![]() Using the hidden passages inside the building, I could move from the kitchen to the bar completely undetected. I roamed freely, imaginary sword in hand, fighting pirates and Prussians, Nazis and Russians. ![]() There were banisters to slide down, closets to hide in, and hallways to run through. The American Officers’ Club, located in the heart of Fontainebleau, France, was a three-story structure built in the French Provincial style with ornate molding, winding staircases, a small caged elevator, and large oil paintings of Napoleon, Louis XVI, and countless battle scenes.Īs a child of five, to me the club was a special place. From there I was hidden from view but could still see the entire room. Moving through the door, I crawled on my hands and knees to a place just behind the bar. ![]() Jean Claude, the tall young French bartender, was shuttling from table to table taking drink orders from the American officers who filled the club on a Friday night. ![]() I pushed the swinging door open just a crack and peeked out into the large, smoke-filled room. ![]()
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