I

Introduction
II
Introduction
III
Introduction
CARD
W
I
L
D
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
with Balls
BY
JACK POTTER
IV
Introduction
Copyright Jack Potter
Illustrations and Cartoons Ron Seddon
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner
without written permission of the publisher.
First published 2014
Potter, Jack Wild Card, an autobiography with balls
ISBN: 978 646 92688 9
Website: www.jackthewildcard.com
Email: jack382014@gmail.com
Printed in Western Australia by Minuteman Press Midland
Website: www.bellevue.minutemanpress.com.au
Ron Seddon Email: ron.seddon@icloud.com
V
Introduction
FRONTISPIECE
GENTLEMEN, THREE
THINK AGAIN
VI
Introduction
VII
Introduction
An extraordinary tale of Australian grit and determination across
the wild brown land to fulfll a mighty dream, having had his entry
into a diseased and corrupt industry, (the Australian entertainment
industry of the 1960s) brought up short, by his refusal to perform an
outrageous sexual act on a well-connected performer (named), thus
changing the course of his life immeasurably, and forever.
His burgeoning career curtailed, he became, through vicious innuendo
and malicious rumour, one of the most vilifed and ostracized people
during his youthful career. All he had to sustain him was a remarkable
cache of talents, and a ferce resolve - and uncompromising standards.
Not succumbing to the atacks, his ferce commitment and
unrelenting atempts resulted in his being the frst performer since
the days of James Cassius Williamson to travel the length of the
entire continent following his gifs and determination to provide a
remarkable and cultural experience in every outpost he could reach.
Later adventures, including chartering a plane for 27 days with a
maniac pilot, fghting of every hazard that the outback could provide,
dealing with unscrupulous managements of Clubs, all make for a litany
of experiences unlikely to be able to be tolerated by the average person.
Uncompromising and resilient, his story is one for everyone who
would enjoy to vicariously experience what it is to be able to override
all obstacles and fll ones life with the memories that no mater what
is placed in front of one...whatever one wishes to do...it can be done.
VIII
Introduction ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Ron Seddon for his unending patience, and stoic atempts to comment
(through his graphic skills) on the adventures of the day.
Juniper organization for the sustenance it provided as the wheels
began to fall of my wagon and I retreated from the workforce to
setle (like sediment) into a litle house in country Western Australia
to fnish of a life well lived.
John Sullivan, my old chum, who encouraged me to put it all on
paper.
Peter Gunn, for continuing to sustain my faith in myself and ofer
creative contribution.
Bonnie Truex, Tony McNally, Peter McCredie, Bryan Nason for
demonstrating to me values which inspired me to undertake a
Herculean task and know that there was no turning back.
Amateur Theatre Societies in Mt. Isa, Mackay, Kyneton, Perth,
Adelaide and the Gold Coast who displayed remarkable responses to
my contributions, not chronicled here, but who nevertheless provided
me with added incentive.
DEDICATION
To my true friend John Sullivan
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sure, brilliant if you like, but he was a bastard. Dont know why. But
everyone said so.
IX
Introduction
PROLOGUE
Statements and ideas expressed throughout this book may be
considered by some to be politically incorrect, and they are, even so,
not intended to ofend. They are placed here purely as expressions of
the authors convictions and his retelling of remembrances.
There are renditions of incidents and times which were experienced
during a colourful and confronting life. Anyone reading this book
without an open mind, and who cannot accept truth as it has been
caustically experienced by someone else, would be best advised to take
advantage of the availability of the excellent medications currently on
the market and have a nice lie down.
Quotations are at all times accurate, ofen not complimentary to
anyone, including the author, but may be revealing or just fun to recall.
Because this book is intended as a chronicle of an extraordinary set of
adventures, a great deal of (theatrical) information, pertaining to the
early experiences in my career, has been lef aside, in the belief that
it could limit the appeal of the tale told. Much of this material will be
contained in the Second Volume.
Concentrating on the history and the magnitude of what may seem,
on frst consideration, to be a small tale, will however prove it not to
be so.
No animals were harmed nor words corrupted, misused, mishandled
or devalued in the writing of this book, nor were any words used to
wrongly imply, distort or invent meanings, particularly the F word
which is used with absolutely stylish decorum at all times, even in
instances where it is employed by notable personalities such as Harry
M. Miller, who used it with a liberal fair seldom found elsewhere
in western society. My thanks to him for being the catalyst to my
appreciation of my calibre and worth.
X
Introduction SHORT SUMMARY
Early chapters cover life in a country town, school days and entering
NIDA. Following that are experiences working for JCW Theatres and,
(in an appendix intended for a second volume, life in the sixties in
London). Then 1975/6 working for Harry M. Miller and fnally, but
not least, the bulk of the book is taken up in recounting experiences
travelling Australia in the truck( below),busking full stage plays,
with two tons of staging and efects, enduring an actress who came
on board, assuring us of her pristine character, but who was soon
providing for every cowboy and ringer in Western Queensland,
trapping us, (unable to lose her), thousands of miles from the coast,
performing smart sophisticated humour under the stars to 800
testosterone stoked miners at Capella mine,travelling down a broken
mountain road for miles near Alpha, overloaded with equipment,
without brakes(!)
later through a slurry covered mine site near Moura with a
screaming broken manifold, swerving, drenched, and defying death
(THERES A MOVIE IN THERE, somewhere)
through to Weipa, Far North Queensland, against all odds, during
the Aluminium activists confrontation, arriving unannounced, with
Faithful friend
XI
Introduction $7.50 in my pocket, and three mouths to feed.
back to Cooktown through a bushfre(!) with many gallons of fuel
on top of the load, in plastic drums!
a trip to the Philippines to help an older lady regain her health,
being molested by her, (she had my passport, and was paying the
way!) thinking of England with my eyes closed.
Through the outback with only my wife and child enduring untold
hardships and astonishing performance experiences, at one stage
making it necessary to give the audience screwdrivers to remove the
windows of the building, because too many people turned up,
down through the mining Pilbara to Perth, and afer relinquishing
our play repertoire, continuing to perform across Australia with
a revue style entertainment, memorizing the audiences individual
names(!) and incorporating each of them into the show. (I seldom
take the easy way!)
dealing with drug addicts, alcoholic musicians, who went wild
during the performance, an aging Tivoli ex-performer who had had
more facelifs and disappointments than she had had fagons of red,
chartering a plane and coming down on the frst two consecutive
days in the Simpson Desert OUT OF FUEL with a maniac pilot who
cut the tachometer, lost the keys to the plane, and taught us the value
of prayer for 27 days, (ANOTHER MOVIE!)
coming to learn how to extract the due percentage from the
managers of the venues, even if it meant resorting to fsticufs in the
frst interval of the performance, dealing with rapacious older women
who did not take no for an answer, (and thus validating Congreves
quote, Hell hath no fury)
and rounding of with a speedy summary of the last few years
performing, before retreating to WA to write the book.
XII
Introduction TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. Short Summary
2. Table of Contents
3. Intro. Thank God Im a Country Boy
4. Texas, a small country town, memories, school days, the colt.
5. NIDA, fostering the iconoclast. Do you hear that drum?
6. JCW, and the dark side of the business.
7. London, wonderful London, (and the basis for Volume Two)
8. HMM, the monsters lair..
9. Busking, hiting the road.
10. Tied to a bucking beasts hind leg
11. Magda, the lady, breaking in her saddle.
12. The bike and the bush telegraph
13. The enema, and leting go.
14. Capella, the mirage of success, and the drumbeats louder
15. Blackall/Isisford, channelling Superman
16. Alpha, downhill, and out of control
17. The mine site, the storm. Seconds from death
18. Travelling North, Mt. Morgan, Cooktown and Weipa!
19. Through the bushfre, and a Bush Christmas
XIII
Introduction
20. Georgetown, the Chillagoe experience and litle Danielle
21. Katherine and Darwin, anything goes,
if you dont keep your eyes on it.
22. Alice/Uluru
23. (Take fve) The Story so far.
24. Wild West, the Kununurra riot, and Wyndham,
night of the screwdrivers.
25. Pilbara, thumping, bumping, crash, bang, jackpot!
26. Family and Perth. Nothing more to prove. QED.
27. Hiring and Firing, Afordable Vaudeville
28. The Commitee. Design a horse, produce a camel
29. Flying with a Fool, Down in the Simpson Desert,
praying for 27 days.
30. Club Managers, and other vermin
31 The MO
32. Sexuality, proclivities, and disastrous women,
(for the curious)
33. Writ on Water, when all is said and done
34. Boys will be boys
Notes
14
Chapters
3. Thank God Im a country boy
The Amazon is going...(yep) the Amazon is gone...dammed out of
existence. Soon we will not associate the name with a river, a primitive
frontier. It has another connotation for us entirely. The times are
certainly changing. The highlands of New Guinea will soon be a new
place, far richer than in times past. The gold it has now will be gone.
But no mater, they will be fully aware of the doings of Kim
Kardashian.
You cant stop change. A googol is now a google. Even the spelling is
not the same. And neither is the world as I knew it.
If its done today, its gone tomorrow.
Frontiers are tumbling, opening up the experiences of areas, untouched
by the benefts of informed (to you and me, American) cultural and
intellectual development.
Consider the outback of Australia, sparsely scatered with a resilient
breed, dedicated to the sameness of daily life. Satellites and the
internet have now made life easier for folks, who until recently were
saddled with the loneliness and distances of the great outdoors. Now
they are able to enjoy the delights of sitcoms, Pentagon propaganda,
and the contentions that they have now everything and more than
sufocating city dwellers.
It was the seventies, and change was on the way. Out of nowhere,
through the dust, in a dirty old truck, someone (yours truly) rumbles
along, momentarily rippling the still waters of those predictable
social activities, activities largely dictated by the local publican the
man with the weekend focus, cold beer.
Excitement wore a diferent cap, and excitement touched their lives,
enriched their lives, on a weekly basis, with the possibility of a ding
15
Chapters
APPENDIX
Well, some of my clearest memories of my childhood, are of waiting in my
home town for the movies Saturday night, (Dad shouted us all a meal at
Cominos Caf, waiting with the children of the town moving between
the three hotels, and asking anxiously Seen Bluey?
Bluey Christensen was a reliable source of Sady arvo free entertainment.
Naah I think hes down the fat. My dusty litle home town was split
in those days into The Hill and the Flat, self-explanatory, I think,
until suddenly there would be the call,Blueys up the top pub! and all
the bicycles were of! A scatering of kids of all ages to the top pub.
If Bluey was there, thats where the action would be. Sure enough
dong brawl between two established locals as the shuters went up,
went down, or just stayed open till the publican bloody well liked.
For the kids during mid afernoon, it was beter, it was cheaper than
the matinee at the pictures. In the eyes of the locals then, this was
REAL entertainment.
16
Chapters
it wouldnt take long. Nowadays he would be considered to have an
alcohol intolerance, but as far as we were concerned all he had was a
terrifc right hook.
There were three pubs, no policeman that I can recall, (there was one,
Im sure), and three brawls every Saturday, .and Bluey was king of the
heap. Well, he was to the kids, but he was the devil to whomsoever he
chose. The dust, the fury, the noise, the milling crowd fexing its shape
across the unmade street. No trouble with stopping trafc, there werent
enough cars to worry about, and everyone seemed to be at the fght,
everyone except the ladies who were marooned in the isolated ladies
bar on laminex chairs. Only the best. And all drinking shandy.
Eventually Bluey would stagger of, bruised but undiminished, in the
direction of the other pub, and we would wait the anxious forty fve
minutes before he could provide us with another display of his killer
blow. Thank God (Anglican or Catholic) there were people having babies
thirty years earlier. The question of concern, would they grow up fast
enough to supply Bluey with fght fodder, or would he have to rely on
imports (i.e. shearers or immigrant Balts).
But he was a master of his craf, and seemed to supply his own opponents,
well, fnd them.
And we didnt care. It was a Show, and it was free! Go Blue ...Our
Saturday champ, and the only performer of any stature likely to regularly
show up on our streets.
Performers, of any note, (except for Blue) stayed away from the country,
they lingered in the cities, the cars out there in the country werent good,
sixty miles an hour(!) was the unthinkable unatainable peak speed of
any moving object on the road, unmade and barely bearable.
Did you see that car go through? He must have been doing SIXTY
MILES AN HOUR! WOW! Another ripple.
17
Chapters
The garages werent good, the roads werent good, and they were mostly
rough, gravel, unsealed, the distances were huge and the prospect of
taking entertainment out there of any artistic content, was zero, if
one doesnt include Hollywoods blockbuster contributions, which
seemed to reach the furthest outposts if it possessed an electricity
generator.
And there was the added expense of having a front man travelling
ahead to put up posters, to break the ground, a very expensive
facility. But with the technology which was to come this would not
be a problem.
But then, there was another issue, the basic issue that most performers
desire to be somebody and the outback of Australia ofered this
prospect to very few not holding a guitar.
During the preceding decades it was an accepted fact of Australian life
that if performers want to get recognition, they must go overseas.
And they did.
APPENDIX
... Hold on there! It didnt mean much to say
the garages werent good. With people like my
Dad...he didnt need a garage! I never saw him
go to a garage for anything. There seemed to be
nothing that could go wrong in the engine of
my Dads cars, simple as they might be, that he
couldnt fx with a hairpin (a bobby pin) from
Mum, a wire coathanger or a silk stocking. You
beter believe it.
18
Chapters
APPENDIX
Errol Flynn, the Kellaways, etc. would have amounted to nothing if they
hadnt gone, and while I was preparing do the same thing later, Peter
Finch, and at the same time as me, Clive James, Dame Joan would they
have ever made it without the blessing of superior critical intellects
available to appraise their worth. Hmmm at least that hasnt changed
today, that patern just repeats...
There was a mindset in the Australian way of thinking, reaching back
even to as far as the days of Dame Nellie Melba,
She proved that it wasnt the creative content that matered to
Australian audiences at the time, it was the fact that once Home
Sweet Home had been accepted as the yardstick of pure and solid
sentiment and you could come home, sing it, the audiences would
salivate at the sound. Audiences in the cities at frst,
But with the coming of the phonograph this experience was able to
be shared by folks, who, scatered across the wide brown land, could
feel that they had not missed out on the cultural gif being handed to
them by one of their own returning, again and again, to delight and
reward their inability to acknowledge her in her own right until she
had somehow proven herself, overseas.
Americans seemed to have the monopoly on all means of
communication in those times, phonograph, cinematograph,
whatever, (in the absence of town supplied electricity) either wound
by hand or, in the case of the cinema, employing its own generator,
down the back, and not impervious to breaking down, precipitating
a volcanic eruption of whistles, cat calls and general misbehaviour,
over and under the canvas seats.
In those days when Australian cinema was staggering to gain an
19
Chapters audience there was a flm director named Charles Chauvel, who made
the memorable flm with an aboriginal girl as the central fgure Ngarla
Kunoth, a flm called Jedda. His brother, Temple Chauvel owned our
litle cinema. I imagine I will drop a few names as I go through.
Let that be the frst. Even in Texas.
But the simple artistic messages which did travel to us, musical
vignetes like Old Shep, Red River Valley, were promoted via the
eminently portable musical accompaniment, the guitar.
Someone who could play the guitar was much likely to atract an
audience than that mysterious organization which produced the
occasional event intended to entertain and enrich our lives. The Arts
Council. The Anglican minister and his wife used to go.
Without the Arts Council graziers up and down the country would
have been unable to entice well educated and sociable young brides
to venture west There they could participate in creating a social fabric
in these far fung communities. I know this, because years later these
very brides/wives would provide the catalyst for an audience to form
for one of my foolhardy ventures, out bush.
If there were travelling shows in those days, shows of real substance,
like Jim Sharmans boxing troupe it was also the domain of travelling
road/tent shows of the ilk of Sorlies Follies, the many travelling
circuses and the indefatigable Snow White and the Seven/Six/
APPENDIX
Were not talking middle ages here .This was so even in the
ffies, and even then our litle house in town was provided
for by a small gas tank in the sleepout(enclosed verandah),
which we pumped up to pressure with a bicycle pump! It
might have been yesterday to me.
20
Chapters sometimes Five Dwarfs, the story of Tibor Rudas, (who later promoted
Luciano Pavaroti. One does not need to surmise where he learned his
skills.) Nevertheless they all brought their own generators.
Until this happened, indeed afer it had sporadically rocketed some
erstwhile performer/s into the deep back country, under the Arts
Council banner and its sponsorship, movies, the principal form of
blockbusting entertainment were imported to here with equal lan,
as they may have been to the far reaches of Tibet. Hollywood based
entrepreneurs could aford good front men.
We could go to the movies for thrippence. Saturday.Oh Daaa-d, oh
Daaa-d, it looked really good in the shorts (trailer to you) las Sady.
Oh Daa-d.
You didnt need a front man if theyd sent a trailer. And it was a bonus
if the program contained, a serial, and even beter, a Tom and Jerry!
A Pete Smith speciality, or a road runner...Yeah!!!. We didnt roll
Jafas, like the other kids. Thrippence was quite enough. Well, for an
icecream, another thrippence. Yep, times change.
But in the western corner of Queensland on the river which forms
the not-so-straight-as-a-dye southern border, there lies that very
unimposing litle town, called Texas.
Texas. Yes. Its there. See for yourself. You might need a good map...
But its there.
APPENDIX
Established as a tobacco growing area, and to my knowledge
that was the reason for the name, a tenuous link with the Lone
Star State. During my youth that seemed to be the principal
cash crop...I know my Dad grew it, as well as tomatoes. Boy
did the folks in that area earn their dough...and nobody could
beat folks like my Dad for puting in a good days work.
21
Chapters One of the most unforgetable experiences of this litle town was the
fact that during my childhood I enjoyed, as did all children of the litle
school, being taught by the most remarkable man.
He was a teacher who was graced with the skills to demonstrate and
make the most wonderful working miniature models, even in the
days before we all came to know what diodes, and malleable working
materials were that would light up with intricate electrical circuits
that would allow him to create dioramas behind glass, decorating
them in a lifelike style to illustrate the habits of small animals and
wild life.
He showed us how to pin buterfies, (afer killing them as painlessly
as he assured he could), Silk screen printing, in the days long before
copiers, taught us how to work with a stylus to make the copies with
stinky ink.
He taught us modelmaking, aeroplanes, boats, taught me calligraphy,
brought my homework to my bedside all writen in the most beautiful
handwriting, took us around the wonderful Australian bush on
a Bush Ramble every month that the weather permited, taught us
how the birds and the bees did their thing, had the most wonderful
encyclopaedias from which we would research any subject which
provoked our interest, gave us unlimited time in legitimate instruction
and was an inspiration to every child.
But he had one problem.
At the age of 11, I (astutely, it would seem, confused but loyal) said
to him, I dont want to do this, to which he replied OK and
stopped.
That was in 1952.
In 1992--- .wait wait wait---weve just jumped 40 years. (You may
need to keep up), I found him (through a performance I was later
22
Chapters to give at a country town in which he had subsequently lived), and
acquired his telephone number.
He came to the phone and I started You wont know who this is,
but you were the most wonderful teacher I ever had, and you taught
me things that I have never stopped using in my work today, ticket
writing, artwork, creativity in so many forms, language, things
which gave me the satisfaction of achieving standards that I couldnt
possibly have reached without your guidance
He cut in, mildly and respectfully, I know who this is. Its litle
Johnny Poter. It couldnt be anyone else.
We continued for quite a while, and arranged to meet in King George
Square in Brisbane days later, an unforgetable encounter. Forty
years had passed. I had been round the world, and endured so many
profound experiences. He was no longer the lanky moustached ex-
soldier that I had known, who had trained in Hinchinbrook, Canungra,
and serving in the Celebes and Borneo.
He was now a litle old man who had been through a great number of
trials and trouble in the interim.
He took me to meet his lovely steadfast wife of 45 years, showed me
with pride his grownup children and I know, that afer all those years,
for whatever he had done to me, (and I got of lightly), I forgave
him.
At 11 years of age I hadnt known how to respond to a situation,
except to do as I did, by saying I dont want to do this. I took no
other action. And I sympathise with all those children who did not
come of as lightly as I seem to have done. I forgave him.
THERE WAS AN EVENT THAT WAS TO HAPPEN WHEN I WAS A
FULLY GROWN MAN (22 YEARS OF AGE) IN A DRESSING ROOM
IN MELBOURNE, FOR WHICH I FEEL NO SUCH GENEROSITY.
23
Chapters But moving on. Be gently warned, primed and prepared, dear reader,
If you expect this book to be honest, alarming, and instructive about
some aspects of human nature as experienced by the author, you may
just be rewarded.
As I have already indicated, the alternative for you, is simple.
By 1954, seven miles upriver from Texas on the side of a hill
overlooking the river fats of a farm, with Lucerne, wheat, merino,
and later Charolais Stud catle, was a reasonably large brick home.
This was a second home, a dream home, built by the sweat of my
Dads brow, a man who had had nothing, lef school before he was
ten, and spent all his childhood travelling to and fro, here and there
on Bullock trains, and grew up with no education past the tenth year
of his life. But he knew more than anyone I ever met. And my story
does not compare to the story I only wish I could have convinced him
to write.
Later he was to fnd, as did his twin brother, a wife, and setle down
and enjoy the benefts that the Second World War was not to bring
them.
That was Bill.
Now, on frst meeting you might not think Bill was a big communicator,
you might even say he was quiet. Taciturn, Laconic, terms you would
apply to Walter Brennan, James Stewart, Percy Kilbride, ah, youve
never heard of him? Really? Ever hear of Ma and Pa Ketle? You
have?, then youve heard of Percy Kilbride.
Those fellows, for thrippence, could be seen on Saturday, in the black
and white flms of our youth, up there in their individual manner,
really taciturn and laconic they were. And we paid them. My dad was
free! Everyone knew Bill.
24
Chapters
When Bill sat on the front verandah with my brother Ray, who
managed the farm later, their method of communication was unique,
impossible to capture in print, and perfectly comprehensible to
them.
Quietly, well he did everything quietly, Bill would sit back on that
old threadbare deck chair, we only had one, and with perfectly
remarkable delivery, speak:
(mufed tones) errmmmnmrer rnnnwrr,nr,nrnr...rmnw
There would be a slight pause and my brother would reply in the
same vein, and with identical precision.
hrhrnnnwn mrmr...rwrwn..nn
Without moving, almost without indicating that he had heard, (but
he had)--- a riposte!, ---afer a short break
...nhmhnr
My brother nnnrmrn
Bill: mhr
APPENDIX
Forty years later (here I go again) I was stranded in
Brisbane for some reason and the value of my Dads name
came home to me. I visited a Bank and was desperate to
borrow a large sum of money without collateral.
The Manager said Wait, are you Bills son?
Yes
Oh no problem. When do you want to pay it back? And
the deal was done. My Dads name was collateral. Times
change.
25
Chapters Now, to the casual, unknowing fy on the wall, this exchange would
have covered the following causes.
There were too many sheep in the big paddock
The fence is going to have to be mended when you go down there
If the big ram gets into the long river paddock, we will be in big
trouble, The lambing will be too early
Ill take care of it
Make sure you do.
Now isnt that obvious?
And so, although I cant say that I came from a long line of
communicators, there is a certain veracity to that claim, should I
make it.
I was never a farm boy, and I can illustrate with an example, because
when my mother would come into my room, on a frigid winters
morning before dawn to tell me that it was my turn to go...get up,
I would grudgingly crawl from my bed, I would dress, and take my
.22 rife, make my way sluggishly down the hill to the frost encrusted
paddock, without any form of heating except the maximum amount
of clothing that my torso could carry, and park myself under a tree to
guard the lambs from the ever present (and seemingly impervious-
to-cold) foxes, where I would spent the next few miserable hours,
with my fngers so cold that I was barely able to turn the pages of my
beloved volume of William Shakespeare.
I was not, I fear, the typical farm boy.
26
Chapters
4. Texas, just a small Hamlet
May I choose not to lumber my readers, with endless anecdotes,
stimulating and evocative as you may fnd them?--- except for their
inclusion in a time capsule in which someone may, in some future
misguidedness, include Life in a small country town my anecdotes
would hold, I fear, very litle merit. Hmmmm, I am prepared to be
wrong.
However, somewhere in my recent or not so recent recollections I
recall someone making the stunning analysis that one person on the
silver screen, more than any other, was the inspiration for young men
to decide to take up a career in entertainment. And it was true...well,
it was certainly true for me..
His name was Fred Astaire.
An obscure train of thought, (particularly as not everyone escaping
from Texas would see himself tripping the light fantastic worlds
away), but Fred did make a life in performance seem very illustrious
and desirable to a young boy.
Well, there was one young boy, whose adorable mother was a born
hypochondriac, who persuaded him, (when she wasnt urging him to
shoot foxes in the frost), that he was sick, and should go to bed.
You have this disease or that disease at one stage even taking me to
St. Vincents hospital, all the way to Sydney, with poliomyelitis (very
fashionable 1952) on the right side, and Chorea (St. Vitus Dance) also
fashionable, on the lef side.
One of my indelible memories was of my mum visiting me in hospital,
and while siting by my bedside saying Darling, try to move your
hand just a litle bit, just a litle bit...no darling, keep that hand still.)
She was a darling mum, but there was no disease with which we were
27
Chapters not at any moment likely to have a frsthand experience.
However at the age of 13 I had already having established myself, at
the slightest provocation, (at a party, a Saturday night ball-- suspended
for the moment) well, at my mums provocation-- I would deliver a
monologue (also very fashionable at that time) called What is a boy?
in todays terms, bilious, and worthy of inclusion in the last ffeen
minutes of any Stephen Spielberg movie, possibly as a burning house
sinks in the raging ocean and all the animals, (heretofore brutally
treated), escape in a hot air balloon.
I believe Stephen Spielberg may have seen the same movies as I did.
But nevertheless my contribution was inficted on the longsufering
inhabitants of Texas.
Ahh Texas---memories---entertainment---bicycles, dust, inkwells, a
succession of dogs, most of whom eventually fell victim to dogbaiters.
Not everyone was nice, obviously.
But NOTHING would have happened except the Race Day, dust,
sticky lemonade, cars parking and moving, dust, race callers on bad
PA systems, children running around (in the dust), bleeding knees,
broken collar bones, sticky sweets, pies flled with dust, and the
eventual roundup into the old ute, (a pick up to Americans who
may read this), and home. Bringing home had a substantial coating
of dust.
God knows how we ever got rid of the dust, and whether the plumbing
handled it. Mum would be there just the same loading up the wood
heater for the bath, and all of us, limp with fatigue would be rinsed
and have no trouble going to sleep in the sleep out. the enclosed
verandah of the frst litle house my Dad had built, piecemeal, in
town.
Before I forget, we had organisers with a diference: Hughie Grayson
28
Chapters and Nell Connelly---now there were entrepreneurs with a charter.
NOTHING happened, (if ANYTHING happened, in Texas) without
Hughie and Nell engineering it. The entire calendar of major social
activities, such as Texas could muster, (except for the movies, and Im
not sure that they didnt organize them too) were directly due to the
eforts of Hughie and Nell.
The event around which the year was built was the Childrens Fancy
Dress Ball which took place around October each year.
Oh boy, was that a night! The planning, the preparations, rehearsals,
children, the supper room flled with every bizarre creation crepe
paper and cheap fabric could be twisted and stitched into, the frenzied
assembly in the supper room, and suddenly--- that piano, sax and
drums. Ta dum ta dum dum dum, CRASH! out the door into the
huge hall, in what I recall was a HUGE train , frst in pairs, rapturous
applause, hysterical parents all vying for the frst prize, around the
Oh my god ... straight down the centre!
29
Chapters large old wooden hall, enormous. And the whole orchestra, Piano
(Chappy Malone) and the Ben Bauer on sax and Charlie Wolfe on
drums huge!), round the hall then again and now a major exercise in
sophisticated deployment!
The frst couple goes to the lef, the next couple to the right!...amazing...
the third couple, yes, to the lef.. the fourth, bated breath.. to the
right!..fantastic...and now they are marching neck and neck ignoring
the urging of the parents from the sidelines, like, not one Birnam
wood, but two, made entirely of glistening stuf and they meet at
the centre of the far end of the hall!, and now, No! they are going to
march straight up the middle in fours!, Oh this is too much!, and as
they reach the stage they split! Theres a gasp and the frst couple go
to the lef- perfect!- just like the House Guards at Buckingham Palace.
Before we can draw breath the second four has reached the stage and
they turn!- to the right- astonishing- and one who has never been
to one of these event might wonder what can they possibly do to
top this? as they are all making their way down the opposite outer
edges of the huge dance foor turning, turning as the reach the far
end, turning, facing, facing the opposing approach of the second four,
turning, and yes , they are going to do it-- they are going to march
STRAIGHT STRAIGHT DOWN DOWN THE CENTRE OF THE
HALL IN EIGHTS.. Oh God the parents are apoplectic...
But wait, theres a problem! I knew that litle Collins girl was going
to be trouble-- shes breaking ranks!-- shes bolted-- across the room
to Mum-- Oh her lifes not going be worth living-- the town will have
something to talk about for weeks.
And so it goes on, fairies, monsters, Don Bradman, Shirley Temple,
aboriginals, lots of shoe polish there (cheap), Kings, princesses, the
Wicked Witch, its all new, its all been seen before, the costumes
are reimagined and the whole thing put together with the spur of
30
Chapters winning the prize, frst prize, second prize. And who are the Judges?
Hughie and Nell!
By the end of the night, with children asleep, (costumes ragged,
moulting), in their parents laps, Chappy wearing out on the piano,
well, his right foot does all the work, and everyone wondering whether
it was all worth it, its all over.
And one year it really was all over... the hall was a huge edifce built
completely out of wood, (very combustible), and with a huge supper
room,..(where else could the Fancy Dress participants gather)...until
one fateful night, when Joan Beard went to a dance in the hall without
Donny Schwenke. In fact she went with someone else!
The blaze was enormous. Donny made sure she didnt do that again!
And that was the end of the Childrens Fancy Dress BallIt was like
the end of an era. I dont think Hughie or Nell ever recovered.
On looking back, as one is inclined to do during the mellowing process
of aging, it is startling how the changes have been that we drif
through since childhood, a childhood to the current day, changes
Nells notes, October 1945.
The little Lennon boy is a bugger. He kept treading on the
brides train. Thought it was funny. Mandrake the Magician
and Lothar his nubian slave were found making life difcult
for Princess Narda at the back of the outside toilet. Boys
will be boys. First prize to Witchettys tribe, a Malvern
Star donated by Hong Yuen, cant imagine what cleaning
them will be like. Cases of yellow jau jorndice for weeks.
Second prize to The Spirit of World Peace, but shell come
unstuck riding her bike (donated by Ah Ques) in that gown.
And what am I supposed to do with her bird in a cage. This
business of being a judge is not straightforward.
*4.1
31
Chapters which seem to be so striking that to describe them to someone of a
later generation makes it all seem too hard to actually be believable, as
if they were experiences that could only be seen, with any legitimacy
in an old movie. To have actually lived them seems to be beyond the
pale.
Every time I hear Tschaikowskys Nutcracker Suite I fnd it hard
to believe that wasnt writen for the Search for the Golden
Boomerang.
There would I be in 1950, years before anyone thought of vinyl
recordings, portable radios. Elvis Presley was six years in the future.
The only instrument on my neighbours back verandah which could
provide me with any musical escape I would wind up. It would then
play for approximately two minutes ffy seconds, time enough for
me to listen to Mrs. Higgins and the Plumber, over and over and
over again. And Ive never heard it since. Two Black Crows, yes,
but Mrs. H? Gone into the mists.
But at 6 p.m. exactly, hunched down in front of a looming large veneer
paneled radio in the living room of my parents litle wooden home,
I would huddle in wonder at the extra terrestrial adventures of the
hardy crew who inhabited that precious ffeen minutes of my day in
the Search for that elusive bloody Golden Boomerang.
Early evening afer dinner, the moment that the family took to heart,
was the time to sit on the front lawn which had been carefully mown
by my dear Dad, with a push mower, well more a lunge mower no
petrol or electric jobs for him, he sharpened the blades on this one.
We would spend family time together, just the family, the freshest
breeze you ever could feel, the crickets out there in the dark, the only
sound there was, no trafc, with the juices from the mown grass
itching our skin as we chated of the day past.
Lying back endlessly amazed at the incandescence of the stars in the
32
Chapters incredibly clear pollution free air.
Life seemed so simple, but that was what it was, except on Saturdays
when chaos broke in, and extracting a coin for the pictures was the
task afer dinner, or dressing up to go 23 miles or more on the back of
a pickup truck (ute) to the dance out of town.
There was strict community protocol as to where the monthly
Saturday night dance would be, and I would know, because I did all
the posters for the various organisations for the princely sum of 20
pence. I was the litle arty boy who played his accordion and did all
those things that boys dont do, like painting and music and yes all
those things. Strange ...
And when the time came to go the distance there was no rule about
not riding on the back of the truck. Gripping the cabin or the frame
we rode like charioteers through the bush, on vehicles no more
mechanically complicated than a childs batery operated teddy bear,
and speed was of the essence...billowing dust from the preceding cars
in the convoy, dust which hit us in waves in the headlights, dipping
through gullies, bumping and lurching rising to see the red taillights
of the previous car, now its disappeared, and there it is again!
33
Chapters Now weve disappeared, up again, hold your breath, close your eyes,
hang on, and the gullies and creek were merciless, the gravel in the
dip was an impact waiting to be experienced and as we drew near to
the hall the sounds of the piano, sax and drums wailed mournfully
ofering a night of pure indulgence. A rollicking choking ride, and I
cant remember losing anyone.
Drawing up to the hall, parking the truck anywhere on the open land
out in the dark, jumping down, we disembark or spill, its all the same,
were of into the hall far dirtier than was intended when Mum gave
us our nice white shirt.
No time to waste, the children ahead us have been scatering the Pops
Floor Dressing, a wondrous creation of what seemed to be powdered
wood and oil which was liberally scatered and then punished by the
children, employed at no extra cost to oil the foor by sliding down the
length of the hall each time the musicians took a break, then turning,
racing and sliding back again. What fun!
This activity provided the reason for the children to be there. All this
happened in the era before baby siters. The hall was lit by enough light
globes to do the job. No crystal ball. The wall dcor was provided by
many years or rain soaking and staining the timbers and the frames
which made the wall, WERE the wall, unlined, and unpainted and
backing the bench which ran the length of the hall. Not a bit like the
Caf de Paris. Not even a bit. But what the hell, the girls were there.
THE GIRLS.
Around the wall sat all the young ladies of the district in founced
and frilled tafeta and permed majesty. Near the door, looming like
swamp gas stood the powerhouse of the local testosterone. The blokes
lurked there eyeing what was on ofer, but not one of them would be
seen to be so sooky as to approach any of the merchandise and chat.
There could be no cause worthy of sinking so low in the manhood
34
Chapters stakes.
But minutes later we would see Ben Bauer approaching his saxophone
case up there at the back on the unclutered (i.e. bare, very bare) stage
and the word was out. Chappy was ready, Charley Wolf had the
drum kit, complete with cymbals and suddenly, there it was, Ta Dum
Ta Dum dumdum (Crash!) and theyre away!
Each one shot from a gun the young blades splinter out in the
direction of the girl they, individually, had in mind, and within
seconds (God knows how they put it into words so succinctly, so
briefy, so efortlessly, but they did, mostly with a meaningful grunt)
shes accepted they are on the foor one two three kick-forward, back
two three turn and drop swing, swing, swing this is it...this is what
its all about. The Gypsy Tap.
Meanwhile the children have absconded out into the dark, into the
land of bloodied and broken skin, and there would be someone who
would thoughtful enough to provide the frst aid assistance, and all
the while that same girl, slightly plump with an enormous frill around
the hem of the dress and her hair permed almost to extinction, would
be lef alone again.
That was her problem, if it was her turn tonight to be missed for the
frst dance it was like a brand on her forehead..She was a pariah for
the whole night. No red blooded male is going to drop his price once
the others have shown the way.
Until someone like me, twelve years of age, feeling her pain and
exposure, ofers her the opportunity to be my partner. Anything but
for her to be the last one along the wall.
We danced the Losers Waltz. Beautifully. Well, as beautifully as a
tafeta lump and a midget, would.
Shes four times my body weight, but Im hoping to go to heaven. Not
35
Chapters then, not there, but when St. Peter says to me in time, I know you,
youre the litle boy who danced with the McClymont girl just afer
World War Two. Come on in I hope hell remember me...
Meanwhile outside on the open ground at the front of the hall is the
bar!!! Now this is the bar as I recall:
A rough table out in the spill of light from the hall, a table with a
scarred edge where the botle tops have lef their mark before litering
the ground, two forty four gallon drums, flled with ice and water,
demanding only the strongest young warrior (sleeve rolled up), to
plunge his arm down into the cold, cold mix and extract a tallie...
no this is before stubbies, and cans...this when beer was made in
Brisbane at the XXX Brewery.
You saw that right. The XXX Brewery. This is BEFORE even the
XXXX Beer, BEFORE paper and plastic cups, when a tallie cost
two shillings and thrippence. The only light aforded the bar was the
light that spilled out from the door of the Hall, where everyone was
parading round in full electric light. Romantic as we knew it, Bright
White Light.
And the blokes who werent into sheilas would lurk around the bar
table. They had come to the dance because well, everybody did.
And the music always sounded the same, Chappy was the premier
piano player of the district. Well he sort of played all the notes in the
song. Sort of.
Not that he was the only pianist available. If you couldnt get Chappy
for the dance Jeannie Martin could do it. But it usually happened that
we would have to replace the piano when she had played a gig. She
sort of lacked the fnesse that might have been expected. Just as well
not to expect it.
And then there was Madge. Madge Sturgeon. No nonsense, Madge.
36
Chapters She was a rogue our Madge. But everyone loved her. Or hated her.
But when Madge played you sort of had to work out what she was
playing. But you cant have everything. No, get Chappy if you can.
And then its home again. These were tough kids. Up till twelve, back
on the truck and the same trick in the other direction. And were there
any Drink Driving Regulations? Not that I knew of. Just get home,
sober, drunk, and if possible without being sick on your clothes,
fellers.
And all this was done with beer drunk out of glasses. There must
have been brawls, there must have been broken glass, but I didnt
hear of any. Well I mean the broken glass, there were certainly brawls.
This is the bush. Wheres the next dance?
And so I went to boarding school. The frst two years at boarding
school were, as far as I can establish, the basis for all those horror
stories about what it was like to go to boarding school.
My mother had, with meticulous precision, laid down the parameters
for my education. I was not to play contact sports, not to join the
cadets, etc, which meant that for a large part of my frst year I spent a
lot of time with my head down the toilet while it was fushed and not
always with water only...
You might think that those stories of school days and the horrors
perpetrated are exaggerated... not when there were boys like Darven***
The Headmaster had the perfect deployment technique to control the
school so boys like Darven*** were a godsend.
Delegate was his policy, but delegate to the bullies in the school and
the whole school would be subjugated overnight. Thug rule. And it
worked. Evil. But control was complete.
It amused me that later in life that while working in the musical
theatre that a stage door Johnny, who hung around the musical shows
37
Chapters in which I performed was a chap name Graeme Shaw, an accountant
in Brisbane, who delighted in regaling us all with stories of how he
rented the bodies of the very boys who were the Real Men the
bullies of the school which I had earlier atended..including, (you got
it), Darven***
Two years...if I had not followed this two years at this school with the
happiest two years of my life, I could well have ended up extremely
biter. But two weeks before the end of the second year, Boof, as the
headmaster was adequately known, held a full assembly and read
out, in alphabetical order, a roll call of the school, to establish who
was to return next year.
As he marched down the alphabet, and I could hear my moment
coming-- Madson, Middleton, Pinker, and then my name I replied
with a stentorian NO and the headmasters head jerked up like
an elk in the forest as he said...Ill see you later, Poter to which
I timorously replied so that only my closest colleagues could hear
No you bloody wont...a laugh from those around me, and the elk
in the academic gown lifed his head again, paused, a moment, and
continued.
That was my last day at that school, known then as Churchie
known now as Anglican Grammar. A rose by any other name must
have changed its name because it didnt smell as sweet.
But not all memories of that school were tarnished. My German
teacher was GREAT. His name was Gavin Vance, porky in build,
Bavarian in accent, teutonic in atitude but efcient in the extreme.
By my bed to this day, nearly sixty years later one of my treasured
possessions (and it is from that time), is my notebook, in which all my
vocabulary and notes, in a remarkably precise hand, of which I am
inordinately proud, stand. Remarkable, when I see the scrawl that I
present today.
38
Chapters From 1954 till now it has travelled around the world, around every
bump on the road around Australia and it is here with me now, all
those years later.
The next two years, (which I will skip over lightly), do not deserve to
be skipped over lightly...they were the halcyon days of my youth, and
indeed my life at the Southport School, a school for graziers sons and
country lads, almost totally boarding students, where I fell in love
with theatre.
Oops, At this point I would not like to lose my readers interest if
that is considered too odd...an afiction which is not an afiction, a
passion which is truly a passion (think AFL), is ofen understandable
only to those who have experienced it, or been close to someone who
has.
From the time I gathered this core feeling into my life, I could think
of nothing else, and for two years although my mother wanted me
to be a pharmacist (you can guess why) I threw it all up, when one
day in November 1958, a large advertisement in the Brisbane Courier
mail drew my atention to the formation of the National Institute of
Dramatic Art.
Now at this point you will not have heard of me, considering you will
have heard of all the other luminaries who have passed through their
portals... well, there were no portals in those days-- let me brief you
on what life was like then, but frst--
I rocked up, bright eyed and bushy tailed with two pieces... at 21...
daring to edit and perform, solo, a scene from Stanley Kowalski
in Streetcar--- the temerity of it all--- and following it with a
number from Gilbert and Sullivans Gondoliers. A spectacular
combination..
Optimistic, but still a country boy, I tried not to hope for too much,
but the gentleman taking the audition was an old school British
39
Chapters Actor with a booming Dear Boy voice, Clement McCallin who, as I
fnished, called me into the stalls, and informed me that although there
were scholarships to be awarded still, he would take it on himself to
advise me without any leter of confrmation required, that I was the
frst person across the whole of Australia who was to be accepted
unequivocally into the draf, there and then.
Well, I couldnt have given a damn about a scholarship, I was in!...
40
Chapters
5. NIDA
THE LOOSE CANNON
It astonishes me the hardship I was prepared to endure to follow my
dream.
Doing everything to survive, stealing milk of doorstops, I even slept
in the experimental sheep installation...yes, Ive actually slept with
sheep, they were very accommodating.
But lets be honest, Id grown up with sheep...sleeping with them was
only a small step. (Let me be clear, I only sleep with sheep in the
winter, obviously, what do you think I am?)
Clearly, I remember, one day having only twenty cents on my way to
class. How to get the most for my twenty cents? Walking the four of
fve kilometres to class, along Kensington Road to the University of
NSW....
Mmmm greek baklava...energy...twenty cents... should get me
through dance class. Well, it sure didnt take on an empty stomach.
The violence of the regurgitation was sensational!
Spagheti was a safer bet, boring, but all there was. And in two years,
I ate a lot of it. But my passion to succeed was as powerful, as my diet
was bad.
How diferent it was afer the graduation ceremony of sorts, two years
later, that I was taken into the directors ofce and told that if I didnt
sign over a percentage of my future earnings I could not be awarded
my diploma, and the position that was ofered to me, along with
eight other positions to eight other lauded students, would be denied
me.
41
Chapters
THE OLD
BRIGADE
John Boden
Dibbs Mather
THE PEDIGREED
Edwin Hodgeman
HEALTHY IVY
LEAGUE
John Gregg
THEM AS KNOW
MORE THAN US
Ron Finney
Murray Foy
THE ODD BALL
Doug Anderson
THE RATPACK
Warwick Russell
Tommy Dysart
Jefrey Keegan
Myself
THE
INEXPLICABLE
David Ralston
STILL WATERS
Gareth Wilding-
Forbes
THE URBANITES
Lance Bennet
Peter Couchman
Elaine Cusick
Harriet Dearth
Lana Harnet
UNPRETENTIOUS
Robin Nevin
MANIC
Rachel Treadgold
THE INGENUE
Penny Spence
NICE YOUNG
LADIES
Priscilla Thompson
Jeannete Browne
AUTHORITY
ITSELF
Lois Smith
Elspeth Ballantyne
THE DIVAS
Mary Reynolds
Pippa King
ENIGMAS
Rosemary Pyle
Margaret Megson
And Zamita Garais...
not all of whom
fnished the full
time, or graduated.
THE FIRST INTAKE 1959
My esteemed colleagues, at the time, most of whom by
now have passed, like me, into the mists of time, included:
42
Chapters
Green Pastures, from Australasian Post, of the wonderful Jenny
Browne (Mrs. Noah) and the irascible Tommy Dysart (who else
but de Lawd?) and yours truly in the middle, as Noah with most
unconvincing sideburns, all burning bright to succeed.
I would be hard pressed to fnd another of the frst intake who felt that
they had seriously learned much in those frst two years, the range of
talents and potential of that 32 individuals was immense. Those who
were gifed when they went in came out ofen feeling less accomplished.
But times change again, and now the academy has a formidable
reputation.
We had to break the ground before it broke us.
43
Chapters
Those dreadful soldiers harassing the peasants! The soldiers were
Jefrey Keegan (centre) and Tommy and me either side and equally
brutal, the peasants were Doug Anderson suitably compliant, Dibbs
Mather showing how it should be done, Peter Couchman, prone,
and not showing a side of himself...well certainly not his best, and
David Ralston.. earnestly emoting, and in need of further tuition.
44
Chapters
Afer I had lef the academy midway, been lured back with a fnancial
ofer, given the showcase roles, used to promote the Academy on ABC
TV, and then this.!!!
Even if it was early days at NIDA (and everything has to have its genesis),
NIDA had its Genesis. We just didnt see much past Leviticus.
Unless one had a scholarship, and there were only a few of those at the
start, one had to bleed ones parents or deliver papers etc. - you know the
stuf. I chose to clean out incinerators. I would climb right in and scoop
out all the ash. And then deliver papers. Living the dream.
It was of course necessary to fnd cheap digs to share a one room hole
with one or other of my colleagues in Darlinghurst Road, Kings Cross,
I crawled through those two fnancial years.
Which of course would have been acceptable if the tuition had been of
the ilk of Margaret Barr, a modern dance teacher, vegan, vital and
magnifcent in atitude, adored by the students. No one missed class,
rippling through and writhing our way through the morning.
But all was not lost. I learned to afrm my worth when confronted by
would be pretentious individuals, seconded by the Academy in those
early days while all were trying to fnd their feet, (tutors included).
Green Pastures fsh fry in heaven, but just outside political correctness,
and including frst year students, and outside colleges. Bigger than
Ben Hur.
45
Chapters
One special talent we were to be exposed to was that of a gentleman,
John Tasker. What a talent. He and I were doomed to go head to head, and
in my Holden Caulfeld phase I found it very hard to accept fraudulent
aspirations, which came to a fullblooded encounter during the rehearsal
of the passing out Shakespearean efort.
The Moment occurred, during a very lacklustre moment of direction
that, with me taking on the so called clown of the exercise, Tasker,
for reasons of his own, chose to exploit me for his entertainment to test
the number of guises under which I could be persuaded to interpret
my part.
Undernourished, and prety fed up with his uninformed vacillation and
ignorance of what the moment could best provide, I threw a hissy ft.
Oh yes, I can throw a hissy ft. I did. Climbed the cyclorama and accusing
him from alof could only be enticed down, and in doing so removing all
the skin of the palms of my hands in an agonizing experience, sliding
down a rope. Thatll teach me.
But as least my point was made. In a very extreme manner. (Oh, so
youre perfect). I was the clown all right. But he lef me alone afer that.
My diet remained unchanged. Spagheti and more spagheti.
Afer leaving for England I came to know that he had been adopted by
Patrick White as the bright young thing of Australian theatre, as it was
hoped it would be fast becoming, and dear John soon sufered the fall
of Lucifer a few years later, as Patrick White entered a further stage of
enlightenment. I could have told him. And I was nobody.
But to be honest, without quaking, I considered, those two years largely
wasted, and coming out not much beter informed than I went in.
But that was then. And this is now. It is revered as one of the premier
Academies in the World. Still I got some of the best parts in the student
46
Chapters
showcase productions!!!
And in the early days of television who was do the promotion live on
the ABC TV lauding the Academy? Ruddy, redheaded country boy.
Everyman. Yep. Me.
Afer the fourth term it was time to quit,
and I was given a technical job with the
Elizabethan Opera. Only there two weeks,
and suddenly reporters were asking for me at
the Stage Door. Apparently there was bit of a
ripple through the theatre community, who
could only see the Academy as a threat to an
impoverished workforce, and I was called to
the theatre managers ofce and given my
cabfare and told to report to the Academy
Director, Robert Quentin, who ofered a
bursary to complete the course.
Oh well, Ill give it a burl.
I know now why it was ofered, because when the diplomas were handed
out and I was notifed that I was eligible for one. One thing to graduate,
and I was to be given a professional position to kick me of, (as were 7
other students),afer I reported to the Directors Ofce.
Down to earth with a bump, I was told that there was a condition to my
being granted a diploma. All that was required of me was to sign for a
percentage of my earnings for a considerable period of time, or no deal.
The interview was short. Very succinctly I told the Director what he
could do with his diploma, afer which he assured me I would fnd no
work in the theatre without a diploma.
I went into Darlinghurst, to the workshops of the Elizabethan Theatre,
47
Chapters
Asking too much, I was too overcommited, and would accept nothing
but the best, and would give nothing but the best. I guess I had to be
made to pay. Punished.
It would take more than that. At 22 years of age, and in the throes of
my frst big love afair at the time. I thought I was invincible.
In 2004, forty two years later, Dibbs Mather-Brown, one of the frst
intake, informed me that the reason I hadnt been given my diploma
was that I had taken a knife, kitchen knife, carving knife, who knows,
to Robert Quentin, the director, ho hum. It was frst of the colourful
tales about me that I have heard in the last ffy years, the price of
being what others might call a loose cannon, maybe, but it might
also be someone who would not compromise on standards.
A tall poppy. But in a small bed.
Moving on.
Why would this be so? Well because I was considered a loose cannon
and over- demanding on the academy. Of course keep in mind, if you
will, that without a Scholarship, my dear parents were PAYING, and
delivering papers and cleaning out incinerators in order to be able to eat
spagheti all sounds quite Dickensian.
The academy hadnt found its wings yet. The tuition was quite
inadequate, class times were wasteful, and in the main, uninspired, and
down times were passed in the refectory.
told the staf the story, who sent me upstairs to a company rehearsing a
JCWilliamsons Musical, and 20 minutes later I HAD A JOB.
I WAS IN WORK FOR YEARS. No diploma. No doubt about me. First
in. First out. First to work!
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Chapters
6. JCW, and the dark side of the business
Walking into the job with J C Williamsons Theatres, from then I worked
more, longer, and more consistently than I believe the ENTIRE output
of NIDA from the frst three batches. No mater what performance
capacity was called on, I was the one who was called on.
My capacity, dedication and expertise seemed to be noteworthy. It
certainly didnt go unnoticed by the companies I worked in that I was
someone to watch. But it was a compendium of gifs which quickly
became a cross, a millstone, a curse.
I was a journeyman, covering all fronts, doing it all, known in those
names as a swing. As a performer/actor/dancer, chorus/company
member/understudy, small parts, I covered most of the principal
roles in those major musicals, and later when it became too unpleasant
to work in the theatre,(and it did!)I formed a cabaret duo to work
in the Clubs in Sydney, which were thriving and a great source of
employment. None of them needed Shakespeare.
It was during this period of my life, as I will explain shortly, that the
potency of jealousy came to me, when expressed by ones peers. I
must have been the most hated, (unimportant, but not insignifcant),
reviled member of any company, being given positions by overseas
visiting directors against the resistance of the local theatre selectors.
Truly, I must have been the most vilifed performer of my year. And to
this day, no one has ever told me what was said, but whatever it was,
it worked, if ostracising me was the name of the game. So it must have
SPOILER ALERT
A confronting moment in my
life is accurately noted
49
Chapters been prety potent. But that was still to come. If only I could have the
CV to match the reputation.
Even today you only have to mention my name to anyone from that
period of time, and contemporaries will say, that bastard and if
you ask, Why? All they will say , We dont know, but everyone
said so. Years later, (1997 in fact,) I approached a lady to perform for
me in a cabaret performance in Adelaide, and she replied Well, Ive
checked up on you, and all I can fnd out is youre a great performer,
but a real bastard, I couldnt fnd out why.
But I knew why. It was because I never failed an audition in my life at
that time, and had, on audition performance alone, been known to be
awarded/given a role ahead of someone else, (convinced it would be
his). We cant have that.
This tendency was unforgiveable. Ability doesnt necessarily spawn
success in this caper. And to this day, I have never been given a
substantial reason for being so hated. But hated I was. And Im prety
sure my capability was a key issue. Today its colloquially called The
triple threat.
A signifcant moment initiating this one-person pogrom, a more than
signifcant moment occurred in Melbourne during October 1960. I
was appearing in that major musical Irma la Douce, at the Comedy
Theatre in Melbourne, and the director, Bill Rees who was travelling
with the show, accosted me when I came in to collect my pay.
Jack said Bill Rees. Do something for me. Theyre holding the
auditions for Oliver! inside. Go in and audition for so and so, a
small part in the other show.
It is possible in Australia to be a tall poppy, and
be essentially nobody of any importance.
I was both.
50
Chapters Naturally, respectfully, I asked why, and he replied, Because I want
to make a point to John MacCallum, (The CEO).
So doing as I was told, it eventuated that that night the theatre was
buzzing. I had (apparently) acquited myself beter than well. The
quote was you gave the best audition for ANY role(!) that any of the
directors had EVER seen! Hows THAT!!! Big deal.
Its not good news.
During the performance during one of my breaks in the performance,
Mr. Rees took me aside and asked me to be in the Boardroom at 10
a.m. Monday morning. They had big plans for me, I was told.
Up to this point my relations with all and sundry had been not too
bad. But that was now to change. Big time.
The catalyst for my reputation was now to be launched. The North
Korean military generals are amateurs.
Between the matinee and the evening performance the next day,
Saturday, I was called into one of the principals dressing rooms and
the gentleman in that dressing room said to me, So Jackie boy,
weve got big things happening.
Yes, Im prety excited I agreed.
Well he said Did you know that there is only one person in the
whole world who can decide whether you go forward, or stop right
now, and go nowhere
Oh? Whos that?
Me. If you dont get down on your knees, and suck my cock youre
going nowhere.
Afer considerable deliberation, and being aware of the sensitivities of my
readers it has been considered that, as a seminal moment in my life, it is
essential that we demonstrate an action which was to devastate my prospects
51
Chapters in the Australian entertainment industry at the time. Should we have
ofended you your atention is respectfully drawn to the earlier disclaimer.
I declined, I had to go, and immediately lef the dressing room.
As I lef he called afer me, Right, youre fnished. And I was. In the
business, that is, --- for good.
He followed through on his threat. It was not an idle threat. He
unleashed the dogs of war.
He was very closely connected to the Directors, the Management, the
people who hired and fred. And anyone who would listen the whole
theatre community. In the 60s it was far smaller than it is today.
And this became the incident that initiated a major change in the
direction in my life from that moment, in J C Williamsons and the so
called business generally. Fifeen seconds, and the only way was
down.
This is one of the examples of what people mean when they say
Thats show business. I owe no one anything. But THAT WAS MY
CAREER he took. I was persona non grata from that day on, and in a
big way. God only knows what he said. God knows what is still said.
I will be the last to know.
APPENDIX
Who steals my purse steals trash said Iago.
But he that flches from me my good reputation
...makes me poor indeed.
(Oh really, dont underestimate me, boys).
For the second time I had been told Youll never work again. Wrong.
52
Chapters
The stories started.
APPENDIX
One of the funniest ones my Mum told me when she
said how ashamed of me she was, because she had just
met some of my co-workers from the production of The
Sentimental Bloke (in which I was later to appear),
who, with relish, told her that I had been seen standing
on the corner of the street in Kings Cross, picking up
Russian sailors. Yes, they actually told a dear litle
farmers wife that----anything to get me to leave the
business.
Of course I laughed and said Mum, thats ridiculous!
She said Why?
Well Mum, for starters, I dont even speak Russian!
She laughed, saw the absurdity and the evil of it all,
and just said Youre terrible, John. But thats what
the business was in Australia. It may well still be. Lots
of laughs, Im sure. But I cant know. I have nothing to
do with it.
True, that in the fnal analysis I held on to my goal, and
persisted in my chosen line of work, but in the Australian
world of Show business I had been assassinated.
Well, almost. It was not my ability alone that sustained
me. It was my intransigence in accepting the felony.
53
Chapters Over the next few years, I became, (as anyone with ability in the
business in Australia could, so easily become) on the strength of
some false, but salacious fction...
A paedophile (unregistered, of course)
Sexual deviate and predator (take your pick)
Readily available whore, without gender preferences.
A kitchen knife assailant (well, I didnt fnd this out until 40 years
later!)
Generally evil, and opportunistic ( worse than staphylococcus)
Manipulative,unscrupulous, ruthless, unprincipled, who knows what
else (lock up everything).
(Make one up for yourself) Anything you like. Theres no limit.
It is extraordinary for me to profess that I am not biter.
Having other strings to my bow made it easier for me to
adjust. And I did
In the words of the wonderful Tommy Cooper.
Just like that.
The work conditions became unbearable. But I relied during the
next few months on having Bill Reess assessment of my potential, to
protect me. True to Bill Reess word I had been invited to the Board
Room of JCW and received glowing promises of what they had lined
up for me.
I was soon to lose my champion.
That was in October, 1961, and Irma was to close, to be replaced
by a new production of The Sentimental Bloke due to follow it
immediately, and directed by Bill Rees.
54
Chapters I was to atend a joint cast party late in October in South Yarra, and
when I arrived there was a great crowd of performers outside.
Bill Rees was dead.
It spelt the kiss of death for my immediate prospects. I had by this time
been contracted to the next production, The Sentimental Bloke(one
can imagine with Bill Rees being my champion against all comers I
was secure, (he didnt let scandalmongering afect him) because Mr.
Rees had confdence in my abilities, he had a role scripted for me
in the new production, a role which was then scrapped, and I was
relegated to the ranks of the company, a company which contained
more toxic vaudevillians than probably any production in the entire
history of Australian Show business. A replacement for Bill was
installed.
Lety Craydon, Jean Batye, Lulla Fanning, Ron Shand and Robert
Levis were a mix of personalities that could, in each others company,
melt tungsten, and the tour was eventually closed a year later in New
Zealand, when they started taking knives (real knives ) to each other,
severely curtailing the tour. I had resorted to changing my name in
the Programme, aware as I was that my original name was a source
of spleen and bad blood. And I continued to avoid my own name,
to avoid being associated with it. But I STILL KEPT ON WORKING.
Was I hated? Are you prone to understatement? To this day I am
listed in programmes etc on the internet, as Anthony Dare. (Sounds
like a brand of trousers). But until I lef Australia I avoided many
confrontations. A bizarre result of unparalleled vitriol and shared
rumour. Unique.
At this time I was taking considerable time over my wardrobe and
personal presentation. To demonstrate the extent of the meanness that
one had to tolerate, (which would explain why I couldnt be bothered
with the industry), occurred one evening, when in the dressing room,
55
Chapters one of the company was particularly taken by a full length coat I
wore. He asked if he could try it on and was immediately smiten
with the quality and the feel.
OK I said if you like it. (I had another one ). You can have it as a
gif.
Why he seemed shocked.
Well, you like it I replied. It is as simple as that. No strings. Looking
back, maybe I was trying to buy his friendship. I think I was.
You wouldnt do that, he answered.
Why not?
You couldnt be that nice.
Oh, Why not? was a reasonable response.
Well, everyone says youre a bastard
So, you dont want the coat?
No, I dont, he replied churlishly, and quickly took it of and threw
it to me.
He would rather sustain my status as a bastard, to be what it said
to be. And if that doesnt demonstrate the tawdriness of the business,
what will?
The role of Ginger Mick in that production was Frank Ward, (later to be
the head of light entertainment for the ABC). Aware that he was being
understudied by me, wild horses couldnt persuade him to relinquish
the stage when a severe protracted case of throat infection reduced
his voice to nothing but an exhalation of air. However eventually the
JCW management insisted, and he stood down, and GUESS WHO
TOOK OVER THE ROLE? At that time I also possessed a genuine
head of red hair, a small bonus.
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Chapters There were independent leters to the papers carrying on about the
standard of my performances. (No, I didnt write them!). However on
his return he casually asked Gloria Dawn, who was playing opposite
him (and me) How did the young fellow go? and Gloria, who in
anyones estimation, was a gracious and talented vaudevillian, sweetly
replied You werent missed.
Not one member of the company (except the wonderful Gloria Dawn)
commented on the standard of my performance, not one member of
the administration thanked me for my efort. I think youre geting
the picture. I certainly was.
Consequently it was interesting to note in later years that my eforts,
which were to be spectacularly well received in a later variety program
in Perth to be broadcast by the ABCTV (Bathers Beach something or
other) were neatly excised from the tape.
Show Biz. You wont beat em, (if they decide you wont). Forget the
quality, feel the hammer. Twenty four years later.
One of the only people who found it possible to be seen in my company
was a very efective, very experienced, very demanding and VERY
capable singer/actor from the previous two productions and with a
long history with the Firm, named Bobby Healy, (bitingly critical of
anyones shortcomings, and because we were both aware that with
the sudden death of Bill Rees, the frm seemed to have lost its artistic
rudder) , agreed with me to form a duo,
We performed independently in the Sydney Clubs, which were
at that time (1962) thriving, and a goldmine for specialty variety
performers.
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Chapters
THE DAVE ALLEN EXPERIENCE
In the days before hed
established a reputation
for Pope-bashing, we were
booked to appear at one
of the Sydney Clubs, and
were instructed to stand
behind the curtain in front
of which he was doing his
stand up routine.
The audience, as was
usual in those days was
heavily stacked with expat
Brits who frequented
the Clubs, as the Clubs
were the nearest thing they could fnd, in their new homeland,
which resembled the working mens Clubs of England. We were
obediently behind the curtain onstage, waiting to be revealed and
Daves act was being very poorly received. This was in the days
when obscene language was not the norm, as it is today.
And so to garner a few cheap laughs to give him his exit, Allen
lifed up the curtain behind him and there were two pairs of serge
suited legs! Ours.
The easy thing for him to do was to describe the owners of those
legs (whom he had never met)in the most disgusting and reviling
language, knowing that we were stranded, and forced to sufer
the indignity, under instruction, unable to move.
The audience, in shock, responded explosively to this scummy
portrayal in words, of two people they were about to meet, with
58
Chapters
roars of what might be lightly called laughter. (Laughter can
express many responses to scurrilous badinage).
As he lef the stage and the curtains opened for us, stunned as we
were at what the audience thought they were about to encounter,
we atacked our performance of cockney material from the past,
with me playing the piano accordion fendishly, and the response
(maybe it was relief) from the audience was massive.
Relentlessly we plunged in, combining both our 20 minute sets
into one set lasting at least 40 minutes. There was no way we were
going to get of in 20 minutes the way they responded. It was a
volcano.
Dynamite. They sang along, they danced, they waved their arms,
all the while singing the songs, which had been the cultural bread
and buter of their elders. Dave Allen had actually done us a
favour. But at the time we didnt feel that.
When we were fnally of the stage, I raged, Where is that Fucking
Dave Allen!!?
Dave Allen had gone. We were never to see him again. We were
subsequently booked solidly in the Clubs for months.
He went on to Pope bashing, and gave instructions to the Theatrical
agencies not to put him on the same bill with us ever again. He
guessed, quite rightly, that we were ready for him!
One afernoon visiting Bobby in his Darlinghurst Road digs in Kings
Cross, (at that time a wonderful place to live, like an early Greenwich
Village), I asked why he was so dressed up.
He explained that he had had a phone call from JCWilliamson to
atend a closed audition for an overseas director for How to Succeed
in Business without Really Trying for which he had been selected,
59
Chapters unbeknown to me. I protested to him --- we had our own highly
successful act ---and he replied that Jack, when JCW calls, we
jump...I had been shopped, when the time was right, even by my
colleague.
I was most displeased, shocked at his cavalier atitude to all the work
I had done to establish our act, but contained my anger and contacted
JCW, but was rebufed. It was made very clear to me that the 11
principals had been chosen, and the formality of showing the director
who had been chosen, was to be done the next day.
On the following day I lingered around at the side of the stage in the
old Theatre Royal, Sydney, as if waiting for Bobby, and when the last
auditionee had performed I jumped out from the wings...and called
out, Oh Mr. Carpenter!.
Yes? he turned to me from the aisle.
Mr. Carpenter, you dont know me, but youre taking my colleague
into your show, and I would like to ask you if I could audition for you,
in case you can use me.
The atmosphere amongst the directors in the dark of the stalls was
palpable.
Outrage. (The machine was working Noel, there was no doubt).
Yes, he said, Why not? Show me what you can do. Gentlemen,
take a minute. The directors sat down again. Sulking.
And remember if you will, this is two years afer the infamous,
although brief, dressing room encounter which was to atempt to rob
me, so corrosively, of my future.
Two minutes later, and, fully within my hearing, he turned to the
directors and said, Well, youve shown me 11 people today. Ive
actually seen 12. And theres only one I want. Pointing to me, That
one.
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Chapters Turning to me, Mr. Poter, please be in Melbourne Monday morning
at 10 oclock.
Thank you Mr. Carpenter Through the bank of silent and resentful
individuals, fuming in the wings, I went. Excuse me.
Friday afernoon I called in (for my ticket) to Mr. Harry Strachan, at
the old Theatre Royal, the Sydney Manager for JCW. No, theres no
ticket for you.
When the word is out, and whatever it was, it was OUT. They mean
business when someone is so reviled as I obviously was.
Monday morning, from Sydney, at 9. 55, I telephoned Her Majestys
Theatre Stage door in Melbourne. An urgent message for Mr.
Carpenter will be coming at 10.05. Please ask him to be available to
take the call.
Ten minutes later.
Mr. Carpenter?
Yes? Who is this
Im the gentleman you met at the audition in Sydney, Jack Poter,
and the Sydney ofce wont issue me a ticket.
The response from this highly respected, and established London
director would make a sailor blush, but he rounded it up by saying
Ring me back in ten minutes, Mr. Poter.
I did, and he had solved it with great authority. (In his game, no one
argues with someone of his stature). He was a BIG WHEEL.
Pick up your ticket NOW Mr. Poter. Get a taxi NOW. Give me the
bill when you get here. Be here this afernoon.
Thank you Mr. Carpenter
Another trip to Mr. Harry Strachan, the Sydney JCW ofce manager,
61
Chapters a begrudged ticket, a taxi to the airport, the frst plane,(and those
were propeller plane days), a taxi to Exhibition Street, and I walked
into Marios bar opposite Her Majestys Stage Door in time to hear my
Nemesis, Ferrier, (who had set out to make my life such hell), intone
to Bobby, who was also there, and is SHE in the show?
The perfect moment! Recognizing it, I charged in, and coming from
behind him I entered and appearing beside him, gloated Yes Noel,
HES in the show. His face fell. And his eyes blazed.
(And it was the beginning of a not-so-magnifcent obsession).
But to join the Company, acquiting myself professionally I hope,
still meant the need to endure such isolation that only the overseas
principals (imported from London and New York) and more mature
individuals in the cast, like Keith Eden accepted me on professional
and civilized terms.
Only the stage management, (to whom I was no threat), and imported
principals would talk or drink with me. I mean I was a REAL threat.
Thats musical theatre, thats what that is. Stuf it. I had only one small
part in the production and understudy duties, and very soon I asked
to be allowed to leave to help an old Southport School colleague,
Bryan Nason, who was presenting a production up the Queensland
coast.
My schooldays were long behind me, but the opportunity to be
appreciated was refreshing, away from the cut and thrust of the
business, and I secured my leave. No trouble.
We were to perform a popular litle musical called Salad Days, I was
given the best roles, and while doing it, we were to travel and live
communally in a railway carriage. Hmmm, does it sound glamorous?
I didnt think so. It wasnt. I was ofered the same monetary reward
as my current employment. I accepted, and endured the communal
hardship, until, on our return to Brisbane, I remonstrated that I
62
Chapters expected at least some of my dues which had been slow in materializing.
In later years I was to discover the reality of this phenomenon, when
I was the entrepreneur--- the cash fow shortfall.
Funds were grudgingly forthcoming, but I lost a friend. Nothing new
to me, losing friends. Not in this caper.
Budgetary shortcomings can have such colourful resolutions
sometimes. This esteemed colleague went on to exploit the writings of
Shakespeare with great panache, if not lashings of cash, and became
noteworthy for his innovative solutions.
As his career proceeded apace he discovered that budgetary limits
could be ignored if the need to costume his players was put on the
back burner, and in future years, if males expounding the texts of
the Bard simply removed their clothing. Simple. It could also distract
from any lack of expertise in interpreting the writings by diverting
the atention of the viewer to the merits/demerits of the male dangly
bits and pieces. Strange how simple it can be to master the intricacies
of iambic pentameter.
On a later occasion I had occasion to chance my delight at his rendition
of Troilus and Cressida (Shakespeares) until as the drama rose to its
peak and imminent denouement loomed, caution was thrown to the
wind and for some inexplicable reason the entire company swung
into Lets face the Music and Dance(not Shakespeares--Irving
Berlins). Oh well, it went with the cofee served shortly aferwards,
and provided the audience members the opportunity to discuss the
subtle overtones to which Irving Berlin never laid claim.
As one of our more celebrated cross dressing vaudevillians declared,
Call me old fashioned, but it sure beats researching and resolving
the text. What did Shakespeare know anyway?
But back in 1964 it wasnt long before I had a call from the stage
management of How to Succeed to please rejoin the company.
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Chapters The stage manager Ian Roberts, (and a seasoned professional), had
no call to not use me. I had previously had a small role. It is an old
maxim that the frst laugh in the show sets the show up. (There
is a moment at the beginning of the Showa single line (!), in fact
which deserved a legitimate laugh from the audience, and it had been
missing its mark since my departure..oh well, Im sure its not as if I
was asked to reprise the role of Hamlet.
Still it must have been of concern to justify seeking me out. Funny
business. One line, with a few other duties as well. But I laughingly
tell the story of my reinstatement. For one line. One lousy line. Take
the money and run, Jack.
I needed to save money to go overseas, so back into the dragons maw
until I had saved enough. I was given my old duties, I delivered the
line. The laugh was there. But the jealousy was too. (Come on boys
and girls, there is a bigger world out there. Im glad it wasnt two
lines!!!)
THE KEITH EDEN EXPERIENCE
And on my return and resumption of my duties another moment
occurred which reinforced the perception of my being the misft
that I felt I was in the business.
Keith Eden was a gentleman actor, and along with the few real
people of quality and pedigree, he was one of the folks who had
no axe to grind with me, and he readily associated with me.
There was, in the performance, a moment when Edwin Stefe, a
superb overseas star who had performed on the world stage and
was portraying the big boss in the show was to be accompanied
on to the stage by his entourage of yes-men, one of who was Keith
Eden, another of whom was me. The cue came, and we entered
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Chapters
in a cluster, but without Keith. He was in his dressing room as
Edwin threw a line to where Keith would normally be. I stepped
in and replied with Keiths line. Eds line came, his face falling
of at seeing me responding. I delivered Keiths line, Eds line,
then Keiths as Keith is thinking (upstairs) hearing his lines over
the intercom, Wait a minute I recognize those lines---Jeeeesu
theyre mine!
Too late. He bolts down to the wings as we are leaving the stage,
and the Stage Manager is saying to me Thats the best save Ive
seen in my entire life Well, at that time he was at least seventy, so
I think we can assume that covered a fair span.
Ill go with that said Edwin, Never seen that done.
Congratulations, and thanks.
But from the Company? Nothing. But it was all small beer to
me.
Part of the job. Mosquitoes to a rhinoceros. And always trying to
seem not to care, always afable, I hope, always easy to get on with, as
best I could be, I saved my money. Then I went overseas.
Nevertheless if you dont think THAT vitriolic milieu doesnt
niggle,(even a rhinoceros) you are very nave. It was one of the reasons
for my later decision to fy my own kite, even if it included, designing,
building, directing, promoting, performing, and having as litle to do
with the entertainment industry in Australia as possible.
So, no diploma. Stif. At the time of writing, 2014, there are only two
or three of the original 1960 graduates of the Academy still working,
and only one of them working as much as I currently do.
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Chapters
In 1965, of to England, well, I said it, didnt I? Thats what everyone
was doing. And if I spend time on what I got up to in England Ill
never get this book fnished!
And I thought Id seen the last of Australian Show Business. Not
quite.
APPENDIX
If you need a diploma, get one, but it wont necessarily get
you regular work. And a bullet proof vest for your ego would be
wise.
And remember, if you will, that even having ability is no
guarantee...
(Quote for the time...Do you know why actors face the camera on
the red carpet?
Answer: Yep,so you cant see the knives sticking in their backs,
showbiz...it aint all roses) But I dont care what people say or
think about me. You can keep it.
Theres a certain pleasure in that. Polonius said it all. To thine
own self be true And Polonius had it right. I was.
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Chapters
7. London, wonderful London, the 60s
THE WILD COLONIAL BOY
Dealt with here briefy, and covering only a short period of time, from
April 1965 until December 1973, my adventures are intended for a
second volume possibly entitled something like I remember London
in the sixtiesand I WAS THERE!
From mid 1965 till the end of 1973, London was the biggest toy
any boy could have to play with, the underground, the theatres... I
opened one of the best true blue Health Food Shops and Restaurant
in the megatrendy Upper Street Islington N1. Yuppies and love bells
and extraordinary people, celebrities, crazies... well afer all it was
London... real identities, who all cried when we pulled the pin when
the call came to return (to Oz).
In London anything was possible, and to back up that statement,
below is a photograph of a Shop which was started with 25 pounds
sterling, a donated theatre set, and opened with only 50 saleable
items. But afer closing three times on the frst day to restock, as we
were understandably undercapitalized, very soon, we were serving
800 customers per day.
But thats another story.
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Chapters And by a trick of the light I had scored an address in Bloomsbury, now
listed as one of Londons most desirable addresses in Ridgemount
Gardens W.C.1, which had been the Duke of Bedfords London Town
House, (in the days when the season was the go).
Everything was possible in London in the sixties. London, now, is
dirty, grity, miserable, and not a place you would be inclined to
spend any length of time in without very good reason. But then, it
was bunting, tourists, Carnaby Street, creative activity, and to hobnob
with famous people was quite a day to day experience.
The Beatles accountant was one of the folks who lived in the servants
quarters of my fat and on three occasions I had the extraordinary
experience of meeting three of the most famous people in the world
in my fat. Not that they enjoyed being in each others company. Paul
set himself up grumpily in the main studio (if, in fact, it was Paul!),
George in the living room with his litle group, and Ringo, (whom
we never called Ringo) was in the kitchen with us, and believe me, if
And it grew, and it grew, and it grew
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Chapters you are with him at any time, do not take a chance on asking him to
peel potatoes. Just let him sit there with his boots on the table while
the accountant tries to get some sense out of them singly, going from
room to room with papers to sign, and being the carrier of bad blood.
Not the happy times they were inclined to dispense to the world at
large. Wherever else John was, Yoko was apparently trying to get
something out of him. I never met him. But that was London. Quite
normal.
And for my highly desirable address I paid the princely sum
of twenty four pounds per week rental, with servants quarters,
porterage, huge, fourteen doors of the main hallway, cabin trunk
storage space. Unlimited running water included, Magic. And a walk
to the West End.
Everything happened. Soon I had formed a performance group with
extremely gifed people, (and there were plenty of them in London),
one of whom I married, and had a wonderful baby son.
A somewhat rewarding moment occurred one evening during my
walking through the West End theatre district, when to my surprise,
I came up against Mr. Freddie Carpenter, the director of How to
Succeed, years before.
He immediately said a lot of things which nourished my ego and he
insisted that I ofer my services as a performer to his organisation.
But by then I had become involved in other proftable business
activities. Still, it was cheering that he would have remembered me
so strongly afer all that time.
My troupe rehearsed in the living room, and the place was like
Waterloo Station with people from all over the continent and the
Americas and downunder just rocking up and staying for as long as
they bloody well liked.
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Chapters No one paid rent, everyone bought food and alcohol from their own
country, all of which was readily available in London...you could get
anything in London. And if you had trouble doing that, it was true...
you just went to Harrods! And whatever you wanted Harrods could
get it for you!
London in the sixties was as close to Heaven on earth as it was possible
to be.
The group performed at Theatre Arts Festivals, performed around
the Home Counties, and I even performed in one ghastly performance
with another troupe(sometimes things went not according to plan)
in the Mayfair theatre in the West End. But the awards I remember
most keenly were for derivative works, from the Commedia, Kabuki,
Victorian melodrama, and the British Theatre of the Absurd. If it
wasnt considered impossible we didnt touch it!
And this will make up a large component of the intended second
volume.
We won many awards for our eforts, and I was prepared to move on
into the business again, (this time in London at the tender age of 32)
on the strength of my achievements there, when....
In 1973, the telephone rang during rehearsal, (and my life went on
another unintended tangent). Its my mum.Come home, or Ill never
see my grandchild, your brothers got cancer. I think Ill die. Come
home.
Now I ask you, what would you do.? Everything was happening for
me in London.
I came home from London. To Mum. To Texas.
Wrong move...
Sufce it to say, at the moment, thats a second volume.
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Chapters
When we had been in Sydney two days and siting in the living room
of an old colleague (a casting agent) in Bondi Junction, through the
door in platform shoes, white vinyl from head to toe (well it was
the seventies!) came a vision by the name of Ken Lord. Now I had
known Ken years ago, when we had been travelling up the coast in
the train.
But to the point, Ken said (shocked),What are you doing in
Australia?
Ive just come back from England.
Ive got a job for you, as quick as that.
Oh, Ive been discovered! Im a star, Im a star, Im a star.
8. HMM, the monsters lair
Arrived Sydney in the middle of a rubbish collectors strike! Horrors!
Felix was wonderful throughout the trip. Nine months old,and you
would have thought he owned the airline, waving Goodbye to everyone
as they left the plane. But Sydney! The stench! Every time the lift
went up or down it puffed us all the smell. Saw the new Opera
House, and all I could notice was men here wear long socks and
shorts. All of them. Off to meet the folks in a little Fokker plane to
Inverell. As we left the plane...one spot of rain on my nose. Eighty
kilometers later and the downpour had produced swollen rivers, we
were driving through flooded creeks, and when we reached the bridge
at Texas whole trees were being swept down the river and lunging at
the bridge. I was terrified. Grandfather Potter took in his stride. Is
this display for our benefit?. Grandma Potter doesnt have a drier.
How am I going to dry the nappies?
From Maureens Diary
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Chapters Not quite, big fella. Two days later, on the strength of whatever Ken
had told them, two gentlemen few down from Brisbane to Sydney to
convince me to go to Brisbane where they had been staging Dimboola,
the raucous Aussie wedding feast play, and they whisked us of
to Brisbane to create a piece to follow Dimboola into their theatre
restaurant, which to all accounts was thriving.
Well! These were gentlemen with the best of possible intentions Im
sure, Mr. Pat Garvey and Mr. Stuart Gramenz, whose principal reason
though was to make big bucks, and it appeared that, to date, thats
what was happening.
When I arrived and suggested holding auditions, I was very quickly
told that that was not necessary, they had chosen the people who
would be performing in the Show, Mr. Paul Charlton, a tap dancing
but macho type, Paul Morgan a more ordinary but friendly fellow,
Ms. Val South, another friend, and a wonderful piano player Mr.
Kingsley Boorer. I would have been lost without him.
They were all friends. And that was enough reason for them to be
involved.
I was advised that there would be no rehearsals, I was to tell them
what to do, and they would arrive a few days before the show, and
do it. And there would be no one else in the show. Just them. Oh. And
me. I was to design, write, build direct and perform. Some gig!
I concocted an event which essentially was to be done by the kitchen
staf and the audience, to be scored and coordinated by Kingsley at the
keyboard, interspersed with these good folks to give some semblance
of a Show. I hardly met the cast at all during the preparation
time except on occasions when they all trooped of to Mt. Nebo to
smoke dope. With a litle wife and child, I was out of my depth. But the
Show went on. And it 1973 the fee of $3000 was more than adequate!
Producing a show of this kind, (having had eight years experience
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Chapters in London) would appear on the surface of it, to be no more than to
make a list of events in sequence, and a list of songs to which those
activities were to be coordinated and connected. (Well, there was
more to it than that, but only Kingsley and I knew).
The TV commercial was flmed, (and also directed by me) DURING
what might be lightly described as a Dress Rehearsal, the voice over
was writen and done (also by me) in one take at Mt. Cootha, which
lef them with the problem of what to do with the paid-for studio
time, allocated at one hour, but which was in the long run, only thirty
seconds!
It did not turn out well, (but would make a great movie too!) my
concept (which might seem old hat these days, of a Hollywood
dinner party with all the tables named and the audience decked out
in twenties clothes, guns, fedoras, police raids, gang wars etc., tightly
choreographed, yes, might be old hat now, but this was before the
Sting Ireneand could have been good, but they were, God Bless
em, too inexperienced to understand that we didnt need to rely on
shlock, rough style of presentation but two weeks later they very
kindly said to me.Jack its very clever, but we thought more along the
lines of A clown with his pants falling down, thats entertainment.
No mater. Well let you go. But dont worry, well pay you out, and
they did, $3000!
But then one of them knocked me of my stool by saying, What are
you going to do now?
Obviously we had nothing on the books so they said Would you like
to go into Dimboola on the coast?
I was stunned. You mean youre sacking me, and yet youre going to
give me another job?
Oh sure, hang on One of them picked up the phone and said to a
colleague on the other end, Hows the show going? Whats he doing?
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Chapters Right. Sack him, put the phone down and said to me Right youve
got a job, playing Knocker in Dimboola, start Monday...
Just like that? Youve sacked someone just like that, and youre giving
me a job afer sacking me?
Oh sure, no worries there, one bloke was stufng around.
This was their MO.
Maureen agreed, when I got home, Oh well, what have we got to
lose?
Down to the Gold Coast, and at noon on Monday I turned up as
appointed outside the Nite Owl Restaurant in Cavill Avenue, Surfers
Paradise, and met Ray Meagher, (now famous as Alf in Home and
Away). He very casually gave me the script and said Shows at eight
tonight. He was afable, casual to say the least and extremely Aussie
in Style. Just like Alf.
I baulked,--- But what about rehearsal?
Oh you wont need rehearsal, just turn up and if you dont know the
lines someone else will say them. No one will know the diference,
But what about costumes, and what do I do?
No worries there, just go into the kitchen and youll fnd jackets and
ties under the counter. Pick one that fts
Home to Maureen, I was stunned, and she having faith in my abilities,
said OK, lets do it.
We spent the afernoon learning my lines, I turned up at the Nite
Owl Restaurant in Cavill Avenue, Surfers Paradise, met all the cast
in the alley. They werent the slightest concerned about my knowing
nothing. The consensus was Just follow us...
And thats how you do it. We stormed the restaurant, just like the
wedding in la Strada , only twenty times worse, and before you
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Chapters could say Jack Robinson the whole thing was underway! Amazing!
It was a riot from start to fnish.
All that was required was to appear absolutely roten and listen
for the lines. But dont worry, they seemed to come out of the chaos
if I was late with mine.. Everyone knew the whole script, and keep
it moving was the name of the game, and apart from that youre ON
YOUR OWN!---Show biz? It was like playing the piccolo in a wind
tunnel.
It was a three hour riot every night(!), and all over in a month, and
soon we found we were back in Sydney, no beter of than when we
had arrived.
And from there the frst six months was horrifc, JCWilliamsons had
folded, Harry M Miller was the name of the game, theatres were
closing. Now, working in Dirty Dicks Theatre Restaurant, peeling
carrots and potatoes, I knew I had lef all I had ever done of any value,
overseas...
Bugger this, were going home to England, Maureen and I
packed her of to London. There was only The Ensemble Theatre,
The Elizabethan Theatre Trust, (think: NIDA). And no use to me if
Quentins threat was to bear dead fruit and I wasnt prepared to allow
it the opportunity.
We were separated, I was earning a very poor wage, Maureen was
penniless, and I was obliged to work from 7.30 till 4.30 in a heavy
equipment warehouse, go next door, work from 5.30 till midnight in
the kitchen of Dirty Dicks Theatre Restaurant, then to go the Dendy
Cinema, Crows Nest, do three hours work in 45 minutes cleaning
the cinema till I crashed into bed, to drag myself out for work at 7.30
again. Those were the days.
Life had become very strained.
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Chapters Then it happened.
Harry M Miller was looking for a King Herod. He had looked
everywhere, London, New York, Los Angeles, everywhere (my
casting agent friend told me). Sounded to me like the Hunt for Scarlet
OHara. Reg Livermore had set a benchmark in the days when it
was becoming trendy to be camp, outrageous, and to appeal to a
burgeoning homosexual milieu. Afer all, were talking Sydney.
They couldnt fnd anyone to take over and follow Livermore, by now
a high camp household name , and who was by now playing Frank
n furter, in the Rocky Horror Show, (for Harry M Miller, and you
could bet, he was playing with an ironclad contract). Nobody would
go through (twice) what I was about to go through. But I walked
straight in to the alligators maw.
The kitchen staf at the Restaurant, when they heard that I was going
to audition for Herod, was gently disparaging and told the owner
Frank Baden Powell afer the show one night, Jacks going to audition
for Superstar.
Frank was very charming and said, Are you Jack? What are you
going to sing?
I told him,Herods Song.
OK, he said, show me what you can do.
So unaccompanied, I sang the song. So you are the Christ... (you
know the one)..
Frank applauded, Now do it like a gangster. I did.
Now do it like a Japanese Samurai. I did. ...if its all a lie became
iftsor awry complete with facial distortions. (Dreadful) But they
laughed.
Now do it like a Russian Tsar. I did. They were certainly
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Chapters surprised.
Now do it like an Irish publican. And again they laughed.
Hell get it said Frank.
Dont be ridiculous Frank. Hes just Jack, the kitchen hand.
Hell get it repeated Frank, and we lef it at that.
A few days later, I rolled up to the Balmain Theatre to the audition
into a foyer full of dreadlocks, and, looking like a riverboat gambler. I
pretended not to know the song, sang an old Hoagy Carmichael dity,
and sounded like FRED ASTAIRE!
Do you know Herods Song? asked the Musical Director, Michael
Carlos.
Hmmm I mused, Herods song. Now how does it go...?
Well, have you ever seen one of those old Hollywood movies where
they hand the singer a sheet of music and say, Try this,and he/
she looks at for not more than three seconds, clears his/her throat
and does it MAGNIFICENTLY, First time! Of course in Hollywood
there would suddenly be a revolving stage, mirrors and hundreds of
dancers on grand pianos. No. It was just me. I sang the song.
You got it. I got it. Name of the game.
Show biz.
.APPENDIX
Of the cuf? I dont think so.
I had sung the song about one hundred times a day, in the warehouse,
in the kitchen, cleaning the cinema, for the previous fortnight, before
rocking up casually, to audition, Hmmm, Hows it go?
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Chapters It was lucky no one broke their legs geting up to me on the stage.
Was that what you meant? I asked? Of COURSE, THAT WAS WHAT
THEY WANTED. BUT THEY DIDNT KNOW WHAT ID DONE.
Can you tap dance?
Sure I replied.
Great said the choreographer, Chrissie Koltai who couldnt tap
dance, but didnt want to admit it. Hes got my vote.
Exactly what would have happened if shed said, Show me, I cant
imagine. It took two minutes to get the job, and balls, and, could I
suggest, a LITTLE ability.
While I travelled in a taxi across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, to an
agent in North Sydney (at their expense, naturally, they werent
mucking around), they were dictating the contract over the phone, I
said to her Whats in it? She said Just sign it. I did.
Welcome to the asylum.
Someone said to me once, No one worth his salt ever works for him
twice.
I could believe it, although strictly speaking it wasnt quite true. Jesus,
(Trevor White) and Judas (Jon English) did.
I cant speak for anyone else. It was a nightmare for me.
(Memorable quote, So this is the guy whos going to whip Reg
Livermores arse for me. Turn around. )
That was the approval system, apparently, for raising catle.
I had one charter.
Stop the Show
Every night, (as directed the contract said. And that became the root
of the problem) with no help from anyone and sufcient hindrance
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Chapters to mount a whole new production with a possible working title
Malevolence.
So it meant a quick trip to London, before rehearsals started three
weeks later, to learn to tap dance, now at the not-so-tender age of 38!
No one said it couldnt be done, but it could, though I had to sit in a
warm bath, take massages, walk bowlegged into the Dance Centre
London Covent Garden, and come out, able to tap dance rings around
the choreographer, who could dance rings around me horizontally.
Later, (next year in fact 1976) afer she was sacked (by company
protest) she was doing the same stuf for another theatre group.
All this hug each other, and go Ommmmm. Yep, that should do
it..
Not my style. Stuck in the sixties. Even the Maharishi Maheshi Yogi
used to laugh when he saw people going through that rubbish. Do
people still do that mumbo jumbo?
But through the torture of the rehearsal period without one minute
of instruction and mountains of obstruction...it was a torturous game
that every Herod was put through, I was told. I just lasted longer, I
believe, than Joe Dicker, Jon Finlayson, or Reg Livermore.
So I did my opening night performance only ever having heard my
song played once in performance mode, no tuition, and obstruction
all round,
Just stop the show
Its a feel thing
No, you cant do that... to whatever I ofered.
Stefan Haag, the director of the exercise, said to me that my Song was
the only part of the performance not directed by him.
So, by whom!!?? It was a nightmare, a sloped glass stage, tap
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Chapters dancing??
Fred Astaire would fnd a way, Jack was the only advice I got from
the man. I became a plaything for others to torture. I was saddled with
a female entourage including some vicious ladies who were fercely
loyal to my predecessor, especially one who shall remain nameless. I
could have done it in Guantanamo Bay by the time we were fnished
it. Sometimes I felt that was where I was.
Of to New Zealand, and being obstructed at boarding time at airports
by minions saying things like...No theres no ticket for your wife
and child, youll have to leave them behind...oh, theres the boarding
call. Oh yes, heres your tickets. The Company Manager (Mr. Also
Nameless) even provided his boyfriend as a faux understudy-in-
waiting. Oh this was going to be fun. And me, with a wife and child.
Oh, it was no holiday...and NO DIRECTION in the part, and PLENTY
OF OBSTRUCTION from all the sycophants in the company. It was
full of them. I was the only one who stood up to him. And he came
back at me in full fght. But he was the boss. And he wrote the contract.
Armageddon. Daily.
And then in New Zealand I resolved the issue. Well, if no one will
come out and say Camp it up...(and I certainly didnt want to be seen
as a cheap copy of Reg Livermore who was by now fat out in Bety
Blockbuster style) I would, on my own initiative, do it in a diferent
characterization EVERY NIGHT to demonstrate my capability, and
give ideas to some starved creative aegis for any decision that might
be made, should anyone feel inclined. And if they couldnt replace
me at this stage, they were unlikely to replace me for showing some
expertise. So showem, I DID!
But the only person who could make a decision, Harry, stayed in
Sydney. The lunatics were in charge of the asylum. But no one ever
said camp it up.
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Chapters I would have had to, under terms of my contract, but someone would
have to admit they didnt know what was possible, except camping
it up*. Easier to torture me, knowing I more than had the capability
to do the job. So, torture, it was.
*camping it up means doing it like a drag queen.*
*Drag queen meanswhere have you been?!
During our season in Christchurch the world famous Menuhins,
Yehudi and his wonderful sister, ( a dear friend of mine), Hepzibah,
who accompanied him on his performance tour with the New Zealand
Symphony orchestra, were to be at the Concert Hall at the same time
that we would be playing at Her Majestys Theatre.
I suppose that even I can enjoy a certain buzz, when the following
incident occurred.
During the afernoon of their scheduled performance, she generously
went to the extreme trouble to rearrange their repertoire so that
she could leave the stage midway, descend to the green room, get
into the limo, round to Her Majestys, up to the circle, and on cue
watch me work, back round to the Stage Door to give me a hug et
al, back into the limo, back to the Concert Hall, on to the stage, sit
at the piano and continue with the Orchestral performance. Anyone
who can appreciate the infnite trouble that would entail, when so
many organisational elements are involved would be impressed.
Remarkable. A great compliment to me. A great lady. A good story.
(Well, I think it is).
I wish I could have said to the Company Itll be the Royal Family
next week, but I couldnt. Pity.
There was a certain but small satisfaction in going into the Wellington
Opera House, New Zealand, during understudy rehearsals on week
days, siting up in the circle in the dark, and watching fve understudies
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Chapters
Dancing his way out of a copyright breach.
82
Chapters trying to make something of Herods Song.
It was a role devoutly to be wished but surprisingly difcult to do,
at the best of times, and in this case encumbered by obstacles cast
upon it by everyman and his dog. The most overproduced shambles
imaginable. And no one in command. The axiom of less is more
was beyond anyones comprehension. All I had to do, according to
Harry, was to stop the show. Short of seting fre to the stage every
night, it was a challenge. Beyond the call of duty.
It was only a shadow of satisfaction for me, watching the atempts
of those would-be-assassins trying to achieve a succinct point, ANY
point in a few brief minutes which would bring the show to temporary
paralysis. (In years to come, in subsequent revivals of the show, the
role was to be played by Angry Anderson and my old colleague of the
infamous dressing room experience! Noel Ferrier). And later Mr.
Andrew OKeefe, of the Television Deal or No Deal.
If I were to be reborn as a fy on the wall, I would choose be as one on
his ofce wall to hear the roasts that were carried out (on me) between
those two eminent gentlemen, Harry and Noel). For now I had to be
content with the satisfaction of each understudy rehearsal disbanding
with the desultory consensus...We dont know how he does it. Yes
gentlemen,------- and every night! Regardless.)
Well, the wings were full every night to see Herods Song. I did it
as a British Colonel, as a schoolmistress, (as opposed to playing it like
a drag queen), the audience actually thought it was a woman, every
quirky Monty Pythonesque but stylish manner, even as a Black and
White Minstrel.
I is only askin wadidask any superspade, what you got dat you so
hot you tink you got it made?
At that time a Senator by the name of Al Grassby was kicking up a
storm with Race Relations in the Whitlam circus. because it was not
83
Chapters the entrepreneur who would be imprisoned, it was the performer, and
this had a very odd outcome for me. (I didnt sit at home twiddling
my thumbs. I was ploting our survival).
In those days if an entrepreneur put a performer onstage and the
performer breached the standards of acceptable behaviour on stage,
like using the fuck word, he was in big trouble with the law. (How
diferent it would be today).
A few years earlier, a play in Melbourne called The Boys in the
Band, a very outspoken play about a homosexual birthday party had
broken those tenets of acceptable behaviour, and three members of
the cast had been incarcerated for a time. HUGE PUBLICITY. HUGE
INCREASE IN DOOR TAKINGS. Do you know who the entrepreneur
was? (Yep, thats the guy).
But one day in New Zealand there was call from Sydney for me, from
my employer, a man of selective vocabulary and choice delivery...
Jack Poter?
Mr. Miller? (Just guessing)
I fucking hate you, Jack Poter? (No, good morning, nothing)
Thank you, Mr. Miller
Dont fucking thank me, Jack Poter...whats fucking going on over
there
Everythings fne Mr. Miller, considering.. Im trying to establish
what is required of me before we have to open in Sydney. No ones
told me what to do, no one seems to know. Everything I suggest is
rejected, and weve been playing New Zealand for six weeks.
(The contract said I was to play as directed, but no one was willing
or able to say what was wanted, or were tacitly hoping that I would
do it as my predecessor did. But no one wanted to admit they didnt
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Chapters have the creative ability to make alternative suggestions. And every
suggestion I made, or demonstrated, was rejected.
Walking on was a doddle. They couldnt stop me once the performance
had started. And if I made it work, could they complain?
I know what youre fucking doing. Youre causing trouble. Youre
doing the part a diferent way every night!
Well, does it help someone to make a decision, Mr. Miller?
Yes it does... and Im makin it. Well have the black one.
Thank you Mr. Miller.
My resolve and resource had
been underestimated. When
we returned to Australia
from New Zealand I changed
the interpretation from racist
Black and white Minstrel
(controversial) to ethnic
American Negro (non-
controversial). I wasnt one
to give up. I had a wife and
child.
I was told that it was hoped
that Mr. Al Grassby of Race
Relations fame could stir up a litle controversy. And Im told Mr.
Grassby came to the opening night. And I am also told, that he thought
that if Marcia Hines could play Mary, in an earlier production, so why
not have a black man play Herod? Dont ask. Its that kind of part.
IF SOMEONE CAN DO IT. Without altering the costumes, lighting,
car, colours, and those bloody women crashing and crazy all over the
place. Are we all having fun? Just stop the show Jack.
*8.1
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Chapters Black and White Minstrel was
gone. Controversy was gone, and
the staging which had become so
overloaded with fashing lights,
looking more like Whose Mums
got a Whirlpool? advertisement,
working sufciently and
haphazardly well, demanding of
me to infuse the whole thing with
incredible energy to overcome the
myriad distractions. I slept in the
shower most nights sufering from
a more than massive migraine
headache, with my dear wife
feeding me cool water. Sleeping in a warm shower is desperate
therapy. But supporting a wife and child was prety important to me.
Ever thought of a career in Show business? Think again.
But what was puzzling the management was why doesnt anyone
complain? No one complained, but when we reached Sydney, any
member of the company who fancied himself as a drag performer
couldnt wait to get his hands on the role. Remember, we were in
Sydney, fast becoming the homosexual Southern Capital.
Have a go guys. And they did. They tried. And failed. And they tried.
And failed. And none of them could outperform all the fashing lights
and rubbish with which the number had been clutered. The stage
was WHITE, the car was WHITE, yes Harry insisted I ride a car(!),
the girls were WHITE, their costumes were WHITE, my robe and
costume was WHITE, Jesus was in an OFF WHITE robe, the whole
stage fashed wildly through the number. So, obviously, so that the
audience even fnd me, my face was BLACK!! BLACK, Get it Harry?
Simple? Almost. Theres more to it than that. When the understudies
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Chapters went on, no one could FIND THEM.
Want to take over the role full time, guys? Over my dead body. In
1976 this was survival of the most extreme kind. Take the money Jack.
If they want the role back, they can pay for it. (And eventually they
did!)
I would leave the stage door afer the performance and be greeted by
young folks wanting to meet the black guy. I would say...Oh, hell
be out in a minute and the whole exercise was a waste of time for
me, or to precipitate me back into the industry, (if in fact there was
an industry at that stage). Everyone holding a program thought they
had seen a negro understudy. So when you see a list of past Herods,
my name is curiously missing. And yet I played it longer than anyone
else. Incognito. Funny business isnt it? No, its not funny.
One day in 1976 the Miller children were kidnapped(!), and I was
called in to the Management ofce! But Louis van Eyssen (the
company manager) called me. Dont come in Jack, everyones a bit
upset today.
During the Brisbane season I was called to the telephone by a minion,
(who wanted his boyfriend to take over the role, and believe me I had
fve understudies, none of whom could work out how I was doing
anything I was doing), and how to stop the show. They didnt
know, but I did! And I wasnt telling. Chutzpah.
Months earlier, this time in Brisbane, the telephone.
Jack Poter?
Mr. Miller?
Why dont you fuck of, Jack Poter?
Oh dear, what is it now Mr. Miller?
I fucking hate you, Jack Poter, I hate you, and everybody hates you.
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Chapters (He had obviously been talking to his mate, Ferrier).
Thank you, Mr. Miller
This exchange occurred about 10 a.m. So I went around the corner to
the Queensland Theatre Company and met a gentleman called Joe
McColum, one of the directors. I explained that I thought that I was
out of a job, could I read for him?
Absolutely down to the theatre, on to the stage, Astrov in Chekovs
Uncle Vanya and both Crabtree and his nephew, Benjamin Backbite,
in Sheridans School for Scandal. Classy.
Jack, Im delighted, so delighted to invite you into the Company
said Joe. A handshake. Im in. Thats it. By 11 a.m. I was back in the
JCS ofce with Mr. van Eyssen to withdraw from the production.
Oh, its all right, Jack. You dont have to go. Were all just having a
bad day. Youre just copping it, Im afraid.
Oh I feigned exhaustion, the back of my hand to my brow, How
long can this go on? And we tried to make it out it was all funny. But
it wasnt.
APPENDIX
It would remiss of me, in writing this book, to neglect to include two
remembrances of my special Mum, who, when I frst approached her,
years before, to ask for her blessing on my taking up the gauntlet to follow
my dream, imposed the only stipulation that I was not to ever consider
doing anything that would embarrass her, on pain of her turning in her
grave.
(The Russian sailors must have been a shock to her system).
The second remembrance occurred on the Last Night of the season in
Brisbane.
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(Now, my dear parents, especially my Dad, wouldnt cross the road
to endure my eforts. In fact, as I will demonstrate, the Mountain
eventually came to him.in Texas!)
Only if I appeared briefy on television in an extract from the Show did
my work momentarily seem to mater.
(But back to the Last Night)The telephone rang in my dressing room,
and the Box Ofce manager said Mr. Poter, your mother is in the
foyer.
Naturally, my frst thought was Oh my God Dads dead. Well, you
would, wouldnt you?
Dreading to hear the news I raced through the side pass door to the
theatre foyer to fnd my dear Mum, fully coifed and dressed to the nines.
Mum! Whats wrong!!?
Ever so placidly she started, Nothing son, but everyone else in town has
been to see your play, so I thought I might as well
How casual is that? Shed had her hair done, bought a new outft, drove
300 kilometers, over the Dividing Range, and didnt consider the moment
signifcant enough to just casually let me know she was on her way!
Mom! Its Last Night! Its House Full! There isnt a seat to be had!
Oh well, I HAVE COME ALL THIS WAY she demurred,
Wait, wait, wait, in panic, and a few minutes later OK its OK, theyve
got a VIP seat. By God youre lucky! and I lef her to the performance.
Now, also in the VIP seats, unbeknown to me, was a lady who had driven
down for the ffh time to see the show and who sat very patiently till I
entered(!) immediately commenced to exhibit some kind of paroxysm of
delight, (well, maybe she just liked black men!) As I exited the stage and
the audience erupted, (well, it WAS Last Night!) stamped and carried
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It must have matered to me that at the time that I was performing
incognito as Herod, and I did it for longer than anyone else that I know
of, Harry never spoke to me, well, civilly, or in person, and I went on
being as efective as I could with a black face in an overproduced,
all white (blackface), Whirlpool commercial with fve unruly young
ladies dressed up to look like salt shakers, in costumes that seemed
to have no relevance to anything else in the scene, and they behaved
so badly, one of them especially, each night kneeling on the coiled up
microphone lead, bringing me up with a jerk as I started to sing.
Finally when the limit of my patience had been reached, (and
complaining to management had no point), and she did the same
thing, I cupped my hand, and before my frst line I smacked her
under the lef butock so hard that she leapt at least two feet in the air,
the audience thought it was just me being a bit bossy, she rushed of
stage, but no charges were laid, or any comment made, because the
authorities were party to her interference.
The only element which stabilized my distress was that on my
leaving the stage each night in the blackout, there was a Roman
soldier outside my point of exit. Every night without fail he would
quietly encourage me with Nice one, Jack, Well done Great stuf
mate and even above the applause from the crowd I would draw
on, she rose from her seat, screaming, and cheering
My Mum remained, unimpressed, and as the tumult subsided, the lady
sank back into her seat, and, I was later told, exclaimed breathlessly,
Ooooh, ooooh Ive driven down fve times from Maryborough to see
him.
And what did my mum say, (without unfolding her arms?) She said
Yes. Thats my son. Just the facts.
My Mum was a farmers wife, through and through.
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Chapters consolation, and retire bruised to my dressing room, afer having
achieved what seemed the impossible against an insanely out-of-
control musical number.
His name was Russell Hitchcock, soon to be an international superstar
with his colleague, Graham Russell, also in the Show.
They were to be known worldwide as Air Supply.
It went on till mid 1976...until afer a deciding incident when my
wig was stolen within ffeen minutes of my entrance, (thats show
biz sabotage. As I say, I had fve understudies) so I was obligated to
immediately change my interpretation to Reg Livermore mode...its
actually the easiest...! Even Ferrier could do it... and did!
As I walked on the stage of the Capitol Theatre on Sydney the audience
roared! Reg is back!
No, he wasnt. I wasnt going to do that nightly, unless someone had
the balls to even suggest that THAT WAS WHAT THEY WANTED IN
THE FIRST PLACE. No one ever did. And my contract said I would
play as directed. But no one did.
The next day was my last day in the production.
(That quote again, No ones going to climb over me to be a star afer
Livermore.
No, but I owe Mr. Miller a lot. He convinced me forever that there was
no point in working in Australian Show Business. As it was.
And whether by good fortune, design, good timing, coincidence,
economics or fate...the show closed soon afer. And I demanded a
substantial golden handshake. And I was glad to be gone.
And Noel and Harry were friends until Noel died in 1997.
I dont miss him.
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Chapters But even considering the apocalyptic events to come, six months later,
that time in JCS were still the two lowest years of my life.
Did I need any more reasons not to enter Australian Show Business
again?.., I owed no one anything, and I was in no way fnancially
secure enough to pick up where I lef of in London. I could put up
with anything. I was prepared.
Which is where the story begins...