Sanford E. Jacquard

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I was born in Bucharest, Romania on one of the days when banks in America closed due to the financial crisis, November 13, 1929. This crisis made life easier in Romania than in the United States; it's one of the reasons why my father left Detroit, Michigan, to marry my mother who lived in Bucharest. My birth was acknowledged by the United States consulate in Bucharest. I am therefore born an American citizen, "jus sanguini'' which was very useful to me seventeen years later as you will see below. All my schooling in Romania, between 1935 and 1947, took place at the lycee St André, a school of the Christian Brothers, an educational order founded by Saint John Baptist de La Salle in France. But the monks at my school spoke mainly German, a language I started learning at the age of seven. To this, French was added and later, when I was 10 years old, English. My father spoke Romanian with my mother; Romanian is my mother tongue and also the language of my studies at school. But French is the language of my heart.

The war started when I was nine years old. The Germans entered Romania as allies with the Romanian government of King Michael and Marshal Antonescu. This changed in 1944 when I was 14 years old and King Michael announced Romania's return to its historical allies, that is to say from the First World War; the Russians had already entered well into Romania, but the change of alliance that the king had accomplished avoided in Bucharest the fate of other countries which experienced house-to-house fighting like in Warsaw, for example. It was the first stroke of luck in my life. At the end of the war, those of us who were nearing the end of our high school studies were in a hurry. Many of us finished the last two grades of school in one year, that is to say, the equivalent of 11th grade in June 1947 and at the same time we presented ourselves for special exams to complete the equivalent of our senior year in September 1947. During the 1946-1947 school year, those of us who had opted for the special exam took private lessons in the evening to prepare for the September exam. A few weeks before the September exam, I received my American passport from the American consulate. At the end of September, I had to leave for the United States; I was part of a repatriation program organized by the American government to repatriate American citizens living on the other side of the Iron Curtain. In 1947, in Romania, on the eve of the arrival of the communist regime, having an American passport was an extraordinary thing. Some would have given their entire fortune for such a document. However, I took my special exam to finish high school. I was quite well prepared in languages ​​and history, but very weak in mathematics. The member of the teachers' committee for mathematics was an esteemed professor who had written mathematics texts. He asked me to go to the blackboard and dictated to me the data of an equation that I had to solve. After a few seconds he understood that I was not capable. He said to me: "You are going to fail this exam. What do you plan to do next?" I took my passport out of my pocket, I gave it to him and said, "I'm leaving for America in two weeks." So this great professor who everyone was afraid of, with a tear in his eye, takes the passport and rubs it against his chin. In Romanian tradition, this gesture means that one touches an object of great value that one would like to possess. It is a gesture of admiration and envy. And he said to me, “Safe travels (Bon voyage). Grade 5." The grading system in Romania was 0 to 10, 5 being the minimum to pass the course. So he gave me a gift.

In late September 1947, I was one of a group of 15 young American citizens to be repatriated. I was the only one who spoke English. We were put on a boat on the Black Sea to Greece. After two weeks of a very pleasant stay in a seaside resort, we were put on a US Navy ship that had served as a troop transport during the war. We took a two week trip between Pyrea in Greece and New York. I continued my trip to Detroit to see uncles, aunts, and cousins ​​that I didn't know, and then I settled in Los Angeles with an uncle and an aunt who had agreed to host me.

I studied at UCLA where I received my Bachelor of Arts in International Relations in June 1951. I wanted to be a diplomat because throughout my life I had admired the people who worked at the American consulate in Bucharest. After receiving my degree, I was drafted into the US Army; military service was obligatory. It was the Korean War. But another stroke of luck in my life wanted to send me to Europe instead of Asia, and I finished my military service in Nuremberg. A little before joining the army, I understood that my dream of diplomacy was impossible in my case. During the two years of military service, I decided to prepare for a career in teaching. After leaving the army, I worked for the Bank of America, then for the Gas Company while studying for the teacher's certificate. My schedule was as follows: at 10 a.m. a teaching class at UCLA. At 2 p.m., a teaching internship at Los Angeles High School. Between 4 p.m. and midnight, work at the Gas Company on their night shift. But in August 1957, I was rewarded for this work by finding a position as a French teacher at Beverly Hills High School. I stayed there between 1957 and 1999 when I retired. First a French teacher, then a guidance counselor, with two years of administration.

A word about the importance of the French language in my life. When I arrived in America I was seventeen years old and very afraid of the future. In my French classes at university, I was one of the best. This gave me a feeling of confidence in myself that I really needed. I spoke French better than English at the time. When I finished the four-month preparation for military service in California, only four recruits from the company of 200 individuals were sent to Europe. I was one. I have always believed that my knowledge of the French language played a part in this military decision. Finally, French has been my working tool for more than 15 years of my teaching career. This is why I wrote above that French is the language of my heart.

I met Leonor in 1959 when she came to Beverly Hills High School to visit the language laboratory of which I was the director. She was part of a group of Brazilian teachers who came to the University of Southern California for a year of professional development. She returned to Brazil in June that year. We stayed in touch by correspondence. Seven years later, Leonor did another year of advanced training in England. I wrote to her asking her to take a little detour on the way back from England to Brazil. She didn't make the detour, but a few months later she came to Los Angeles and we got married. We have a son who is now a math teacher at Santa Clara High School; It's a bit ironic given my shortcomings of 1947! We also have a granddaughter who received a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of California San Diego, and works as a mechanical engineer for a company in San Diego.

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