REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST

My love affair with France began a long time ago. It was initially fueled by a photograph of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris in my freshman year high school textbook looking up the Champs-Élysées from the Place de la Concorde. It is magnificent. And every time I go to Paris, I try to take in this view.

The Champs-Élysées slopes up towards the Arc de Triomphe as it majestically sits in the center of the Place Charles de Gaulle. It is a massive monument, possible to climb to its top to take in an incredible view of virtually all the landmarks of the city.

Paris is a romantic place – reputedly the world’s most romantic city. Its architecture, its illustrious monuments, its culture, its art, its history are all prominent in the minds of most of the western world. That is saying nothing of course about its cuisine, its music and its language.

But I suppose I should say the love affair with France really began with the language. The seeds were planted for me to learn French from a very early age.

My mother emigrated from southwestern Ontario, Canada. She was born at the Hôtel Dieu Hospital in Windsor, right across the river from Detroit, but her family came from Chatham and Pain Court, about sixty miles north up the King’s Highway towards Toronto. Both towns have strong French communities to this day and my mother’s family was no exception.

My dad’s maternal grandmother (on whose birthday I was born) originated from Quebec, somewhere near Montréal. And now it’s seems I’ve come full circle living in Montréal, France.

My mother’s first language was French as she spent a lot of time with her grandmother who spoke no English. Sadly she lost proficiency after moving to the US when soon afterwards, her grandmother died. She says she can still understand the language and a trip with her and my dad in 1990 was proof as she took in the conversation I had with the taxi driver on our way from Charles de Gaulle Airport to our hotel. Her mother often spoke to her in French and I would overhear this when I was young. I found it intriguing and wanted to be able to converse in French too. It was cool – like speaking in code. I was in.

My first French class was in the 4th grade (age 10) with televised programming in our Catholic grade school provided by the Archdiocese of Detroit. It was very basic and didn’t take us far, but it piqued my interest. So as a freshman in high school I chose French as my foreign language.

The first year was taught by a French-Canadian priest, Fr. Harrison. He was a kind man.

I can remember asking him what it was my grandmother was saying when she would yell at us. It sounded like “tay-joo.” I had no clue. He didn’t either – at least immediately. A few months later, he walked down the aisle to my desk in his black cassock and addressed me saying “I figured it out. She was saying ‘tête dur.'” Translated, it means “hard head.” Mystery solved. But my grandmother’s French Canadian accent was atrocious.

Second and third year French at Detroit Catholic Central High School were taught by “Père” Guiness, an Orthodox priest from Paris. He was married, wore the Roman collar, and had suffered in World War II. His disfigured ear was proof. He was a bit of a novelty to us, especially being married. He apparently had an anxiety disorder and was often subject to ridicule by my classmates. He didn’t like stress and was easily aggravated. But he was an effective teacher and we learned a lot.

I continued with my study of French with three more semesters in college, skipping the first semester given my background. Then I had one more year at Kalamazoo College while working in Kalamazoo in the 1990s.

I was lucky to eventually have a global career that had me working with French, Belgian, Egyptian, Lebanese and Swiss colleagues who all spoke the language. So I picked up what I could and was always asking questions to learn more. With one position, I was in France seven times in one year. Business travel was beneficial to affording me the opportunity to practice and improve my vocabulary. The physicians with whom I met in France knew of my desire to become fluent and would therefore force me to dialogue in their language during our meetings. It definitely stretched me.

On top of that, after moving to New Jersey with our corporate relocation, it was easy and cheap to pick up and go for long weekends to Paris which I did a couple of times a year just for fun and shopping. I got to know the city well. Airfares were as little as $299 round trip in the New York market. It was a great bonus to living on the East Coast and I couldn’t ignore it. Greater proximity to Europe also meant faster flights. With tailwinds, we once flew from Newark to Paris in only 5 1/2 hours!

Business and personal travel also led to the acquisition of thousands of frequent flyer miles and hotel points that I was able to use for personal adventures: 3.5 million miles on American, nearly a million on Continental, and approaching 100,000 miles on Delta. I’ve used them often and shared them to create memories for family and friends. Life is more fun when you share.

I suppose I am the inveterate travel guide. Having all this experience, I have put it to use to create travel itineraries and fun times for my family and friends. I enjoy hammering out the details and organizing the logistics. So in 1998 deciding to give it a try for the first time, I announced to my family at Christmas that we would be going to France in the summer of 2000..

We would be going to celebrate what would be that year my mother’s 75th, my sister-in-law Paula’s and my 50th, and my niece Adrienne’s 16th birthdays. It was my treat to my family in celebration of my mother and our heritage. And not exactly enthralled by the idea of reaching 50, I figured this would make it more palatable. 940,000 frequent flyer miles, 500,000 Marriott points got us all the airfares, four rooms for five nights in Paris, and two rental vans for 16 days.

They had two years to prepare. I’d cover air, accommodations and the rental vans. They would only have to worry about food, gas and tours (the expense of which we would share equally). Prepare they did lining up passports, spending money, arranging vacation time, etc.

For Christmas the next year, my gift to each family member was two polo shirts made up with the French flag and “France 2000” embroidered on the front.

So 20 years ago this week, on July 23, 2000, my family convened in Chicago to board American Airlines for our flight to Paris. We had flown in from Minneapolis, Traverse City, Tampa and Newark to be on the same flight. I asked them to show up “in uniform” in Chicago and they did.

Towards the end of our stay in Paris, we drove up to Rheims in the Champagne region to see its great cathedral. From there we drove to the American Cemetery in St. Avold on the German border to visit the grave of my dad’s brother, Uncle Tom. He had been with the USAF 101st Airborne (the “Screaming Eagles”) and captured in the Battle of the Bulge. He died in February 1945 in a POW camp in Germany.

Leaving Paris, we visited the Palace of Versailles en route to a 15th century bishop’s manor house outside of Tours in Artannes-sur-Indre where we spent a week visiting the great chateaux.

One of my work colleagues, a Belgian, gave me a tip for a great restaurant in Grand Pressigny, not far from where we were staying in Artannes-sur-Indre, to celebrate my mother’s 75th birthday on August 1. (Her 95th comes up this week!)

Our next stop was in the Lot Valley of the Dordogne region where I rented two smaller houses and one with a pool. It was great because at that point we were all getting tired and, with the heat, the pool was great fun.

It was during this our third week that we began to visit the wineries. The first was Chateau St. Didier in Cahors. My nephew and godson, Patrick, was only 14 but quickly demonstrated that he had a nose for wine. He asked to sample and with his father’s permission, he did. To this day, Patrick – now a surgeon in Tampa – knows a good bottle of wine.

We ended our trip in Bordeaux and from there flew back to our respective homes via London. It was a trip I will never forget.

My intention was to not only celebrate our French heritage, but to expose the children to another country and another culture. Before we ventured out for our first dinner in Paris on the day of our arrival, I lined them up in the hotel’s lobby and said I wanted to tell them something. I said:

“You will see people who look different, who talk different, who may dress differently. You may have food you’ve never had before; if there is something you don’t like, just say so and we’ll get you something else. BUT, you must remember that we are guests in their country and we need to show them respect.”

My five nieces and nephews were at that time between the ages of 10 and 16. I taught them how to navigate the Paris Metro so that in case they should become lost, they would know how to get back to our hotel.

They did me proud. Everyone of them showed capability and adjusted well to the country. Fortunately no one got lost.

It is my firm belief that this kind of exposure leads to broader, global thinking. We are fortunate and privileged to be American, but it doesn’t make us special. There are many incredible cultures and I’d like to think it would be a better world if we demonstrated empathy and support for everyone, no matter their origins, race or creed.

To continue their global education, when each of the nieces and nephews graduated from high school, they got another trip from Uncle Tom – a trip for two, business class, with me or with one of their parents anywhere in the world they wanted to go. My eldest nephew, Kenny, asked me to go with him to Japan so we did a backpacking trip. Two of my nieces traveled to Australia with their mothers. Hopefully they prospered from these experiences.

I can remember telling my mother when we were at the house near Tours that maybe for her next big birthday I would have a house of my own in France where we could celebrate. It took 18 more years for that to happen given circumstance, but finally I am here. My mother is at a point where it simply isn’t possible for her to travel, so she can only share the experience via telephone and videoconferencing. But I know she is happy for me and takes a certain amount of pride that I am honoring our heritage.

Genealogic research has revealed my mother’s family originates from various parts of France: Vroil in the Marne department and Digoin in the Saône-et-Loire department of Burgundy. These ancestors first moved to Quebec in the 1600’s then further into Canada eventually settling in southwest Ontario, which to this day as I noted earlier has a strong French presence.

Family names include Sheff (modified from Chevre and before that, Chefre), Reaume, Hogue, Thibodeau, Grodin, Aubin, Romillard, Meloche, Dutartre, Tourangeau, Guillet, Collet, Chalifour and Pilotte. It is amazing what you come upon as family trees are explored.

We don’t yet have much data on my father’s side but maybe that will become evident with a dedicated research effort. Given our last name, it is possible we have ties to the Berry region of Burgundy of which Bourges is the capital.

Coming full circle, I now reside in the land of my forefathers. Who would have predicted that?

The trip in 2000 was the first time I was able to share this beautiful country with my family. I had taken my parents in 1990 so my dad could visit his brother’s grave. I had also taken my uncle for the same reason. But never had we all traveled together.

Since, my sister Patty and my niece Adrienne have each joined me on two other occasions to take in Paris, the City of Light. Patty and her son, Thomas, visited me here in Montréal a year ago.

I have brought other friends and groups here to tour, organizing the itinerary and all the details. It was never work; always a pleasure. We celebrated my friend Randy’s 50th birthday in France in 2005 replicating the trip I did with my family except for the Dordogne. I scheduled flights so that he would arrive the morning of his birthday – a memorable way to celebrate.

Next, friends from the American Academy of Family Physicians on whose foundation board I sat for four years asked me to replicate the trip for them. They loved France but didn’t have the language skills, so were therefore reluctant to tackle it on their own. We did the same trip then ventured a second time to Provence. Our third trip was to the southwest of France including Toulouse, Carcassonne, Andorra, Lourdes, San Sebastian (Spain), Biarritz and Bordeaux. A fourth trip was to take place this Fall to Burgundy but the pandemic has forced its cancellation. Maybe next year.

The most prominent work of the renowned French author Marcel Proust is entitled À la recherche du temps perdu translated as Remembrance of Things Past. Seven volumes in length it recounts his childhood and lifetime pondering changes in French society, his place and the loss of time.

I prefer the literal translation of his book’s title: In search of lost times. It is probably an aging thing that one looks back and contemplates his or her history, their role in the world, what they have accomplished, what they might have done differently. Have they contributed to a better world? It is normal to reflect on the passage of time.

When we met in Chicago 20 years ago, it was remarked that this was the first time in many years we had come together for something other than a wedding or a funeral. We had lost my brother-in-law David in 1987, my brother Bill in 1989, my dad in 1998. We were used to loss. Lost times. Lost memories. Redirected lives. We managed and we coped.

The syndicated advice columnist Ann Landers used to say “It’s not what happens to you; it’s what you do with it. Families when faced with crises will either sink or swim.” I’m happy to say we rallied around one another and we swam. We did what we could but there were moments where we could do nothing but support one another through those terrible times.

Twenty years ago is a long time but it has sped by. With the passage of these years came the additional loss of my oldest sister, Linda in 2008. Life goes on and often with it sadness. More sadness inevitably lies ahead. However, I am happy for the lingering memories of France 2000 and the opportunities I have had since to share this incredible country with family and friends. We create these events in our lives and later look back with love and hopefully never with much to regret.