In the previous post, I wrote about going to a Franco-American gathering last Saturday, and I felt as though a brief history was necessary. Readers from away could be forgiven for wondering, what the heck are Franco-Americans, and why are they gathering? I think I have answered the first question. Now on to the second, why did we gather?

We humans seem to have an innate need to examine and to explore life in a variety of ways, and art is one of them, cutting across culture and time. The astonishingly beautiful prehistoric cave paintings indicate that the urge to look and create goes way, way back. Different aspects of life can fuel that urge, and ethnicity, especially if there has been discrimination, is one such motivator. A big one, in fact, as members of that group struggle to come to terms with who they are and how the repression influenced them, their families, and their communities.

For many years, Franco-Americans kept their heads down, so to speak. They did not want to cause a fuss or draw attention to themselves. They wanted to work hard, raise their families, and keep clean houses. This they did, with a zeal that is often amazing, and while Francos have too often been called stupid, even their harshest critics could not accuse them of being lazy or dirty.

But times change. As Michael Parent has put it, our parents could only go so far, and they brought us to a certain point. Now we are going further, and today there are Franco-American writers, scholars, performers, and historians. Some of us recently met at the Darling Marine Center in Walpole, Maine, just outside of Damariscotta, which surely qualifies as one of the loveliest places in a state that has many lovely places. The tidal Damariscotta River twists through the area, and its gleaming presence brings a rich variety of life as well as some incredible views. The Darling Marine Center, a branch of the University of Maine, overlooks the river, and lucky are the students who come to study at this center.

Susan Pinette, Director of Franco-American Studies at the University of Maine at Orono, and Jacob Albert, who works at the Franco-American Centre at UMO, were the prime organizers of this event, which started on Friday and ended on Sunday. I went on Saturday, and I can’t remember the last time I have been so inspired and energized by such a smart, creative group of people. It made me proud to be Franco-American, that’s for sure.

I did not take notes—although I started out doing so. I just wanted to listen and learn. Each presenter had 20 minutes to read or perform or to give a talk, and there was usually time for questions afterward. Among so many talented people, it seems unfair to single any of them out, but this is a blog, and although in theory I can make this post as long as I want, in reality there is a limit to how long it should be. So I must make choices. Again, I want to note that all the presentations were worth seeing, and I especially was fascinated by James Myall’s slide show about an orphanage run by nuns in Lewiston. (James, with his charming British accent, is the coordinator of the Franco-American Collection at the University of Southern Maine.)

But my three favorites were Susan Poulin and Michael Parent, extremely gifted and talented Maine storytellers and performers, as well as the Massachusetts poet David Surette, whose precise yet soulful poems beautifully capture his working-class Franco-American experience. In one of his poems, David describes going with his father to a site in Nova Scotia where his daughter is doing archaeological work. David’s ancestors came from Nova Scotia, and when he and his father visited a graveyard and “counted the Surettes in the graveyard at St. Joseph’s, we realized we had come not just for my daughter but a family’s legacy, whispers from our past that will forever be a part of our future.”

Susan Poulin is a performer whose work encompasses a broad range, from women and weight to marriage to the grief of losing her mother to cancer. But her most enduring creation, perhaps, is Ida LeClair, a Franco-American woman of “a certain age,” who has a tremendous zest for life, and, despite the humor, wisdom as well. Susan has created several shows that feature Ida, and if any of them come to a venue near you, then get thee to the show. (In fact, if you see anything featuring Susan Poulin, then get thee to the show.) At the gathering, Susan, as Ida, explored how couples must take time for themselves, even it’s only to go to the local lookout and spend a couple of hours together.

Michael Parent uses his Franco-American heritage to tell stories that, like Susan’s, have humor and wisdom. At the gathering, he performed a piece about a young boy’s fascination with a flamboyant garbage collector. The boy is so taken with this man that he decides he wants to be a garbage collector when he grows up. When the boy expresses this goal to the garbage collector, the man gently but firmly disabuses the boy of that notion. In his performance, Michael switched effortlessly between the boy’s character and the garbage collector’s character. Again, as with Susan, if one of Michael’s shows comes to a venue near you, then do not hesitate to see it.

As if this all weren’t enough, the food served at the conference was very good, too, and the salad at lunch featured fresh fiddle heads. Now, how many conferences can you go to where the performances and presentations are first rate and the salads include fresh fiddle heads? Not many that I know of, and I felt very fortunate to be included.

Last Saturday, I went to a Franco-American gathering that included artists, editors, archivists, and professors. (I’m sure I’ve left out a category or two.) Most of us were of Franco-American descent, but a few were non-Francos who are involved in the culture in one way or another. In Maine, around 30 percent of the population are descended from emigrants from France who made their way to Maine via Québec or the Maritimes.

A brief history of Franco-Americans for readers unfamiliar with Maine’s history: In the mid-1800s, when the Industrial Revolution was gearing up, factory workers were desperately needed in Maine. At the same time, Franco-Canadians needed work. Big Catholic families combined with a finite amount of arable land led to poverty and deprivation. Indeed, as I heard over the weekend, some families were so poor they could hardly afford to buy shoes for their children.

So down the Franco-Canadians came, to work in Maine mills. And they came and they came and they came. (Not only to Maine, but to other New England mill towns as well.) These emigrants brought their language—French—as well as their religion and other customs, including a preternatural urge for cleaning their houses, garages, and barns. Settling in mill towns and cities, the emigrants formed French quarters where French was the main language, and there were French newspapers and radio shows. Masses were said in French, and most of the children went to Catholic schools.

Sometime around the early 1900s, the dominant culture—the Anglo-Americans, the Yankees—began to get alarmed. Yes, they wanted workers, but there were so many of “the French,” who insisted on speaking their language and carrying on as though they were still in Québec, not in Maine. The Yankees embarked on an assimilation campaign, and like all such plans, it relied on intimidation, repression, and, at times, outright terror. The Ku Klux Klan was huge in Maine, and they marched against the Franco-Americans. French was not allowed to be spoken in schools unless it was in French class, where “good French” was taught. Unfortunately, the Yankees succeeded with their plans, and by the time my generation came along, few of us spoke French, and too many of us were only vaguely aware of our rich, cultural heritage. We knew we were the underdogs, but we weren’t exactly sure why this was the case.

Others—writers and scholars—were more aware of what happened, and as the past was examined, there came an overwhelming need to tell the Franco-American story, which had been suppressed for so long. This movement started sometime around the 1970s and is continuing into the 21st century. Writers and performers are examining what it means to be Franco-American. Courses are offered at the University of Maine at Orono that explore the history. And some writers, like me, use the Franco-American culture as a springing board in fiction. It is not the destination, it is who I am, and all things flow from this.

I will admit that as I came to terms with my own heritage—French for as far back as I can trace it—I went through an “angry Franco” period and was quite bitter about the whole Yankee repression thing. But one day, when I was sounding off to David Surrette, a very fine Franco-American poet from Massachusetts, he looked at me and said calmly, “It’s the way of the world, Laurie.”

This brought me up short, but I instantly knew he was right. This sort of thing is the way of the world, and Franco-Americans are hardly the only ethnic group to suffer repression. This acknowledgement doesn’t make it right—of course it doesn’t—but repression happens all around the world with various ethnic groups. Unfortunately, it’s part of the human condition. Humans form groups, and there is always a dominant group. This can happen in different ways, and right now in this country the 1 percent are doing their best to be in charge and to hoard resources.

I would also learn that France—the mother country, so to speak—hardly has a spotless record when it comes to exploitation, and countries in Africa are still dealing with their own legacy of French repression and colonization.

So on we go. We learn, we remember, and we make art. And, I hope, we forgive, although that is not always easy.

In the next post, I will describe some of that art and also the beautiful place—Darling Marine Center—where the gathering was held.

This…

Plus this…

Equal lunch.

And this…

as well as this…

Equal dinner.

If only math could always be this good.