Megaautogramiáda Vráti Ebra. A bunch of celebrities, only Pawlowska didn’t arrive. Glosa Iva Fencla
04/19/2022
Photo: Courtesy of Vráťa Ebr
Description: Drawing from an invitation by Slávek Martenko
On the last of March, I spent a few hours at the signing event in the Café of St. Ludmila on Náměstí Míru. On the one hand, I shyly handed out the signatures, on the other hand, I collected the signatures myself. But both moderately. In the first case because I am no known person, in the second case because I am not even a real autograph collector. But yeah! I also have my own memorial, as was the custom in my childhood, and after years I did not see this one and saw drawings by Věra Faltová and Miloš Nesvadba plus a color photo of young Miluška Voborníková, whose concert I did not even attend at the time: the film brought me enthusiasm parent. He was said to be great.
Um, I believe. But I was only ten and I loved the deep bass of Ladislav Vodička. You see, I still don’t have his initials. I believe that I love songs the drivers swelled until one of them asked if I wanted to ride, that he knew how hard it was to carry his body on foot, he told me how many cities he had already driven through his car, I said: Friend, I don’t know this country nothing less…)
Later, in the 1990s, and as a physically mature guy (I’m not sure about the psyche), I had the books signed at the annual Holešovice fair (this year too – June 9-12).
I like it there – and it was an opportunity back then to exchange at least a few words with one of my favorites. I first approached Ondra Neff, still in the company of his first wife, and they remember well, even too well, the unmistakable Adolf Branald.
We stood with the writer Jiří Navrátil (still underestimated in my opinion) just a short distance from the stand where – already old – Mr. Branald handed out a holiday. Jirka grabbed my bag for fun and pretended to sway aside under its weight. He may have mocked me a little, but friendly. No wonder and I didn’t take any book news at home, but various older specialties. At Branald’s it was the publication of the novel Wandering Wanderers with luxurious illustrations by Cyril Bouda. But again, it was my parents who asked Mr. Bouda to paint another illustration at the beginning of the volume. He allegedly did not think much and “cut out” a great giraffe with an impossibility tangled neck. Under it he wrote: Cyril Bouda.
From the laughter of Navratil, who was guarding my backpack for a while, I walked straight to Cyril and showed the picture of the unfortunate giraffe. “How is it unraveling?” And he signed next to him. It was fifty years apart. Unfortunately, a few years later, Adolf Branald died.
Only later did the well-known Prague bookseller Vratislav Ebr (a man with an incredibly interesting and a bit unhappy childhood) think that it could be effective if he organized an autograph session where a maximum of celebrities would meet. More precisely: also personalities who feel similarly, even if, um, have written only one book that is not even very well known.
The event worked. Another and at least one outside Prague followed. This year it took place in a café on Náměstí Míru. Ebr’s partner Hanka Nováková (sister of the recently deceased director Hanuš) asked me if I wanted to come. I could say sign my “travelogue” Inside Cameroon.
“But I’ll catch a covid there!” I said timidly.
She shrugged. The start was at three in the afternoon. It took an incredible five hours and about a hundred people promised to attend. In the end, about sixty of them arrived. My friends Pavel Vespalec (chairman of the Čapek Brothers Society), Václav Gruber and Peggy Kýrová are also with me. Pavel is also a law doctor, Vašek the doctor and Peggy the traveler. And a lover of Trabants. I’m definitely a writer myself, but otherwise just such a jerk. I’ve always been interested in too many things, but always more on the basis of theory. For some of those “logies”, I then necessarily glide on the surface. But one should not analyze oneself.
From the very beginning, the cafe was dangerously full. No one had a veil or respirator on his mouth; and when, he looked exotic.
We sat down (coincidence?) Next to Benjamin Kuras. He was already active, selling his books professionally, debating. We also tried to sell something, but it was tough. Afterwards, Ben definitely closed a nice briefcase with his parts (Twilight of the White Man had just come out in a re-edition), got up with dignity, and began discussing with Peggy. Otomar Dvořák and historian Jan Halada, for example, entered the café. Also Souček’s biographer (and mystic) Luboš Koláček. Lojza Marhoul also stood at one table – unrepeatable. “We spoke,” and I bought him the Cruel Truth About Dinosaurs. Older but good. I say: “I was interested in the fact that the Writers’ Community has branches. For example, the Center of West Bohemian Writers. No, Lojzo, but instead of the Central Bohemian branch, I read: Alois Marhoul’s Central Bohemians. How did you do it? Hats off.”
He smiled – and he can do it beautifully. It also has a hotel school. He says: “What about it, but close to the house where my wife and I have lived for years, you, Ivo, would be our Mobel Street.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. To make you understand, Marhoul is awarded the so-called Mobel Prize for literary achievements every year. He founded them himself. Why not “straight” Nobel? Or the Second Nobel Prize? Because the inventor of the laurel is called Marhoul. Not Narhoul.
He recites perfectly, even at the general meetings of the Municipality. He does not suffer from fear, he has charisma. Magic. I also quite like his communicative verses: in simplicity, they tend to be ingenious, in possible complexity clear and understandable.
A lawyer (and another traveler) Václav Žmolík sat nearby. You’d be surprised what he already wrote in books. They are, of course, based on his television shows. The munch brought his color photos with a white stripe below; he signed me in that strip for my sister. Dude in a good way. Charmer. He can smile even more beautifully than Lojza.
Honza Bauer, apparently the most prolific Czech author, also came to the café in about two and a half hours. It is a miracle and a prank of nature. I remember how his hundredth book was celebrated in moderation, and I wonder how many dozens more Honza managed to send out into the world.
The publication I, Otto Skorzeny was not signed for me personally by Otto Skorzeny (he has already died), but by its charismatic author Roman Cílek. I thought: Does Roman even know that Otto Skorzeny is an action hero in Neff’s book The Jerusalem Chainsaw Massacre? She probably doesn’t know. He writes book after book so diligently that he has no other time for anything. Heda Bartíková (she was originally supposed to come too) described to me in her time how she had done Roman a little background in a cottage somewhere in Sázava in greater honesty. He slept in the next room as she cooked.
The book When Buffalo Bill was with us was signed for me by the Čvančar brothers, and we – finally – went out on the air in threes to stand by the subway. Surprisingly, no one in the crowds of collectors inside U Ludmila showed fears of viruses, but they were threatening, and we risked that as of March 31. And not five minutes: hour after hour. The large windows there, aka the shop windows, can hardly be opened unless shattered.
And collectors? You know, they tend to be quirky. They are self-grown. I offered my book Columbo to one of them (for free) and I responded spontaneously: “I don’t read!” Tens of thousands of people. Almost no choice. Although it is clear. “I collect them all.” He smiled and didn’t want my Public Enemy either: but he took five autographs. it cannot be ruled out that they will have some value one day, but I doubt it: of course, I have given away too much.
Before the event described here, the organizers sent out invitations to an incredible 1,660 addresses, so the proud people did not die down – and the viruses may have swirled invisibly. Guaranteed not to sparkle. Doctor and writer Vašek Gruber finally got together and left first. He certainly wasn’t afraid of the covid, we were both vaccinated three times, but who knows, maybe the action disappointed him.
I would also pour it away, certainly together with Václav, but I see comedian Jarda Sypal here! Do you know him. What’s more, I also see Jaroslav Suchánek, the father of the famous actor. And that’s what my (gray-haired) commentator signs – for my girlfriend. I say:
“Remember, Mr. Suchánek, how you presented that (outgoing) song show How Do You Like It?”
Not to remember. “How do you like Jiří Schelinger?”
On the other hand, I did not approach Jiří Štědroň, it was impossible to get through the ocean of ladies. He’ll be eighty in a few days – and he still looks almost the same. I also saw him in Semafor when he was playing in the game with Jiří Suchý, however, the older ladies remind him all around that he did play in Cinderella “with Evička Hrušková and Honza Tříska”. Eva Hrušková and Jan Přeučil were supposed to come, but they probably changed their minds in the end; I don’t know. Instead, I went for Jirka Krampol’s dedication, when he was already abandoned, and at the same time a second front was forming. Ursula Klukova? I was more fascinated by Ivanka Devátá. The whole time she sat at the table in a famous hat, hunched over her eyes. And she didn’t take it off. Specific lady, actress, author of many books. And Jiří Petrášek? Son of Jan Werich, nothing more, nothing less. It was as if he had fallen out of his sight. Terribly nice, friendly, nice guy. Apparently intelligent. Only very remotely, but it reminded me of (once popular with) Milan Chladil.
After all, I fled two hours before the end: my classmate from the gym, Luboš Morávek, took me by car. Peggy lasted the three of us the longest and met, for example, Martin Petiška. Otherwise, however, it is quite possible that some will have a poster written to entice Ebra to people, after which he will not show up, which was already half the intention in advance. But I don’t want to hurt anyone and I’m probably wrong. In any case, De Niro came and sat down for about an hour, if I’m not kidding.
However, (advised) Jiří Lábus and Halina Pawlowská, Jiří Žáček or Ivo Šmoldas did not come. Unless they emerged completely in the finals. Well, perhaps Ondřej Kepka was sitting there somewhere (dubbed Lieutenant Columba), but I either overlooked her rudely or didn’t recognize him.
Finally, I will ask you a question. Do you think it was “just” a tabloid event? In my opinion, this is a matter of opinion and beer was tapped there all the time. Good. I won’t tell Mark, come on.
Entered by: Ivo Fencl