Camelot remembered

The recent tragic event involving the American royal family has caused a period of quite reflection in the Badinage household.
For both myself and my good wife, Devon, the only thing helping us to overcome our heart-felt grief over that senseless and tragic plane crash in the chilly Atlantic Ocean off Martha's Vineyard are the earlier, fond memories of Camelot – and a chance, but unforgettable meeting with John John's father, JFK The First.
It was in late 1960 – the early heady days of the President's reign – and despite protestations of a very bad headache that had plagued her all trip, Devon reluctantly agreed to accompany me to a function at the Australian embassy in Washington.
Only days before, I had been summoned at short notice from my Canberra abode to Prime Minister Menzies' office.
After the usual warm greetings – I believe my admiration for Menzies was in some way reciprocated; there was little doubt at the time my public service career was on a high having just executed a perfect vertical reorganisation of the Fruit Fly Quarantine Board – Menzies told me there had been an almighty cockup, if you'll pardon that expression, in talks in Washington over, of all things, the sale price of several decommissioned US Navy frigates that the US was keen to off-load to an ally.
I protested that my expertise was not in matters naval, but Menzies would have none of such modesty. I was to fly to the American capital immediately, to try to get the negotiations back onto an even keel, so to speak.
And so it was that we were attending this minor function in the Australian embassy when JFK arrived unexpectedly, flanked by a half-dozen secret servicemen.
It seems that at the time, the US was involved in a rather ticklish diplomatic wrangle with Austria, and President Kennedy had decided to handle the delicate political manoeuvres himself.
It was indeed a pleasure to be in the presence of such a charismatic leader, albeit for such a short time.
Nor could you blame this handsome, striking figure for the way he strode purposefully to our corner of the room. We were both men of the world, and I accepted that Devon was in the peak of her womanhood, having only early that year made the final 20 applicants for a position as a Colgate girl on Bob Dyer's excellent Pick a Box television program.
When the Americans discovered we were from Australia, the secret service agents whisked me into a side room and asked all sorts of questions about our beautiful country.
President Kennedy had obviously done the same to my darling Devon, and I could see from the flushed and excited look on her face when she emerged from another room with JFK 20 minutes later that she could not have believed her luck that the world's most powerful man had singled her out to pump for information.
JFK and Devon came back over to me, and the President made it clear that he was planning a visit to Australia in the not too distant future.
"I can't wait to get Down Under again," he said softly, and any doubts over the charisma of the Kennedy clan would have been put to rest by anyone who could have seen the twinkle in my beautiful Devon's eyes at that moment.
I must confess that I hadn't realised that Kennedy must have been to Australia during his war service, but I felt it prudent to say nothing at the time.
I was just so excited to know that if President Kennedy and his beautiful wife Jackie ever did make it Down Under, then the Badinages would be on hand to show them a jolly good time.
All that, of course, was shattered by an assassin's bullet several years later.
I remember that late November morning in 1963 vividly – as I believe all patriotic Australians do.
I had just put on a nice cuppa because Devon had just come in the door about 5am after unselfishly spending the night with a good close family friend – one of our bridesmaids, in fact – who had phoned the night before to say she wasn't feeling herself and could Devon keep her company for the night.
I don't think we'll ever forget that moment when we heard on our wireless that JFK had been cut down in the prime of his presidency in Dallas, Texas.
Our Melbourne flat still had a winter's chill about it that tragic morning, and Devon wept openly as the tragic news unfolded.
I'll never forget the words she used when she finally composed herself and looked across at me, her pitifully sad and tear-streaked face still held in her trembling hands.
"You know, Rufus, I could have changed for that man."
The significance of her comments was not lost on me that bleak morning; bleak in itself, bleak for the future of all mankind.
Although Devon and I have never discussed our voting patterns in all the years we've been married – indeed, it would be quite improper to inquire into same – I have always assumed that Devon would naturally have voted Liberal under almost all circumstances.
That she could have even considered voting for a Democrat – the American equivalent of our Labor Socialist Party in Australia – spoke volumes about Kennedy's power to get under someone's skin and really make them feel special.

Rufus Badinage MBE, now retired, is one of Australia’s leading
experts on politics and public administration having worked as a
senior bureaucrat for various state and federal governments.