THE NINE BOYS OF PRAHA: THE PAINTED CHURCHES, PART II

PRAHA, TEXAS

A few miles west of Schulenburg, in the tiny community of Praha, stands the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Inside, the Garden of Eden is painted on the ceiling by the brush of a Swiss artist, grown wild with Texas flowers. This is the oldest of the painted churches and it was built by the Czech community who still lives here. The historical plaque outside marks it “not only as a source of hope, strength and faith for the local community, but also as an outward physical symbol of the pride Czech immigrants and their descendants have for their religion, culture, and heritage.”⁣
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Another marker stands outside by the cemetery. It is a monument to The Nine Boys of Praha, who lost their lives during WWII. These nine accounted for the majority of the community’s young men, swept from a town population that never skimmed a hundred throughout the whole of the 20th century. They are listed neat in a line, their Czech-tongued names proof of an enduring cultural heritage. In a gutting twist of the knife, no date of death reads prior to February 1944. Praha, a drop of a place, suffering one of the highest ratios of death to residents in all of the United States during the war. In grand speeches and well-meaning words of condolence, we call this paying the ultimate sacrifice. But here it is a pittance that goes almost as unseen as the town itself; if you squinted, you might miss it, swirling in a mirage of Texas heat. The air is still. Cemetery rows stand silent beyond the chain-link fence. The Garden of Eden heaves from above.

3.15.2020