Before I Sleep (19 page)

I had a strong supporter in Zelman Cowan, the recently arrived Vice Chancellor of the University of Queensland. We were both Mexicans from south of the border and we were both subject to a lot of pressure. Zelman and I became good friends; he would offer me a shoulder to cry on briefly and I would offer him mine. Zelman's methods of resolving problems were not confrontational. He felt that confrontation was not a very satisfactory way of resolving differences and he had other, perhaps more subtle, tactics. But I was launched on a confrontational encounter with the Police Union and there was no way I could back out of that without losing a great deal of respect. The union was implacably opposed to me. Every idea I produced, they immediately challenged. The union was very much under the control of its full-time civilian secretary, a man named Merv Callaghan who had once been an instructor at the Police Training College. I was told that he had entertained hopes that he might have succeeded Frank Bischof as commissioner. On my first day in office, Callaghan had rung me up full of bonhomie, calling me Ray and asking for my silent number, “in case of emergencies”. I had remained fairly formal, telling him that perhaps the president of union might be given my number, but not the secretary. Callaghan soon began to spend much of his time attacking me through his membership, through the premier and through the media.

A very high percentage of the Queensland Police Force were members of the union and were spread right throughout the state. The titular head of the Police Union was Sergeant Ron Edington. He was a crafty, happy-go-lucky drinker with eleven children. He appeared to me more reasonable and less adamant in his views than Callaghan, so my minister and I went out of our way to establish cordial relations with him. I would invite him to my office for drinks late on Friday evenings. On various occasions I talked to him confidentially about such things as forthcoming promotions and transfers. I was very much aware that, with Queensland being so vast, there could often be family problems associated with a new posting. And since I was not acquainted with most of the members of my new Force, I was ignorant of many domestic details such as the stage of schooling of their children, the occupational demands of their spouses and the state of health of their parents. To minimise the potential adverse consequences of moving members of the force around the state, I used to consult Ron about problems that might arise from particular promotions or transfers. Ron was very helpful; he knew many of the people involved and their family circumstances, so I was able to avoid causing some unnecessary hardship. I had told Ron that these were just confidential chats during which I sought his advice. After several of these meetings, however, I discovered that immediately after leaving me he would telephone the member of the Force whom we had been discussing and tell him that he, the president of the union, had been recommending that particular member's promotion to me and no doubt the member would be hearing shortly about his new status. When I challenged Ron about this breach of confidentiality, he said that he had his presidential responsibilities. I think he meant that he needed to gain extra kudos so that he could retain the presidency of the union at the next election. He eventually became a millionaire, having struck it lucky with some land purchases.

The Police Union executive was composed of sergeants of various classifications, all of whom had some Irish association; they were known colloquially as the Green Mafia. Outwardly they seemed to be a very cohesive bunch but, like any Irish body, the union was prey to internal friction. So I kept my ear to the ground and picked up a few leads as to who amongst the twelve executive members was on the outer at any one time. Very early on I found that Detective Sergeant John Huey was in poor favour. I checked his file and he had a good record as a detective. He had fallen foul of the union executive because he had married a policewoman while his first wife was dying of cancer. I found out that John Huey and Hilary, his new wife, were having a bad time in one way or another. Both of them had excellent work records. I asked them to see me in my office and suggested to them that they both be posted to a police station between Brisbane and the Gold Coast, in the new neighbourhood of Beenleigh, where a fair amount of crime was being reported. I said I'd transfer John as the detective sergeant and Hilary as his detective constable. I said that this would be an experiment, that as far as I knew the arrangement had never been tried anywhere else, and that I would watch the results with a great deal of interest. John and Hilary went to Beenleigh and did a first-class job. The idea of a husband and wife detective team attracted a lot of attention in the police world. The Australian Embassy in Bangkok even sent me a cutting from a Thai newspaper about John and Hilary. John lost his seat on the executive of the union so that he was no longer a voice for me at union meetings, if ever he was, but he and Hilary have produced a lot of useful work. I noticed that some years after I left Queensland, John Huey was assigned the task of investigating some of the suspect activities of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen. Hilary and John and I have remained friends: we correspond at Christmas and see each other whenever they come to Adelaide.

Another member of the union executive was Vince Murphy. He was not on the outer at this stage, but he seemed to me to have leadership qualities that would be very useful to me if I could involve him in the reform of the Queensland Police Force. Vince was a tall, well-built man, very capable, easy to get on with — a strong character in his own right. I asked him to come and see me. I told him I was going to form a small, independent unit consisting of a sergeant and eight hand-picked men. I told Vince that the state manager of a large department store had come to see me, complaining about the way his store in Fortitude Valley was losing customers because of disorderly conduct on the streets, drunken driving and the general air of lawlessness that was creeping into the Valley. The manager told me that he had spoken to the inspector of police in Fortitude Valley, who had said that he'd look into the problem. In the ensuing three months, nothing happened and the situation had simply become worse. I told Vince that I'd spoken to my senior officers, who confirmed that there had recently been a number of fatal road accidents involving drunken drivers in the Valley. There were some brothels and a growing number of clubs at which illegal gambling was thought to take place. I explained to Vince that my senior officers were of the opinion that little could be done because it was difficult to gain entry to the clubs whose doors had been reinforced with steel and because it was difficult to prosecute prostitutes and brothel keepers. Under Queensland law, such a prosecution would require hard evidence of sexual activity and the wives of investigating policemen would object to such evidence being obtained. I asked Vince if he could think of an indirect way of resolving the problem. At the time, I was unaware that the state Member for Fortitude Valley was Don “Shady” Lane, a former officer of the Queensland Special Branch. Lane was subsequently convicted and imprisoned. When I had spoken to my senior officers about problems in the Valley, they had seemed to be uninterested in my insistence that they get active. I hadn't realised then that they knew their inaction had the backing of the state member.

I told Vince to pick his eight men, to work independently of the Fortitude Valley divisional officers, to report directly to me and to take orders only from me. I told him to draw up his own rosters and to work his own hours. I said that, provided there was good reason, we would pay overtime. I stressed that I wanted to see real results. I asked Vince what he thought he would tackle first and he replied that cracking down on drunken driving would allow us to establish a strong police presence in the area, which might then result in a lower general crime rate. I told him to go ahead.

Vince picked his men and went to work in the Valley. When he reported to me it was clear that he and his team were making inroads into the drink-driving problem. This went on for some months and I began to suspect that we would soon be the recipients of a probe from people with vested interests and political clout, since we were in fact establishing a strong police presence in the Valley. It came — and this surprised me — through the Police Union. The secretary, Merv Callaghan, complained to me that his members were most upset at the way in which Vince Murphy's men were getting a large share of the overtime. Callaghan thought that the overtime should be spread more equitably.

I said: “Well, it's interesting that a member of your executive is doing something that your executive doesn't agree with.”

Callaghan said it didn't matter that Vince Murphy was a member of the executive; all members of the Force were entitled to their share of the available overtime money.

I said: “Mr Secretary, I'd be very happy to pay overtime if it arises from your members' need to attend court to give evidence in the prosecution of drunken driving cases.”

I heard no more from Callaghan, but I suspect Vince Murphy would have had to defend himself against criticism from the rest of the executive.

That year there was a reduction of about thirty per cent in the numbers of fatal road crashes in Fortitude Valley. The number of arrests for drunken driving had risen considerably. But then I received a direction from my minister. He told me that Cabinet had decided that the Fortitude Valley team had to confine itself to actions that were at least 50 metres away from licensed premises. Cabinet was not happy with the fact that the patrons of licensed premises were being questioned by Murphy's men the moment they entered their cars. It was bad for business and the licensees were complaining very strongly about it. I asked Max Hodges if this was an official directive from himself, the premier and Cabinet. He said it was and I indicated that I would instruct Vince Murphy to keep his men at least 50 metres away from pubs and clubs. I called Vince to my office and told him of the new policy.

He said: “Don't worry, Commissioner, it won't affect us.”

I scanned the monthly returns and noticed that Murphy's men were still managing to operate with as much diligence as before. I sent for Vince and asked him how he was managing to be so efficient, was he sure he was operating outside the 50 metre mark? He assured me he was and mentioned that all his briefs gave the location of the intercept and that in all cases they were more than 50 metres from licensed premises. I congratulated him and said I'd pass this information to the minister, which I duly did.

I didn't hear any more about the matter for some time. Murphy's successes continued and in the second year there was another drop of about thirty per cent in the number of fatal crashes in the Valley and the number of arrests continued to grow. So one day I asked Vince how it was that he had not been handicapped by the Cabinet direction, which had clearly been designed to slow down his operations.

Vince said: “Well, Commissioner, I'll tell you what happens. My men come on duty at about five o'clock in the evening and they go to the car parks behind the clubs and they put a small sticker on the left headlights of the cars. Then when the patrons leave after drinking until nine or ten or eleven, they drive down the street and my men can pick every car that has come from a licensed premises. So we pull them over and give them a test. It doesn't matter how far away we are.”

I said: “O.K., Vince. I can see nothing wrong with that.”

I noticed that soon after I left Queensland, my successor, Terry Lewis, abolished Murphy's Marauders, as they'd come to be known. Naturally, Vince Murphy also lost his seat on the executive.

When we arrived in Brisbane, Mavis and I quickly found we had little in common with the Brisbane Baptist fellowship who were strictly fundamental in their religious outlook. The services were stuffy, but prior to the morning service there was a men's Bible class conducted by the Rev. Dr Athol Gill in a room at the back of the church. I had heard of Athol back in Canberra and I thought it would be interesting to attend his class, so I took to turning up at church an hour early. There were about a dozen other men of mixed backgrounds in the group. I found Athol Gill's approach to Christian living very refreshing. He was the deputy director of the Baptist Theological College and he had started a small Christian community house in an inner Brisbane suburb which he'd called the House of the Gentle Bunyip. He invited Mavis and I to visit the community, just to see what it was like.

We took up the invitation and one night Mavis and I knocked on the door of a comfortable, old-fashioned house. We were greeted by a bright young lady of about twenty years of age.

She said, “Come inside, Commissioner and Mrs Whitrod, I'm one of your piglets.”

I said: “Piglet?”

She said, “Yes, my father is one of your sergeants.”

She took us inside and we joined a group of about sixteen people of various ages in a large lounge. We all sat on cushions on the floor and ate a frugal supper while one of the young men related his day's experiences. I learnt that there were five people in residence at the house. Two were university students, two worked part-time and one young man was conducting leatherwork classes for unemployed youth at the back of the house. We were shown around and saw the single bedrooms. They were all sparsely furnished, but very clean. The kitchen was spotless. Both Mavis and I were impressed with the atmosphere and the environment in which these young people were working as a small Christian community. We left after about an hour, partly because my legs and back were aching from the unusual experience of sitting on a cushion on the floor. The young lady escorted us to the door and invited us to call again any time, saying she and her friends were delighted we'd come.