In 1955 Dad was in the Air Force and stationed in Paris. He rented an old four-story, 18-room house.
It had attached servants’ quarters, a cobblestone courtyard with a large horse stable, and a three-acre yard.
I was 9, and being adventuresome, I fashioned a haybale fort in the stable loft.
There I found an old sword and scabbard. It was in mint condition. We looked it up and discovered it was an 1872 French officer’s sword.
It came back to America with us, and it hung over Dad’s fireplace until I was 20. It became mine when Dad died, and I often used it for show-and-tell.
I once went to a costume ball dressed as George Washington and tied the sword around my waist with a sash. It was a popular showpiece.
I later went back to Paris on vacation, and I saw the exact same sword displayed in the French Military Museum.
The old sword and scabbard now hang proudly on my office wall.
If only the sword could talk. What an exciting historical story it would tell.
