John was the last of the original Kratina family who were BEST FRIENDS with Grandma & Grandpa Smatla & our WHOLE family. They’d known each other in “the old country’, and were absolutely splendid folks. [did you know that the elder Mr. Kratina had driven an ambulance in WW-1?] Ha! I remember how Mrs. Kratina had the LOUDEST laugh on the planet, and was one of the VERY FEW people who could get Grandma to laugh out loud! John was the LAST of the Czechs near Rossville with whom I could speak in the native tongue… not because there aren’t a few left who can ALSO speak it, but the particular variety (dialect if you will) that I’d learned as a little kid isn’t that common.. being oriented with when our forbearers came OVER here to the USA… i.e. pre WW-1. As I’ve learned in the past few years, it’s the “Old Czech” and only used by the “older” folk… mostly over here. John was warm and friendly, like his parents, LOVED a good laugh, and a wealth of history and stories about the old AND new days. Being with him in his house, sipping a cup of coffee… well, it was almost like being at the farm again. Telling farm & military stories to each other, the hours would easily slip away.
The last time I saw him was over Memorial Day last year.. he and his wife were at a large assisted-living/nursing center in Topeka and they were quite surprised that I’d make the effort to find them… I sat with them while they had their lunch, and remember John saying “no flavor… guess we need some sauerkraut!” I’d actually promised to bring one of the few remaining jars that Mom had made, that I still had… so he could have some REAL stuff… owing to the virus’s effects on our social community and travel.. I never got to do that.
I’m filled with sorrow at his passing… not just because he was a friend for MANY years, but because he represented a last-remaining thread of connection to those hallowed times of yesteryear we can all remember. I’ll find it SO very hard to pass by his place on 86th. Street (remember when the roads DIDN’T HAVE NUMBERS OR NAMES?), just up the hill, East of the Bohemian Hall without stopping or honking as I always did. His not being present atop the hilltop Czech cemetery for our Memorial Day gatherings will leave a very large hole. …and oh, in years back, how I remember him coming into “the yard” on the farm on Docking Road in that beautiful dark-green, perfectly preserved 1940 Ford he used to drive. It was absolutely original with NO modifications whatsoever, and he was so very proud of it… gosh, how I would have loved to have taken a ride in it.
How tough to see pieces of our history fade away… To realize that those familiar faces that surrounded my existence for all these years, will no longer smile when they see me, and hear me speak my “fractured Czech”, owing from not hearing it much, anymore. The grasses on the fields surrounding the cemetery will still resemble an ocean when winds blow across them, just as it was when I was a boy – plowing through them in Willard, with one of the dogs (Teddy & Bert).. back by the fence at the top of the cemetery, the big tree’s leaves will still make those comfortable rustling sounds and provide bountiful shade.. the far-off drone of train whistles will still float up, and the voices that live in our memories will be the only ones to remind us of simple times and warm people… who graced us with their love and friendship.
Dobro Notz, Kluku… Tom Daily
John Kratina, Tom Dailey, Don Dailey, Tom Smatla – approx. 1952
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