E. Franklin Dukes (1969)

hi all - my first post I think, although I have been enjoying yours. I attended 5-8th grades 1961-65 but played in the high school band in the 8th grade. I was motivated to post by people reminiscing about Garmisch and Berchtesgaden.

On Dec. 18, 1963, when I was 12 years old, my parents took my 3 siblings and me from our home in Paris to Garmisch, Germany to ski; as I recall we stayed at the General Patton hotel but my memory could be wrong. This was our second visit. My third day of fearless skiing, wearing bindings my father had newly tightened, I hit a patch of ice and suffered a grotesquely broken leg. It was set in a clinic in Garmisch but I was sent to an American (Army?) hospital in Munich, in terrible pain, away from my family. One evening, a few days before Christmas, I heard the faintest sounds of music from somewhere in the hospital. An orderly told me that it was the world-famous Vienna Boys Choir, whose singing I had recently heard featured in a Disney movie (Almost Angels). To my delight, he promised me that they would be coming down our hallway! I became so excited as the angelic, ethereal sounds grew louder and the words more distinct. But the visit was not to be; I recall my bitter disappointment as the music simply faded away, without explanation, like so much else for me that winter.

This episode was a hallmark of my saga, with my Christmas back at the American Hospital in Paris (sharing a room with a soldier who was a card sharp who taught me a bunch of tricks and who later ran away with a female patient),  before finally being moved to yet another army hospital, this time in Orleans. I was the youngest person by far in a ward otherwise full of soldiers. Three weeks after the initial break they re-broke it to reset it (no anasthesia!). And two weeks later I could finally go home. The missed choir also became the center of my family "sad story" of the Christmas season as my children were growing up, although the pain had long since passed. In fact, I enjoyed their anxious responses ("stop!" "no!") when I would pretend to start to tell the tale again.

That is, until one birthday, 43 years later, when the story changed. My daughter mailed me my present as a card. Inside were two tickets and the heading cut out from a promotional flyer: "If You Missed Them Once, Don't Miss Them Again"!!! Yes - the Vienna Boys Choir were coming to the United States and performing at her college! That invitation seemed written for me! It was a sublime if somewhat surreal pleasure to share with her the complete performance that I had missed so many years earlier. And they were brilliant!

I don't recall the song that echoed down the halls of that Munich hospital, but it might well have been "Es wird scho glei dumpa" ("It will soon be dark"). Certainly one portion of the song's lyrics seems appropriate for a child who longs for whatever may be missing during this season:

"Forget now, oh little child

your worries, your sorrow,

that you must suffer there."

But for me that song, and the Vienna Boys Choir, no longer evoke pain, but joy. And the story affirms that the large miracles of recovery are sometimes possible, even as the small miracle of beautiful music may be retrieved anywhere.

Randall Bowie (1962)

Thanks, E.F. 
Moving and elegant account.

Encore!

David Dunn (1967)

Brant: Could the mystery folk singer have been Sam Andrew, later lead guitarist of Big Brother and the Holding Company alongside Janice Joplin? Having already finished HS, he was in Paris with his family, who lived in Bel Manoir. I was friends with his PAHS younger brothers Leland, who taught me everything I knew about motorbikes, and Danny. Sadly, Danny passed away a couple of years ago. I'm not certain, but Sam might have been attending the American College downtown. I saw him a few times on the last Etoile-Camp des Loges bus of the night, where he would sit in the back row furiously banging on his acoustic guitar. Fast forward a few years and I saw Big Brother in Santa Barbara, not knowing at the time that Sam was in the band. He, too, is now gone. 

Tom Trout (1966)

Brant,

Regarding the guitar player...it wasn't Glenn Goodman was it? He was always showing me something on his guitar - but I seem to remember that it was always the Beatles, nothing folky, which was my thing. (he sent me a few tapes of his electic guitar playing. He had a rock and roll band while in the Army, after WestPoint. I used to think he'd be a General the next time I saw him. Was very surprised to learn that he really disliked the Army!)

A 66' D28!. Nice. And I looked up a youtube on the Custom Shop 00028. Handsome guitar! I had a 016-NY and then a D18. 

I carried that 016NY in my left hand all across the USA in the summer of 1967. "Left hand"?...yeah, turn and face traffic, stick your thumb out hitching for a ride. See? Guitar works best in your left hand:-) Purchased the 016-NY in Springfield Mass, Dec 1966, (Dad at Westover field)  asked shop owner to keep it until I saved enough for the hardshell case. I could still smell his pipe tobacco from the sound hole while sitting by a stream in the Big Sur:-)

Early 1967, with guitar and back-pack took a Greyhound through NYC to Florida to visit one Patty Lindahl, (FSU?) 3 days later set off hitching across 10 (?) to SanDiego, then Ensenada. Camped on the shore...and walked north. In  couple weeks got a ride with some surfers going back to the US. Washed dishes in an I-Hop, saved $, 3 weeks later started up the PCH for my original destination. The Big Sur. (a Baez album cover was my inspiration - that and teenage angst) Spent a week or so there. Tried but couldn't cook & eat shellfish I found.....back up on the PCH walked by a sign "Don't Eat Poisonous shellfish in this area!"

A young fellow driving a 1950-something red and white Ford hard-top convetrtible stopped and asked if I wanted a ride up to 'Frisco. 'A ride in a convertible up the PCH on a sunny day?' you bet! He took a hotel room near Union Square, let me sleep on the floor. (I had to come down the ledge and come in the window - bypasing the front desk) Days later he asked if I could cook. "?! Ah, sure can!"  Because he took an apt ...and I could room there if I did the cooking! He'd rented a 2nd floor apt on Haight st., like 2 blocks from GG Park. Smack in the middle of Haight/Ashbury. He was dating a stripper, he claimed to make his living as a chess hustler. Gone all hours at night. They were actaully a very nice couple. He gave me $ to buy the groceries. My specialty was jack-mackeral spaghetti with sourdough bread! I earned my own $ money with the 016-NY on Nob Hill or down at Fisherman's Wharf. Make $2 or $3 and knock off work for the day. Once got a five from a couple from Ohio on Nob Hill! Hotel doorman kept running me off.....

Saw lots musicians in GG Park or over in the Panhandle in free concerts. Never wore my soft Italan leather boots all that summer! One memory: huddled around a plastic radio in the kitchen at midnight listening to the 1st playing of "Sgt. Pepper's...." ! "Are you high?. no, me neither...but WTH!!??" We were all straight - but blown away. Actually - I rarely did anything. One trip was enough. Some pot --- hearing Whiter Shade of Pale for the 1st time while laying with friends on the hood of a car watching the morning fog dissapate at the shore... amazing

It was an amazing year! Included organizing a love-in in Covina. (near Pasadena)(kid youtubed an 8mm of it a few yrs ago) Married an 18 yr old in LA. (I was 19. and  NO.... she didn't get pregnant until I came home from 'Nam in '72) Baez concert tickets at UCLA for wedding present. Donovan at the Hollywood Bowl. Got my draft status changed to 1A-O in Mass to train & serve as a C.O. in 'Nam. (huge suprise it was granted! "I work in a hospital, I know I could be a good medic." 'you'd be going in harms way to S.E Asia w/o a weapon - you know that?' "yes sir." 'OK kid, you got it') . (I was a good medic. Most important job I've ever had - loved those guys) Drafted 13 mos after our wedding. We had 4 great kids. For various reasons went across the USA 3 times with that guitar, in my left hand. (was told that the guitar was major reason folks stopped for me)

Oh yeah....I was told that the 016-NY could be played with nylon strings or light gauge steel strings. I kept nylon on it. I quit playing in '88, after the divorce that year. Sold the Martins - as a single parent with 4 kids I needed the $.

Brant Weatherford (1966)

David,

Good to hear from you and thanks for your reply.

Never thought the unnamed folk singer could have been Sam Andrews.  Could have been. If Leland is still on this site maybe he could give us some insight.

I saw Janis with Big Brother in Dallas in 1968.  Mind-blowing concert!  I don't think I knew of the Sam Andrews / Paris connection at the time but somehow learned of it later.  Funny how we all seem to be 7 degrees of seperation from everyone else.

Stay well and if you're ever in either of my neighborhoods, give us a shout out.

Brant Weatherford

Brant Weatherford (1966)

Tom,

Good to hear from you again.  And the tale of your adventures back in the day remind me of some of mine as well.  Nothing like traveling the roads of this county!  I did the eastern half of the country in a VW bus in the early 70's and the western half on an HD Fatboy from the middle 90's up until 2010 when my traveling partner rode off into the eternal sunset.  Kept riding the Fat until March 3, 2022 when, on a beautiful day riding through the countryside, the bottom end of the engine blew up and left me on the side of the road.  Today she still sits in my garage but I think those riding / touring days are over.  Too much bike for my aging frame.  Fortunately, I have the '63 Cushman up north to scratch that itch.

So you're not playing guitar anymore?  I just don't know what I'd do without a pickin' circle here and up north to fill that sweet spot.  I've even hand surgery on both hands over the past 6 years to keep the fingers movin' in the right directions.  Someday I'll need brain surgery to get my mind back up to speed.

You still riding your Vespa-ish type scooter?  I keep my riding around 45mph these days which also happens to be the sped limit on island.  Win-win in the wind!

Stay well my friend,

Brant

Paul Reinecke III (1961)

Yes, it's happening on March 28 ...   birthday #80

And all is well with me and family. Greetings to all that were there between the summer of '57 and the summer of '60 (my 9th-11th grade years).

Paul

Jo Anne Evans (Appel) (1963)

I was at PAHS from 1959 to 1961. We lived in Grigny which was pretty remote-we had the longest bus ride to the school. The center of our social life was the teen club. In late 1959 or1960 I remember Johnny Hallyday-the French Elvis perfroming at our teen club. He was brought there by an American girl who didn't go to PAHS. I was wondering if anyone else remembers this and maybe has more details. 

Peter Sadow (1958)

Vive La France!  Je manque les annees a Paris.

Albert Brown (1968)

How many of the alumni were able to capitalize on their time iin PAHS?
20 years after my time in 4th thru 7th grade at PAHS, I had graduated from Penn State (took FrenchI), and was on my second job as a consulting electrical engineer.  My employer didn't want me to know who the client was but after delivering one project using the wrong American Specifications, I insisted. 
  Turned out the client was French and located 5 miles from DeGrass Village.  I rose from Jr Engineer to General Manager in 6 years using my french language skill and my knowledge of the people and the area.
  Vive la France!

OK so it was PAGS and PAJHS but I'm a Pirate  

David Dunn (1967)

Jo Anne: Johnny Hallyday's performance at the teen club was before my time in Paris (April '63 - June '67), but it's a great story. I hope someone can provide further details.

The U.S. was always a big inspiration for 'Johnny,' and many of his hits were French covers of American songs. The only time I saw him was in the late 60's, at a summer festival at Maubeuge in northern France. He opened with "Noir C'est Noir" ("Black is Black"). His band was amazing, especially the saxophones. Toward the end of his career, a song he wrote called "Quelque Chose de Tennessee" became one of his biggest hits. When he died a few years before the pandemic, he was given a state funeral in Paris. 

Tom O'Keefe (1964)

I never 'capitalized'' on me sejours in France, but but I learned street French from my French teenage neighbors. This led me into the LA '84 Olympics where I was an ambassador to 5 French speaking countries : Zaire, Haiti. Madagascar, Djibouti and Mauritania. Best time of my life and the stories to be told!!. Because of this, the position of the chairman of the LA-Bordeaux sister city program was offered. I took it! Many of us had gone to scout camp near Bordeaux. Friends were made with the mayor of Bordeaux, Chaban Delmas who was a former prime minister, many vintners, locals, etc. They were extremely warm, welcoming and gracious. But on several formal occassions at city hall, I was asked by my counterpart to not speak colloquial French, but proper French. However all the VIPS enjoyed conversing with an American who talked like a common Frenchman albeit with a slight neutral accent. What a growing up time from age 15 to 20, Wouldn't we all do it again in a heart beat?

Margo Kearns (Rockstad) (1963)

JoAnne I do remember Johnny Hallyday coming to the teen club one afternoon and singing for us.  He was really into Lonnie Donnigan as I recall.  He stayed quite awhile after, just chatting with us.  It was funny after I was back in the  states he was on Dick Clark American Bandstand and said he had learned some english just for that appearance.  He was talking to us in english a few years earlier.  I didn't realise he had become so famous until I was talking to my french professor in college and he had a french magazine with an article about Johnny and his very beautiful and famous wife.  I was totally surprised.

Carl Yorke

I don't remember Johnny Hallyday at the teen club, but I do remember John Wayne stopping by when he was shooting The Longest Day. Some of it was shot at a studio in or near Paris. My father was the Air Force liason to 20th Century Fox and took us on the set one day. 

Albert Brown (1968)

Tom O'Keef, I'd say you capitalized on your sejour.  I didn't necessarily mean $.  My French not only affected my job, my friends, but on 2 instances let me help visitors to our State.

The first was in the lobby of a hotel in Orlando.  A woman was trying to get the hotel clerk to help her.  As she was speaking French with some broken English the clerk's only response was "I can't help you." 

When I addressed her in French she asked me to help her withdraw money from the ATM.  So with my limited language skill, we proceeded to go to the ATM in the lobby where she demonstrated that the machine was acting odd.  Turned out she wanted $500 but the ATM required her to type 5 0 0 0 0 which included the cents.  Case closed and one Lady who believes Americans are good people.

The second was on the occasion of getting lost trying to get to our hotel in Orlando.  My wife complained that I just drive around afraid to ask for directions so I pulled over at at gas/convenience store somewhere south of Orlando (prior to GPS) to ask for directions.  Inside there was a line of people paying for goods.  When the lady in front of me got to the register she started talking in French to the cashier who really didn't even speak much English.  He spoke mostly Cuban or a least English with a very heavy accent.  She became exasperated
When I addressed her she was instantly relieved.  She was lost, she couldn't find her hotel.  I told her I was lost too and I asked the clerk for directions which I didn't understood.  Fortunately people in the line helped me out.  I told the lady to follow my car.  
I drove to her hotel while watching in my mirror insuring she was able to follow us.  Then I helped her (and her husband) check in.  At one point she said to me "I thought more Americans would speak French."

Robert Dingeman (1964)

Oct 2023

Among Paris' other problems, there is a reported bedbug infestation everywhere.

Margaret (Maxine) Gieselman (Mueller) (1962)

Marcia Amodei (Richard) (1961)

Marcia Amodei Richard 1961

Have enjoyed reading the shared memories of everyone from PAHS.  My mother taught 5th or 6th grade back in 1959.  We were lucky to be stationed in Paris for 4 years.  I did attend one reunion in Las Vegas along with Terry Kellerman.  We had the best teachers at that school.  We lived in Viroflay, and the big  Army bus would make it up the narrow street to our residence, Chateau de Gaillion,, which was divided into 4 apartments. During WWII, the chateau was occipied byt the French, the Germans, and lastly the Americans. What I most cherished is the complete independence I had on the week-ends, taking the train from Viroflay to Gare du Nord, and hoping on the Metro or taking the bus to the PX or meeting up with friends for ice skating.   

Keep those stories going.

Bart Bartlett (1957)

John (Jack) Florio (1966)

I've seen several posts commenting on usefulness of the fractured French we picked up while overseas; so here's mine.  Around '74 while working in CIC (Combat Information Center) of USS AMERICA (CV-66) in the MED, we were doing joint operations with the French navy.  This was during the big gas crisis.  I was (via radio) turning a few of our aircraft over to the French air controllers and trying to tell them using all the proper NATO (OK, OTAN) codewords to take it easy to conserve fuel.  Finally in frustration, I yelled at him in French to go easy with the aircraft because there wasn't a lot of fuel.  That they understood.  Got me a real strange look from the Executive Officer who was sitting behind me....

Mike Kanze (1965)

Jack Florio,

Do you recall the expression(s) you used with the French controllers? 

Mike Kanze '65

VA-95 / CVW-15 /  USS Coral Sea (CVA-43), 1972 - 1974

John (Jack) Florio (1966)

Mike:  something like "doucement avec les avions, il n'est pas beaucoup e'essance"

Mike Kanze (1965)

Merci. 

Catherine "Kitsy" Symroski (Cameron) (1964)

I now reside in Coimbra, Portugal and it is fair to say Austin is a bit of hike from here to attend the PAHS event on 24 January 2024.  And I was born in San Antonio, at Brooks Army Hospital; my Mother was a Bluebonnet Girl at UT, so there's some Texas history in this Amry Brat tumblewed gal!    Indeed regretful to miss what should be an entertaining and informative PAHS meets American School of Paris meet up.  Take pictures, film, video! 

Catherine "Kitsy" Symroski (Cameron) (1964)

"Where 'ere we go, where 'ere we do, we'll always have a thought for you, Paris High School!"

I relocated from Columbia MO to Coimbra, Portugal in late July 2023.  My consultancy with a Missouri energy firm had been smacked hard by Covid and cast a drought in their overseas business, so, what the heck:  I retired.  

I have a cute, first floor (up one flight, this is Europe) studio apartment on a pedestrian street in "old" Coimbra, the neighborhood of  "Baixa".  

Across the street is a Jehovah Witness church and does the minister give his congregation a bollocking on Sunday mornings at 10am!  I cannot understand the words, but I can hear him give 'em what for through the windows!    Just down the street is "Maria Sardinia" restaurant,  blue tables in the square under winter sunshine.  I love living quietly on my own but can walk out the door, around the corner from the train station, cross the Santa Clara bridge to monthly jazz night at Cafe Concerto to chats with fellow expats over delicious Douro red wine.  And walk home alone across the broad and silent Mondrego River at 9:30 pm with every confidence of my safety.  

Grocery stores 5 minutes walk away abound with fresh produce at bargain prices by USA standards. Portuguese salaries are low (€800 average per month)  as arethe food prices.  I have a dorm-sized refrigerator so shop for vegertables, fruit, grilled chicken for $3 or Angus hamburger for about the same.  Or, I can take literally to the street where I live or over one, to linger over offerings at  tiny, single owner shops crammed with oddments of canned goods (hot dogs, for some reason, in cans and glass jars, abound),  gorgeously decorated boxes of Christmas treats, wine like ruby silk less expensive than a Snickers bars, baskets of walnuts, cabbages and tangerines, packaged turkey slices ("peru") and smoked sausages.  Along the streets are miniscule cafes of three tables, bakeries and their waist-broadening but delectably delicious "pasteis de Nata" (custard pie), Chinese-run "everything" stores and suddenly,  the narrow streets open to the fountain facing massive Santa Cruz church, tourists and locals sporting "Yale" and "Visit Colorado" sweatshirts from Primark-in-the-mall (€7-€15)  bustling about amidst fragrant billows from vendor of chrstnuts.   

I gave my KIA "Soul" to my grand-daughter in North Carolina, purchased all my furniture for $1250 from IKEA via Porto and shall spend New Year's Eve with fellow expats in Figueria de Foz ("the Fig") overlooking the Atlantic on Portugal's Silver Coast.  I can pretty well afford it as my Social Security and a modest Merrill Lynch account met with mind-boggling bureaucratic requirements and eventual approval through the desultory, application-burdened efforts of the Portuguese Embassy in Washington DC.  Thank goodness I had no husband, partner, elderly relative(s), school age children, cats, dogs (one women:  two Great Dane puppies, to Madeira) or horses.  Many do, Facebook pages are filled with arrivees, 14 pieces of multi-wrapped and taped boxes, crates and luggage, caged pets and exhausted smiles.  Me?  Two suitcases and Apple gear in a backpack.  Traveling light as a consultant for an energy firm for several years in Venezuela, Scotland and USA helped me to see what I really needed, not just what was "nice to have".   And, of course, there is ... IKEA. Thank heaven!  Assembly affordably hired!  

Frankly -- and this had met with concurrence by other, well traveled expats --  I could not "do" Portugal if I had not already lived overseas in France and five years in UK.  Several trips to Spain helped.  Portugal looks so familiar, groceries, cars, malls, schools, roads, hospitals.  Only:  it's not.  It's Portugal, with a spoken language as fast and lovely as the Mondego River in full spate.  And try catching a river in full space.   I speak French, tourist Spanish and I can pick out many similar looking words, but oh, no, the pronounciation is altogether different.  I got my hair cut.  "Oh, you know, corto!"  Hilarity!  "Corto" is a short cup of coffee, not a short cut of hair!    And Portugal, lest the wannabee expat forgets, has been doing what it has been doing, trundling along post-Salazar, underdeveloped, poor educational offerings, no major assembly infrastructure to speak of, even its Amazon is run out of Spain and neatly labeled "Portugal -- sardines, Atlantic coastline and cheap, too!" .  All of a sudden, the nation slams  into the virtual 21st century; it's going to take a minute for them to catch up.   Yes, the spotless malls are gorgeous, full of foreign retailers, Primark (China) and at least three American chains.  Yes.  McDonalds.  And no, I have not.  Yet.   The overwhelmingly Catholic country still processes its saint statues born on the shoulders of the faithful down the cobblestone streets even if photographed by tourists with their Iphones.  

My UBER drivers learn English by watching American television shows and movies:  the subtitles are in Portuguese.   And, many UBER drivers have a cousin in Boston, a brother in Chicago, a beloved friend in Seattle, and one day, they too, long for a visit to America.   Or, they have studied in England but they hate the food, the English and the climate and come home to Portugal.  My landlords are gay and married: one is Greek, the other from Mozambique and we communicate by What'sApp.  My banker longs to ride a Harley on Route 66.    Coimbra university graduates are celebrated by a single guitar chord struck at midnight as amidst tears and song, they enter adulthood; it is a truly remarkable sight.  Indeed, the university students are seen everywhere in the ubiquitous long black cloaks, an apparent inspiration for J K Rowling when she lived in Porto, to the north,  for a YA novel featuring a school called "Hogwart's".   

More challenging to the considering expat, who has yet to set a toe into history, Fado, affordable wine and custard tarts, are residency permits backed up for months in a recent and arbitary change of designation and responsibility. The apartments in Lisbon, Porto and Braga are snatched up by foreigners waving currency, beleguering the low salaries of locals.  Train and bus transport are well used, often unexpectedly on strike, but affordable.  Senior Lisbon residents and students under 23 travel city transport for free.   However,  legal and real estate sheanigans abound and little the government does recoups the dismayed foreigners' funds.  

Portugal asks the expat to pay attention as well as enjoy the wine, the music and the sardines.  

The Portuguese I have met are a people of great kindness to this white-haired American grandmother (I am frequently kissed and embraced by virtual strangers).   My sales clerk at Continente (similar to Publix) confided me to say I am Canadian as Portuguese are "afraid" of USA.  Not Americans -- "the USA".  Trump has done more damage than even I, a lifelong Democrat, feared.  As in USA, there is not "one" Portugal, but many and not all of them awaken with unfettered joy to a country rising in expat popularity.   Unsuprisingly, rising crime in major Brazilian cities has prompted their immigration to Portugal; my real estate agent was a native Brazilian -- named "Karen"!  Every Brazilian I have met is gorgeous, fit, multi-lingual and in Portugal for higher education degrees before returning home Brazil.  They are passionate about Brazil, horrified by their government's significant irregularities and hopeful if pragmatic about Brazil's future.  Note  Americans are only midway in immigrant popularity, overshadowed by the Brits.  French, Spain and in Lisbon and condos purchases by the Chinese.  

My charming studio with three, five foot windows and shutters, was built many years ago with no discernible insurlation as I discovered upon autumn the truth of what I had been warned to expect:  "It is warmer outside than inside".  I have one wall heater and only turn it on in early evening, off at night.  I did awaken this morning to 13C inside and shall go for a long brisk walk this afternoon.    Coimbra is an hour by train from the sea and even in winter, unlikely to dip below a shivery 32F -- outside!  (Last summer, Coimbra had three heatwave cycles between 100-104F.  Goes to show ya'!).  

So if you are Portugal-bound next year, let me know!  (I submitted an address change on this site.). Try not to take TAP:  luggage loss and rarely on time.  Lisbon is less than two hour train ride from Coimbra and under $20.   Bring sunscreen and good walking shoes/Ecco sandals/Merrells:  most Portuguese cities are uphill on cobblestones.  Cheers!