Chapter One: Baby Steps - To Parent Directory

In the Shadow of the Greats
By Nicolas Petrov ©
Chapter One: Baby Steps I was quite a happy youngster, born on December 13, 1933 in the
Kingdom of Serbia. According to my mother, Irena, on the evening of my nine
o'clock arrival a huge snowstorm blanketed the ground with two feet of
white powdery snow. Perhaps this is why I am so keen about snow.
My father, Sergei Nikolaevic, a former young officer in the Czar's
army, had fled Russia during the Revolution, sold his horse, and sought
refuge in Serbia, where with government help, he became a lawyer. My mother
Irena Roboz Petrov, who was the youngest daughter of a railroad station
chief and the granddaughter of a wealthy Austro-Hungarian architect, was a
housewife. My parents met while my dad was a young professional and I
arrived a few years after their marriage.
My father was quite a large man and by the time I reached thirty, it
was obvious that I had turned out like him. My son also, as he approached
thirty resembled the family tree. My mother, who grew up during the First
World War, was an attractive, small woman, not corpulent, but definitely
Rubenesque. She always complained of physical aches--her legs, her back,
and her heart--and other malfunctions. Yet, she lived ninety-nine and a
half years before she left this Earth, God bless her soul.
At an early age, I already knew that law studies were not for me.
Perusing all the books on my father's bookshelves--the tools of his trade--
I found them dull. Those Roman rights held no interest for me. I gave no
thought to what I would like to be, but was better attuned to what did not
appeal.
I do recall saying, "I don't want to be a solider." That wish was
granted, as I never served active duty in the army. While I did have an
inclination towards medicine, I suspect that was only because my doctor had
a beautiful car. I thought that by pursuing medicine, I could have one too.
In the thirties life was comfortable in Yugoslavia. Our extended
family--Grandma Theresa, Aunty Lenka, my parents, and I--lived on an estate
inherited from my great-grandfather, who was one of Novi Sad's founding
fathers. (My mother also had two other siblings. Aunty Elizabeth, whom I
liked very much, lived in Zemun. Uncle Oscar, whom I only visited a few
times and did not know well, resided in Zagreb with his family.) The
property encompassed four houses, a sizable courtyard, and garden. My
mother continued to live in our house, which was in the heart of the city
and amid modern high rises, until she passed away in 2004. (It has since
been razed to make way for a multistory apartment complex.) We had neither
horses nor cars, but Novi Sad (New York in English) was small. Bicycles
were sufficient.
I recall that we took family vacations and years afterwards, my father
often asked, "Do you remember when you were little and we vacationed in
Rateca Planica in the Slovenian Alps?" I would always reply, "Certainly,
Dad," though I remembered very little of that tiny, last whistle stop at
the foot of the mountains, as I had been just four or five-years-old. I do
recollect our visit to a cheese factory, where one of the wheels was about
two-feet thick and at least six-feet in diameter. It was the biggest cheese
I have ever seen. And, I recall that when I grew weary of the steep
mountain climb, Aunty Lenka carried me on her shoulders. I remember pine
forests, meadows of green grass, and our picnic of gavrilovic (hard salami)
sandwiches. That is all I remember of Slovenia.
I was quite spoiled, especially by Grandma Theresa and my black-
haired, dark-eyed Aunty Lenka, whose fiery and energetic nature I admired.
I spent most of my early years under their care. As an only child, all
attention was directed towards me. Naturally, I had no qualms with that and
enjoyed it fully. The surrounding houses had children, who were not just
rich, but quite wealthy. So, we were supplied with a large quantity of
astonishing toys. The garden and yard served as our playground because we
were forbidden to play in the street.
As my father was Orthodox and my mother, Catholic, we celebrated
holidays according to both calendars. This of course was relatively
profitable for me--two Christmases, two Easters! I was showered with
material goods, especially wonderfully crafted, high quality, German made
toys, but I did not appreciate their quality.
When I was about six-years-old, this wonderful life was abruptly
disrupted. On Easter Day, 1941, as sirens blared, Germany declared war on
Yugoslavia, which was then a republic of six small nations: Serbia,
Croatia, Bosnia, Macedonia, Slovenia, and Montenegro, ruled by Alexander
II, a Serb. (In more recent history, Yugoslavia disintegrated during a rage
of ethnic cleansing in Bosnia and through internal clashes between Serbian
leader, Slobodan Milos?vi?, and the Kosovo Muslim population. Only two
existing republics comprise today's Yugoslavia.)
I vividly remember my mother walking into our house that sunny Easter.
Worried and visibly uncomfortable, she announced that Germany had declared
war on Yugoslavia. She knew that my father must register for active army
duty. What she did not know was that this period of mobilization and war
would be very short.
Our ears were glued to the radio that morning. Later in the day, we
heard the growling of German schtukas (war planes) that flew over Novi Sad
en route to Belgrade. It was an astonishing picture of shining silver birds
thundering above our heads. For the first time, I felt fear of something
that I barely understood.
Panic struck our community. We--my family, including my grandma and
aunt, plus our neighbors--prepared to move underground into a collectively
built bomb shelter that had been installed on our grounds in October 1940,
as a precautionary measure. It was large, well equipped, and could
accommodate more than twenty people. It gave everyone a sense of security.
As the neighborhood children and I played, we forgot about the threat of
war.
In early afternoon, Radio Belgrade announced that Yugoslavia had
surrendered to German forces. Oddly, there was no resistance, as Germany
was playing "cat and mouse" with the Yugoslav politicians. It sold
Yugoslavia outdated guns, leftover from the First World War. The shipments
were distributed to one area of the country, while ammunition (which was
not compatible with the guns) was shipped to another.
Recruits (like my father) quickly realized that the army was
disorganized, as King Alexander II fled to France with some of his
generals. The soldiers, without leadership, soon returned to their homes.
Unbelievably, Belgrade was conquered after intensive bombing by six German
pilots. Within three days, the rest of the invading army occupied the
entire country.
The German army outfitted in green-gray uniforms resembled something
from the pages of science fiction--cruel and futuristic or from a Star Wars
movie. My six-year-old mind was impressed. The advancing Germans were
quickly succeeded by their allies, the Hungarians, who wore yellow-brown
uniforms. They just passed through Novi Sad like ants at a picnic. They
were well regimented and detailed from their helmets to their heels. They
shone like the chrome on a well-polished car. The King's guards (known as
the Tchetniks) and the police offered slight resistance to this parade of
soldiers, which actually lasted for only a few days before Novi Sad was
subdued. Afterwards, everything superficially returned to normal.
For three years, we felt very little of the war, probably because we
lived in Novi Sad Vojvodina, an old part of Austro-Hungary. We saw none of
the resistance that was developing in Southern Yugoslavia. In those
southern mountains, the resistance sprung up quickly in retaliation to the
German terror spreading through Serbia. Led by Josip Broz Tito, a political
leader trained in Russia, the resistance received help from England and
Russia, which sent food and ammunitions. The Germans took drastic measures
to punish the Yugoslavs. For every German soldier killed, up to fifty
innocent local citizens were executed. People fled their homes to join the
resistance. They preferred to die fighting than to be executed
defenselessly.
After D-Day, the Allied victory was assured. Although we survived the
war, an unknown fate befell Aunty Elizabeth's husband, a Slovenian who
worked in a commercial airplane factory. The Germans had occupied Zemun and
Belgrade and taken over the factory to produce leisure planes for the
German army. After their withdrawal, the partisans moved in. We think that
one of his workers shot him or took him away, as he went out on the street
and never returned.
The fantastical German army, minus its previous luster, withdrew from
Yugoslavia without fanfare. However, while exiting, they blew up everything
that was still standing and took our food and sustenance with them.
During the severe winter of 1944, we starved. I learned to appreciate
every meal or scrap of food that I acquired and to clean my plate. The
hunger haunted me for many years afterwards. Rations provided by the United
Nations Relief and Works Agency became our sustenance and these were also
served to the liberating armies. Besides chocolate and chewing gum, the
rations contained my introduction to nicotine--cigarettes. Needless to say,
I did inhale for thirty years and was a serious smoker. Now, with
hindsight, which is always 20/20, I would have never taken that first puff.
Hungarian authorities governed Novi Sad during the war. As I finished
elementary school, the Hungarian language predominated. Afterwards, Novi
Sad reverted to Serbian rule. Adjusting to the new language in middle
school was difficult. Despite the transition, we were happy to have
survived the war, even if we were living on rations. It was the spring of a
new