The First Time I Saw Paris by Norman Spivock

A few blocks away was my destination, the USO. But it was full of servicemen, and I hadn't come to Paris to be with Americans. So I got some clues as to what to do, where to go,and left.

I went to the Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa and other famous works of art, ancient and recent. I found Pig Alley, as the boys call Place Pigalle, and the Moulin Rouge. That night I went to the Eiffel Tower, as they had a dancing facility on the first level. Until you've seen it yourself, you have no conception of how big the tower really is. At the entrance, I had to fight my way through a bevy of French girls. They wanted to get to the dance, but they couldn't go up unless they accompanied a soldier. Those were the days when, on the continent, you could get almost anything you wanted from a girl for a candy bar, but in this case the girls would probably pay you to take them up the tower. So pick a lady and take the elevator up to the overcrowded nightspot and almost dance and almost romance in almost gay Paris.

Paris after dark was more alive. But it had not yet recovered from the ravages of the war and occupation. Little did I know or suspect that a fifteen-year-old girl then living in the southern outskirts of the city would someday be my wife (I finally met her in San Francisco).

Next day, I met a fellow soldier who invited me to meet his girlfriend and one of her friends; he needed someone for the other girl. I went happily, and was fascinated with his girl, not the one assigned to me. Because of the Nazi occupation, his girl had not been allowed to attend school, so she'd been taught by her father, who had to have given her an education far superior to anything a public school could have provided. She was not particularly beautiful-in fact I would say she was far less than beautiful-but she was one of the most enchanting girls I ever met, before or after.

That evening, we took the girls to catch the last Metro train to their homes. I was so reluctant to see his girlfriend go that, as the train started to leave, I decided to jump on and go with her, but my soldier friend grabbed my arm and asked what I was doing. Too late; the train door closed and I never saw her again. So I can say nostalgically that I left a love in Paris. After returning home, after college, after starting in business with my dad, but before marriage, the call of Paris, the real Paris, beckoned me. By that time, Paris had become such a popular American tourist spot that the Parisians believed all Americans hoped that after they died, they would go to Paris.

Their "hope" was what? To find the love of their life, like the girl I let slip away on the Metro? To find the Paris of Gertrude Stein and the struggling artists? Or to live the sophisticated life of the City of Light? All were my hope. I decided to return to Paris before I died. And did…return to Paris, that is.

Copywrite ©2009 by Norman Spivock
From the book Short Stories by Norm, by Norman Spivock
Permission is granted by author for use by 89th Division

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