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Dr. Njegos Petrovic And Mr. No Chips Go To The Pentagon

By Charles “Chuck” Orloski

01 April, 2015
Countercurrents.org

Having worked ten years as a Teamster dockworker at Roadway Express (1974-1984) Tannersville, PA (1974-1984), and with no college background, I did not have much more political consciousness than a drug-sniffing canine. At 27 years old, 1979, I became a local activist for Teamsters for a Democratic Union (T.D.U.), an organization which had the appeal of white powder anthrax substance in the paychecks of both Teamster Local 229 Business Agent, Peter Fiore, and Roadway Express Inc., Akron, Ohio, corporate management.

In 1979, labor relations on the Tannersville dock became so hostile, characterized by work slow-downs, fights, and uncountable numbers of suspensions imposed upon particular dockworkers, considered “ring leaders,” key troublemakers. As work place tension intensified, Local 229 Business Agent and Roadway Express management reached an accord to deal with T.D.U. “ringleaders,” which after contemplation as an older and former “freight humper,” resembled Nazi's expulsion” program of Jews from Germany. Sounds outlandish and irreverent, eh? I understand the latter comparison naturally seems severe to average readers. However, the Union and Management joint accord resulted in my and several other “activists” becoming key targets for issuance of hundreds of Roadway Express “Disciplinary Letters,” which upon accumulation, resulted in work suspensions, in other words, come Friday, no pay checks. Those days, single, no dependents, I joked among friends in barrooms that I had compiled enough Roadway Express “Disciplinary Letters” to wallpaper my entire bedroom. “Pretty tough job, Chuck,” some said.

Frankly, being single and having accumulated US Savings Bonds, weekly $50.00, being a dockworker, under management fire, had its advantages. Simply put, in contrast to married dockworkers with dependents, I took luxury in work suspensions, enjoyed lots of time-off. But still and all, I was a dissident, and had to be eliminated. Soon matters came to a point where suspensions proliferated and I had very little days to actually work, get paychecks. I consistently filed grievances for every suspension doled out, charges which included usual cargo misload, damages, and one of the most memorable was a three day suspension for “creating a disturbance on Roadway Express dock”-- an act which, as compared to old band leader Mitch Miller's role, amounted to encouraging fellow Union members to sing the tune from “Bridge Over the River Kwai” as they entered the workplace between a gauntlet of motivated and angry foremen. “You're a cowardly dickhead, Orloski,” said a Roadway Express foreman who played football at nearby East Stroudsburg State College.

Come 1981, of course employment matters worsened, management expulsion policies for rebels began to take desired effect, and T.D.U. activism began to peter out. In meantime, Local Teamster Business Agent, the late-Peter Fiore, became fed-up with my dissent, and decided to telephone my father Charlie, a retired 28-year Teamster truck driver, and expose me for what I really was. Fiore called my Dad, and bluntly told him that I was a COMMUNIST, and advised that he'd better act before my T.D.U. deeds begin to stain his top notch reputation as a WWII Army veteran and Union patriot. Suddenly, at the rather late-age of 29, I got an excellent “on-the-job” course consisting of Joe McCarthy-style political intimidation. Until death July 2002, father Charlie never managed to forget Mr. Fiore's branding me a communist, and come October 1984, I punched the Roadway Express, Inc. time-clock for final time, drove home alone, no more car-pool to Pocono Mountains, and enrolled as full-time student at the University of Scranton.

Fortunately, at Jesuit University of Scranton, my first course undertaken, “Legacy of Greece and Rome,” was taught by Dr. Njegos Petrovic, since 1967, a member of Department of Foreign Languages and Literature. Dr. Petrovic (commonly known to students as “Dr. P.”) was born in Montenegro, 1933; his dad a Serbian Orthodox priest, and while young Njegos watched, executed by communists in the postwar period (c. 1946?). In time, he did after research and study on Serbian novelists in Belgrade, Yugoslavia; was awarded a scholarship by French government (1957-1961) for research on his Ph. D. Thesis at La Sorbonne, Paris, and completed doctoral thesis “Ivo Andric: L'homme et L'oeurve” at University of Montreal (1962-1966). Handsome and charismatic Dr. P. married Polish born Klara, both of whom I had the pleasure of getting to know during my time at University and Scranton, and beyond until Njegos died, July 8, 2004, grueling stomach cancer. Weeks prior to passing, the Petrovic family invited wife Carol and I to visit him inside their upstairs Scranton bedroom, for what was to become the final time.

The Petrovic family were well known and especially appreciated by University students. For example, at semester ends every May, Dr. P. would throw a large cookout, complete with delicious Slavic and French dishes, and beverages. He played baseball with Fidel Castro in Spain, painted Belgrade with Albert Camus, he staffed outdoor barbeque grille, he told my two sons dramatic Dracula stories at Halloween! After classes, Njegos and I indulged beers at Scranton's famous joint, The Wine Cellar. A rare tenured atheist at Jesuit University, and as American citizen, he had lifetime record of voting Democrat, he liked President Clinton, who in Dr. P.'s comical Slav-accented words, “Bill had most healthy appreciation for big-bosom ladies, like those of Greek sculpture.”
By 1993, and as a regular visitor at the Petrovic home, I would get free continuing education from Njegos. On several occasions he explained how effective Marshall Tito and communism initially were: “Like Iraq under Saddam Hussein, for while, Tito kept multi-ethnic Yugoslavs at peace, and relatively speaking, prosperous.” Often, Dr. P. blamed Croats and Slovenians for and therefore Tito for outbreak of the new civil war. Right or wrong, Dr. P. saw the current civil war as merely a continuation of WWII, which he claimed Croat fascists, worked with in concert with Hitler, massacred Serbs. Respectful of one's nationality and political sentiments, I suggested to Dr. P. that “it might be a good idea for Serbs to move on... forgive the Croats, like for example the US moved-on, and eventually forgave Krauts and Japs.” Understandably, Dr. P. would not have it that way.

At any rate, Balkan violence raged during the 1990s, Kosovo intensified rebellion against Serbian dominance, and major US magazines portrayed President Slobodan Milosevic as the “New Hitler.” What's more, my favorite grunge rock band, Pearl Jam and activist singer, Eddie Vedder, released a benefit album for suffering Kosovars. In meantime, further baffled by President Clinton's dark blessing, in May 1999, NATO began to wage “humanitarian war”and bombed Belgrade, the beautiful city where Dr. P.'s relatives lived. In retrospect, as a student of Russian and Soviet history and politics, and wary about DECEPTION in both past and current US administrations, I for one welcomed American debate about the morality of waging “humanitarian” war, including 78-day aerial bombing of Belgrade, which in The New York Times Op-Ed, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn described as “barbaric.”

Come Mothers Day, May 1999, I thought about Dr. P.'s concerns..., “felt his pain,”about Serbian homeland, under vicious attack. Early morning, with flower bouquet in-hand, I approached the Petrovic Scranton home, 1010 Monroe Avenue, noted a razor scratched “Clinton-Gore” bumper sticker on his car. Rang doorbell, Dr. P. answered, and rather awkwardly, I handed him the flowers, said “Happy Mothers Day... er, to your wife Klara of course, you!” Complete with a Slav-French accent, he amusingly replied, “My, my, Cha-rr-les..., no man ever in mine's life hast ever given me flowers, thanks you, thanks you, come in, come in, I give you strong cup of coffee!”

Dr. P. and I sat at family's downstairs dinner table. He poured coffee, and filled both of us a bowl of homemade chicken soup and noodles. He gobbled soup rather quickly, lamented Klara's heart disease and showed me a photograph of three year old granddaughter, Natalia.

“You ate soup rather quickly, Dr. P., you must be hungry,” I said.

“Yes, Cha-rr-les, I am in little bit hurry,” he replied. “Must get to office and look at The New York Times. Last week, I send letter to those editors, I tell them how forty-one US Senators oppose President Clinton's killing campaign which is based upon distortions of historical facts. You know, Cha-rr-les, I never no more vote for Bill Clinton!”

“Given repeal of Glass-Steagall Act, I would not want to vote for him either, Dr. P.” My answer notably weak, the American media was aflame with calls for toppling “Hitler” Milosevic, bring peace in Kosvo, improve NATO's “standing” in the international community which even at that time, purposely excluded Russia.

Our conversation continued, and Dr. P. explained how he wrote a fiery “Open Letter” to the POTUS, and as a long time professed atheist, he rather comically boasted about Russian-American Orthodox magazines regularly publishing his anti-NATO war articles. He told me, “You knowd what, Cha-rr-les, recently as last year, US big shots described the Kosovo Liberation Army as terrorist organization!” I gulped on noodles, and he went on to emphasize a desire to attend a war protest march in Washington D.C., scheduled June 5, 1999. His sons and daughters lived away and unavailable, I realized Dr. P. had misgivings about driving alone so far, I volunteered to go to D.C. with him, and join the protest march against NATO's war against Yugoslavia. I convinced myself such action “nothing new,” indeed if I could defy Roadway Express and Teamsters Local 229 for a few years, I certainly could file a grievance against the Pentagon.

After arrival at home, I told wife Carol about our Washington D.C. plans, and watered-down the fact that I would be marching on the Pentagon, in protest. Carol issued blessing, and like a housewife-Pope, concerned about tactical and safe transportation, she advised getting our 1996 VW Jetta's oil changed. I complied, and at 5:00 AM, I picked-up Dr. P. in front of his Scranton home, and we were soon off to Washington D.C. Unknown prior to departure, and on Interstate 81 South, Dr. P. informed me about his plan to drive to Philadelphia, where we would hook-up with his childhood friend at home, Vukan R. Vuchic, UPS Foundation professor of transportation at the University of Pennsylvania. He informed me about Mr. Vuchic's essay, “Since U.S. bombing of Yugoslavia backfired, a cease fire is in order,” published in The Philadelphia Inquirer, Tuesday, June 3, 1999. By heart, Dr. P. took pleasure in quoting Vukan's words, “we must break up what Reverend Jesse Jackson has called the bombing-cleansing-bombing vicious cycle.”

Along with Vuchic's wife, we arrived at the Foggy Bottom train station just in time for the protest beginning, at (I believe) 10:00 AM. Njegos had evident bladder problems, and as we walked toward the Mall, he and I joined a search to find an open Rest Room, “I must pee-pee, very bad, Cha-rr-les!” There were no public places open on the avenue, and out of abject need, I escorted him into an American University building where a female student dance and exercise class was underway. Noting an available rest room open, I advised him to enter, “do your business, I'll stand guard!” Piss Mission Accomplished, shortly thereafter, we stood about 100 yards from Vietnam Memorial, in the midst of a lively protest crowd, including young and old Americans, US war veterans, Greek Orthodox priests – the assembly later estimated as 10,000 protestors. Someone handed me a carry-sign, which in red, white and black, proclaimed “Stop Bombing Yugoslavia!” Soon the assembly moved toward the Memorial Bridge, helicopter monitoring over head, I saw JFK's grave, just below Robert E. Lee's mansion. Dr. P. smiled, said to me, “is a good peace march, eh C ha-rr-les?”

While crossing Memorial Bridge, two fellows riding bicycles, allegedly Columbia University students, kept pace with Dr. P. and were devoted to lecture him on the righteousness of the NATO bombing campaign. Annoyed, I kept distance, and upon reaching Potomac River's west bank, Dr. P. informed me about a need to “pee-pee” once again. Anyone familiar with the terrain along road to the Pentagon would understand the lack of available rest room facilities. In distress, and Pentagon still about ¼ mile south, I admittedly helped break one of my country's unwritten Ten Commandments, “do not piss in the Potomac!” Once again, I stood guard, and Dr. P. ambled down embankment, and added a yellow waste stream to the river. Upon return, I said to him, “indulgent General Grant would have understood.” He laughed, replied, “Yes, yes, C ha-rr-les... but Generals typically know limits of military organs!”

Soon we stood on a grassy knoll, between river and the Pentagon. A music enthusiast, nervous, I sentimentally hummed Pete Seeger's, “this is my land, this is your land.” On a podium facing Pentagon, former US Attorney General, LBJ administration, Ramsey Clark, addressed the crowd. With a mic, and as NATO bombs fell upon Belgrade, Mr. Clark said, “The true Americans are gathered here today.” Wife Carol frequently teases, calls me a “Drama Queen,” and I posed for photographs along with Dr. P., and a group of young Serbian-American students, who raised Serbian flag about fifty yards in front of the Pentagon.

Later in afternoon, safe inside my VW Jetta, Dr. P. and I were on way home to Scranton. Until we reached I81 N., Lebanon PA exit, Dr. P. lectured me on Balkan history. For example, “As you know, Cha-rr-les, circa 1991-3, lots of Serbs living in certain sections of Croatia getting attacked and killed by Croats. Croats are Catholics, Serbs are Serbian Orthodox. Marshall Tito had Croat father and Slovenian mother. Slovenia is just north of Croatia. You's check map of Yugoslavia some time, eh? Slovenia also Catholic and the most industrialized and progressive of the six republics that make up Yugoslav federation. You have that, eh, Cha-rr-les?

“Yea, yea, I'm with you thus far.” Tired and dangerously playing “tic-tack-toe” with highway spaces, he fell asleep before I did, and by 9:00 P.M., I safely dropped him at front door, wife Klara in picture window. Achy, he stretched, reached inside wallet, tried to pay me for my company and time. I refused, he got pissed, started to hassle me, reminded me about gasoline costs, and fed up, I spun Jetta's tires in a quick humanitarian getaway.

The bombing of Yugoslavia finally ended after 78-days. I was rather how Russian troops defiantly upheld historical Pan Slav ethic, and beat NATO forces to occupy the Belgrade airport. To this date, Reverend Jesse Jackson's advice to American people and government remains largely ignored: “U.S. must break up the bombing-cleansing-bombing cycle.” On July 8, 2004, Dr. Njegos Petrovic completed a fierce radiation-cycle, died of stomach cancer. The Petrovic family requested me to serve as pall bearer for him, and to my amazement (shock), I was informed by the bewildered family, the fact that, days prior to death, Njegos Petrovic re-converted to Orthodoxy.

His funeral held at Scranton's Hellenic Greek Orthodox Church, and in a simple pine wood box, I carried Dr. P. to grave in Cathedral Cemetery, North Scranton, PA. Year or so later, I skipped out of work and returned to the grave site. Atop grave, a wood three-barred cross, with an inscription on it, unreadable from a distance. Eager to see what was written, I took chance, and climbed locked-gate fence, put good rip in my pants. Words in Cyrillic alphabet upon cross, but for his name, I could not understand much. Unfortunately, an alert neighbor who lived across from the cemetery, saw my trespassing act, and for fear of vandalism, contacted the Hellenic Church, and gave a priest the license number of the Company pick-up which I drove. , The Greek priest understandably contacted company officials, and reported my illegal trespassing. Of course, the company owner sternly warned about “stealing company time,” and indicated “likelihood of at least a week suspension, Chuck, if you ever do such a stupid thing again!”

Charles “Chuck” Orloski lives in Taylor, PA He can be reached at [email protected]









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