Chapter 2: The Roar of the Crowd
"My school was on Rue St. Suplice, and I was in a hurry to get there that morning," LeBeau explained. "Running, because I was late, knowing I would get a rap on mes doigts. It was Monday, and it was a cloudy day."
"I'm kind of surprised you had school on Armistice Day," Carter said. "I mean, it was such an important day. But I guess no one knew that yet."
"That's right. Big day, oui," LeBeau responded. "But of course we didn't have radio broadcasts in 1918. We had heard the war was almost over, but it took time for news to spread. The Armistice was signed early in the morning in the Compiègne Forest, and the fighting ended at…"
"Eleven o'clock," Carter said brightly.
"D'accord, onze heures. School was starting at huit heures et demie—how do you say, eight-thirty—and on my way there I had to run past the Palais du Luxembourg, where the French Senate meets. That's when I saw the signs –and the crowds."
"I remember the crowds," Newkirk mumbled. "That's mostly what I remember."
LeBeau squeezed his friend's arm and continued. "Men on the steps of the Palais were holding a big, handwritten sign : 'L'Armistice est Signé! Vive la France!' People were singing and laughing and waving flags—not just le Tricolore, but the Union Jack et le drapeau Américain," Le Beau continued. "I stopped and stared, and then started running to school again, but there were so many people. I never made it to school. People were pouring into the streets. By the time I got to the edge of the crowd, I saw mes amis Jean-Michel et Roger coming toward me, and they said, 'No school today! Nous sommes renvoyés jusqu'à mercredi!' So we walked together back toward le Jardin."
"There were soldiers and sailors everywhere," Newkirk put in. He looked into the distance, as if trying to conjure an image, then locked eyes with LeBeau. "Flowers in the barrels of their rifles. Carnations." He managed a small smile at the odd memory.
LeBeau slapped him on the back, laughing. "Were we in the same place, mon pote? Oui, the flowers! Where did you see that?"
"Must have been at Woolwich Arsenal. My mum worked there during the war. My granddad took me that day, I think," he said, scrunching his eyes to retrieve the recollection.
"You were very young. It would be hard to remember everything," LeBeau assured him. He twisted around to bring Carter back into the conversation. "Well, before we knew it, every rue around the Palais was packed with people. Men and women were kissing; musicians were playing, children were riding on their fathers' shoulders. We ran down Rue Guynemer to la Statue de la Liberté—maybe you've heard of it, Andre?" LeBeau said with a grin.
Carter was still translating "Rue Guynemer," so Newkirk jumped in. "Statue of Liberty? I thought that was in New York," he said.
"Oui, it is, but it was a gift from France. There are many scale models of it in Paris. Some day, I will show you, mon pote," LeBeau said. "It was our favorite spot to play in the garden, and we saw a crowd gathering there. So we pushed our way through." LeBeau paused, looked away, and went silent for a moment. "Well, maybe that's enough," he said softly.
"Aw, come on, Louis, don't stop," Carter said.
LeBeau looked at Newkirk, studying his friend's face, before turning to Carter. "We saw some terrible things. André, you know the United States came into the war late. April 1917. It was only a year and a half before it ended. So you might not know…"
"Yeah, boy, we really helped end that war! Once we were in there, boy, the Great War wrapped up pretty quick," Carter said proudly.
"The infant Carter to the rescue," Newkirk was muttering, but just then an approaching voice broke in from behind Carter.
"Well, that's one way of looking at it, Carter," Colonel Hogan said, clapping the sergeant on the back. "But I don't think our allies saw it that way. The American Expeditionary Force was young and fresh—and very inexperienced. When we did go in to fight, we started out in pretty quiet sectors to get front-line experience. The first American offensive of the World War didn't take place until May 1918."
"The Battle of Catigny," LeBeau put in.
"Go to the head of the class, LeBeau," Hogan said with a grin. He had his men's full attention, so school was in session. "Our arrival gave a psychological lift to the Allied Powers long before we saw combat. We had well-supplied forces. The French and British and other Allied Powers had been through years of exhausting warfare, so our entry was a turning point. The prospect of facing hundreds of thousands of fresh, new troops didn't look too good to the Central Powers.
"But remember, fellas," Hogan continued, "huge sacrifices had already been made by the French, British, Russians, Australians, and other nations. By the end of the war, casualties were enormous—more than 20 million from the Allied Nations were dead, wounded or captured, and 20 million more from the Germans and other Central Powers. Americans weren't even one percent of that." He looked pointedly at Carter, who was taking it all in.
"Gee, Colonel, it almost sounds like you were there," Carter said. "I mean, I know you couldn't have…"
"Just how old do you think I am, Carter?" Hogan joked. "No. I just stayed awake during some of my strategy classes at the Academy. And for the record, I was in eighth grade when the U.S. got into the war. My father had to go, but not overseas. Before the war, he was a 'lawyer in uniform,' a reservist with the Judge Advocate General Corps. When the war started, he went on active duty and was at Fort Leonard Wood and Fort Bliss for a couple of years."
Newkirk was listening, but a slurring voice was flooding his mind, unbidden. A smoky pub, the stale smells of ale, piss, and sawdust, and a small boy tugging at his old man's sleeve to please come home to mam before he drank all the wages.
The Americans were all right. We used to take the mickey out of them for boasting, mind you. They'd only just arrived and now the war would be won, the way they told it. They were so bloody sure that they didn't know what keeping your head down meant. They thought they were going to knock the Jerries out just by looking over the top of the trench, see.
And then, a drink or two later:
Cor, it was all mud, heat, thirst, filth, lice, rats, the smell of corpses. Slime and rain and shells and drumfire in that bloody cesspool. The trenches. The Somme. Bleeding Passchendaele... and my young brother, God rest his blasted soul.
With a tilt of his head, Newkirk willed the familiar voice into silence. Sergeant Kinchloe had arrived at Hogan's side. "My pop went off to Europe. He was in the 92nd Infantry, 366th Regiment," he was saying.
"A Buffalo Soldier," Colonel Hogan said with a nod of respect. "They fought hard."
"Yes, sir. He trained at Camp Dodge, then shipped out in the summer of 1917 to fight in the St. Die sector, Meuse-Argonne, and Marbach alongside the French." He smiled at LeBeau, who grinned back.
"Lorraine. I know it well," LeBeau said. "Such a beautiful place. Such brave soldiers."
"Thanks, LeBeau. They sure were," Kinch said. "He demobbed at Fort Oglethorpe, and came home around Easter 1919. Gone nearly two years. He saw action, but he came home in one piece. He always said he was damned lucky. He was ready to join up again in '41," he added, with obvious admiration. "But, you know, even with a war on, there's not much demand for 55-year-old sergeants," he chuckled. "Except for Schultz, I guess."
Hogan laughed as he did the math in his head: At 32 now, Kinch must have been six when his father left, eight when he came home.
Carter nodded thoughtfully. "Louis, you were saying something about the Statue of Liberty." He turned to Kinch and Hogan. "The one in Paris," he informed them.
"There are several copies of it," Kinch said with a patient smile. "My pop took so many pictures when he was in Paris."
LeBeau flicked his eyes around his circle of friends, who were looking intently at him. He let out a deep sigh before continuing.
NOTES
The fate of Newkirk's uncle is borrowed from Chapter 20 of dust on the wind's brilliant "Esk Road: The Rest of the Family." I am always grateful to dust for inspiration.
"Mes doigts": "My fingers."
The signs LeBeau saw that "Armistice is Signed! Long Live France"
LeBeau's friends were saying, "We're dismissed until Wednesday!"
The Luxembourg Gardens are where the Palace is located.
Rue Guynemer was named in 1918 for WW1 fighter ace Georges Guynemer, who recorded 54 victories during World War I. I'd love to know what it was previously called. [Note: Thank you, Arwen and Belphegor, for letting me know it was previously Rue du Luxembourg!)
The descriptions of the celebrations were created from viewing numerous newsreels of November 11, 1918. Newkirk's father's rantings were assembled from numerous firsthand accounts that I read.
Other bits of French are scattered throughout the chapter, but I think they can be understood in context. If not, please ask! And correct me if my usage or translations are wrong!