Brave tales of an English teacher and a survivor

Former Peace Corps volunteer Vincent Kreder has been dubbed a survivor. When he first came to Lithuania in 1992, he never planned to stay more than a year or two.

But a decade has elapsed. He continues to teach English to students in the resort town of Druskininkai, near Lithuania's border with Belarus.

Kreder, 55, says he has been privileged to have a front seat watching the country undergo historical changes and prepare for European Union membership.

"I never thought I'd be here 10 years. I thought I'd do my two years service and go back to the U.S.," he said.

The New Jersey native has Lithuanian roots on his father's side. Some relatives still live in Krosna, a small village not far from Druskininkai.

During the week he teaches English to pupils in Druskinikai's Old Town High School. Once a month he makes the trip to Krosna to spend time with pupils there.

He moved to Druskininkai after four years teaching English in the port city of Klaipeda, which included his two years as a Peace Corps volunteer.

The corps is closing down its operations in Lithuania this summer. Since 1992 it has had over 100 volunteers teaching English in the country.

As a way of bidding farewell, receptions and parties have been held in the capital for the volunteers. The most recent, on June 21, was hosted by U.S. Ambassador John Tefft.

Several volunteers of the pioneering 1992 group made the trip to Vilnius for that occasion. Kreder had not seen many of them since they departed Lithuania years before.

"When I first came here to help Lithuania after independence, they needed English teachers. That was one of my skills," he said.

From 1994, Kreder was supported by the Soros Foundation for five years. He continued teaching English, worked with debate teams, taught baseball and spent the weekends traveling. The foundation paid for textbooks, provided a transport allowance and paid for travel to the U.S.A. twice a year.

"Soros was really generous," Kreder said.

But he no longer receives any financial support. He finds the 600 litas ($167) monthly salary he earns at the secondary school barely enough for the most basic needs. Luckily he doesn't have to buy clothing, which is sent to him by relatives in the U.S.A.

He doesn't complain, despite the fact that his rented apartment does not have a working refrigerator.

His health recently took a turn for the worst. On May 18 he suffered a heart attack and spent almost a month in the hospital and the Santariskes rehabilitation center in Vilnius. He was unable to finish the school year and couldn't say farewell to his pupils for the summer.

But despite the hardships he remains upbeat. "For me the joy is seeing how much Lithuania has changed since independence."

He says that teaching English to a growing generation of Lithuanians more than compensates for his lack of money. He is loved by his pupils. Former students who return to Druskininkai from university in Vilnius often buy him rounds of beer at the local Italian pizza restaurant.

"I look at the kids, former students of mine, and see the fruits. Being here is a spiritual thing," he said.

He said that while many Americans were apt to do volunteer work, the notion of helping out without monetary compensation is still a new idea in the Baltic states.

"Lithuanians don't understand that," he said.

His efforts have not gone unnoticed by Lithuanian President Valdas Adamkus, however, who granted Kreder honorary Lithuanian citizenship for his efforts. Kreder had close to 20 recommendations, including several from Lithuanian Americans.

Lithuanian citizenship allows him to bypass Lithuanian bureaucracy and the customary form-filling, one of his pet peeves.

Some aspects of Kreder's life have improved over the years, such as service in restaurants. In the summer of 1992 he and a group of students tried to get into Vilnius' Medininkai restaurant, which that particular evening was empty. A lone waitress, puffing on a cigarette, announced that there were no free tables.

He could not convince the stubborn waitress that there were.

Going to the movies could also be trying. The policy at Druskininkai's unheated and uncomfortable local cinema was that a film could not be screened unless at least five people showed up. There were four of them.

Kreder offered to pay for the fifth person, but the cinema employee said that was not possible. The boss might show up and see only four people in the theater, she explained.

Kreder tried to get someone off the street to come in and sit through the film, but in vain. They never saw the movie.

Today the cinema has gone bust.

After a decade in Lithuania, Kreder said it might be time to move on. "I'd like to stay, but I have to look at my financial and health concerns. When I was healthy and stronger, I never paid attention (to finances). Now I worry about medicines and doctor visits, and how to pay."

In addition, he said, it's hard to stick to a low-fat diet in a country where the national dish, "cepelinai," is a potato-encased dumpling smothered in greasy bacon sauce.

"Maybe now Lithuania is on its feet anyway and there's nothing more for me to do here," he said.