Rue de la Faisanderie

The U.S. Ambassador's Residence

The next day after we arrived in Paris, which was actually the first real day in Paris, I woke up bright and early.  The previous night when we were walking around looking for a place to dine, I walked into a Tabac and purchased the "Parisian Handbook". A little red hardback book that contained a map and coordinates of the Paris Arrondismonts (districts) in detail.  Excited and awake, I looked out the hotel windows and was happy to see that it was a beautiful sunny day. Even though our official residence was not ready for us to move into, we were given the address of the formal residence so that we could become familiar with the surrounding area.  While the rest of the family were sound asleep I was going stir crazy sitting in the hotel room, so I grabbed my little red book and off I went to locate our new home on 79 Rue de la Faisanderie.

As I made my way downstairs, French music was quietly playing in the background, I can still remember the distinct smell of sweet citrus in the entire hotel as businessmen excitedly roamed around. It was an early weekend morning and the outside temperature was perfect. There were so many different sounds surrounding me, cars honking, ambulances sirens, scooters, people walking their dogs, everyone smoking, children running, and all the delectable smells coming from all the different restaurants, there was excitement in the air and there was hustle and bustle all around.

Wearing my American Levis blue jeans, a T-shirt, converse sneakers, and a blue windbreaker, I felt a little out of place.  As I observed the Parisians, they all appeared to be dressed up, it was the mid seventies and everyone looked like they came out of a fashion magazine. As I navigated down the Champs Elysee, the sidewalks were already crowded with tourists and you could see the locals staring me down. I crossed over to Avenue Foch, a wide avenue with over sized sidewalks and small grassy patches with decorated gardens scattered throughout.  The apartments on Avenue Foch were some of the most expensive apartments in Paris belonging to movie stars, politicians, diplomats and the city's elite. 

The map I was following was very accurate and I was making good headway to my final destination.  After passing an outdoor magazine, newspaper shop I turned left onto Rue de la Faisanderie located in the 16th Arrondismont, on the Rive Gauche (Right Bank) of Paris.  It is well known as one of the more prestigious areas to live in the city.  Most of the Embassy's are located within this area and many government officials reside there.

Rue de la Faisanderie was like other cobblestone streets with concrete sidewalks a narrow two lane street with tall buildings on each side of the street, the first big building I came to was the Iraqi Embassy with a tall solid green door.  Later that year, there was a terrorist hostage situation, the French police had blocked off the whole area and blasted down the door and shot everyone inside.  I came to learn that the French did not tolerate terrorists and did not believe in negotiating, their strategy was to shoot and kill, it sent a strong message not to mess with them.  

In general, in Paris every building is architecturally unique in its own way and I was just in awe of each building facade.  Strolling down the street, I kept looking for our address.  I noticed that there was a constant flow of police cars going up and down the street,  I wondered if something further up the street had happened but I came to find out that there was a busy police station located in the middle of the beautiful buildings. As I approached the station, there were several Gendarmes (French Policemen) standing out front talking and and of course, cigarettes dangling from their lips. As I walked past them, they sized me up and down and then went back to their business. When I looked up, I at was at my destination.  79 Rue de la Faisanderie, right next door to a busy police station.  I couldn't believe it, I looked down at the map, then back up towards the building to verify the address...yes indeed right next door to a busy Parisian Police station.

Mission accomplished! I was so proud of myself that I followed my handy "red book" walked through the city and successfully located our new residence.  I knew the house was vacant so I checked out the exterior and admired it's unique beauty and decided to explore my new neighborhood and was excited to see our future surroundings.  After a couple of hours exploring, I figured I should get back to the hotel because the rest of the family would wake up and find me missing and wouldn't know my whereabouts.

Once back at the hotel, I told the family about my adventure and everyone was excited to have me guide them to our new residence. Like a local, I guided everyone through the busy streets and pointed out unique buildings and landmarks along the way.  So according to the U.S. Embassy, while the French were doing construction on a Russian School next door and in the process their wrecking ball hit the side of our residence and it caused some interior and exterior damage, therefore, we were not allowed to move in until the repairs were completed. 

   

When we arrived at the residence, we were all excited to enter our new home but to our dismay my father did not have a key and we sighed with disappointment. Out of desperation, he knocked on the door several times and to our amazement the door slowly opened to a sliver and we could only see a small eyeball staring at us.  In English, my father introduced himself, "Hello, I'm the U.S. Ambassador and this is my house". The door opened a little wider and now we could see a little old lady standing at the door.  She looked very confused and was speaking French in a quiet voice.  Of course we didn't understand a word she was saying so in his broken French, my father tried to explain that he was the new U.S. Ambassador and this was his residence, but the lady did not understand and kept saying no no, the Ambassador is not home.  They went back and forth with neither of them understanding one another when  suddenly, a police officer from next door interrupted and he spoke a little English so he was able to translate.  My father explained who he was and the officer translated the information to the lady. Finally, the lady understood and was embarrassed and apologetic and welcomed us into the residence.  As it turned out, the lady's name was Gracia, she was an Italian immigrant and was the maid for the previous embassy family that had vacated several months prior to our arrival.  When my father reported back to the embassy, he mentioned that he went to the residence and was greeted by the live-in maid they were shocked because when the previous family left, all of the staff were dismissed and evidently she stayed without the embassy's knowledge. 

It took four months before the damages to the residence were repaired and we were given the green light to move in.  By that time, we were tired of living out of suitcases and hotels and we were so excited to finally settle into a real home.

The Faisanderie mansion is a notable example of a Parisian hotel particular from the Belle Epoque era, On September 13, 1972, the mansion was officially listed as a French national heritage site (monument historique).

Daily life at Faisanderie...

Faisanderie was a five story stand alone building.  The first and lowest level was the kitchen and storage area.  This is where the full-time chef, Theresa prepared our dinners and the butler George spent most of his time assisting her by prepping meals while he enjoyed the fine wine supplied by the embassy.

The second floor at ground level was the main floor.  The butler's corner was hidden behind the formal dining room and had direct access to a dumb waiter that was used to send the meals from the kitchen to the awaiting butler upstairs.  The butler would unload the dumbwaiter and stage the meals to be served. The formal dinning room was massive.  The dining table comfortably sat 18 people, my mother sat at the head of one end of the table and my father sat at the opposite head of the table.  Directly under the table at the foot of my mother's chair was a floor switch that when depressed would ring a bell in the butler corner which notified him that we were ready for the next entree serving or if someone needed a refill of water or wine, basically, My mom was the dinner quarterback who's responsibility during family or formal diplomatic dinners was to coordinate a smooth dinner event. My mother also had the responsibility of planning our family meals and private diplomatic dinners. Based on the daily menu, the Chef would shop at the local markets and pick out the necessary items needed to prepare the meal. The butler was responsible for setting the table, serving the food and drink and cleaning up after dinner was over.  The table was set with personalized gold trim china that was embossed with the U.S. Ambassador's Seal.  Each dinner setting consisted of an entree, salad and bread plate, a soup bowl if required, silverware, and a separate crystal glass for water and wine.  The dinnerware also included the appropriate platters and accompanying serving dishes.  Our butler George would formally come to our right side, announce our name, "Mr. Steve", holding the serving platter while we selected our food. There was a science to all of this formality, prior to arriving in Paris, our family had to attend a private class at the U.S. Department of State teaching us proper diplomatic etiquette and protocol.

Towards the front of residence windows facing the street was a sunken living room that served as the formal grand salon mainly used when diplomat events were held in the residence.  It was a little sparse with furniture mainly because during most events, people would stand rather than sit. Immediately off the dining room were tall French doors that led to an enclosed outdoor courtyard that had a water fountain in the center and planters along the side. Directly off the dining room was an indoor walkway corridor that led to a large salon located in back of the residence.  The salon had a large fireplace located on one side and a large stage on the other side.

In the early 1920's Frank Jay Gould, the son of the American railroad tycoon Jay Gould married the French mezzo-soprano Florence La Caze (stage name Florence Conrad).  After marrying in 1923, they kept a separate residence at Faisanderie in Paris and hosted salons in their French residence as she and her husband collected French impressionists paintings.  They also kept an open marriage which allowed her to take lovers such as Charlie Chaplin.

Florence La Caze Gould (1 July 1895 – 28 February 1983) was an American writer and salon-holder who became involved in a money laundering plot before creating a legacy as a patron of the arts at institutions such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  She held a salon at Faisanderie during the German occupation of Paris and entertained many French intellectuals and German officers and narrowly escaped high treason charges in 1945.

During their time of residence, Frank built her an opera room located in the back of residence adjoined by an enclosed hallway where their artwork hung from the walls.  The opera room was acoustically designed and it was complete with a stage. 

This was the main room I hung out in when I was alone or with friends because when I was alone I used the stage area to practice my classical guitar music or jam with my electric guitar because the acoustics were excellent.  Also, we shipped our billiard table from our home in the States and set it up on the stage so when my friends visited, we kept ourselves entertained.

The second level was the entire master bedroom suite. This is where my parents slept. When you entered through the tall double doors there was a large sitting area with a large marble fireplace. It was furnished with a sofa, wing back chairs, tables and lamps. Beyond the sitting was another set of double doors that led to a large bedroom adjoined to a private ornate bathroom. 

On the third level was my bedroom, it was located on the backside of the residence. It was nothing special, it had a private bathroom and a small balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and more notably, there was a clear view of the back parking lot of the Police station.  There was constant action going on morning, day and night.  On many occasions I was woken up in the middle of the night or early morning by screaming prostitutes or irate drunkards that were brought to the station for interrogation or booking.

The fourth level was another large bedroom where my sister's, Camille and Selina slept.  We spent a lot of time in their room with friends because they had a stereo system and we listened to the latest American LP's that we purchased from the French music store, Finac or from the embassy's commissary.

The fifth and final level was designated as the "servants" quarters.  Although none of our help lived with us, there were three small rooms and a shared bathroom and a large attic. We rarely visited the fifth floor but on several occasions, house guests did stay there.

We had great memories while living at Faisanderie. As the U.S. Ambassador's residence, we were the hub for Americans passing through Europe and needing a place to stay.  We had many house guests who visited from the U.S. and some who came from other European countries. My parents usually hosted two or three diplomatic  events during the week.  Some events were cocktail only while others were full sit down dinners.  Depending on the size of the event, the Embassy would send over additional butlers and cooks to help out our regular staff.  I was just getting interested in photography at the time and during these events, I roamed through the crowd photographing all of the guests. Later that night I would go into my darkroom and develop the film and make prints. 

Although this was to be our permanent residence during my father's five year mission, our luxurious lifestyle at Faisanderie lasted approximately one year and then it came to an abrupt end. Because it was an older building, maintenance crews were constantly showing up and coming in and out at all hours of the day and start drilling, hammering or doing something loud and annoying. So eventually, my mother complained and the Embassy arranged for us to relocate.  The nice thing about moving was that we never had to pack or physically move anything because the embassy took care of everything. 

Our next stop was to the left bank on Rue Du Bac in the 7th Arrondismont.

Our Arrival to Paris, France

Up Up and AWAY...

In October of 1977 my mother, father, and two sisters departed from Dulles International Airport in Virginia.  We were seated in First Class on a non-stop TWA Transatlantic flight bound for Paris, France.  We were very excited and somewhat nervous as we departed the United States to a foreign country across the Atlantic Ocean that would become our home for the next five years. Our biggest fear was the unknown and especially, not knowing the language or customs of a new country.  On the plane, our excitement level was flying high and we were in a celebratory mood.  As soon as we sat down, a flight attendant asked if we wanted a glass of champagne, my sisters and I looked at our parents and we got the nod of approval.  First Class accommodations were quite nice, they fed us the entire trip and the champagne never stopped flowing.  My mother ordered a bloody Mary and being that I had never had one before, I ordered the same.  After several cocktails, lobster, steak and complimentary fuzzy slippers, I quietly fell asleep with a smile on my face and several hours later, woke up in France.

When we landed at Charles De Gaulle Airport it was like we had arrived in a futuristic space station.  Everyone was speaking in a foreign languages, the smells were different, the people dressed differently, and I didn't understand a word anyone was saying.  The airport itself was of a modern design, it was like a science fiction movie, glass tunnels and tubular walkways that interconnected to other strange formations.  

As we exited the terminal gates we noticed three men in black business suits, one was holding up a sign that read, "Welcome Ambassador Torres". Well that's us.  Two of the men were from the U.S. Embassy and the third was a short red headed man who was our newly designated Chauffeur, Michel was his name. 

Outside, it was gloomy and rainy which I came to realize it was typical for this time of the year in Paris.  Because there were so many of us and the cars were small, we were split into two separate cars.  Mom and Dad were escorted into a black limousine with the two embassy employees and my sisters and I were herded into the smaller funny looking car.  The ride into the city was a bit on the wild side, there was no speed limit on the Peripherique (Freeway) and of course the guy who was driving, took full advantage of the high speeds and when I looked over at the speedometer, the needle was at its limit and when I looked out the window everything was a blur, Toto where not in Kansas anymore! What I did find interesting was that all of the automobiles looked very different from our cars in the U.S.  It was the first time I saw Puegots, Citrons, Audis and Saabs and mainly small model vehicles, all of other foreign auto makers.  

We thought were were going to be taken to the Ambassador's residence, but evidently there was a construction delay and instead we arrived at a five star hotel located in the heart of Paris.  The Meridien hotel was centrally located next to the Etoile (Arc d' Triomphe) and the famous Ave Champs Elysee and indeed was a posh establishment, it catered to elite guests and businessmen and now we were to become their new guests for the next three months.

Upon arrival, all five of us we were escorted to the top floor where the suites were located. We entered a large sitting room that was located in between our individual hotel rooms and there were more State Department officials from UNESCO to greet us.  The room was filled with flowers, a beautiful platter of cheeses, meats, fruits, drinks and candy, it made quite an impression on the newly arrived hungry, excited and tired Americans.

After all of the initial introductions and pleasantries, The State Department officials briefed our family on the do's and don'ts of our new surroundings, it was emphasized, we are guests in a foreign country.  Then the official business began and to my surprise, we were included in their briefing to my father.  They surrounded my father and began to update him on current issues foreign and domestic that he needed to be aware of by the time he arrived on the job. 

 Once the company left and we were alone, we were finally able to get comfortable. We were exhausted, overwhelmed and we desperately needed sleep, however, the men in black adamantly warned us NOT to go directly to bed in order to avoid "jet lag" instead, stay awake and acclimate to the current time but as hard headed Americans we didn't listen and we all found a bed or sofa and immediately fell asleep.

As if on cue, we all got up one by one and noticed it was dark outside.  Going closer to the large panoramic windows located in the suite, we looked out and were amazed to see for the first time, "the city of lights".

Since we were all famished and re-energized, my father said let's freshen up and venture outside for some real French food. Outside the hotel it was a whole new world.  We were not accustomed to being in a city environment with so much hustle and bustle.  In 1954 when my father was in the Army he had spent some time in Paris during an R & R visit.  As the resident expert, he instructed us to follow him and he even bragged that he knew enough French to get us around so not to worry, we were in good hands. We proceeded to follow the locals and Tourist's down the Champs Elysee walking past numerous outdoor cafes where locals were sitting curbside eating, smoking and sipping wine while immersed in deep conversation. 

Other smaller cafe's known as Tabacs were packed with people standing at bars drinking, smoking, and speaking loudly while waving their arms back and forth.  We passed movie theaters, high-end clothing stores, pharmacies, souvenir stores and one restaurant after another.  Finally, my father announced that we had arrived, we followed each other into a diner looking joint called "The American Cafe".  Of all places for us to dine on our first night in Paris.

The garcon (server), came to our table and nonchalantly rattled off a long winded non coherent sentence in gibberish or so we thought.  My father who claimed he spoke French, looked confused and lost but the diplomat that he was, confidently blurted out some words in what he thought was French.  The garcon rolled his eyes, exhaled a loud puff out of his tiny lips and gave my father a puzzled look.  Looking  quite unimpressed and frustrated he tossed a menu on the table and walked away.  We all looked at the menu and laughed because we couldn't understand anything he said. When the Garcon reappeared, he abruptly rattled something in French but all we could understand was "cheese burger and fries", my father smiled and held up 5 fingers, the Garcon smirked and walked away and I know he was thinking..."typical Americans".  That was a memorable first meal in Paris.