‘Palace of Justice blood runs through my veins’ – Slavica made coffee for judges, lawyers, and criminals in the legendary buffet for 43 years

BY Rajko Nedić

Palace of Justice blood runs through my veins. I don’t want to move to another court. This is my second home.

That’s how Slavica Pajović used to speak — the legendary Slavka or The Boss — who brewed coffee for 43 years for judges, prosecutors, lawyers, criminals, defendants and plaintiffs, victims’ families and anyone who happened to find themselves in the once-renowned restaurant and buffet of the Palace of Justice. The news of her death has saddened the employees in the Savska Street building, where she spent her entire working life and witnessed a turbulent time and the fates of those who passed through it. Although she had been retired for several years, the memory of her never faded...

Buffets of Atelje 212 and the Palace

The iconic Atelje 212 theatre buffet was a meeting place for actors, journalists, and artists — and similarly, the restaurant and buffet of the Palace of Justice was for many years a legendary gathering spot for the elite of our judiciary, especially since, in the 1970s and 1980s, there wasn’t a single café in the surrounding area.

“Slavica is a symbol of this building, and it was very hard for us when we heard she had passed away. It was also hard when she retired a few years ago. The sad news spread quickly, and we received calls from many judges, prosecutors, lawyers, and other staff — even those who no longer work here. This brave woman left a deep mark on our team. She was a great fighter and very fair. She wasn’t just a colleague — she was a friend, an adviser, a mother figure to some. She listened to many happy and sad stories, from security guards to senior officials. She comforted many who were forced to come to the Palace of Justice by hardship, but also those pursuing their own version of justice. She reconciled quarrelling colleagues — but not in the courtroom. All of it with her famous coffee and Turkish delight,” say colleagues Vlada and Mića with a sigh, and add:

“Our Slavka was a heroine. Originally from Gruža, born in 1952, she completed primary school and spent her whole working life here. She had a hard life, but few could tell at work. She lost her husband early in a car accident and raised and educated their son Dejan on her own, somehow built a house in Borča, and adored her grandson Neša. She was a caring mother and grandmother.”

Oxen and water

No one ever heard Slavica complain about her problems — because she never wanted to burden others. But she always knew how to listen, and she would bluntly tell people what kind of person they were and what she thought. Her opinions — though she only had a primary school education — were respected even by those with the highest titles.
“She wasn’t shy or afraid to speak her mind. Once, a rude and arrogant guest in the restaurant demanded a glass of water while she was busy. She told him: ‘If I’d wanted to water oxen, I would’ve stayed in Gruža!’ The whole restaurant fell silent, but that tough guy immediately turned and left the room. That’s the kind of woman she was...”

“Slavka brewed the best coffee — staff would start their day with it. She had her own table where she sat during breaks, surrounded by her favourite colleagues. Generations of legal professionals who passed through the Palace of Justice respected and loved Slavka, affectionately calling her The Boss,” say our sources.
According to her colleagues, regular visitors included prosecutor Nenad Stefanović, lawyer Đorđe Komlenski, prosecutor Peđa Milovanović, and one of her dearest, lawyer Dužan Slijepčević, former investigative judge of the District Court. Our sources note that many prominent names in the judiciary came to see her.
“They all came to spend time with her, have coffee, and were deeply moved when they heard of her passing.”

The invisible scanner

Judge Tanja Šobat recalls her memories of Slavica:
“She didn’t deliver verdicts, defend anyone, or act as a prosecutor — but every move, glance, and word left a lasting impression that time cannot erase. She spent over 40 years behind the counter of our restaurant. At first glance, she was an ordinary woman — petite, thin, sharp-featured. But she could recognise a person in just two sentences, in their walk and their look. She didn’t care about titles or status. Everyone passed through her invisible scanner — one of dignity, respect, and honesty. The story of her lives on... in the memories of colleagues who still ask for their coffee to be made ‘the way she used to’. Some people don’t leave behind titles — they leave behind a feeling. And she left behind a legend.”

Lawyer Marko Milutinović told Kurir that Slavica was by his side for many years.
“I spent a huge part of my life in the Palace. I was one of those children Slavica would keep an eye on while my parents worked. I have the fondest memories of her — from childhood, through my intern and judicial-assistant years, to when I started practising law. I know especially how much my parents, both judges, respected and loved Slavica. She followed the lives and careers of many of my colleagues,” Marko tells us. Slavka had a particularly close bond with former long-time President of the Higher Court in Belgrade, Aleksandar Stepanović, who sent a wreath since he was unable to attend her funeral.
“To all legal professionals, the symbol of the judiciary is the Palace of Justice. And the symbol of the Palace was, and will remain, Slavka the legend,” conclude colleagues Vlada and Mića.

My acquaintance with Slavica

Coffee, Turkish delight, and regret over an untold story for Kurir
The present author also had the honour and opportunity to meet Slavica, to drink her famous coffee with Turkish delight, and to witness who all came through those doors. Back then, just before the Palace of Justice was renovated — though the building was already long overdue for refurbishment — thanks to Slavka, that little place had a soul and its loyal patrons: legends of the legal profession, famous judges, and prosecutors. In a timeless atmosphere — the only thing missing was a portrait of Tito — amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke, countless stories were told. It was a parallel world, a thin line between the courtroom and the café table...

Colleagues often encouraged Slavica to share her life story with Kurir once she retired, especially because the editor — the author of this piece — had “passed” her personal test.

“This journalist friend of yours is a decent lad, I could tell straight away. But I’m not the one for that,” she would modestly say to colleague Vlada.

This text is therefore dedicated to our Slavka. So that the story of one ordinary person does not go untold and forgotten.

Rajko Nedić