“From now on, why not become children again? There’s something sanctifying, something that makes you young again! There’s something that calms you down! I tell you, long vacations are for the little ones! Oh, yes!”

Jacques Perret (1901-1992)
Writer

“Write me a couple of pages on the journalist Jacques Perret, my editor-in-chief told me. From the start, the simple demand plunged me into all kinds of unsolvable questions. Can you cut Perret into pieces – a slice of writer, a sketch of artist, some knotted rope of sailor, a ream of newspaper paper, and the sole of an adventurer? To those who knew the chouan [Breton insurgent] of whom I speak – the chouan who loved writing, and long walks, and strolling along, and adventure – this block of a man is indivisible, indissociable, ever new. Perret had it all going for him: he had perfect timing and was enormously talented… Two proofs could be given: one “Perret” who was capable of selling a newspaper, and another “Perret” who was capable of putting nails in his enemy’s coffin seeing that under le Grand Bradeur [de Gaulle] he was the most condemned journalist… […] He always wore a sort of trilby, Scottish style, a tweed vest and beige or brown velour pants, the pockets stuffed with pipes (often made of clay), lighters (usually a copper zippo, engraved in the trenches during the Great War), and his pince-nez, style Fallières. He had a smooth step, carrying himself well and with ease, a ready heart-felt smile, and a firm friendly handshake. […] Having stuffed his pipe – with “grey” tobacco – he took two or three draws then, without hurrying, he would look for the three, or four, or five slips of very light rose onion-skin paper which made up his article. […] Then we would stroll over to Beaujolais, on d’Aboukir street, where the first room, which had a very low ceiling, forced us both, myself and the indomitable Perret, to duck our heads upon entering. There we would be joined by a dozen co-workers – well-bred and well-read – with whom we would clink glasses, generally over glasses of Sauvignon (Sancerre blanc).”

Pierre Chaumeil (1928-2012)
Historian and journalist