Our Dinner with Andre

andre1
Originally uploaded by goyishekop.

"Hello? This is Andre Royer. Calling from France."

Think Maurice Chevalier.

Andre met my father on a ship, sailing from France, after WW II. His father had sent him to America to learn English, to help prepare him to run the family business.

My father, who had done his post-graduate work at L'Ecole des Beaux Artes and the Sorbonne, took Andre under his wing, taught him to say, "Where is the little boys room?" and introduced him to New York.

The were lifelong friends, and he named his oldest son, Alain, after my father.

Oh, and the family business? Cognac.

"I will soon," said Andre, "fly to New York, with my son Bruno and his wife. I think after that I will fly to Denver and visit with you. If you will be there."

We quickly determined that he could fly in at roughly the same time I was returning from Indiana and both my sisters were flying in from Oregon. We could, I realized, actually meet in the airport.

"And, how long shall I stay?" he said.

"Well, Jo and Nan are coming in to go to a music and dance festival in the mountains. Would you like to go to the mountains with us?"

"Oh, that would be lovely."

An 82-year-old Frenchman at 8500 feet?

It was lovely indeed.

Here's Andre surrounded by three, completely charmed babes: Nan, the opera diva, Jo, the tattooed lady, and Lyn, the girlfriend. Mine, not his. I'm pretty sure.