In the past, many Czech Texans were treated in a disparate manner. Because of this, a significant number of their children did not learn their heritage language and lost a strong connection to their ethnic roots. I am one of those children. I have come to view the thorough Americanization of the Texas Czechs during the 1900‘s as a two-edged sword. It is the divergent experiences of my father and of myself on which I base my premise.

It is a quest of mine now to learn to read, write, and, hopefully, speak Czech. Once, when I was learning to correctly pronounce a word in Czech by repeating it aloud, my father asked, “Isn‘t English good enough for you?“ The polarity of our positions results from our life experiences. I knew this and I did not push him to help me learn the language. My Dad was one of those treated in a disparate and unkind manner as he grew up. And, I am now as an adult seeking out my ethnic identity because, in our family, the Czech traditions had faded almost to nothing by the time I was growing up.

A prime example of how my Dad and I differently dealt with being Czech can be seen in how we each handle inquiries about our surname: “Just how do you pronounce that name?“ This is a question that I hear frequently when people see in writing my maiden name, “Rektorik.” My Dad always told people that it is “rek” as in car wreck and “trick” as in a trick of cards…“Rek-trick!” I, on the other hand, have taken to explaining how to pronounce the Americanized as well as the Czech version. (Actually, I have to admit that it is my best attempt at the Czech pronunciation. I still have a great deal of difficulty creating the correct combination of sounds for the “ř.” I have practiced long and hard but I still am not pleased with the result when I try to combine the sounds of “ž” (as in measure) and a rolled “r.”)

Usually, I just receive a nod of acceptance from the other party; however, recently , I received two responses that were unexpected. And, most surprisingly to me, both responses were almost exactly the same. I gave my Czech pronunciation and the reply was, “That sounds so much better [than the Americanized pronunciation]!

Both of these responses came from middle-aged men of a Hispanic background. In one case, a rather thought-provoking conversation followed. The gentleman making the comment was a physician by profession. When I explained to him that my family had Americanized the surname due, in part, to the disparate treatment of the Czechs in Texas, he expressed surprise and commented that he thought only the settlers from Mexico were treated as “outsiders.“ When I explained that my Dad attended a rural school built specifically for the children of Czech and Mexican settlers, he again expressed surprise. At this point, the physician turned to my Dad and commented, “So you too know how it is to be on the outside!“

“Yes, but look at me,” I butted in. “I have lost my heritage language and much of my ethnic culture.” “This is true,“ replied the Doctor, “But, you COULD be absorbed into the general population. Many others are not because their skin is a different color.” “But,” I responded, “You still have your heritage language and a strong ethnic background.” “Yes,“ came the response, “But I will never be truly accepted into the general population.“ The conversation stopped here. Once again, the sword of ethnic identity cut deep those on both sides of the issue.

So, it seems most prudent to acknowledge the rationale of those who opted for fully adopting English and the American lifestyle. At the same time, I will continue to seek out my ethic heritage and revitalize it as much as I can. It is always a voyage of discovery!

At this point, I want to share accounts of some of the times and events, which must have greatly influenced my Dad. In 1907, this area of Nueces County was opened for development when a railroad line was laid from Corpus Christi to Laredo. The deep, black clay soil of the coastal prairie was praised as being so rich that fertilizer would never be need. It was also frequently called a land of milk and honey. By this time, the original homesteads of many farmers in other parts of Texas were over-farmed and becoming less and less productive. And, even though the Czechs were well know for their land management skills, their farms too were becoming less productive.

Also, as families grew, more land was needed for the sons who were now grown and ready to start their own families. The rich, relatively inexpensive farmland of Nueces County brought Czech settlers from many counties including Fayette, Lavaca, and Williamson Counties. The Germans settled to the west of the railroad while the Czechs settled to the east.

Frank and Marie Matous Rektorik had immigrated to Texas in 1886 and settled near Moravia, in Fayette County, Texas. Their children spoke Czech. As adults, the two eldest sons, John (Jan) and Louis (Alois) Rektorik, moved to Nueces County, Texas, to establish their own farms: adjoining acreage was purchased, houses built, and land cleared. One day, a few years after they came to Nueces County, John and Louis went by wagon into Robstown, the nearest town. The year was around 1910 and there in town they were confronted by a man of Anglo background who was drunk and carrying a rifle. He was with a friend and, to this friend, he said “These guys are Czechs. I’ve never shot one of them before!“ It seems very likely that it was the strong intervention by the man‘ s friend, which kept John and/or Louis from being shot. John was an Uncle to my Dad and Louis was the father of my Dad. This is a family story, which should not be forgotten!

Despite the adversity faced, John, Louis, and many other Texas Czech farmers were succeeding. There was interaction with the townspeople but a separate ethnic community was also coming into existence. As the Texas Czech farming community grew, there came a need for a school to educate the children. A local widower donated one acre of land at a far corner of his property for the school site. Initially, the school was a single room. It was called “Ward One.“ (There was another “Ward” school on the other side of the railroad for the Texas German community.) At Ward One, there was an outhouse for the girls and the teacher. The boys, I am told, headed off to the brush when ever necessary. Even here, at this school created for Czech and Mexican children, English was the only language permitted

My Dad recalled many times when he and his friends would be outside playing on the school yard and conversing in Czech when a girl would overhear them and shout out, “Teacher, teacher, the boys are speaking Bohemian again! “ At this point in the story, my Dad paused and explained that the yard around the schoolhouse was mostly barren, packed soil with weeds growing up in the less-used areas. He then explained that a common punishment meted out by the teacher was to have a student stay after school and pull weeds. He then adds that he spent many an afternoon pulling weeds!

My grandparents, Louis and Johanna (Jennie) Rektorik strongly supported community efforts such as the school; and, for years, the schoolteachers boarded with them. In the early days, their house consisted of four rooms: A kitchen, a parlor, and two bedrooms. The entire family slept in one bedroom and the school-teacher had the other room. My grandmother cooked for the teachers and also did their laundry. The young women teachers had to provide their own transportation to and from the school and one apparently created a stir in the community when she galloped her horse to school each day.

The local children also had to provide their own transportation to school. Some walked while other rode. My Dad and his two brothers rode a large horse named “Jim” to school each day. Frank, the eldest, sat at the front of the saddle with Edward, the middle brother, behind him but still on the saddle. My Dad, Julius, sat behind the saddle and had to hold on tightly to stay on.

Once, the three brothers were challenged to a horse race after school. A course was agreed upon and the race ensured. The three boys were winning until Jim, who had been standing all day tied out in the schoolyard, decided to take the usual route home. Instead of continuing on straight as the boys intended, Jim suddenly veered onto the road home. This sent the boys flying through the air in one direction as Jim galloped on alone.

By high school age, the Rektorik boys spoke English very well and attended school in town with the rest of the community. My Dad went on to attend Texas A & M University and graduate with a degree in Vocational Agriculture. He taught school in Robstown for forty-four years and helped many a young man establish a career. His brothers were successful farmers and stalwart members of the community. But the disparate treatment, at some level, continued for years. It was only last week that I learned of another situation in which my Dad was involved. I was visiting with a friend who had attended Robstown High School in the 1940‘s . Votes were taken for class favorites, most likely to succeed, etc.

My friend told me that my Dad, who was then a teacher, came to him and spoke confidentially. My Dad explained to my friend that he had received the most votes for one of the honorary titles; however, he was not the one chosen...because he was Czech!

So, as sad as I am because many Texas Czech traditions were not practiced in my home as I grew up, I now more fully understand why my parents chose to raise us that way. At the same time, I am glad that I am alive at a point in time where I can still seek out those who know and practice the traditions and incorporate those found traditions into not only my life but the lives of my children and our extended family.

Kdo chce s vlky býti, musí vlky výti!--If you run with the wolves, then you must howl with the wolves! Remember who your people are, keep and tell their stories to keep the fires of the culture alive

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