Leralara

“I This is my brother. Teeheehee. He’s been fighting in France. Teeheehee. And she better dry up right then, or I’ll tell him who I’ve been fighting… or better yet, what. “

Reading those lines, that was the moment when I started to take note— to question what I was reading.

Tucked away, inside the journal, were three typed letters. Right away, I was captivated by them. Dated 1918, from a soldier stationed in Paris to his loved ones at home, whom he obviously missed. The young Chicagoan longed for “loop air” and seemed anxious about fitting in upon arrival.

My eyebrows raised as he spoke of day strolls through the Latin Quarter, of visiting The Dome— observing long haired bohemians, whom he personally wished to “drag into the barber”, his words gave me a chuckle and again as he recalled visiting the famed cafe another time and the awkward pride of being addressed by her as “mes enfants”. Geez, I thought, how much free time did soldiers get? I had never heard any descriptions of post WW1 quite like this.

As I would come to find there were other anomalies— how many soldiers attended the Opera? How many were so well acquainted with Thais— asking his sister to “tell Mamma they had to play her meditation twice.”. His acquired toughness of withstanding the embarrassment of his lowly uniform amonst the “Generals, Second Looters, and other nuisances”… puzzled, I read on only to be further intrigued by the lines with which this post began. An imagined scenario, in which “Phyllis” was entertaining some “scarecrow” in the front parlor. “‘This is my brother.Teeheehee. He’s been fighting in France. Teeheehee’ And she better dry up right then, or I’ll tell him who I’ve been fighting…or better still, what.”

I’m curious to know what you might make of these statements… am I right to assume they’re odd?