A strange stream of circumstances put me in a front seat of an ambulance, parked at the corner by “Aux Deux Magots.” This is the well-known cafe on the left bank of Paris where Sartre sat and discussed the existential philosophy that changed the thinking of so many of today’s people. I sat in this ambulance seat for six hours, watching people walk by, stand on the street corner, go in and sit at the tables on the glassed-in sidewalk section of the cafe or disappear into its main portion. Six hours of watching people … people … people.

As I watched thousands of people walk, run, stand, stop, sit, frown, laugh, gesture, talk, be silent, I was struck by the amazing conformity in this spot of the world where non-conformists speak in loudest tones! There were the Vogue-look people—the new straight-cut boots wrinkled properly under the whirl of flared midlength skirts, capes swirling above them, hats of the twenties back again. One could see a parade of the haute couture; models appeared to be meeting the right people at the right place at the right hour, conforming to a pattern in every detail.

There were blue jeans in another stream of conformists walking by, blue jeans with fur jackets, blue jeans with cashmere sweaters, blue jeans with blue-jean jackets and old shirts, blue jeans with expensive silk shirts and tweed jackets, blue jeans with the newest of capes, blue jeans with soft suede jackets—all conforming to the “must” of blue jeans.

Then scattered in between were the obvious non-conformists conforming to a pattern of non-conforming! There were the longer-than-long-haired men with strange clothing that matched others looking just as strange, and the girls whose combination ...

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