‘STANE DOLANC OFFERED ME A VILLA IN DEDINJE JUST TO BE HIS!’ The story of the only Serbian woman to hold the title of MISS WORLD

I was born in 1959 in Pirot, but I grew up in Obrenovac. My mother gave birth to me when she was very young. She went to give birth at her grandmother’s house. I was a love child. Back then, it was a big deal to have a baby and not be married. Vera was a radiologist by profession at The Narodni Front Hospital, and that’s why she went to her grandmother’s to give birth.

Family background

My grandfather was a national hero. The street in Obrenovac is no longer named after him, but the bust in the town centre is still there.
I was an only child, but never spoiled. Interestingly, in my family the women were dominant, but they were all widowed young. We always leaned on each other, strong and resilient. Of course, big fighters and ahead of our time.

About my father

I bear my mother’s maiden name—Manić. I never met my father. He passed away. My mother told me everything. I know his name and that my surname should have been Kresoje. I never had contact with him. He knew everything that was going on in my life, through my late uncle, but he and I never met. Perhaps he saw me, but I never saw him. I received so much love from those women. Still, a male figure is always needed by a girl to identify with and to help her find the right partner in life. That’s probably the reason for my romantic failures—because I had no father figure to lean on, to use as a guide for who truly belonged to me.

My uncle and brother Zoran

The only dominant male figure in our female world was my late uncle Nikola, the husband of my mother’s sister. Then there’s my brother Zoran, who still lives in Obrenovac in the family home. We were very close as children—he was an only child, I was an only child—so we were like brother and sister. I expected every man to treat me like Uncle Nikola treated Aunt Nada. She was his entire world

School and an unfulfilled dream

I started school a year early. They mistakenly enrolled me in first grade at six. I never found school a burden. The only thing is, I never finished university. My dream was to become a biology teacher. Fate, however, had other plans—I became a journalist for life.

How I became Miss

I always liked having my own money. Every winter and before summer, I worked at trade fairs, and so, from a young age, I learned how to earn and value money. At the Furniture Fair—if I remember correctly—I was spotted by Dragan Kruška, a journalist from TV Novosti. He came up and said: “Kid, come sign up for the Miss Yugoslavia pageant.” I always liked public appearances. I was in a drama group led by the late Bata Miladinović at Radio Belgrade. I didn’t expect to enrol in the Academy, but I simply found it interesting to learn something. Today, that experience helps me in my work. The beauty contest was held over New Year’s, and it took place on Krk for ten days. I told myself: “Great. I’ll celebrate New Year’s and have a good time.”

On winning

When I went to the Miss Yugoslavia pageant, I decided I was going to win. It was a bit different back then. You only wore a one-piece swimsuit. And of course there was jealousy among the contestants, but I’ve never been like that by nature. I wasn’t jealous of the men I was with, let alone other women. I don’t understand that kind of behaviour. You have to be fun and sociable—what will be, will be. In these pageants, nothing depends solely on you, it depends on the voters. The most important thing is how you present yourself, how you smile and how you walk.
 i hodate.

You know, no one in my family ever told me I was beautiful. In our home, other things were valued. And so I learned how to carry that beauty without letting it become a burden. Before the final, I spent time with Kemal Monteno. We hung out at the bowling alley. I wasn’t stressed. I found it more fun to learn how to bowl than to rest. In the end, as the winner, he even sang me his song “Tonight, you’re all in red”.

Shy

My victory was received with great joy, but as if it were just part of life. “Our Lida won, and that’s great,” were the comments from my family. And I am, by nature, an extremely shy person. Even then, in those years when perhaps I should have put myself forward and made myself known—I never could. It never got the media attention it deserved. Today, beauty queens who did far less than I did are more widely remembered.

Going to the Miss Universe pageant

I competed in two international beauty pageants. The first was Miss Universe in San Salvador. As soon as we arrived in the country, the army took our passports, and we didn’t get them back until it was time to leave. That was the first time I realised there was a wall between the rich and the poor. We were in a lovely hotel, but I couldn’t see how ordinary people lived.

We immediately went to a ball and to see the king. That royal guard—one couldn’t say who was more handsome. They were of various races, all with green eyes, all the same height. Each of us was met by a gentleman who would keep us company and dance the waltz with us. As I stepped off the bus, my heel snapped clean off. I told the organiser, and he took my shoes. I had to walk on tiptoe all the way to the palace. Each country presented itself to the king. When I bowed to greet him, I began to sway and pointed to my bare feet. The headline that came out in the papers read: “Barefoot countess at the royal reception.” They immediately woke the royal cobbler, repaired my heel, and I got my shoe back for the rest of the evening.

I won the title of Miss Photogenic there, and the award I’m especially fond of is the Little Miss Universe prize, given by the girls themselves. They voted amongst each other to choose who was the most beautiful. I also received a small brooch as a gift. The second award was given to me by the photographers, but many believed that Yugoslavia had been unfairly treated—which I found out when the invitation arrived for me to take part in the Miss International pageant in Japan. Kold Ber directed all three competitions—Miss World, Miss Universe, and Miss International—and under our rules, I shouldn’t have been allowed to take part in a second contest. However, he requested that I be sent again to Japan, and not my first runner-up. They knew I had been wronged.

Japan

Japan is a very unique country. I would love to visit it for a third time. I was also there after the pageant, to pass the crown to my successor from France. Japan has a special attitude towards people and beauty. I was obliged to spend a month with them after my victory. I stayed at a hotel opposite the Imperial Residence in Tokyo. After the pageant, our embassy was also required to host a reception. Miro Krajačić and his wife Vanda organised it, and they were very proud that Yugoslavia had won. A delegation from Yugoslavia also arrived in Japan at the time, headed by Stane Dolanc, coming from Mongolia. He told me that before their official meeting even began, they had been congratulated for Yugoslavia’s victory in the Miss World

Dinner

To mark the occasion, they organised a dinner which I attended wearing the sash and crown, and the first thing Stane Dolanc asked me was whether I was a member of the League of Communists. I promised him I would join as soon as I returned home. He was thrilled when he heard that I was the granddaughter of a national hero. He asked me when I was returning to Belgrade and if he could take something back to my family. I sent him all the photographs and a message to my mum—as if he were a courier. I didn’t even know who he was. I only knew about Tito. My mum later told me she thought someone was playing a prank on her when she got a call from his office.

Indecent proposal

Our interaction didn’t end with the official dinner in Japan. From him, I received the first indecent proposal of my life. He invited me to lunch and suggested we go hunting in Karađorđevo, where Comrade Tito would also be. I told him I didn’t like hunting and wasn’t interested in it at all. My friend Vanja Bulić asked me, “Who do you think they’d be hunting there?” Of course, I’d be the one they’d be chasing through those woods. During lunch, he uttered the now infamous line: “I offer you a villa in Dedinje, gold of the ancient Incas, Russian sable furs—just be mine.” I was only 18 years old. I was far too young to accept anything like that. I wasn’t raised that way. It both saddened and hurt me. It hurt me as a woman, as an innocent being. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe something like that was happening to me. Especially that someone of his age could say such vile things to a child. That’s when I realised that the world I had been shielded from—that kind of world—really did exist. You see, you’re wrapped in a safe bubble, protected from that kind of world, and you associate with people your own age. I’m happy and proud that I never got a job because I slept with someone.

Becoming a journalist

I never became a biology teacher, but I did become a journalist. I started at the magazine Moda, then moved to Studio B. Kojadinović gave me my first show. It was called The One Who Knows and was about what the times had to offer. I was broadcasting live when a bomb threat was reported. Everyone else had evacuated the Beograđanka building. I spent two and a half years there. Then I moved to Palma, the first private national television station, where I worked for 11 years. I regret that the station didn’t manage to secure its place. It had great programming, but they didn’t invest in themselves. I’ve now been at Kopernikus for 17 years, hosting the show The Truth About, which deals with political and social phenomena.

Private life

I had my first boyfriend at the age of 21. I’ve never married. I had four great loves. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have children. I spent nine years in a common-law marriage. He died in a traffic accident. We had broken up before that.
The greatest love of my life happened seven years ago. He is a very well-known musician. We remained good friends because our love couldn’t come to fruition. It’s enough to love just once, and I loved four times—a regular man, an athlete, a doctor, and a musician.

Illness

At the start of the pandemic, I found out I had cancer. My mother spent her entire life in healthcare, and I regularly went for check-ups. I only felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. I went down to the private clinic in my building, and the doctor told me, “Go to Višegradska immediately.” It was May 2020. Seven days later, I had surgery. The histopathological report confirmed it was cancer, and I then underwent 25 sessions of radiotherapy at the oncology centre... After the treatments, it all settled somewhat.

However, in 2023, the illness returned. My mum was already starting to show signs of dementia by then, so I couldn’t properly communicate or explain what I was going through. She was just afraid I’d leave her and that she’d be alone. While I was in hospital, those ten days she stayed with my brother in Obrenovac and called me every day crying, begging me to come home. She simply couldn’t understand what was happening. I cried on one end, she cried on the other. What shocked me more than anything in 2023 was when I had a CT scan and learned the disease had returned. It was 28 November 2023. They told me I had to start chemotherapy again—and my mother died that same day. I felt strange and said, “God, at least my mother won’t have to live to see what I’m going through.” Those breakdowns and therapies are difficult. Your hair falls out. That’s why I shaved my head myself.

How things stand now

I recently had another CT scan, and the fibrous changes are still present. They suggested I start chemotherapy again on 28 April. Just a few days ago, I went to see my doctor, because my body and spirit were resisting this second round of chemo. I just couldn’t accept it. Not because I don’t believe in it or refuse it, but something in me simply rejected it. I don’t know why. I went to speak to my doctor, Lidija Pavlović, who is a fantastic oncologist. I told her, “Please don’t be upset, but I can’t come on 28 April for this round of chemotherapy—something in me is rejecting it.” She said a beautiful sentence: “Of course, Lidija. The body must be listened to. The body dictates, and we listen to what it tells us. Don’t go against it. Call me in 20 days, we’ll do another CT scan, see where you are, and make a new plan.” I have no fear of death. Honestly, I don’t think about it. But I would like, as they say, to spend some more time in this world, to dedicate myself to my friends and comrades, to stay in touch with them, and to continue doing my show, which brings peace to my soul.

Final message

There was a time in my life when I didn’t love myself very much. And I believe the real message is that a person must love themselves. You must tell yourself that you are the most important person in your world. That is the only true and correct thing. You see, scientists in Japan did experiments with water—how it reacts to harsh words and kind words. Our cells behave the same way. You must love people, believe in people, and accept them as they are, without ever trying to change them.

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