After Mrs. H. read about this inquiry in the political prisoners organization’s newsletter, she offered to participate with a letter that reflected her skepticism on anyone willing to hear their voice. In her opinion, few parents who have a daughter of the required age for this study are still alive. Only a few widows and their daughters are members of the organization and receive the aforementioned newsletter. Even fewer of the prisoners’ daughters would be willing, for whatever reasons, to reply to my invitation to participate in the study. She points out she would be very surprised if more then ten women responded.

      When I searched for daughters of political prisoners, willing to talk about their experiences, one of the criteria was age 5—12 during the 1950s. Mrs. K. responded with a letter stating, “… I would like to participate even though I am older than the requested elementary school age.  My father was imprisoned for 5 years from 1949 to 1954 in Leopoldov, Ruzyn, at the end in Rocov [notoriously cruel prisons]. If there is an interest, I would like to talk to anybody.  With sincere greetings and wishing all the best, (signature).”

In 1951, my parents Bedřich and Jarmila Koller, and my seventeen year old sister were factory workers in Uherský Brod. We, the two younger sisters, Jarmila and Věra were still in elementary school. Our father was a member of the National Socialist Party, not to be confused with the German Nazi party, that was not popular with the Communists. That is why, during the school summer holiday in 1951, men in leather coats came to our home (they must have inherited the coats from the Gestapo) and walked away with our father. Their excuse was that they needed some information from dad. They arrested other members of that party in…

From Mrs. P’s letter I am aware that she is afraid to travel.  She is waiting in front her apartment building.  Her manner of speech is rapid.  She acts hurried.  We climb four flights of stairs to her apartment. 

When Mrs. O. arrives at the hotel, she orders salad with a comment, “I’ve got to lose some weight.” She suggests she will begin with her childhood, informing me “What I am going to tell you is what I heard from my grandma. I don’t remember because I was a baby when my dad, as a forester, found a wounded man who was shot by the security police. He gave him shelter at our home. Then he brought in two young physicians to treat the wounds. The two physicians, for that medical emergency care, were arrested shortly after and hanged.”

Mrs. G. waits for me at the railway station of her beautifully renovated holiday resort town. We agreed that I would recognize her by a white envelope in her hand. I knew about some of her experiences from her letter she sent after reading my advertisement in the newsletter. I am not sure why but I have a hard time not crying when I see her waiting eagerly. Although her story is moving, there is something else about her. Perhaps she represents to me the “typical” Czech woman I remember from my former life in Czechoslovakia. She is of small stature, with blond and gray hair, dressed in a sleeveless…