Wytze Russchen's 'Oliemannetje'

I saw him again a few years ago. In a beach bar close to The Hague where the Dutch Liberal party celebrated a historical victory. Hardly changed, the mischievous sense of humour was still intact. At the time back in 1996 he was a true phenomenon in the European Parliament. When I had my first job as assistant he held office as MEP four doors down. That was in the old Montoyer building, rue Belliard. Florus Wijsenbeek. Brilliant, eccentric and always contrary. A short fuse, but deep down a lovely man. British humour. If you asked about his old boss Cornelis Berkhouwer, he would light his pipe and dwell on about the good old times. He was very respectful about my boss-to-be, The Willy. That is how he always called Mr De Clercq: The Willy.

That short fuse… At a morning his computer faltered. Florus urgently required an important document and was not able to open or print it. He instructed the IT guy from the liberal group secretariat to help him out. A Brit so I seem to remember. A few minutes later the poor guy entered the office unsuspectingly and started the job. Florus got impatient rather quickly and everybody on our floor heard Florus screaming at the man, summoning him to hurry up. This made the IT specialist clam up. After a while he reported to Florus in stuttering English that the document had now completely disappeared from the PC. Just at that moment I walked by and saw Florus slammed the brave Briton out of his office with his briefcase. Hellish. Later he was reprimanded by fellow party member and former ELDR group leader Gijs de Vries. Certainly a few bottles of whisky werecpoured over the incident. For his anger never lasted long.

He had a bicycle. Some kind of typical Dutch folding bike. He drove to work on that vehicle. Invariably bitten by the bug. When Parliament expanded and moved to the other side of the Belliard street, Florus had to follow. Inevitably, distances became longer. The new building was modernly megalomaniac, Florus hated change. Therefore he decided out of protest to use his bike also inside the Parliament. Florus cycled through the corridors of the prestigious parliament building between meeting rooms and his office. Pipe in his mouth, files gently strapped on the carrier. Comical to watch. Dutch Don Quixote cycling in the wheels of Francophone bureaucracy.

Of course it was not allowed. One almost felt like encouraging him as he drove by. Like on the Alpe d’Huez during a Tour de France. In that period there was much to do about the new offices of the members of parliament. In fact every office had bathing room with a shower, the media picked that up and were hystericallyvspeculating about gold faucets. In reality, the offices were claustrophobically small and IKEA-style decorated. A born moaner, Florus protested. He turned his bathing room to a kind of bicycle shed and promptly invited the entire international press corps, in his office, which eagerly reported on the folding bike in his parliamentary bathing room.

No golden faucets, rather a Dutch still life. Cross-grained again. At a certain moment the Quaestors prohibited member Wijsenbeek by decree to use his bicycle as intra-parliamentary means of transport. We had a good laughter though and everybody mentally pedaled along with Don Florus. A few years later I was assistant to Willy De Clercq. Gijs de Vries had become secretary of state in The Hague in the meantime. The liberal group was now led by Irishman Pat Cox, who later on amounted to President of the Parliament. Florus was still there. It happened during the monthly group meeting. Cox chaired, we assistants slavishly in the back of the room.

By the end of the meeting the fight against Alzheimer’s disease was on the agenda. Several MEPs underlined the severity of the disease and the importance of earmarking more money to fight it. A politically correct and predictable discussion. Who could be against? Florus raised his hand for a while. Cox finally gave him the floor as last speaker. He stood up, put his microphone straight, and cleared his throat. He didn’t say a word. The president reiterated: “Mr. Wijsenbeek, you have the floor!” Florus remained silent during seconds that felt like minutes. Finally, after a long silence, Florus said: “Mr. President, I am sorry, but I forgot my question.” Deadly quiet. He sat down again. This caused some coughing and chuckling here and there in the audience.

I was sitting in the last row and was burst of laughter. I was a big fan of Florus. Authentic and literally one of a kind: a Dutch Don Quixote with a pipe and vélo, biking against the system.

 

From: Het oliemannetje, by Wytze Russchen, 266 pages, published by Conserve, iSBN 978 90 5429 363 7, € 19,99, out on 7 April 2014, www.conserven.nl.

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Comments

  1. Congratulations Wytze for your book launch.
    I’ll miss the event, but already rejoice about the nuggets to be published here in English.

    This first piece makes me think about another famous Brussels character with bike: Frank Schwalba-Hoth, aka the pope of networking.

    As the Brits say in olle English, ‘many a true word is spoken in jest’.
    Or, closer to your own name, die deutschen werden bei diesen ‘Witzen’ lachen.

    Best wensen,

    Christophe

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