With this column my heartfelt thanks go out to my friend, Evelyn Faltus. You may recall that my March 6 column dealt with a family interview a colleague had arranged for me with a couple from Czechoslovakia. I did not understand their language, nor they mine. I had, during the interview, learned to say &uot;goat&uot; in their language and bewailed the fact that I had forgotten it.

In a note she sent to me, Evelyn set me straight. The word for &uot;goat&uot; is &uot;kosa.&uot; She even explained how to pronounce it. Say it as you would in English &uot;cause-ah.&uot; She also advised me against saying it to a Czech. It is not a compliment. A piece of advice that leaves me wondering just why it was that particular animal I was taught the name of.

A religious instructor once told me that if I really lived up to my religion I could go into any church, temple or mosque and find at least one thing said that I could agree with. His point was that we should search for the agreement, not the differences between ourselves and those of other faiths.

I remember visiting in the home of an elderly man of Czech background. On one wall of his living room was a very large painting of the Virgin Mary. On the opposite wall was an equally large painting of John Huss, a Bohemian religious reformer, who was burnt at the stake in 1434 because of his convictions.

Noting that I was somewhat curious about the two pictures, my host explained that while he was a cradle Catholic and would always remain true to the faith in which he was reared, he was also a great admirer of Huss, or any other person so dedicated that he was willing to die for his religion.

It was a point of view I was able and willing to understand. Just as I like to believe that I can share the feeling of a remark once mistakenly attributed to Voltaire, &uot;I disagree with everything you say, but I would defend with my life your right to say it.&uot;

I regret to say that it is an attitude not always understood. I remember an incident that occurred while I was still working full time at The Tribune. Several women belonging to a religious group called the Moonies (hope I’ve spelled that correctly) came in with baskets of candy bars to sell.

I bought a couple and when the women left was set upon by a fellow worker, who insisted that they represented a doubtful kind of cult and should not be encouraged.

I was somewhat annoyed and promptly went into what was probably one of my finest speeches on the freedom of religion.

I pointed out that I had frequently made contributions and paid for luncheons and the like in support of churches with which I shared few, if any, convictions. It was a lovely speech. As I say, probably one of my best. Even my critic was impressed.

Then Jim Oliver, editor at the time, who had been my friend before he was editor, spoiled it for me. He called out of his office to my opponent and said, &uot;Don’t let her fool you, Kevin. She’s not supporting the Moonies. She’s just hungry for a candy bar.&uot;

Ah, well, thus it has always been with my more dramatic moments. I can stand in someone’s kitchen making a beautiful and touching farewell speech, and then, for no apparent reason, walk into their broom closet. I guess you have it or you don’t.

At least, thanks to Evelyn, I know again how to say &uot;goat&uot; in a foreign language.

Love Cruikshank is an Albert Lea resident. Her column appears Thursdays.