An entire era has come to an end for the Department of English and American Studies at Olomouc University. Our professor emeritus, Jaroslav Macháček—an icon of Czech linguistics (a student of Ivan Poldauf), a legend, and the most decent person I have ever met—has passed away.
But that era did not actually end with his death; it had already ended in late August 2011, when he stepped down as head of the department, a position he had held since 1990. At that time, he was accepted back into the Faculty of Arts, from which he had been forced to leave in 1970 because of his views—at the very beginning of the period the communists euphemistically called “normalisation,” a period that was anything but normal.
During my studies (1979–1984), Associate Professor Macháček (he was not appointed professor until 1991) was spoken of only in whispers; few of us had ever seen him in person—or so we thought, since we had no idea what he looked like. However, when we were preparing for the exam on historical English grammar, we borrowed his textbook A Brief Overview of the Historical Development of English (I still remember it was a 1964 reprint) as if it were extremely valuable contraband. We also soon discovered that as soon as the examiner found out that a student had been preparing with Macháček’s textbook, he would almost automatically write an “A” in the student’s record. We knew that the author worked somewhere in the boiler room and occasionally taught English to Faculty of Medicine lecturers, and we’d also heard that most of the English versions of scholarly articles or conference papers authored by staff at that same institution were his translations. I imagined an associate professor or professor from the medical school sneaking into the boiler room to hand Associate Professor Macháček some scholarly text, all the while looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed by an informant from within his own ranks—or even a plainclothes State Security agent.
I first saw Associate Professor Macháček in the second half of the 1980s. He had come to see a theatre performance by Brno students of English, which took place once a year at the legendary Divadlo hudby. I no longer remember who actually introduced him to me, but I clearly recall that the department members at the time—as well as people I didn’t know—greeted him respectfully but then hurried away as quickly as possible, perhaps to avoid trouble in the future.
When he returned in 1990, it was as if he had never left. He didn’t blame anyone, didn’t seek revenge, didn’t become bitter, and didn’t even mention those twenty lost years when he was forbidden to work in his field or publish. And with him came a true academic atmosphere. He made time to chat informally and joke with every member of the department; he knew exactly who was interested in what and what each person was working on, and he could offer encouragement during difficult times. He disliked unnecessary paperwork and meetings; he believed that everyone should do what they do best, in the way that suits them best. And his subordinates returned that trust. The department never had as many major grants and research projects, nor achieved as many publications, as between 1994 and 2011. Department meetings were significant social events, and department members even looked forward to grading entrance exams. Whenever I got stuck while writing an article, I would drop by his office at the department just to chat, and after hearing some witty yet kind remark—perhaps about my ignorance of a Latin saying—my good mood would last for several days, and when you’re in a good mood, the work just flows. His dry English humour was legendary, and no ceremonial event or anniversary was complete without his original speech, which people would talk about with admiration for a long time afterwards. All the students loved him; he was a natural authority figure to them as well.
Although he served as vice dean for international affairs for two years and as vice rector of Palacký University for five years (1992–1997), he was always there for us in the department. You could always come to an agreement with him; he always found a solution. During his tenure, everyone treated one another with respect and consideration because that was how he treated everyone. Back then, no one went after their colleagues or stabbed them in the back; the sense of decorum would not have allowed it. He used his ability to unite and refine relationships not only as a member of the faculty senate and later the university senate, but also, for example, as a member of the praesidium of the Council of Higher Education Institutions.
The fact that he was forever young at heart, yet at the same time wise and experienced, undoubtedly drew his wife, Michaela to him—an excellent linguist and newly appointed associate professor. And when he reached an age when he, too, needed support, she provided it in abundance.
In 1984, under the guidance of Josef Jařab—who also held Professor Macháček in very high regard—I wrote my master’s thesis, in which, among other things, I analysed Walker Percy’s novel The Last Gentleman. As I reflect on this and look around me, it seems to me that this title fits Professor Macháček best of all.