Samuel Klika: Life between here and there – my journey from Maryland to my own school in the Czech Republic
- Samuel Klika
- Apr 23
- 3 min read
Beginnings in Baltimore
My name is Samuel D. Klika and I am the co-founder of the “Baltimore” group of schools in Beroun. I was born in Baltimore, Maryland, which already puts me at a disadvantage when trying to explain my life simply. My mother was American. My father was Czech-American, having left Czechoslovakia in 1968 as a boy—young enough to be confused, old enough to remember exactly why leaving mattered. Communism has a way of clarifying things like that. For a while, life followed a respectable, predictable American path—until it didn't.
Three years that became thirty
When I was nine, my parents announced that we were moving to the Czech Republic. Temporarily, they said. Three years, they said. Parents say many things with great confidence that later turn out to be optimistic estimates at best. Those three years turned into thirty.
Living in two languages
What followed was a life conducted in two languages, two cultures, and two mental calendars. Summers belonged to the United States; school years belonged to the Czech Republic. I learned early that belonging is not a fixed address—it's a skill you develop, usually by necessity.
At the time, I didn't realize how unusual this was. Children rarely do. They simply adapt and assume the rest of the world is doing something wrong.
Family and decisions
Years passed. I grew up. I married a wonderful Czech woman—an achievement that required more diplomacy than geography—and together we began raising bilingual children who switch languages as effortlessly as adults switch opinions. Watching them, I realized something important: the life I had once managed was the life I now wanted to design.
Key question
That realization eventually led to a question that sounds simple but is anything but:
Do you leave to find something better, or do you stay and make something better?
We chose to stay.
School founding
Starting a school was not the obvious or easy answer. It was the kind of decision that attracts raised eyebrows, unsolicited advice, and occasional warnings delivered with great concern and very little data.
Nevertheless, we started. Small, imperfect, but determined.
School growth
The school grew. Then it kept growing. With the help of partners who believed that education is not a cost but an investment in the future of children, we expanded. Today, we have a kindergarten and an elementary school, and we are opening a high school. None of this happened quickly, quietly, or without resistance—but then again, nothing worth doing ever does.
Poetry in it all
There's a certain poetry in all of this, though I hesitate to trust poetry too much—it tends to embellish.
According to family history, passed down by my grandfather Shipley, one of our ancestors was Augustin Herman, a Bohemian cartographer who helped Lord Baltimore map Maryland in the 17th century. In exchange, he received land. His maps were so good they lasted for generations, and his name still appears across Maryland—in roads, towns, even a high school.
A Czech helping shape Maryland. Centuries later, a family journey that brings Maryland back to the Czech Republic.
A sense of humor about history
History has a sense of humor like that.
It's tempting to wonder how things might have turned out if different choices had been made—if my grandparents hadn't left, if my parents hadn't returned, if we had moved on instead of staying put. But speculation is a pleasant pastime with very little practical value.
What I learned
What I've learned instead is this: real change rarely comes from grand exits. More often, it comes from stubborn presence. From educating yourself first, then acting. From holding steady when things get hard—when there's doubt, gossip, foul play, or the quiet temptation to quit.
Education, at its best, is not just preparation for life. It is life—lived with curiosity, courage, and the refusal to give up when the story gets complicated.