I believe it is important for the reader to know where I am coming from in writing this publication. Hence this short prologue.
Where the author comes from
I established definitive residence in the United States in December 1981 and became an American citizen in 1988. However, I previously had officially immigrated to the US for the first time in 1964 but after a year and a half living in Harlem, not knowing a word of English and doing jobs such as dishwasher, busboy and waiter, I decided to go back to France. I did not stay long in Paris as finding a job there was an almost impossible proposition for someone whom at 17 had to quit high school in a hurry and leave his native country to find himself as a homeless refugee on the French Riviera after having needlessly fought alongside other kids and grownups for an impossible French Algeria in the streets of Oran. Some of these people were friends who had family names which for the most part were anything but French. They mainly were Spanish, Jewish, Portuguese, Italian, Maltese of course French too, German, even Irish and Vietnamese and of course Arabs. All those kids who were my friends were first, second and third generation French oe Berber and Arab natives. All were totally culturally and patriotically French even though at home their grandparents, parents or great grandparents spoke different languages.
(just to show where France and Algeria are on a map)
As kids we all learned that our ancestors were the Gauls, whether we liked it or not. Of course, we all were aware of the fact that for most of us they were not, but we embraced the notion whole heartedly, without restraint nor did we ever question it, so strong was the common feeling at the time that being French was a blessing. In that respect we were, in essence, very similar to early Americans. Somewhat naïve, hard working with lives more often than not filled with good humor and laughter on one hand and on another hand couldn’t help but to have been influenced by the Arab way of life. Ways of thinking which in many instances was very different from those of people of European stock, at times irreverent and that for many obvious reasons. Like many hot countries, people lived outdoors and mainly at dusk or night time.
Another one of these reasons was that of religion, which to say the least was very different from Christianity in values and approach to social relations.
The so-called ‘Colonialists” or ‘Pieds Noirs’, fellow descendants of immigrants who worked super hard to build a better life for their children for the most part were either Catholic Christians, or Jewish. All extremely different from one another, but all learned French, were all highly educated as under the super competitive French educational system, intellect was more praised than actual monetary wealth. Together these disparate people created an extremely prosperous country and developed a love for everything French to the point that they were often accused of being more French than the Metropolitan natives. Together they created a very special culture which evolved into a gusto for adventure, entrepreneurship, large families, more laughter and more good humor, not to say that their values were perfect…. At first these people were derogatively labeled by the French from France, ‘Pieds Noirs’ which translates into Black Feet. That was supposed to be an insult to describe us, dirty ‘Colonialists’.
In my 17 and a half years in Algeria, I never met a ‘Colonialist’. Well…. . Over the years and after, the exiled Pieds Noirs showed France that they could be counted amongst the most prestigious, and the intended to be insulting label became sort of a badge of honor.
I first immigrated to Canada in 1962. In and of itself that alone is quite a story as I landed with $3 in my pocket and could not really understand the 17th century-type French Canadians spoke back then.
After my first stay in New York in 1964 and a few months in Paris, I left for Spain to go fishing and to probably pass away peacefully fishing, which was my favorite past time as I had been misdiagnosed with cancer of the liver by a shady doctor who probably had mixed up medical records or too much Merlot that day. Anyhow, I did not die. Instead, within a few months and a ton of luck, a little vision and perseverance, I had built my first business and subsequently resided in the South of Spain for the next 13 years. My early business life was both exciting, quite successful as well as very chaotic. I owned a disco who served an ever-growing tourism coming from all over Europe to the golden beaches of the Costa Blanca and a restaurant who specialized in fish and seafood.
Yes, I was derogatively called the ‘Lemonade Merchant’ by all those European students who swarmed the place each summer to act like raving lunatics in an effort to convince themselves that they were special and liberated. While many of them were a total embarrassment some were nice, fun, attentive and particularly erudite. One thing though was certain is that they were all, albeit at different levels, highly educated in the classical European way, very knowledgeable in their respective disciplines and so willing to display their knowledge. I found that to be a great opportunity for me in terms of acquiring an education I did not have the luxury to get because of my circumstances. I became a real learning sponge. I never, however, allowed this Lemonade Merchant label stick on me.
For the most part my clients were young college students, teachers, professors, doctors etc, from all over Europe, many of them brilliant. After doing their business with boys or girls and enjoying the beach, they very often, as it is common on the old continent, loved to engage in long, convoluted, brainy discussions about philosophy, science and of course politics. By politics I mean Marxist ideology which was the “Thing’ for them back then. Today as I kept in touch with a few of them, they sing quite a different tune. Well, I guess this comes with age and deceptions.
With my newsletter, I will take you along my life’s journey via short anecdotes and observations, remarks about socio-political issues of the day, comparing them to how I perceived them years before.
Matter of fact my next posting will be a story whose hero is Sam Carrigan, my alter ego. Just for starters.
Thank you and happy reading
By the way, excuse my English.
1953. I am one of those kids