Out of the classrooms and bistros of the Latin Quarter swarmed the students of Paris. If the people did not know France's overwhelming need, the students did—unity behind a towering political figure. If the people did not know the towering figure, the students did—high-domed Ferdinand Lop, teacher, editor, poet, political scientist and perennial Latin Quarter candidate for president.
Shouting, "Tout pour le front lopulaire —everything for the lopular front!" 10,000 exuberant conspirators converged on the square before their favorite Tav-erne du Pantheon, known as the Lopo-drome. Police barred their way. Undaunted, singing their battle hymn, "Lop, lop, lop lop lop, lop lop lop. . . ." (to the tune of Stars & Stripes Forever), they marched into the nearby Salle des Societes Savantes.
Le Maitre Lop, serious and simple in his white celluloid collar, black shoestring tie and tortoise-shell glasses, greeted them from the stage. He wore his usual huge black Homburg on the head his followers say is shaped "like a flatiron upside down, recalling the glory of the Victory of Samothrace." Beside him were his ministers: one in charge of Folklore and Sex, another with the portfolio of Justice, Sports and Leisure, another of Tobacco and Health. The two most important were the Minister of the Fight Against the Opposition, and the Minister of the General Situation. They were "Lopologists," and their program to save France was "Lopeo-therapy"; it called for the elimination olf poverty after 10 p.m., the rebuilding of Paris in the country because it lacks air; the nationalization of brothels. Extremists want to extend the Boulevard St. Michel to the sea, with a comfort station every 50 yards.
"Lop au pouvoir!" A cowbell clanged, bringing the raucous hall to order. Le Maitre spoke: "La politique," he cried, "is a woman one courts and loves." The crowd whistled. Lop continued: "The government is impotent. Now we want realities." The crowd chanted: "Lop au pouvoir—Lop to power!"
Other speakers followed. "We want unity," they shouted. "But we admit opposition—only, of course, to the point where it does not manifest itself. That is democracy. . . . For 15 years Ferdinand Lop, as he took off his pants at night, envisaged taking power the next day. Every morning, as he pulled on his socks, he was no closer to holding power. You must admit that such a man with the same idea for 15 years is not normal. That is why we who are normal follow him. . . ."
Le Maitre spoke again: "Tomorrow I shall be called to power." The crowd responded: . "Tonight, tonight!" Lop re plied: "Eh bien, tonight!" The crowd screamed: "Tout de suite, tout de suite!" Then they charged out on the streets.
The police, tipped off by agents provocateurs known as antilops, were waiting. Le Maitre was snatched up in a Black Maria. Deprived of their master, the students were soon dispersed.
But not long after the irrepressible Lop reappeared on the balcony of a Latin Quarter cafe. "Tomorrow," he promised, "I shall be called to power." Loyally le front lopulaire rallied to cheer him.