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28. The Year of the French
- Fordham University Press
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28 The Year of the French When we arrived in France, Connie and I were greeted at the airport by the president of the French team, Philip Kin, and his wife. They were a handsome couple, friendly and yet businesslike in a way that only wealthy people can be. Mr. Kin was tall and slender with black hair and black eyes that seemed expressionless at first but came alive when he spoke. Mrs. Kin was also tall and slender; her blond hair was shoulder length, and she wore an elegant dress with a jacket. Connie was immediately impressed, and I realized quickly that I had made the right move by bringing her with me. They went out of their way to show their respect for me by treating her like a VIP. Mrs. Kin took control of the conversation immediately, talking to Connie about our new apartment and places to shop, and she also suggested that Connie consider taking a French course because she would have a lot of free time on her hands. After we exchanged pleasantries, the president took me to meet the other American on the team, Hank Holiday, a 6⬘9⬙ brother from Connecticut who had been playing in the Rucker Pro Tournament in Harlem before coming overseas. The president explained our roles on the team. Hank would be playing the five position, which was center, and I would be playing the two or the three, which is a swing position. He also told me that part of my job would involve coaching a junior team in the town we were located in, an idea I liked because I enjoyed working with kids. After our conference, we were taken to a restaurant, where we were met by Connie; Hank’s girlfriend, Julie, an attractive, 165 166 The Year of the French brown-skinned sister who sported a big ’70s-style Afro; and a few English-speaking people who were on the team’s board of directors. As we were introduced to all of these new people, I had to smile to myself when I thought about the evolution that had taken place in my life. From Rikers Island to Europe—what a trip! I saw right away that living in Europe was going to be an incredible learning experience. The culture was very interesting for many reasons. For one thing, Europeans lived each day as if it were their last. They took their time doing everything, from walking down the street to eating a meal. For a person coming from New York, where nothing seems to happen fast enough, it was nerve-racking at first as I tried to adapt to their way of doing things, but I would eventually learn. After our dinner, we were taken to pick up our cars. Hank was given an antique-looking Citroën that resembled a Bentley; I got a Peugeot, which reminded me of a Mercedes-Benz. This may sound good, but in reality the cars did not perform very well. Also, we soon found out they had stick shifts instead of automatic transmissions. I had no idea how to drive the car at first, and actually rode around in second gear until I taught myself to drive with a stick. Early on, I responded to Europeans the way that a lot of Americans do, unfortunately. Because there were no fast food restaurants, no hot dog vendors on the corners, no slices of pizza to eat while you were walking, Europe seemed backward and unaware of the needs of consumers . When we wanted to eat, we were forced to go to restaurants. The hours the stores kept were strange to us. Most restaurants and cafés were open only between noon and 3 p.m., barely giving people enough time to finish lunch, and then they would close until 6 p.m., when they would reopen and stay open late. A schedule like that was unheard of in the States. But my misimpressions would soon change, a shift that began the evening the president invited me and Hank over to his house to talk business. We followed the directions he had given us, which took us on a 10-mile drive from Thionville, where my apartment was located, to a small village called Famique. This was only about five miles from Nilvange , the town where the team was located. As we approached the president’s house, I could see, from a distance, three or four horses running in...