Chapter Four: The King of Tréguier

I gotta be either dead or dreamin’,
‘Cause look at that pape* with my face beamin’.
Tomorrow they may wrap baguettes in it,
But I was a star for one whole minute.

Startin’ now
I’m the King of Tréguier

Ain’t ya heard?
I’m the King of Tréguier!

- "The King of New York," Newsies** (with minor alterations)

Andy Warhol once prophesied that we would all have our fifteen minutes in the limelight. The paperboys from Newsies took this further to exalt these moments of fame to a status of royalty. Whether or not being in the "pape" truly renders one royal, however, I must agree with the newsies that it is something quite meaningful. I, though, believe the significance comes not from the sudden fame; rather, it is drawn from the story behind the picture, the inspiration for the article.

Indeed, the story leading up to my crowning as the King of Tréguier in the newspapers of Ouest France and Télégramme is one which smacks of pride, homesickness and is peppered with the ever-piquant flavor of anti-Americanism.

"Seth! Have you heard what is going on?"
"What’s going to happen?"
"It’s stupid. We still have to have the party!"

Arriving on campus in the early afternoon on November the twenty-third, I was alarmed by the looks of concern on the faces of the students who approached me in the courtyard. It was the day of Thanksgiving, a time of celebration and reunions for all of my loved ones home in America. In France, however, it was just another day—another day, that is, except for the grand Thanksgiving feast which the administration, cooks and another English teacher and I had been preparing for weeks. We had wanted to provide the students of the Lycée Savina with a truly American cultural experience, and Thanksgiving seemed to be the best opportunity to do so.

"He took the flag!" one girl exclaimed.

"Woah," I replied. "I don’t know a thing. Tell me the entire story."

During the two weeks prior to that of Thanksgiving, the Applied Arts students of Savina had poured their creativity into expositions recounting the story of the Pilgrims and the Indians, as well as detailing how the holiday is celebrated in Twenty-First Century America. Each group was given a text in English covering one aspect of this broad topic and was then responsible for creating a project of their own design in order to convey the salient points of the text. It was a labor of love for these artistes. Watching their projects evolve, I felt the spirit of the holiday season creeping into my bones. Discussing the voyage of the Mayflower, the First Thanksgiving and Plymouth Colony, my eyes turned across the ocean to my homeland.

One particular group attacked the topic of the differences between the Pilgrims and the Indians, such as that of food, religion and weapons. Another interviewed me to determine what traditions are still alive today in America. Each of the groups, however, took ownership of their projects and produced oeuvres which were not only aesthetically pleasing but also full of content.

The day prior to the celebration, therefore, we took the projects to the cafeteria to begin decorating. However, we quickly chose not to affix the projects to the walls in fear of immature students destroying them before the feast. We had, nevertheless, already hung an American flag donated by the Principal. Doing so had required the use of a ladder. Surely, therefore, the flag would be secure. No one would be able to reach it.

But we had forgotten the nature of French society. When one is angered by something in France, it’s la grève—strike!

"He took the flag!" the student exclaimed.

Indeed, one particular young Frenchman had not only taken down the American flag but was also gathering signatures on a petition to boycott our Thanksgiving celebration.

My jaw hit the floor.

His logic, as he conveyed it to my students: 1. France does not support American politics; 2. Thanksgiving is a religious holiday and should not be celebrated in a public school.

But in daring to tangle with my students in a war of words, he quickly lost. The official position of the French government or of its people in relation to American politics, my students countered, does not negate the fact that the United States is nevertheless a country. Furthermore, the celebration of a cultural aspect of a nation is not the equivalent of a total endorsement of policy.

Additionally, the idea to ban this holiday because of its religious significance equally lacks validity. Should Noël also be excluded from the public square because it was intended to be a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ? Certain Americans today who choose not to thank God when they sit down to feast near the end of November offer thanks instead to the god of materialism. I posit that this is nevertheless a religion, and therefore to eliminate Thanksgiving upon the basis that the Pilgrims believed in the Christian God is only an act of true intolerance toward Christianity. It is also simply ignorant of the fact that the Indian religion was also present in the context of the first Thanksgiving.

As Christmas lacks Christian religious significance for many today in spite of its origin, so does Thanksgiving.

Nevertheless, the teen continued to argue with my students even after his logic had been torn apart. American culture, in his opinion, simply had no place in the Lycée Savina, and so he had chosen to move to have my culture banned.

I felt as if I had been plunged back into the era of "freedom fries." The French hadn’t agreed with the American government’s policy, and so we had reacted by trying to eradicate all things "French" from our culture. This type of knee-jerk reaction, however, does not promote a public forum for the discussion of politics or ideas; rather it polarizes the sides and may even prevent such dialogue from taking place.

When this young man approached me in between classes of his own accord, therefore, my jaw once again hit the floor (I’m working up some pretty good rug burns on this jaw of mine, as you can tell).

"Hi. I’m zee one who took zee flag."

He stressed to me that his actions were not against myself or even my country, but against Bush. Indeed, "Bush" is the worst of all four letter words in current French society. Two other students who had accompanied the young man stated that American actions, chiefly in relation to the war in Iraq, are something with which France is simply not in agreement.

I replied that many Americans similarly have not been and are not in agreement with the actions of the French, but that I nevertheless find the study of French culture to be something of significance.

However, I did understand the student’s initial reaction of shock. He had entered the cafeteria without any explanation of a Thanksgiving feast to simply see an American flag on display. I tried to imagine students of Norwell, my own high school, walking into the cafeteria to see a French flag hanging, and I believe the reaction would be negative, as well. However, instead of asking questions, he simply removed it and then afterward, when presented with the explanation, began grasping for reasons against the celebration.

In the end, he dropped the petition and came to the feast—accompanied by two other students with feathers in their hair and paint on their faces to evoke Native American attire. I find this curious, however, as for some reason it is permissive according to these students to celebrate the Native American culture and religion but not that of the Puritan Pilgrims.

But the reaction of a minor few could not prevent Tréguier from becoming bound up in the Thanksgiving spirit.

The chef had prepared corn, mashed potatoes, stewed pumpkin, stuffed turkey, pumpkin pie and apple crisp. The sounds of Simon & Garfunkel, Elvis, Bryan Adams, Chicago, Martina McBride and many more filled the cafeteria while students dined on these traditional dishes. Fall leaves had been strung around the entire room. Pumpkins sat proudly in their midst.

And, the American flag had been returned to its place of honor above the feast.

Indeed, I felt as if I had been transported home for one evening. The frustration with the young man who had taken the flag paled in comparison to the smiles and shouts of delight from the other students. "Happy Thanksgiving!" I exclaimed, walking from table to table.

The ambiance was decidedly American. Once again the pendulum of love/hate had thankfully swung back away from the "hate" side of the spectrum—even if only for a short time.

And, I also had my moment as the King of Tréguier. Journalists from two newspapers interviewed me and put my picture in their "pape" shortly thereafter, accompanied by an article which indeed recounts only part of the story.

"Thursday night, the cafeteria smelled of specialties from across the Atlantic, with the Star-Spangled Banner as the backdrop in honor of Thanksgiving," reads one article.

What they didn’t report, of course, was the drama and near strike which almost destroyed the cultural celebration of Thanksgiving in Tréguier.

When I look at "my face beamin’" in the French newspaper, therefore, I see more than fifteen minutes of fame or the King of Tréguier. I see a story—a story which began in homesickness and continued in frustration, but was concluded by a celebration which made for one of the most odd, yet most memorable Thanksgivings I can ever remember.

This is that for which I am thankful in 2006.

* pape = newspaper à la New York Paperboy jargon
** newsie = news paperboy à la same jargon