Parisian interlude. 1951/52
February 1951. . So here I am, back home
for a couple months for a leave called "end of colonial tour". I had a hard time adjusting to the February
bitter cold. Thankfully, spring was around the corner. I had been looking forward to it as well as acquiring a
new motorcycle. I started looking for a machine that would fit my small budget. Once again, I found an English
BSA 500cc. I went to pick it up in Lyon. It was 15 years old but had low mileage. Not having been abused during
the war, it had more pickup than the one I had in Tunis. It gave me satisfaction for years.
At the end of my leave, I received notification of my next appointment. I thought
I was going back to AFN so I was surprised to see that I would be going to the Paris headquarter. We usually referred
to this place as the hiding place. These jobs were usually obtained through friends of the family either in high
places in the airforce or through political connections. This was a surprise for me, as I didn't have that kind
of connections.
This position was part of the airforce's unit detached to the SGACC (Secretary
general to civil and commercial aviation) located in the 15th Arr. in Paris. Mostly administrative, the purpose
of this unit was to support military personnel working with civilian aviation (Weather forecasters, air traffic
controllers and such). Most of these "slackers" were married and lived in Paris or its surrounding.
Personally I had to hunt for a place close to work. The cost was high for people like us with a sergeant then
master sergeant salary.
However, this job allowed me to discover our nation's capital, especially after
I had bought my motorcycle. It gave me freedom to move around and made it easy for me to go home. Although I
rarely made the trip home, traffic on National 6 was very light compared to today's! This was also the time when
my brother Paul married. I had missed Pierre's in 1947 because I couldn't get a leave so I was glad to be able
to be part of the wedding.
My work although very bureaucratic was neither exhilarating nor exhausting.
The atmosphere was relaxed and I could see myself spending a couple years in this position. Fate however decided
otherwise.
In this office environment, one is always aware of all the memos issued by
headquarter. I had given up my dream of becoming a pilot. At the time, one needed a diploma to qualify, something
I was lacking. The other possibility was to take an entry exam but I didn't feel up to it. One day, I discovered
through one of those memos that exceptionally the airforce admitted candidates provided that they had at least
one year of college. What luck! I had completed that year. I contacted my school for a transcript.
My request for filed quickly and I was called in for a physical designed for flying personnel at the CEMPN in Paris.
Just like the sword of Damocles hanging over my head I awaited the results. Vision.... A bit colorblind. Reflexes....
One a bit slow. To top it all, my medical file made mention of my motorcycle accident in Tunis listing "
a head trauma".
In order to rule out any residual problems, I had to go through additional
testing in the form of an Electro-shock to make sure that my scar was the only thing remaining from my accident.
The test took place at the hospital with a specialist trailed by a bunch of med. students. It consisted of trying
to trigger a delirium episode should the trauma be severe. Thankfully, the test did not yield anything to worry
about.
Once again, luck was on my side when I presented myself in front of the colonel for the results. He went down
the list of all the things wrong with me. At this moment I was sure to be rejected. But this good man confided
in me that he too was from the area of Bresse and that "in between Bressan, we should help each other".
And just like that, he signed the precious certificate but with one restriction.
I couldn't become a fighter pilot and was restricted to transport. His rank
prevented me from jumping and kiss him ! I was proud to show this passport to the world of military pilot to my
surprised colleagues. My dream of seven years was about to come true.
|