I went there in 1948; no local planes in those days, so I made the trip by bus. It was a thousand kilometres, and it took twenty hours. I sat by a fellow about my own age, 24. He told me his name was Karl Packer, but he told me hardly anything else.
He disappointed me because he had so little to say. No opinions, no memories, no tales to tell. Had his home, his education, the war and so on left no mark at all on him? It was very puzzling. I was glad when the pillows were given out, and I could politely try to sleep. 1 hoped I would never meet him again.
The next time I went to Ariston was in 1974. By plane of course. The President was going to 'open' the new town, which had taken twenty-six years to build. I sat next to a man of about fifty, whose face was a book. I guessed he had something good to tell me.
That face was rough, brown and lined. There were lines of worry and of fear perhaps, and two old scars. But over them, and stronger, I saw—success and power. I guessed he was the boss of something. Perhaps he hadn't expected the big job or hadn't wanted it. He had done it well, no doubt. The thing had clearly taught him the power of decision, command. We started to talk . . .
The next two hours were for me the most interesting, adventurous, even exciting that I remember. I did not give a quarter as good as I got. He kept me silent, open-mouthed with wonder.
Our plane landed at Ariston. I shook his hand and thanked him for making the journey so pleasant. I mentioned my name.
'The pleasure was mine,' he said. 'I was Chief Engineer here at Ariston until last year. I built the new town. Karl Packer is the name. Haven't we met before somewhere?’”'