BY BUS THROUGH AMERICA

When the snow melted in Winnipeg in April, I took the Greyhound bus to travel around America. At the first crossing of the Canadian-American border in Emerson, only passengers who are not Canadian or American citizens went out for customs and passport control. I was among them. I approach the clerk, he takes my Yugoslav passport, looks at who I am and where I am from, and then asks me: "Where are you from, Mr. Jelača?" "From Novi Sad," I answered him. And he will continue: "Which street?", Which surprises me when he asks about the street. I told him my address, and then I asked him: "Excuse me, sir, why are you asking me about the street in Novi Sad?" "I was driving a car in Miletićeva Street, in the opposite direction, so the police stopped me there," he replied. Then we both laughed and I told him our saying, how the world is really small. He returned my passport and wished me a happy journey, waving at me.

For lunch, the driver stopped us at the Grand Forks. All the passengers, there were about fifteen of us, we went out and sat down at the tables, and the waiter soon started serving us. I hesitated a bit with the order, because their dishes were unknown and unconvincing to me. Then the Sheriff entered the tavern, with a badge that said Marshall. His gait was dignified, he was very serious, and all those present greeted him and he greeted them with gentle bows. I watched it intently, because it was the first time in my life to see it live, I had only seen it in American, cowboy movies before.

When we got on our bus again, I noticed that another driver would be driving us. I saw the previous one that he took his things and went to his car, going home. I concluded that Greyhound buses run on long lines, and that drivers take turns in their places where they live.

During that afternoon, it rained constantly, and I mostly looked out the window and enjoyed the endless fields full of grain. That landscape really impressed me, so I took a nap over time. We arrived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota in the early evening, the name of the city corresponds to the Indian names. I was hoping to see some Indians on the streets, but I probably didn't see any because of the rain. During the night, we also passed through Sioux City, where three younger Indians, quite messy-looking, stood in front of the restaurant and smoked. This fulfilled my thirst to see the Indians. And around midnight, we arrived in Omaha, a city that seemed pretty scary to me. By Kansas City, I managed to get some sleep, and we arrived in Kansas City at dawn.

In Kansas City, the bus station was full of passengers and almost constantly the announcers loudly informed the buses in which direction and when they were leaving. I didn't dare take a nap there, and I knew that my next bus to Manhattan didn't leave until three o'clock. Manhattan is a university city, where Kansas State University is, where I traveled to visit Professor Dr. John Schellenberger.

My bus to Manhattan was driving in the direction of Denver, Colorado. And since the morning dawned, I have enjoyed watching the vast expanses of wheat fields. An ambience you can only wish for. In the town of Topeka, we passed by grain silos, with about 400 cells, which I carefully observed, because I myself designed similar facilities in Yugoslavia.

Arriving in Manhattan, the town delighted me with its appearance, the layout of the university buildings and the general cleanliness and well-groomed greenery. At that time, they told me, the town had about 25,000 inhabitants, most of whom were students, as many as 13,000. By appointment, I was greeted by Professor Dr. John Schellenberger, who took me through their research laboratories, introducing me to the staff present, and when we sat in his office, we were joined by Professor Dr. Ward. I have known Professor Schellenberger since our previous meeting in Novi Sad, during which I hosted him, and Professor Ward will visit our institute in Novi Sad, a couple of years later. For lunch, Professor Schellenberger took me to a restaurant at a nearby fortress, and in the afternoon I slept in his house, after he noticed that my eyes were closing while we were talking.

On my way back from Manhattan, the same day, evening, I took a bus to St. Paul, which drove through Des Mones, Iowa, and Minneapolis (St. Paul and Minneapolis are two almost connected cities, which is why their citizens call them "Twin City"). They are separated only by the Mississippi River.

The next day I had an appointment at the Minneapolis mill firm, where I was received by Dr. Eddie Boss, who used to work at Grain Research Laboratories, Winnipeg, where I was doing my doctoral dissertation. Returning to Winnipeg, the bus drove on the left side along the Mississippi River, and I also enjoyed this route watching American and Canadian fields full of grain. I remembered my father's story that he worked as a lumberjack at the source of the Mississippi River, near the Canadian border.

And not long after, my mentor, Professor Dr. Isidore Hlynka suggested that I travel to America again, where I would attend the annual gathering of operative professional experts of the American and Canadian mill industry, again in Minneapolis, at the expense of the Grain Research Laboratories Institute (GRL), which I gladly accepted. This time I traveled by plane, and from the airport to the hotel I had the opportunity to ride a famous American limousine. At the hotel, I met the president of the Association of Professional Millers of America and the publisher of Nord Wester Miller magazine, Mr. George Schwarbeck.

On the last day of the congress, George passed by with a gentleman and invited me: "Let's take a picture, Simo" and I joined them. When George introduced his guest to me in his room, and when he said his name Mijo Rasic, I asked him: "Where are you from, Mr. Rasic?", To which he replied: "Yes, where would I be from, but from Bosnia, from Bosanski Brod ''. George looks at us, he doesn't understand, and he sees that we speak the same language, so he says: "Let's take a picture of you" and after taking pictures, Mijo explains our meeting to George. In the evening, Mijo and I went out to dinner at a restaurant and he told me about his life. He arrived, he says, in South America, fifty years ago, in Peru, worked in a mill in Lima, where he married and had four daughters, gave them the names of our rivers: Sava, Drina, Morava and Una. He also told me how he became a personal friend with Tito and Koča Popović. When Hitler invaded Yugoslavia, Mijo sent him a telegram, threatening to organize a movement against him (Hitler) if he did not leave Yugoslavia alone, and based on that telegram, he became friends with Tito and Koča. And it will happen next year that Mijo came to Novi Sad, to visit me, so I drove him to Belgrade, where he visited Koča Popović, who was then the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Yugoslavia, and he could not see Tito because of Tito's obligation. And while he was with Koča, I was waiting for him in the car.

Soon after my stay in Minneapolis, the time would come for my studies in Winnipeg to end and I set off for Novi Sad, and this time by Greyhound bus, from Winnipeg, via Toronto, to New York. On that road, I passed through the small town of Kenora, an extraordinarily beautiful city, with so much water in the immediate vicinity, which makes it difficult to decide whether the city is more in the water or the water in the city. And each house has street access from the front, and almost all houses access to the water, from the yard. Beautiful for life. In the further drive, which lasted two days and two nights, I traveled through endless forests and endless fields, through the city of Thunderbay, where there are huge silos for exporting grain to countries across the Atlantic, and through Sadbury, where the nickel mine, so through Berry and Orillia, arriving in Toronto in the evening. And when we found ourselves on the 401 highway, with 16 lanes, in both directions, the street lights and the lights above the highway just turned on and the scene was unforgettable. I watched the countless vehicles and beauties that the city of Toronto provided me, for the first time in my life, I was enchanted.

At the University of Toronto, I found a hostel, which I had reserved for an overnight stay, and the next day I bought a map of the city and went on a tour. I walked for sixteen hours, with a break of only about twenty minutes, during which time I had lunch. On the second day, I met Zarko Nikodijevic and together we climbed the then tallest building in Toronto, about 60 floors, from where we enjoyed a tour of Lake Ontario and the surrounding area.

And when, on the third day, I set out for New York, I first arrived at Niagara Falls, where I stayed up late in the evening, when the bus continued its journey across the Buffalo. I left Canada in the pitch dark, and at the entrance to America I didn’t have to, this time, get out, the customs officer got on the bus and did a passenger check. According to the map, I knew that we passed through Rochester, Syracuse and Albany at night, and entered New York at dawn. Since I didn't have a reservation in New York, I locked my luggage in a locker until I found a room, which I fortunately managed to do on the walking distance.

In New York, I first walked to Times Square and Broadway Street, sitting on the sidewalk in front of the theater for a while, where I saw a picture of Behmi Fehmiu, from the movie Feather Gatherers. On the second day of my stay in New York, I climbed the Empire State Building and visited the United Nations building, and on the third day I sailed around Manhattan Island for three hours.

I traveled Greyhound buses in Canada and the United States, I reckon, about 12,000 miles (19,000 km). And when it came time to travel to Yugoslavia, on the fourth day, quite late in the evening, I took a city bus to John Fitzgerald Kennedy Airport, sat for a while and watched the numerous planes, which took off every minute and soon disappeared into the darkness of the sky. I liked the sight. And when it was time for my flight to Frankfurt, I boarded the Jumbo Jet 747 Pan-American, sat down in my seat and fell asleep soon after takeoff. This time I flew across the Atlantic peacefully, sleeping, and when we landed at Shannon Airport in Ireland, I went out to stretch my legs and just to tell myself that I had stepped on the soil of Ireland. From Shannon, the flight was via Dusseldorf to Belgrade.

Research Laboratories in Grain Research Laboratory, Winnipeg

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