hen UConn alumnus Jonas Kronkaitis '59 (BUS) first glanced at Lithuania's grandiose Defense Ministry in 1997, he silently wondered why its three Soviet-style flagpoles stood bare.The retired U.S. Army colonel thought 4 p.m. was a bit early to lower the national flag.

Kronkaitis kept quiet--until the next morning, when the sun was bright and the national flag still inexplicably absent. The Lithuanian-born American, who had just arrived to lend military wisdom to his recently liberated homeland, instructed the nearby guard to hoist the red, green and yellow-striped patriotic symbol.

When the guard refused, citing a national law, the usually soft-spoken Kronkaitis lost his cool and demanded the flag be raised. A lawyer, quickly called to the scene, read Kronkaitis the law: "The national flag will be flown on holidays."

During Lithuania's Soviet occupation from 1944 to 1991, permissible acts had to be specifically stated by law. But Kronkaitis, anxious to rid Lithuania of its communist scars, wouldn't budge.

"I told them there's nothing in that law that says it can't be flown and I'll take responsibility if I violate the law," he recalled. "The defense minister told the officer to put it up. Two days later the minister went to parliament and changed the law to read 'The flag can be flown everyday at every military installation throughout the country.'"

Beginning with this singular act of patriotism, Kronkaitis spent the next six years helping his native country during a remarkable period of transformation. Today he is the commanding general of Lithuania's armed forces, and his work, the de-Russification of independent Lithuania, makes him a national savior to most of this nation's 3.7 million citizens.

As the commanding general of Lithuania's military, Gen. Kronkaitis often meets with dignitaries such as Britain's Prince Charles.

For the past four years, the 67 year old has exhausted himself in 12-hour days in the historic town of Vilnius, the Lithuanian capital. His ambitious--often quixotic--endeavor is to cleanse the military mess left behind when communism abruptly collapsed in 1991. Rebuilding the long-lost military is serious business in Lithuania, which saw one-third of its population perish during Polish, German and Russian occupations last century.

His Western tutelage has landed Lithuania as the Baltic frontrunner to join NATO at the Prague Summit. He punctiliously rewrote laws and regulations on pay structure, rank, and even toiled in unforeseen legalities like flag flying. Upon arrival, he inherited dilapidated Soviet facilities nearing ruins. Today, he oversees a $220 million budget, and 70 percent of Lithuania's military buildings meet Western standards. Equipment and supplies have come courtesy of foreign governments.

Perhaps his most significant challenge continues to be flushing out of the Lithuanian military the ingrained, old-world Soviet mindset--a job that Kronkaitis concedes may take generations. "The Soviet system placed absolutely no value on human life.

To them materials had value, a tank or rifle. We had to change that completely." He did so by firing or retiring almost all veteran officers who were "completely lost" because of their communist past.

"The damage is in their work ethic. It's a class that feels the government should give them everything because that's how it was for 50 years. The government told them where to work, what to eat, when to get up, and now they are on their own and it's difficult," he explains.

In addition to the domestic front, Kronkaitis also fights the simplified, "just do it" mentality of Western delegates who closely monitor Lithuania's progress. He says they continually underestimate the cultural gap created by decades of oppression. "I'm overburdened with minute decisions because some officers aren't used to making decisions. I had a briefing today and told an officer to just make a decision. He said 'I'm an executor not a decision maker' and I said 'I just made you a decision maker.'"

During a two-hour interview, Kronkaitis shows his military discipline by sitting upright and without fidgeting. His dry humor, however, leaks through at the mention of his eastern neighbor, Belarus, Europe's last dictatorship that he dubs "our not so democratic neighbor." When asked about Russia's resentment toward NATO expansion, he replies with a smirk: "I can't imagine why."

Finally, he's asked one simple question: What about your free time? He rolls his eyes as if to imply "stupid question." Then he chuckles and whispers, "No time for hobbies."

His journey from East to West to East is a lesson in opportune timing. Born in a small Lithuanian city 35 miles north of Vilnius, Kronkaitis and his family fled their lower-middle-class life in 1944 as the Russian and German fronts converged. During his nomadic youth, he traveled throughout Lithuania, Russia's Kaliningrad region, and made numerous stops across Germany, including at a labor camp. Finally, his family found refuge at a displaced persons camp in Germany's Black Forest.

"When the Russians came in 1940, we faced a year of terror. Lots of people were being deported. There was always fear. You were afraid of anyone in uniform," he says.

Stability arrived in 1949, when the 14-year-old and his family boarded the U.S.S. Marine Jumper for a turbulent two-week ride to New Haven, Conn., where an aunt had previously settled.

He learned English in six months and in 1954, he entered the University of Connecticut as an industrial management major, a form of training that he finds useful 45 years later and 8,000 miles away.

"Management is management everywhere. Even here, management is a very big problem going from a Soviet society to a market economy. Inefficiency was the essence of communism. All decisions were made from the top. I'm fighting this continuously.

I adopted good management practices in the military, but when you get into the political environment..." He stops in mid-sentence and rolls his eyes in laughter to express Lithuania's lingering inadequacies.

He speaks highly of his UConn education, and points out quickly the significance of time at UConn spent with fellow students outside the classroom. "A very important part of education is association with other students, and that's what is so valuable at UConn. It was a rural campus, so the social life revolved around activities at the University. I was in a fraternity and developed friendships, and a significant part of my education occurred in that environment."

At UConn, he enrolled in the ROTC, where an enthusiastic group of young officers piqued his interest. Kronkaitis's military career was inspired by his uncle, a Lithuanian lieutenant murdered in Siberia, whose photo now hangs in his office. Kronkaitis was also awed by the U.S. Army's incredible reputation.

"They were so different from Russians and Germans. It was a profession well regarded by the people."

His U.S. Army reign included a stint with Colin Powell in 1958, when the two studied at a Ranger school in Georgia. A decade later Kronkaitis served two separate tours in Vietnam, where he won three Bronze Stars for combat. When he retired in 1985, he had managed more than 3,000 employees at the largest government armament manufacturing facility in the United States--still a far cry from the 22,000 troops he oversees today.

His return to Lithuania came in 1996 when he met a Lithuanian politician in Washington, D.C., who wooed him back home to campaign for the Conservative Party in national elections. His presence helped win the election, and he was offered appointment to the prestigious post of Commander of Armed Forces. It was an offer he quickly declined, instead opting for the less demanding job of vice minister of defense. He and his wife, Ruta, arrived for what they expected to be a one-year mission. But in 1999 he was persuaded to head the armed forces.

"I never imagined that in my lifetime Lithuania would become free," says Kronkaitis. "I never imagined I'd be here. Never imagined I'd wear this uniform."

His post wouldn't be official until approved by a skeptical parliament, half of which insisted Kronkaitis revoke his U.S. citizenship. The issue was hotly debated in the national press, until he delivered a historic speech at his parliamentary hearing.

"When I was 12, we came to America and were accepted and treated as one of them. We were never discriminated against. When we needed help, it was there. We had every opportunity to seek education, while you were occupied by Russians and abused like slaves in your own home. I had all opportunities given to me in a foreign country, and I'll never turn my back on that country."

After the speech, Kronkaitis received all but three votes. Some Lithuanians opposed the presence of a foreigner who never suffered under the former regime. But today he's won over most of the public, thanks in part to Lithuania's optimistic NATO standing. "To them I symbolize freedom, democracy and someone who will not compromise the values they believe. You have this extraordinary responsibility that you cannot disappoint them."

Kronkaitis says he'll retire--yet again--upon NATO entry and return to a private, relaxed lifestyle in Annandale, Va. There, he'll be reunited with his two children and two grand-children and equally missed American pizza. But one wonders whether he'll ever have time for hobbies.

Editor's Note: On Nov. 21, 2002 Lithuania was invited to become a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization along with six other countries from Central and Eastern Europe..