Papa was a formidable figure, a living legend forged in the crucible of the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. With an expressive face, command of seven languages, unstoppable motor, excellent instincts, and a penchant for mischief, he was the type of wily operator perfectly conditioned for survival in those tumultuous times. Forced to leave his homeland by the exigencies of circumstance, he was never to return. A combination of fate and gumption eventually deposited him at a postwar policeman’s ball in Brussels, where he met my grandmother.
Milos and Elise married in 1949 and welcomed my father to the world two years later. Postbellum Europe was still in tumult, but Papa was able to use his charms and connections to create a decent life for his family. However, a fortuitous link to the American military offered the triumvirate a chance to emigrate – Papa had been providing certain quasi-legal services for the troops that earned him special, informal favor. As ever, that Stateside beacon on a hill beckoned with promises of a better existence.
The Voboril clan arrived in New York in 1953, with Papa hitting the ground running, keen to make the most of his opportunity in the new world. Capitalizing on some good contacts and tapping into his relentless work ethic, he was on the path to realizing the American dream. Soon, they would have a house in the suburbs, a business of Papa’s own (at which Pops would eventually join him), and leisure time filled with boating and skiing and other outdoor adventures.
Fully ensconced in the trappings of life in the States, he nevertheless maintained close ties to his Czech family and compatriots, assisting both in overcoming the deprivations of the communist state. Yet like many immigrants given a shot on these shores, Papa was an ardent American patriot, believing to his core in the pillars of the American ideal. So strident was his allegiance to the U.S. of A. that he strongly encouraged his highly reluctant firstborn to enroll at West Point, with his other son enlisting not too many years later.
America had given Papa a fighting chance and he never forgot that grace, never failed to appreciate how a young family rising from the ashes of war could find safety and peace in their adopted land. Conservative though he was, as evidenced by the respectful but heated clashes with my liberal mother over policy, he was also of that gruff kindheartedness not uncommon in Eastern European men. For perhaps obvious reasons, he reserved a special hate for communists and he also did not suffer fools or charlatans lightly.
It is not hard to imagine how Papa would feel about America as it exists in 2025. The frantic dismantling of the country’s institutions, the despotic overrunning of our vaunted checks and balances, the sheer megalomania embodied by our president and abetted by the cowards in Congress and in the courts, it would have driven him around the bend. Our slide into fascism would have angered Papa into passionate diatribes and possibly into open revolt. It would not have been lost on him that the path once granted to his immigrant family has now been closed off in cruel and unusual fashion.
Certainly, his heirs have no love lost for the abject insanity taking place in our country at the hands of the insidious Donald Trump. My brother and his family have taken up permanent residence in Amsterdam, wisely watching the madness from afar. Dane, inheriting Papa’s knack for getting difficult things done with aplomb and desiring to have the necessary paperwork to stay in Europe indefinitely, determined that Papa’s blood descendants were eligible for Czech citizenship.
On May 5, 2025, 32 years to the day after Papa departed us for the great Nordic track in the sky, Pops and I made the drive to the honorary Czech consulate in Boulder to pick up our Czech passports. Dane had already procured his in The Hague a few months back. The process was, like all bureaucracy, byzantine, but no doubt infinitely easier than fleeing our homes and seeking asylum. Now privy to the rights and privileges of European Union citizens, we have been granted the freedom to determine our path. This seemingly simple prerogative is indeed a special gift, represents that which every person seeks – to live their life as they see fit, without the burden of oppression.
When Papa stepped over the Czech border for the last time all those decades ago, the thought of his grandsons returning as citizens surely would never have crossed his mind. Such is the circular and ironic nature of this life.