When I was a young bride, my husband and I stopped at a cozy little ice cream parlor owned by the elderly Kuceras in Silverhill. After she recognized us, she turned to her husband saying, "Ah! These are the newly-weds, Papa, you must play for them". He adjusted his accordion and soon the room was filled with such music as I had never heard. He was playing the Polkas of Czechoslovakia. When I expressed my pleasure, tears came into his eyes. "It is from my heart the music of my native land," he said. "But if I had the Grand Prize, it would sound more beautiful."
Mrs. Kucera urged him to tell us the story. He began, "Our village had a town square where families gathered in the evenings for music and dancing in the summer and skating in the winter. One such an evening a caravan of gypsies came to our village and joined us. One of the men carried an accordion. When I finished playing, he came to me saying, 'you play most well. But if you had my accordion, you could make more beautiful the music. I challenge you to a week's contest to see which of us plays best. The winner keeps the Grand Prize.' He patted his accordion. 'It's the best I have ever made'."
"The contest began attracting villagers for miles. At the end of the week as the gypsy ended his last wild polka, he very gently handed the accordion to me saying, 'It is not that you play better than I ---just that you play so well. You deserve the Grand Prize.'
"When we immigrated to America our possessions were put through hot steam at the immigration station. The Grand Prize fell into many pieces. My mother in Czechoslovakia found a gypsy who made this accordion that I play now."
The accordion passed to their son Ben Kucera who gave me permission to print this story.
