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 News Around the Republic of Mexico | February 2007 
The Last Time I Saw Paris
 MexicoCityCollege.com
Part II of The Last Time I Saw Paris, as transcribed by MCC historian Joseph M. Quinn from two 1947 issues of Mexico City College's "El Conquistador."
There was a terrible atmosphere in Paris on my last day there June 13. There was hardly any traffic in the streets, and I met only one person, an elderly woman with a dog. During the last day or two, there was only one thing people said to each other: "Are you leaving or will you stay?" The old lady said; "I'm an American. Nothing will happen to me."
Nevertheless, I decided to leave and prepared to take what belongings I could. It was impossible to buy any luggage anywhere, since for several days all the stores were all sold out. I went to the large department store, Galerie Lafayette, but nobody would wait on me. All the clerks were talking with each other about whether they would join the "exodus."
I could find no valises so I helped myself to what your American sailors call a duffle bag. To tie it together, I picked up a dog leash. Since nobody would take my money, I threw the bag over my back, like a soldier, and walked out.
My first wish was to join my fiancé, who was a soldier. I didn't know exactly where he was, but I was confident I could find out. I wanted to take a train, but found all the railroad stations closed, with soldiers guarding them.
I decided to take the "Metro" (the subway) to the last station and take a chance on getting a car ride from there on. I couldn't get to the end of the line, but only to the second to the last stop, Place d'ltalie. There was no more electric current. The Germans were only a few hours away, and all the utility workers had deserted their posts in the general panic.
I found myself walking along the highway to Fontainebleau. There were thousands of civilians and soldiers streaming along the road in the wildest disorder. I walked all night (the night of June 13) and it was a terrible spectacle. People were getting lost from each other and were shouting in the darkness to reestablish contact, and children were crying everywhere. I was alone, and was noticed by three soldiers. One of them, an exceptionally gallant young man, offered me his protection, pledging: "I will never leave you."
Our first hope was to find a horse. We saw a horse-drawn kitchen convoy carrying women and soldiers and we climbed on one of the wagons. I seemed to have a nice soft seat, and then realized I was sitting on a dead lamb. We had some good wine and the soldiers were nice people, and I felt good after walking so many miles.
On the wagon I became acquainted with two girls, who were to be my constant companions for many days. Therese was a big, brawny servant girl, and Odile was a stenographer. The three soldiers who had become our companions wanted to get our wagons off the road (to escape the Germans) but our horses were tired and it was impossible to get them to go through the fields and woods. (The fact that France was using horses shows how ill prepared she was for the war.)
Then came a terrible night. Everywhere I saw villages burning. Italian planes were strafing us with machine guns every few minutes, and we women, not having steel helmets like the shoulders, had to put greasy dish pans over our heads to serve as helmets.
It was dark and in the confusion I got back into the wrong wagon and found myself the only woman among a load of Senegalese soldiers. I spent the whole night crying, and wondering if the day would ever come.
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