If These Walls Could Speak: The Story of Pershing Hall
VA History · · g2988507
If you walk along Rue Pierre Charron, near the Champs-Élysées in Paris, you will see me. Look above my second-story windows for three sculpted faces watching the street: an American doughboy, an aviator, and a sailor. An eagle spreads its wings above my entrance, and iron gates bear stars, a torch, and the American Legion's name in gold. These were not simply decorations. They transformed me from a Parisian residence into a memorial to Americans who served alongside France during World War I.
An American Memorial in the Heart of Paris
If you walk along Rue Pierre Charron, near the Champs-Élysées in Paris, you will see me. Look above my second-story windows for three sculpted faces watching the street: an American doughboy, an aviator, and a sailor. An eagle spreads its wings above my entrance, and iron gates bear stars, a torch, and the American Legion’s name in gold. These were not simply decorations. They transformed me from a Parisian residence into a memorial to Americans who served alongside France during World War I.
I have stood at 49 Rue Pierre Charron since the late 19th century. Built as a private residence for Henri Paul Marie de Pins, the Vicomte de Pins, I once welcomed members of Parisian high society. My elegant rooms reflected the fashionable neighborhood surrounding the Champs-Élysées. Yet the friendships forged by soldiers in a distant war would eventually give me a purpose none of my earliest occupants could have imagined. ²
When the fighting ended in 1918, American Veterans in France wanted more than a place to exchange stories. They sought a home in which to remember fallen comrades and sustain the friendship between France and the United States. The American Legion chose my address to carry that memory into the future. On August 7, 1929, I was dedicated as Pershing Hall, honoring Gen. John J. Pershing and the American Expeditionary Forces. Pershing attended the dedication alongside Legion leaders and French dignitaries. His presence affirmed a belief that the bond between wartime allies should outlast the war itself.³
My new identity took shape in both stone and daily life. Architect Francis Jacques, who had served during World War I, designed a substantial addition completed in 1931. Memorial plaques, portraits, and sculptures honored the men who served and those who did not return. A library and gathering rooms made remembrance an activity rather than merely an inscription. Veterans entered to read, meet old friends, celebrate, and speak with others who understood experiences that were difficult to explain back home. I was an American place in a French city, but, more importantly, a shared home for memory and friendship.⁴
That purpose would soon be tested. When war returned to Europe in 1939, American Legion members in Paris helped revive the American Volunteer Ambulance Corps, following a humanitarian tradition established during World War I. My rooms became its headquarters. Even before the United States entered the new conflict, Americans associated with my post were helping the wounded and displaced. The same friendships my walls commemorated now called their survivors back into service. One of the people whose work touched my story was Anne Morgan, the American philanthropist who had already spent years supporting relief efforts in France. On May 16, 1940, she telephoned my headquarters after accompanying a convoy evacuating Belgian civilians. The convoy, comprising 10 ambulances and 20 supply vehicles, had come under German attack. Other ambulances had reportedly been fired upon, and at least one volunteer was missing. The markings identifying a humanitarian mission had not guaranteed safety.⁵ I had been dedicated to honoring the service of one generation, yet another was now taking risks to protect strangers. Remembrance, I was learning, did not have to be passive.
German troops occupied Paris in June 1940, and the American Legion’s activities ceased. The conversations and gatherings that had filled my rooms with warmth gave way to silence. Jack Hunter, my caretaker, remained behind while other occupants departed. Notices identifying American-owned properties initially offered a slight measure of protection, but after the United States entered the war in December 1941, that protection became uncertain. My American insignia, once a welcome sign to proud Veterans, now proclaimed an identity that could invite danger.
In February 1942, German officials appeared at my entrance and demanded that Hunter surrender the building. They threatened to enter if he refused to come forward. Above the confrontation, the eagle and sculpted service members stood as solemn reminders of Germany’s defeat in World War I. Hunter had no troops to defend me, but he had a proposal. He would leave if the authorities promised to protect the property and permit Swiss oversight rather than direct German occupation. They agreed. Hunter was later detained in Baden-Baden, Germany, before returning to the United States in a diplomatic exchange.⁶ His negotiation did not end the danger, but it gave my memorial collections a chance to survive.
Two men remained: Louis Bourque, the Swiss caretaker, and George Washington Lopp, an elderly American Legion member. German authorities considered Lopp too old to pose a threat. They had misunderstood what service meant to him. With permission to visit Americans interned at Frontstalag 122 near Compiègne, Lopp delivered books from my library, clothing, musical instruments, and other supplies. Sometimes he traveled by bicycle; sometimes he walked. In 1942, he even helped provide a Christmas feast.⁷ My doors were closed, but through Lopp, the fellowship cultivated inside them reached Americans held behind barbed wire.
Bourque, meanwhile, had to defend the place itself. Shortly after the liberation of Paris, New York Times correspondent Frederick Graham recorded the Swiss caretaker’s account of a remarkable visitor. Bourque recalled that German Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, accompanied by other senior officers, rattled my iron gate and demanded entry. Bourque informed the party that they could inspect the building, but could not occupy or use it. The newspaper published his account on September 3, 1944, under the subheading “Rommel Barred by Swiss.”⁸
1. Pershing Hall: A Memorial to the AEF, draft manuscript, chap. 3, 39–40.
2. Pershing Hall: A Memorial to the AEF, draft manuscript, chap. 1, “The Owners of 49 Rue Pierre Charron,” 10–11. The manuscript identifies Henri Paul Marie de Pins, Vicomte de Pins, as the owner who built the original residence.
3. “Legion Dedicates Building in Paris,” New York Times, August 8, 1929.
4. “Legion Dedicates New Home in Paris,” New York Times, October 2, 1931; “Francis Jacques, 62, Architect, Is Dead,” New York Times, August 4, 1943; “Many Exceptional Paintings Displayed in Memorial Rooms of Pershing Hall,” The Paris Post, June 1931, page 4.
5. “Nazis Shell U.S. Drivers,” Omaha World-Herald, May 16, 1940.
6. “Jack Hunter Writes,” Pershing Hall Topics, February 1943, 1; Frederick Graham, “Property of U.S. in Paris Unharmed,” New York Times, September 3, 1944.
7. G. M., “Life of a Veteran in a Concentration Camp,” Pershing Hall Topics, June 1945, 4; Graham, “Property of U.S. in Paris Unharmed.”
8. Frederick Graham, “Property of U.S. in Paris Unharmed,” New York Times, September 3, 1944, under “Rommel Barred by Swiss.”
9. Frederick Graham, “Property of U.S. in Paris Unharmed,” New York Times, September 3, 1944; Pershing Hall: A Memorial to the AEF, draft manuscript, chap. 4, 69–70.
10. U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, Congressional Submission, FY 2025, vol. 3, “Pershing Hall Revolving Fund,” https://www.va.gov/opa/docs/remediation-required/management/fy2025-va-budget-volume-iii.pdf; Veterans’ Benefits Programs Improvement Act of 1991, Pub. L. 102-86, § 403; VA testimony before the House Veterans’ Affairs Subcommittee on Economic Opportunity, December 8, 2015, https://docs.house.gov/meetings/VR/VR03/20151208/104227/HHRG-114-VR03-Wstate-FiotesS-20151208.pdf.
Image Credits and Sources
Figure 1. Pershing Hall Architectural Details
Pershing Hall, Paris, December 27, 2016. Photograph by Guilhem Vellut. (Wikimedia Commons, CC BY 2.0)
Source: Wikimedia Commons
Figure 2. Anne Morgan
Portrait of Anne Morgan, ca. 1915–1920. Photograph by Bain News Service. (Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division)
Source: Library of Congress
Figure 3. Pershing Hall, 1931
Pershing Hall, 49 rue Pierre Charron, Paris, September 29, 1931. (Agence Rol, Bibliothèque nationale de France)
Source: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b53249360q