Last Django In Paris
July 28, 2000

We got off the plane in Paris and taxied to a hotel downtown. It was midnight and here I was, Raiford Starke, looking for action in ol' Gay Paree.

Sunset Beach Pete recommended a placecalled the Buddha Bar a few blocks away off Rue de Rivolet. He had seen graffiti about it on Jim Morrison's grave. We found our way there and it sounded rockin' inside.

"Sorry, monsieurs, but we are closing," the doorman said.. Others walked in with no problem. "It's that doggone hat of yours Raiford," said Pete. "People in Paris don't cotton to that gothic Americanized cowboy in heat look."

"Son," I explained, my thumbs firmly hooked into my Levi's 501 button fly San Francisco Peaks stonewashed cuffs rolled up, back pocket ripped, oil stain on the left knee, jeans. "I don't take off this hat for no one nobody. You hyah?"

Next we tried an Irish Pub. Bartender wouldn't even serve us. "Vermouth," he said, pointing to the door. I hesitated, but Sunset grabbed my arm: "He said, 'Closed,' Raiford."

I was glad Sunset Beach Pete was there. He could speak the language. We started back to the hotel and immediately got lost. I saw a man getting into his car. "Hey, pal," I yelled, "Do you know where the Inter-Continental Hotel is?"

He walked right up to me. "Eh , pardon me. Excuse me., monsieur but how YOU doing?" he said, "

"I fine," I said, "Jest lookin' for directions
He continued; "Pardon me. But may YOU help me?"
Strange. "Uh yes, I mean no. I mean . . .
"Sorry," he said indignantly, in a haughty French accent, "you did not say the magic word."

Ah ha!He wanted Ugly American to bend down and kiss his feet, and then he would give me directions. "No thanks, Pepe Le Pew," I said, and walked off, whistling the "Star Spangled Banner."

I thought of all the Americans who laid down lives at Normandy just so ol' Frenchy wouldn't have to goosestep and curse me in German.

Pete was disgusted. "It's the hat, Raiford."

Next day, I related the incident to our French guide Purr, who explained the way of the French: "Vhen asking a stranger for help, you must first start vith a greeting, then ask to help them. Then they say 'No, but may I help you?'

." I tipped my hat and thanked Purr for this valuable insight. He looked at me weird. "What's the matter," I asked.

"I don't know. There's something about you . . . I can't put my finger on it." "It's da hat," said Sunset.

Later on that day we were wandering around the Louvre and, I decided to use my new found wisdom to ask a pretty French girl walking by the way to the Musee d'Orsay.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle," I said, "but of course may I help you?"

She was entering a door with the word "Femmes" on it. "You American pig!" she cried, screaming for la police. Next thing you know me and Pete from Sunset Beach are down at La Police House. French judges are called Head Waiters.

The Head Waiter slammed the gavel. "Let me handle this," whispered Pete. "And take off your hat!"

Sheepishly, I pulled off the Stetson. Pete pulled out a French 100 franc note and showed it to the judge. "Your Honor," said Pete, "I'd like to apologize for my friend here. Ever since he found out about his great-great grandfather -- well it's been a real emotional time for him . . ."

Head Waiter looked down at the face on the bill, then looked at my mug. He nearly fainted: "Good God . . . it can't be . . ." he stammered.. He fumbled for the phone:

"I've got to call the mayor and tell him the news. The great Cezanne lives!"

Paul Cezanne was one of France's top painters. People think he looks like me. Judge Head Waiter asked what I wanted for lunch. "Just a salad, sir," I replied. "And don't put any durned raw eggs or beets on it."

Then he authrozed my own float in the Bastille Day parade.

Now, here I am Raiford Starke waving, and smiling at the doring throngs like I was the Queen Mum riding the pope-mobile. Sure looks like I'm famous again. Bigger here than ol' Jerry Lewis.

And all I had to do was be polite and take off my hat...

-- Raiford Starke is a South Florida blues musician.

© July 28, 2000, The Seminole Tribune