Legendary Force Updates Its Image

Though its missions and makeup have shifted over the decades, much of the Legion's mystique persists.

It advertises itself as "the school of the second chance" for the man -- it does not admit women -- who is fleeing anything from a broken heart to social upheaval. The typical profile of a recruit, according to Lt. Gregory Gavroy, a spokesman, is "unstable, fragile, someone who is changing countries, has lost his roots, is looking for a new life" -- hardly attributes most employers seek.

Recruits are required to sign up for a five-year stint and must give up their real names and choose new ones. Samual, for instance, chose Gandolf -- for Gandalf, his favorite character in "The Lord of the Rings" -- as his new first name.

The 18 percent of recruits who are French-born must surrender their passports and are given new documents listing them as residents of other French-speaking countries. It is after all, the French Foreign Legion.

However, entry into the Legion does not earn foreign members an automatic French passport unless they are injured while serving.

Like most militaries these days, the Legion offers a variety of job specialties from sniper and diver to paratrooper, cook and bricklayer. It also has a band and a team of marathon runners that tours the globe. However, all Legionnaires must be proficient with a weapon and remain combat-ready.

All of them must also learn to iron their 13-crease dress shirts, a feat that can take first-timers three to four hours to perform.

Though the Legion no longer accepts recruits with serious criminal records -- stealing a chicken is okay, anything much bigger is not -- it is fiercely protective of its members.

"The Legionnaire is seldom an angel, but never a criminal," boasts the Legion's Web site. At the same time, said 1st Lt. Renaud Bellat, who instructs recruits at Bel-Air Farm, "We have no room for Rambos here."

But the Legion is no place for wimps, either.

Just before lunch on a recent drizzly spring day, the drill sergeants ordered an "aperitif" for the newest recruits, a little something to stimulate the taste buds.

A line of eight recruits, stripped to the waist, dropped to their hands and knees in the wet, flower-spangled grass for push-ups -- with a massive railroad tie balanced atop their bare backs.

Next came sit-ups, with the tree-size piece of timber laid across their stomachs.

"Do you hurt?" shouted the drill instructors.

"No, Sergeant! I feel good!" the recruits roared in a single hoarse voice, faces contorted.

"You can never know what it's like until you're here," said Samual, who has earned the famous white hat, called the kepi blanc, that marks the promotion from recruit to Legionnaire. "There were moments when I wanted to die. But never to go back."

Researcher Corinne Gavard contributed to this report.