The flight across the Atlantic took six hours, but seemed no time at all. I almost felt cheated. You should have to stand on a pitching deck, in the teeth of a howling gale, lashed to the rigging to make such an epic journey. At two o'clock local time, we were over the eastern seaboard of America and preparing to land. I saw the highways and cloverleafs, just like it was supposed to be, then we were touching down. Before we could get off a nice American gentleman in uniform came through and looked at us. None of us carried bombs, had fungus growing out of the tops of our heads or were busily engaged in over- throwing the government, so he smiled at us and said we could leave the 'plane. We trooped into the Arrivals building to show our visas and collect our luggage. My case hadn't come through the luggage port so I went over to the customs counter and looked up at the glassed in visitors balcony. I immediately saw the face of Dick Eney, a good head and shoulders above the group of people around him and, in al- most a reflex action of relief at recognizing someone; lifted my arm and waved. He smiled and waved back, the people around him waved too, then some blackguard amongst them raised a huge banner with the words "WELCOME PHIL ROGERS" printed on it. I shook my fist at the group turned to go back to the 'plane saw my case had arrived and decided to stay. I carried it across to the customs counter and put it in front of the customs officer, he opened lt and looked in at the envelopes.