fluent German.  Once in Holland, I stayed, Galen went on to Scandinavia, Royal went south to Paris.  We later met at the Bastille, where I was doing a miserable job of trying to uphold my infantry training at a shooting gallery.  Next to me was a smug, young, red haired French lawyer, who was deadly in his shots.  We were shooting for bottles of champagne suspended by a string through which a piece of chalk was knotted.  If you hit the chalk, you win the bottle, and I hadn't shot one!  Thank heaven for Royal’s farm upbringing, which included lots of hunting...he took over and we won so many bottles, we couldn't drink them all.  Those that we didn't we tried as  shaving aids...doesn't lather too well, but not so bad as an after-shave.  We wandered about Paris.  Later that afternoon at a neighborhood wine bar, some of our American young political world savers were pontificating about the perfect (form) of government (or non-government)...anarchy.  We turned to them and quietly asked: whose going to pick up the    garbage?  Who'll keep the streets clean and repaired?  Dead silence.  That evening we explored Pig'alle.  And by the time I headed to my pension, it was closed for the night. No problem, I just went to the Cathedral at Notre Dame, and made my peace with my God until I could get back to my room.

I then went on to Greece, and we later met again in Holland for our return.  He was enraptured with Harriet, a student aboard ship whom he later married.  Royal, Galen Winter and I then hitchhiked from Quebec back home.  In our last year of law school, Royal encouraged me to become a public speaker about the situation in Greece (the civil war between the Russian supported rebels and the Greek loyalist-royalists), and also got me involved in my first political venture...attending the huge student turn out to meet with and hear the rising star of the Northland and national politics, Harold Stassen.  It was from the latter I learned the technique of political handshaking...extend, but don't squeeze...like a dead fish.  In that year we also  mastered the art of golf, drank lots of beer at the student Rathskeller, then go to the driving range...worked like a charm until the next day, on the course, when completely sober, it was slice, slice, slice!  We also mistakenly thought each other had expertise in sailing.  I relied on Royal because he had been a naval officer in WWII and he on me because I had sailed on Lake Michigan at age 8 and later flirted with boats on inland lakes as a child.  We assured the UW boathouse attendant we were capable sailors and took off beautifully out into Mendota but were later both shocked at the lack of our respective skills as we tried to bring our rented craft back to our mooring buoy running down wind.  We made it but the boat attendant muttered something like " I thought you told me you were both good sailors".  (Ironically both of us, in our later lives, on two separate coasts, without any contact with each other developed much better sailing skills and again without any knowledge of the other's choice, both landed up  buying the same type of craft, a Catalina 27).

We met again in Washington a year later. He with the CIA, Jean with Social-Sec. Adm., and me sweating out an appointment...Those were exciting times...MacArthur had just come back to address the Congress after (being) recalled from Korea by Truman, and tensions were taut...Royal was gutsy when it came to principles, he had predicted that Truman would go down in history as being one of our toughest & greatest presidents and that night we were  

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