'American Letter' No. 4: When judgment is weakest

When the judgment's weak," wrote Kane O'Hara (died 1782), "the prejudice is strong."

I would never repeat the fetid, anti-French comments already coming in about this series. To do so would offend not only neighbors proud of their Huguenot ancestry. It would also be an affront to all but the most benighted readers.

How many times did I meet anti-American sentiment during my stays in Beaufort Isere and Paris? None. Nil. Zero. Not one incident, ever. True, I never thought to "test the waters" by choosing not to speak French. But consider how just hearing Spanish in Wal-Mart rankles some Beaufort County residents. When Americans spoke English among themselves in Paris, the locals drank in the sounds as part of the mix of a cosmopolitan city.

Although it does help to know the language, what is even better is to be open to a culture and to go with the flow. The Americans and Australians who spoke only English had a great time at the Reunion in Beaufort Isere.

On the morning of the display stand show, a mother brought her two sons to meet me. They had never met an American, wanted to meet one and looked starstruck to make an indirect contact with the wonderful United States through a handshake. At first, the boys were speechless, but after their school class had serenaded the people from the many Beauforts, they rushed up to me to ask how they had sung. "Parfait! Très beau!" I told them.

The mother of Pascale Lambert, my host in Beaufort, was so delighted to get her first "bisous" (kisses on the cheeks) from an American, that I gave her a double dose. The charm never wore off, and I gave her four kisses each new day I met her.

Paris would prove to be no ruder than any other big city. Any "arrogance" I encountered was the same that any Parisian would have experienced under the same circumstances. The most insufferable Parisians were some of those behind desks -- in particular, a book store clerk who kept talking on the phone, never acknowledging the customers who had begun to line up and taking no note as I put my purchases back on the shelves and walked out of the store with a "Harrumph!" A waiter in the Latin Quarter was one cold fish, but I could never tell whether this was simply an act for the clientele, mostly tourists who expected this "typical" treatment. Something to write about to the folks back home, as I do now.

More open and "anti-American" had been the sentiments of certain Londoners on my visit two years ago. The cold-shouldering was sometimes obvious, especially in pubs and restaurants, whether because of U.S. foreign policy or other antagonisms of the day. When one blowhard bemoaned, for the benefit of our table, "a typical city of the American South" like Atlanta, daggers shot back from my "redneck" party's eyes. Had it been just 10 years earlier than my family had been so warmly received in London, Wales and Scotland?

The 2006 documentary film, "War Dance," tells the story of children of the Acholi tribe of northern Uganda who have fled marauding rebel forces. In spite of the horrors, they practiced long hours in their refugee camp for a folk dance competition in Kampala. On the morning of the competition, luckier children from other tribes insulted the Acholis with catcalls of "rebels" and "killers."

Aesop never had a more instructive fable.