Miloš Kot

* 1945

  • "It was my most joyful job because they were testing what I could stand. And it was so that when I was sitting, because you're sitting really a metre away from them, I would always show them that it was 10 minutes to go, 5 minutes, 4, 3, 2, to end it because it was 15, give or take. So they always ended it somehow. And now when they said something, they would look at me, and I would bite my hand to keep from laughing. And they kept adding more and more. And now imagine that they did such things that, for example, Pát'a and Jirka Hýl were somewhere in a wine bar and they came in a drunken state and they couldn't hit the keys and the keys fell on the floor. Now they were in the house, they were walking up the stairs and now the keys were falling. And they were falling down the first floor. So they had to come down from the first floor. He looked at me, he did this. From the second floor they fell again. They went up to the third floor and they dropped them again. They were on the fourth floor, they didn't take the elevator. So they went up four floors and they dropped their keys from each floor and I had to do everything, the sounds, the effects. I had help from my wife, who took my men's shoes, and we went in the house at two o'clock at night. We did the steps up the stairs to this playback that I had in my ear so I knew when to stop and how long to make it. And we were just doing it on purpose."

  • “It was all recorded using a simple tape recorder. Basically, they said, ‘Look, Armstrong and Fitzgerald were here recently. We have recordings of their concerts, so let’s create a story that Armstrong stopped by the U Pavouka wine bar.’ So, we picked the music and got hold of some Armstrong interview footage from television. We used only the audio, and Šebánek would ask him questions while an attendant occasionally ‘translated,’ pretending he knew English. He had it written down and had no idea what he was actually saying. That was the charm of it. Once these interviews were recorded, we added applause and other sound effects to make it come alive. We stretched it into at least an hour-long show, making it seem like Armstrong was chatting in the U Pavouka wine bar, sharing stories from TV, with songs playing in between. The same thing was done with Fitzgerald. It was put together so convincingly that people genuinely wanted to know where the place was so they could go there themselves.”

  • "We had a Russian to Czech translator on the radio, and the TV station had a woman, we had a man. And it was interesting, suddenly my microphone went off. So I immediately went to the TV, and there was a pause, and I put in the translator from the TV, and suddenly the lady was talking, translating, and everything else went on. Behind me at that time was Květoslav Fajk, a comrade who was the director of the programme at that time. He was the former editor-in-chief of Rudé právo and later moved to radio as a political reinforcement. He was in charge and he understood a little bit. There were very few of those comrades who knew enough about radio. And he stood behind me and started yelling, 'What's the mess here?' I was looking around, I said the place was tidy, the cleaners had cleaned up before we came. And he said, don't make a fool of him, I see a woman talking - and we have a man in the studio, how is that possible. I said, "Well, you see, the microphone in the studio stopped working, as you can see, but the guys are fixing it, and it’ll be fine in a moment. So, I handled it in a way that no one noticed. I waited for a pause in the TV broadcast, put a lady on, and she translated instead." And he said, "How come I didn’t hear that?" I replied, "Well, that’s the point. If you, as an expert, didn’t hear it, then neither could the audience. Because if you, who know how this works, didn’t notice, people who don’t know won’t realize whether the gentleman switched with the lady. It doesn’t matter." I didn’t want to tell him that nobody was listening. That was unspeakable. Then he asked, "And that went out live like that?" I answered, "Yes, it did." He left, came back with a slip of paper, and said, "Stop by the cashier later." Back then, it was 500 crowns, tax-free, and I was earning 720 a month, which was quite a decent amount. That was my first reward for a live broadcast. Probably also the last.

  • Celé nahrávky
  • 1

    Praha, 17.10.2024

    (audio)
    délka: 01:54:25
    nahrávka pořízena v rámci projektu Stories of the 20th Century TV
Celé nahrávky jsou k dispozici pouze pro přihlášené uživatele.

In August 1968, I was helping out in the army radio office

Miloš Kot at the military service, 1 May 1966
Miloš Kot at the military service, 1 May 1966
zdroj: Archive of the witness

Miloš Kot was born on 8 June 1945 in Prague into a family of tailors. His parents had a tailor‘s shop in Libeň, but the communists closed it after the February coup. Miloš Kot got into the Industrial School of Connection Technology after the appeal. After graduating in 1964, he joined Czechoslovak Radio as a recording technician. He worked on live broadcasts and classical music recordings, and got to work on the legendary Vinárna U Pavouka programme. In August 1968, he worked on the occupation broadcast from the army editorial office. After the occupation, he passed the background checks and remained working in radio. In the 1970s he became a sound engineer and participated in the recording of spoken word. He also worked on live broadcasts of the Spartakiads. After 1989, he worked on the radio series The Tlučhořovi. Instead of enjoying his well-deserved retirement, he records audiobooks. In 2024 he was living in Prague.