I am from a small town in Massachusetts — a Dedham boy — who, at 22 years old, was exceptionally tall (at that time, probably one of the two tallest men in Paris, Général de Gaulle being the other), ridiculously thin, quietly adventurous and discreetly proud. Paris was quite a transition for this rural lad, but for me, an easy one. I would settle in smoothly in the city of my dreamsand settle in without pause for thought.
On the train from Chaumont (where I was stationed with the U.S. Air Force in 1961) to Paris, I shared a cozy second-class compartment with three French ladies, all of a certain age, dressed in proper hats, gloves and the tailored serge suits of the day. It wasn’t long until we were…
