I grew up just a short distance north of Spillville, Iowa. Even in those days, the town was very Czech. In Dvorak's time, it was as Czech as San Francisco's China Town was Chinese. In Dvorak's day, the brewer delivered a bucket of beer to your front door every morning, as was custom in the old country. (Somebody start that business in Sunnyvale :)
Spillville and Protivin were so Czech even when I was in school that I had bilingual classmates, because their grandparents spoke mostly Czech, still. And I can tell you this.... when you are a substitute teacher for a 2nd-grade class where one third of the kids have vowel-challenged names, oh the misery. Before you are half-way done taking attendance you will have suffered so much derisive laughter for the mispronounced names that you will have lost control of the classroom for the rest of the day.
Anyway, Dvorak felt very much at home in Spillville. During his day, Czech was the language of main street and the neighborhood.
> Spillville and Protivin were so Czech even when I was in school that I had bilingual classmates, because their grandparents spoke mostly Czech, still.
My grandparents were from southeastern Iowa, and I understand that their town was mainly German-speaking. It was pretty established, too: they grew up speaking it as third-generation Americans.
It stopped with their generation though, their town was harassed quite a bit during WWI, and that pushed people to assimilate.
It really interesting how much linguistic diversity America had that's only gone extinct within living memory.
I have heard similar stories from other ethnic Czechs (they have obviously intermarried in the generations since) from Iowa. As mid-western cultures go, some people from Norwegian communities in North Dakota still speak archaic Norwegian. To a lesser extent (probably more melting-pot effect?), Swedes in Minnesota and Germans in Wisconsin.
I never thought I would see something about my hometown of 300 people in rural Iowa on Hackernews. There are several Dvořák murals in town as well as a museum for handmade grandfather clocks made by the Bily brothers. One of their descendants was my bus driver growing up and my grandfather grew up speaking Czech and English in the home. Kolaches are also a town staple and there are many fundraisers for Schools/Churches that include baking obscene amounts of them.
My dad and his cousin got their deer processed at the Spillville Locker a couple times. Went to see the Bily clocks one time with my grandma. Good times. Small world.
Also, I had some friends from Cedar Rapids who made Kolaches. I never knew how to spell the word. I’m guessing it’s a Czech thing given how many Czech people are in CR.
Proper Czech spelling is "Koláč" and it is universal word for round type of pastry with some filling in it. There are hundreds of variants depending on area and even familly.
I was introduced to Dvorak and the New World Symphony through the anime Shin Sekai Yori (From the New World).
My favorite part of the New World Symphony is the largo, and found some of the background in this article interesting.
> Dvořák was also moved by the tale of Hiawatha, a founder of the Iroquois Confederacy. The largo is, in part, meant to describe the end of Hiawatha’s life. The old chief, weary from a life of labor, loss, and ardent service to his people, sits on the shores of the Great Sea Water and faces his own final homegoing.
Don't get me wrong. I highly appreciate the article and am glad for it. The fact is I'm from Czech Republic and I was pretty sceptical Antonín Dvořák is actually known somewhere else in the world. It was a pleasant surprise as Novosvětská (From the New World) is a real masterpiece.
Dvorak's time in the US is not often mentioned. He spent 1892-95 in NYC as the director of the (defunct) National Conservatory of Music of America. The 'New World' was written at that time. (Victor Herbert also taught there.)
Reading this brought me to tears. Tears of nostalgia.
nostalgia, sad and hopeful all at once, when the familiar and the alien mingle, as when we revisit the childhood streets where our friends are no more, or when we return all alone to the site of some joyful memory.
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Spillville and Protivin were so Czech even when I was in school that I had bilingual classmates, because their grandparents spoke mostly Czech, still. And I can tell you this.... when you are a substitute teacher for a 2nd-grade class where one third of the kids have vowel-challenged names, oh the misery. Before you are half-way done taking attendance you will have suffered so much derisive laughter for the mispronounced names that you will have lost control of the classroom for the rest of the day.
Anyway, Dvorak felt very much at home in Spillville. During his day, Czech was the language of main street and the neighborhood.
My grandparents were from southeastern Iowa, and I understand that their town was mainly German-speaking. It was pretty established, too: they grew up speaking it as third-generation Americans.
It stopped with their generation though, their town was harassed quite a bit during WWI, and that pushed people to assimilate.
It really interesting how much linguistic diversity America had that's only gone extinct within living memory.
Also, I had some friends from Cedar Rapids who made Kolaches. I never knew how to spell the word. I’m guessing it’s a Czech thing given how many Czech people are in CR.
My favorite part of the New World Symphony is the largo, and found some of the background in this article interesting.
> Dvořák was also moved by the tale of Hiawatha, a founder of the Iroquois Confederacy. The largo is, in part, meant to describe the end of Hiawatha’s life. The old chief, weary from a life of labor, loss, and ardent service to his people, sits on the shores of the Great Sea Water and faces his own final homegoing.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National%20Conservatory%20of%20...
Here are a couple more quality articles:
Timeline: https://www.dvoraknyc.org/dvorak-in-america
More details on US travels: https://www.americanheritage.com/dvorak-america
nostalgia, sad and hopeful all at once, when the familiar and the alien mingle, as when we revisit the childhood streets where our friends are no more, or when we return all alone to the site of some joyful memory.