ODD JOB MEN OF PARIS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 217, 13 September 1930, Page 11 (Supplement)

ODD JOB MEN OF PARIS.

DOG CLIPPING FOR A LIVING.

PUBLIC UETTEB WBITER'S

LAPSES.

MAN WHO ABUSED HIS PRIVILEGES

(By A. D. FLEUROT.)

One of the odd jobs which belongs historically to the men who seem to live on their pitches by the Seine is clipping dogs, and some of them at times have becomfe sufficiently fixed in business to scrawl a sign on the stone coping "Tondeur de Cliiens" the signs long outlasting the "tondeurs." The fashionable poodle dogs of, the last generation had to submit themselves to the artistry oi these old wrecks of humanity, who prided themselves on the elegance of the tufts of fuzzy black hair they left in the most effective spots on the otherwise strangely clipped bodies. The ''tondeur de chiens" of these times has rather to do with those kennel-bred exaggerations of wire-haired ioxea who bark from every fashionable car in town. Their bodies need even more careful manicuring than poodles to bring out the stiffness of their legs and thickness of their paws. A good tondeur can also exaggerate the length of the head bv the cultivation of the whiskers.

The dog barbers of to-day are, however, correct in appearance and make regular visits by appointment in big houses. They consider themselves in quite a different category from those who whistled at their work in the soft afternoon with the Seine at their feet. -

People who pass the Bois de Boulogne may sometimes be struck by the number of respectably genteel people walking all sorts of pet "dogs. For an hour or so they stroll with Pekingese, Bruxellois, Griffons, and even let them loose.when it is safe. This is their job, "dog-walk-ing." On account of their genteelness and their own love of dogs, they are specially selected for the job. They also work by appointment and sometimes the same dog-walker is seen with a Pomeranian one hour and a Great Dane the next.

The odd jobs of Paris have a way ol growing into established businesses. The tftoppeurs—those who repair holes m clothes so the spot where the hole existed can no longer be detected —used to go about and work in the street like the menders of cane-bottomed chairs still do, but they now have hundreds of shops in all parts of the city. Silk stockings brought another small trade with them, a rip no lonsred being fatal; A careful needle and silk thread can be found to make a perfect repair.

A man who has had one specialty to himself —public letter-writing— has just been forced to close a tiny cubbyhole beside the St. Lazare Prison for Women which had been in continued existence for 102 years. He was not satisfied with being the last public letterwriter. He began to accumulate too many odd jobs, such as slipping letters into prison with a little cocaine in them and reaping the savings of the ignorant, so he went to the Sante Prison for Men, forcibly abandoning a business which his great-grandfather founded.

He wrote mostly love letters for the ignorant women whom police "put away' , occasionally for their own and the public good. They admired his flowery language in expressing their tenderness for the men who were responsible for their being there.

Fae's little corner consisted of a cabin hardly bigger than that of a sentinel's box, with two worn chairs and table between. The furnishings looked as if they must have been the same with which the original public-writing Faes opened shop. Many of his clients also were of long acquaintance. Illiteracy is supposed to be very slight in France, but Faes had hundreds from the smaller communes who had been working in Paris for years but still had to return to Mm from time to time "to let the village/know" they were not dead yet.

But an institution like Faes was bound to have privileges with the prison which easily developed into abuses. The simplest and most credulous "also came , to him for advice in money matters. Any one who could write such a countinghouse hand .inspired confidence by that fact alone. He found he need only tell his clients to confide their money to him and they did. It was always going to increase, when he took it, but it always was diminished when Faes' dupes got it back. The market went wrong, was Ms invariable explanation, and the market being something remote and incomprehensible to these simple beings, they took their losses with resignation. It went on for years, Faes writing letters and collecting savings in that little hfdden-away corner of his, and he was wise enough for a long time to hand back the money—minus the losses —when required. But he grew greedier with years and could not eventually bring himself to give anything back, finally one of his ignorant clients, who came frequently to the sad gate of St. Lazare because she had a daughter within, told about her losses, though with no little idea of making complaint, to one of the prison officials who had taken pity- on her. He investigated Faes and had the. venerable old fraud "put away." But his sign, "Ecrivain Public, Marius Faes, Maison Fondee 1827," is still there.—("Star" and A.A.N.S. Copyright.)