Extrait de l’ouvrage: chapitre 9 dans lequel l’auteur raconte son entretien Fulbright à Paris.
Savoureux !
« Now’s The Time »
Charlie Parker, 1940
One day of early spring 1959, in a Sorbonne corridor, I saw a poster advertising Fulbright scholarships
to the U.S.A, which were promising one year of study, ocean crossing and all expenses paid to those
who would be selected by a mixed jury. I wrote down the address and applied. I received lengthy
forms to fill out and a few weeks later, an appointment for an interview was set in Paris. When the
day came, I was helping a friend renovate his tiny room with plaster and paint when I suddenly
remembered my interview date downtown. Without having time to change clothes, I jumped in a
taxi and rushed to rue de Grenelle, arrived a few minutes late and in a sweat, ran up a fight of marble
stairs and stumbled into a large Victorian room. I mumbled my apology in English to a circle of about
six persons. One was an American nurse, one a U.S. Air Force officer in a blue uniform with bars of
medals on his chest, one a young American academic in tweed and leather patches who could not
resist a smile when he saw me stumble for my chair and on the other side of the large table, three
very stern French professors.
After being scolded in French by the “president” of the jury, I apologized again in French and was
rather casually interrupted by the young American teacher with the voice of Paul Newman.
“Tell us…What do you intend to study in America ?”
Taken aback, I replied in English that I did not know what courses were offered in the countless
American universities, public and private, and at what level, but I imagined that their content would
not necessarily be very different from the “American studies” programs propose in France, even if I
supposed they would be taught very differently. I added that, in any case, that was not the foremost
question for me because…”
“Then, why did you apply for a scholarship?”
The question had been thrown rather unpleasantly in a thick British accent by one of the French
gentlemen with a sinister look on his face.
“Because I thought that I could go and see sur place, I mean on the spot, the American side of what I
already know about the United States and…”
“And what is it that YOU know ?...”
I ignored the aggressive tone of the question and replied.
“Well… I am aware that such an immense continent will be totally different from the countries I
already know in Europe because most of its citizens’ ancestors decided once to leave everything
behind or were forced to leave their homelands because of poverty, injustice, persecution, pogroms,
exploitation of some sort, in order to engage “in the pursuit of happiness” spelled out in the
Constitution and to be freer, with the exception, of course, of the Africans, who were forced out of
their homes to be enslaved in the New World.”
The young American professor asked,
“And why does this make a difference? ...
“Because the country’s culture is barely three centuries old, and again, with the exception of
American Indians, when the past of every other country I have seen is millenary…”
“And why is this so important to you?”
“…because in such a context, I have some sense of what may be the main contributions of the United
States to the world culture.”
“And what is that, if I may ask?” sneered one French professor most unpleasantly.
“How interesting!” interjected sweetly the American nurse with a lovely Southern drawl,
“Yes…Whaddizit? I’d really like to know…”
“First of all, jazz, music and also, for other reasons, the entertainment industry: American films, the
Hollywood studios, musical comedies, and, of course, the Westerns as a genre, and…”
“But you do intend to study, don’t you?” asked another French professor rather impatiently.
Before I could face him, the military man, a very light African American with a sharply trimmed
moustache and a sonorous voice, coughed quite loudly in the smoke of the cigar he had just lit and
said with an amiable smile:
“Young man, I see in your file that you have indeed visited a good number of European countries. Is
your family in the diplomatic corps?”
“Not at all, Sir. But I live in the North of France, on the main road to Brussels and Amsterdam, and so,
since the age of fifteen, I have been auto-stopping, I mean hitch-hiking all over Europe, from my
house doorstep to the North Cape and Lapland, down to Germany, Italy, Yugoslavia, and Greece,
and…”
“We have not called you to hear about your vacations” said a Frenchman.
The young American teacher came to my rescue:
“And why exactly do you do this?”
“Mostly to meet different people, to ask questions, get answers, exchange ideas, understand what
went so wrong in Europe recently. Also to speak to other European students in the youth hostels,
including young Germans and to perfect my English.”
“And I suppose you plan to do the same in the United States?” said the nurse.
“Of course, yes, I’d love to, provided it is feasible despite the great distances. Once in North America,
I’d like to try going as far as possible in such an immense territory, as far as Mexico perhaps, or
certainly to California, Utah, Arizona , the desert.”
“Why Arizona?”
“Because the Hopis and the Navajos and the area around Sedona where Max Ernst lived until
recently, he collected katchina dolls and, I mean, Max Ernst the painter, you know…”
At that second, I realized that I would never be granted anything and I stopped. After an
embarrassing silence, the Air Force officer asked very calmly, in a deep and warm voice:
“You mentioned jazz music, why jazz in particular?”
“Because I would so love to hear all the musicians I have heard here in Paris, but on their own turf,
back home with their own audiences.”
“And who have you heard?”
“Well practically all the important ones, except the best, probably…
“And that is?”
“Charlie Parker, who died four year ago;”
“Do you play an instrument?”
“Yes, very badly, en amateur, the alto saxophone.”
“Ha! Like your idol!”
His sonorous friendly laughter filled the room as he pursued:
“Any tune in particular?”
“Hmm, all the slow ones, the ballads, or some mid-tempo numbers. Nobody can match his technique
in the fast riffs.”
“Any favorite titles”
“Cold Blues” and” Now’s the Time”; that’s what I’ve been practicing these days.”
Right then, something astounding happened: the man actually started whistling the “Now’s the
Time” tune, gently tapping the rhythm on the table with his gold ring and gleefully smiling behind his
cigar smoke.
The nurse gave me a deep look, full of sympathie, ready to say something but she was at once
interrupted by the French professeurs who all spoke at the same time and the next question came
bluntly:
“Tell us what such a scholarship would mean in terms of your future career.”
“I have not decided what my “carriére” would be yet. I see this more as a break from what I know
and an opportunity to find out what I don’t know; a year of surprises, of discoveries, of encounters.”
“If I understand you correctly: You mean to take a long vacation?”
I have no clear recollection of what happened next, except that I found myself on my feet while being
scolded in French like a schoolboy as I was leaving the room without turning back, after I had given a
loud “I am so sorry!” to the three American members of the jury. I walked down the staircase feeling
relieved that the ordeal was over, and absolutely certain that the best thing to do now was to
prepare my real summer vacation in Iceland or start looking for a job on some freighter or whaling
ship to the Spitzberg.
Four weeks later, I received three full scholarships offers; from Kansas State University, Brandeis
University near Boston (Massachussetts), and Bard College, New York.
New York…I assumed it meant Manhattan and I immediately imagined the Village Vanguard,
Birdland, and the Museum of Modern Art with Méret Oppenheim’s fur teacup, Dali’s soft watches
and Joseph Cornell’s boxes!
I picked Bard without knowing that a “College” was not a full-fledged University with a graduate
program, and that “New York” was also a state, Annandale-on-Hudson, a hamlet 90 miles up the
river on the Taconic Parkway, facing the Catskill Mountains and that it was one of the most beautiful
and civilized places in America.
And that it would change my life.