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THE BEGINNING:  THIS IS HOW I BEGAN TO WRITE THIS ARTICLE

We have been thinking about writing a release, a sort of an essay on this fascinating man called de La Croix, more accurately Jean Maximillien de La Croix de Lafayette (his full name) but, we were uncertain as to where and how to begin, because of the complexity of his mind, genius and achievements in so many areas, disciplines, lines of work and professions. 

He is so multi-dimensional and extremely accomplished in so many fields to a point where we had to stop and  think  for a while, take a deep breath now and then, and work out a plan of action, a sort of writing, composing and editing system to describe the man, his work and particularly to come to comprehend what he represents to us. My original interest and reason for doing a piece on de La Croix was specifically to introduce him as De La Croix “L’Artiste”. But, the more we learned about him, the more we read about him and the more we read about what he wrote in his own books, the more we felt his humility, modesty, generosity, the goodness of his heart, and the more undecided we became on how to start, approach and finish the article.

Frustrated and encouraged, eager to finish the piece and  fearing to miss a particular fascinating and hidden aspect of his life, personality and character, we rushed to our keyboards to draw the blue prints of the article before we change our mind on how to write the piece and most certainly before we forgot or missed some details that we had previously collected about him. So, we decided to divide the article into the following parts, and believe us it was not so easy: "

MAXIMILLIEN: THE MAN OF CONTROVERSY, DELIGHTFUL MADNESS AND 1000 SURPRISES!!

De La Croix's exhilarating passion to live life and his incredible ability to astound, amaze, amuse and entertain us are just of the few of the things that set him apart and make him so unique.  "Mad Max" as the media and dearest friends call him, is the epitome of a spring inside a box, the quintessence of the Court Jester!  As de La Croix himself would say:  "Laissez les bon temps rouler!"   {Let the good times roll!}  By now, it should not shock or surprise you to know that as a boy, de La Croix ran away from home to join the remnant (s) of  Cirque Medrano in Paris.  Every child’s dream realized!  For three months time, he  

stayed with the circus and preformed as a Clown, consequently creating and inciting a wave of scandals in his wake and causing the expected and appropriate amount of embarrassment to his family, aristocratic milieu and relatives!  Equally alarming was when he decided to become a Buddhist Monk. He almost  did! He lived in the mountain dwellings of the Buddhist Mahayana Temples and Ashrams in the Orient causing further embarrassment. For several months, he vanished from the civilized world to become the student and first disciple of Venerable Master Kwah Lee Pai who later on, some twenty years later, bestowed upon him the honorable title of Grand Master of Soke Chan Budo SeishinKan ShindoKai.

MAXIMILLIEN MADE THE LIST OF THE “MOST UNWANTED PEOPLE”___________

There was the time when de La Croix was sent as a participant in a Cultural International Exchange Program to under developed countries, tutoring the natives of the remote villages in French and other foreign language skills.  As the months passed, funds exhausted, his assignment came to an end.  Curiously, no one was able to communicate with the natives...obviously and apparently, the program was not the success that they had anticipated...but why-o-why were the natives not learning???  They would soon find out. Yes, you guessed it!  de La Croix was the source of the mischief... Upon his return to France, Maximillien found a large sign posted below his name on the door of his office that read:  "DE LA CROIX- - -FIRED!!!" 

Smugly smiling to himself, he didn't mind one bit and graciously thanked his superiors for the experience-speaking now in the native tongue of the country from which he had just returned-which only served to infuriate them all the more!  You see, rather than teaching foreign languages-as was required of him on his mission-no matter where he traveled, he learned the natives' languages!  Instead of being "the teacher," de La Croix had became "the student!"

This is Maximillien’s elaboration on the story:

“The Department of Education and Ministry of Foreign Affairs thought that by teaching the natives in foreign colonies our language and way of life, the regime would be able to control the colons in the foreign territories and colonies. So, they hand picked some teachers of sociology, history and languages in order to send them or probably “shipped them abroad” to do the job. I was one of those chosen miserable teachers. My role was to teach the colonials or colons, French and French culture. Perfect! The government had a limited budget and the government people made it very clear to me that the government is not rich, they are lacking money…that I should not waste their time and their money. In brief, teach those people French, as soon as possible. Great! I left Paris en route to foreign lands. Upon my arrival to those magnificent lands, I fell in love with the nature, color of the skies and ocean water…and trees leaves…and the soil…everything. It was magical to me. And, it did not take me long, before I fell in love with the natives.  I loved those people so much, so much from all my heart and soul, to a point, where, I had to learn everything about them. Where do I begin? Of course, being a linguist, I began to learn their own language. So I did. Instead of teaching them French as I was supposed to or “ maybe” as it was instructed to do, I spent government time learning their own language.  

The government was spending money on the mission and covering the expenses of the expedition to diffuse the French language worldwide, but in fact, they were spending their money on me being there, doing nothing, except learning foreign languages and dialects. So, the beautiful poor natives did not learn a word of French. So, what do you expect from our bureaucrats and politicians back home to do the first thing when they saw my ugly face? FIRE THE SON OF A GUN, and they did! This is exactly what happened. Later, and for years, I was unable to find a job in the government or even get a small grant for some of my cultural and artistic projects. And of course, I was placed on the black list of the MOST UNWANTED PEOPLE. Yes, sir.”

KICKED OUT OF THE MONASTERY, PERSONA NON GRATA____________________

One of the biggest unfortunate mistakes Maximillien’s parents made, was when they decided to send him to the Jesuit Seminary School to become a priest! Can you imagine that? Maximillien?!  A Priest?!!! Well, this how the story goes and as told by “Reverend” Maximillien himself. It is a common knowledge that “respectable families” in France should “produce” and give to the country and the society “good children”. And!!!! HA HA!!! Wait a minute… this is NOT the only criteria and social pre-requisite; some of those children better be or become a general in the army, a lawyer, a physician, an architect or a bishop, a prince of the Catholic church! So asking myself  “What are my choices?” I had no idea or any answer to that question. 

I just wanted to be or become what I like to be or become. Back then, young and incorrigible, I want to be nothing and have fun! But, this was not what my parents had in mind. My parents thought that sending me to a seminary was a very good idea. Boy-ya-boy! What a very bad idea this was! My uncle Guy told my aunt Penelope: “I cannot see Maxime as a military man. He does not take orders very well. He is disobedient, a rebel by nature since he was born, he will be a catastrophe for the army. Probably, he will end up making a revolution or a coup d’etat.”  As to my aunt Penelope who had a great influence on my parents…well, she was not either very much happy about sending me to a law school. She told my mother Alexandra: “It is hard for me to see Maxime as a traditional lawyer in any court in any civilized country. Instead of defending people and getting them out of jail, probably, he will end up in jail, every time he will show up before a judge. How about a medical school? Oh non…non…non…very bad idea. Although, he is very caring and affectionate, he would probably spend all his time shmoozing and cruising the nurses and telling them stories…well, let’s think…how about sending him to engineering school? What do you think Alexandra?” My other aunt Laure interrupted her to add:”

Are you crazy Penelope? Maximillien? An architect? Mon Dieu! No building in Paris will stand still! Ship him to a “ priests school” and lock him up there until he forgets how the world was built. I love this kid, this little devil to death, he is so bright but, Mon Dieu, he is incorrigible, a trouble maker…Voila, I can see  “Mon Maximillien” as a good, a very good priest.” My uncle Guy interrupted her and screamed: “ What a goofy idea, Laure! What did they do to you those poor priests to send Maximillien to them!?” We have to find something…some sort of a school, a remote camp on a deserted island or a some other place for this kid but, NOT a seminary “Jamais De La Vie!”. It was alright with me. I wanted them to fight among each others, as hard and as long as possible and never to agree on anything, so I would enjoy a long ride and stay at home for as long as possible… Unfortunately, they were fast on agreeing on something bizarre and finally, all of them came up with one single and mortal idea …a very, very bad choice, and that choice, you probably guess it, the “PRIESTHOOD”! 

Maximillien continues: 

“Here, I am, at the front door of the monastery. I used to like and admire those magnificent cathedrals, the imposing and majestic facades of churches and monasteries, the towers, the balconies, the huge bells, the big, very big wall and ramparts stones, everything about those “religious” buildings and edifices but, now, here, at the front door of the monastery, about ready  to get in and never to get out, and remembering what my aunt Laure once said :” ship him to a priests school and lock him up there until he forgets how the world was built”, yes sir, here at the doorstep of the monastery, nothing appeared to me uglier and more frustrating than all those magnificent buildings that I had loved so much in the past. They looked terrible to me and probably I looked terrible to them. I was admitted. Properly introduced to the abbot. And Au Revoir Gay Paris! Bye-Bye! The very first two hours went well.

No problem. But, I kept looking at the first and nearest exit. The problems began 3 days later. I became fed up with the food. The same damned boiled potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, even on Sunday. Puree potatoes or mashed potatoes for breakfast at 5:30 am. Boiled or steamed potatoes for lunch at 1:00 pm. Baked or sautéed potatoes for dinner. And if you are still hungry and you manage to get out of the dormitory without awaking up the snoring novices and sneak into the kitchen to steal some food…and slowly… slowly… carefully…silently you open the doors of the refrigerators to grab something….two or three big uncooked heads of potatoes will jump in your face…they are staring at you…wherever you go, there are potatoes…all kinds of them! So I got fed up. I began to confuse the novices with ideas and plans and incite them to rebel against the potatoes conspiracy… the abbot…the priests… everybody, you name it. I hated those potatoes.  It was a potatoes conspiracy alright! The father superior and the monks found out about how I felt about those potatoes and my counter-conspiracy. They issued me one warning, later to be followed by so many. One week later, I began to feel very bored and physically tired. The abbot will tell you otherwise. To him, I was mentally tired and religiously bankrupt. Anyway, I began to think about ways and means to make money so I can and get out of this lock-up. I began to strengthen my friendship ties with one or two of the monastery drivers in charge of buying and delivering groceries, goods as well as those ugly potatoes to the refectory and kitchens.

I had plans for that. Once I felt that I have totally gained their sympathy, I began to initiate them to a great business plan, which will generate a lot of money. Simultaneously, I was discussing my plans with four or five not so bright novices who finally agreed to carry out and execute my plans. We are in business! We are in the flowers business. Big time. So I thought and the little I knew! The monastery had beautiful gardens, full of roses, gardenia trees, “cyclamen” and a wide variety of flowers and roses. I kept looking at those roses, and those roses kept looking at me. I had to do something about those roses.

They were my only way out. Without those beautiful roses looking at me, I had no chance to get out of my misery. All my gang and contra-band conspirators were convinced that, primo, it was not a sin against God and the Catholic Church and the fathers and the brothers and the father superior to steal a little bit…a tiny-liny-winy bunch of roses from this sad garden and sell it at the nearby market in the village, because part of the revenues will go directly to the refectory and kitchens operations, so the head cook will have enough money to buy a better quality food and throw out those bloody, God damned potatoes once and for good. Segundo: Hey, after all, we are not stealing from foreigners or people we do not know. We are just taking a few stuff from ourselves, since all of us were members of the same family. This what everybody thought except “me”. I had one thing on my mind. Sell those damned roses, get me a few Francs and get the hell out of this place as fast and as soon as possible. The flowers operation began on Monday evening by cutting the roses and hiding them in big water jars behind the church depot where no body goes except the drivers I have recruited for this mission. On Tuesday afternoon, we continued the second phase of the operation: Keep on cutting more roses. On Wednesday at 4:00 am, the third phase of the operation: Get up early before any body else. Wrap the roses. Get them in the camion (an old miserable truck from world war one and may be much, much earlier). Go back to sleep, as if nothing happened. Wednesday at 7:00 pm, is the time for the last phase of the operation: Jump in the truck and take off full speed en route to the market. Meet with the merchants, sell the roses, get paid and returned to my most favorite place in the world, “The Monastery”. (Yeah right!!!) On Thursday, early, early, as early as possible, flee the monastery! So we did. It is Wednesday, 7:00 pm. Everybody is hiding in the truck and so are the roses. With the beloved roses we drove out. Hit the road. Got to the market. Ready to meet with the merchants and cash in. The driver Pierre-Robert suggested that it is safer and more profitable to meet first with the man who is in charge of the whole sales distribution, before we meet with the small guys. Done. I thought it was a great idea. I regret it later! Pierre-Robert showed the way. He said to me: “Voila, go there, go talk to the old man, he is in the office. Make a good deal for us, we will be waiting for you here.”. I went there.

 I entered the office or sort of an office to strike a deal. And who do I see standing by the fireplace and waiting for me? The monastery’s Father Superior and two bloody monks! None of the not-so-bright novices who recently entered the monastery and joined my operation, including myself, knew that drivers at the monastery are usually and always monks or priests, and that Mister Pierre-Robert was nobody else than Father Pierre-Robert! I was kicked out of the monastery the very following day at 7:00 am, never to return again.

It took the Church people half of a century to forget about the flowers operation, another half of a century to change their mind and opinion of me. But, later, me and the Church we have become brother and sister. I became very involved with the work of the missionaries in Africa and in under developed countries and I enjoyed every single day I spent with them in those foreign lands, every time they allowed me to do so, or every time I was honored by their most welcomed invitations, but……… always and in advance, they took  all the needed precautions and necessary measures not to let me see or pass by a rose garden!”

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