Australia

Ejo #83 – Fergus Miller: Because Your Candle Burns Too Bright

In late 2012 my friend Svetlana was given a subscription to a music streaming service as a gift, from her husband Andrew.  One of the first new albums she discovered was from a band she’d never heard of called Bored Nothing.  I’ll let Svet describe her reaction:

I have no idea what made me click on the Bored Nothing album, but doing so literally changed my life.  I became completely obsessed with it.  It was absolutely perfect in every way.   I listened to it five times a day for two months. I’d listen to it when I got dressed in the morning, driving in the car, hanging up the washing. I drove my family crazy. I probably drove my neighbours crazy too as I’d blast it through the speakers while jumping on the trampoline with the kids.

I kept thinking that if I were an indie movie, this album would be my soundtrack.  There was a song for every single mood I’ve ever experienced.   Elated, serene, sad or pissed off – I could find a track that matched my frame of mind.  It wasn’t just the music that I loved, it was also the incredibly thoughtful and poignant lyrics.

I asked my friends if they had heard of Bored Nothing and not a single one had.  Sadly, they were all listening to the same stuff they listened to ten years ago because they couldn’t find new music that they liked.  So I started a music blog – to help my old-fart friends discover new music.

And that’s how the Australian music blog “7 Seconds Of Sound” was born.  The fifteen months I spent as guest writer on the blog were, creatively, some of the best of my life.  I love music and I love writing, so when Svet asked me to be a contributor it was a no-brainer.  The rewards were many.  The discovery of incredible new music that I would otherwise be oblivious to.  The opportunity to hone my writing (and interviewing) skills.  And a wonderful new way to bond with my gorgeous friend, Svet, whom I missed dreadfully.

Another, unexpected bonus was the chance to actually get to know some of the artists we were reviewing.  Both Svet and I got close to a couple of musicians, our admiration for them as musicians evolving into a mutual appreciation of each other as human beings.  I feel lucky to still be in contact with a couple of the people I reviewed, and to call them my friends.  But my experience pales with the rapport that Svet developed with Ferg.  They transcended the fan/artist bond that brought them together to form a true friendship (OK not BFF’s, but still, the type of friend you can message at 4am knowing they won’t get pissed off at you).  Svet describes meeting him for the first time, at one of his gigs:

I was so ridiculously nervous. It was pretty comical considering I was a confident woman almost twice this dude’s age.  I just walked up and said “Hello, I love your music” suddenly stuck in a weird, awkward moment with my musical hero.  Shaking like a leaf, I told him how super nervous I was and he asked “Why? Are you about to take a test?”.  I laughed, but didn’t tell him it was because he’d been in my head for hours a day, every day, for months.

When the gig finished Ferg came up to me and Andrew, and we started chatting. He gave me a record of his self-titled album. I was so blown away by this. The artist that I was obsessed with was not just a great musician but such an incredibly lovely and generous person. I told him about my blog and asked if I could interview him, and he agreed.

That was in early 2013. They did the interview and had a couple of drinks.  Over the next few years they sent each other emails and messages (yep, even at 4 o’clock in the morning) and had lots of diverse and interesting conversations at his gigs.

ferg-3

 

Earlier this month Fergus Miller, tragically, killed himself.  He was 26 years old, he was a beautiful person and he was an incredibly talented, self-taught musician who played almost every instrument on his debut album.  This ejo isn’t about his depression or about his suicide.  It’s about Ferg.  It’s a celebration of his spirit, which will always live on in his music.  It’s about making sure that as many people as possible can hear the songs that he gave life to.  It’s about music, and how it eclipses all the bullshit and rises above the pain of the person creating it (however excruciating), to become something that touches and connects people.  And perhaps even soothes their own pain.

Svet has, understandably, been devastated by Ferg’s death.  She cried for days after learning the terrible news from his wife, Anna (who must be utterly heartbroken).  The intensity of Svet’s grief caused her to be angry at herself though, reasoning that they hadn’t been close enough for her to have the right to be so sad:

“But after listening to his friends and family talk at the funeral and seeing all the touching tributes on social media, I understood my grief. Ferg was such a warm and sweet person. He gave so much of himself, through his music and his relationships with people, that even meeting him once felt like you’d known him for a lifetime.

We may not have known each other well but I will never forget his sincerity and kindness to me over the years. His music has played in my head pretty much every day since I first heard it in 2012. It inspired me to set up a music blog that resulted in some incredible experiences and connections with artists I respect and admire from all over the world.”

A regular series on 7 Seconds Of Sound was called “Give Me Five” where we asked musicians to talk about five songs of their choosing.  As a tribute to Ferg, I’ve asked Svet to select five of his songs, and to write a few words about each one.  I’d really love it if you would take the time to listen.

“Bliss” – Bored Nothing

“My second post on the blog featured Bored Nothing’s “Bliss”. I love this video as it shows what makes Fergus so bloody special. Here was this dude who just wanted to make music for the love of it. He doesn’t look like he has tonnes of cash to buy the most expensive instruments or put together an extravagant and stupidly shallow video clip. He just obviously loves making music and is lucky enough to have awesome friends who help him make video clips.  Even if he had millions to spend, his video clips would probably still be the same as there’s nothing better than hanging out with your mates and a bunch of ducks in the backyard.”

 

“Get Out Of Here” – Bored Nothing

“Get Out Of Here” and “Charlie’s Creek” are definitely my favourite Bored Nothing songs. Both songs have a nostalgic beauty to them and flawlessly balance Ferg’s soft voice with quiet instrumentals. He is a great storyteller of sad tales of love. It just blows me away that he was probably about 20 when he recorded these songs and possibly much younger when he wrote them. Maybe it takes the confusion of adolescence to write sweet songs like these but so many people try hard to capture the bewilderment and uncertainty of that stage of life and fail whereas Ferg seems to be able to do it effortlessly.

 

“We Lied” – Bored Nothing

This film clip is a perfect visual accompaniment for this gorgeously wistful song. It was filmed during Bored Nothing’s 2014 European tour.  It’s serene and simple with no hint of boastful pretense of life on the road. It feels a bit voyeuristic watching it as you’re not just observing a band during quite moments on tour but you’re watching sweet and intimate moments between Ferg and his girlfriend at the time, fellow musician Anna Davidson. They were married not long after this video was filmed.

 

“Public Phone” – Wedding Ring Bells

I once gave Ferg some completely unsolicited advice and luckily his gentlemanliness prevented him from telling me to get stuffed. I told him two things. The first was to definitely include subdued tracks like “Get Out Of Here” and “Charlie’s Creek” on his next album as the focus of those songs are his beautiful lyrics and his great vocals. The second piece of advice was to incorporate more cowbells in his music. Disappointingly, he never did the cowbell thing but after Bored Nothing broke up, the self-titled album for his next project Wedding Ring Bells was laden with softly sung, quietly played songs. Public Phone is my favourite track on that album, with its sweetly sung philosophical lyrics about love and the inevitability that it will end in bitterness and disappointment. It’s the perfect song to listen to while looking out the window on a rainy day.

 

“You Win, Baby” – Wedding Ring Bells

Ferg’s friend Marcus Sellars put together an incredibly touching playlist for Ferg’s funeral. He included a lovely demo version of “You Win, Baby” that sounded like it was recorded in his lounge room. Ferg was playing this song to his friends for the first time and there was some funny banter between Ferg and his mates at the beginning, including his friend Catie saying she needed to put on her glasses so she could hear better. It was so nice hearing his laughter and listening to how relaxed and happy he was. For a moment I forgot where I was and then he started singing and it hit me yet again that Ferg was gone, at which point I completely lost it and broke down in tears. 

ferg-2

 

For nearly two and a half years 7 Seconds Of Sound has been on indefinite hiatus.  During that time I’ve applied gentle pressure on Svet, every now and then, to perhaps revive the blog, because I miss it.  In a way, now that Ferg is gone, it’s almost like the closing of a circle.  Even though I never met him, Ferg had an effect on both Svet’s life and mine.  His life was short, but his influence was wide.  Rest in peace, Fergus Miller.

Ejo #70 – Is My Beloved Australia Racist?

I’ve been wanting to write an ejo about racism for a very long time now, as I live in a country in which it’s rife. A place where someone might think it’s OK to make comments like, “I could never date a black girl because I’d feel like her skin was… always dirty,” scrunching his nose in distaste at the thought. A place where the job classifieds can specify, “Indians and Pakistanis need not apply”. A place in which an entire hierarchy is based on where you were born and the colour of your skin. It is a minefield, and perhaps one day I’ll sort out the mess that this blatant racism causes in my head and I’ll write about it. But in the meantime, I’m compelled to write about a place where racism of this magnitude and brazenness does not exist. A place where it’s illegal to discriminate or vilify someone based on the colour of their skin. A place where, if he’s good enough, an indigenous man is afforded the opportunity to play elite professional sport, alongside his non-indigenous counterparts. A place where, on the surface at least, racism has been stamped out. Australia.

Several weeks ago the Australian media (including social) blew up over a topic that proved incendiary and divisive. What happened was that a certain football player was being booed every time he was on the field. I’m not talking about the kind of booing that happens when a player does something you don’t like. I’m talking about an ugly, jeering, vicious kind of booing. Booing filled with hate and malice. Terrible, terrible booing.

So, what did this player do to deserve this treatment? A few people justified it by saying they didn’t like the way he played footy. Interesting. The 18 year Australian Football League (AFL) veteran has had the rare distinction of being twice awarded the league’s highest honour, the Brownlow medal, given to the season’s best and fairest player. For emphasis: BEST and FAIREST player of the entire league. This is no small feat. What else? He is a two-time premiership player (which means his team has won the Grand Final – twice!). Again, a great achievement. Obviously he’s doing something right, when we’re talking about his football prowess, which kind of negates the argument that the disproportionate booing is for the way he plays.

I guess this is as good a time as any to introduce the player under discussion. Beloved readers, meet Adam Goodes, an Adnyamathanha Aboriginal man and one of the most successful indigenous players in the history of the AFL.

Adam Goodes. My hero.

Adam Goodes. My hero.

I might as well also mention that in addition to his sporting achievements, Goodes was elected 2014 Australian of the Year for his work with underprivileged indigenous youth and tireless campaigning against racism. Adam Goodes also advocates against family violence, having experienced it in his youth. Oh, and he took his mother as his date to the 2003 Brownlow medal ceremony, an event usually attended by the players’ “glamorous” WAGs. What an asshole. Boooooooooooooooooo!!!

When I started looking into why people were booing him so much, it became fairly obvious to me that the underlying reasons, sadly, were racist in hue. Let me summarise them below, and you can make up your own minds.

When Goodes was chosen as 2014 Australian of the Year, he made a comment at the ceremony that Australia Day was a day tinged with sadness for Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders, the indigenous peoples of Australia. He referred to it as “invasion day”. This didn’t go down well with some (racist?) Australians. The comment was said to be divisive and offensive. Why don’t we have a look at what he actually said:

There was a lot of anger, a lot of sorrow, for this day and very much the feeling of invasion day. But in the last five years, I’ve really changed my perception of what is Australia Day, of what it is to be Australian and for me, it’s about celebrating the positives, that we are still here as indigenous people, our culture is one of the longest surviving cultures in the world, over 40,000 years. That is something we need to celebrate and all Australians need to celebrate.

“There are people out there thinking that today is a great day for Australia — well, it is. It’s a day we celebrate over 225 years of European settlement and right now, that’s who we are as a nation but we also need to acknowledge our fantastic Aboriginal history of over 40,000 years and just know that some Aboriginal people out there today are feeling a little bit angry, a little bit soft in the heart today because of that, and that’s OK as well.”

I don’t see how anyone can be offended at that. It is conciliatory, whilst bringing focus to the fact of our country’s history – something that often gets swept under the rug. Australia was forcefully taken from its indigenous people. Bringing attention to that shouldn’t be deemed offensive, or ungrateful. It’s just a fact, and one that should actually be part of the conversation when we celebrate each year on 26th January. And from my perspective, if you boo him for this reason, you are booing him because you are racist and you don’t like hearing it.

He has also said that the Australian Constitution is a racist instrument. People didn’t like that either, suggesting that not only was it inflammatory but that he had no idea what he was talking about and that he should keep his opinions to himself. But if you look at it from the point of view of indigenous people, the Constitution is racist. In fact, in 2012, Dr. Helen Szoke, the Race Discrimination Commissioner of the Australian Human Rights Commission stated that an Expert Panel, established by the Prime Minister at the time, had “made a number of recommendations that seek to address the embedded racism in our country’s Constitution”. What were those recommendations? To repeal the provisions (Section 25 and Section 51 (xxvi)) allowing the government to “discriminate on the basis of race”. In addition, the panel recommended that several new sections be inserted. One that “explicitly respects and acknowledges Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people”. One that prohibits the government from “making laws that discriminate on the basis of race”. And finally, a section that “proposes the recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages as the “original Australian languages”.

So, Adam Goodes wasn’t being inflammatory at all. He was simply championing a cause that he strongly believes in (and that the Australian Human Rights Commission also believes in) – the very reason he was given the honour of Australian of the Year in the first place. If you were booing him for this reason, then you were booing him because you are racist.

Let’s take a look now at when the extreme booing started. I call it May of this year when, during a game, Goodes celebrated kicking a goal by doing a little war dance which ended with him throwing an imaginary spear into the opposing team’s crowd. A lot of people didn’t like this, calling it offensive, aggressive, provocative, threatening and foolish. Let’s have a look at what he actually did.

To me, this is simply entertainment. Pure theatre. A joyful celebration. I cannot see how it could be construed as offensive. What I’m seeing is a proud Aboriginal man, celebrating his accomplishment with a ritual of cultural significance to him. And let me point out that this incident occurred during Indigenous Round. For fuck’s sake! It’s nothing less than sheer perfection. If you’re offended by this, and this is why you booed Goodes, then you’re booing him because you’re racist.

Finally, one of the main reasons proffered for the booing was an incident that occurred over two years ago. Here’s what went down. While playing a match during Indigenous Round (yes, again), Goodes heard someone in the crowd call him an ape. Before I go on, can we all agree that this is racist and absolutely unacceptable? The AFL has very strict rules about racism. Fans are immediately ejected and subject to police investigation. And rightly so. When Goodes heard himself referred to as an ape, he didn’t let it slide. He stood up for himself. He put his foot down. He stopped playing and he pointed in the direction of the slur.

Refusing to take racist shit lying down.

Refusing to take racist shit lying down.

To me, this picture is a powerful image of a proud Aboriginal man refusing to accept racism. This picture invokes in me, a strong swell of admiration, empathy, respect and support for Adam Goodes. I love him because of this picture. Unfortunately, a lot of people had the opposite reaction. Especially when the racist turned out to be a 13 year old girl.

What happened next is that the girl was taken away from her guardians, detained for several hours and questioned by police. Adam Goodes has been blamed for that ever since. Which is a joke. Blame the police, blame the AFL, but don’t blame Adam Goodes. He didn’t choose to be racially vilified that day (or any other day). He didn’t choose for that young girl to be the culprit. Did she deserve for Adam Goodes to point a recriminating finger at her? Absofuckinglutely. Did she deserve the treatment that came after? I don’t know, but I know that blaming Adam Goodes for it is wrong. He has been called “vile” and “revolting” for what happened. What I think is vile and revolting is booing a man who stands up against the kind of racism he has experienced over and over again, his whole life. The kind of racism where he’s told to shut up and stop sooking. Where he’s told to stop playing the victim. Where he’s told to harden the fuck up.

And so the debate raged online. It shocked me, it disappointed me, it made me angry and it made me ashamed to be Australian to hear people say that Adam Goodes deserved to be booed for any of the reasons outlined above. It seemed that racism was alive and well in Australia after all. And after living outside my beloved country for the last seven years, that was a slap in the face. I admit that I became quite emotionally involved in the debate. I simply couldn’t understand it, and I did a lot of research because I wanted to wrap my head around what was happening. The conclusion I came to is that racism might be too specific a brush to paint the booers with. I stand by my opinion that Adam Goodes was subject to intense, prolonged and persistent racism. But it’s not that simple. What I’ve come to realise is that Australia embodies an axiom of white hegemony. What is hegemony? The dictionary defines it as “authority”, “leadership”, “power”, “predominance”, “command”. When you put the word “white” in front of all those, you start to get a picture of how Australia subsists.

If you don’t believe that white hegemony exists in Australia, let’s look at some numbers. If Australia was truly racially equal, then the 3% of the population that is indigenous should be represented fairly across the board. What you’ll find is that this is not the case. Nowhere near. Indigenous infant death rates are twice as high as those for non-indigenous children. Life expectancy for indigenous men and women is almost ten years less than for non-indigenous people. Indigenous Australians are four times as likely to need hospital care for chronic conditions, three times as likely to develop diabetes, and three times as likely to die during childbirth as non-indigenous Australians. Even though they only make up 3% of the population, indigenous suicide accounts for 50% of all Australians taking their own life. Half!! Even more disturbing is that for youth suicides that number goes up to 80%. Indigenous Australians are 27% less likely to finish school, and five times as likely to be unemployed as non-indigenous Australians. The average income for indigenous households is about half that of non-indigenous households; and the rate of domestic violence assault requiring hospitalisation is between 25-32 times that of non-indigenous people.

And the numbers keep on coming. Though they made up just 2.3% of the adult population, in 2013, 27.4% of the adult prison population was comprised of indigenous Australians. In Western Australia that number increases to 45%. In fact Western Australia has the proud distinction of leading the world in incarcerating indigenous people. Must be great for business.

So try telling me that the white man in Australia doesn’t have authority, power, predominance and command over indigenous people. Try telling me that white hegemony is a construct. And I’ll tell you that we are systemically crushing Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders through fear and denial.

So, how does this relate to Adam Goodes? Well, to paraphrase from an article by Trey Lyon: racism is the philosophy, but white hegemony is the system. I truly believe that a lot of the people booing Adam didn’t realise that what they were doing was “racist”. So there was a lot of offence being taken around the place. In fact, it seemed to me that being called a racist was more offensive than actually being one. But when you look at the numbers above, it is really clear to me that we all have a responsibility to do everything we can to stop suppressing indigenous Australians. To insist that booing Goodes was not racially driven is to deny Australia’s tainted history. What I heard a lot was that if he wanted the booing to stop, he should have shut his mouth and stopped calling Australia racist. What I heard was that if he didn’t want to get booed, he should never have done the spear throwing dance. He was asking for it. Like a woman wearing a short skirt is asking to get raped. It’s victim blaming.

Let’s look, instead, at where the blame truly lies.

It lies in the fabric of Australian society, which, through white hegemony, is so finely and intricately woven with racism that if you look at it as a whole you might not even see it. In fact, you might even convince yourself that it doesn’t exist. But as long as being Aboriginal means being a second class citizen, it exists. The Australian Human Rights commission has identified that it exists. To say that Australia, as a country, is not racist is to either be wilfully ignorant, or to be a denier. Both are harmful.

I guess the problem with identifying racism lies in the fact that it’s not as obvious as it used to be. Aborigines not having the “right” to vote until as recently as 1967 was obvious racism. Referring to indigenous Australians as “abos”, “coons” and “boongs” was obvious racism. Not allowing Aborigines to play football because of their race was obvious racism. All of these things have now been rectified – but that doesn’t mean that racism has been eradicated. It’s just been normalised – to the point where people may not even be aware that their thoughts and actions are racist. People like that young 13 year old girl who called Adam Goodes an ape. Whether she knew it was racist or not is not provable (and of course she denied it). But whether she knew it or not is irrelevant. Ignorance is not an excuse for racism. It’s the cause.

This is why the debate gets so messy. I can’t get into people’s heads and say with absolute certainty that the reason they were booing Adam Goodes on the football field was racist. As far as I’m aware, not one single person put their hand up and admitted that they were booing him because of his race. As if. We live in a society where that kind of behaviour is not accepted. But…. I can say with absolute certainty that the reasons people gave to justify their booing of Adam Goodes were in fact 100% racially motivated. Maybe not directly, but there is most certainly a causal link between his outspoken stance against racism in Australia and his being booed on the football field.

Adam Goodes retired last week after a long and illustrious career. He was booed right up to his very last match, which just breaks my heart. It’s a shame that such a fine player will probably be remembered for this ugly chapter in Australian sport. But I will choose to remember him as someone to admire, someone to look up to. I choose to honour him and I truly hope that he continues his amazing work with indigenous youth and educating Australia about racism.

Champion

Champion.  Spunk.  

I can’t do much to fight racism myself, but this is what I can, and will, do. I can write about it, and attempt to bring awareness of the subject to a wider audience. When I encounter instances of racism, I will always, always, stand up and say “No, that’s not right”. This occasion has been the first time that I’ve been turned upon for doing so (and you can read about that in next month’s ejo) but you know what, I don’t care.

You can attack me all you like for calling out racism. It doesn’t say anything about me – but it says a lot about you.

Ejo #51 – Time Ticks Away (And How I Met An Aussie, Sporting Legend)

 

Age is a really terrible thing, isn’t it? Those of you who don’t realise this yet, will – one day. Haha, don’t fret, it happens to everyone. Yes, including YOU! Apart from the wrinkles, the slow but steady onslaught of grey hair proliferating on my head and the increasing creakiness of my body I’ve noticed a very gradual, but definite, fading of myself. What do I mean by this? I’m talking about mattering to the world at large, to society. It’s a young person’s world out there and the older you get, the less you matter. The less you are seen. I admit to having been guilty of this very same crime when I was younger. I would look at “older” people with a filter. And, at the tender age of 42½ I am starting to feel that perhaps now I’m being filtered. Not by everybody of course – certainly not by people my own age, but I think that’s what stops us from going crazy, right? You’re not going through it alone and there are always others of the same generation experiencing the same thing (though I’m sure we all feel it in different ways).

 

For instance, when I think about how old I am, I’m not too concerned with the number. I have a look at how I feel, and to be honest, I still feel 23. Doesn’t everyone feel like this?? Sometimes I’m shocked by how little time I probably have left to accomplish all the things I want to do. This sometimes serves as inspiration, but often it just leaves me feeling shit scared. I guess in the greater scheme of things I am at the younger end of the “old age” spectrum and I often wonder how those towards the other end feel. My mother is, I suppose, smack bang in the middle of this timeline. Officially a senior citizen (which kind of freaks me out – though I imagine it freaks her out even more!!!). I know that she is feeling the vagaries of time, especially as she faces the remainder of her life without my Dad, who passed away ten years ago. It must be hard. On the one hand, time must seem to stretch out like a very lonely road, parts of it insufficiently lit, and parts unchartered. On the other hand, time just keeps on tick, tick, ticking away and before you know it…. well, you know what.

 

I admit to not ever being close to my grandparents, having never lived in the same country as them. In a way, not having the chance to develop a relationship with people of their generation means that I probably missed out on something rather special. Perhaps that’s why when I was younger I had a total blind spot for people with wrinkly skin and white hair. I didn’t know how to relate to them. I didn’t actually realise that I could. They were always “other”, and foreign to me. Sure, I’ve always had an easy affinity with people of my parents’ generation. I was brought up to be respectful, but relaxed, around them. But old, old people? I was at a loss.

 

Of course, now that I’ve joined that old age factory line towards death (albeit at the younger end), I have become aware that older people are… well, they’re just like me. They are interesting and engaging. Their outer casing may be wrinkly and spotted and scarred and sore and stiff, and unable to do the things they used to do. And sometimes their memories aren’t great either. But these people have lived, and they are still living. And what’s exciting to me now is meeting someone who can paint me a picture I’ve never seen, in words I’ve never heard before.

 

On a recent trip to Australia, my husband and I stayed a few days in Adelaide to catch up with his parents. They arranged a lunch with some old family friends that David hadn’t seen in several years. Meeting Shirley and Alan Dawe was quite honestly one of the highlights of my trip.

 

From the moment Alan sat down opposite me at the table, he had me enraptured. He is a dynamic, intriguing, charming fellow and he has lived an incredible life. In fact, you could say that he is one of Australia’s unsung living legends! Let me tell you a little bit about him.

 

Alan is 79 years old. He retired 15 years ago but has always pursued post-retirement activities that would give structure (and perhaps, meaning) to his life. He is still an avid golfer, playing every week. But even that’s not enough for him. A few years ago, he walked into a bakery that a friend of his owns in Adelaide. While chatting to the workers, he picked up a broom and started sweeping the floors. It was the beginning of a new purpose in Alan’s life. Nearly three years later he still goes in to the bakery two or three times a week to “help” out. He is now in charge of the quiche department! And he does a damn, good job, paid in left-over quiches and cartons of milk.

 

Oh, and Alan Dawe used to play basketball. I mean like, for real. Over a career that’s spanned decades, he’s been the recipient of two “Best & Fairest” Woollacott medals (in 1958 and 1959), represented Australia in the first basketball team to play at an Olympics (Rome, 1960), acted as Olympic selector (Montreal, 1976) and served as Assistance Coach (under Lindsay Gaze) to the team that played at the Moscow, 1980 Olympics.

 

Australian Basketball Team (Moscow 1980).  Alan is in the front row, third from the right.

Australian Basketball Team (Moscow 1980). Alan is in the front row, third from the right.

 

Wow, right??

 

I’ve never met an Olympian before and I admit to being a little awestruck. But Alan is such a self-deprecating, easy-going fellow that, before long, we were chatting like old friends. He told me stories, and I lapped them up! He reminisced about a mid-winter trip to the US with the Australian national team where they landed at an airport at the beginning of a snow storm. The entire airport closed down, but their jet was priority-taxied to a position where the players could disembark and climb aboard police-escorted limousines that took them through the middle of the grid-locked city to the stadium (green traffic lights the whole way). The way he told the story was so captivating, so engulfing, I couldn’t help whispering across the table, wide-eyed, “Did you win?”. He waved me away with a laugh, “Nah, of course we lost.”

 

By the end of lunch, I still hadn’t had enough and when the Dawes invited us all back to their place for a taste of Alan’s famous home-brewed beer, I was first to say yes! Back at the house, we settled into the backyard for a couple of hours, enjoying Alan’s beer (the finest home brew I’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking) and chewing the fat.

 

Alan's amazing home brew.  His secret?  Patience.  He allows it to ferment in the bottle for 2-3 months, resulting in a clean, complex taste.  YUM!

Alan’s amazing home brew. His secret? Patience. He allows it to ferment in the bottle for 2-3 months, resulting in a clean, but complex, taste. YUM!

 

I would be a liar if I said I didn’t notice the liver spots, the wrinkled skin on his upper arms or the unsteadiness of his hand. But when he spoke of his experiences, travelling the world, representing his country, carrying the torch at the Sydney 2000 Olympics, Alan’s age became irrelevant. His stories, his life, took centre stage!

 

Knowing what a treat it would be for me, Alan brought out his Olympic torch, the one he carried for the Sydney 2000 Games.

Knowing what a treat it would be for me, Alan brought out his Olympic torch, the one he carried for the Sydney 2000 Games.

 

And, later on, when he recounted the anxiety and depression he suffered as an elite sportsperson artlessly falling from the pedestal of fame he became, once again, just a man. But one that still had the power and magic to charm a (relatively) youthful 42½ year old “girl”. Perhaps the day we met will stick in Alan Dawe’s memory as a day he was appreciated and feted (many years after his achievements). More likely, that day will stick in my memory as the day I met a living legend. Either way, it’s a day I’ll never forget (though you never know, my memory ain’t what it used to be).