The Mitchell Library was built in 1906 of sandstone in the ancient Greek style with massive Ionic columns and imposing stairs leading to four bronze doors depicting 'studies in aboriginal life' and bas reliefs of the early European explorers. On the floor of the vaulted vestibule and inlaid in copper, is a reproduction of the Dutch navigator, Abel Tasman's 1640 map of Australia. Inside the library is a vast reading room paneled inoak and surrounded by three levels of book stacks. Above them, a vast stained glass ceiling filters Sydney's clear light onto the quiet readers below.

I was introduced to the Mitchell library by my mother during the early days of World War II when we lived in a room on Sir John Young Crescent in Wooloomooloo. At that time, the 'Loo was alive with Yank sailors and soldiers with well fitted uniforms, wallets full of Australian pound notes and on the lookout for any available 'sheilas'. Mother would often leave me at the library knowing I would be safe and able to entertain myself looking at magazines or illustrated books which the librarians or pages would fetch from the bowels of the library. The Mitchell became a surrogate baby sitter and a refuge from what would have otherwise been a boring wait for Mum who was nearby cleaning offices.

When I returned to Sydney and worked as the office boy in a small insurance company less than a mile from the Mitchell, I would buy a meat pie, a sandwich or a couple of sausage rolls and eat my dinner on the front steps where I could enjoy the warmth absorbed by the sandstone steps and the sunset filtering through the old buildings then standing near the historic heart of the city. The library steps were a quiet, private place overlooking the Shakespeare Memorial and the Royal Botanic Gardens. Even though there would be twenty young students studying during their dinner hour and before evening classes, I don't recall loud conversations or being interrupted in my reverie. I envied the students and wished I could have matriculated to attend Sydney University where most of my Riverview classmates were now reading Law or Pre Med.

Even though I was attending the insurance Institute and taking three classes: Introductory Law, Fire Insurance Risks and Structural Drawing, I realized that this would never be my real interest, but merely something to fill the hours after work and discuss with my boss if he chose to talk about it. I was rudderless, my life's sails not yet set and one evening I asked myself the question I have since asked many young people who have come to me for career advice, "What do you love best in the whole world?"

My reply to myself was, "Airplanes!"

The Mitchell Library was built in 1906 of sandstone in the ancient Greek style with massive Ionic columns and imposing stairs leading to four bronze doors depicting 'studies in aboriginal life' and bas reliefs of the early European explorers. On the floor of the vaulted vestibule and inlaid in copper, is a reproduction of the Dutch navigator, Abel Tasman's 1640 map of Australia. Inside the library is a vast reading room paneled inoak and surrounded by three levels of book stacks. Above them, a vast stained glass ceiling filters Sydney's clear light onto the quiet readers below.

I was introduced to the Mitchell library by my mother during the early days of World War II when we lived in a room on Sir John Young Crescent in Wooloomooloo. At that time, the 'Loo was alive with Yank sailors and soldiers with well fitted uniforms, wallets full of Australian pound notes and on the lookout for any available 'sheilas'. Mother would often leave me at the library knowing I would be safe and able to entertain myself looking at magazines or illustrated books which the librarians or pages would fetch from the bowels of the library. The Mitchell became a surrogate baby sitter and a refuge from what would have otherwise been a boring wait for Mum who was nearby cleaning offices.

When I returned to Sydney and worked as the office boy in a small insurance company less than a mile from the Mitchell, I would buy a meat pie, a sandwich or a couple of sausage rolls and eat my dinner on the front steps where I could enjoy the warmth absorbed by the sandstone steps and the sunset filtering through the old buildings then standing near the historic heart of the city. The library steps were a quiet, private place overlooking the Shakespeare Memorial and the Royal Botanic Gardens. Even though there would be twenty young students studying during their dinner hour and before evening classes, I don't recall loud conversations or being interrupted in my reverie. I envied the students and wished I could have matriculated to attend Sydney University where most of my Riverview classmates were now reading Law or Pre Med.

Even though I was attending the insurance Institute and taking three classes: Introductory Law, Fire Insurance Risks and Structural Drawing, I realized that this would never be my real interest, but merely something to fill the hours after work and discuss with my boss if he chose to talk about it. I was rudderless, my life's sails not yet set and one evening I asked myself the question I have since asked many young people who have come to me for career advice, "What do you love best in the whole world?"

My reply to myself was, "Airplanes!"