It happened again a year later. The passion of a moment and the desire to follow a path. I knew then I wanted to be on the side of right against the side of wrong. I wanted to be in the home guard, the brigade which is poorly armed except with the weapon of good. I wanted to fight the clear and present enemy who stepped into my home.
The moment was as I watched Is Paris Burning, and witnessed the French Resistance destroy German tanks along the Champs-Élysées with Molotov cocktails, saw men in berets run through back alleys to get a better shot at a check point guard, and held my breath as encrypted written messages on small pieces of paper were smuggled by bicycle riders from enclave to enclave in an effort of coordinate attacks.
Paris was scared but saved from the Nazis. Contrary to Hitler’s orders, the city was not leveled as the Germans retreated from the city. The victory was inspiring. Exceptionally inspiring with the realization of what was nearly lost but was not because of a few people who resisted.
The slow heavy drumbeats of the occupying army, the tense but quiet strings while attacks were planned, an accordion softly crying at threat of the loss of a way of life, and finally the full symphonic explosion, the sound of the triumphant spirit...it was all Maurice Jarre again.