Travels with Dad

By Vladimir Radovic

Raised by his widowed mother in Montenegro, my dad graduated from the Belgrade Law School. After Germany and its allies occupied Yugoslavia, he joined the partisans in their harrowing struggle for the country’s liberation. His attraction to seas, his diligence and his people skills found a lifelong vocation in foreign affairs.

This intimate travelogue traces my dad’s family line, crisscrosses the Balkans, the Mediterranean and the Middle East, and portrays Lebanon in the mid-sixties.

Radomir Radovi (1918-2000) was a distinguished Yugoslav diplomat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665556217

Vladimir Radovic

Born in Belgrade to a Serbian mother and a Montenegrin father, Vladimir Radovic graduated in economics and political science from universities in Chile, France and the United States. He spent most of his professional career at an international financial organization. This is his fourth published manuscript.

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© 2022 Vladimir Radović. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   03/30/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5622-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5620-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5621-7 (e)

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Contents

Preface

Prologue

Posthumous

Rebels and Migrants

Nikšić

The Family

Childhood

Risan

Adolescence

Welcome to Belgrade

Wartime, Succinctly

The Belgrade Letters

Mom

My Childhood Memories

Turkey

Back in Belgrade

A Summer in Risan

The Dubrovnik Riviera

Knock on Wood

Polytropos

Beirut, Lebanon

Into Syria and Jordan

The Camp

Since the Romans Built Baalbek

Fiat, Beach, and Tent

Back in Turkey

Montenegro

Wartime, in His Words

Homeward Bound

The American Community School

The Open-Air Museum

Slovenia, Zagreb, and Back in Belgrade

Back in Lebanon

Last Months in Beirut

Pronunciation

Recommended Reading

About the Author

Preface

The greatest misfortune for a child is the loss of a parent. Dad was born in July 1918, when Nikšić was still under the Austro-Hungarian occupation. At the end of that year, his hometown became part of the new Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. Raised by his widowed mother, he excelled at school and became one of the youngest graduates at the Belgrade Law Faculty. During World War II, he joined the antifascist resistance and, as a partisan, fought the Nazis. After the liberation of Yugoslavia, he fell in love and married a girl from the Danube plains.

As a diplomat, he served a country that, during the Cold War decades, punched way above its weight. Living with our parents in Turkey and Lebanon, and travelling the Mediterranean, my brother and I acquired the skills necessary to navigate the choppy waters of the global world.

This text is based on conversations with my father, family letters and documents, my mother’s agenda annotations, and my diaries and readings. It reconstructs our timeline until the summer of 1965, while the dialogues reimagine the essence of factually accurate scenes, places, and relationships. I am grateful to my brother not only for writing the prologue but also for his insightful suggestions and hawkeyed proofreading. But the responsibility for the final product is entirely mine.

Prologue

It is probably true that all happy families are alike. It is also probably true that each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. But, as our mom would often point out, it is the ordinary families, more so than Tolstoyesque larger-than-life ones, that write the most interesting novels. And in this real world, as the celebrated Montenegrin poet would say, "Čaša žuci ište čašu meda; smiješane najlakše se piju" (A cup of bile seeks a cup of honey; when mixed, it’s easiest to drink them).¹

By skillfully weaving narrative and dialogue to propel action in the life of our family—reminiscent of recitative and aria in the best of opera—my brother has told an intimate story. Its roots are in the early twentieth century; its focus is on only a few midcentury years, but they resonate to this day. Not unlike a critical move in chess, after which the variations are more or less forced, he describes in endearing detail our twists and turns, some accidental, others product of exemplary courage and inspired leadership. As we crisscrossed the Middle Sea—the cradle of cultures, as J. J. Norwich emphasized, whose every wave told a story—the lessons we learned during those travels with Mom and Dad, in both words and deeds, pretty much determined what happened afterward, when we sailed the oceans on our own and found home on three continents. As I reflect on the half-century since then, I should like to think that our story is increasingly the rule, and not an exception, in this globalized world, especially when one has the good fortune that Dad, or Mom, knows best and such journeys become the best possible university. Life indeed imitates chess, as Garry Kasparov would say. Who would have thought, in those camping tents of (former) Yugoslavia or in the laughter-filled corridors of Beirut’s Salesian boys school, that we would feel at home in the boardrooms of the world’s leading financial institutions or in the lecture halls of the world’s top universities. Now we can confidently pass the baton to the coming generations, so that "las estirpes condenadas a cien años de soledad tengan por fin y para siempre una segunda oportunidad sobre la tierra."

Ljubiša R. Radović

State College, Pennsylvania

² Gabriel García Márquez, Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Stockholm,1982

Posthumous

Eighteen months into World War I, the powerful Austro-Hungarian Army occupied the tiny Kingdom of Montenegro. Since several pockets of resistance arose spontaneously, the occupying authorities arrested and deported anyone suspected of rebellion.

Located on a swampy lakeshore, close to Vienna, the Boldogasszony camp was named after the Virgin Mary, the patron saint of Hungary. Among the prisoners was Aleksa Radović, a merchant from Nikšić. He slept in a wooden barracks, subsisted on a meager diet, and worked in a printing factory.

Back home, Aleksa’s young wife, Jovanka, remained in charge of their two children and the trading business. In the autumn of 1917, an Austrian patrol inspected the family’s warehouse and detected an abundant supply of sheep wool, neatly packed in large bales.

The next day, an Austrian officer, wearing a dark blue cape with three stars on his collar, paid a visit to the Radović grocery store. He was accompanied by a junior officer who spoke Serbo-Croatian. Realizing that she was in presence of a high-ranking officer, Jovanka remained behind the counter in polite expectation.

After a formal salute, they asked to talk to the owner. With a shrug and a sigh, she responded that her husband could be located at the Boldogasszony camp. Taken aback, the officers left the store in total silence, but she could see them discussing and gesticulating as they crossed the square.

They were back the following morning. The commander nodded to his subordinate, who cleared his throat and said, We inspected your warehouse. The winter is around the corner, and the garrison needs new uniforms. So, the colonel decided to purchase the entire wool stock.

Jovanka remained speechless. It flashed through her mind that the Austrians could simply seize the warehouse. Recovering her composure, she responded, You are right, the winter is going to be freezing. I would be glad to sell, but the only authorized person is my husband, the sole owner.

There came a quick response: That’s not a problem; we’ll get permission for your husband’s temporary release.

For a second, she thought that she had misunderstood. Could you please repeat, she whispered under her breath.

The soldier repeated slowly, "The colonel has already sent a telegram. Your husband will be here soon. Good day, madame.’’

A week passed, full of anxious anticipation. Jovanka stocked the pantry with Aleksa’s favorite viands. She told her daughter, Olga, aged seven, and her son, Mišo, aged five, that their father was coming home. Olga asked whether he was coming to stay; she responded, Yes, but on another trip.

When a tall figure showed up in the backyard, she didn’t immediately recognize him. Bearded and emaciated, her husband looked like a scarecrow. The children ran for cover; his sparkling eyes and his full-body clasp made her sob uncontrollably. After a long embrace, Jovanka fetched the children and nudged them to hug their father. He arrived alone, without handcuffs; for a moment, she thought that he had been released. He read her mind, drew a deep breath, and whispered, I promised to return in ten days. If I escape, they’ll kill my brother.

While Aleksa was in the washroom, Jovanka examined his trousers and overcoat. Detecting lice, she threw the clothes into the fireplace and pulled new ones from the dresser. She served him polenta with fried eggs, wine, and cigarettes. And again, as if enchanted, the house smelled of warm bread and happiness.

The children watched him eat in silence. As mom posed her head on father’s shoulder, they looked at the floor and smiled shyly. After praising his wife’s polenta, Aleksa flicked the cigarette smoke away and spoke reassuringly: Virgin Mary has granted my plea to see you all again. But the world has changed. Americans are coming to the rescue, and the Serbian Army is returning from Greece. Germans and Austrians will surrender, and all the prisoners will be released.

That night, she felt him sinewy and strong; but the next morning, in broad daylight, he still looked frail and gaunt. Soon after breakfast, two soldiers knocked at the door. He was ready to accompany them to the warehouse.

It took three days to formalize the transaction. Although Aleksa spoke German, he insisted that the documents be translated into Serbo-Croatian. His lawyer reviewed the papers carefully, and four witnesses, two for each side, cosigned the agreement. The next day, he was escorted back to Boldogasszony.

Thanks to the warehouse and Aleksa’s temporary release, my dad was conceived. Jovanka was convinced that the Virgin Mary had intervened.

In the freezing 1917 winter, the camp conditions took a nosedive. Food and heating were drastically rationed, the starving and freezing prisoners shunned bathing, the bloodsucking lice proliferated inside shabby clothing, and typhus set a deadly course. At first there came itching, swellings, and lesions; a couple of weeks later, nausea, bloody coughing, and murky rashes on faces and extremities. As soon as he was diagnosed with typhus, Aleksa was released and sent to a quarantine in the Montenegrin capital, Cetinje, the very place where, eleven years before, he had first laid his eyes on Jovanka. This time she was unable to see him, but she succeeded in conveying the good news of her pregnancy.

Aged thirty-six, Aleksa succumbed to typhus in March. His twenty-five-year-old widow managed to deliver a healthy baby boy on July 23, 1918. Nikšić was still under Austrian occupation.

By the year’s end, there was armistice, and the new country of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes was born. Two great empires, the Ottoman and the Austro-Hungarian, ceased to exist. The Great War, which halved the male population in the Balkans, had changed everything.

Rebels and Migrants

According to our family history, a widow with four sons arrived in the Nevesinje valley early in the seventeenth century. One of the sons, named Luka, settled in a piedmont village protected from chilly winds and exposed to the Adriatic breezes. The valley and the village, called Bratači, were located in the southeastern corner of Herzegovina, which belonged to the Ottoman Empire.

Luka’s grandson Rade was the founder of a family who belonged to a mass of landless and illiterate Christian peasants. Several generations later, the Radović family became renowned for its religious and military leaders. Many lost their lives in insurrections and acts of disobedience, and the original family house in Nevesinje served as an Orthodox seminary. Eventually part of the family moved to the Adriatic coast. A Venetian document mentions Aleksa Radović as a leader who liberated Risan from the Ottoman occupation. The armory tower that belonged to the Turkish commander was renamed the Radović Tower. Jovanka descended from this family branch.

Dad’s great-grandfather Risto was a direct descendant of the family founder. His brothers, commander Mijat and priest Petar, were among the masterminds of the Nevesinje Rifle uprising. Dad was very proud of his ancestors’ role in this famous rebellion that delivered a coup de grâce to the five centuries of Ottoman rule in the Balkans. The immediate causes were excessive tax increases on the Christian populations and the collectors’ wanton abuses during poor harvest seasons, which provoked outrage among the impoverished peasants. Their leaders responded with a petition denouncing greed and corruption and stating, … under the Turkish whip we cannot and will not live anymore.

The Nevesinje Rifle was conceived by a handful of local leaders, including the Radović brothers. They collected arms and ammunition, sent families to safe havens, and coordinated all aspects of the uprising with Prince Nikola of Montenegro. Priest Petar Radović presided over the clandestine assembly that decided on the date and sequence of the uprising. In the summer of 1875, the rebels liberated Nevesinje in a single day. Priest Petar commanded two battalions. In the autumn, they laid siege to several other towns. The Ottomans brought in heavy reinforcements, while many international volunteers, including the famed Garibaldi soldiers, joined in the rebellion.

Dad’s grandfather Tripko and his four brothers participated in this uprising; the eldest brother, Captain Dragić, died in battle. As the rebellion spread from Herzegovina to Bosnia, the Ottomans burnt down villages, tortured and killed indiscriminately, and provoked a massive exodus of the Christian population.

By the summer of 1876, the Nevesinje Rifle turned into an international crisis. In defense of the mutineers, Montenegro and Serbia declared war on the Ottoman Empire. The rebels, including our family, were incorporated into the Montenegrin Army and provided key support, especially in the liberation of Nikšić. After the Russian Army got involved and advanced toward Istanbul, the Ottomans requested a truce. Following months of negotiations, a peace treaty was signed in Berlin. According to its settlement, Montenegro doubled its territory and, for the first time, obtained access to the Adriatic Sea. But Bosnia and Herzegovina were awarded to the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Although victorious on the battlefield, the Nevesinje rebels were not invited to Berlin. Their leaders had to seek asylum. Since he had participated in the liberation of Nikšić, Tripko decided to settle there with his family. Prince Nikola awarded him the prestigious title of officer and granted him farmland and a couple of shops that had been abandoned by the Turks.

Since the Nevesinje rebellion turned out to be the defining milestone in our family saga, Dad kept in his study a beautifully framed full-size copy of the renowned Refuge painting by Uroš Predić. It served as a constant reminder that his ancestors were rebels and that he came from a Herzegovinian refugee family.

Nikšić

In a river valley close to the sea, my dad’s birthplace was a crossroads from the remote past. The first settlers were Illyrian tribes that supplied limestone and other raw materials to the ancient Greek maritime network. Roman legions built a military outpost and a stone bridge, both of which are extant to this day.

The Ostrogoths had a fortress named Anagastum, in honor of their military chief. After settling in this area, the Slav tribes renamed it Onogošt. A succession of Serbian and Bosnian dukes, including Herzeg Stefan, controlled the valley; hence, it became part of Herzegovina. The Ottomans conquered Onogošt in 1465 and gradually transformed the frontier outpost into a religious and administrative center. And to honor one of the local tribes, they changed the name from Onogošt to Nikšić. The downtown consisted of a bazaar with workshops and of a dwelling mahala, subdivided into the Muslim and Christian quarters.

The centuries-long Ottoman reign produced a sense of hopelessness among the local population. Periodically, as taxes and abuses escalated, desperate acts of rebellion resulted in numerous casualties and brutal reprisals. The Christian Orthodox Church was the only place that offered refuge and spiritual comfort.

The Montenegrin Army and the Nevesinje rebels commenced the siege of Nikšić in the summer of 1877. They broke down the stubborn Ottoman defense only after two heavy Russian-made cannons perforated the ramparts. When the Turks surrendered, they were allowed to leave in peace. After 412 years, Nikšić was liberated and became part of Montenegro.

Waves of migration ensued. Almost all Muslim families left, while Christians from Herzegovina moved in. Since the mahala was heavily damaged during the prolonged siege and bombardment, Prince Nikola engaged a renowned engineer from Dalmatia, Josip Slade, to design the plan for the new town. Masons from Boka, Dalmatia, and Herzegovina constructed six streets that emanated like sunrays from the main square. The ramparts provided most of the building material. The one-story houses had porticoes wide enough for horse carriages to pass into the backyard. The two-story dwellings had staircases in the backyards that led to the more spacious family quarters.

By the end of the nineteenth century, Nikšić had more than a hundred shops. A hospital, a library, and two elementary schools, one for girls, were opened, and works were initiated for a church on the central hillside. Since gardening and landscaping were given priority, the penalty for drunkenness was to plant and cultivate two trees in the main park.

After the completion of the road to Podgorica, a sixteen-arch bridge on the Zeta River was inaugurated. It was called the Czar’s Bridge after the Russian Emperor Alexander III, who had financed its construction. Its engineer was also Josip Slade. In 1900, the splendid hilltop cathedral was inaugurated with multitudes in attendance, including royal families and dignitaries from several countries.

At the time, 80 percent of some two thousand inhabitants were immigrants, mostly from Bosnia and Herzegovina, but also from Serbia and Albania. According to the local newspaper, they fled from foreign yoke, and settled here, to enjoy the freedom and equality under the protection of His Majesty Prince Nikola.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Nikšić economy was in full swing. The first bank in Montenegro was established, with more than two hundred stockholders from all parts of the country. Its sixty coffee shops probably represented the best that the Ottomans had bequeathed. The new owners were allowed to grind and serve coffee on the premises, but the right to sell sugar, coffee, and groceries was reserved by the merchants.

The Family

Soka Djogović and Tripko Radović, both from Nevesinje, had seven children: five boys and two girls. Rade was an officer; Vojin, a Mount Athos monk; and Aleksa, Ljubo, and Djoko were merchants. The daughters, Jovanka and Darinka, married into respected families. That the seven had survived their childhood years was a testimony to the family’s good health and relative prosperity.

In a photo taken in Mostar, Tripko’s long face is framed with a silver crew haircut and a long moustache above a rounded chin. His wrinkled forehead, high cheekbones, and patrician nose denote a somewhat flinty nature, while the mild gaze of his sunken eyes exudes an amicable disposition. His coat collar and lapel are adorned with medals of valor. He was a councilman of the Municipal Assembly, a board member of the first Montenegrin bank, and one of the investors in the Onogošt brewery. He sent Aleksa to an Austro-Hungarian boarding school in Vršac, Vojvodina. Aleksa studied there for three years, learned German, and obtained a vocational diploma.

In spite of the political turmoil in the Balkans, the first decade of the twentieth century brought prosperity to the family. They expanded their business, bought a large warehouse, and specialized in the processing of wool. Aleksa’s business dealings included a purchase of two properties in the north of Montenegro. A sales document entitled the Sentence states the following:

Let it be known and believed what has taken place today:

That I, the undersigned, have sold to Aleksa T. Radović all the rights to my lands in Šavnik and on the Black Lake. The said lands consist of two plots, one measuring 2 acres under cultivation, and the other a 4.5 acres slope of the mountain. I have sold them for 400 crowns. The municipal appraisers have evaluated the properties at 320 crowns. I have sold it to Aleksa Radović because none of the locals was willing to pay the appraised price.

Sentence issuer: Nedeljko Tomić, Land Buyer: Aleksa T. Radović

Šavnik, Montenegro, dated December 13th, 1902

One reason Aleksa overpaid may be that, as an immigrant’s son, he was subject to different treatment from the locals. Another could be that he was so anxious to diversify his investments that he did not mind paying more than the appraised price. The cause was probably a combination of both.

Once he consolidated his business, the twenty-five-year-old Aleksa started looking for a wife. He traveled often to Cetinje and stayed at a hotel owned by a family friend. There he caught sight of a pretty fifteen-year-old girl named Jovanka, who happened to work there during summer. She spoke with a charming coastal accent. And not only was she from the seaside, but her surname was also Radović. A yearlong courtship culminated when Jovanka’s father Simo reluctantly agreed to marry off his sixteen-year-old daughter. Since the bride and groom were distant relatives, they needed to obtain written permission from the Orthodox Church.

After all the permits were secured, Tripko organized a lavish wedding in the fall of 1908. After the ceremony in the Nikšić cathedral, the numerous wedding party dined and wined in the spacious family backyard. Simo brought an orchestra from Kotor that performed a selection of maritime and mountain music. On a family photo taken at the wedding, Aleksa looks like a debonair taller version of his father. His glistening eyes, thin moustache, and smiling lips expressed ease of mind and self-confidence. He wore a white Montenegrin dress that looked as clean as a whistle.

The young couple’s first child was a daughter named Olga. Shortly afterward, Tripko was diagnosed with cancer and advised to travel to Vienna for treatment. After a difficult surgery, he returned home and passed away at sixty-three. After Jovanka gave birth to a healthy boy, the couple named him Tripko, to honor the family patriarch. Then all hell broke loose with wars and occupation. Jovanka’s brother Savo returned from California, enlisted into the Montenegrin Army, and lost his life during the siege of Scutari. Her mother, Stana, died from the Spanish flu; her husband, Aleksa, from typhus; and her brother-in-law Rade from tuberculosis. Only Ljubo remained unscathed by emigrating to Switzerland.

Childhood

In July of 1918, a few days before giving birth, Jovanka saw Aleksa in her dreams. Dressed in a formal Montenegrin outfit, he was riding a white steed, holding a baby in his arms, and singing: Rašo, my little Rašo. For her dead husband’s sake, she named the newborn Radomir, which means peace willing or peace happy. Just like countless widows all over Europe, Jovanka continued with her woeful daily routine. Since she wasn’t producing any milk, a wet nurse had to be hired. Before little Rašo learned to walk, she was diagnosed with meningitis, and the prognosis was bleak. Fortunately, an Italian doctor who lived in Dubrovnik treated her with horse blood serum injections that saved her life. Jovanka was stunned when the doctor proposed to marry her and to relocate the whole family to his hometown of Bari. Although eternally grateful for saving her life, the beautiful young widow did not accept the wedding proposal. Instead, she dedicated her life to raising and educating her three children.

According to local laws, except for Aleksa’s home, all other possessions were transferred to his male siblings. So Jovanka’s only income proceeded from the rental of her own house. Together with her brood, she initiated an odyssey of eleven address changes.

Despite all this, Rašo had pleasant childhood memories. He fondly recalled his kindergarten teacher who taught him reading, writing, and math. This enabled him to start school at age five, two years earlier than his classmates. Recognizing in him a child given to study, his teachers warned that he would need special permission from the education commissioner to attend gymnasium.

Little Rašo’s favorite time of the year was the long, hot summer. The port of Risan was the merchants’ terminal; trucks and buses circulated daily on the gravel road winding down to the seaside. As soon as the school year ended in June, his mom dropped him off at his grandfather’s place, and she returned for him at the end of August. He helped in his grandfather’s store and went fishing with him. His uncle Nikola taught him to swim and dive into the cool, deep waters of the bay. He made many friends and learned to speak in the Boka dialect. And, wide-eyed, he listened to tales of Simo’s sailing adventures from the four corners of the Mediterranean Sea.

Back in Nikšić, Rašo worked part-time in Uncle Djoko’s grocery store. Because of fierce competition, sales were often in a slump. When Djoko specialized in wine and liquor retail, income quickly rebounded. After he hired a full-time assistant, he no longer needed his nephew’s help.

This was a blessing for Rašo. After school,