For those still wed to the delusion that hatred of America is as new to Europe as Old Dutch chips are to Eastern Canada, check out this 1950s reminiscence, sent to the National Review’s Jay Nordlinger (last item):
I distinctly remember as a short-trousered grade-schooler in Paris during the first half of the 1950s passing “US = SS!” and “Yankee Go Home!” (my fondest wish!) signs, and absorbing anti-American insults and threats (“A mort les ’ricains!” — “Death to the Americans!”) and receiving the occasional missile from nearby French construction workers on my way into the American School of Paris, which was then located in the Communist-controlled suburb of Boulogne-Billancourt. This was at a time when the so-reviled George W. Bush was naught but a similar grade-school scamp, albeit in Texas, and occurred a scant dozen years after we’d liberated the swine, and lost a half million of our best and bravest in the process. It only served to puff me up with pugnacious patriotic pride then, and it still does.