Kriger - Ricks Cafe: bringing the legend to life in Casablanca

Ricks Caf

Ricks Caf

Bringing the Film Legend to Life
in Casablanca

KATHY KRIGER

LYONS PRESS

Guilford, Connecticut

An imprint of Globe Pequot Press

Copyright 2012 by Kathleen Kriger and Catherine Gandel

Photographs copyright 2012 by Kathleen Kriger, unless otherwise noted

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to Globe Pequot Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, PO Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.

Lyons Press is an imprint of Globe Pequot Press.

Project editor: Meredith Dias

Text design: Sheryl P. Kober

Layout: Melissa Evarts

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kriger, Kathy.

Ricks Cafe : bringing the legend to life in Casablanca / Kathy Kriger.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-7627-7289-6

1. Ricks Cafe (Casablanca, Morocco) 2. NightclubsMoroccoCasablanca. 3. Casablanca (Morocco)Social life and customs21st century. 4. Kriger, Kathy. 5. BusinesswomenMoroccoCasablancaBiography. I. Title.

PN1968.M67K75 2012

792.70964'38dc23

2012027900

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-0-7627-9043-2

To Kylefor allowing your mother to grow up at her own pace

and to Charles, Thomas, and Samimay the legend continue.

Only the tent pitched by your own hands will stand.

ARAB PROVERB

Starring

KATHY KRIGER

ISSAM CHABA

DRISS BENHIMA

BILL WILLIS

Yasmina Baddou

Aicha Ghattas

Hakim Benjelloun

The Usual Suspects

Houssein

Chef Rachid

Abdallah Ghattas

with

Kyle Ewing and Sarah Aberg

Mehdi El Attar

Pacha

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER

Kathy Kriger

DIRECTOR

Issam Chaba

PROLOGUE

Setting the Scene

Full of action and intrigue, Casablanca opens as the camera scans rooftops, a clock tower, a mosque, and finally settles on the frenzied activity in the traditional Arab quarter, the Ancienne Medina.

The police, alerted to the murder of a German courier and the theft of letters of transit that he was carrying, are rounding up the usual suspects. As the bus unloads the shady characters at the Palais de Justice, an English couple observes the action from a lattice-trimmed sidewalk caf, drawn into conversation by a man who explains the scene across the street. The man drapes his arm around the Englishmans shoulder and alerts the couple to thieves and pickpockets working the area. Mere seconds after the man dashes off, the Englishman discovers his wallet missing.

The scene quickly shifts. A landing plane passes over a sign that reads Ricks Caf Amricain . At the airport, local officials, including Captain Renault, the prfet of police, meet Major Heinrich Strasser of the German Reich. They discuss the murder of the courier, and Renault assures the German that his men have collared twice the number of suspects as a precautioneven though they already know the identity of the murderer. Renault plans a public arrest at Ricks Caf, the gathering place for everyone in Casablanca.

Another scene change. The camera again pans over the sign and down to the elaborate carved front doors of Ricks Caf. Faint sounds of music and laughter drift from inside. The doors open to another world. A piano player is singing, voices hum, and glasses clatter. Arches divide the space, and hanging lamps and stenciled lanterns cast dramatic shadows on white walls. Inlaid wooden screens and clusters of palms give tables privacy as customers plot their strategies for escaping Casablanca. A door opens to a gaming room where a tuxedo-clad croupier presides over the roulette table and a cosmopolitan crowd of Europeans and Arabs dressed in their elegant evening finery.

The scene perfectly represents Casablanca in the 1940sexcept the place never really existed. Workmen had constructed the iconic gin joint on a set on the back lot of Warner Bros. Studios.

Bonjour , Madame Rick, said two older men, nodding as they passed me on the street, and I had to smile.

Over the three years of watching the film and trying to make a real Ricks Caf in Casablanca that went beyond what appeared onscreen, a bond had formed between me and the tough saloonkeeper with a soft heart, Monsieur Rick. Somehow his spirit hovered over me as I navigated a maze of roadblocks and challenges. If Im honest, I always thought that Id find a man while following my dream. Instead, with Rick looking over my shoulder, I found myself. The simple yet courtly bow and greeting, Bonjour Madame Rick, made me realize that Id stepped into a role that Id been waiting to play all my lifebut not on a movie set.

After March 1, 2004, Ricks Caf finally existed.

ACT I

Bringing the Legend to Life

ONE

Ancienne Medina

I was sitting in my office at the US Consulate in Casablanca, eight years after I had entered the Foreign Service as a commercial attach. I dont know anyone less suited to government work than you, a friend said at the time, but it was a deliberate choice in order to provide for my son, Kyle, then thirteen years old.

My assignment was to help American exporters and companies bidding on public sector infrastructure projects, andduring an earlier posting in Prague and now in Moroccoit had become evident that my friend was right. My entrepreneurial talents languished, my passion unencouraged and underappreciated by the bureaucrats in Washington. Decisions were made always for the good of the Service, and follow orders became a mantra. But I was at my best when there were no orders, challenged to find my own solutions. Yet I was on the verge of accepting a third posting, more out of inertia than interest.

An unexpected visit from an engineer at the National Water Office in Rabat interrupted my crisis of conscience and the memo I was writing for a US-Africa Business Summit scheduled in Philadelphia at months end. Even though my portfolio covered commercial matters, people often asked me to put in a good word for someone trying to get a visa. Some things never change in Casablanca.

The manmid-fifties, graying hair, dressed simply in slacks and sports coatshyly expressed his embarrassment about bothering me. But concern for his son, who had flown for the Moroccan military and was a finalist to be hired for a Moroccan domestic carrier, overcame his reticence. He needed only to get his commercial pilots license. A flight training school in Florida had accepted the young man, and all his credentials were in orderexcept his visa application had been rejected. While my visitor waited, I called the Consular Section for a fuller explanation.