The Letters: How A Mixed-Race American Child Learned About His French Mother And Heritage

By Daniel Freeman

Daniel Freeman was eighteen years old when his mother, Johnnie, sat him down at the kitchen table for a serious conversation. What she told him changed his life forever.

Johnnie was not his mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Freeman
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732652545

Daniel Freeman

Dr Daniel Freeman is the leading clinical psychologist of his generation. Still only in his mid-thirties, he is a Wellcome Trust Fellow, a Senior Lecturer at the Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College London, and a consultant clinical psychologist in the South London and Maudsley NHS Trust. He publishes prolifically in leading international journals, makes regular keynote addresses at international conferences and is an Associate Editor of the British Journal of Clinical Psychology. A key figure in the latest developments in cognitive behaviour therapy, he teaches and supervises clinicians across the globe. His work has brought interviews with the likes of Radio 4 and the BBC World Service, and with national newspapers such as The Times, Guardian, and Daily Mail. He is young enough to continue playing five-a-side football twice a week, but old enough to wonder for how much longer.

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THE LETTERS

How A Mixed-Race American Child Learned

About His French Mother And Heritage

Daniel C. Freeman, Ed.D.

Copyright © 2021, 2018 by Daniel C. Freeman, Ed.D.

All photographs courtesy of P.Frank/Daniel Freeman photo archives unless otherwise noted.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any manner including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical means without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews and other noncommercial uses as permitted by copyright law.

For information, permission, book signing events, etc, please contact the author at:

[e-mail]

http://www.alyeskeea.com

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-7326525-3-8 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-7326525-5-2 (Hardcover)

ISBN: 978-1-7326525-4-5 (ebook)

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Canoe Tree Press is a division of DartFrog Books.

P. Frank Freeman met Sophie at the PHARMACIE DE LA NATION, December 1944.

Photograph by P. Frank Freeman, 1950

Dedication

Here’s looking at you Pops

And, in memory of my mother Sophie,

The mother who never really got to know her son

Author’s Note

In May 2002, my father, P. Frank, passed away at the age of 80 years. About a week after his passing, I found myself in my boyhood home designed and built by my father. My brother, sister, and I were trying to decide what to do with a lifetime of accumulated materials. In the hallway closet, we found neatly wrapped, hundreds if not thousands of his Powerful Force For Freedom lithographs of the aircraft carrier artwork painted for the United States Navy. Amongst those posters were approximately 3,000 historical and 25th-anniversary posters of the USS Enterprise. They were neatly crated and addressed for shipment. Those particular posters were the last ones he would paint, and they were never sent to the ship. After reading the correspondence between my father and the Captain of the USS Enterprise, I concluded there had been a change of command as the lithographs were rolling off the press. And the new commanding officer refused to take them or pay for the artwork requested by the former commanding officer and his staff.

Those posters are still crated, packaged, and addressed, ready to be sent to the ship. But the USS Enterprise, the first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, has since been decommissioned.

From the hallway closet, I made my way down to the garage to open military trunks lying next to the outer wall. Opening one of them, I came across a bundle of letters and file folders of government correspondence. The neatly bundled letters intrigued me. I had never seen them, probably because I never looked in the trunks. Those were my father’s private storage facilities, and we were forbidden to look in them on penalty of death, not really. As a child, you learned that your parents’ stuff was their stuff, and you didn’t go rummaging around in them. Anyway, as I unbundled those stacks of letters, I began to notice that many of them were written in French, some of them 10-15 pages in length. Since the invention of email, people don’t write letters like these anymore.

Along with the letters written in French were letters written in English by my father. Those letters appeared to be in response to letters written in French. There were also documents from the U.S. Army, U.S. State Department, friends of my father, family members, lawyers and judges, and Congressman John Dingell Sr. I couldn’t get a clear picture of my and my father’s life during the time these letters and documents were written unless I could get the French letters translated. I knew from the papers written in English that my birth mother had several lovers during her marriage to my father.

I wish I could have queried my father about these letters, and I never informed Sophie that I had them. I was afraid to ask her about them; there were so many, I didn’t want to reopen old wounds.

My father and Sophie met once again in 1986, when Sophie came to visit my family and me. We drove her cross country to San Diego, as part of our family vacation, to stay with P. Frank and my stepmother Johnnie. It was an emotional meeting for Sophie to meet for the first time, the woman who raised her son. P. Frank was happy to once again see and be with Sophie. I think he never really stopped loving her.

I would like very much to thank my sisters Jeanne and Colette for the time and effort they put into translating the many letters written in French between my father (P. Frank) and mother (Sophie,) my grandfather (Philippe,) and my grandmother (Antoinette). However, I would be remiss if I did not thank my son’s high school French teacher Mary, and former co-worker, Brenda, for translating some of these letters.

Note on formatting: Handwritten letters are formatted in a hand-writing font. Personally typed written letters to individuals are formatted in an italicized font. All others are formatted in a standard font.

Note concerning the letters: I believe my father knew all of these letters would be discovered one day. His children, me in particular, would learn why he and my birth mother divorced. Among the letters found was a letter I wrote to my grandmother, Addie Mae - she must have sent it back to my father. There was the first letter from Sophie, written on 29 August 1969 to me, that I was allowed to receive directly. I probably shared the letter with my father, and he kept it, storing it with all of the other documents.

One final note: I have altered many of the names mentioned in my father’s letters to avoid embarrassment or sorrow to families and individuals involved in this story. It is not my intention to disparage the memory of my mother, father, or others mentioned in this story. It is the story of how the individuals involved attempted to settle their lifelong differences and how their actions affected the lives of those they loved. Those actions profoundly affected my life. I grew up not knowing about my true identity.

However, the names of congress members, senators, judges, U.S. military personnel, and government officials communicating in the performance of their jobs have not been altered. The letters describing the situations are real; no attempt has been made to change the spelling, grammar, or translations.

The writing of this story was a tedious, emotional, and sometimes painful process. But I believe it was a worthwhile endeavor if it will allow readers who might be involved in bitter custody battles to live vicariously through the battles and wars experienced by my family. We cannot change the past, but we can certainly learn from it.

30 September 2020

Daniel C. Freeman, Ed.D.

Prologue

It was late summer 1968, and I was beginning my sophomore year in college and had just gone to bed. I could hear my parents arguing in the kitchen, about what I don’t remember. The next thing I heard was the front door slamming shut and my mother calling me to the kitchen. I dreaded the words I thought I was about to hear that the two were breaking up. I was not prepared for what I heard.

Sit down, Daniel, I have something to tell you, my mother began. The next sentence she spoke was, I’m not your mother. Your real mother (Sophie) lives in France, and you have another family there with two sisters.

As I sat there in disbelief, I responded with, I always had a feeling there was something different about me. I come from a very diverse, racially mixed background. My father was African-American, and my birth mother was Parisian French. My blue eyes, blonde curly hair, and tanned body belied my black heritage. My stepmother, whom I considered to be my mother, for she was the one who raised me and to whom I bonded, was German. The brother and sister I grew up with look very much as they came from an interracial background more than I. In fact, my brother and sister sometimes referred to me as the white sheep of the family.

It took about a year for me to come to grips with the information I had been handed. But on the day after man landed on the moon, I took pen to paper and wrote to Sophie. I don’t recall the letter’s contents, but I’m sure it had much to do with me recognizing her as my birth mother. She had known for about a year that I knew of her existence — it just took a while for me to acknowledge her and that I was not who I thought I was.

The last time I saw Sophie, prior to 1977, was one day during the summer of 1953. She was leaving our second story Frankfurt, Germany, apartment and I standing at the window crying for her to come back (this is what I had been told). At that time, Sophie had come to take me to Paris, but as fate would have it, my father just happened to come home for lunch and thwarted the kidnapping attempt.

There was one more kidnapping attempt, in November 1953 by Sophie’s brother, Henri, at the Frankfurt airport. It was at that time my father put me on a four-engine, tri-tail Super Connie TWA Airliner with my Uncle Bill, for the long journey to the States. Amazingly, I remember that airplane, for I was a month shy of age four. I remember the gigantic plane with its huge wheels, but I don’t remember anything before that trip.

Upon arriving in the States, I went to live with my Aunt Hazel, my father’s aunt, in Washington, D.C. Later, I went to live with my paternal grandparents in Detroit. It wasn’t until the summer of 1955 that I once again joined my father, this time with his new wife and now my mother Johnnie, and my new baby brother.

In August 1977, I once again met Sophie; she was a sales lady at Galleries Lafayette in Paris. She continued to work there until her retirement. I had been married to my beautiful bride of 3 years, and we were on our long-delayed honeymoon, traveling through Europe. Sophie knew we were coming but didn’t know when. The plan was to see her just before we headed back to the States. Instead, her home was both our first and last stop.

When we arrived at Sophie’s home and rang the doorbell, Jeanne opened the door, saw me, slammed it shut, and screamed in French to Sophie. Jeanne recognized me because we had briefly met when she came to the United States as a high school exchange student from France, living in Illinois. At the time, I was a Marine, heading home to California on Leave. The door quickly reopened, and there was my mother with my sisters Jeanne and Colette.

Upon entering the apartment, the first thing I noticed was my high school graduation photo standing on the television set. As I looked at that photo, I began to wonder how she came to have a copy. Then I remembered my father telling me she kept in contact with me through my paternal grandmother, Addie Mae. Sophie was never allowed to write to me directly. During this initial meeting, she told me that my father told her that she could write to me as an aunt, but not as a mother. Her reply to this order was, I am the boy’s mother, not his aunt. Thus began my long-distance relationship with my biological mother. While organizing all of these letters and documents into a coherent timeline of events, I wrote the following note to my sister Jeanne:

I have one question, at what point in your life did you learn about me? I was 19 [actually 18] when I learned about mother, you, and others in France. I wish I had known. It must’ve been awful for everyone involved to not have been able to see me again. I really feel for grandmama and grandpapa who never saw me again after the summer of 1951. I spent that August with them in St. Jean and that was the last time they saw me.

Jeanne responded with the following note:

… as far as what point in my life I learned about you; I don’t know exactly but it has always been somewhere since I was a kid that you existed, but nobody talked about you it was just there somewhere in my mind; the real day you became real was when I was around 10 years old I guess; we were on vacation in ‘la fate sur mer’ the place we used to go to every summer with Colette, mother, and father; I was sitting in the living room, mother was in the kitchen and my father was not too far from me and Colette was probably far from us when suddenly I heard mother screaming in the kitchen; I could remember having paying attention to that scream and my father told me she received a letter from Daniel (we knew that was your name and mother’s son) and he tells her he just discovered she is [his] real mother. I knew before, that your grandmother was writing to mother to give her some news from you. I could not tell you the date of day it was but I remember exactly the scene.

Reading the above paragraph overwhelmed me. I could only imagine what it must have been like emotionally for Sophie to finally hear from me, her son — the son she was never allowed to write to directly. The son who didn’t know of her existence. My father once told me that he didn’t want me to suffer psychologically, knowing that he and Sophie had divorced and that Johnnie was not my birth mother.

Neither Sophie, nor my father ever talked about the circumstances that led to their divorce or the life I had been living. It took the passing of my father and 13 years to translate all the letters documenting their tumultuous life and my French heritage.

Indice

Chapter One: 1942-1945

Chapter Two: 1946

Chapter Three: 1947

Chapter Four: 1948

Chapter Five: 1949-1950

Chapter Six: 1951

Chapter Seven: 1952

Chapter Eight: 1953

Chapter Nine: 1954

Chapter Ten: A Case for Divorce

Chapter Eleven: 1953-1954: Legal Maneuvering

Chapter Twelve: 1953 - 1954

Chapter Thirteen: 1955-1969

Epilogue

Selected Cast of Characters

Chapter One

1942-1945

World War II came along, and in November 1942, P. Frank was drafted into the Army and sent to Camp Custer, Michigan, and then on to Fort Riley Kansas for basic training — the remnants of the famous Buffalo soldiers were there. While in Basic Training, he was asked if he knew anything about automotives. So he told them about his Ford Motor Company experience. That is how he ended up in the horse cavalry unit, also known as the Cavalry Replacement Training Center. In fact, …those guys who knew about horses were put into automotive units.

He couldn’t recall anyone who liked Basic Training, and P. Frank was no exception. I hated Basic Training because the non-commissioned officers were so rude and mean, and you, as a soldier, had no right to demand human respect. And you had to show great respect to the young white lieutenants and say ‘Yes Sir’ while they handed you a ‘bucket of @#$%!’ I used to walk a mile out of my way to keep from having to salute them.

In May 1943, he was transferred to the Ordnance Replacement Training Center. Well, that year was the coldest, snowiest winter on record. But as luck would have it, [he] spent that cold in the warmth of the hospital due to ptomaine poisoning from eating a meal at the mess hall. On the day of discharge from the hospital, he received orders transferring him to Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland. He had written to Adam Clayton Powell, the only Black U.S. of A. Congressman representing Harlem, New York City, explaining that he knew nothing about horses and that his skills could be better served as a draftsman.

After a big public fight, Adam Clayton Powell eventually got kicked out of Congress because he insisted upon taking the same privileges as other congresspersons. These privileges included special favors for friends, extended vacations, junkets to Paris, Amsterdam, etc. He felt he should not have been discriminated against. If it was fair for them, it was fair for him.

It was night when [P. Frank] arrive at Aberdeen, [and] the night duty sergeant didn’t know what to do with [him.] So [he was] put up with the white soldiers. But this was a great error and was corrected by daybreak! P. Frank was sent to an all-Black unit at the far end of the camp. [He] was sent there to do drafting, but they had no facilities for a Black draftsman. So he was set up in a room all to himself, given the tools needed to design an obstacle course for Black units. Eventually, he was assigned two other draftsmen to help him.

P. Frank really enjoyed [his] stay at Aberdeen. [He] was doing the work he enjoyed, and the soldiers and officers respected him for his professionalism. Aberdeen was only 30 miles from Baltimore, where he had a girlfriend and 60 miles from Washington D.C., where he could visit his Aunt Hazel and Aunt Irma, his father’s sisters. And with a weekend pass given to [him] almost every weekend, New York wasn’t that far away for a visit.

After being stationed at Aberdeen for nearly 18 months, P. Frank received orders to go overseas. He traveled on a large unescorted troopship and prayed the entire journey not to get torpedoed by a German submarine. Upon docking at Liverpool, England, he …was flabbergasted to see white guys sweeping the streets and portering. [He] had never seen this before. In the United States, the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, only Black guys did that kind of work.

Once in England, he was …assigned to a motor vehicle delivery unit whose job was to take ordnance to forward area depots. The job allowed him …to tour all over Scotland and England because they were building up armaments all over the British Isles. And later all over France, Belgium, and Holland."

Later, P. Frank would write, When you are in the Army, you don’t know what’s going on because they won’t tell you. They tell you only what to do, and you do it! And you don’t ask questions. But I do believe it was the second day of the ‘D’ Day Invasion that my unit landed in France. We drove our vehicles off, landing crafts into the water up to our waists. The vehicles had been prepared to drive through water.

Throughout this period of the war, he continued delivering armaments to the forward areas. At one point that forward area was just outside of Paris …a place called Chateau de Vincennes. After a while, the area became [his] unit’s headquarters.

To this day, during December 1944, P. Frank …did not understand why [his] unit commanded [him] to take an armored car to a depot in Liege, Belgium. [He] was the only one, and Liege [was] 210 miles from Paris. It was cold, and that armored car looked like a medium tank but with wheels rather than tracks. It rode like a Cadillac but had no heater and no headlights. When it got dark, [he] had to pull off the road and into the woods for cover. The next morning [he] was on his way to Liege again, but soon noticed there were a lot of troops coming back for some relief.

Continuing his journey to Liege, he soon came upon a roadblock …and was stopped by some military police. One of them yelled at [him] ‘Where in the hell do you think you’re going?’ ‘To Liege’ was P. Frank Jr.’s reply. ‘Like hell you are, the Germans are in Liege.’ Leaving the armored car off the road, P. Frank was placed into a truck, and back to Paris he went, making his way back to his unit’s command in Chateau de Vincennes. Later he learned … that was the Battle of the Bulge, and like a fool, [he] was the only one going forward while everybody else was coming back."

In late December 1944, following his return from the Liege debacle, he strolled into a local drug store about a mile from camp. There before [him] was the most gorgeous and charming girl [he] had ever seen. So [P. Frank] avowed to himself to go back to that store when he was back in Paris. About ten days later (January 1945) he was back at the drug store when the young lady told him her name was Sophie, and as she was about to go home, asked him if he would like to meet her parents. Born in December 1927, she had just turned 17 years of age when he walked for the first time, into the pharamcie at Place de la Nation in Paris.

Well, her parents were extremely nice to P. Frank and invited him to dinner the coming Sunday. That was the first of many dinners he had with the family, and by that time, he had been introduced to most of Sophie’s relatives who lived in and near Paris. The fact that he was ‘colorie’ was a big plus for him because they equated him with Josephine Baker, whom France loved very much and was also ‘colorie.’ By this time, Sophie’s mother was making hints and wanted to know what P. Frank’s intentions were towards her daughter. Honorable was his answer.

P. Frank did write them a long letter explaining things in the USA was not like in France. [He] told them the unadulterated truth about how ‘Colories’ in the USA were treated worse than dogs in most places. It was a blow for them to learn what [he] wrote because they loved Josephine Baker so dearly and because all the ‘Colories’ they knew from America were fine and talented people.

Sophie use to protest, Mais lui et comme nous. So it was suggested that P. Frank should marry Sophie and stay in France. Sophie’s father would help P. Frank find a way to make a living because he was smart and talented, and he had a lot of connections.

Dating Sophie was much different than dating in the States. When the two of them went out, Henri, Sophie’s younger brother, would accompany them. P. Frank didn’t mind this small intrusion, for he thought it was just part of the French culture. He loved it when this beautiful young lady would introduce [him] as ‘Voici mon Fiancée,’ with her French accent, which was so sweet.

Meanwhile, in early 1945 the war in Europe was winding down, and the Germans had been pushed out of France but were still fighting for their homeland, and the war was coming to an end. Depots in Northern Europe were closing down. Armaments were being shifted to southern France to the Mediterranean area …with the intentions to go to the Far East because the war with Japan was still raging on. P. Frank’s particular unit, …was stationed at a depot called ‘AXE,’ a staging depot about 30 miles from Marseille.

While in southern France, P. Frank received the following letter from Sophie’s mother.

21 June 1945

Paris

Dear Frank,

You are not going to receive a letter from Sophie today, but one from her mother.

If I made up my mind to scribble these few words that is because I have been worried to see Sophie so sad these last days. I know her so well that she cannot hide anything. Sophie used to be full of gaiety, she is like the scum in our house. That is why, this morning I was pained looking at her poor little face and when I found myself alone with her I wished to know exactly what was the matter with her, although I know a little of the reason. Sophie is bashful and little expressive, she keeps to her feelings much too deeply. But in spite of all her willingness, she could not detain her tears and I learned between big sobs that the reason of this trouble was that she did no longer receive news from you.

What happens at this moment is also my fault. I have a grudge against me for having spoken with you as I did when you were in Paris. Although you must understand me. Your case of both is a little bit special. It’s your letter, it had to be translated, I was obliged to know about your correspondence. For other circumstances I would certainly not have read your letters and I would not have noticed the great sympathy that was created among you. Thus Frank to know your feelings towards Sophie. I am sure we did not understand well each other on this day. It is difficult to make myself understood when we don’t speak the same language. Either the persons understand each other badly or not at all. Your mother Frank would certainly have done the same thing if she were in my place.

Sophie sent you a large letter on this matter answering yours. You must have received it now? Is it the contents of this letter which makes you keep this silence? It is so much more painful as your last letter that you have written her were more than charming.

I know about what she wrote you. I did not influence her in any matter. I let her entirely free in her feelings and her acts. I only ask for one thing such she knows this very well. This is her happiness and if you will be the bearer of this happiness Frank. I trust you with my little girl with joy. I don’t know whether you are aware of what I’m trying to tell you when you were among us.

But I must tell you that Sophie is for me now the most worthfull thing I have on earth. I don’t want to say with this that I have no affection towards my husband and may ???, but Sophie is so near me by her charming ??? and her nice manners. You are not yet able to understand this, you don’t know her sufficiently and I deplore this fact. You are so far from each other, you would need much more contact in order to appreciate each other. You would see that I don’t exaggerate anything. On my part I dare not to think of the day in which I should have to leave her. But for her happiness, I will do everything. I wish life might give her much joy, she is worthy of it in every respect.

How did you interpret her letter? Has Sophie told you that she is not willing to get married now. Besides, that was not your intentions either for the moment. I do understand that easily; she is too young, she will be 18 in December. In spite of her construction which makes here look older than her age, she still a touch of a baby that still not consider things seriously. But there is one thing I noticed this morning: She has for you more serious feeling that I believed in spite of having never shown you her feelings in a tender manner when you were together. She told me about what she added; I don’t want to be married now.

Believe me I am very worried to take the pen and write you all these things but I want one thing about all that is to see my little Sophie taking up her animation and that she might no longer be sad. Do you understand Frank?

If your feelings towards her are really sincere and honest I think that you can be patient to wait for other circumstances allowing you to realize what you wish. Only I ask you heartily whatever may be your decision let her know it. I know myself how demoralizing it is to be without news.

Do you understand me Frank and don’t begrudged against me to interfere in all these things?

I send you my best and friendly regards.

Antoinette

With the staging depot near Marseille and soldiers preparing to be shipped out to the Far East, morale was low, and the place was a mess. But before [he] could be shipped out to the Far East, the atom bomb exploded, and the war was over. Everyone was anxious to go back to the [States,] that was everyone, but P. Frank, he …had other plans. The other plan was making an …application for a civilian job with the Adjutant General’s graphic art department."

Now that the war was over, and he still being near Marseille, P. Frank was …concerned, because a great deal of time was passing and [he] had not been informed if [he] was going to get the job. He had hopes of staying in Europe, for he had come to realize that he could go anywhere and eat in any restaurant he pleased without fear of being discriminated against or called a nigger. Several years later, he would learn this was not entirely true when working and dealing with U.S. government officials in Europe.

"Meanwhile, Stars and Stripes, the Army newspaper [located in Marseille], had for several weeks been advertising for a soldier artist who could do silk screen printing. So in October of 1945, into Marseille P. Frank traveled, to …the office that wanted a silkscreen artist. Unfortunately, he was met by the office PFC (Private First Class) clerk. And in the words of P. Frank: He looked at me as a Black guy and informed me that the job was already taken. They had been searching for at least six weeks for an artist, and now on the very morning [he] arrived, the job was taken! Well as it turned out, the Colonel came through the office, and when he found out why [he] was there, he put his arms around [him] and said how happy he was to see [him.]"

As previously noted, …the Army was segregated and [P. Frank] was a Black soldier. As a Black soldier, he …could not be billeted with the White soldiers, neither could [he] be assigned to that unit— it was all White. To make him available to this particular unit (Delta Base Section, Special Services), he was placed in the position as a TDY (Temporary Duty) soldier away from his Black unit. Because of the circumstance at the time and the segregation of the Army, he was billeted in a luxury hotel, Hotel Provence, Room 42, 16 Cours Belsunze, Marseille. Because [he] was on TDY, …it was required [of him] to occasionally report back to his regular unit. Therefore, for transportation, it was necessary for [him] to use the Colonel’s command car. Adding to the fact that soldiers were leaving for the States and new soldiers were coming in for processing, this set off rumors that [he] was a CID (Criminal Investigation Division) investigator.

The job with Stars and Stripes lasted about five months with duties involving the making of …posters and other publicities to advertise the USO and other rest and recreation centers in Southern France. He …had to please the two civilian American women who were in charge. That was easy, for [he] was doing the work [he] liked, and the two women were very fond of [him.] When the job finally ended, [he] was ordered back to [his] regular unit for processing. Again [he] appeared in the Colonel’s command car, chauffeured this time, because the Colonel’s car had to be returned to Marseille."

During the period P. Frank was gone from his unit on TDY, there had been several commanding officer changes. There was mass confusion as far as personnel was concerned. Certainly, nobody knew him. He surmised that the commanding officer wanted no problem with CID …because he greeted [him] warmly and gave him a pass to go back to Marseille whenever [he] desired. However, one day while at the railroad station to take the train into Marseille, he ran into his Captain, ‘What the hell are you doing here? Get back to camp!’ The jig was up. The Captain had discovered that [he] was not a CID investigator.

While at AXE, P. Frank had once again …written to Adam Clayton Powell explaining that [he] had made an application for a civilian job. Well, [he] didn’t know if Powell came to his rescue, but the next day after the encounter with the Captain at the railroad station, [he] received orders transferring him to Paris for discharge. [He] had been approved for a civilian position to design and produce training aids and lesson plans.

During P. Frank’s prolonged stay in southern France, he and Sophie continued their romantic relationship via letter writings and gift exchanges. As 1945 closed out and the new year began, Sophie sent P. Frank the following postcard wishing him a Happy New Year.

I hope this postcard will get to you as I desire it, so that I will be the first one to offer you, as the way it is in France, all my wishes for a good and happy year. I wish 1946 to be for both of us a year of delicious happiness.

I kiss you much.

Sophie

Between the time Sophie sent the above postcard in late December 1945 and the letter written in mid-January 1946, P. Frank proposed marriage to Sophie.

Chapter Two

1946

The beginning of 1946 found P. Frank still stationed in Marseille but anxious to return to Paris. He loved France and particularly Paris. Paris was so alive; it was one of the great cities of the world. There was so much to do there, and of course, Sophie lived there. In early January, Sophie penned the following letter:

My Darling Little Frank,

After spending the night and day thinking and thinking about your letter of the 8th, I will give you an answer which will bring you great joy. Yes Franky I accept being your wife before you go back to America for I really think that once back in the States, it will not be easy for you to come back without being married now. Although I shall have to wait for your return. But after all I will be sure to see you again. What you have to let me know is the date you think it may take place because my parents have a lot to look after for I wish to get married in white and we have all sorts of formalities to go through. What papers do I have to provide you with?

Now my darling I will ask you something. Will it be possible for us to live in France for you know what sorrow I shall have to leave my family immediately. Surely one day we shall have to go to your own country but I should not like to go just now. For once in the States, will it be possible for me to come and see my parents? Let me know all about that Franky.

I hope you’ll get a few days off for our wedding and if so, we may have my cousin’s apartment where we need to fetch some coal.

My cousin is now in Biarritz and mother will ask her to send the keys. I hope she’ll agree- for otherwise I don’t know where we could go. Have you an idea?

I will write to Mademoiselle Adrienne and give her the good news and hope knowing that he will let her get married too.

See Franky I am happy at the idea that I shall soon be married with the man I love. My parents made no objections to my wish and know all my confidence is in you—Franky for I know I shall be happy with you.

I will now end for this evening my little Frank. It’s very late. I kiss you tenderly with all my love.

Your little Sophie

With a letter dated January 20th, 1946, Sophie’s parents gave P. Frank permission to marry their daughter.

Certificate

We, Philippe and Antoinette living at Avenue Philippe Auguste, Paris certify that we formulate no opposition to the wedding of our daughter Sophie with Frank.

Done in Paris

January 20th 1946

21 January 1946

Paris

Dear Frank

In your letter from the 14th of January, you asked me to send you a proof of agreement so that you can complete the documents you constitute for our union. It is very gladly I tell you of my desire to contract marriage with you. I assure you, my dear Frank of all of my affection.

- Sophie

25 January 1946

Paris

My Dear Franky

I hope to have a few minutes this evening so as to be able to send you a few lines.

First of all I will speak of what impresses both and especially you - What we need to know is about papers. Having got your express letter at 12 pm - in which you mentioned the papers.

I don’t understand why you are asking us to send immediately the parent’s consent to your