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Related: Culture Forums, Support ForumsFrom a long gone family friend--funniest Thanksgiving story I ever read
His name was Art Buchwald. He and my dad were friends for over 40 years. When Art was working in Paris for the then-version of the International Herald Tribune, he wrote this column, supposedly "explaining Thanksgiving to the French." He purposely mistranslated most of the English terms, even calling Miles Standish "Kilomètres Deboutish," and explaining to the French about Plymouth (a famous American car). After he came back to America, Art became a political satirist for the Washington Post, skewering Republicans for decades. This was his "Thanksgiving" column:
by Art Buchwald, The Washington Post
This confidential column was leaked to me by a high government official in the Plymouth colony on the condition that I not reveal his name.
One of our most important holidays is Thanksgiving Day, known in France as le Jour de Merci Donnant.
Le Jour de Merci Donnant was first started by a group of Pilgrims (Pèlerins) who fled from l'Angleterre before the McCarran Act to found a colony in the New World (le Nouveau Monde) where they could shoot Indians (les Peaux-Rouges) and eat turkey (dinde) to their hearts' content.
They landed at a place called Plymouth (now a famous voiture Américaine) in a wooden sailing ship called the Mayflower (or Fleur de Mai ) in 1620. But while the Pèlerins were killing the dindes, the Peaux-Rouges were killing the Pèlerins, and there were several hard winters ahead for both of them. The only way the Peaux-Rouges helped the Pèlerins was when they taught them to grow corn (mais). The reason they did this was because they liked corn with their Pèlerins.
In 1623, after another harsh year, the Pèlerins' crops were so good that they decided to have a celebration and give thanks because more mais was raised by the Pèlerins than Pèlerins were killed by Peaux-Rouges.
Every year on the Jour de Merci Donnant, parents tell their children an amusing story about the first celebration.
It concerns a brave capitaine named Miles Standish (known in France as Kilomètres Deboutish) and a young, shy lieutenant named Jean Alden. Both of them were in love with a flower of Plymouth called Priscilla Mullens (no translation). The vieux capitaine said to the jeune lieutenant :
"Go to the damsel Priscilla ( allez très vite chez Priscilla), the loveliest maiden of Plymouth (la plus jolie demoiselle de Plymouth). Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of action (un vieux Fanfan la Tulipe), offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this, in short, is my meaning.
"I am a maker of war (je suis un fabricant de la guerre) and not a maker of phrases. You, bred as a scholar (vous, qui êtes pain comme un étudiant), can say it in elegant language, such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, such as you think best adapted to win the heart of the maiden."
Although Jean was fit to be tied (convenable à être emballé), friendship prevailed over love and he went to his duty. But instead of using elegant language, he blurted out his mission. Priscilla was muted with amazement and sorrow (rendue muette par l'étonnement et la tristesse).
At length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: "If the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why does he not come himself and take the trouble to woo me?" (Où est-il, le vieux Kilomètres? Pourquoi ne vient-il pas auprès de moi pour tenter sa chance ?)
Jean said that Kilomètres Deboutish was very busy and didn't have time for those things. He staggered on, telling what a wonderful husband Kilomètres would make. Finally Priscilla arched her eyebrows and said in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, Jean?" (Chacun à son goût.)
And so, on the fourth Thursday in November, American families sit down at a large table brimming with tasty dishes and, for the only time during the year, eat better than the French do.
No one can deny that le Jour de Merci Donnant is a grande fête and no matter how well fed American families are, they never forget to give thanks to Kilomètres Deboutish, who made this great day possible.
elleng
(130,972 posts)DFW
(54,405 posts)...To Kilomètres Deboutish, that is!
jodymarie aimee
(3,975 posts)this is delightful...how lucky you were to travel in such circles...
DFW
(54,405 posts)I knew most of his colleagues, Edwin Yoder, Dave Broder, Herb Block and Art at the Post, Helen Thomas at UPI, Jack Anderson, it's an endless list. They were another generation of journalists--fair, scrupulous, dedicated to accuracy even if they were writing in favor of one view or another. Print journalism is a fading art these days, when people want to see blood & guts, smoke & fire on their smart phones fifteen seconds after they happen, so they can be forgotten half an hour later.
gibraltar72
(7,506 posts)best thing Art ever wrote but it's cool to read anything by him. He is missed.
DFW
(54,405 posts)And he wrote "Merci Donnant" in 1952--you gotta give him a break!
panader0
(25,816 posts)And thanks to Kilometres too.
syringis
(5,101 posts)Comme quoi; on ne connait jamais tout de sa propre culture. Je ne connaissais pas le capitaine Deboutish ni d'ailleurs le jour du Merci Donnant.
En ce jour de Grâce, merci donc à Monsieur Art Buchwald d'avoir comblé cette affreuse lacune.