Ivo Zdarsky does not talk a big game. He has a gentle, easygoing manner and a gap-toothed smile, with a staccato laugh and a soft voice. He pauses sometimes before he speaks, measuring his words, which are pronounced in a gentle Eastern European accent, a vestige of his youth in Czechoslovakia. Zdarsky does, however, live in a big house. In an airplane hangar, actually, in Lucin, Utah, an abandoned railroad town of which he’s the sole inhabitant. “I don’t like walls,” he says. “So half of it is a hangar,…
