Joe's Castle--A Travel, Personal Essay, and Bio Kind of Story

Zbraslav Castle

Today, I am going to give you an example of how you can turn a travel article into a personal essay and a bit of bio of a particular person. All that in one piece of writing? Yes. The story below has been published numerous times. The travel part is because we took a trip with a group of friends. It was a personal essay because it tells of a special time for me and all the reasons why that was so. The bio part comes in the telling of bits and pieces of the life of a Baron from Czechoslovakia (now the Czech Republic). I could have written a piece about "My Trip to Prague" or a piece telling what I learned as I traveled to a friend's old home. Or, I could have written a story all about the Baron (which I did another time) By combining all three, I raised the interest level for readers, which is probably why it has been a popular piece. 

This is the story and a few more photos. 

Dinner in a restaurant in Zbraslav (Ken and me at far left)

Joe’s Castle By Nancy Julien Kopp As soon as the iron gates came into view, the conversation in our rented van ceased. All six of us leaned forward for a better view while we drove slowly onto the park-like grounds of Zbraslav Castle. Huge trees stood guard over various sculptures on either side of the lane we traversed. “There it is,” Joe told us. It was Joe’s boyhood home, a home that had been occupied by enemy soldiers during World War II, then taken over by the communists, a home that Joe had fled over fifty years earlier. Joe is the Baron Joseph Barton-Dobenin, the oldest of three sons who were raised in a thirteenth-century castle that sits in all its majesty a few miles outside of Prague in what is now the Czech Republic. We pulled up in front of the colorful castle and scrambled out of the van while Joe spoke to the guard on duty. Our visit here started in jest at one of our Dinner/Bridge sessions. Joe’s wife, Elizabeth, had said, “You know what? We should all go over to Prague and play bridge in the castle.” Six of us nodded and laughed and agreed that we should do that. Sometime. Little did we know that Joe and Elizabeth were serious, and the next time we were together, plans for our trip began to gel. Between January and May, we made air and hotel reservations, rented a van, and prepared for a week’s stay in Prague, a city justifiably known as The Jewel of Europe. We’d heard a great deal about the castle ever since it had been returned to Joe’s family when the communist government fell during The Velvet Revolution. Now, we were to see it. What had been mere words would soon be mental pictures to file in our memories and see again and again once home in Kansas. When the communists seized the castle a few years after World War II, they turned it into a museum. Consequently, everything in it was left exactly as it had been, and the entire building was well maintained. People flocked to tour the castle, to exclaim over the masters’ paintings, the porcelain, the sculptures and antiques throughout. Today, one end is a national art gallery. Joe’s niece and her children occupy the lower floor of the remainder of the castle, and Joe has kept the upper floor private. It continues to be furnished exactly as it was in his childhood. His mother’s portrait still graces a wall in a salon. I gazed at the portrait for a long time. Painted in the years just prior to World War I, the woman looks regal and feminine in a froth of a dress, but her strength of character comes through as well. When Joe was only fifteen, his father died, and his mother became head of the family. Hitler had come to power, and before long, Czechoslovakia proved to be one more prize in his collection of European countries. What stories this woman might tell were she alive today. During the war, German officers lived in the castle at Zbraslav with the Barton-Dobenin family. Joe inherited his father’s title, but he and his brothers were sent to work in the fields with other Czechs. Joe tells a wonderful story about the surrender of those same German soldiers. When the end of the war was imminent, two American lieutenants drove a jeep, with a white towel on its antenna, up the castle road. They asked to see the officer in charge, then informed the German they were authorized to take him and his men prisoners. The Germans agreed but asked for time to get ready. While they talked outside in a courtyard, Joes’ mother joined them, carrying a large, oversized book in her hands. “Gentlemen,” she said, “would you sign my guest book?” The two Americans readily agreed, and each man signed his name. One of them wrote that he hoped they might visit again under better circumstances. Later that day, the two Americans in their jeep led several thousand German enlisted men and officers, who camped on the castle ground, on foot to the American lines. Why had it been so easy? The Germans chose to surrender to the Americans rather than to the Russians who were close behind. We wandered from room to room admiring the murals that graced the ceilings and the oriental rugs that rested on the floor. White porcelain stoves in the corner of many of the rooms provided heat on cold winter days. Large windows in every room afforded views of a winding river and dense forest that surrounded the castle and courtyard. I lingered at one such window admiring the view. Long before this, Joe and his little brothers must have done the same. Zbraslav Castle boasts two large dining rooms for entertaining. Eighteen guests can dine at one table, while the other seats even more. Each table stretched longer than any we’d ever seen. Long white linens covered the top, and stately chairs were lined up on either side. I tried to imagine the table adorned with china, crystal, and silver, the chairs occupied by invited guests, and animated conversation and laughter filling the room. A dinner party in the castle was easy to picture. After our wonderful tour of Joes’ castle, we got down to the business we’d come for—playing Bridge. Joe took us to the rooms he’d been given when he turned eighteen. To mark his entry into an adult world, his mother had a lovely bed/sitting room and bath redone for him. The tall windows looked down on a small courtyard and the verdant forest beyond. We toasted our hosts, with a small glass of Becherovka, a local liqueur that slid easily across the tongue. The cards were dealt, and laughter and conversation rang in the castle once more. Another memory had been etched into our lives because of our friend Joe, his warm heart, and his beautiful castle.  Joe pointing out the beautiful ceiling to our friend, Jack Readers of this story asked for more about Joe's life, so I wrote a piece called "A True Fairy Tale" which was posted here quite a few years ago. If you would like to read more about Joe's life as a Baron, then a refugee, then a professor and once more a Baron, go here.                 Joe and his wife, Elizabeth (below) have both passed away but live on in the hearts of many for their kindness and generosity to those in the Czech Republic and at both Kansas State University and the University of Nebraska.

A Tribute to A Fine Man

The castle in Zbraslav where Joe grew up

Joe at the end of the table in Zbrslav, Czech Republic--Ken and I on left end of table

Joe pointing out a ceiling mural in the castle to a friend

We received word that a fine man passed away this morning. Joseph Barton-Dobenin was 94. His life is like a fairy tale. I am reprinting a story I wrote several years ago about his life and the good he has done on this earth. My tribute to the Baron who was known to us as "our friend Joe."

A True Fairy Tale By Nancy Julien Kopp Children have been enchanted by fairy tales penned by the Grimm brothers and Hans Christian Andersen for centuries. Aristocrats and castles, trolls and witches fill the pages eagerly turned by little hands. Good versus evil is often the theme, and suspense captures the reader’s attention. But can such stories really happen? Yes they can, for I am acquainted with a man who starred in a real-life fairy tale. I know him as my friend, Joe. He retired after a long career as a professor in the college of Business at Kansas State University where all knew him as Joseph Barton-Dobenin, American citizen. But once upon a time, he was the Baron Joseph Barton-Dobenin of Zbraslav, Czechoslovakia. Joe was the eldest of three sons. The three boys grew up in a castle surrounded by lush, park-like grounds. Their family owned a brewery that stood within sight of their home, as well as a great deal of property in and around Prague. Rumbles of possible war in Europe cast a shadow over Joe’s high school years. When his father died, Joe inherited the title of Baron, and responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. With his mother’s guiding hand, he carried on in his father’s place. Before he could enter university, Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia, and German officers moved into the castle. The family worked in the fields each day along with the people of their village. Life was hard, but they managed to survive until the end of the war. Then, at war’s end, Czechoslovakia ended up in the hands of Russia. With no choice, the people now lived under Communist rule. A baron could be no part of the communist life, so Joe landed in prison. One of his brothers was sent to work in a uranium mine, and Joe’s mother and youngest brother moved to a tiny apartment in Prague when the castle was seized and turned into a national museum. The real estate and businesses the family owned were confiscated, too. They’d endured and survived the grim war years, but this proved even more forbidding. Hope disappeared like smoke from a chimney. The Russians finally released Joe. He’d had plenty of time in prison to consider his options in this new world. He decided to leave his homeland and find a way to bring the family together again in a free country. His mother sewed the jewels she’d managed to save into his coat, and an escape plan emerged from long nights of talking. To this day, many of the details remain a secret. Joe hid in the men’s’ restroom at the big train station, away from the Russian soldiers who marched the halls. Despite a few frightening moments, the escape plan worked, and Joe made his way to France and then to Tunisia, where he toiled in the fields. He’d had plenty of agricultural experience during the war in his own fields. A year later, his days were monotonous, and the future looked bleak. One night he thought about an American banker who had visited the castle in pre-war days. When the visitor left, he clapped Joe on the shoulder and said to look him up if he ever came to America. More and more Joe thought about the banker’s words, until he knew he must set sail for the United States. He’d saved enough money for his passage to New York. Though he spoke several languages, he knew no English, but that did not deter him. His mother and brothers still lived in a communist controlled land, and his aim was to get them out, too. He arrived in New York, a stranger in a land where he could not understand a word spoken to him. Was it luck or an angel who put him in the path of a woman who spoke German, a language he spoke fluently? She helped Joe make a phone call to the American banker he’d met years earlier. No doubt surprised to hear from Joe, the man instructed him to have the woman help him buy a train ticket to Nebraska. The man operated properties taken over by his bank, and he put Joe to work managing these repossessed farms. It wasn’t long before Joe knew he would not earn enough to bring his family to America. A college education would help. He qualified as a displaced person so was able to enter the University of Nebraska at no cost. He earned both his undergraduate and master’s degrees in business, and he married a girl from Nebraska. He started teaching in the Business Education department at Kansas State University, returned to Nebraska for his doctor’s degree and spent the remainder of his career at Kansas State. During the many education years, he received word that his mother had passed away. He dared not return to his homeland for fear of being imprisoned again. How his heart ached at not being able to say good-bye to his strong and beautiful mother. He thought often of her portrait which adorned a wall in one of the dining rooms in the castle. Joe told his wife, Elizabeth, that he would never return to Czechoslovakia until it was free again. By the time the Communist rule came to an end, Joe’s brothers and their families had immigrated to the United States, too, and Joe had retired. He and Elizabeth made plans to visit his home country. He’d related stories for so long about the castle and all the precious things in it, his family, and friends in his home village of Zbraslav. Now he would show it to her. When they arrived in Prague, Joe’s heart nearly broke upon seeing the deterioration of the beautiful city he’d once known. Neglect was evident in the once-magnificent buildings, and the people walked with heads down, no smiles upon their faces. Pride had somehow been destroyed. What would he find when they visited the castle? He and Elizabeth secured transportation to the small village where he’d once lived so happily. The castle remained a museum for the forty-some years of Joe’s absence. When he climbed the steps and entered his old home, his heart beat faster, and he was both fearful and eager to see what it looked like inside. Nothing had changed. Every piece of furniture, every rug, every piece of porcelain remained. When he walked into the dining room, his feet could carry him no further. He faced his mother’s portrait, painted in the days when she ruled as Baroness. The tears he had not been able to shed at her funeral came in earnest as he gazed at the young woman wearing a froth of a dress. Joe introduced his American wife to several old family friends. He learned that many of valuable paintings the family had left with friends remained hidden by the villagers. Not all of them, however. Some were sold to keep families alive and others remained stashed in attics. Joe discovered that the new government returned confiscated properties if ownership could be proven. Never dreaming he would have any of the family property again, he began the legal process to see if he might get some of the holdings back. As if by magic, he became the owner of a castle and real estate in downtown Prague. But he had no intention of moving back to the Czech Republic. He had given up being the Baron long before. He was an American now. He knew he must return to his homeland to oversee the many business details, and so their retirement years slipped into a new routine. Four times a year Joe and Elizabeth journeyed to the Czech Republic for three weeks at a time, and the rest of the year they spent in America. But now Joe had a problem. What was he to do with the profits from these newfound businesses? He devised a plan which would help the youth in the Czech Republic and to also benefit the American university where he’d taught so many years. He started a scholarship program for Czech students to come to Kansas State University for one or two semesters. And come they did. After the first group completed their time, word spread around Prague like wildfire. Students at Czech Tech and Charles University learned that not only could you spend a wonderful year at an American university, but the man and his wife who made it possible also invited you to their home for dinner, became your American family. More students came each year, and now some of the Kansas State students have gone to Prague in a reverse exchange. Joe tells the young Czechs that they are the future of their country. “Study hard,” he says to each new group. “Go home and help the Czech Republic.” And they listen to this man who lost so much and then regained it almost fifty years later. Fairy tales often end “…and they lived happily ever after.” I think Joe would agree that is the way his story ended, too.

I Saw A Story Last Night

I saw a story last night. Yes, that's right. I didn't see a movie, I saw a story.

I've been on a committee to plan and raise funds for a flag plaza for my town's Partner City in the Czech Republic. Last night, all the planning and hard work a dedicated group had done came to fruition. We had a dedication ceremony at the plaza in the city park followed by a reception in a large indoor pavilion in the city park. It would link Manhattan, Kansas and Dobrichovice in the Czech Republic forever.

A five piece band from the Czech Republic had traveled across the Atlantic to be here for the frestivitiies along with a former mayor of our Partner City, his wife and two university students. The band played throughout the reception while people ate Czech foods, drank Czech beer, and American coffee and tea, and visited the display tables we'd set up. Several people on the committee have been to Prague and other parts of the Czech Republic. They brought a variety of items from their travels which we set out for people to enjoy.

I happened to be at one of the tables partway through the evening, and that's when I saw a story. A small, older woman was bent over a book. She studied a two page photo of Prague, and her finger traced the buildings. A younger woman leaned close. I took them to be mother and daughter. The younger one said, "She is from there."

I watched as the older woman slowly and carefully traced the many buildings in the photo, and I heard her whisper, "Yes, it is here." The corners of her eyes gleamed with a few tears, as she continued to gaze at the picture. Then, she straightened up and smiled at me. "Thank you," she said so softly I had to lean close to hear her.

The two women went back to watch a few people doiong the polka to the lively music the band played.

I wished I might spend time with the woman to learn her story, for I felt sure she had one to tell. But it appeared she kept her story locked deep inside. Perhaps even the younger woman had never heard her full story. Had she been there during WWII, I wondered. Did she witness the Russian takeover after the war? Had she fled then? Or had she come to America even earlier than that?

I'll never know her story, but I do know that the picture in the book brought many memories back for her. I had the feeling that some were good and others were not. Yes, I saw a story last night. I only wish I knew what it was.