Rejected by the Foreign Legion

Today (July 14) is Bastille Day – the day commemorating the “official” start of the French Revolution in 1789. July 14 is also two weeks short of the day in 1953 that I tried to join the French Foreign Legion, utterly unaware of Bastille Day and its significance.

Today (July 14) is Bastille Day – the day commemorating the “official” start of the French Revolution in 1789 which, on reflection, was more a symbolic act of rebellion than a dramatic act of defiance. Only seven political prisoners were in the Bastille at the time, none of them very noteworthy. More than 90 of the Bastille attackers were killed, to one defender, before the fighting ceased. Ever since French people around the world have celebrated the “liberte, egalite, fraternite” they believe the revolution brought them. July 14 is also two weeks short of the day in 1953 that I tried to join the French Foreign Legion, utterly unaware of Bastille Day and its significance. The Korean war ended that year on July 27 with the signing of the armistice at Panmunjon. I was an infantry lieutenant in the Canadian army at the time (Princess Patricias), attached to a U.S. Airforce “Mosquito” squadron, flying in two-seat T-33 aircraft directing air attacks on enemy positions. What I remember most about the ceasefire was a sense of depression. With the war over, what would I do now? I was single, had no responsibilities at home, and had what could be called an “interesting” time in Korea -  first as a platoon commander on the Hook, then as battalion Intelligence Officer, and finally with the Mosquitos - 6147 Tactical Control Squadron. I wasn’t anxious to return to Canada, where I’d dropped out of the University of British Columbia after catching the last couple of years of World War II in the Canadian Navy’s Fleet Air Arm. In Korea word spread among our officers that the French, embroiled in a nasty war in Vietnam, were in need of battle-experienced officers for that war. What caught my attention was that “supposedly,” the French were willing to pay $1,000 a month to junior officers of any nationality with combat experience who would sign up. Considering that I was getting roughly $162 a month in the Canadian army, the French offer was irresistible. I had nothing against the Vietnamese, of course, but then I had no animosity towards the Chinese or North Koreans either, as individuals. It just seemed a pity to waste what experience I had as a soldier, if someone was willing to pay. I immediately wrote the French embassy in Tokyo, offering my services – if the report was correct that officers who volunteered were being paid $12,000 a year. I returned to my unit, preparing to leave Korea to the Koreans (and the Americans) when lo, a letter arrived from the French military attaché in Tokyo. I recall nervousness on opening it, and wondered if I could take my discharge in the far east rather than return to Canada. I was that naïve. The letter began “Cher Lieutenant . . .” and went on, in French, to politely but firmly say I was mistaken on several points. On a positive note, yes, they were willing to accept my services as a soldier. But no, not as an officer, and certainly not at $12,000 a year. Rather, the Foreign Legion would welcome me as a private if I signed up for five years. On reading, and re-reading, I realized that dreams of an exorbitant income did not exist, and that the Foreign Legion might be okay for Beau Geste, but not for me. I kept the letter as a souvenir, and often wondered later that if I’d been a little more adventurous, I might have been able to say I was at the 1954 battle of Dien Bien Phu, which was the decisive defeat of the French military in Vietnam, and a catastrophe. Instead, I returned to UBC where I wrote a letter to J. Edgar Hoover inquiring about joining the FBI. He wrote a kind letter back saying the RCMP might be more appropriate for me. I still have that letter, and autograph, as a souvenir. As a compromise I went into journalism and as a correspondent was sent to cover various wars, coups, revolutions – which were more satisfying than the army, since you could leave and go home if things got too nasty. Anyway, it all started around Bastille Day in mid-July.