Evening star., 1944-08-28

S~t A'HeIS StUtSO5SCU bH = W 70, Jul.
lotDing the 1918 arnlistice, rem
inisces in the tolloDing story.)
BY JOHN BLkCK.
Let's turn back the ,)ages Of time
to bright, pleasant day in Febru.
ary, 1919. Motorcycle Company SOC
had landed at Brest the preceding
July and from the duckboards had
gone to the walled city of Langres
and later to Dion.
That day is etched in my mind
so viWdly that it seems only yester-
day that the train drew into the
Care d'Orleans and the 80 members
of the company piled into q truck
I can even remember my reflections
as the truck rumbled through the
Place de la Concorde up the Champs
Elysees. past the stately buildings
past the Arc de Triomphe, into the
fashionable residential section OF
Passy and finally to 70 Rue de
Ranelagh, where we were to be
quartered for several months.
They were the reflections of a
country boy, fresh from the cotton
country. who had avidly read every
volume Of French history that he
could get his hands on and had a
consuming passion for French liter
ature.
Few Dull Moments.
There were few subsequent dull
moments. Capt. Sentner told me
that even to be in Paris was liberal
education. He did not need to tell
me. He was only confirming my
own opinion.
The Rue de Ranelagh was a back
street on the outer fringe of the
best residential neighborhood in
Paris. No. 70 was an abandoned
stable. Just few blocks away is
the Bois de Boulogne, with its
stretches of meandering driveways
amid beautiful trees. grass, lakes
and swank restaurants. The Troca-
dero is only five-minute ride on q
motorcycle. A short distance farther
is the Champ de Mars and the
Eiffel Tower.
The days flew by. A motorcycle
rider got around. There were few
parts of the city, either on the left
bank or the right bank of the Seine
that I didn't explore. My duties
left a lot of time for sightseeing
There was the Louvre. for instance
which housed the celebrated Mona
Lisa.
Versailles and Fontainebleu were
within easy range. There were foot
ball games in the stadium in Auteil
and band concerts in the Tuileries
Gardens. The Pare Monceau was q
favorite place to loaf.
There were theaterS galore, the
Folies Bergere and Mogador Palace
which presented extravagant mu-
sical reviews; the Champs Elysees
where Gaby Deslys and Harry Pill
cher held forth; the Comedie Fran
cais, the Opera with It's several tiers
OF balconies, and the smaller Opera
Comique.
1t was Sergt. Randolph, I believe
who taught the rest of us how tc
get in free. One night he misplaced
his theater ticket and while FUN
bling for it produced his permanent
military pass and the doorkeeper
waved him in. From then on all that
was necessary to gain admittance
was to flash pass surreptiously.
Passing Show Was Best.
The best show of all, however
was the passing show on the Boule-
ward des Italiennes. 1t is Paris
main artery. 1t extends for miles
and changes its name every few
blocks. In World War days it
teemed with life. Here were to be
found the choicest mademoiselles,
who accosted every individual in
uniform with an inviting You
speak me, Baby"
Among the favorite spots on the
boulevard was the Cafe de la Paix,
whose, chairs on the sidewalk lured
thousands of Americans on leave
1t was the meeting place of all men
in uniform and the visiting flremen.
Thirsty Yanks tried with little sue
cess to coax walters to speed up
their orders while Frenchmen enjoy
ing an afternoon of leisure played
checkers and made one vermouth
cassis last for hours.
The taxicab drivers were always
good for modicum of amusement.
They scorched up and down the
streets and when they crashed into
one another impassioned arguments
would ensue to the accompaniment
of all manner of gesticulations and
arm waving. MuStachioed Pierre
would cast aSpersions on smooth
shaven Etienne's ancestry and Ell
'enne would vehemently call Pierre
"a cochon (pig). Crowds invariably
gathered to listen to the sulphuric
language and to see the fight that
invariably didn't follow.
1 will never forget the newsboy
who stood in front of kiosk on the
Place de lOpera and cried his wares:
Chick-ahgo Pas Bonne, Chick -ahgo
Pas Bonne" Chicago Tribune).
Paris would never be the same
without that coterie in the company
who in time became known as the
"combien boys" They were a set of
motorcycle riders who lost their
money at blackjack and filled their
sidecars with everything that had a
market value and made up their
losses and pocketed plenty of francs
besides. They had regular routes
and regular customers.
Ample Space for Games.
No. 79 Rue de Ranelagh made a
comfortable billet for 80 men. There
was ample floor space for crap games
and the boys found plenty Of room
for blackjack. Sergt. Morse was
the best mess sergeant who ever
talked the commissary out of a
ration of bifsteak. The only COM
plant heard was that there were
no bistros nearby.
I solved that difficulty, however
by making friends with M. Poiret
who ran tailor shop across the
way. After a few minor transac-
tions, I learned that M. Poiret had
a liking for cointreau. I didn't
particularly care for cointreau, but
the tailor shop was convenient and
even the nearest place to get q