The adventures of a candidate reporter by thadeusz

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My name is Alfred McAllistair.
In this story, I describe events which occurred about 40 years ago. I was 18 then.

I was then young and alone. My parents were both dead, but I had some money enabling me to get my highschool diploma, but not more.

I dreamed of becoming a journalist but I could not afford going to a journalist school. I was bold and simply went to a well known magazine where I asked to speak with the editor. I told him that I had an excellent style (which was presumptuous) and that I was certain I would make a good journalist finding interesting stories for his readers.

This editor told me that I should first come with an interesting story, well written, and that he would decide thereafter.

In these forgotten days, a long time ago, the French Foreign Legion was still a myth and readers in our country did not know how it was organized and how it functioned. The editor told me then:
"Find solid information about the French Foreign Legion, how it enlists its soldiers and how it drills them. Come back with a paper describing all that and I am going to reconsider your candidature."

After that I left his office, but I now had decided to observe closely the whole process by simulating an enlistment.

I knew that the Legionnaires had the reputation of being ex-convicts, so I first punched a policeman in the nose, without any reason. The poor man was hurt and his nose started to bleed. Another policeman arrested me and brought me to jail. That was the first, and stupid, part of my aim: I wanted to be able to tell the Legion that I was an ex-con.

I was brought to jail, shackled and received solid handcuffs. I was then literally thrown into a bare cell with no food with only one comment:
"Get ready, you will be judged tomorrow and our Judge is not tender with violent guys."

The next day, I was brought in front of a Judge. I was still fully chained and I had had no food, just a beaker of water. I expected a solid reprimand, maybe some lashes, and that would be it. But that was not the case. The Judge decided that I was a dangerous person without any morality and the Judge sent me to jail for a period "not shorter than 12 months, depending on this prisoner’s behaviour."
I was also sentenced to labour during that year, with the possibility that "my year" would be extended if I did not behave perfectly.

That was a lot for my first time punching a man !!!
But my aim was reached : I was a convict now !
I did not know then I would have to pay for that !

A guard took me brutally by the right arm and led me to a bus in order to go to the county prison. In that bus my right hand chain was attached to a long rail fixed below the window. I was more prisoner than before !

When the bus reached a big and ugly building labeled "county prison", I was told to leave the bus after being freed from the long rail.

I exited the county bus in waist chains and leg irons with just enough room to shuffle my feet forward. My Achilles tendon flexed against the sharp metal with every step. 8I now had to learn to live with it for at least one full year.
I was now in a small courtyard where another guard got brutally hold of me and led me to the clothing department.

But first I was brutally ordered to undress completely. Then I was led, in the nude, to a shower room where I was placed under larger shower hoses giving only cold water. Finally, after getting more or less dry, I was led to the barber.

A huge man, in guard’s uniform, got hold of me and started to shave brutally and efficiently my long blond mane. I was promptly shaved to the woods, something I had not expected.

I was then led to a long passage, still pulled by my chain. That’s where I received my prisoner uniform: white underwear with elastics but no buttons and an overall with horizontal orange and white stripes. There were no socks but black sandals. The word "prisoner" was printed on my back and my "prison number" (68489-072) printed in the middle of the front of my upper part of vestment. The worst part of this prisoner uniform was the large leather belt with its buckle in my back: I could not open (nor close) this belt by myself, I needed a guard’s assistance to do so.

The guard placed new chains on me: shackles on my feet linked by a heavy and solid chain to the special belt placed on my trouser waist which in turns was linked to the handcuffs blocking my arms. It was painful and humiliating, but I thought that it was only for one year and also that it was necessary to join the Legion, at least temporary. That's when my guard told me with a brutal tone:
"You will keep this for one year at least, for much longer if your behaviour is not satisfactory."

Finally, the guard pushed a little round and red hair on the top of my head. He warned me in no kind words that I had to remain constantly "covered" as a sign of my new status: criminal.

After that I was led, still in chains, to my cell.

I must mention here that I kept this dreadful uniform most of the time. There were two exceptions : every morning the guard who opened the door of my cell, also opened my orange overall front, which enabled me to wash and to do what was necessary. The guard also let me take this dreaded uniform out once a week in order to be inspected, to wash and to be shaved.

My cell was a bare and cold place. Short and narrow: I could not stand with my open arms from left to right and I could barely sleep on the length of the cell. In fact that length was occupied by a mere plank fixed to the wall by two chains: the plank was my bed at night and had to be raised against the wall as soon as "reveille" rang in the prison. There was a small basin which could be used for washing and for urgent necessities. Opposing the door, there was a tiny opening provided with heavy and solid bars: this made it possible to have some air and some light, but the opening remained "opened" day and night, even in winter. In any case it was not possible to see clearly outside through this "window". Opposing this opening, there was a very solid door with a small opening meant to check our shackles and handcuffs before the door got open or to provide us with some food when we were sentenced to remain inside our cell, which was a form of punishment I had to endure three times without real reason.

Our days were nearly identical: waking up at 05:30, first meal at 06:00. That was the moment to eat as much bread and to drink as much water as possible since we didn’t get anything else before the evening. Work started at 06:30. We had to build new roads or to repair old ones: it was exhausting, but we could do it. Those who did not follow the rhythm imposed by our guards were hit with solid batons and deserved an important lashing once we were back inside the prison walls. "Dinner" was served at 18:00, once we were back inside the "protective" walls of our prison !

On Sundays we could rest: waking up was at the same time, first meal also. But after that, each of us had a few minutes to go and shower without shackles. Then it was time to get a clean set of uniforms and again be shackled. A weekly medical inspection followed and then came the weekly haircut and shave. We were left in shackles, free to discuss among ourselves, until the usual dinner time and lock up in our cell.

This dreadful prison time lasted for one year: the duration of my sentence. I expected to be freed immediately after that, but I was told that since I had been punished three times and since that had resulted in staying three days in my cell, I had to repay the State by working three more weeks as a prisoner. I did not know why I had been punished, but I thought that it would be wiser to obey silently. I waited thus for three more weeks, doing that dreadful and painful work, but without complaining. At the end I was set free, which was not always the case of prisoners whom the guards wanted to keep working on the roads.

I got back my old clothes and a little bit of money, but no identity papers since I was supposed to stay at the disposal of the authorities for a period of five years: that was my "parole" obligation. It implied that I was not allowed to leave the State where I was now for a long period of time.

I decided to take the big risk of going away during this "parole" period. I left the town where I had been judged very openly and with the money the court had given to me, but as soon as I had reached the boarder of the State, I disappeared taking the train as a tramp since I had only very little money. I eventually reached New-York where I searched for a small ship. I found a Greek merchant ship going from New-York to England and then to France and finally to Athens. I boarded this ship, told my story to the Captain who started to laugh and then he told me:
"You don’t have money, future Legionnaire, and you need a job, correct ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you have strong arms ?"
"Well, after making roads for one long year my muscles must be ready to fight."
"Not fighting, but loading coal in the boilers of my ship ?"
"I could do that, Captain. I had to build a road for 1 year and 3 weeks."
"In that case, you are hired to load coal. Your pay will be small but you will get food for free. Good for you ?"
"And my uniform, Captain ?"
"There will be no uniform on MY ship. Stay as you are, young tramp and work well if you don’t want me to throw you into the sea."

I accepted the joke and the job. My arms had gotten strong: I was no longer the young boy I was before my arrest. I took a few minutes to buy convenient cheap clothing at the harbour and I joined the crew. I now had a nice cabin which I had to share with another mate, about my age, with brown hair and a genial smile. He was going to work in the galleys and prepare food for the crew.

The trip was uneventful, except for the two first days when I was slightly seasick. After 8 days, we reached, slowly, Liverpool where our ship had all kinds of things to deliver. We then joined Le Havre and the Captain called me saying:
"This is already France. You can leave the ship here: I will find somebody else to load coal in my boiler. But you worked well, so you can stay longer as a full mate now and get a better pay."
"Captain, will we stop in Marseille ?"
"Yes my boy."
"In that case, with your permission, I would like to stay until we arrive there: Marseille is very close to Aubagne, main recruiting post for the Legion and … I have friends here and I could earn more money."
The Captain started to laugh and told me that he agreed.

I left this ship where I had toiled very much for a very low pay, but at least I was free. Nobody stopped me and I started walking to Aubagne without anxiety: the cook had given me some food before I left the ship.

I went by foot from the harbour of Marseille to the Caserne Viennot, in Aubagne. It was a good exercise after all these days confined on a ship, but it took me slightly more than 4 hours. Once in Aubagne, I knocked at the big gate of the main Legion barack: my real adventure started there, but I was now well trained to resist the hardships of a Legion training. I kept thinking about my future, and first, paper.

A huge man in a neat Legion uniform opened the gate and let me enter. I told him I want to enlist in the Legion and I said that in English, my mother tongue. The big legionnaire took me to a small office where a man in a uniform with several stripes started to ask me questions. He quickly reverted from French to English.
That’s where I got a new name: I was as of now Adam Merril, born in Toronto and aged 23. I signed a paper saying that I wanted to enlist, but I did not read it completely. I was then led to a special waiting room in order to wait there for my preliminary tests.

I must mention that I received, with all the other candidate legionnaires, good French food three times a day. I also received clean undies, an elegant and comfortable blue overall, blue socks and clean sandals: these were supposed to be our clothes for the test period.

The tests started with pull-ups: we had to accomplish at least 7 of them. My arms were very strong now, after all that coal filling job, and I did easily 11 pull-ups. Some other candidates did not do as well and were immediately ejected from the Legion.

The next test, in those days, was to run as far as possible within 4 minutes. Then came push-ups: I succeeded in doing about 100 of them. These tests were all eliminating tests. On our first day, the group of about 20 candidates had been reduced to about 12. Then came push-ups and running tests.

At the end came the psychological and intellectual interviews.

I passed all of them and was pleased: I had now enough notes to write a nice paper on Legion recruitment methods.

But there was a last test: an interview with an officer. There I had to mention my real name, my motivation to join the Legion and all that was followed by a security clearance examination.

I had passed the first tests, so I was no longer a "blue candidate" but a "red candidate" despite the fact that I was still wearing the same clothes.

During this security test, the officer asked me many questions. I had to tell him that I had served prison time. He then asked:
"Why prison and how long ?"
"Because I punched a policeman in the nose, and I stayed there for 1 year and 3 weeks, Sir."
Nobody had told me to add this "Sir" at the end of my answer, but I thought that it was more polite to do so in front of a man who was obviously an officer. Then came the next question:
"Why did you punch that policeman in the nose ?"
"Because I wanted to have a police record: I thought it was the only way to be accepted in the Legion, Sir."
The officer started to laugh and asked a further question:
"But why 1 year plus 3 weeks ?"
"Because they decided that I should not work three times, each time for one day. I had to repay that by three weeks of hard labour, Sir."
"Did you obey that nasty order ?"
"Of course, Sir, they were in command !"
The officer concluded by:
"That’s enough for me, go and wait. The commission will decide your fate in a few days."

I had to wait a full week and then came the decision: I was accepted into the Legion. I could thus start the real training. I received my full kit and my mark of passage: a complete headshave. My head looked as of that moment like a peeled egg.

In fact I now knew exactly what I needed to know to write my paper. I asked to speak to an officer and I told him that I now wanted to go, that I did no longer want to become a Legionnaire. But this officer told me that it was too late: I had signed a paper at the entrance of the fort, I had taken the Legion’s tests and I passed them and moreover I had signed a paper saying that I wanted to enlist. I was thus good for service for a period of no less than 5 years in the French Foreign Legion, except if I died in between, and this was certainly my plan.

I insisted saying that in fact I wanted only to write a paper for my journal, but the reply was dreadful:
"In that case you will be tried for spying and you will spend no less than 5 years in a military jail."

I don’t think now that would have been the case, but in those days I was young and I accepted my fate: I had to start basic training. The rest would follow !!!

I spent a first month in what was called a farm, because it was worse than a real farm for the candidate legionnaires. The Corporals and the Sergeant were dreadful with us, poor recruits. But we had the sports activities, such as marching in step or saluting simultaneously our superiors, or even doing push-ups when the Sergeant considered that we were failures. Running was a great activity, especially running with all our kit !

Every week we had a complete headshave with a plain razor, not even an electric one. The Sergeant warned us in the following way:
"A Legionnaire must always look neat and you will be in places where there is no electricity, maybe no water: learn to get shaved and clean without your civil material."
It might look ridiculous, but we all tried to be perfect without our old material.

In fact we all learned a lot about military attitude and about good discipline. We also learned a lot about brotherhood: at the end of our first month we really formed a band of real brothers.

This first month ended with an exercise which was considered as dreadful by many of us, but not by me: we had to march 60 km in two days with all our equipment, our weapon and one half tent on our back (and front since we had two bags, a big one in the back and a smaller one in the back).

I did not have any problem with this two-day march, but one of my colleagues had difficulties. Without asking for the authorisation, I took one of his bags and added its content to mine. One of my other colleagues did the same with the other bag. The candidate legionnaire who had problems was left with our three half tents ! That was much easier for him and we all reached the finish line together.

That’s when I received my White Kepi: as of now I was a full Legionnaire and I was mighty proud of that achievement. There was even something better: 8I was considered as the best candidate and I was thus ordered to recite the Legionnaire Oath. I did not even think anymore of trying to leave the Legion !

I really think that I had discovered the essence of the Legion: placing all new candidate Legionnaires in such a situation that they had to rely fully on the other candidate of the group and thus learn to form a band of real brothers.

There were three more months of training before we were considered as operational and thus sent to one of the regiments. Finally came the great day, the day during which we were finally sent to our respective regiment. Each new Legionnaire went into the Colonel’s office to hear his decision. As "best new Legionnaire", I was called first. The Colonel told me:
"So, Legionnaire Merril, you wanted to leave early and now you are the best new trainee. Do you want to be sent as an assistant Corporal in order to become a full Corporal after another month used to take care of new boys ?"
"Colonel, I would rather go with my friends and be sent to the paratrooper regiment, Colonel."
"But that’s the regiment with the hardest discipline regulations."
"Yes Colonel, that’s why I would like to be sent there."
"In that case, you get it and you are now doomed to become a paratrooper."

I left the basic training camp with three of my best friends: Luis Arregi, Fernand Bernaud and Karl Wachsmuth. An Italian, a French and a German Legionnaire. We formed a lucky group of five when we left for Calvi, in Corsica where our regiment was based. There we first learned how to jump from a flying airplane in perfect condition and many other things during our many tours (called many days promenade) through the hills of Corsica. We had of course with us, on our back, every time our full kit, our weapon and our half tent to be shared with another Legionnaire.

At the end of our two month training period inside our regiment, we graduated to real and full Legionnaire. We also had our first full pay in real money placed in our beret by our Captain. For the first time we had a short leave and I went with my three "brothers" to a bar in the nearby town. I must confess that I came back to the barracks completely drunk and that I had to spend two days in the brig to be sober enough to function further with my group.

My Captain called me and told me, in front of the other members of our section, that I had been a model new Legionnaire, but that I had lost that capital in one evening. He said:
"You need time to create a good image of yourself, but you can destroy that image in one evening."
I never forgot these words.

Our first mission was a great one: we were told to join a company of confirmed Legionnaires paratroopers and we were sent to Madagascar where France had some soldiers in these days. We were supposed to maintain order among people who wanted to have an independent nation, but we could go and bathe in the sea. There were many nice women who seemed to like our very short hair. I made love for the first time this way, with a girl caressing my head.

After six months we came back to Corsica and that’s when the new Colonel of the regiment called me. In the Legion we change officers every two years, despite that this new Colonel seemed to know all about me. I went to his office and I introduced myself according to the rules: first salute the officer, then give my Matricule number, then rank (for me it was Legionnaire first class), then name and finally first name (for me it was still Merril Adam and did not change since then).
The new Colonel asked me:
"Did you write other papers like the one you showed to my predecessor ?"
"No Colonel, but I could write one if you want."
"Then go and come back tomorrow with a paper describing your stay in La Martinique."

I behaved as ordered and handed him the next day the required paper. I had needed a good part of the night to write it, considering that I did not want to neglect my usual duties.

The Colonel took my new paper without a word and let me go and simmered, not knowing why he wanted that paper nor what he was going to do with it.

Three days later, I was called back to the Colonel’s office. Once again, I saluted and introduced myself as prescribed, despite the fact that I knew the Colonel was waiting for me: there is a prescribed way to introduce yourself to a superior in the Legion and I was a Legionnaire in presence of his Colonel.

The Colonel handed me a journal, the regiment journal. On page one I could see my paper with a nice title "The Legion in Madagascar" and the name of the author beneath it: "Leg 1st Class Merril A." I was mighty pleased when I saw that, but also a bit anxious: what did this Colonel have in mind for me. The Colonel explained very clearly:
"Merril, you have talent and your paper is excellent. Your behaviour is also good, except for an already forgotten binge. You will leave this regiment NOW and go to the Corporal training center. If you succeed, you will become a journalist in charge of the regimental paper. Understood ?"
"YES, Colonel."
"Dismiss now and get ready for the training center."

I did as ordered and two months later I came back with Corporal stripes. Moreover, I was the best Corporal of the session, this implied that I could be rapidly promoted to Master Corporal. After that, I started working energetically for the regimental journal.

I searched for good papers and I went on deployments with subgroups who could have interesting adventures. My Colonel told me one day that he liked my work, that was the day I was promoted to Master Corporal. On that day I had to exchange my beloved White Kepi for a Black Kepi, a sign of my new rank. I was in the Legion for 4 years when that happened.

One year later, I renewed my enlistment and was sent to Sergeant training. I passed all the tests. My French was very good then.

Since then I kept working for the regimental journal. I have been promoted to Master Sergeant before retirement.

I am now retired. I live in a nice institution for retired Legionnaires in the South of France. Some members here make wine, I keep writing papers about the Legion.

Altogether I had a very good life, despite the fact that I kept my Legion name until now: I could ask to have my real name back, ,but who knows Alfred McAllistair from New Mexico ? Many Legionnaires know Adam Merril from Toronto !

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