The Consul General’s official house in Alexandria was imposing. It was a stuccoed, three-story, British colonial style building. Set in a large garden, the house faced onto one of the city’s major thoroughfares. The property was surrounded by tall palm trees and extensive gardens and were enclosed by a high wall topped with glass shards. Egyptian soldiers guarded its gated entrances around the clock.

Naval Academy exams were fast approaching. Then, out of the blue, Chis called to inform me of the bad news. The McCarthy hearings were taking a heavy toll on Secretary Stevens.

So there he was, wearing a three-piece, white linen suit and a top-grade, broad-brimmed, white Panama hat, sporting round-rimmed sunglasses and holding a long, lighted cigar. He settled into a comfortable, padded stern seat just behind amidships facing forward under a parasol.

The school's Director expressed pride in being able to sculpt young boys into future world leaders by exposing them to the qualities of “English royalty, Spanish honor, German intelligence, Italian ‘joie de vivre,’ American co-ordination, and Polynesian beauty.” He referred to this unique institution as the “School of Kings.”