Memories of Richard Trigaux:
Brest and the Naval collège, 1971 - 1972

A terrible year of hazing and harassment, during which I nevertheless did not give up. Academic success and a stay in Hendaye.

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Date of first publication: November 2025

Date de last modification: none

These texts are a work in progress, a project spanning several years, so that they may contain missing parts and links to targets not yet created. Thanks to be patient. 🙂

 

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How I ended up spending one year at the Naval College of Brest, in my final year of high school

(Permalink) Written in November 2019.

The problem with living in an abnormal environment is that, if we are not careful, it ends up appearing normal. Or, agreeing to behave like an idiot is the price you pay for finally having relationships with the other idiots. A horrible form of blackmail, which insidiously erodes our moral boundaries. I imagine many give in without even realizing it, precisely because they lack such boundaries. For me, who had a normal moral compass, the process just took longer, in small steps: pornographic jokes, making fun of «bad» teachers, heavy-handed womanizing... Let us face it, I am not proud of this period. I was «integrated», but all my aspirations for a better world remained pure theory, which I could even not talk about to anybody, in this gloomy world of artificial conventions, devoid of depth or emotion. Of course, I was no longer the target of mockery, but at that price, what is the point?

Well, I had not done anything really bad, but my parents did noticed that my grades were slipping. Or that the rotten atmosphere at Duruy was spreading on me.

And, since my brother Pascal was already at the Prytanée at La Flèche, they thought I could go there too. (I don't know why they put him in La Flèche, and not Serge or me. Probably to avoid him to be subjected to Duruy's disastrous influence as soon as he entered the sixth grade).

 

So I took the competitive exam at the Bosquet barracks in Mont de Marsan (now disappeared). And I got in, not to the Prytanée, but to the Naval College in Brest. Which amounts to roughly the same thing.

I am not unhappy with this result, which still placed me among the best students at Duruy. Something that did not showed, given my grades. Most likely, my notes were still systematically lowered by three or four points, and I would have been forced to repeat the last-before-the-last year of high school, instead of entering directly in the last year at the Naval College. Even «integrated», a strannnger remains a strannnger. I understand what women, Arabs and Black people go through today, having experienced the same thing: even when they are no longer facing open hostility, they still continue to be silently «forgotten» or «deprecated»

 

Another thing I did not noticed at the time was my chronic difficulty concentrating, which followed me my entire life and caused so many problems and missed opportunities. In contrast, I had moments of extreme lucidity, where everything seemed easy and interesting, including difficult math problems like the competition for the best students in France. But these brief moments unfortunately did not repaired the damage. This problem has followed me my entire life, and for a long time I thought these difficulties were normal. In fact, they probably are, and no doctor has ever been able to help me. But for people without a motivation for a better world, they appear as laziness or stupidity. Conversely, people with a strong ego-motivation seem not to experience this problem, which allows them to «succeed» (That is, to destroy their real lives, in fact).

 

Another difficulty was that my motivations for a better world were incompatible with the army. But being the only one to feel them, it was difficult to object. Like many other things at the time, I had to deal with it. This is unfortunately the fate of all the normal people isolated in a backward society. I still saw this experience as an opportunity to have a much better schooling than at Duruy.

 

Last, many still think that students at the Prytanée and other military schools are recruits: this is false. Even if we wore a uniform, we remained civilians, not recruits. It does not even count as a military service.

 

 

Brest, the Collège Naval, senior class

(Permalink) Written in November 2019.

From my first minute in, I understood what awaited me: loud, haughty remarks, contemptuous expressions. When it came to hazing and mockery, it was Duruy squared. I spent the worst year of my life there, from this point of view. (This is an epoch memory. Conditions may be different today, with girls and with the general change of military minset. But I shall not go and test, lol)

 

Of course, we had good teachers (except the Philosophy teacher, who always gave me bad marks. He said he was «surprised» that I ended up getting a 14 in my philosophy baccalaureate. But, sorry, I do not remember anything about his continuous stream of unstructured speeches. A shame, for a fascinating subject, and one that, I did not yet knew, I would really need later.)

I particularly remember the science teacher, whose name I don't remember, sorry. He was nice and explained things well. I never had any trouble following his classes. So, from a strictly academic point of view, I was able to have an excellent year and obtain a science baccalaureate with honors. I still have a rough notebook from that time, in which I jotted down as many basic physics formulas as possible, which I used several times. Nowadays, with the internet and ChatGPT, it remains only as a souvenir, lol.

 

But I had few interactions with my classmates, due to their constant and systematic mockery. However, something interesting happened. I had indeed grown up and gained a bit of self-confidence. Moreover, this total isolation forced me to return to my fundamentals: my aspiration for a better world, because that was the only thing that still mattered. And there was no question of fitting into the mold like in Duruy; even that was not acceptable to them. So, trying to behave normally despite everything, I repeatedly forced my sick classmates to behave normally too. They told me at the end of the year, «You surprised us several times». Or even, «It's a shame we needed a scapegoat». Yes, it's a shame indeed that you needed a scapegoat. We could have had a fantastic year together, see what followed.

 

There were still some interesting people there, with whom we could have had a normal conversation.

 

Silva was a karate fan. He even gave informal lessons. We had several discussions with him on this subject. The music which remains associated with him in my memory: «The Boxer» by Simon and Garfunkel. He is one of the few I saw again later.

 

Jarod «le débile» («the moron»), as he called himself, was a punk before the time. I actually saw him again later in Toulouse, as one of the first real punks. And what was he talking about? Nonviolence and Ahimsa. At the time, I did not really realized what these words meant, nor their connection to my own commitment. But we learn in Buddhism that certain words bring about liberation, simply by hearing them. That must have been the case for these two. Jarod had tried to make a student fanzine, which I contributed by donating a labyrinth and the first page of a comic strip... without continuation, as I was not back the following year. Well, and comics on mimeographed pages, it is not great, lol.

 

There was one of the De la Bollardière family in our class, who commented on the televised debates going on at the time, between the General De La Bollardière and Massu, pro and con torture in Algeria. Yes, this was «debated», as if it was a legitimate democratic choice, or a kind of TV game. «Debates» like that, only in the TV! I do not know what the media got out of it, but in any case, the putschist and torturer generals were all amnestied, while De La Bollardière, ousted for opposing torture, never was. You have nothing to be proud of, gentlemen.

Such a topic of discussion can quickly get out of hand: jokes about nazi ovens, which very quickly become real anti-Semitic remarks. Which is why all the classes were shown the film «Night and Fog». We didn't hear any more jokes on these subjects after that. (I did not go to this session. Our Quartermaster, finding me, asked me why I was not in. I told him I had already seen it. He did not commented.)

 

Chevreau was the «good student with glasses» type, often caricatured in comics. In fact, he was a very intelligent guy, but contrary to the caricature, he was also very popular. And he did not at all got involved in the nonsense of hazing. He was one of the few with whom I was able to form a friendship. Since he lived in Brest, I was even able to visit him at home two or three times. We spent afternoons in his electronics workshop, experimenting with circuits or discussing this and that. He was an excellent student, whom the Naval College had entered into the competition for the best students in France. He showed me a test paper. Of course, each question seemed easy to me, but there were about thirty of them, leaving only a few minutes for each. My concentration difficulties would not have allowed me to pass this exam. But some people are lucky enough to be «overclocked», to think faster, for a long time, without tiring or having their thoughts wandering. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky, a condition which would cost me my studies, as we'll see later in Pau.

 

Yes, electronics. Armed with my initial results at Mont de Marsan, I continued to be interested in it. From magazines, I obtained diagrams of the first integrated circuits, which I carefully noted down so I could use them. A task that Chevreau would end humorously, by bringing one of the first enormous databooks from Texas Instruments, which listed hundreds of them! As incredible as it may seem, I devoured this dry literature like a novel. With electronics and passion, there was no problem concentrating! I had even learned how the first programmable circuits, later called PAL or ASIC, worked. This would help me later at work, and I fantasized about building a huge electric train layout. So I was trying to create diagrams for the many circuits required.

 

Due to the Navy's requirements, we had gone on several sailing trips, on the two shooners of the Ecole Navalle, the Etoile and the Belle Poule. It was fascinating, but I could not enjoy it as much as the others: from their condescending attitude, they did not trusted me. On this occasion, I began to understand how these people were ruining their own lives: being on a schooner is still an interesting and rare experience (for us). So why spend time discussing petty matters? It is a phenomenon I have observed many times, including during my extraordinary trip to Bhoutan. Perhaps this is the most direct hint that somebody is not awake.

We were lucky enough to go out on a day with a strong wind, with the boat heeling over enough for water to splash onto the deck. That's sailing! I loved it... but my buddies were not chatting, ha ha ha!

 

We also went on a trip on a small military frigate, which was conducting a submarine-hunting exercise, including a missile launch. Plus, we visited the engine room in full operation. It was a fascinating day for the technician in me, even if the idealist had to keep his distance. But deep down, this is the fate of everybody forced to participate in a war. A simple theoretical demonstration for me, but I can imagine the dilemma when real death is involved.

 

There also was a music club: a wonderful experience with very inspiring music, like Pink Floyd's «Echoes», Santana Abraxas, and others of that genre. We also had a bar, with a jukebox playing equally interesting music, like the unforgettable «Chicago» by Crosby Stills, Nash, and Young, T-Rex's «Get It On», or «2525» by Zager and Evans. But this too was systematically ruined by the classmates who talked while listening to the music!!! I remember one in particular, who also played the guitar. This simple instrument suddenly gave a whole spiritual dimension to our life together and our environment. But he was among the hazers, so this commonality did not lead to any kind of relationship.

 

One day, or rather one night, five of us played a game of kriegspiel. Today, we do this on a computer, with a virtual map, in games like Civilization. But back then, nothing like that existed. So we took a school map of Europe and cut some chalk into small discs to make pawns. Finally, an improvised die to randomly select the outcome of each pawn's engagement, with one detail of considerable importance for what follows: the attacker has a lower chance of winning. Then we randomly selected countries for each (Russia being divided into several, due to its large size, another determining detail).

Well, things started off rather badly for me: my possessions in Europe were untenable, and I retreated to a corner, Sweden. An old hazed reflex, lol, but one that would cost them the victory: you don't win a war with contempt. In fact, with such a small base, my comrades could have easily eliminated me at that point. But they had a curious cognitive bias: what is away of the center does not seem important to them. So they let me nibble away the Scandinavian Peninsula and Denmark, without reacting. On the other hand, there was no way to gain a foothold in Europe from Denmark: they fiercely defended the center. At that moment I realized their cognitive bias: Russia, on the sidelines, was defenseless. I took advantage of this to take it quite easily, even if it was divided into several (to mimic the logistical difficulty). But from that moment on I knew that no one would get me out of it: anyone who had tried to take Russia in real life had failed. General Winter was now on my side, or rather General Cognitive Bias! Moreover, I now had strategic depth, and a massive production, to thwart the sporadic attacks aimed at me. Finally, the dice load offered a simple and clear tactic: only attack wisely, with enough pawns to take a country in one turn. The tide of yellow pawns (mine) was starting to worry, but apparently not yet enough to force them to stop their fratricidal wars and unite against me. I then took advantage of this to capture all of North Africa (which the map encompassed). From that moment on, my victory was inevitable, and it materialized around two in the morning. Not bad, after all, for a pacifist: conquering all of Europe and Russia. So I am the only one who can boast of having conquered Russia! Okay, not really, okay, but if anyone still confuses pacifism with blindness, I advise them not to try to take advantage of it.

 

Our exploits also included sneaking out to go to the high school graduation ball! Of course, it was forbidden, but there was a place, as if specially made, to get through the fence: the military knows that people need to let steam off at times. So we hid our uniforms in the bushes and changed into civilian clothes. A beige suit for me, with a flowery «hippie shirt», which made my friends laugh. Nothing like this kind of antics to finally bring people together.

On the other hand, the aforementioned dance, in a nightclub, was not very exciting: noise, bad music, and the inevitable brawl. Moreover, our close-cropped hair marked us as coming from the Naval College, and people snubbed us.

We were practically banned from nightclub, and I was targeted several times by anti-militarist bullying, right in the middle of Brest. (We understand why, if we remember that by the time the army was Algeria and the electric torture) Finding myself thus associated with the bad side was a humiliating, but interesting experience: a clear demonstration that bullying and aggression (leftist way, among other things) breed resentment, which is the opposite of the intended goal: the victims begin to hate the «good guys», and this traps them in their error. But who is really the «good guy» in this case: the «well-meaning» bully, or the bullied one forced to wear the wrong uniform? Let's remember: karma works with our actions, not with our justifications. I always remember my mother telling the story of Shultz, this German soldier on a motorcycle who «did not wanted to make war» and who brought a few treats to the starving children every day.

 

Another thing that could have gone wrong was an excursion, also secret, into the German underground tunnels beneath the Naval College. We knew it was dangerous: two students from the Prytanée had died a few months earlier, doing exactly the same thing we had. Their tunnel was filled with gas, of unspecified origin (probably shells or abandoned explosives which detonated spontaneously, or even fermentation). The first to go down fell, and the second to come to his aid also fell. It could have happened to us, too, and we were thinking about it. We traveled through tunnels carved into the shale and discovered several bunkers, almost as the Germans had left them, even with the walls still painted, just stripped of any furniture or embarrassing details. These tunnels descended to the base below, behind the large submarine pen, also built by the Germans.

The Naval College administration, however, did not appreciated this one. We were not punished or even summoned, but some days later, the passage we had used was walled up.

 

One of the most embarrassing episodes was an attempt of homosexual hazing, normally forbidden by the direction, but which was still very practiced as the «signature» of the sociopaths of the Naval College. It was about ripping off the underpants by pulling them horizontally from several directions at once, essentially «bursting» them. With an obvious risk of emasculation! (I had already seen the beginnings of a strangulation at the Scouts, by unconscious idiots who were laughing while pulling on a rope in which a comrade was tangled. Few people realize the force of several persons pulling together, the comrade could have easily been decapitated) Moreover, when we wear glasses, we quickly understand that the least risky option is to do nothing: a shard of glass in the eye and our life is wasted forever. So the idiots blocked me in a corner (none that I knew). After some emotional banderillas, they came to their point. They stretched out their hands towards me, in order to make me undergo the hazing in question. Then something interesting happened: as I did not reacted, they all chickened out! A result already quite surprising, but also synchronized to the fraction of a second, as if they had concerted telepathically. I had already seen this with the hazers at the Lycée Duruy: this impression of telepathy between sociosickos, probably due to the fact that they unconsciously react to «signals»: attitudes we have, without suspecting how they interpret them. I gained more self-confidence from the episode, and this group did not attacked me again.

I was still subjected to surveillance for the rest of the year, with «accusations» of masturbating, which went up to our captain... all these people clearly had a serious problem with sex. Yet at the time, I was not masturbating, especially not in a dorm full of pornographic and malicious eyes.

 

Drugs: tobacco was allowed in the Naval College, almost everywhere, including in the dormitories! With the effect I had already observed in Saint Dizier: this smell was considered normal, and our sense of smell became desensitised, so that we no longer noticed it. On the other hand, 24 persons sweating in a dormitory made a terrible smell, and we were several times asked to «air» the room. An old tradition dating back to the sailing navy...

 

I had a pretty serious health problem at Naval College: terrible acne. I had it before, and I had it after. But at the Naval College, my face was literally covered in pimples, which took years to clear up. I strongly suspect that the food at the College contained some unhealthy fats, I remember certain deli meats that left me feeling very dirty. I don't know what it was, maybe foie gras or some other filthy stuff like that. It was disgusting in any case, with a very bad vibe. Of course, the acne did not made my relationships with my classmates any easier, but the hazing had started long before that.

Another interpretation is that I was allergic to the army, particularly to their sadomasochistic practices of cutting hair, shaving beards, and so on. It was precisely around this time that my beard began to grow. The school rules allowed a full beard, but no in-between. So I had to use an electric razor. But on a skin blistered with acne, it was awful... so I became allergic to razors too! Needless to say, upon my graduation, that razor was never used again. I have never shaved since, not by choice, but to avoid all the associated problems. And to try to hide the acne.

 

I also continued my reflections on death and the afterlife. I thought that defining an alternative space might allow us to continue living after death, but I suspected that a mere mathematical statement, like the formulation of a problem, was not enough. Something else must be needed. I was thinking about emotional engagement, or beauty. Without realizing it, I was rediscovering the basis of the Tantras (which I still had to study since). This is what I was thinking as I walked through the school grounds, faintly hearing my classmates sniggering in my direction and ranting from the windows. But how could I talk to them about this?

 

Ecology. It was around 1972 that the journal Science et Vie began publishing scientific warnings about the «environment». «The Earth's environment is threatened by pollution», they said. An ambiguous phrase, which I didn't immediately understand: the Earth's «environment» could only be the upper atmosphere or the exosphere, and was not getting how what was happening up there could threaten us (we were not yet knowing about the ozone problem). But this expression «environment» has since been understood as a euphemism for «ecology», with the added twist that it keeps humans «at the center». For this reason, I always say «ecology» instead of «environment». It is clearer about the nature of the phenomena involved, while also placing humans in their more modest role as roommates of the Planet, at best as caretakers.

However, the content of the articles left no doubt about the nature of the problem: our multiple and massive pollution are destroying the ecology of our planet, that is, ultimately, us. A suicide, then.

Which is why, from that time on, I was trying to design air purifiers and hydrogen engines. I had to wait «just» fifty years, half a century, to see others do it. Yet I believed it was urgent...

I quickly understood that my choice of scientific studies would ultimately be very useful in understanding energy problems. This reinforced my decision to study Math Sup and what came next. My love of science would find a very timely application.

 

Eye problems. Meanwhile, the Naval College administration noticed that I was having trouble seeing. In fact, I spent that year wearing contact lenses, a new product we were told was very good. It is true that you can see better in them, but they bothered me, scratched me, prevented me from looking sideways, and distorted my perception of depth, to the point where I sometimes bumped into things. My classmates had also noticed this (one of them was literally thinking out loud). In fact, the product which came with was allergenic, a fact I did not found out until several years later. I had therefore developed an allergy to contact lenses, which also often blurred my vision with greasy secretions. Not to mention the complication of not being able to put them in or take them out without a meticulous ritual.

The College administration therefore sent me to a military ophthalmologist for examination. The result was that I was a Y5, unfit for armed service. It was a great relief to know that I would escape that year of military slavery, a dreadful year, not to mention the risk of finding myself in a war, forced under threat to kill innocent people, or exposed to being killed myself. So I asked this ophthalmologist for a copy of his certificate, which I kept in my wallet for years, in case of an unexpected emergency call-up. (It was a good precaution, as I later learned: in London, subway workers had been kidnapped, without warning or even time to settle their affairs, to go dig tunnels for the war.)

However, the Naval College no longer wanted to keep me for Math Sup: even though it was not mandatory, they still wanted me to be able to enlist in the army later. I thus avoided two more years of harassment and homosexual confinement (a problem which also weighed on me).

 

So it was in a rather joyful state of mind that I did my final revision for my baccalaureate. Moreover, it was sunny, and I «escaped» to the college grounds, where there were fairly secluded green spaces where I could study without being disturbed. Some tests held me back a little after the others, so I found the school relatively empty, which made it much more bearable.

 

Then, with my baccalaureate in hand and my «hippie shirt» on my back, I finally boarded a train at the Brest station, heading to my parents in Hendaye, in the sunshine and in a very positive frame of mind.

 

 

Summer 1972: Hendaye

(Permalink) Written in November 2019.

Why did we spent the summer in Hendaye? My parents had decided to run a camping grocery store during the two summer months. It was a franchise from the «Guyenne Gascogne» chain of grocery stores, at the «Camping des Acacias» in Hendaye Beach. There, a former German blockhouse served as a fresh food store, to which a seasonal grocery store had been attached. This meant several hours of work each day, between serving customers and stocking shelves. However, we still felt like we were on vacation, because the duty times also left us several hours to go to the beach or do other activities. Plus, we learned the basics of business.

So it was a pleasant two months, with apricot doughnuts on the beach, unlimited ice cream (we sold some), and Santana III as our music. We played others in the shop—Pink Floyd, Deep Purple—but it was Santana III which left its mark on my memories and provided the dominant emotion. I never found back the taste of Hendaye's apricot doughnuts again.

A funny thing was that Guyenne Gascogne had insisted we prominently display some «regional specialties»: foie gras, goose, etc. So we put them on the first shelf as we entered... where they remained all summer, without anyone buying a single box. Probably whoever tastes this disgusting and unhealthy stuff never buy any again. Not to mention the price, which was not really in line with the campsite's working class clientele. «And what can you do in the Landes if you don't eat or drink? I eagerly did both. My salary fled in foie gras, woodcock, and sand wine. The result was quite immediate: in less than a year, my joints began to creak like the over-oiled hubs of a bicycle that had endured a long ride on a dusty track. A bad bout of gout left me bedridden» Professor Le Mesge, in «Atlantis» by Pierre Benoît.

We also sold ice for the campers. It arrived in long loaves every morning, and we had to saw them into pieces for distribution. My father had devised a miraculous system to speed up the task: an electrical transformer powering a mailleshort wire. But in the end, the saw went faster, and every morning we spent an hour or two on this task, especially us children.

Added in 2025:

There also were some ancient German tunnels carved into the schist, that we went to explore 43°22'47.57"N 1°45'20.86"W. It was very dangerous, and it seems that the cliff has since collapsed. But these tunnels came out on the other side, giving access to one or another small cove.

Added in 2025:

I have a cruel little memory here: walking on the beach, I suddenly came across a young woman so beautiful that I immediately felt a violent desire for her! She was exactly what I dreamed of, a magnificent blonde with breasts so big that she could not find a bra which fitted her, so they were trying to escape from all sides! In more, she was looking at me, but I never knew if it was with compassion or horror for my acne-ravaged body. Not ideal to flirt... In more she was with her parents, so I never dared to approach her. I hoped she did it herself, as I did not wanted to impose her the acne. But she never did… And of course, I never saw her again... but she haunted my daydreams for a long time, as my ideal companion.

 

 

Unfortunately, this Hendaye affair ended badly, with my father nagging my brother Serge to the point that he ran away. It was serious enough that my mother decided we should return to Mont de Marsan earlier than planned, leaving my father alone at the store. Serge had a rough time after this episode, but he eventually got over it. But for my mother, it was too much, and a divorce became inevitable.

 

 

Summer 1972: The Morhange Talc Scandal

(Permalink) Written in November 2019.

Another unsavory episode during that summer in Hendaye was the Morhange talc scandal. This talc contained hexachlorophene, a bactericide, which everyone thought was harmless, and even good for health (due to confusion with chlorophyll). Advertisements touted its presence in Signal toothpaste, the one with the red stripes (from which it was discreetly removed shortly after). However, American studies had just shown its dangers, and this additive should have already been eliminated, and never even used in the first place. But as usual, idiots have to fight pointless rearguard actions against the establishment of the truth.

What happened was an employee's mistake, who mistook a drop of hexachlorophene for talc. A batch of poisoned Morhange talc was put up for sale! Like in a nightmare, babies were falling, victim to encephalitis, sometimes fatal, often disabling (cognitive delays).

Of course, in these kinds of situations, it often takes months to find the culprit, as with thalidomide. But here, since the disease affected infants, there were not so many possible vectors, and the culprit was found relatively quickly.

We heard this news on the radio, as always with the radio, news from another world, without realizing that it could affect us personally. In fact, it almost seemed that the campsite owners' baby had been quite seriously affected. So the problem was right at our doorstep.

So we were sitting at the table that evening, listening to the radio with these unpleasant news.

 

When suddenly it hit me.

 

We were selling talc.

 

I immediately got up from the table and went to look in the shop: there was Morhange talcum powder! We had sold that filth, without knowing!!

 

Of course, I immediately put the boxes in a cardboard, without waiting for objections from my father, who was already opposed to ecology. But faced with a fait accompli, he closed it. Sociopath, but not reckless.

 

Some days later, a police officer came to collect the boxes. I was proud to show him that they no longer were on the shelf. It was my first action for ecology, even though at the time few were even familiar with the term.

 

The Morhange company was convicted of gross negligence.

 

They were pardoned a little later by their buddies in the «left» wing Mitterrand government.

 

But the Mitterrand government never amnestied the disabled victims of Morhange.