Tweet
March 19, 2011
Czech Village in Cedar Rapids Struggles for a Comeback
By A. G. SULZBERGER
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa — When the Cedar River rose higher than ever three years ago, it swept across the neighborhood known as Czech Village with particular brutality.
When the waters receded, questions that had quietly nagged for years re-emerged with new urgency. Among them: How, if at all, can the community — long filled with the smells and sounds of Eastern Europe, from the tangy notes of homemade goulash to the percussive chatter of a consonant-heavy tongue — rebuild an eroded ethnic identity?
This city, Iowa’s second-largest, still faces significant brick and mortar obstacles as it recovers from the flood. Some residents and businesses have left. Hundreds of damaged buildings need to be fixed up or taken down. And as the region braces for another spring of high water, expensive new defenses need to be built to guard against future incursions by the river.
But this small, working-class neighborhood, known for its sometimes kitschy embrace of Old World pride, seems determined to restore a connection with a country few of its residents have visited, a language that fewer speak, and a culture that has already grown increasingly foreign.
“The village is still hanging on to its Czechness; it doesn’t want to relinquish that,” said Janet Stoffer, education director for the National Czech and Slovak Museum and Library, which opened in a new building here 15 years ago with President Bill Clinton, President Vaclav Havel of the Czech Republic and President Michal Kovac of Slovakia in attendance. “Without the Czech Village, we’d be Anywhere, U.S.A.”
Most of the storefronts lining the small commercial strip have been mucked out and reopened. The ovens at Sykora Bakery are rich with the smell of rye bread and other traditional offerings. The shelves at Czech Cottage are stocked with imported crafts, garnet jewelry and glassware. And the museum, which had about 10 percent of its collection destroyed, has reopened nearby with an exhibit about the flood, as it awaits a $25 million relocation and expansion project.
Bob Schaffer, owner of Czech Cottage, insisted that the neighborhood is coming back. “It is,” he said, as his Czech-born mother, Jitka, stood alongside him behind the counter. “But the momentum was broken.”
As the community tries to rebuild, it is also being torn down. The city, despite protests from many quarters, has continued to raze entire blocks of buildings — including many of the small, sturdy homes built by immigrants — in the surrounding neighborhood. Many homes have been demolished to make way for flood barriers; others are empty, awaiting the same fate.
“The hardcore Czechs that lived in that neighborhood, they are gone,” said Mike Ferguson, who decided against reopening his popular meat shop, where he peddled traditional offerings like liver sausage and headcheese. “Gone. They’re not coming back.”
“Without the people living in the neighborhood,” he continued, “there is no Czech Village.”
Czech immigrants first came to Cedar Rapids in the mid-19th century, some carrying government fliers, circulated in their home country, heralding Iowa’s cheap land and abundant jobs in meatpacking and agriculture, according to Ms. Stoffer.
At one time, she said, up to a third of residents identified themselves as Czech. Many eventually settled along the western bank of the river, where some opened shops. For decades, the signs in store windows and even street signs were written in both English and Czech.
But it was not until the businesses began struggling in the 1970s that the neighborhood formally branded itself as Czech Village, in what was initially a marketing idea to attract tourists, helping the area hold on to its traditions as other Old World enclaves broke up or blended in.
Today, the area stages traditional festivals like the St. Joseph’s Day Parade this weekend. There is a Czech school that offers summer classes and a scholarship to send a high school student to the Czech Republic. The community has produced two winners of the Miss Czech Slovak US award.
Those who can trace their roots back to the old country include the Yuza family, which successfully fought to keep the 115-year-old house built by Robert Yuza’s great-grandfather from being leveled. They have watched from the porch as dozens of surrounding homes have been ripped down.
Many older residents, including some of the last Czech speakers, have moved to the suburbs or to assisted living homes. “It’s sad, it’s just really sad to see it all go,” said Josephine Yuza, Robert’s wife. “It’s just an extension of the pain of the flood.”
Those still in the neighborhood have been alarmed as the federal government has focused on flood protection on the east side of the river, home to the downtown.
Though the vast majority of the flood-damaged properties are on the west side, the buildings in Czech Village and surrounding working-class communities are not valuable enough — according to government formulas — to warrant the cost of protecting them. The city is trying to raise money to protect both sides of the river.
Driving around the neighborhood a few months ago, Mayor Ron Corbett paused to watch as a demolition crew ripped into the ceiling of a home. He pointed to the hedges, half-dead from the polluted water.
“A lot of people say the city is tearing down these houses, destroying the history here,” Mr. Corbett said. “We’re not. The flood destroyed the homes.”
At Al’s Blue Toad, a bar and restaurant in the center of the business district, Allen Zindrick, the heavyset owner, raised a shot glass and barked out a welcome to arriving patrons: “Jak se mas!”
The blank look from a customer provoked Mr. Zindrick to complain that young people do not understand the old language anymore. Then he confessed that he could not remember exactly what the expression meant either.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/us...ml?_r=1&ref=us
Czech Village in Cedar Rapids Struggles for a Comeback
By A. G. SULZBERGER
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa — When the Cedar River rose higher than ever three years ago, it swept across the neighborhood known as Czech Village with particular brutality.
When the waters receded, questions that had quietly nagged for years re-emerged with new urgency. Among them: How, if at all, can the community — long filled with the smells and sounds of Eastern Europe, from the tangy notes of homemade goulash to the percussive chatter of a consonant-heavy tongue — rebuild an eroded ethnic identity?
This city, Iowa’s second-largest, still faces significant brick and mortar obstacles as it recovers from the flood. Some residents and businesses have left. Hundreds of damaged buildings need to be fixed up or taken down. And as the region braces for another spring of high water, expensive new defenses need to be built to guard against future incursions by the river.
But this small, working-class neighborhood, known for its sometimes kitschy embrace of Old World pride, seems determined to restore a connection with a country few of its residents have visited, a language that fewer speak, and a culture that has already grown increasingly foreign.
“The village is still hanging on to its Czechness; it doesn’t want to relinquish that,” said Janet Stoffer, education director for the National Czech and Slovak Museum and Library, which opened in a new building here 15 years ago with President Bill Clinton, President Vaclav Havel of the Czech Republic and President Michal Kovac of Slovakia in attendance. “Without the Czech Village, we’d be Anywhere, U.S.A.”
Most of the storefronts lining the small commercial strip have been mucked out and reopened. The ovens at Sykora Bakery are rich with the smell of rye bread and other traditional offerings. The shelves at Czech Cottage are stocked with imported crafts, garnet jewelry and glassware. And the museum, which had about 10 percent of its collection destroyed, has reopened nearby with an exhibit about the flood, as it awaits a $25 million relocation and expansion project.
Bob Schaffer, owner of Czech Cottage, insisted that the neighborhood is coming back. “It is,” he said, as his Czech-born mother, Jitka, stood alongside him behind the counter. “But the momentum was broken.”
As the community tries to rebuild, it is also being torn down. The city, despite protests from many quarters, has continued to raze entire blocks of buildings — including many of the small, sturdy homes built by immigrants — in the surrounding neighborhood. Many homes have been demolished to make way for flood barriers; others are empty, awaiting the same fate.
“The hardcore Czechs that lived in that neighborhood, they are gone,” said Mike Ferguson, who decided against reopening his popular meat shop, where he peddled traditional offerings like liver sausage and headcheese. “Gone. They’re not coming back.”
“Without the people living in the neighborhood,” he continued, “there is no Czech Village.”
Czech immigrants first came to Cedar Rapids in the mid-19th century, some carrying government fliers, circulated in their home country, heralding Iowa’s cheap land and abundant jobs in meatpacking and agriculture, according to Ms. Stoffer.
At one time, she said, up to a third of residents identified themselves as Czech. Many eventually settled along the western bank of the river, where some opened shops. For decades, the signs in store windows and even street signs were written in both English and Czech.
But it was not until the businesses began struggling in the 1970s that the neighborhood formally branded itself as Czech Village, in what was initially a marketing idea to attract tourists, helping the area hold on to its traditions as other Old World enclaves broke up or blended in.
Today, the area stages traditional festivals like the St. Joseph’s Day Parade this weekend. There is a Czech school that offers summer classes and a scholarship to send a high school student to the Czech Republic. The community has produced two winners of the Miss Czech Slovak US award.
Those who can trace their roots back to the old country include the Yuza family, which successfully fought to keep the 115-year-old house built by Robert Yuza’s great-grandfather from being leveled. They have watched from the porch as dozens of surrounding homes have been ripped down.
Many older residents, including some of the last Czech speakers, have moved to the suburbs or to assisted living homes. “It’s sad, it’s just really sad to see it all go,” said Josephine Yuza, Robert’s wife. “It’s just an extension of the pain of the flood.”
Those still in the neighborhood have been alarmed as the federal government has focused on flood protection on the east side of the river, home to the downtown.
Though the vast majority of the flood-damaged properties are on the west side, the buildings in Czech Village and surrounding working-class communities are not valuable enough — according to government formulas — to warrant the cost of protecting them. The city is trying to raise money to protect both sides of the river.
Driving around the neighborhood a few months ago, Mayor Ron Corbett paused to watch as a demolition crew ripped into the ceiling of a home. He pointed to the hedges, half-dead from the polluted water.
“A lot of people say the city is tearing down these houses, destroying the history here,” Mr. Corbett said. “We’re not. The flood destroyed the homes.”
At Al’s Blue Toad, a bar and restaurant in the center of the business district, Allen Zindrick, the heavyset owner, raised a shot glass and barked out a welcome to arriving patrons: “Jak se mas!”
The blank look from a customer provoked Mr. Zindrick to complain that young people do not understand the old language anymore. Then he confessed that he could not remember exactly what the expression meant either.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/us...ml?_r=1&ref=us
Comment