Two Presidents—Vaclav & Bill

On January 11, 1994, US President Bill Clinton was recorded live at the Reduta Jazz Club in Prague, playing sax with Czech jazz players. Czech Radio Broadcasting later released the recording of this concert on the CD titled Two Presidents' Jam Session, (Praha, 1994), with sponsorship by the Radegast brewery. Statements by Vaclav Havel in italics (below) are taken either from the recording or archives from the Vaclav Havel Library. The friendships with other musicians that Havel speaks of are based on actual historical occurrences in Prague, while the statements by Bill Clinton are fully fictional, as an imaginary conversation of these two Presidents, who were in fact on very friendly or buddy-like terms. The distinguished audience and jazz musicians on the stage in the Reduta club is stated according to fact. Finally as both presidents have been historically documented as playboy-types or womanizers, the text takes most liberty in these men's banter about meeting other women. Previously an underground dissident and absurdist playwright, Vaclav Havel, was the first president of the newly democratic Czechoslovakia, after the November 1989 Velvet Revolution, which resulted in the downfall of the Communist government. The following text is a mixture of fiction and non-fiction.

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January 11, 1994 (evening).

A few statements by Havel are taken from the recordings or archives of the Vaclav Havel Library. These quotes appear in italics.

Sitting at the bar of Reduta Jazz Club in Prague, as a band plays on stage in the adjoining room.

"Tell me Bill....tell me about that young woman...well all the women that you seem to have around you...there are only very few women who are working in my office."

"Vaclav, I'm a married man, like you, and first of all I do not have sex with those young women. You've met Hillary. She's a chicken- hawk, and I swore to her that I did not have sex with no other women, since we married, no I mean since I have been the President of the United States.

"The problem is, Vaclav, that women love me. Hell, they treat me like the second coming of JFK. And how can I blame them, after those others before me, such sexless political wimps."

"I have to agree," Vaclav says with a chuckle, then gulping his Pilsner.

"One was senile, one was basically "The Pope"—I mean Carter, and some of the others, well they had to be paying women thousands of dollars just to touch them! But, believe me, they are giving it away to me, Vaclav."

"Aha..." mumbles Vaclav taking another sip of his beer.

"It is purely a free enterprise activity; you need to understand that. Study our economics, Vaclav," says Bill.

"Our Prime Minister, the other Vaclav sitting in the next room, studied your economics."

In the background, the Czech band on stage is playing Herbie Mann's "Memphis Underground."

"I will maybe introduce you to my girlfriend Jitka, before you go, Bill. She is pressuring me about this."

"Aha, Vaclav, you're a sly dog! You Czechs are like the French. You put us to shame, I have to admit. And your ladies sure are the tops. But you need to get yourself out of those high waters. Those are not in fashion anymore!"

"I've been instructed that I should adjust my fashion, but I am having no problems with the ladies, because of my so-called 'high waters," says Vaclav.

"I sure wish we could hit the town. But we'd have to do something about Madeline then. Show her the Jewish cemetery."

"I'm sure she has seen it many times," says Vaclav, finishing off his Pilsner.

"Your women, they're like Georgia Peaches, I tell ya. You know, now that I think more about it, your ladies and you Czech men remind me of Good Ole Boys, like us Southerners. There is something about you, how you all seem to be straight-talkers, real down-to-earth folk."

"We've been maimed by forty years of totalitarian oppression, Bill," says Vaclav.

"Cut the act, Vaclav. We're already supporting you as much as we can."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean it that way. Let's have two more beers. As I said, almost all of the pubs in our countryside have put up the Confederacy flag to show their freedom," says Vaclav.

Vaclav looks around the room, which is empty except for the two presidents and the bartender. Two more Pilsners are served to them. Security stands at the entrance to keep all others out of the room. The band plays on in the adjoining room, the concert room.

Earlier on the same date, well past midnight, the two presidents had shared a joint on the balcony of the Prague Castle. As Vaclav lit up and passed it to Bill, Bill eyed it devilishly, exclaiming his predicament.

"Well Vaclav, just because it's you, and you are the President, so I can't refuse your hospitality. But I am not going to inhale that stuff. That's the devil's weed. And I'm a Christian and the President of the United States of America. You used to be Communists, so your morals are not at our level, yet, you understand?"

"Don't worry, I understand Bill, that you're a married man and a father. I don't have children."

"That's right, Vaclav," said Bill coughing out the devil's weed. "I'm a role model for the entire free world. But isn't this illegal?"

"Possession of marijuana, and to smoke a joint is not illegal. But to sell it is illegal. But you aren't even free to smoke a joint with Greg and Duane Allman in the White House, and that's a real pity...in Czech we say, 'skoda,' said Vaclav.

"That's politics, Vaclav. You'll learn soon."

"Tell me, was Mr. Reagan faithful to his wife Nancy?" asks Vaclav, taking a deep hit.

"Of course he was, but that's what I mean about eunuchs, Vaclav. You got to understand, that they don't get you, where you are coming from. The party of Elephants give the people eunuchs. The Donkeys give the people men of flesh and blood. The women love that. They go for it. Our political polls confirm this. And everybody knows what they say about jazz saxophonists..."

"I have a confession. I don't know what you mean by elephants and donkeys, and worse is that my jazz knowledges is limited, just so you know, I am really a rock & roll lover. Tell me, have you ever met Frank Zappa or Captain Beefheart? Zappa is now a good friend of mine. We met at the Castle a few months after I became the President. I named him our representative of trade and culture and tourism. He agreed. But Washington didn't want advisors with such long hair."

"I heard about that. How is it that you know so much about that kind of music?" said Bill.

"We were not living in caves. We were all watching "Dallas" on TV before the Revolution."

"Vaclav, when you visit Washington, I'm going to introduce you to the Dixie Chicks. You're living in the past, my friend. People like Zappa should not be advisors for you. That's an order."

Vaclav tries to understand the last point as a joke.

"Seriously, which is your favorite Zappa album? I've been waiting for the right time to ask you this. I ask this of all Americans who I respect, from their musical perspective," asked Vaclav.

"Uh," then Bill coughs for minutes, after failing to not inhale as he had promised.

"My favorites are the old records with Mothers of Invention. I also like that record with Captain Beefheart. "Bongo Fury (DiscReet, 1975). And Velvet Underground. My kind of dance music," said Vaclav.

"I can't say I know that one, and well, I guess for me, it is that one with "Valley Girl." And I sure like Bobby Brown," says Bill. "You ever hear Leon Russell? You'd like that, he's a Southerner."

Vaclav moans. He considers these choices of Bill's to be Zappa at his worst. He takes another hit.

"And what about Beefheart?"

"Vaclav, I'm a country boy from Arkansas and those California boys don't get out to our parts much, or they don't always get out in one piece, if you know what I mean. Haven't you seen Easy Rider? So I am sorry, but I don't follow those freaks. Who is this Captain Beyond?"

"Captain Beefheart. He is also a painter. A true free-minded artist," said Vaclav.

"Let's talk about jazz. You have the best Dixieland jazz in Europe, or the best I've heard in years."

"Dixieland jazz has always been very popular in my country, even under the totalitarian regime. I suppose you could say that we were like the Confederacy of the Soviet Union," said Vaclav.

"Ha, ha, ha. I guess you were something like the Confederacy of Commies then, huh, Vaclav? You're the rebels, god darned rebels of Eastern Europe, that's how we see it. We love you." Bill smiles. "Now that you've loosened me up, with that weed of yours, tell me about those Plastic People of the Universe, since they are long-haired boys, like Leon Russell and Greg and Duane Allman. But your boys don't play with melody. They have a harsh sound, and it's not music for Washington."

"As you know, they are my good friends, and they have been misled or mistaken. Our revolution was made by artists and people from the cultural world. We all are not professional politicians, we are artists. They had thought that Washington would greet them with open arms, especially with you, since it did not happen with your President Bush."

"Nope," said Bill. "We got to get you more up to date. We'll get you Thriller (Epic, 1982) and Bad (Epic. 1987). That's what this country needs, I can tell. We'll send over Michael Jackson to give a taste of the New America. Forget about Zappa, Vaclav. Nobody knows him anymore, or that Captain Buffo fella."

"Beefheart. Captain Beefheart," said Vaclav with a sigh. "I stood here in this same spot with Zappa, and we smoked till the morning. I also smoked a joint with my good friends, Mick and Keith here. And now with the President of the United States. These are my greatest achievements."

"Those fellas, Zappa and those Stones are dope fiends aren't they?" asked Bill as he takes a hit.

"Zappa does not do any drugs. We smoked cigarettes. You must hold it in longer this time," said Vaclav.

"Okay, since you're the President of this country, I have no choice. No free will, ha ha. But you got to hear more of the Allman Brothers. "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed" or maybe the best of all for me is the old Doobie Brothers with their song 'Black Water.' Now that's my soul music."

"I've never heard it," said Vaclav. "But I will try to find it," He rubbed a stinging eye with a knuckle.

"I am aware of that, my friend. I'll just take a little more of that, then. But I promised Hillary that I'd watch my behavior over here in Prague."

Bill holds it in (finally for a long time) and then exhales without a cough.

"Wow, that's something!" Bill exclaims.

"Bill, I have a confession to make, and I could not tell this to Mick and Keith. The month after I met Zappa, I met with Gorbachev in Moscow, and he agreed to the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Czechoslovakia. For our celebration of this, which happened in August, that year, I first asked Zappa to play a concert for us. But it did not work out, so then I asked the Rolling Stones. But I really mean to say, is that much of their music beginning with Miss You (Rolling Stones, 1978 ) and "Some Girls," it becomes too much disco for my taste. It just isn't my kind of rock & roll. But I could not tell this to Mick and Keith. They are too famous for anyone to dislike it. How could I tell them this?"

"You must live in the truth, Vaclav. This is your own philosophy," said Bill.

"I'm not doing it then, completely, with some of my newest friends," said Vaclav.

"You're a politician now, Vaclav, and more than that, you're the democratically-elected President. The rules are different for our kind. They'll understand."

"Thanks, Bill. That is your advice to me?"

"Yup."

"Since you brought this up, I've been meaning to ask you, too..." says Bill.

"What are you planning to do with those abandoned Soviet military bases and all that territory that the Russian army took up? They have been unused for three years now..."

"We are not decided on this yet. We have committees to discuss it. There should be parks, for instance."

"Well, maybe our boys could be there someday now that we will be such good friends for you."

"I'm afraid that the Czech people would never be able to agree to this. You see after 40 years of occupation by the Soviet army, and before that, by Nazi Germany, and before we finally got our independence, we were for many hundreds of years under the Austrian Empire, so our people, if we are going to be an independent country, once and for all times, would say No, thank you."

"Well, we'll see about that. We are your new partners for the future after all...." says Bill.

****

Back to the Reduta Jazz Club, January 11, 1994: after a coed Czech southern gospel group sings a few spirituals, that seem to sound more like Elvis, the jazz group is ready to go. On the stage, there is Stepan Markovic on tenor saxophone; Stanislav Macha on piano; Robert Balzar on acoustic bass; Pavel Zboril on drums; and Juraj Bartos, from Slovakia, on trumpet.

"Nazdravi. It's really time to go now," says Vaclav. "They are calling us back."

Back in the crowded main room of the club, the entire audience is watching Vaclav Havel and Bill Clinton enter the room, after their presidential conference together at the bar.

They sit at the table with Madeline Albright, the Secretary of State of the United States, who is originally from Czechoslovakia. There is also Jiri Dienstbier, the Czech Foreign Minister, and there are the translators beside both presidents. The rock musician Michael Kocab is there, and pushed to the side was Vaclav Klaus, the Prime Minister of the Czech Republic, who is the most avid of jazz fans. The Prime Minister's wife Livia, and Vaclav's wife Olga are also at the table.

Then it is time for the surprise.

The band plays a cheerful ceremonial introduction led by horns, a majestic presidential cue for Vaclav and Bill to take the stage. The ceremonial tune is a fanfare from Smetana's opera, which then glides smoothly into a short refrain by John Coltrane, so the rest of the band can join in.

"Mister President, my dear guests, I have something for your collection. It is a Czech-made product," says Vaclav.

There is some laughing in the room with this last remark. Then there is an outburst of applause as Vaclav unveils the gift. It is an Amati Kraslice tenor saxophone as a gift from Vaclav.

Everyone except Bill takes their seats, while he straps on the saxophone and after a quick huddle with tenor saxophonist Markovic, the group's leader, Bill Clinton as the guest of honor starts off with a slow and breezy melody of "Summertime" from George Gershwin's "Porgy and Bess." Bill's got the Coltrane swing in this one, and he gives no indication of being an amateur, quite the opposite on his solo. Then Konopasek on baritone sax follows with a hearty and bit a funkier solo, then Bartos follows (on trumpet) for an uplifting relay, then Markovic comes in on his tenor for his solo, before Clinton returns for a short finale but too quickly joined in unison by the entire group to a rousing conclusion and an even louder applause.

Their second standard is "My Funny Valentine," a lover-man's anthem, so Bill kicks it off with a most passionate plea. The group keeps this one slower than the first. It has a sultrier vibe, and on this one, a last-minute guest baritone saxophonist Jan Konopasek joins the group. But Bill Clinton is the star even if he can't or if he doesn't even try to play like the titans. He is a disciple of Charlie Parker and Coltrane, but not a hard-and-fast-blower. Instead, Bill plays it as a seducer's version, a version for close-hugging slow-dancers, though there are none such dancers in the room; one can almost hear the whispers of Chet Baker in the room, or on Clinton's shoulders; Bill Clinton is a lover man deep in his bones and he shows it by his caressing of his new Amati.

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