We had been living in Caracas, where I was running the advertising and sales promotion for Procter et Gamble de Venezuela, having been transfered several years earlier from Puerto Rico. The manager was an Englishman named Ray Greenley and the marketing director was an old friend from Canadian training days, Jim Carrillo.One evening in the late winter of 1957, I arrived home from a longish business trip, possibly to Havana for a Regional meeting, possibly to a distant city in Venezuela ; I've now forgotten where.
Renée greeted me with sensational news; she had been authorised by Ray to tell me that I was to be posted to Paris to take up a post as a member of the team that was opening up the French market following the acquisition of a French soap manufacturer, Founier -Ferrier She had already excitedly started making preparations such as packing . In those days, in posts like Caracas, life was very easy for expatriates----everything was done for you , either by servants, or the local Company employees . She had obtained a good offer for our red Ford convertible, had cancelled parts that we both had signed up for in a play at the local Dramatic Club, and had even started loking up flights . She was as thrilled as I was.
There was something of a hurry involved; I don't remember why. In any case, I was to proceed on alone, with the family coming later. Riggs was five, Marc was three, Nicholas had only been born the year before ---and Renée was pregnant with Anthony . We had a very capable French governess, thank goodness .
I had , I think , about a month in which to receive my replacement, another Englishman named John Asher , and prepare my final reports. I found a very pleasant Frenchman to give me some " brush-up" lessons. Despite having studied French both in school and at the Université de Besançon, I realised that I needed help in order to do business in France . He was very good for conversational French; it was he that taught me to end phrases on an up- note .
After a stop off in New York to see family and do some shopping for a still-unconsumerised France, I landed alone in Paris in April. My hotel was the Lotti which had been recommended by a cousin of my mother-in-law, Lola Marshall , a Columbian lady who was called Helène de Vengochia , widowed and living in Paris. The Lotti was a great discovery , as it was my first exposure to a really stylish establishment of the older class of hotels . ( I later became a frequent client and , forty years later, some of the same staff was still there ). On a holiday in France two years earlier, we had stayed at the Trémoille, a very good hotel, but not quite in the rank of the Lotti .
Helène, the owner of an enormous banana plantation near Cartagena on the Caribbean coast, did her business --mostly with United Fruit, with whom she was always fighting about prices----out of her grand house on the Avenue Foch .She was known affectionately as " Banane". She was to be of great help to us, especially during a medical crisis. More of that later.
Paris was grey and windy, but I was so excited to be there that I had barely checked in when I started out on a long walk that took me all over the City, and thus came down with a nasty cold. Fortunately it was a Saturday, so I could recover a bit on Sunday, when I was to meet my new boss for supper.
He was Burke Smith, who was number two in the Marketing Department of P& G Canada where I had had my " Brandman" training. Of coures, I knew he would be in Paris, and I was already a bit apprehensive about working with him, since I had learned not to fully trust him in my three years experience with him in Toronto. Burke was a "politician" and a definite applepolisher . Furthermore, I never thought he had great business talents. However, I had made up my mind to get along with him, and our first meeting that Sunday evening went well. I had no idea then that our stay in Paris would not last two years, nor that we would be back six years later for a longer stay .
The next day, I started work in the recently-opened headquarters of Procter et Gamble de France. They were located in the old Founier-Ferrier offices in one of the seedier parts of Paris. We were on the Rue Richard Lenoir, named for a model worker during Napoleon III's period of good social works . It ran from the Bastille and formed part of the traditional march of the trade unions and the extreme left political parties . Since the Communists were very active then, we were often told to stay home when a big demonstration was planned , as the police feared violent reactions against the offices of an American company . Thus we had frequent extra holidays !
My worked involved the usual brand management, dividing up the product lines with a very pleasant Glasweigan whose name I have forgotton . I had two young French trainees to help me, as well as a rather fey ( but pretty) secretary whose English was still rather basic . ( Finding biligual employees in those days was very difficult. Our best recruiting was among young people who had worked in the offices of the Marshall Plan). It was my first exposure to that very disconcerting way French secretaries took dictation---by looking intensely at you at all times .
Almost from the first day I was very sick, a bad case of amoebic dysentery that I had obviously picked up in Venezuela . The syptoms included very high fever, chills, diarrhea, and occasional blacking-out spells. It not only affected my work in a physical way, but it was demoralising because the French medical corps had no cure for it. I spent hours being badly diagnosed and subjected to weird treatments such as Renée having to drive me halfway across Paris in the middle of night to be tested in a laborarory--- the idea being that the best time to examine me was when I had a high fever ( which was often at night )! Gradually I got better, but it wasn't until the Fall when I could be treated in the Tropical Desease Center at Columbia Presbyterian in New York that I finally got rid of the last amoeba .
This was only the first one of a string of bad luck happenings that we had that year, of which more later .
Renée and the boys finally arrived , and we started the hopeless search for an apartment . The housing situation in Paris at the time was desperate. New building was discouraged because of the rigid price controls on rents coupled with a huge demand by returning prisoners of war. In the meantime, we hardly suffered, being lodged in the top suite of the Lotti, where the childrens' porridge was served by a fully-uniformed maitre d'hotel.
And we were very excited by the sights of Paris and thoroughly bemused by the strange habits and attitudes of the French. It was a magical experience, only tarnished from time to time by the arrogance of French fontionnaires and concierges. The fourth Republic was in its death throes, as the Algerian War dragged on relentlessly and uselessly; inflation was rampant, and there was a huge thriving black market . Governments came and went with breathtaking frequencies , each new one put together based on the best chance for an American loan. The Communist Party was the biggest bloc in the Parliament, always making trouble when it could, and de Gaulle wasn't any help by criticising everything from his country seat, n overhanging political threat to every patched-up coalition government .
Since we weren't affected by the situation , we could experience it with fascination and great curiosity . Renée had a new friend who was our explainer of the politics of the day; she was a French-Russian who reported on the French fashion scene for Womens' Wear Daily---for which Renée was a correspondent in Caracas .
We could have greatly benefited from the breakdown of public finances, if we hadn't been too honest ( or too naive ?). We were paid in dollars which, as a matter of Company policy, I was supposed to exchange at the official rate into francs . However, there was no way for anyone to know if I had bought francs at the black market rate---a 40-50% advantage . I never did.
A small bit of help came in the form of the Allocations Familiales which a little man delivered every month in cash into her eager hands . P&G had put us smack into the French welfare system .
We finally found temporary lodging in a ground floor apartment on the Avenue Carnot, one of the " spokes" of Place de l'Arc de Triomphe, now Place de Charles de Gaulle. Relieved to have our own quarters, if only for a time, it was a big change from the servant-filled luxury of the Lotti. It was here that occured our second stroke of bad luck. One day I was called at work by the emergency services of of our quartier----each section of Paris has an emergency service---to report an accident to one of my children . I raced home to find a message from Renée to the effect that Marc, horsing around, had put his arm through the dining room window, severing the main veins and arteries in his wrist . I met them at the famous Childrens' Hospital in Clichy, where they were waiting anxiously for a surgeon. Time was of the essence, as we were advised that the hand would have to be amputated if nothing was done within the hour !
Terrible moments. Finally Marc was taken in hand, and we were simply told to contact the hospital " plus tard" As there was nothing we could do, Renée and I just wandered around , very disconsolate. I remember that we went to Bananes' where we were given brandy and sympathy . ( I don't know who was taking care of Riggs and Nicholas; in any case, they weren't with us ). Next day we got the good news that an emergency operation involving a radical technique of fitting plastic tubing into the wrist muscles had averted amputation . Later we learned that the details were written up in medical journals; evidently there were just minutes to spare. Our relief was enormous.
Of course Marc was not very happy as he was in great pain for some time, and he had to endure the conditions of a large ward, which were almost medieval at the time .
After a time, we finally found a permanent rental, a large third floor apartment on the rue des Renaudes, a rather somber street in the 17th. It was thankfully near one of Paris's lovelier parks, le Parc Monceau, where we consistenly broke the role against stepping on the grass. It was also very central, only a métro stop from l'Arc, and a direct connection for me on the Chateau de Vincennes line .
So many discoveries ! Some annoying, like the Monday shop closings and the difficulties to comunicate with places outside France . I remember that we often went to the Jewish quarter on Sundays , the only place to buy milk ! If you wanted to send a telegram or make long distance call, there was only one Post Ofice open in all of Paris on Sundays and holidays . Of course you could always try to dictate a telegram in English to a monologue operator, but that involved giving her an example in French of each letter. " f" for fromage, "t" for "train" etc.
On the other hand, there were many convienient features , such as le pneumatique, a system of underground vacuum tubes that delivered mail within hours anwhere in Paris . If you posted a "pneu" before 10 am, it would reach its destination before 2pm. Also the trains were , as now, excellent, and the métro was convienient and efficient----when they weren't on strike !
For the most part, our social life revolved around the American colony. There were the traditional institutions staffed by ( usually ) congenial and internationally-minded people---the banks; Morgan's , run by the Bunny Carter, the First National ( later Guaranty Trust); the American Cathedral on George V, where the boys were christened, the vicar being the quintessant Espiscapalian Strugis Riddle ; the Travellers' Club, and the college clubs, the Harvard Club being particularly active . Interestingly, virtually all members of the Harvard Club of France, both Americans and French, were graduates of the College, not the Business School, which later becames synoymous with the University in French circles.
I remember: Brad Nichols and David Carter at Morgan's; Reggie Kiernan, resident physician at the American Hospital, who later befriended and lodged a penniless Sue Cardozo; Alex Vagliano at White and Case (later to become head of the International Division of Morgan's) ; Al Crosby and his partner in an insurance brokerage, Sam Prey ,with his ( Sam's) forbidding vineyard-rich French wife ; CharlieTorem of Coudert Frères; Gardner Pierson, our resident playboy and loyal client of Mme Claudes's services ; Clem Wood, married to Jane Wood, and living in Mme de Stael's lovely old house at 1bis, Place des Vosges. Jane was in Renée's class at Radcliffe; Eddie Morgan and his partner in an automobile dealership, Digby Neave. They had to go out of business when de Gaulle chased out the U. S. Army; the Minots , Joe and Laura at the Embassy; and others.
We made some attempt to enter the French social world, without much success. At the time, Parisians were not very hospitable to foreigners. Also, we were very ignorant of French social protocol. We organized a cocktail party at our apartment once, inviting the few French couples that we had met through family connections , but only one person, a bachelor, turned up. ( He turned out to Jacques d'Uzes, the first Duke of France, down on his luck,and hustling. Later, he got into the money again by marrying Peggy née Bancroft ). The reason: we had not confirmed our telephone invitations in writing !
Lots of sightseeing in Paris and the surrounding countryside on weekends . I still remember Sunday excursions that ended up for tea at that delightful inn at Monfort l'Amoury. Riggs was at the Ecole Actve Bilangue, the perfect school for expatriate children. Anthony was born in June in the American Hospital in Neuilly . Now we were a family of six.
In August, bad luck struck again, twice. My parents came to visit us after a big to-do in London for the American Bar Association. Dad had not been back to France since his War, and wanted to visit some of the places where he had serv-ed. Off we went, Mother , Dad, and Riggs, with me driving our little Renault.It was in the middle of the traditional August holidays. We went west, passing by Langres and Verdun, and on the way to Dijon, Riggs was struck by an attack of acute appendicitis. We tried to find a médecin de garde in several towns without success when , finally, a Gendarme located a doctor who was on duty in Chatillon-sur-Seine. Riggs was rushed to the local hospital which was actually a hospice maintained by nuns in a lovely 16th century building . Riggs was operated on successfully, evidently in the nick of time .
Then it was decided that Mother would stay in the town and look after Riggs during his convalescence, whileDad and I would drive back to Paris----where Renée had just come down with a bad case of the grippe asiatique, a virulent strain of the flu. Double whammy !
I had to return to work, so Dad had to stay with Renée and the boys . In the
end, everyone recovered, the real hero being Mother who had to cope with the nuns and the doctors with only schoolgirl French . At the end of the month , my parents sailed back to New York on a ship whose name I can't remember . Mother kept talking about her hospice experience for a long time afterwards
Meanwhile, at the office, conflicts were developing , and I was at the heart of them . We in the marketing department opposed some ideas of a man called Goudreau, a French-canadian who was the Sales manager. He was full of schemes based on an assumed , but faulty , knowledge of the French consumer.
For example, he was very keen on an entirely new marketing strategy based on Price. He reasoned that our products could be sold as answers to the inflation that was rampant at the time . We thought this was wrong, since our products were new to the market and therefore should be sold on the basis of their quality and convenience. For example, we were introducing synthetic detergents which were better than the old kind of washing powders, and their superiority could be demonstrated through mass sampling and advertising .Unfortunately, I got little help from our advertising agency, Dorland, who, like all the French agencies at the time, acted mainly as a buyer of space, with very little creativityand zero research .
I am simplifing the argument, and I am not sure today if I was right . However, because I was so vociferous in defending my views , I made a powerful enemy in Goudreau . I had underestimted his influence in the higher ranks , and I was to pay for being really stupid. Furthermore, my great mentor in my Latin American career, Harold Staff , was no longer around as he was not involved in Europe . I really missed his support and, more importantly , his advice. How much my bad health affected my work, I honestly can't say, but I have no excuses to make .
From that time, I believe that Smith felt his operations would be better off without the troublemaker---who was also accident prone. And there was more to come . One day in October, I was told that Dad had been killed in an automobile accident. Although I got the first flight out, I missed seeing him alive. Of course this meant more time away from work, as I had to take care of all the paperwork that he left behind, as well as helping Mother with the funeral etc. I also spent time in New York for tests , as I was still had amoebic dysentary ( see above ).
Meanwhile, the political situation in France was fast deteriorating, as the Army was preparing to resist all attempts to end the War in Algeria, and give theAlgerians their independence . The military had powerful allies in the Chambre, and in influential business circles : the big colonial fortunes in Algeria were in danger . Senator Jack Kennedy caused a wave of anti-Americanism when he made a speech in favor of an independent Algeria.
"Pour qu'il s'en mèle ?".
There was great tenseness in the Paris air. In September, the Battle of Algiers was won by Massu's paratroopers, accompanied by much bloodshed.
Despite the problems in the office, I was making some progress , like the successful introduction of Spic and Span, a floor cleaner . The French boys in our factory showed great ingenuity by making a perfect product using a cement mixer ! The Cincinnatti people were horrified when learned of the experiment because the American product was made with very sophisticated and costly equipment. However, the French product was approved for immediate sale after embarrassed testing in the US labs .
I don't remember where and how we celebrated Christmas--probably at home. The boys were enjoying their new life; Marc and Riggs had completely recovered,and baby Anthony was spoilt by all . Was Nicholas jealous ? I don't remember. In January, we all went ski-ing in Meribel Les Allues, a practically unknown station. We went with the Hunts--- John my classment at Harvard, his wife ( name forgotten; they were later divorced), and their two children. Conditions were primitive, but it was great fun. Unfortunately, Renée's leg was broken badly when a crazy French skier hit her when she was riding up on a T-bar. She was treated by a vet, the only doctor available. Another incident of our annus horribilus.
John Hunt's situation in Paris was interesting. He ran the Paris office of the famous Congress for Cultural Freedom, an ingenious attempt to fight the Marxist intellectuals by employong the talents of well known democratic writers and artists, by publishing and exposing their works . The montly review , called Encounter was filled with really good stuff. They whole thi was a great success until it was learned somewhat later that it was partially financed by the CIA. That disclosure led to eventual closure, despite the fact that a respectable number of " our" intellectuals were eager to continue . John always maintained that he didn't know the sources of the funding. In any case, he was in great danger that winter as his office building was bombed several times . Plastifié. Maybe his apartment was , too. I don't remember .
As things got worse in Paris and my own career seemed to be on a slow-moving platform, Renée and I took Riggs on an Easter holiday in Italy. Carefree, we drove down to the Coast on the Route Napoléon which runs from Grenoble through Provence to Nice . Then ,along the Cote d'Azur and the Italian Riviera to Rapallo, at the head of the lovely Portofino peninsula.It was our first exposure to Italian charm, hospitality and food . It was there that Riggs learned to ride a bike. I remember watching him from our room, riding around in tight circles in front of the hotel.
In May, the Algerian crisis reached its peak. The Army had taken over in Algiers and threatened to make trouble in France .Two parachute divisions were ready to invade the Capitol and take over the weak Government . Jules Moch, the Interior Minister, issued arms to private citizens . Any gathering of more than three persons was broken up by the Police. Once Renée and I were separated by the Seine, and no way of communicating.
There was a strong public demand for de Gaulle to step in and take over the Government . The Army, mistaking the General's real intentions, called for him
as strongly. After all, wasn't he a soldier ?
Calm was finally established in June when de Gaulle made his coup d'état, lightly covered over by the pretense of Republican procedures . Everyone was relieved . He was at first, Prime Minister, then elected President at the end of the year.
After we left in that summer of 1958, we missed the real fireworks--the two years of the events that finally led to Algeria's independence. We heard the famous speech that de Gaulle made in Algiers, " Je vous ai compris" which was intrepreted by the pieds noirs and the Army as his acquiesence in a continued French presence in Algeria, when , as it turned out, he was only playing for time--as he had realized that independence was inevitable . In 1960 and 1961, when we were in Belgium, Paris was the scene of constant bombings and assasinations by the secret army of the die-hard Generals .
Sometime in the early summer, I was offered a transfer to Brussels , to carry out the same functions as in Paris, working for Procter & Gamble of Belgium . It was obviously a lateral, even downward move, but I was delighted to accept. I knew that the Belgian company was very prosperous, growing, and well run by a Dutch Jew called Martin van Creveld. It would mean leaving the Paris that we had learnt to love, but I could see no way to move upward there. In fact, I think I was already contemplating leaving P & G, if the right job offer came up.
So , another move--and another story to tell.
Tener Eckelberry
