What Good Is A Teacher If His Pupil Can’t One Up Him?
Haresh Shah
I am talking to Ivan (Chocholouš) on the kitchen phone, looking out at the first tulips that have popped up in the flower bed in the backyard of my house in Evanston. It’s Wednesday the April 17th, in the year 1991. It’s been hectic as can be. I have taken off half a day to stay home and work on the final details of the launch in Czechoslovakia – only eight days away, Based on what Ivan reports from Prague, everything seems to be going smoothly with organizing of the launch events. The press conference, welcoming of the European editors, catering, transportation. And the most importantly, now that I have signed off on every single page, the first issue is now ready to roll off the presses.
Normally what they could have sent to me via courier; had to be faxed for my final approval. All 120 pages of the issue. Mary and I stand by all through the transmission, hoping that the telephone lines between Chicago and the printing plant in Vienna wouldn’t break down. That the fax machines would hold up for this continuous hours long transmission. As the machine spews out the pages after pages, I sit down to put them together in order. Pasting and folding and trimming to the size with Xacto knife. Finally I could look at the black and white mini version of the first issue of our Czechoslovakian edition. We had of course discussed all of it just a couple of weeks before in person during my most recent visit to Prague. We had kept some pages open to accommodate the last minute ads coming in. Which I had not seen. But of what I had seen, they have followed my instructions to the T. Now I am giving it one last look before giving them my final okay. I am pleased at the job they have done, but with one small exception. I am not quite happy with the placement of an ad visually clashing with the facing editorial page. I page through the issue several times and decide that its something we could easily fix by swapping the offending ad with another one in front of the book. And voila, we would have a perfectly balanced issue. I communicate this to Ivan, who in turn passes it on to the people at Gistel Druck. The next day, we’re on the phone again.
‘You know, the Gistel people tell me that to switch those pages is not as simple as you told me it would be.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because it would take a lot of work and time, which we don’t have.’
‘Lot of time? It shouldn’t take more than an hour, if that!’
‘They say it will take several hours.!’
‘Several hours? They are bullshitting you.’
‘Of course I don’t know as much about the printing process as you do, but they sound quite convincing to me.’
‘That’s precisely why printers do it – knowing that you’re sure to be lost once they begin with their technical mumbo-jumbo.’
‘I don’t know. Honestly, I am lost. Perhaps you want to talk to them?’
‘I will if you want me to. But just tell them that I really don’t understand why it should take so long. Tell them it’s something I can do with my left hand.’
At that point I am not thinking that they had probably gone ahead and stripped everything together in signatures and may even have made sets of plate ready flats. Worse yet, already burned the plates. Something they weren’t supposed to do before the customers have given their final okay. Squeezed between me in Chicago and the printers in Vienna, Ivan agrees to push them one more time. Since now I have challenged them and their professionalism, however grudgingly, they do it.
Ivan reports back to me during the conversation I am now having with him.
‘We have now made changes as you wanted.’
‘Thanks Ivan. I really appreciate it..’
‘I am glad to have been able to satisfy you.’ As he says this, I sense a bit of hurt in his voice mixed with a mild sarcasm and realize it must have taken some doing on his part to have the printers make the swap.
‘I hope you’ll agree with me that now the issue looks as perfect as we can make it. I know it wouldn’t have been as big a deal, had we left those pages the way they were. But as long as it was still possible to correct them, I don’t see why we shouldn’t.
To which Ivan mumbles something like; ‘of course you’re right.’
I can’t help but still hear in his voice a man placed between a rock and a hard place. Considering the limitations he must face, he has done a great job and I love him for that. Plus our relationship is beginning to evolve into a friendship. So I try to further smooth things over.
‘You know Ivan, it may seem like a lot of work right now, but in the end what matters the most are small details, because at the end of the day the difference between good and excellent are little things.’
And we switch back talking about the launch. I tell him that Playboy Products would provide their Men’s cologne to be included in the goody bag. That the US Playmate Christy Thom (February 1991) was all set to fly in from Los Angeles to be by the side of Czechoslovakia’s own, voluptuous Playmate Šarka Lukešová whom we had flown into Chicago to be shot.
Ivan confirms that Hotel Diplomat would provide accommodation for the visitors and that booked for me was the presidential suite. The press conference too would take place in the ballroom of the hotel but the actual launch would be at Pálac Lucerna – the landmark building owned by the Havel family and located right in the heart of Václalvské náměstí. That arranged were three black Mercedez Benz stretched sedans to pick up guests from the airport and scurry around the VIPs. And he rattles off who’s who of the Czechoslovakia’s elite guest list to include Václav Klaus, the Finance Minister and soon to be the Prime Minister and eventually the President of the Czech Republic. Pavel Rychetský, the Vice Chair of the Government, Jaroslav Kořan, the minister of information who would go on to become the mayor of Prague and later editor-in-chief of Playboy Czech Republic. That the stars Myloš Kapecký and Jiřina Bohdalová were going to be the honored guests. That the beautiful television personality Magdalena Dietlová too would be hobnobbing in the crowd. And that the iconic singer Karel Gott – the country’s equivalent of Frank Sinatra would grace the event with his performance. And the highlight of the evening would be the exquisite culinary spread catered by no other than the Michelin Starred Chef, Alfons Schuhbeck from Munich.
Half of those names go over my head. But sensing his excitement, I feel that Ivan has gathered the crème de la crème of the Czechoslovakian society and politics.
‘How about Václav Havel?’
‘Well, I am not sure. We have of course invited the President and he hasn’t yet declined. Knowing him, he just might show up.’
‘Wow!’ I go. And then pause for a breather. ‘From what you tell me, this sounds like a black tie affair.’
‘It is. Vlado (Vladimir Tichý) went to Vienna to buy his tuxedo. Dolina (Rolf) is planning to wear his white tux and Hana (Wagenhofer) I am sure will be her elegant self as usual.’ (The three principals of the VIPress Czechoslovakia, a.s., the publishers of the Czech edition at the time. )
‘Hum!’ I mutter. Then pause again to digest the information.
‘Sounds really great. Congratulations to you. You have done really a great job. I don’t remember any launch quite so grand and glamorous as what you have planned.’
I pause one more time, looking outside at the gleaming tulips, I am thinking: And I don’t even have a tuxedo. The only time I was required to attend such an event was Playboy Holland’s first anniversary in Amsterdam. But at the time, our cool service editor Mick Boskamp – who’s still a close friend – had foresight enough to get my measurements in advance and arranged a rental for me. The second time was several years later in Hong Kong when we did Miss Playboy International Beauty Pageant and I was to hand out editor’s choice award to the winner on the live television broadcast. The TVB producer insisted that I do it wearing a tux. And then I even had ample time to have one custom made. But I didn’t see any sense in it and I guess I was being just plain cheap! Seeing my hesitance, the producer took me to the prop room and had me fitted with one.
‘Well, that sounds really great.’ I repeat myself. ‘But I am afraid I don’t own a tux and I am leaving for Prague in two days and have our Turkish publisher Ali Karacan in town so won’t even have time to look at renting one.’ My mindset is still fixed on renting and not just go out and buying one.
The silence on Ivan’s side of the line prevails. But in retrospect, I should have heard the loud screeching of the wheels frantically turning inside his brain.
‘Well, I guess I just will have to wear my best dark suit.’ I say.
‘I guess,’ he echoes.
‘In fact, I have really a good one. Dark rusty brown, almost black. I bought it a little over a year ago just for the Hungarian launch.’
‘I am sure it’s really nice. Especially knowing your taste.’
‘It really is. You will see.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll still be a big hit. We love you with or without a tuxedo. But you know Haresh, someone just told me not long a go that the difference between good and excellent are little things!’
I want to jump up and down and throw the receiver out the window and smash it into those swaying tulips, watching their petals erupt up in the air and scream. ‘You fucking son of a bitch!!!
© Haresh Shah 2013
Illustration: Jordan Rutherford
SISTER SITE
Next Friday, April 5, 2013
MY SPRING VALENTINE
Its Easter weekend already and the sun is shining bright and the temperature in Chicago is creeping upwards, slowly but surely. And I am thinking of the decades-a-go-winter in Amsterdam and the many faces of love. And then one of them reappearing years later on a beautiful spring day just like today, only warmer – because it’s Santa Barbara, California.
playboy stories 
Nice story. Ivan seems good at convincing people – proved himself twice to you in the same day. Thanks for sharing.
wonderful..just class reading……love your style….”difference between good and excellent
are little things.”
ohhh … I am going to have to use that saying!!! 🙂