The Flight
The Hercules C-130 rapidly lost altitude as it approached Paris. It was on a brief detour from its destination to Evreux France, some 60 miles to the West North West. It was on two missions. The first was to drop off and pick up patients as part of its aeromedical evacuation duties. The second was to take advantage of the spectacular views and unrestricted flight corridors that existed over Paris on that beautiful day in 1966.
I was on duty that day as an airman with the U.S. Air Force Medical Service. My initial job was to escort patients from our small hospital at Lajes Field in the Azores to a larger hospital in Wiesbaden, Germany for more complicated medical services.
Actually, I was just responsible for carrying the patient’s medical records. I was invited to make the trip as a reward for doing some decent work as a public health specialist at the Lajes hospital. All I had to do was turn over the records when we arrived at Wiesbaden then return to the Azores. The bonus was that on the way back I was allowed to catch a plane on a trip to Evreux to visit a buddy of mine for a couple of days.
As we neared Evreux the pilot asked me if I wanted to join the crew up front to see the sights. That day we flew within what seemed like a few hundred feet of the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. It was exciting just to be in the cockpit to see the sweeping view the crew had and the sights of Paris were frosting on the cake.
Minutes later we landed at Evreux and my extraordinary adventure began. I soon located my old pal from Cannon Air Force Base New Mexico, William K. Smith. Bill was originally from somewhere near Ashville North Carolina I believe. We had struck up a friendship while partying and generally raising cain in Clovis New Mexico, the town near Cannon. Bill was a tall, albino type and somewhat prone to pulling crazy stunts, a trait that would turn up some serious dividends, or perhaps I say deficits, during my visit to Evreux.
It was during my first of two nights there. Bill was off work and we collected a pal of his from West Virginia (equally as crazy) whose full first name was actually initials, something like “AC”.
The Carnival
Next, we headed for the neighboring French town of Evreux and attended a local carnival. We were all around 20 years old and loaded with energy. The rides and carnival games were cheap so we really got into things. The French, I remember were pretty sedate in comparison. As a consequence, we had a tendency to terrorize other drivers on the bumper car rides (our favorite). We also discovered some variations of skill games that could win bottles of champagne as opposed to the traditional stuffed animals you typically see.
One game in particular seemed very easy to us. The attendant would hand us a pellet-style gun and our job was to break a piece of chalk swinging at the end of a string maybe four or five feet away. In the end, we won, and drank way too much champagne. So our behavior went from enthusiastic to obnoxious I would say. I am not even sure any of us had tried champagne before. Yup, we were definitely three “Ugly Americans” bound for trouble.
The time came for the carnival to shut down for the night but we three were still aiming to party so we lingered while the booths shut down. Then, we decided we were hungry so we went to the last source there, a concession that was in the process of closing. We did a little yelling when we found out they weren’t going to serve us as they were determined to head home. The three Frenchman working there climbed in their van and prepared to drive off. Just as the driver put the van in gear and began moving, Bill punched one of its rear split windows. It didn’t break, just fell inside the van after separating from the rubber grommet holding it in place.
The Chase
The van kept moving toward a right turn that would take it out of the park where the carnival was being held. Bill, AC and I crossed a small field diagonally to intercept it and found ourselves standing directly in front of it as it approached. For no particular reason, I happened to be in front of the other two. The van stopped and, as the three Frenchmen began to climb out I noticed they were holding what looked like a tire iron, part of a jack and something else. I yelled, “Bill, they have weapons!” and glanced back. There was no one there. Bill and AC were gone.
I took off, backtracking into the carnival area and trying to figure what to do as they chased me. I was already out of gas probably because of all the adrenaline, running and booze so I was pretty sure they would catch me soon. I came up on one concession that had some aluminum poles laying around, probably to hold up shade tarps or something. I picked one up and turned to face the group. They were there immediately so I began swinging the pole back and forth to try and hold them off. After just a few passes my arms had no strength left to swing that pole so I dropped it and began running again.
It was pretty dark and somehow I got a little distance on them but I was quickly tiring. I noticed a little ditch off to the side of the area I was on so I dove into it and tried to make myself still and quiet. A few seconds later, they were there motioning me to get up (so much for my hiding place…) and using a few words of broken English for emphasis. They marched me back to their van and we stood there for a little while. They wanted money from me and I told them all I had was marks from my earlier trip to Germany. Actually I had just a little of everything, dollars, marks and francs. The most agitated among the three seemed to calm down after a while and they finally told me to go.
I headed down a sidewalk with absolutely no idea where I was at. By that time it was pretty late so there were no vehicles, no pedestrians and basically no signs of life there. I walked a couple of blocks when the three Frenchmen with the van returned and invited me to get in. I didn’t take that as a good sign so I started running again. I didn’t go far when I saw a path veering away from the sidewalk I was on. I hit that path full blast and didn’t take many steps when I was in the air and falling into a stream. It was only 2-3 feet deep and I followed it under a bridge where I crouched while planning my next move. After a few minutes, I had heard absolutely no sound so I peeked out and the coast seemed clear.
Gendarme!
I was back on the street but I was soaking wet and again, there was no one around. I finally came to an area with street lights and walked a couple of more blocks when I was approached by a gendarme who asked me a bunch of questions I could not understand. He motioned me to come with him and I figured that was a pretty safe option so I went gratefully. We came to a very small little police substation of sorts and went in. An older gendarme came out and asked me a few questions in French… just about all I could get across was that someone had tried to rob me. (In fact, I suspect the irate Frenchman from the van was just seeking retribution for their knocked out window.).
They let me hang around a while and treated me very well with coffee and a place to sit. It wasn’t long before morning arrived and they showed me where to catch a bus to the base. I tracked down Bill at his room. He told me he and AC just hauled out of there before I even yelled and spent the night hidden between a couple of houses.
Other than the obvious “Ugly (and dumb) American” lesson here there is another just as important. When you think your buddies have your back look there first to make sure they are hanging around to assist.
In partial defense of all of us, I should also point out that we spent the next day as fairly regular, well-behaved tourists in Joan of Arc's old hangout, the town of Rouen France. At my age I was not into culture at all but I did get to purchase a french hot dog from a street vendor. It was served on a small, fresh baguette and loaded with french mustard. It was, and remains to this day, the best hot dog I have had in my life.
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