Their French Is Showing

Therese Lynn is sensitive to the presence of those who may not understand. “Who here doesn’t speak French?” she asks. A few hands shoot into the air. “Do you understand French?” she wonders. Unanimous head-shaking by those who raised their hands tells her absolutely not.

But Lynn’s sensitivity goes only so far. She proceeds with the meeting. Entirely in French.

This is the monthly gathering of Alliance Francaise de la Riviera Californienne, Orange County’s own French club.

The club has been around since 1964. Up to 100 members at a time meet at Neighborhood Congregational Church in Laguna Beach to hear speakers (in French, of course) on such topics as literature, photography, travel and food. They attend French-related cultural events such as art shows, concerts, dinners and theater. The club offers language classes for those who wish to learn French.

“Our focus is on French culture,” says John Boitano, an associate professor of French at Chapman University in Orange, who was recently elected club president. Born in the United States, he married a French woman in Nice and holds dual citizenship.

“The French have a different way of looking at the world,” he says. “There’s always been a love-hate relationship between the two countries.”

That’s for sure. French opposition to the U.S. invasion of Iraq strained relations, prompting some Americans to call for a boycott of French goods and rename a certain popular fast food “freedom fries.”

Lynn, speaking for herself and not as club treasurer, has firm opinions: “The U.S. needs France more than France needs the U.S.,” she says, reflecting not only politics but also a certain French aplomb -- critics might even call it arrogance -- exhibited by some club members.

“I’m very political,” says Lynn, who has participated in antiwar demonstrations and prepared for the French club meeting by putting on each chair a newsletter from the United Nations Assn. of the United States of America, featuring, among other things, an article describing an antiwar summit.

But the club is officially nonpolitical, and members -- 90% of whom speak French fluently, and 60% of whom are French -- say it was precisely the love between the two countries that gave rise to this cultural exchange.

Occasionally -- very occasionally, members say -- they even engage in political debate, but “always very respectful of different opinions,” according to Odile Dewar, a French teacher at Laguna Beach High School and Irvine Valley College who was born a French citizen but says she now loves both countries equally and holds dual citizenship.

Dewar, whose English is heavily French-accented, says she joined the club to promote understanding and unity between the United States and France.

“I want to mend our relationship,” she says regarding this postwar period, “by making people feel welcome wherever they come from. I think the French and the Americans have a love affair. They admire each other, they respect each other, and sometimes they are a little envious of each other. Education is the key; if you bring people together culturally, they won’t fight anymore. This is just a little fight -- I think it’s temporary.”

Indeed, members say, attendance at club functions has not been hurt by the current state of affairs, nor have French people in Orange County, for the most part, been subjected to the animosity of their neighbors.

“I’ve heard remarks,” says Genevieve Ray of Fountain Valley, who won’t reveal her age except to say that she arrived here in 1947 after marrying a U.S. serviceman in Paris. “I feel good about myself, though,” she says, “so nobody can bother me. Politics is for other people -- you have to transcend it.”

Pascal Demilly, a Laguna Beach software designer who came to the United States as a consultant in 1987 and stayed on after marrying an American, agrees. “There are just a few jokes,” he says of his U.S. friends, “but I like jokes.”

Attending French club functions, Demilly says, is a way of staying connected to his national roots, especially for the sake of his three young children, all born in the United States “I’ve been speaking French to them,” he says, “but they don’t have much opportunity to speak it except to me. I want them to understand where I come from. There are a lot of beautiful things about France, and I want them to be proud to be French.”

Pride seems much in evidence on a recent Friday as a roomful of gesticulating Francophiles -- many of the men wearing suits and the women wearing scarves -- make Champagne toasts in the language they adore.

From the speakers of a CD player in the corner oozes the strains of a 1930s song chronicling young love in the country that some credit with inventing the emotion. And above a table near the back waft the rich, beckoning scents of Camembert, ratatouille and warm baguettes.

“I am French and will die French,” declares Marie-Rose Bruneau, who came to the United States in 1953 and now lives “one street over” from Newport Beach. “I was born in Belgium,” she added, “but I’m a French citizen 200%.”

Retired professor Claude Girault has been in the United States since 1965, now living in Dana Point. One of his proudest possessions is the Legion of Honor recently awarded him by the French government in recognition, he says, of services rendered to French nationals as their superior counsel -- a sort of senator-at-large representing the interests of French citizens in the Western United States.

“It’s good to foster friendship between the U.S. and France,” he says. “Our ties are much stronger than just one skirmish that lasts a few months. People will forget this.”

Suddenly, Girault’s eyes light up; he’s inspired. “France is the country in love with freedom,” he says. “We gave you the Statue of Liberty.”

He pauses for effect.

“Regarding changing the name of French fries to freedom fries,” he concludes triumphantly, “the two words are synonymous. Therefore, they are still French fries.”