Chapter 29. Knee-deep in Paris

Paris was my connection with the world outside the World of War.  By the winter of 1944-45 typically the city was swarming with GIs in town for R & R.  The city offered every new and old American movie and all sorts of night life.  While in college, I first had heard of the famous spectacle, Folies Bergere, in Paris.

Long had I thought of getting to see its tasteful, beautifully designed, gorgeously dressed and presented variety show, with singing and dancing par excellence.  Though well known to portray no values on “clothed” compared to “nude”, the Folies for years ranked with grand opera and the best of ballet in the minds of world-wise cultivated American tourists.  And finally, although alone on a trip to Paris, I was determined to get to see it this time!

After finishing my work at the Croix Rouge headquarters I walked back to my hotel and found myself walking beside a young GI on R & R.  He was from Iowa, was fascinated with Paris but complained that he didn’t know what to do. So I suggested several things—movies, museums, etc.  Getting up his nerve he asked me what I was doing.  So I told him Folies Bergere whereupon he asked—not just to go with me—but to take me.  After some argument I agreed that he could buy my ticket too and drop by my hotel to pick me up for the “date.”

Upon arriving at the theater I was surprised to see that the hundreds of seats, orchestra, and balconies were completely full of GIs.  The moment Mr. Iowa and I became visible to the back rows, we ignited a full-house applause, the guys clapping loudly and whistling.  I was dying to get into my seat and out of sight.  Imagine my embarrassment (highly visible with my unique white gloves and Red Cross uniform) with all eyes on the two of us.  Mr. Iowa just kept on going, leading all the way through a balcony to the most expensive, most cherished, most obvious box high above and directly over the stage.  The crowd then really whistled and roared.

But that was just the beginning of my evening’s mortification.  Sitting right over nudity is very different indeed from the romantic, imaginative sensations of watching the stage action from afar.  Mr. Iowa turned beet red and stayed that way all evening.  I probably did too.  As I remember, we sat in total silence all the while.

I’ve often wondered how many of his people back home pass along the story that the Red Cross is full of totally depraved women.