"We had some kitchen tools with us, we cut a meat board, like this... And we stuffed a lot of stamps into it, and we glued the thicker board back together, restored it, sandblasted it. And there we immediately split the board, checked in, rested for a few days and decided to walk across with just our backpacks. We bought maps of fifty of the surroundings of Maribor. We were told that it was being watched and we mustn't be conspicuous with our trunks. So, backpacks only, kids backpacks too. We left everything at the hostel in Maribor. Locked or I don't know, just left it there. All our possessions. In the afternoon, we found a connection from Maribor, where the closest thing to the top of the hill was to the Austrian border, and that we would go that way. After lunch we drove up, got off, we had already found the route. It was just outside Maribor, not too far, it was just getting close to the Austrian border. We got off unobtrusively, nobody was looking at us, nobody was watching us, we were very unobtrusive. We turned right off the road after that. It was hilly, it went up into the hills into Austria, and we practically walked that afternoon on some marked path, then we scrambled up some summit path and it was getting to be evening. We were pretty tired and the border wasn't far away, but we had to give the kids a rest. Sometimes they had to be carried for a while, the little ones, but even the older ones were tired. So it was with four children, this emigration... It was getting dark. 'We have to stay somewhere.' We were looking and we were lucky that there was a place on the edge somewhere in the woods or a little bit from the village - how they made haylofts or some barns."
"Reinforcements came in and they beat us with batons - those guys - saying they were going to beat us out. It was a massacre! The children saw it, of course. Blanka and I screamed terribly, but on purpose, to warn them that something was happening. Now the people from the wagons started to gather, out on the platform, all the people were gathering there to see what was going on. Such a strange memory or impression: they had two policemen among us, beating us up, and as it was small, the policeman leaned on my legs. But he was shaking like that, what they were doing to us. It was so scared or uncomfortable, for them. They were shaking more than we were. So they didn't make it. So they took our looms and opened the window and threw all our things out. And they were counting on us coming out too. And we didn't! And because we were in the last carriage, they disconnected the last carriage, all the passengers had to change from the back carriage to the front carriage, because the train was already delayed, it had to leave Maribor."
"There were probably several reasons. It wasn't economic reasons. I say that first, because we really had - because I finished school - a huge amount of work, nice work, restoration. So we were well off, we could even buy a house, which we paid off, our debts before we emigrated, so that it wouldn't hang on anybody here, our loan. But I guess it was mainly because my husband didn't feel free to create here. He considered himself a sculptor, but he was amazingly skilled in all crafts, so the main reason was actually my husband's dissatisfaction, unfulfillment. And on top of that, the other family, that was his best friend from high school - also with his family - decided that they would emigrate too. So it was a kind of mutual support of the two families. We with two children, and the other family, even with three children."
Markéta Krouzová, born Kloužková, was born on 29 January 1952 into a family with a strong artistic talent that goes back several generations. She graduated from secondary art school and after graduation went on to the Academy of Fine Arts, majoring in restoration. She and her husband Jaroslav, who also came from an artistically gifted family but repeatedly failed to get into the Academy, decided to emigrate in 1984. After a highly dramatic escape through Yugoslavia, they - and their two young children - managed to reach the United States. They set up an art studio near San Fancisco, in Oakland, and worked successfully restoring altars, murals, frames and smaller objects. They did not need to present diplomas and examples of work from Czechoslovakia, just contacts and a reputation for quality work that accompanied them. Another son was born in California to two children. They monitored events at home, responding artistically and by engaging in the public space regarding the events of 1989. They had not lost touch with Czechoslovakia and it was only a matter of time before they returned. In 1993 they went back, as the political reasons for emigration had passed. They settled in a village near Trutnov, and continued to restore mainly the surrounding churches. They decided to foster their daughter, who today (2024) also works successfully in the studio. Although Markéta Krouzová is now retired, she continues to restore and often works with her eldest son, also a restorer.
Hrdinové 20. století odcházejí. Nesmíme zapomenout. Dokumentujeme a vyprávíme jejich příběhy. Záleží vám na odkazu minulých generací, na občanských postojích, demokracii a vzdělávání? Pomozte nám!
