Zdenek Renftel was one of my closest childhood friends. We had been in the same class from 1st grade through 8th grade in Prague and stayed in touch right up until I left Czechoslovakia. Zdenek had married young — he and his wife were both eighteen when their son was born, about a year before I went into the army. To avoid his own 2-year military service, he took advantage of an exemption that was available at the time: he signed up for 10 years as a coal miner in Ostrava.

After I left I stopped corresponding with everyone in Czechoslovakia, since letters from the West could create political problems for the people receiving them. Then in 1968 or early 1969 Zdenek wrote to tell me he had gone to Sweden and stayed, and that his wife and son were with him. Knowing from my own experience how hard it was to start from nothing in a Western country with a young child and no knowledge of the language, I wanted to help. I found a kind coworker at Honeywell who agreed to cosign a bank loan of $1,000 and I sent him the money.

Around 1974 Zdenek, his wife, and his son — who was about Alan’s age — came for a visit of over a month. To accommodate everyone I bought a popup tent trailer that slept 6, and all of us set out on a long road trip — Niagara Falls, down to Florida, and back. We spent 4 weeks traveling and staying at KOA campgrounds, and in general it was a good time. Until it wasn’t.

The problem developed between Zdenek’s family and Alan. Zdenek considered Alan spoiled. My car at the time was a 4-door Thunderbird with suicide doors — rear doors that were hinged at the back rather than the front. At one point Alan closed a rear door while Zdenek’s wife had a finger in it. Zdenek immediately assumed it had been done on purpose and slapped Alan across the face. Jeanne went ballistic. Zdenek’s attitude was captured by an old Czech saying — Škoda každé rány, která padne vedle — which means roughly that every blow that misses its mark is a wasted blow. That was not what Jeanne wanted to hear.

That incident poisoned the rest of the trip. We made it from Florida up to Washington, where while sightseeing we ran into Bohous — a friend both Zdenek and I had known from Prague — along with his father who was visiting from Czechoslovakia. Of all the places in the world to run into someone, it was the Washington Monument. From Washington we drove toward Boston with a stop in New York, and there Zdenek’s family announced they did not want to continue to Boston with us. They would stay in a hotel in New York. It was, honestly, a relief to everyone.

Before I left them at the hotel I asked Zdenek whether the $1,000 I had sent him back in 1968 had been helpful. He told me that actually he had not needed it — the Swedish government had covered their living expenses and he had found a good job right away — but that the money had been appreciated. He had used it to buy expensive stereo equipment. I told him it would have been nice if he had mentioned that at the time, and that I expected him to repay the loan and contribute something toward the trip expenses. He smiled.

I received a letter afterward from his wife, a kind of thank-you note. She mentioned that her son’s only good memory from the entire trip was our poodle, Sonny — who had not even come with us. We had left him at Jana’s house for her to take care of him.

I never replied to her letter. I never contacted them again, and never heard from them either.