.R. Jones.
Petr Clement, my assigned U.S. Embassy guide for this project to analyze Czech products, didn’t stand a chance, she smelled a lot better than he did.
In fair English with a proud accent, she was forthcoming in what freedom and free elections meant to the younger generation. The White Belted police had victimized her and her family.
J.R. and I started on our adventure with her, shortly after I realized we were being followed. The Czech StB, or State Security, was still active and no doubt not liking the new forced political reality.
One agent looked cocky in cut jeans with a sharp waist-length leather jacket while the other looked like a traditional thug in a trench coat. On days out with Petr they would either follow or search my room, leaving tell tale signs that they had been there, yes it was intimidating.
Just to mess with them, one morning I decided to go for a run. Nobody ran in the city, the air had a blue haze from the burning of soft brown coal in their power plants, that’s another problem.
As I took off they just sat in the lobby, never looking me in the eye. Taking my first couple steps, the 17th century cobblestone street nearly broke my ankle. Impressive 17th and 18th century buildings dotted downtown, all different shades of grey but individually ornate.
Anna and I went to dinner at a classic restaurant overlooking the 15th century Charles Bridge and Prague Castle, stunning as the sun set.
A six-course meal, including Cabbage soup, roast duck with sauerkraut, and the Czech famed dessert Buchty, was delicious.
What I remember most about the meal was the place setting and stemware, three different wine glasses each two-inches taller than the other, all filled with different wines for a selected course. The view and ambiance of the restaurant was old Prague, very classy and oh ya, $18 for both of us. The tourists from the West had not found these places yet, but they would and soon.
The young were still in a celebratory mood while elderly Czechs, no doubt fearful. They had cut out a meager existence under communism but the routine was about to be transformed, what did democracy and the unknown mean. They had lived the past 45 years a certain way, sacrificing but managing.
Breadlines existed everyday, with the longest lines on Tuesdays when bananas arrived. Winters were a constant struggle for warmth. The poor perhaps looked forward to their one gift all year from the government, four oranges at Christmas per family, grown where … Cuba!
We headed off to the nightlife, wanting to experience what the young were feeling after the success of the Velvet Revolution and the promise of free elections.
I could hear the disco as we emerged from the underground. Prague has one of the deepest and widest subway systems in the world, built as a nuclear bunker by the Russians in the ‘60s.
Once inside, the celebration was on at a fever pitch. We danced, drank and felt the excitement of everyone until the wee hours. Then as the songs were cranked up ever louder, people began dancing physically, banging into each other and no one cared.
Just then at the height of the dance, a man on the dance floor pulled out a pistol and unloaded four loud shots into the ceiling. I went down on all fours. Anna grabbed my arm, pulled me up and yelled, “It’s Ok, he’s Serbian!” We and everyone else danced on.
Looking back it seemed like the Wild West met the disco, fueled by a lot of Russian vodka, what a night!
Heading back to the hotel, Anna said there was something special happening the next afternoon at the Castle. I thought to myself ‘Sure, count me in, if tonight didn’t kill me let’s see what tomorrow brings.’”
It was crowded inside the castle gates. The Presidential Palace was nice but the gates were elaborate, reminded me of Buckingham Palace. People were excited, getting in every high spot available for a view.
The changing of the Royal Guards took place at 2 p.m., the surprise, for the first time in 45 years. The changing Honor Guard were wearing the formal traditional Czechoslovakian uniforms and raising the old flag. People were solemn, a band played the national anthem as many wept.
You could feel the pride exuding from the crowd, it was another moment in Czechoslovakian history.
What an incredible experience, to witness the rebirth of a nation, its proud past and people’s excitement finally for the future.
One day, J.R. and I rented a car visiting other regional museums the Getty could help. On our way to Brno, driving along a very modern four-lane highway, it quickly turned into a wide 10 to 12 lane surface. Suddenly on our left were a squadron of MIG’s. The “interstate,” had turned into the main runway of a military air base. Then just as fast, it turned back into a highway.
It was clear the Russians were out of the city, but what were six MIG’s doing here? My fear was the Soviets weren’t through with Czechoslovakia.
We stopped in Tella, an ancient walled city that had a unique strategy in dealing with invaders. They let them breach their outer walls. Once inside, lead the invading force down their Main Street that gradually narrowed. Side stone walls grew taller, squeezing and capturing the invaders when gates were lowered behind.
The citizens would either stone the raiders from above or capture them. Talk about giving an adversary enough rope to hang themselves. Perhaps in a much wider sense that had happened to the Russians in Eastern Europe, it just took a very long time.
Next week the conclusion, suggestions and plans on how to build an independent viable new democratic society.
