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16 / R&R Down Under Finally! My R&R date arrived. On 14 January 1969, I reported to the R&R center at Freedom Hill to go to the continent down under. It is amazing, on driving away from base with orders and bags packed, how much the spirits are lifted. It was a happy exhilaration accompanied by an intense feeling that the sky was bluer, that the grass was greener, and that life was infinitely richer. My next feeling was of bone-deep weariness. The trip was swift on the Boeing 707 jet. We had live American stewardesses , who treated the patient masses with a superior, understanding tolerance , allowing us all to gaze on their unspeakable beauty and think unthinkable thoughts. On arrival in Sydney, after a brief layover in Darwin, we were bundled into buses and taken to the R&R center, where we were briefed on how to handle ourselves, what to wear, what not to do, and where we should not go, and we were warned of dire military consequences if we did any of a number of things (“Number 1, don’t make an ass out of yourself.”). I checked into the Menzies Hotel, one of the finest lodging establishments in Sydney, and set out with the determination of American genius to spend all my money. I traveled alone, which enabled me to meet people more easily if the stars were right, but without another person to talk to and do things with, it was more difficult to relax and come out of one’s shell and get back into the real world. I found myself embarrassingly and uncharacteristically tongue-tied for the first two days. But the Australians would not let me feel like an outsider; I met some of the finest and most gracious people I 114 Chapter 16 have ever had the pleasure to know. On my second morning I screwed up my courage to do one of those educational tasks that one sets for himself, and I went to call on an Australian firm of solicitors (lawyers). I delayed as long as possible and then picked some names out of the phone book in the heart of the economic center of Pitt Street and set off. The first firm that I went to see had most of its personnel either on summer vacation or out to lunch (“tough beans, drop in again the next time you’re in Australia”). I walked downstairs and decided to try one more firm in the building. The firm was Walter Dickson and Company. The receptionist went scurrying off to see whether any respectable attorney had time to spend on an American who just stumbled through the door. Mr. Dev Webber is a senior partner and one of those rare individuals with a keen imagination, driving intellect, and a delightful sense of humor that caught me completely by surprise. I did not realize my good fortune as I entered the office. The offices are not luxurious compared to most modern American standards. Their law is more generalized and less specialized than in the United States, with more of an accent on the personal touch between firm and client and less of the atmosphere of a law factory. Dev was immediately inquisitive and friendly and told me about their methods of practice in Australia and flattered me by drawing on my shallow knowledge of U.S. private practice. I kept looking at my watch, fearing I was keeping Dev past his lunch, when he asked me to dine with him. We ate in what had been traditionally an old club in the economic and marketing center of Pitt Street, and before we parted he invited me to join his family the coming Sunday at their summer house on the bay for a day of sailing. I accepted and had one of the happiest days of my life. Dev had his relatives, Ruth and Peter Flood, vacationing at their house with their beautiful blond-haired children. Peter ranches in the outback and only once a year comes to the city, or its outskirts, to relax. Peter and Dev met me in their sailboat to take me up the beautiful inlet to their cove, where their house is nestled on the side of a steep hill tucked under tall trees. The inlets and tree-studded hills reminded me of Maine, but the Webbers’ keen hospitality was pure Aussie. There was a group of young people as well who had come to work and...

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