LE CHAT NOIR Our stay in Algiers lasted about three weeks. Our gun emplacements were strategically stationed in a perimeter around the harbor. During this period of time, we were subjected to one totally ineffective air raid. The enemy planes came in at dusk, we sent up an intense curtain of fire and the German pilots followed the old adage, "Prudence is the better part of valor," jettisoned their bombs, tucked their tails between their legs and sped away. Unfortunately, one bomb hit a nunnery resulting in some fatalities to the residing nuns. The war still seemed remote and far away, but our Commanding Officer with foreknowledge that our next move would bring us into the battle area, established a very liberal leave policy for his troops. Three of my buddies and I grabbed a cab and directed the driver to take us to a world famous brothel named "Le Chat Noir" (English Translation, "The Black Cat"). The brothel was located in a beautiful building faced with black marble and topped with a huge red neon sign depicting a cat. We walked into a huge salon, adorned by gaggle of beautiful girls, made our selection and then retired to different bedrooms. My gal was a bubbly and petite French lass. I removed my uniform, and she promptly put it on, dancing around the room, singing, "Beelie, Beelie." It was an incongruous sight, she was lost in the folds of my greatly oversized suit, and I actually enjoyed her performance. When we finally returned to the salon, my three friends were patiently waiting and wondering what in hell took me so long. She danced down holding me by the hand and smilingly stated, "Beelie, Beelie, il est tres grande, il est magnifique." My friends looked at me with a stunned look on their faces and a look of wonderment in their eyes. I left the brothel, floating on cloud nine. I had gained a new degree of respect from my friends and I wallowed in the delight of being considered a super stud. We then decided to go to a night club, I reached into my pocket and then realized that her whole performance had been a charade. No wallet--I had been very cleverly mugged. I whispered to my closest friend, "The gal stole my wallet." "Let's go back and get it back." he said. "No way, " I replied, "The build-up this gal gave to you guys about me is well worth the twenty bucks that I lost." Now let's move ahead into the present time frame. The year 1992. The place, Orlando, Florida. The occasion, our first Veterans Reunion. My good buddy of yesteryear is telling the group about the mugging experience. "So Bill said to me, I'm gonna get that dame. Let's go back." We both returned, we barged in and stormed up to her room, slammed the door open, and Bill yelled, "Give me my goddamn money back!" He went on tell them that she gave me my the wallet and that I had really scared the hell out of her. My friend then turned to me and said, "Ain't that right, Bill?" I replied, "That's exactly how it happened." Of course, this was a total lie, and it amazes me how over the years a story can be embellished to the point of non-recognition. return to top