The Kennedy Foundation’s , ‘HALL OF HONOUR’, has been created for a number of reasons. Firstly it is designed to be a permanent record of the contributions to the history of journalism of the Kennedy ‘Legends’.

Till now our journalist legends have all been men. Some were the founders of the Foundation and for that we truly honour them. Others who have died since made outstanding contributions to our craft.

While this previous gender imbalance may have been reflective of the times its is certainly not the case now and a key reason for creating a ‘HALL of HONOUR is to celebrate the best of Australia’s journalistic history regardless of race, gender or creed.

Many women will finally get there deserved place in the pantheon of the great and the bold.

The list is likely long, but starts now.

The first entries into the Hall have been remembered by those who knew them or worked with them, some of them are famous in their own right but all are terrific pieces of heartfelt writing.

Read, discover, enjoy and be inspired.

HALL OF HONOUR

When I first met Les Kennedy in early 1976 as copy boys even, he had no idea he would become a journalist.

Sitting at the copy desk inside the editorial floor of the Sydney Daily Mirror I was amazed at my new found friend’s ability to sketch, in between the many chores we were given by the grumpy seasoned journalists and sub editors.

Like all of us copy kids we were competing to get a cadetship in journalism, but Les only wanted to follow his passion and be a newspaper cartoonist.

As the months ticked by our group finally snared our cadetships to become journalists on the Daily Mirror, the Daily Telegraph, the Australian and even the specialised racing paper the Sportsman.

Finally after nearly two years Les Kennedy was still stuck on the copy desk because there were no jobs on offer in the world of drawing and the inevitable unfolded.

Les took his chance with a journalist cadetship on The Australian, he did learn the ropes, but let us just say the publication was not his cup of tea. He wanted more daily action, crime and solid human interest reporting.
He then left the big smoke and went to a suburban newspaper to be graded, the ‘Liverpool Champion’, which was an excellent training ground.

From there, he started to build contacts and moved back into the Sydney metropolitan scene and worked at Australian Associated Press where he met his long term partner and mother of three of his four children, Trish Croaker.

Even though, Les was breaking big stories they was only published in some newspapers as, AAP copy and not under his personal by line.

But he was being noticed, especially for some of his work on the Griffith mafia and the murder of anti-drug campaigner Donald McKay.

Soon Les Kennedy’s by line was hard to ignore as he returned to News Limited and began breaking many front page stories for the Sydney Daily Telegraph.

By this stage I had left newspapers and was working in television journalism but Les and I remained close mates and still worked together on some of the biggest yarns in the country, The Sydney Granny Killer, the murder of Dr Victor Chang, the hunt for the backpacker serial killer, Ivan Milat, the Sydney gangland wars and the spectacular rise and fall of the infamous NSW Detective Sgt Roger Rogerson. These stories were published worldwide.

Les excelled as a journalist and was a dogged investigator and given the nature of the stories he was covering a book should surely follow. With co-writer, fellow journalist Mark Whittaker, they wrote, ‘Sins of the Brother’ the story of the hunt for the back packer killer Milat.

The book took five years of intensive work that uncovered the unusual and peculiar lives of Ivan Milat and his entire family and what led Milat to kill seven backpackers in the Belanglo Forest in the NSW Southern Highlands.

Les spent many months in the forest and travelled to many countries. I know, for he would often call me from those places.

It was a tricky assignment as both journalists had to have compassion for the immediate families of the seven victims and at the same time write about the horrific manner in which they were murdered, work that has been described as a “blood, sweat and tears” of journalism.

Les had also been head hunted and joined the staff of the Sydney Morning Herald where again he had many front page exclusives, sometimes setting the news media agenda for the day.

His working life was classic old school dogged journalism on display, a true operator of the Fourth estate, he was not a social media practitioner but a true believer in using his ferreting skills in exposing crime and corruption.

He never wanted to be a big time celebrity…. never sought publicity for himself and understood fundamentally that he was the story teller, the news breaker and it was the story that was most important." He was always at the coalface on the big stories.

He was well respected for being a seeker of the truth and there were times when the establishment and secret government Commission with powers to compel answers tried to force him to give up his sources. He never did and took them to his grave.

When Les became ill with cancer some extraordinary events played out in Sydney revealing the true legend of Les Kennedy. He lived to be a journalist and he died that way.

In August 2011 on his death bed just a few days before he passed, he was still working and dictated his last yarn to myself and his fellow Sun Herald colleague, Natalie O’Brien. He was weak, could not stand up or write himself but he insisted his last scoop must be published…and it did.
The next day, a special function, a farewell to Les was being held at an inner Sydney hotel just a few doors up from his home. He was determined to be there to thank his colleagues, contacts and friends but sadly he died that afternoon.

But the farewell function went ahead and it became a massive impromptu wake with hundreds of people turning up from all walks of life.

It was the biggest night the hotel ever experienced, the footpaths crowded with guests trying to get inside to hear the many speeches about Les’s work. That pub in Glebe was rockin into the wee hours with stories and toasts He died with courage, and left proud, humble and with a standing ovation from all who knew him.

The NSW Police force even named a pup police dog after him called, ‘Police Dog, Les’.
At his funeral I was invited by his family to speak about Les the man, the professional journalist. I told the packed congregation how Les was so enthused about all the stories he was working on he would often tell you the scoop before it was published. When I would remind him of this he would simply say, “Let’s write it together brother”.

That typified his unselfish and generous nature and shone most brightly when he took young cadet journalists under his wing to mentor guide and encourage their faltering steps into one of the tough occupations, journalism.

I mentioned at his impromptu wake and again from the church alter that both editorial executives of News Limited and Fairfax Publishers might contribute to the lasting memory of the journalist who served them both so well by erecting a picture or a plaque in their foyers.

This would be a great honour to his four children, three grandchildren and the rest of his family. I then suggested maybe even a journalist crime writer award named after Les could become a reality.

It did not take long for another colleague of Les Kennedy, radio, newspaper and television journalist, Adam Walters, to take up the challenge and call a meeting to start the ball rolling. Adam quickly realised that NSW did not have any specific awards night for journalists, other states did and there were the national awards known as the Walkleys.

So Les went from having a crime reporting award named after him to lending his name and virtues to what would become the Kennedy Foundation.

In 2012 the first Kennedy Awards for NSW media was held at Sydney’s Four Seasons Hotel and it was a massive success and has now grown into the richest national journalism awards program with the support of a bevy of Australian sponsors and now the Gala Awards night is held each year in the prestigious ballroom of Royal Randwick Racecourse.

The 2023 event saw 37 awards for outstanding journalism across every area were awarded before a packed room with 473 of the who’s who in our media.

Seventeen of those awards are named after media legends like Les like Les Kennedy who have gone to the newsroom in the sky.

The Kennedy Foundation named in Les’s honour also supports other media workers in hardship along with community charities and has scholarship and mentoring programs for young aspiring journalists.

Born in the Darwin Les has proud aboriginal ancestry. His darling mother, Merle, was of aboriginal blood also born in the Northern Territory.

His four children are indescribably proud and blessed that the awards honour him and his life. But they did see the toll it took on him as he never did things by half measure. He would be so happy, thrilled that all his children are successful in their own professions and in many ways have Les’s DNA work ethic.

Leah, his eldest, is a manager at Optus and rapidly climbing the ladder. Isabella won a scholarship to complete her masters of fine arts. An artist like her dad. Marcus is now based in Darwin and has followed his dad steps into the media business working as a Television News Cameraman. And his youngest child, Charles, is working as a junior fashion designer with R M Williams and also won a TAFE NSW’s Indigenous Student of the year award.

The last word on Les should go to his co-author and mate, Mark Whittaker.
At the first Kennedy Awards, Mark laconically made this very poignant observation: “ Les never put any of his work in for any awards. This is not Les”.

It is indeed ironic that Australia’s media talent enthusiastically and diligently enter their finest work to be judged under Les Kennedy’s name.

In this ever evolving new media landscape may the tradition of healthy competition and recognition of fine media accomplishments continue under the banner of the Kennedy Awards.

Steve Barrett
Steve Barrett is a founding member of the Kennedy Foundation and its Awards and former newspaper and television journalist.

A homage
Loveable rogue, hell-raiser, larrikin. These words (and many that can’t be published) were regularly used to describe Sean Flannery - one of the last great characters of Australian radio and journalism.
He had a legendary love of a drink, a yarn and a good time, as well as an ability to turn polite social engagements into chaos. One former colleague described him as a “whirling dervish”.
But while Sean was never far from the centre of a party, he was a consummate professional on the job and a master of his craft, described by another journalist mate as “one of the greatest radio reporters to grace the profession.”
Born in Forbes, NSW in 1942, Sean Martin Rogers Lawrence Flannery moved to Sydney in the 1960s. After working as a clerk at Qantas and retail giant David Jones he set his sights on a radio career and started at 2SM as one of its team of roving reporters.
In 1967 he was one of the first in Sydney to host an "open line" or "talkback" show on the day it became legal in Australia to record and broadcast telephone calls.
By the 70s he was a reporter and program producer at 2GB, married with a young family: daughters Mary-Ellen, Brigid and son John, although the marriage with Nicole would not last the distance. He later married Julie Blake and became step-father to her two children Sam and Kate de Brito.
Professionally Sean was making his mark and was poached to the newsroom of then industry juggernaut, 2UE, in 1977 where he began hosting its long-running Sunday morning program, Night Watch.
He had a sharp eye for both the ordinary and extraordinary and his colourful reporting style gained him instant fame, a following and huge ratings. With the catch phrase “This was Sydney last night,” Night Watch was a montage of events both big and small from the city’s streets over the previous 12 hours. It became appointment listening for Sydneysiders.
It was old-school journalism at its best. Sometimes he was first on the scene of a fatal car smash, fire or a brawl. At other times he could be found interviewing colourful characters at Woolloomooloo’s Harry’s Café de Wheels, or the working souls of the city - the ambulance drivers and paramedics, garbage men, police and nurses.
In the newsroom Sean did it all, from police rounds and courts, industrial news and protests, visiting celebrities and politics, and when they came, the major stories of the day.
Half-hour bulletins at noon, ten-minute bulletins at 7am, 5pm and 10 pm, plus live crosses and updates in programs as big stories were breaking and developing. From devastating bush fires in the Blue Mountains, a petrol tanker overturning and burning in the middle of a country town, to a police siege in the middle of suburbia where an officer was shot as tear gas wafted through the streets.
He spent months in Alice Springs during the 1980 trial of Lindy Chamberlain. Sean broke the verdict - guilty - well ahead of his colleagues who were all in the same court room and who heard the result at the same time. His tactic was old-school preparation. While his colleagues and radio rivals were pulling together breaking news reports Sean had already recorded three separate versions of the verdicts - Tape A for guilty, Tape B for innocent and Tape C for a hung jury.
The moment the verdict was returned, Flannery rang his producers at 2UE and shouted: “Play Tape A.” He told former Channel 7 reporter Steve Barrett: “I hope they press the right bloody button”.
While he was famous for his scoops and reporting style, his off-duty antics were also legendary especially when he was in the company of another hellraiser, the Sydney Daily Mirror's, Jim Oram. The two were stopped by police in the early hours of the morning in Alice Springs having a race in shopping trolleys, Flannery in full voice singing Onward Christian Soldiers.
Former radio great Ian Parry-Okeden said: ''He was one of those quintessential Australians who could walk into a pub anywhere and somebody would say, 'G’day Sean'. We could be in a country town miles from anywhere and go into a bar and someone would say that.''
Flannery had a cheeky charm that seemed to hum across the airwaves, giving listeners the feeling they were with him across the bar, hearing him unwind a great yarn.
Former 2UE colleague and veteran radio reporter Rob Kinney said: “His use of words combined with the immediacy and intimacy of radio, not just to report the facts of a story but to “take” you right there with him, were second to none. Sean had an ability to create ‘word pictures’ of the sights, sounds, emotions and urgency of what was happening and who was involved, allowing his radio audience to ‘see’, hear and feel like they were experiencing for themselves what was happening in front of and around him.”
It was known as “theatre-of-the-mind” radio. Kinney said: “For those who worked with, were mentored by and even competed against Sean, his was the benchmark, the gold standard of radio reporting.”
In the mid-80s Sean took a break from radio and went to work as a television reporter for Channel 10, where he again endeared viewers with his fresh reporting style. He earned a gong from international broadcaster CNN which had picked up one of his reports in which he decided to do a bungee jump and have it filmed, screaming all the way down. They gifted him an extravagant engraved silver bowl which he treasured for the rest of his life.
In 1987 he moved to a prime-time gig in Adelaide with Channel 7, owned by Christopher Skase, reading the 6pm news. As always, his forthright, open style quickly led to a spike in the ratings.
Part of his talent lay in his duality. He spoke what he referred to as the “Queen’s English” in a clipped, precise almost plummy voice, and then, with a wink and a twinkle of mischief in his eye he could lapse into colloquial slang.
Veteran reporter, Norm Lipson, remembers he was also not adverse to pulling a stunt or telling a joke on air. "The night after an ad-lib went awry, he appeared with gaffer tape over his mouth," Lipson said. "He was one of those old-time larrikin journos who just endeared himself to you."
Skase later terminated Sean’s services - reportedly after Sean got fresh with his wife Pixie at a massive staff knees-up at the Mirage in Port Douglas but an unabashed Flannery simply accepted his sacking and found further employment with Channel 10 in Sydney.
In the late 90s he returned to radio at 2GB, but unable to put away his instincts for a story (or stirring the pot) he infuriated the management of Radio 2GB by bringing Alan Jones on air to talk about the South Sydney Rabbitohs. At the time Jones worked for rival radio station 2UE. 2GB owner, John Singleton, sacked Flannery the next day but Sean said he never regretted it.
Ian Parry Okeden said of his long-time friend: “Sean kowtowed to no one.”
After leaving 2GB Sean decided it was probably time to hang up his headphones for good. He retired to Mt Victoria in the Blue Mountains with Julie but was diagnosed with cancer soon after. It was a long battle, he was unwell for a decade before he died, but he never complained, often referring to the cancer as no worse than a “boil on the bum”.
He died in November 2011 surrounded by his children and family.
Sean worked in an era of colourful characters and fierce competition. He was – and remains – one of the best in the business and sentiment is shared by many, "Sean was one of the great characters of radio and TV reporting," former News Limited chairman and CEO, John Hartigan, said when Sean died.
"Funny, smart - one of the last swashbucklers of journalism."
It’s why he’s a legend who has the Kennedy Award for outstanding radio reporting named in his honour, and memory.
Kate de Brillo
With the help of family, friends and colleagues.

"Killed for a mango."
It's a classic Harry Potter TV crime report opening line.
But it's also a masterclass in journalism.
Sharp, shocking and intriguing - you want to know more, and he always had plenty more to reveal.
Long before the boy wizard, there was only one Harry Potter.
A real-life force of good against evil.
For 32 years at 10 News, the legendary crime reporter covered Australia's darkest chapters.
Over his more than 50-year career, Harry saw it all, and always strived to open our eyes to the light that drives out the dark. Seeking justice for those blindsided by crime.
From serial killer Ivan Milat, granny killer John Glover and family killer Sef Gonzales, to the lives lost Kerry Whelan, Anita Cobby, Ebony Simpson - Harry was at the forefront covering, and even helping to crack the case.
He was respected by all - the cops, his rivals - even the crims.
"I’ve always tried to help the police, and I always enjoyed the chase and the investigative side of it," Harry said.
"But I want to let the young one's know, and us too pal," he chuckled leaning in, "everyone gets scooped."
"If you happen to be "done" on a story, as we call it, or you're not having a good run in the game, just hang on, because you can miss getting a video or feel like you are being scooped one day but within a day or two you could have the story of the year."
Harry had many.
Convincing 21-year-old Sef Gonzales, to sit at his family's graves, shortly after he'd bludgeoned them to death, would deliver a vital interview that helped police secure enough evidence to lay murder charges.
"I worked very hard to get through to Sef before he was arrested, he staggered me, he was angelic that kid."
Sef was sentenced to life behind bars.
Harry was renowned for treating grieving loved ones with grace, care and respect, that often saw him on the phone to them late into the night, offering his own kind counsel, helping them make some sense of the unbearable.
He never took their loss lightly. He never forgot them. Often ringing on anniversary's, decades after he first met them.
So how did he balance his own mental health? I asked him what stories affected him most.
"Of all the massacres and the murders, the one that creeps into my mind when I least expect it is little Ebony (Simpson) - that one touches me the most I think."
Harry's news report: "He [Garforth] turned the radio up so he couldn't hear her cries and drove to a dam a few kilometres away."
Harry felt very strongly that journalists can and do make a powerful difference, giving people a voice when needed, helping important details come to light, finding justice.
"People think we intrude but I think the families learn to rely on us to make sure they'll get justice.”
When Ebony’s murderer, Andrew Garforth, was put away Harry approached her Dad, Peter Simpson, and asked his response but he was unsure about speaking, so,
“I said Peter, this is your last chance, it's all over and he said give me a few minutes Harry and then said this."
"The fact remains that Ebony Simpson got the death sentence, the Simpson family has got the life sentence, and Garforth's got bed and breakfast."
Among those living victims of horrendous crimes that Harry admired most, were the parents of murdered nurse Anita Coby.
He was in awe of their grace under the intense public spotlight and their ability to forgive.
Harry often told me we were in the greatest school in the world, there was something to learn from everyone we met, no matter how broken, how sad.
On air, his unique reporting style was legendary with his glorious turns of phrase, his observational skills that used simple things to be powerfully expressive.
"Earlier in today's hearing McCafferty took notes despite the handcuffs on his wrist."
"Barred access to the Comancheros’ headquarters, I asked two of the arriving members to speak to their President - better known as Grunt - about the alleged murder of one of his men."
"The notorious Darcy Dugan was led into court, he wore a khaki military style battle jacket, a red skivvy, blue jeans, black shoes and no socks."
And perhaps his most famous,
"The headless body was found face down."
Despite scouring far and wide there is no video copy left of this one and we suspect Harry may have something to do with that.
And there was his ability to take you right there,
"Ivan Milat left court today without the smile he's shown throughout the trial."
His report then cuts to a beautifully shot, yet chilling piece to camera with Harry wearing a shearling jacket, walking alone as the last rays of light fade through the Belanglo Forrest.
"Investigators I've spoken to generally agree the serial killer would have driven into the forest with his victims, late afternoon. As nightfall approaches here an eerie chill hangs over the forest. The loggers have gone, the birds have settled in their nests and the serial killer can do his dirty work without fear of interference."
Harry was also a rarity - a true gentleman who never backed down.
Sprayed with a hose by a shirtless, irate, dog attack owner, he stepped forward, "Mate, the little boy's been bitten don't you ...?", his question drowned out by expletives from the alleged offender.
But no-one could intimidate Harry. He stepped in closer, going forehead to forehead with the muscle flexing antagonist, yelling back at him :
"You can talk to us, can't you?"
Then the bit everyone in the newsroom always crowded around to watch - Harry's piece to camera.
Clutching the lapels of his drenched jacket, he delivered today's lesson:
"The hose dropped and the drenching I received finally over, the owners of the dog finally talked to me after I insisted, I was only trying to get their side of the story. They were quick to express sympathy for the boy, however they won't destroy their other two dogs."
Totally, compulsive viewing.
But it was his wonderful, self-deprecating humour that outshone it all.
When 10 News introduced a new computer system, Harry fronted an in-house video for staff, explaining how it would work.
"As you know I'm a bit of a whiz with the electronic typewriter ... I can even play solitaire on my own."
As he sauntered through the newsroom, coat strung over his shoulder, his staccato police reporter voice informed us all,
"Around about now you're bound to have the obvious question, and that would be; 'How do I keep my hair looking so good?' can't tell you that, wish I knew. What I can tell you is that NAPA stands for News And Production Automation. Doesn't mean much really, it's one of those anagrams that news managers like playing around with."
We were all rollicking. Instead of feeling dread about learning how to use a new computer and editing system, everyone was in good spirits, sharing the laughs with Harry.
"After a hard day of door knocks and foot in the door stuff, putting my life on the line at times so to speak for Network 10, I like nothing better than coming back to my computer.”
Nobody doubted how much Harry loved his job.
He told me: "As I look back the important thing is to make every day count, because I've had a ball, quite honestly there hasn't been a bad day, just the chase, cops, robbers."
But he met an even greater love at work - Katrina Lee.
Helming 10 News, she was the most watched presenter on Australian television - an adored and trusted professional.
Theirs was a magic relationship on and off screen, together they had four children.
And together they broke some of the biggest stories of our times.
Always with flair. Always with integrity. Always entertaining
Way back in the 1980s, Harry dressed in a yellow linen short sleeve shirt, unbuttoned, low and tucked into finely pressed beige slacks, a thick gold chain hanging stylishly around his neck matching his gold watch, not a hair out of place, walked slowly around a country dam, a piece of dry hay in one hand used to point out several nearby locations, as he delivered his latest report for:
10 News Police File with Harry Potter.
"It is the classic murder mystery. The Judd Brothers shopped in Cobar early on Friday December 7, 1979, buying a frozen chicken groceries and a carton of beer. We know the Judd brothers were heavy drinkers - and let's face it - in the dry heat of Bourke. they had every right to be. But homicide detectives, like the locals, don't believe that even drunk they'd drive up that ramp into their own dam. So here is the evidence you be the detective.”
Cutting back to studio
Harry: “And don't forget several rapists are loose on Sydney's north shore, Kate.”
Katrina Lee: Thanks Harry.
It felt to many of us, nothing could stop Harry, not even cancer.
And when he finally succumbed on 8 May 2014, then New South Wales Police Commissioner Andrew Scipione was among the first to call me, wanting to pay tribute.
"Whilst we were investigating some of the biggest cases we have ever seen in this state, Harry Potter was on the front line with those police that were on the front line. Harry was a friend to the New South Wales Police Force,"
Harry was never too busy to help other journos out, or just be a good pal, to have a chat, update us on his fabulous family or his beloved footy or just share a good laugh.
And so, before he retired, I suggested we create The Harry Potter Awards.
Each year at 10 News Sydney, all in the newsroom vote for 3 colleagues they believe have really given back.
It's not about best story, or scoop or news extravaganza.
These awards get everyone thinking about each other and how we work best as a team.
And it was one of my favourite memories seeing Harry receive the very first award in 2005 and after he retired, he would return each year to present this prestigious prize.
The Kennedy's now have their own Harry Potter Award for Television News - and we are all just as thrilled the great man's name lives on in this way.
It was near the end of his stellar career, Harry reluctantly agreed to do a story on the blockbuster children's book that was stealing his identity.
And it is some of his finest work. *
And the message he chose to ink on his arm in his final years?
"Don't worry about tomorrow, it can steal your today."
How good it was to hear that sign-off, “Harry Potter Ten News.”
We only wish there was more, for there’ll never be another Harry Potter.
Harry’s four children are Tim, Nick, Elly and Jackson
*Here is the tribute to Harry Potter Ali Donaldson made for his retirement.
Https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yO0b4i8lwT0
Ali Donaldson
Ali Donaldson is a friend and colleague .Foreign Editor/Senior Journalist - Network 10

It was always too easy to be unkind to David Leckie. After all, he wasn’t that kind to himself.

If you wanted to take potshots at him, he was a reliable source of ammunition.

It was all too easy to dismiss him as a boorish, blustering bully but that would have been a massive miscalculation.

As longtime sidekick Simon Francis puts it: “Despite the limited vocabulary, he’s one of the most deep-thinking, contemplative people I’ve ever met.”

David had three priorities in life – his family, free-to-air television and winning. He wasn’t good at not being the best.

“He was always “on”’, Francis recalls. “There was no “off” switch. He was usually the first person in the office at around 6 a.m. – watching Sunrise, going through all the papers, scouring spreadsheets. By the time his team arrived, he was already streets ahead of them.”

Colleagues at Nine and Seven remember a demanding boss, whose feedback was swift and often brutal.
“He was one of the few people who could rip you apart and you’d still want to be on his team”, recalls Seven’s Director of Morning Television, Sarah Stinson. “David was a fierce boss, but a staunch ally.”

During his 20 years at the helm of the Nine and Seven networks, David was seldom beaten. Yet he was a devout pessimist who once proclaimed: “I’m so depressed I’m actually quite excited”.

Seven’s commercial director, Bruce McWilliam – a close friend who knew him for decades , saw David in all his moods.

“He was self-deprecating and loved irony”, McWilliam remembers. “He was more sensitive than he let on and, like many creative people, beset with insecurities.”

Contrast that with the brashness that surfaced at numerous public events.
At an industry convention in Cannes, he lambasted those present as “freeloaders” and said the beaches were no match for those on the Gold Coast.

On another occasion, Hamish McLennan – then boss of Young and Rubicam – organised a get-together between David and executives of Mitsubishi, who were anxious to meet him.

“David turned up late and slightly lubricated and told the assembled executives that their cars were terrible and shouldn’t be manufactured in Australia. It wasn’t quite what we had envisaged but David simply said what was on his mind – without malice – and he was probably right.”

For all his many virtues, diplomacy was not his strong suit. Nine’s David Hurley famously described him as “a danger to shipping”.

No-one present will forget his encounter with Gary Flowers, then boss of Australian Rugby Union.
“What can Rugby Union do for Channel Seven ?”, Flowers enquired. “Why don’t you take your f…… sport to Channel Ten,” David responded.

Such episodes feed the legend but are only a small part of the complex character once described as “the last of the rock star CEO’s.”

The American humourist Bill Nye once remarked that “Wagner’s music is better than it sounds”. The same could be said of David Leckie, whose public utterances masked a man more complicated and thoughtful than many suspected.

David Gyngell, CEO of Nine for a total of 10 years, says simply: “There hasn’t been a more successful television executive in Australia. All the bluster and the brashness wasn’t really him. He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for but I think he was almost embarrassed to be bright. Like Kerry Packer, David had an amazing feel for what the audience wants and he inspired the best people to work for him. He was super loyal to me in a situation where he could easily have treated me as a leper.”

Hugh Marks, who succeeded Gyngell at Nine, remembers some pithy words of advice.
“Hugh”, Leckie advised after a meeting, “your mouth was saying one thing and your face was saying another. Learn to be inscrutable.”
Marks disagrees that David courted a boofhead image. “He liked being the best at his game. I think that’s why he gave up golf because he was only an average player. He had this rare quality about him. The right side of his brain could weigh up the numbers, while the left side examined the creative implications. When there was no easy answer, as there often isn’t, he could get grumpy and belligerent.”

Marks was particularly impressed by David’s ability to keep a winning team in check. “If someone was getting beyond their station, he’d bring them down a peg or two. If someone needed a confidence boost, he could deliver that too.”

Despite David’s impressive CV, Kerry Packer wasn’t always a fan. He certainly wasn’t amused when David introduced himself at a corporate event in Melbourne’s Crown Casino. “My name’s David,” he announced, “and I’m an alcoholic”. On one occasion, Packer lambasted his CEO for more than an hour, then escorted him to the elevator outside his Park Street office. When the lift arrived, it was full of employees on their way to lunch. Packer held the door open and addressed his captive audience. “You people be nice to this man. He’s had a bad day”.

A worse day was to come.

In 2001, the axe fell on David Leckie, with Packer explaining: “I’m sick of the roadblocks”. In a way, it was a compliment. David was never a yes man.

During his 11 years at the helm, Nine was the pre-eminent network with a raft of winning shows, many commissioned by David. Seven’s Kerry Stokes was quick to pick up the pieces.
Bruce McWilliam remembers David’s early days at Seven, “He thought he’d have to sack everyone but he ended up loving the place, with one or two exceptions. He talked big and he loved to be the centre of attention, but he wasn’t a bully. He wanted people to be the best they could. “

Simon Francis agrees, “In good times, he’d keep the staff on their toes. In bad times, he’d wear the responsibility and shoulder the blame.” That included fielding calls from clients complaining about their treatment on “Today Tonight”. Seven’s Director of News and Public Affairs, Craig McPherson, admires David’s skills in conflict resolution. “Sales, politics, the bubble of power. He was and is the only one of his kind to truly master it all, but not without suffering and sacrifice. Some you would know about, most he wore alone”.

Seven’s retiring CEO, James Warburton, shares Gyngell’s view that David was the best TV executive this country has seen. Back in 2011, he was regarded as David’s logical successor but the two faced each other in court when Warburton’s promotion was blocked. His affidavit quoted David as saying thus: “Here comes Mr Ambitious. I’ve been kicked into touch. I’ve been retired.”

Warburton joined Ten but was sacked by the board little more than a year later. He remained friends with David despite their war of succession. “Everyone who worked with him at Seven still misses him,” he says. “He was inspiring, loud, passionate and famously difficult and infuriating at times. An extraordinary salesperson and an intuitive programmer. He could be incredibly rude and harsh one moment, but generous and caring the next.”

In an industry often labelled a ‘boys’ club’, David is sometimes praised as a champion of equality. “Gender never played a part”, says Stinson. “Male or female, as long as you could do the job and handle the heat, he would back you 100 per cent. Everybody was an equal”.

David Gyngell said, “He just wanted to win. He didn’t care if the staff were black, white or pink, male or female” says Gyngell. “Women love me,” Leckie said more than once, “even though I’ve got a small dick”.
But he didn’t only insult himself. “He was happy to press people’s buttons if they annoyed him”, McWilliam recalls.
Frequently and deliberately, he would get names wrong. Grant Blackley had several aliases, while Clive Robertson was invariably Clive Robinson. And if James Warburton was, “Mr Ambitious”, Tim Worner was, “Cinderella Man”. John Hartigan, supremo at News Ltd, copped a particularly colourful spray. “John, you’re so far up Lachlan’s arse, you need a miner’s lamp to see the soles of your feet.” Hartigan is still amused by it, “He was probably right – until he was wrong. Cheek-to-cheek corporate friendships have a habit of crash landing. And crash it did – spectacularly”.

Hartigan remembers two David Leckies and alcohol seemed to be the deciding factor. “When he wasn’t drinking, he wouldn’t talk and he wouldn’t eat. He wasn’t fun to be with. But when he was drinking – and I don’t mean intoxicated – he showed abnormal insightfulness about everything in life. Everything was black and white with David. There was no grey at all.” He gives David full marks for energy, “Lots of people in media have ideas but there are very few like David with the unswerving confidence to make them happen.”

So how could an avowed pessimist show “unswerving confidence”? Hartigan explains, “A lot of things in his life were upside down, but he had an uncanny ability to look through a lens and see what worked.”
David Leckie’s fingerprints are all over Australian television. In his dying days, he thought he was irrelevant. His successors give the lie to that. And he brought colour to an often grey corporate world, with one journalist, Paul McIntyre, describing him as a “mobile entertainment unit – predictably unpredictable and, through all the bluster, most will admit that Leckie makes you think.”

And what would David say to that?

“I’m not that good. Just a boy from West Pymble”.

Peter Meakin
Peter Meakin, doyen of public affairs television who worked at Channel Nine, Seven & Ten.

It was Cliff Neville’s death in 2012 that prompted the Kennedy Foundation to establish an award for a role in journalism that until then had not been formally recognised for its importance. Cliff was deeply respected and admired by his colleagues, and among the many tributes to him at that time there was a common theme. He was an outstanding leader and mentor of the journalists he worked with, and the importance of that role tended to be overshadowed by the attention paid to the headlines those journalists generated.

Cliff began his career in print in the late 1960s as a cadet at The Daily Telegraph, and then became a feature writer with The Sunday Telegraph before moving to Britain and the role of London correspondent for The Australian in 1975. He returned in 1976 to become chief of staff of The Australian. Tom Krause, later a colleague of Cliff’s, wrote, “he earned legendary status with his ability to manage people. With courtesy, class, and dignity, he was able to motivate staff and inspire them to work long hours and break big stories.”

Tom remembered that Cliff himself broke big stories. “He covered the Granville train disaster, which killed 83 people. Observing a man sleeping in the doorway of the Granville Health Centre, he didn’t have the heart to wake him as he had been working for 28 hours straight. Instead, Neville wrote a story, ''An unknown 'soldier' left to sleep.'' It was later discovered that the man was an unemployed construction worker who heard about the disaster, parked his car and spent the day helping victims.”

Cliff moved to television in 1982 as deputy news director at the Seven Network. Reporter Graham Davis described himself as one of Cliff’s “wayward charges”. Davis wrote that Cliff was “a television arriviste who had to learn quickly in the sink-or-swim competitiveness of the main evening news.” Seven was locked in a ratings battle against a hugely dominant Nine and had taken a brave gamble to recruit a team of journalists with no television experience and throw them into the front line. Graham Davis wrote, “Cliff took on the task of weaving this motley crew into a fighting force. And more than anyone, he deserved the credit when just months later, Seven knocked Nine from the top of the news ratings for the first time in many years. His troops didn’t just regard him with fondness. We loved him”.

Davis recognised the importance of Cliff’s leadership and mentoring role. “Above all, Cliff could motivate and inspire. He made you look forward to coming to work, to feel proud to be part of a team, to be proud of your own work, to never cut corners, to respect the facts, to respect the ordinary people you dealt with, to respect the intelligence of your audience and to beat your competitors – to win. He also recognised the vital importance of teamwork in television – journalists, cameramen, sound recordists, editors – all working in tandem to achieve excellence. No-one was treated as more important than anyone else. He forged lasting friendships with even the most junior of his charges and took great pleasure in their subsequent success.”
Cliff moved to the Nine Network in 1984 as Supervising Producer of 60 Minutes. According to Tom Krause he was ‘the glue that held the program together.” He’s credited as the guiding hand behind Ray Martin, Richard Carleton, Jana Wendt, Mike Munro, Charles Wooley and Jeff McMullen.

More than any other form of journalism, television reporting requires a collaborative effort by a team - the reporter, producer, cinematographer and sound recordist. It was one of Cliff’s jobs to put the right teams together, and to sooth the tensions that could arise when the pressure was on. According to Tom Krause, “Neville was at his best at staff lunches, bringing people together, healing wounds and suggesting story ideas.”
His former boss at 60 Minutes, Peter Meakin said that without Cliff, he “would have gone bananas”. “When the advice you least wanted to hear was most needed, he was the guy who gave it to you. He could defuse the most explosive situation with a wry comment”.

And Graham Davis remembers Cliff, “prowling the newsroom floor, tugging at his beard and dispensing ideas, encouragement and advice. ‘Dear Boy, have you thought of…perhaps you should…?’ It might be making a left-field call, taking another angle, persisting in the face of a brick wall. Whatever it was, it was all dispensed with an almost courtly courtesy that is rare in television. I never heard Cliff Neville shout. In extremis, there’d be muttering about a “bunch of c***ts” somewhere and a weary shake of the head. But that was it”.

Describing himself as “the co-owner of the world’s only tweeting Jack Russell” Cliff regularly posted to Twitter as @fobwatch (his beloved dog). He reported that Fobwatch was a regular viewer of Miniscule on the ABC. “Loves looking at the cows and listening to the ladybirds.” The regular Fobwatch lunches at Cliff and Jocelyn’s Artarmon home were wonderful convivial occasions where friendships of 30 or more years were celebrated.

In 2010, Neville began producing stories for Channel Seven's Sunday Night, including a proﬁle of Australia's richest man, Andrew Forrest; the Rats of Tobruk with Peter FitzSimons; and the one he was most proud of, Black Caviar - beating Channel Nine to the punch by gaining the trust of the horse's owners and trainer. His last story for Sunday Night was a proﬁle of an Australian tornado chaser in the US, shown with a tribute to him at the end. 60 Minutes also paid tribute at the end of the March 2012 program, saying Neville would be ''profoundly missed''.

“He made you look forward to coming to work, to feel proud to be part of a team, to be proud of your own work, to never cut corners, to respect the facts, to respect the ordinary people you dealt with, to respect the intelligence of your audience and to beat your competitors – to win. He also recognised the vital importance of teamwork in television – journalists, cameramen, sound recordists, editors – all working in tandem to achieve excellence. No-one was treated as more important than anyone else. He forged lasting friendships with even the most junior of his charges and took great pleasure in their G6 success.” – Graham Davis - Grubstreet.

Peter Meakin, called him a rock, telling The Australian, “… solid, dependable, wise and loyal. A friend to all, but a servant to none.”
A collective amen to that.

Allan Hogan
Allan Hogan is an investigative journalist, producer and former work mate of Cliff Neville.

HELLO everyone.
Can I make one point clear from the outset. My surname of Hartigan is a very old Irish name. I understand it’s derived from the Gaelic “Cry Baby” … so you have been warned, put on your seat belts!

I can hear Rebecca saying: “Suck it up, Harto!”

Rebecca and I returned from our honeymoon on the romantic Greek Island of Santorini a little over four years ago.

Within weeks she was diagnosed with breast cancer. In quick succession surgeons performed a mastectomy which was followed by intense chemotherapy. All this emotional torment against the backdrop of our fairytale wedding.

The surgery occurred while younger son Will sat for his HSC. This required the first subterfuge to mask the pain and distress.

And so began four years of a fight for survival. A fight Rebecca chose to keep as much as possible from friends, workmates and even family. A very public person who succeeded in maintaining her private dignity.

She did so to limit their suffering. That she succeeded for so long plays to the character of a courageous and loving mother, daughter and wife.

Only once did she show any vulnerability. Rebecca, the indestructible, had just returned from another Greek odyssey to celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary.

The cancers were now rampant. In a quiet moment in our suburban lounge room, Rebecca took elder son Tom aside and said, ever so poignantly: “I’m just happy to have seen my wonderful boys grow into beautiful young men.”

And that was it. No self-pity. No tears. Just a stoic refusal to bend to medical opinion. Again, to ease the suffering for all around.

Bec was born Rebecca Louise Wilson, the eldest child of Marylou and Bruce Wilson.

When Rebecca was seven years of age, Bruce left home on a globetrotting safari which would bring himself legendary status as an international correspondent while acquiring a further three wives.

Meanwhile, the true matriarch in Marylou — aided by her beautiful parents — set about giving the best upbringing to Rebecca, sister Liz and the young babe, Jim.

They wanted for nothing. Love by the bucketful and the best education. Rebecca and Liz at St Hilda’s on the Gold Coast and Jim at The Southport School. This was particularly important to their mum as she had been an art teacher at both schools for over 40 years.

Rebecca excelled at school sport, particularly swimming but was an all-rounder representing Queensland in a number of interstate carnivals.
Her ultimate drive was to emulate her journalist dad. The fun, the freedom the adventure.

First it was off to Queensland University followed by a Rotary scholarship to study at the University of Georgia in the American Deep South. It was a very formative time in Rebecca’s life.

She was deeply offended by the insidious racism.

But it was another phenomenon that was to play a major part in her life.
A young black American footballer of legendary status, Hershel Walker. He was the running back for the University of Georgia. He and his teammates swept everything before them in the year Rebecca was a student.

He represented to Rebecca everything that was great about a black sporting hero against the social dislocation of the time. It didn’t however sit well with her studies. Elite sport 100 — elite studies zero!

The reality of balancing the finances of university proved too much. It was a time for her to get her feet on the ground. Can you believe she became a Clinique consultant, with the motherly white smock at Myer in Brisbane?

Her most joyous day came when she was awarded a cadetship in journalism at the Courier-Mail in Brisbane. Some still say she was the best cadet since her dad all those years earlier.

Next, she joined Ten as a reporter in Brisbane and later in Sydney. Marriage to Howard in 1990 and the birth of the boys while working part-time at sport for ABC TV.

Rebecca’s professional life then started to get really interesting — if not controversial. First it was joining News Ltd and the breakaway Rugby League competition, Super League. Mate against mate. Hate against hate, or so some believed.

Quickly followed by her appointment as General Manager of News Limited Sydney Olympics campaign.

Everything was going swimmingly with her climb up the corporate ladder until Rupert Murdoch and his then wife decided to attend the swimming finals.

Not one to dwell on detail, Rebecca had them sitting in the back row of the nosebleed seats. If this wasn’t enough it was compounded by their transport home not turning up.

Our own Boo Bailey pays tribute to Rebecca Wilson with his brush.

So it was back to pulling out the trusty notebook and a time I believe was the happiest and most rewarding time of her life. The cut and thrust of the newsroom, a weekly column and regular appearances on radio and TV. All while still caring for her babies.

Yes, she was fearless in her writing. Caring more about the public’s right to know than getting a Christmas card from a key contact.

Bec considered having her car tyres slashed, death threats and constant threats by trolls to be part of the contract that was unfortunately necessary to practise her craft.

If traditional media is to survive in this age of digital noise, media managers need to harness these strong, intelligent and fearless women.
Often it is seen to be easier to park headstrong women with columns. I am not trying to diminish the importance of these columns, rather the broader fight for relevance and survival.

One of her happiest times was as a panellist with Tony Squires and Mikey Robbins talking sport on ABC TVs weekly show ,’The Fat’.

Boy oh boy did she love that — and them.

A year or two with the same crew on the breakfast team at FM radio’s Vega.

Alas, early starts and scripted, rigid management weren’t a good mix. It was during this period that one of the most used words in her vocabulary gained broader public acceptance, ‘Gibberer’.

She was proud to use it against herself but drew the line at another of her overused words, ‘Dribbler’.

While this was happening around her, Bec managed to cover five Olympic Games. It was her rite of passage.

One of her closest buddies over those years was one Raelene Boyle. An Aussie athlete who was denied an Olympic gold medal by an eastern bloc drug cheat.

Now Rebecca had the final pieces of her lifelong moral code — a determined and passionate war against drug cheats in sport (Hi there Gal? Hi there Jobe?) along with her vendetta against racism (all power to you ‘Goodsey’).

Rebecca Wilson wasn’t afraid of reporting on the tough issues.

The other compass pointer was already built into her at St Hilda’s school by a headmistress who, as Alan Jones so eloquently wrote in his tribute, imbued students with an acceptance that in an adult world, they could be as good or better as the next person — man or woman.

The joy of watching son, Tom, row for Australia in both under-23s and open was so special for all our family. After countless early morning drives to Penrith for training and chasing Tom around the world in regattas, our Bec considered herself an expert.

She would argue with coaches or anyone who would listen about who should be in the bow or stroke seats, the quality of the coaches and the blazer brigade.

Rebecca loved her ‘Swannies’, long before it became fashionable to do so in Sydney, while still keeping an eye on her childhood heroes, the mighty Blues of Carlton.

She adored her Broncos and the Maroons (no surprise there!). Her first sporting passion of rugby union had dimmed if not faded away. Too little time to explain but I think most understand why.

Hobbies? Top of the list was Pret-a-Porter and the subsequent almost daily courier deliveries.

Her next joy was gossip, closely followed by collecting parking tickets. Rules and regulation were for others.

Rebecca always insisted she was shy. Something that using her own self-assessment methodology has caused me now to understand that Donald Trump is equally shy and retiring.

Maybe this shyness was the reason she always had such an unusual greeting for friends and family. Whenever she walked through the door of our family home she screamed “Yayyyyy”…. and in bidding friends farewell it was always “Rock On”.

One of the cruel ironies of our Bec is that 16 years ago she put her hand up to MC the previously little known Nelune Foundation’s Lilac Ball, which supports breast cancer victims.

This was 12 years before she contracted the disease herself. Since that day, Rebecca’s cajoling of the audience in the room each year has raised over $18 million.

The diminutive Nelune has asked me to announce a lasting legacy in a named research fellowship, the Rebecca Wilson Fellowship in Breast Cancer Research at the Garvan Institute of Medical Research in Darlinghurst.

And while we’re at it, John Wylie, Chairman of the Australian Sports Commission, had advised me that Rebecca is the recipient of the ASC’s Lifetime Achievement Award in sports media to be presented at their annual dinner in February, 2024.

He has asked that Tom and Will be there to accept it on her behalf.
And now we finally have a name for our lovely farm that Bec made so welcoming — Rebecca Louise.

So, I have reached the end, but for four words: ‘Rock on darling Bec.’

John Hartigan

John Hartigan AO - Journalist (who started his career at age 16) and Media Executive, working for News Limited for 41 years, becoming both its CEO and Chair.

In his 50 years of journalism – writer, producer, critic, editor, diarist, mentor - Tom Krause became an absolute legend, even though he was not as recognised outside the industry.

He should have been.

When he died in 2020 at age 76 the tributes from those he inspired ranged from the biggest stars to the most junior workers.

As a producer, his hard work behind the scenes made many household names look and sound better. His tireless research and fine writing helped lift the standard of Australian current affairs television, none more so than Nine’s revered ‘Sunday’ program, his home for 20 years.

But his legend was as much about his colourful personality as his professional achievements; his exuberance, his passion, his compassion. And even though he was arguably the hardest working man in journalism, he still single handedly kept a number of pubs afloat.

A man renowned for beautiful words, his favourite ones were “eat a bag of shit”.

The list of things Tommy loved was long. It included his family, his work, his mates, long lunches, writing, reading, television, newspapers, teaching, sports, the Sydney Swans, the Philadelphia Eagles, ridiculously hot curries and Victoria Bitter. (The VB he always proudly added himself at the end of his CV).

The list of things he hated was shorter – Richard Nixon.

Sure, he abhorred wankers and incompetent media executives, but his enemies list was just the 37th President of the United States. Until the 45th came along.

He did have one thing for which to thank Richard Nixon. It was his disgust at what was happening in America in the early 70’s that led to him becoming an Australian.

Thomas Joseph Krause was born on April 30 1944 in West Philadelphia to Ellen and John Krause but despite the Germanic name he preferred his Irish roots which he celebrated with gusto every single St Patricks Day.

From Villanova University in Philly, to a masters at New York University then his first job in journalism at UPI. It was the height of the Vietnam War so to avoid the draft he took a job teaching junior high in Harlem.

He described the move as driven by “conscription and idealism - much more preferable to be teaching disadvantaged black kids in Harlem than shooting Vietnamese kids in Vietnam in a war I didn’t believe in”.

But the muggings and tumultuous times took their toll so he jumped ship from Nixon’s America, literally, when his mate James McCausland took him to Sydney as his photographer on an Israeli freighter in 1971. Jim was also to thank for introducing Tom to a young Sydney GP, Gillian Davison, who became his wife in 1973 and was lovingly by his side for the rest of his life.

His first years in Australia he took up teaching again. A photo from Cabramatta High in the early 70’s shows him standing atop his desk with the word “humour” written on the blackboard behind. Captain my captain years before Robin Williams.

It’s no wonder so many of his students remember him fondly to this day.

He soon returned to journalism with Jim at ‘The Australian’ where he held various roles from literary editor to television critic and then met his calling as foreign editor. It’s where much of the legend began and, as I can personally attest, the stories were not apocryphal.

The first day I walked into the Holt Street headquarters of ‘The Australian’ in the early eighties, I was greeted by a terrifying crash accompanied by a bloodcurdling yell of, “EAT A BAG OF SHIT”.

“Don’t panic”, I was told. “It’s just Tommy Krause having one of his episodes”.

He did throw a typewriter - not out the window as legend has it - but certainly across the newsroom.

He did overturn the Editors desk one night after Les Hollings had gone home. Even though it was a heavy mahogany number he upended it singlehandedly and it took four colleagues to put it right it again. A joiner was procured in the wee hours to repair the damage. They thought they had got away with it until his farewell from The Australian in 1983 when Les gave Tom a small parting gift – a splinter of wood which, he said with a grin, came from his desk.

He then did something which was rare in the early 1980’s, although common today, and he moved into television where he became even more successful though never losing his love of and talent for the written word. His dear mate and fellow Kennedy’s honouree, Cliff Neville, had recruited him to Channel 7 as foreign editor and three years later he moved to Nine’s Sunday show, where, as Laurie Oakes described, he became the “backbone” of the program.

There he did everything from watching all the news tapes to organising political interviews to writing scripts for host Jim Waley as well as going on the road occasionally from South Africa to Israel.

One of his earliest innovations, and one he most enjoyed, was called “A Month of Sundays”, It was a short compilation of the best, funniest, poignant and unusual news clips from around the world on which he would spend an inordinate amount of time . It was a forerunner to the type of punchy television compiles that today are commonplace but never with the wit and insight that Tommy brought to the simple segment.

He really did sleep in his office every Saturday night before the show but he also went for a very long lunch every Tuesday to recover. Tommy lived the cliché that he played as hard as he worked. To him enjoying yourself was as important to being a good journalist as the work itself.

While at Nine he had his double hip replacement to fix his arthritis although he would always walk with a distinctive lopsided gait. To encourage him to lose weight for the operation legendary Nine chief Sam Chisholm offered him a free trip back to the US to see his mother if he lost a stone. “With an offer like that how could I say no?” he said.

Yet he had a healthy contempt for management throughout his career. He was the opposite of the “kiss up and kick down” types where he was always there for his colleagues and those who were often ignored by everyone else. He was kind to every single person who ever worked with him, under him, around or anywhere near him. Anyone who sought help he was always there until the end.

(Lest I make him sound like a saint – even though he certainly had the patience of one – it should be noted he could also be frustrating, defiant and stubborn which was probably another reason he didn’t always ender himself to management).

He eventually became Supervising Producer and stayed with the Sunday program until near its sad end in 1996 when much of the old team and old spirt had gone. He rejoined Jim Waley for a stint at Sky News and there were turns at Ten and SBS.

I coaxed him back briefly to Sky in 2010 to help me start a new show. He insisted I sign up to Twitter, an outlet he embraced until his final days, his posts always positive and encouraging.

From 2013 until 2019 he wrote more than 70 blogs under the name, ‘Gonzomeetsthepress’ in homage to one of his journalistic heroes Hunter S. Thompson. They are a reminder of what a great wordsmith he was, an astute observer of everything from sport to foreign affairs and politics.

His blog was one of the first to predict a Trump election victory. His entry for February 2016 reads presciently “Donald Trump will win the presidency on November 8 because not enough Americans will realise how awful he will be and vote for him. They voted for Richard Nixon”.

He often refers to his diaries. Tom Krause wrote religiously from the day he started in television in 1983 for the next 35 years. He admitted it was quite a challenge to edit the 10,000 entries and unfortunately, he never did get around to it.

The entries are like Tommy, meticulous, a unique and valuable record of Australian media history and filled with humour. The entry for September 14 1985: “Wednesday began with a hangover”.

After decades of overwork, he spent his final years spending as much time as he could with his family and became a devoted grandfather. He was still available for lunches at the Malaya and attended every Swans game even making their honour guard one week.

He wrote of wanting to “give back” to explain why he became so involved with the Walkleys and helped set up the Kennedy Awards. Of the many awards he won over the years, his final Kennedy was most poignant as it had to be given to him in hospital in July 2020 after the devastating car accident that was to cut short his life.

Even though he spent his last months paralysed and confined to a wheelchair he kept his humour until the end. He died peacefully wrapped in a Philly Eagles blanket with his family by his side.

His legend lives on among the many journalists who were lucky enough to have worked with him, the many others he helped and the infinite number who simply called him a mate.
For more Krause brilliance go to: https://gonzomeetsthepress.wordpress.com/category/books/

Janine Perrett

Janine Perrett - Journalist, broadcaster and commentator. A former Business News Editor at The Sydney Morning Herald and has worked as a correspondent in Britain and the US.

John Newfong was an Aboriginal journalist, writer and activist.
He was the first indigenous journalist to work in the mainstream media gaining a cadetship at the Sydney Morning Herald in the 1960s then in 1971 he was hired by legendary editor, Adrian Deamer, at the Australian newspaper.
Newfong, a descendant of the Ngugi people of Moreton Bay, Brisbane, was born in 1943. His mother, Edna Crouch, played cricket for Australia in the 1930s; his father, Archie, was a champion boxer and Queensland heavyweight champion.
After leaving Wynnum State High School in 1961, he wanted to study law; however, entrance to university at the time would only allow Aboriginal people to undertake education degrees to become teachers, and only if they chose to teach in a community, so instead he went and worked in the mines of Mount Isa.
But the media was calling and he got a job in the ABC mailroom in Brisbane; wrote TV reviews for Sydney’s Daily Mirror; studied typography and graphic design (as well as and worked as a newspaper proofreader.
At the OZ he was a general reporter that included indigenous affairs but was advised by his editor to not be pigeon holed by his skin colour by developing a variety of skills.
David Armstrong, a former editor of the Bulletin and the Canberra Times and former editor-in-chief of the Australian, who worked with John Newfong at the Australian wrote this in his article about Newfong, ‘The door John Newfong nudged ajar.’
“Newfong was well equipped to pursue a journalistic career. He was a precise and elegant writer with a sharp mind, an easy sense of humour, and a wealth of charm and warmth that inspired trust. His friend Lillian Holt, the first Aboriginal journalist to work for the ABC in Brisbane, says he had a rare quality.“It is called presence,” she says. “His entry into a space could not be ignored.”
Unfortunately, Newfong’s career at the Australian came to a quick and disgraceful end. In a dispute about the paper’s direction with proprietor, Rupert Murdoch, Deamer was sacked and soon, so would be Newfong.
He was told by the editorial department, “John, I’m sorry but I don’t think there is going to be much here for you anymore.” It has since been alleged that another editorial giant at the paper, “reckons Australians don’t want to read about black people.”
Soon though, John took up a position at the Bulletin but that too was short lived. Indigenous politics, that he had been already involved in was demanding his total attention.
He had already worked with the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders. He ran their Queensland campaign for the 1967 Aboriginal citizenship referendum and in 1970 became its national secretary.
In 1970 he helped lead a protest against the Captain Cook bicentennial festivities, saying Aboriginals had nothing to celebrate.
In 1972 he was to play a crucial role in the longest running indigenous rights campaigns, and one of its most successful campaigns the Aboriginal Tent Embassy. David Armstrong wrote, “Newfong was its chief voice, lobbying and briefing journalists, politicians and diplomats. “The Mission,” he said, “has come to town.”
Newfong was appointed the first Aboriginal editor of the Indigenous magazine, ‘Identity’, in 1972. Melbourne University Professor, Marcia Langton, said that under his leadership it became enormously influential.
By 1975 he was doing public relations for the Redfern Aboriginal Medical Service. Langton remembers him returning to the office at night to help young Indigenous women produce the Aboriginal newspaper Koori Bina. “Working with John was a young writer’s dream,” she says. “He was extraordinarily well read, a brilliant analyst and writer [with a] supreme and ever-ready wit.”
Black Power politics was on the wane as Newfong took on a succession of significant roles; a government adviser and speechwriter; public relations chief of the Aboriginal Development Commission; an adviser to the Australian Medical Association; a journalism lecturer at Queensland’s James Cook University; and a guest lecturer at several universities in Australia and overseas.
He also did public relations work for Channel Nine (Cyclone Tracy phone line), the New South Wales Society for Crippled Children and National Aboriginal and Islander Health Organisation.
Adviser and speechwriter for the New South Wales Government.
Head of public relations at the Aboriginal Development Commission.
He also served on the board of the Public Broadcasting Foundation, helping spur the rapid growth of Aboriginal radio through support for Indigenous broadcasters. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, he contributed to a long list of publications.
From oppressed to leader what an incredible and courageous life.
He brought to his work a depth of knowledge, a strong analytical mind and a sharp sense of humour. His style was thoughtful and measured — but with clever, often angry barbs.
The pastoral industry, he once wrote, was “the black man’s burden”; Aboriginal protests threatened “the great Australian smugness”; and Indigenous claims for mineral rights made people worry about “us digging up their nondescript sprawls of suburbia.”
But he was to become disillusioned with the nature of government Aboriginal funding and the “ever-mushrooming Aboriginal bureaucracies.” Higher spending, he wrote, might merely result in “a whole new set of anagrams.” He wrote of Aboriginal bureaucrats “of the instant-coffee variety.” And in conversation he used the phrase nouveau noir to describe people who belatedly discovered their Aboriginality.
Newfong’s abiding concern was Indigenous health, highlighted in a fiery preface he wrote for the 1989 National Aboriginal Health Strategy. It is only six paragraphs long but it shows what a powerful writer and committed campaigner he was.
The first thing, he said, was to address the reality of Indigenous Australia, a reality obscured by white history and jingoism. Aboriginal people were “dressed in the hand-me-downs that are the legacy of dispossession and dispersal.” This was “a history forged in the cauldrons of colonisation.”
Newfong died in 1999, only fifty-five years of age
David Margan
David Margan - Journalist and Kennedy Foundation Communications Consultant

Whether they know it or not, television journalists in Australia owe a huge debt of gratitude to Michael Willesee.

He popularised public affairs broadcasting on commercial television at a time when it was largely the preserve of the ABC and went on to create programs for every free to air network in a career that spanned half a century .

Along the way he held politicians to account; spoke truth to power; became Australia’s premier interviewer; sparked the careers of sundry respected journalists and always understood that the serious business of public interest journalism should be leavened with a touch of humour and lightness .

In 1971, had he chosen to stay with the ABC , he would undoubtedly have been guaranteed a lifetime career as its foremost television presenter. He was already a renowned correspondent from the Vietnam War and was a senior reporter for Australia’s first nightly public affairs program, ‘This Day Tonight’ as well as host of ‘Four Corners’.

But Mike Willesee was a gambler and he punted all on the chance to go “commercial”. Having never produced or managed any program, he grabbed an offer by the Nine Network to create a 30 minute nightly current affairs program named it just that, ‘A Current Affair’. Within months it had reshaped Australia’s television landscape forever.

Very early on he saw Paul Hogan compete on a rival Network’s talent quest show and immediately signed up the Sydney Harbour rigger to provide some lighter contrast to ‘A Current Affair’s’ hard-hitting political interviews crime investigations and consumer protection stories. Soon, due to his appearances with Willesee, Hogan would be a superstar in his own right and there would be others to follow in his footsteps with Willesee programs - a young Kathy Lette, Janet Street Porter, Vince Sorrenti, John Clarke and Bryan Dawe.

After some early disputes with Network management about about what should or should not be going to air, Mike Willesee became astute in protecting his program from commercial influences. He would insist on contracts where the program was owned by his company, Transmedia, not the network it was shown on. Content was entirely up to Willesee and his staff. If the Network didn’t like it, their alternative was to have 30 minutes of black go to air or substitute his program with reruns of some other show. Sensibly, this never eventuated.

Besides owning his content, Mike Willesee also had an important rule for staff when it came to protecting against commercial interests - no contra deals. One reporter defied this rule and jetted off to Vienna courtesy of Nikki Lauda’s airline for a sightseeing trip that produced a picturesque and eminently watchable story. But, despite pleas from the reporter and a second opinion from the producer that the story itself held no threat and only a credit to Lauda airlines was required at the end of the show, Michael Willesee held firm.

The story never saw the light of day.

There was another rule that Michael applied for every interview with a guest in a remote location - they must be able to see him so that proper eye contact was made between both parties. This required booking another satellite circuit for “return vision” , even though that added to Willesee’s production costs which came out of his own pocket/profit margin . He was so insistent on the importance of this feature to a good interview that it was never overlooked - until one day when an exasperated chief of staff cried out “ Shit, I forgot the return vision”.

There was momentary panic until someone pointed out it didn’t matter this time because the guest in the Los Angeles studio was Stevie Wonder who was, of course, blind and wouldn’t have been able to see Willesee anyway.

No tribute to this giant of Australian journalism would be complete without reference to his unmatched skill as an interviewer .The imperious use of silence as a question in itself . (“You haven’t told me enough, tell me more?”) And often they would - filling the silent pause with a telling detail or a fact they had intended to omit or, sometimes, an embarrassed admission that what they’d just said wasn’t entirely the truth . Every interview was preceded by hours of planning, road-mapping questions and answers. But if a subject went off on a tangent that seemed more profitable, there was the innate ability to change tack and go with it .

Michael is rightly famous for the question about the birthday cake and the GST that may have cost then Opposition Leader John Hewson the so-called “unloseable election” in 1993.

But nearly two decades earlier a previous Opposition Leader, Billy Snedden, had been equally damaged in an interview leading up to the 1974 election.

When Michael asked him a question, Mr . Snedden replied : “With respect, Mr. Willesee, that’s not the question you should be asking.”

Mike came back with : “Well, if you were conducting the interview, what question would you be asking yourself?”

Snedden recited some easybeat question about Liberal Party policy.
Mike followed with “And how would you answer that question?”

Snedden took the bait as a gift.

“And what would be your next question to yourself ?” asked Mike .

And so it went on for several minutes. The Opposition Leader totally unaware he was being sent up gutlessly on air, live, by himself!!!

Besides his impeccable interviewing and reporting, Willesee must also be remembered for his production of award-winning documentaries .

Among the standouts, those with young Quentin Kenihan, who was suffering with brittle bone disease, and ‘The Hunting Party’, following a group of indigenous Australians journeying through the bush in a survival test against Army commandos.

A career of such eminence deserves a book. And there is one - written by the man himself . Mike Willesee’s ‘Memoirs’, details it all - the quests and conquests, personal and professional ; the love of family; his fractious relationship with religious faith ( born into it, losing it, then regaining it in later years as he battled cancer.)

The book also gives his side of the controversies - such as interviewing a gunman who was holding two children hostage or the night he went on air appearing to be drunk.

And in its pages, you meet all the other Mike Willesee’s who inhabited this one dynamic individual.

There is Mike the football tragic who breathed life back into the Sydney Swans and helped make them a force in the AFL; there is Michael, the pioneer of FM radio in this country establishing 2DayFM; and there is punter Mike who ran a successful horse racing and breeding operation that included wins in the Golden Slipper and the Cox Plate.

But it was in television journalism and production that he made his greatest mark .
Michael Willesee set a standard of professionalism and commitment any journalist would be proud to match.
Vale, Maestro.

John Muldrew

John Muldrew - Journalist, Writer, Producer, Script Editor and Wordsmith.

Peter Ruehl never had any intention of moving to Australia when he persuaded The Baltimore Sun to let him cover the America’s Cup in Newport in 1983.
The Australians, he told his editors, might just have a chance of winning this time. And besides, he told himself, it would be great sailing and great fun.

Just over a year later, he had also acquired a wife - an Australian political journalist who happened to have been in Newport writing about the famous yacht race that summer. I had relied on this funny, wise-cracking, open-hearted American to explain race tactics - and quite a lot more about the vagaries of US culture, politics and yes, fun.

Peter Ruehl’s coverage of the cup had also won him a US national journalism award for sports writing in 1983. When a new America’s Cup beckoned in my home state of Western Australia over the summer of 1986 and 1987, a reluctant Pete was only persuaded to come to Australia by the prospect of covering that race for another US paper and for The Australian Financial Review. Two years maximum away from the US was what I promised.

But to his surprise, Pete Ruehl began an instant and mutual love affair with Australia even as he relentlessly poked fun at it in his columns. Two years turned into a quarter of a century and a reputation as a remarkably humorous chronicler of everything from Australian politics to the perils of parenthood to the absurdities of daily life.

Pete had always loved his quintessentially American life in the sailing town of Annapolis on the Chesapeake Bay - just far enough away from what he called the “uptightness” of Washington DC. So Australian readers were also introduced to several of the electric group of characters who hung out in his favourite Annapolis bar, McGarvey’s, as well as the constant references to US politics and thinking.

From The Australian Financial Review he went on to write columns for News Ltd papers for several years - including another stint in the US - before returning into what he thought of as his natural home on the back page of the AFR .

But no matter where we lived or he worked, he was able to weave all his material into a pithy ability to live so happily in the richness of his imagination and own unique style of looking at the world. One Fairfax editor in chief described him as a national institution - but he always managed that strictly on his own terms and sense of time.

In some ways, he was actually ahead of his time. Well before the concept of working from home was considered normal, for example, Peter Ruehl had been using fiendishly clever techniques of passive resistance to never appear in the office. He worked better alone, he would insist, at his own pace. No editorial assistance/interference required, thanks.

He would often jot down funny lines as he lay sunbaking on his deckchair. “Workin’ hard thinkin’ out here” he would retort to raised eye-brows - particularly those of his wife coming home from her day at the office.

His pattern, perfected over years, was to spend the morning reading everything he could, followed by a retreat to his study, then a slow jog along the beach, and a re-emergence downstairs in one of his 300 polo shirts and immaculately pressed long shorts just in time for a relaxing gin and tonic or three.

But over time political and business leaders began to realise his sense of humour and deft wording skewered them far more effectively than most “proper” journalism could. This was usually done so well that it left them - or many of them - also laughing despite themselves. He never really ascribed to what he called the “gotcha” style of Australian journalism, preferring a more indirect satire to puncture pretensions.

He liked to joke that he was really an 18-year-old trapped in an older person’s body. This, as usual, understated his own version of intellectual sophistication. But it was true that his enthusiastic embrace of life’s small inanities and insanities never left him. He was as amused by listening to the stories of the local butcher or our kids and their school friends as he was by Australian Prime ministers or US Presidents trying to explain the inexplicable.

We have still all lamented that he wasn’t around to write about Donald Trump and the many bizarre moments of an American presidency that even Peter Ruehl at his most zany would have had difficulty imagining.

One of his favourite sayings, however, was that “men are stupid and women are crazy”. I was never sure who should be more insulted - him or me. It became the title of a book of his columns I put together after his death.

From the beginning, his family had had to become used to the idea that some of the more embarrassing moments in their lives would become amusing column fodder. For readers of the AFR, laughing out loud at an article was not a very familiar response but Pete’s writing drew them in. It made many of them feel part of the extended family of parents with all the foibles and mini-dramas of life.

Our three children, Mercedes, John and Tom had their births, early childhood and school years, along with their friends and relationships dissected with a loving but sharp drollness that often greatly embarrassed them. After one of Pete’s more biting columns on school education our youngest son, Tom, came home curious and then furious about why his frustrated French teacher was glaring at him even more than usual.

“Was it only 25 years ago that I had a sailboat and Malone the bartender was serving up the gin and tonic while my friend Otis and I were leading the sporting life, if you catch my drift?” Pete wrote in one column . “My pay cheque was all mine and not getting tossed into a machine that squirted out baby clothes, mortgage payments, then tuition fees and now iPods. “Climate change? That was when the air conditioner in my apartment went on the fritz again.”

Our friends and relatives also frequently discovered too late they had been unwitting participants in his writing. In the US, his father’s history as an FBI agent, his mother’s as a Catholic school teacher and his sister’s as a Broadway and Hollywood actor, provided plenty of additional material, some of it a little sensitive.

His mother, for example, always refused to acknowledge her age. As one of his little jokes, Pete’s column gave her US address when she turned 80 and she was stunned to be inundated by a flood of bouquets sent to “Pete’s Mom” from his legions of readers.

Then there were all the complications of children getting older, requiring parents “who have lost control realise “ you have to draw the line someplace, besides the one that runs down the middle of your face from making compromises”.

“Sex. It rears its ugly head, as my Irish grandmother used to say, forgetting she wouldn’t have been a grandmother if it hadn’t reared its head and yelled ‘Yahoo!’ a few times”, he wrote in one of his last columns. “I reluctantly allowed my daughter’s now long-time boyfriend to stay over in one of those unstated agreements in which I had nothing to state but I suspect my wife had something to do with.”

“My daughter with all the assurance of a 21-year-old who doesn’t know what she’s talking about, said she wouldn’t get married until she was at least 30. Among other things, she said, ‘marriage takes the romance out of a relationship’. I was tempted to say that if there weren’t an intersection between the two, she… wouldn’t be here but I decided it was not an argument worth having.”

I had given up on initial attempts at pre-censorship early on due to his stubborn resistance to my sensible suggestions. I had to rely on the sometimes mistaken belief that Pete would know not to TAKE IT TOO FAR. But his most endearing quality, often well hidden, was that he had a very big heart as well as a quick mind. It meant his writing was always infused with a generosity of spirit as well as a willingness to point out the ludicrous.

As he got a little older, he had always said he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to stop writing his columns and planned to go out “with his boots on”. But no one could have imagined how unexpectedly or early that would come true when Pete Ruehl died suddenly at home in April 2011 at the age of 64.

He would always have been horrified at any suggestion he was taking himself too seriously. He was rather rude about a breed he called SYJs - serious young journalists - even suspecting I might be one of them when we first met.

But the extent of the very personal reaction from so many readers who had never met him - as well as from his family and friends - would have gladdened and amused his big heart. So would the idea that the Peter Ruehl Award for Columnist of the Year is now an integral part of the Kennedy Awards.

Jennifer Hewett
Jennifer Hewitt - (Too Serious) Columnist - Australian Financial Review

Paul James Lockyer grew up on a farm near Corrigin in Western Australia’s central wheatbelt in the 1950s. While having to learn about crop failures and rural isolation, he also came to cherish the beauty of the land, the resilience of its people and the bedrock of family.
His Lockyer ancestors had arrived from Somerset in England in 1830, among the first settlers of the Swan River Colony. They passed down to him their stoicism and sense of adventure, while his sociability and way with words came from his mother’s Irish-Australian side (her father served as a minister in the State Labor government of the 1920s).
In 1963, at the age of 12, he went as a boarder to Aquinas College 250 kilometres away in Perth. He embraced school life, joining the cadets and religious sodalities, singing in a production of ‘Oklahoma’ (belting out numbers from the musical became a regular party trick as an adult––the louder the protests, the louder he sang) and playing all forms of sport. Anyone who thought his golf swing a tad agricultural was advised to admire the ‘perfect eye-hand coordination’. Two years after graduating, the confident teenager secured a journalism cadetship at the ABC. He made the Aquinas motto, ‘Veritas Vincit’ (Truth Conquers), his guiding principle in the profession.
Sydney beckoned in 1973. Before long, Paul found himself reporting on the controversies engulfing the Whitlam Government. On one occasion, with microphone in hand, he cornered Tirath Khemlani, the central figure in the Loans Affair, riding an up-escalator at the Hilton Hotel––no escaping the questions. A promotion to the Parliamentary Press Gallery in Canberra followed. Television audiences were starting to notice the reporter with the easy smile, flowing hair, deep tan and unaffected story-telling style. He worked hard and played hard: Manuka Oval often resounded to his enthusiastic cries of ‘Howzat?’ during weekend cricket socials.
His next move was overseas. A stint relieving in the ABC’s Jakarta office began badly when, out walking at night, he fell into a gaping hole in the road. We know the story because Paul told it against himself: a stranger to conceit, he always took more interest in life’s vagaries than personal triumphs. An appointment to Bangkok as the ABC’s Southeast Asia Correspondent began an important phase of his career. As the full horror of the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia emerged in the 1980s, his measured exposition of the truth, sometimes reporting from mass gravesites as human remains were disinterred, required great strength of mind and character.
Personal grief at the death of his friend the legendary cameraman Neil Davis from a shrapnel wound during an attempted coup in Thailand in 1985 changed him forever, as it did others affected by the loss. Getting the story right seemed more important than ever––but the romance had faded. A posting to Washington during the Reagan presidency included covering the civil wars in Central America.
Paul did not define himself by performing for an audience; he needed occasionally to reset his inner compass before grappling again with the essential unreality of television. In this regard, Christmas visits to Western Australia served as a rite of renewal. Returning home in 1976, he found that electricity had finally made it to the family farm; two years later, he married Maria Brown, a Perth girl, in the chapel of his alma mater.
Whether it was having a punt at the Perth Cup race meeting (an ancestor, riding his own horses, had twice won the forerunner of the Cup, the Queen’s Plate), larking on Cottesloe Beach until the last grains of sunlight spilt across the ocean, or sharing an ale or two with friends through a balmy evening, the vigorous, simple pleasures of the West kept him sound. As the father of two beloved sons, Jamie and Nick, his authenticity shone through: everything else in a high-achieving life paled beside the pride he took in them.
On finishing his last overseas posting in Singapore, Paul joined Channel Nine, where, among other things, he contributed to ‘Wide World of Sports’. This was generally safer than coups or politics––except when reporting a rugby Test in Cape Town under fire from Springboks supporters. Pelting the opposition media with oranges was a local custom he hadn’t counted on.
The outstanding accomplishment of his years at Nine was his coverage, notably on Ray Martin’s ‘Midday’ program, of the severe drought that gripped NSW and Queensland in the mid-1990s. By raising awareness in the cities, he helped muster support for desperate rural communities. His journalism had a similar impact during the Millennium Drought, by which time he was back at the ABC. A habitual early-riser, Paul would be among the first in the Sydney newsroom most mornings, busily working the telephone. Which grazier was having to liquidate his stock? Which farmer was about to plough in a crop? Where would the next fodder drops be made? He mapped locations, scheduled interviews and briefed the helicopter pilot, before leapfrogging across the state with a camera crew gathering stories.
Contacts, planning and logistics, and a sound knowledge of rural affairs enabled him to lay bare the human dimension of the unfolding crisis. Nobody did it better. By the end, country folk at their wits end were ringing him: he spent many an hour just listening and consoling, an emotional drain on his empathetic nature.
Paul reported on three Olympics for the ABC––winning a Logie Award for his news coverage of the 2000 Sydney Games. This was quite an achievement considering ABC-TV was not an Olympics rights-holder. Once again, he tackled the challenge by starting early––at least a year ahead of the Games. Filming profiles of possible medal winners, he accumulated valuable vision and got to know them as individuals. When the Olympics arrived, he was a familiar face in the post-event bustle for interviews, and the athletes opened up to him. In this way, he was able to turn the scant few minutes of competition vision made available to a non-rights broadcaster into richly-textured packages.
After sojourns reading the television news in Perth and Sydney, he was soon back at the centre of the action. The Beaconsfield Mine collapse in northern Tasmania in 2006 left one miner dead and two others trapped almost a kilometre underground. Hope for the men seesawed back and forth until their eventual rescue a fortnight later––a story that called for mature judgement, sensitivity and patience.
In January 2011, when a flood surge devastated the town of Grantham in Queensland’s Lockyer Valley, killing 12, he was quickly on the scene. After assessing what had happened, Paul described the sequence of events in a long piece-to-camera, literally walking viewers through the disaster. Without cliché, hyperbole or hesitation, he put them in the picture clearly and decisively. To look back at his reportage is to be reminded of a standard.
Nature can be cruel, as he well knew, but it can also be bountiful. This truth drew him to the transformation of Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre in South Australia from a salty wasteland into a waterway teeming with life after drought-breaking rains. Here was an event that dwarfed the day-to-day tickertape of news, played out in a landscape of ageless spiritual power. His friend, the painter John Olsen, expressed it with his brush; Paul captured it in television documentaries and a book. It was during a return trip to Lake Eyre on the dark night of 18 August 2011 that he, cinematographer John Bean and pilot Gary Ticehurst lost their lives in a helicopter crash.
The deaths of the three ABC colleagues struck hard. Prime Minister Gillard told Parliament the news was received there ‘with a great sense of despair’. Although, at the age of 61, Paul had amassed a diverse and impressive body of work, this alone could not account for the widespread shock and sadness. Something more was involved. Television journalism, we know, is always at risk of succumbing to sensationalism and half-truths, until audiences become numbed or cynical. The public reaction to the tragedy was a sharp reminder that Australians still craved the genuine article. The millions who knew him only as a face on their screens suddenly felt a precious quotient of trust go out of their lives.
Recognised by his peers with a posthumous Walkley Award for Journalistic Leadership, Paul Lockyer personified the best of the Australian tradition, both as a human being and a journalist.
Walter Hamilton
Walter Hamilton - Journalist, writer and author. Walter was the ABC’s Tokyo correspondent for an amazing eleven years.

‘ROCKET’
A few months after Rod Allen’s memorial service at the Sydney Cricket Ground on April 8, 2013, his family published a hardcover book with all the kaleidoscope of images that had been shown that afternoon on the big screen, which had only just been constructed.
Inside the book were dozens of photographs from his cherished family life, his always fun social life, and his successful career as an editor and media consultant.
The image chosen for the cover, though, came from his early days as a reporter. Sitting a couple of rows from the front at a media conference, he wore a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a signature thin black leather tie. His mullet, which would vanish in time as it seems to do with most reporters, was tightly cropped.
His left hand stroked his chin as he stared intensely at the floor, no doubt weighing up the story at hand and the questions that needed to be asked.
Whenever I think about Rod Allen these days, I think of that image. It was taken years before he became my sports editor and close friend, but it perfectly captures the journalistic passion, intensity and professionalism of the man universally known across the industry as “Rocket”.
Whoever said you aren’t your job clearly has never been, nor lived with, a journalist. Rod had a fire in his belly and ink in his veins. It meant everything to him.
In many ways, journalism chose him. His father, Dave, was a compositor at News Limited for decades, dealing with hot-metal typesetting and bringing home the newspapers each day for the Allen family to argue over and it was in this crucible that Rod’s love for newspapers and the truth was born.
He became a News Limited copyboy in 1986 and then started his three-year cadetship the following year. His intellect shone through as he did three-month stints across different mastheads and desks. He quickly emerged as a star who traversed anything from sport to politics to business. He could craft political splashes, unravel complicated business jargon, and translate industrial relations hieroglyphics for the reader. He knew what the story was, not what others were spinning him.
In 1997, he was promoted to Deputy Chief of Staff of The Daily Telegraph and was headed for more senior roles when Fairfax realised his talents and offered him the job as Chief of Staff at The Sun Herald. Rocket snapped it up, ready for a new challenge and a carpark underneath the building at Darling Point.
There was a real sharpness to Rod’s approach to journalism.
First pars were so important. Stories had to be interesting, and the writing had to accentuate that. He’d wince reading over a poorly-written story, or if it wasn’t in the active voice, or if it was a cap-in-hand beat-up, or the lead was buried. More than once he called me out for being too colourful with my words — and he was always right, as much as I’d protest.
He also had impeccable news sense. He grew up in Castle Hill in Sydney’s west but worked, then lived in the city and eastern suburbs, meaning he was immersed in reality. That was the power he brought to a newsroom: he knew what stories people wanted to read — and they weren’t necessarily the ones journos wanted to write.
He became sports editor in 2003 before becoming executive sports editor of both The Sydney Morning Herald and Sun-Herald mastheads. His move into sport was immediately felt across the city at News: the sections were sharper, more aggressive and regularly stung them with scoops.
All rounds are competitive but in sport it’s particularly so. Rugby league, the lifeblood of both sections, is a brutal game to play and similarly to cover. A lifelong Parramatta fan, Rod understood the tribalism of the game and the importance of reporting to it. The competition for stories is fierce, and it requires a supportive sports editor to squeeze the most out of reporters wearied by a season that never seemingly ends.
Rod backed his reporters like no other editor I have ever worked for. I vividly recall one morning when I woke up to a story about the Canterbury Bulldogs in the opposition newspaper. It had been denied by the club’s chief executive the night before, so we decided not to publish, yet he had served up the story with quotes to the rival masthead. I steamed into the office, furious about the shameless lies I’d been pedalled, ready to go to DEFCON-1 with ugly, unedifying revenge reporting.
Sitting at his desk, Rod calmly listened to what I had to say.
“What’s his number?” he asked.
Rod dialled the chief executive’s digits, put him on speaker phone, and then slowly and clearly spelled out why he was never going to lie to our paper again. He didn’t issue threats, nor did he ask for a “square-up” story as compensation. Just a guarantee that he wouldn’t treat his reporter — any of his reporters — like that again. Then he ended the call.
I hugged him. That was the thing with Rod: you never wanted to let him down — because you knew he’d never let you down in the first place.
One afternoon in late 2008, he summoned the sports reporters into a small meeting room where he informed us that he had taken redundancy.
It was heartbreaking because we were losing an editor who backed you implicitly. It was also at a time when media companies, especially Fairfax, were grappling with how to preserve their newspaper editions while transitioning into digital-first mastheads. The first wave of mass job losses was coming, and Rod didn’t want to be a part of it. So he got out.
Of course, Rod was just as successful as a media consultant as he was a reporter and editor, telling those who employed him in his candid, straightforward manner what they needed to hear — even if they didn’t want to hear it. He took on huge clients like the Australian Olympic Committee in the lead-up and during the 2012 London Olympics; the Australian Turf Club as it brought in The Championships race series as well as a new grandstand at Royal Randwick; and Football Australia, working alongside Frank and Stephen Lowy as Australia bid for the 2022 FIFA World Cup.
Yet the role he relished most was that of media manager of the Western Sydney Wanderers in their first season in the A-League. After a slow start, the team strung 10 wins together to sit atop the ladder. On his long drives from his home in North Bondi to the Wanderers headquarters in Blacktown, we’d often chat for as long as an hour. I’d be looking for advice on how to approach a story, he’d be wanting to talk up the best sports story we’d seen in years.
“Look, I can’t take all the credit for what they've done this year,” he’d say, tongue-in-cheek. “The players and coaches deserve some too.”
On the night of March 30, 2013, Rod and his wife Laila attended the 50th birthday celebration of Herald rugby and cycling writer Rupert Guinness at Cockatoo Island in the middle of Sydney Harbour. It was a fabulous night. Everywhere you turned, there was a colleague from either side of the News-Fairfax divide.
The next morning, Rod’s body was found by a jogger at the bottom of the cliff after he accidentally fell from a viewing platform. He was 45 years old.
His memorial in front of the Members Stand at the SCG was full of people from all walks of life, from all corners of the media industry, and all forms of sport. He’d have hated the interest but appreciated the fact his coffin was on the same hallowed piece of turf where the Eels had won four premierships in six years in the 1980s.
If I’m honest, his death still doesn’t feel real as I write these words. I can’t believe that he’s gone. That I can’t pick up the phone so we indulge in our craft. He had been such a profound influence in the lives and careers of those he encountered that his death left a void that remains unfilled.
Hope you’re going well up there, Rocket. We all still love you. By the way, Parramatta still haven’t won a comp.
Andrew Webster
Andrew Webster – Senior Sports Writer, the Sydney Morning Herald.

NTV was the ABC helicopter’s registration number and call sign. It was also Gary Ticehurst’s pride and joy. The twin engine Squirrel usually sat on the helipad at the Gore Hill studios in a state of constant readiness. Gary was never far away on standby, ready to leap into action for a breaking news story anywhere in NSW.
Perhaps it’d be as a flying camera platform to film a bushfire, flood, or a boating accident (decades before drones arrived on the scene). Or he’d provide an aerial taxi service to transport a journo and crew to a regional story out bush. Whatever, it was always exciting to fly with Gazza!
Back in the late 1980’s and 90’s before mobiles phones were common, the camera crew pager would vibrate to deliver an urgent text message from the News Chief of Staff. Gary would already be preparing for the flight as the crew arrived. They’d be greeted with with a sense of urgency and “mate let’s go!” The often-frazzled journo was normally last to arrive, even though the pad was just a short stroll up the hill under the old transmission tower.
The adrenalin would kick in as the turbine engines fired up. We were in the chopper and on our way to film an action-packed news story, hopefully get to the story first and beat the commercial networks. “Seat belts fastened? Ok let’s go!”, Gaz would say as he took off flying low over Artarmon along the chopper lane towards Sydney Harbour.
On the aviation radio Gary would broadcast, “All stations 405, helicopter November Tango Victor etc etc….”. It seemed like a rocket ship at 120 knots, zooming out the heads and up the coast, or over the harbour bridge towards the mountains. Fellow ABC worker and journalist, David Margan remembers his first ever chopper flight.
“Forever an eye in the sky “- Andrea Francolini
“It was just a quick run to Wollongong for an interview. On the return flight we headed north just off the cliffs, rain clouds scudding overhead with the yellow sandstone sliding by and the brilliant aqua ocean below. On the dash tv monitor a cricket Test was being played live from the SCG and I thought wasn’t this terrific, what a way to travel. I opened my mike and asked where was the rum and coke? Gary turned and gave me his great smile entrapped in that bushy moustache I had found the secret he’d known all along. I flew with him a lot he was always rock steady, just terrific.”
Gary would talk to other chopper pilots on the way, “are you on the numbers Footy (from Ch9) or Frank (Ch7)”, he would ask over the radio. “The Numbers” being 123.45Mhz the helicopter air-to-air communications or chat frequency.
How cool is our job we would all think as we flew towards the story. Sometimes Gary would hover over the action, calling, “harness secure?” to the crew, then, “ok, open the door.”
The cameraman dangled his legs out the right hand side of the chopper, directly behind Gary. We’d sit on the floor, feet planted securely on the skids, listening through the headphones to any directions or advice he was offering.
Gary was a true aerial cinematographer. He could see what was being shot on a video monitor mounted on his dashboard. He’d gauge the best angle, how to approach the scene and manoeuvre NTV to develop the shot and ensure it was interesting and dynamic. Cueing the camera operator to pan, tilt or zoom he’d bark: “Watch your horizon!”
The legend of Gary is so much more than a media chopper pilot. He started his career as a pilot in the Australian Army. Gary founded the NSW Police Air Wing, was the President of the Australian Helicopters Society and a member of the Australian Cinematographers Society.
Gary thought about the pictures, the light, the position of the aircraft and motivation for camera moves. He was a no -nonsense bloke who knew how to deliver cinematic shots, tell a story, and produce powerful television.
He would sometimes claim to see a marijuana crop below . Still a copper I thought, leave them alone I’d say, knowing he would ignore me.
As good pilots are, he was always on, focused, a stickler for the proper ways to do things but no pain in the arse. Most importantly everyone felt at easy and safe when flying with Gary. Totally trustworthy and reliable, a true professional and a very nice guy.
Gary would always be 'in' with the police or mates with the firefighters or ... [would] just charm one of the locals until he found out what was happening, one-upping the reporter as often as possible.
Another ABC colleague, Max Uechtritz, says Gary was the quintessential professional and team player. “It was like having another producer in the newsroom. Gary was extremely well-read, passionate about the news business and a born leader. His very presence, generosity of spirit and natural sense of fun and mischief lifted morale around Gore Hill. Yet when it came time to roll, the switch flicked to diligence and calm. His quiet advice helped more than one green reporter and crew. Gary cared about the story and the ABC but most of all he cared deeply about his newsroom comrades.”
“His skill brought stories to life and while his efforts were invisible to the public, they were hugely valued by his colleagues.”- ABC
On top of the hectic daily news for the ABC, Gary was also highly regarded and respected flying and filming for the current affairs programs, documentaries, and occasionally Hollywood movie like The Matrix or Mission Impossible.
In his career he logged over 16,000 hours.
He covered the Sydney to Hobart yacht race for over three decades and was regarded as the race’s, ”guardian angel”. He loved filming the race start on Boxing Day then chasing the maxi yachts down the coast to Tasmania. Gary was crucial in locating some of the yachts in distress during the disastrous race in 1998. His calm relaying of May Day calls and position co-ordinates of stricken vessel have become a precious audio time capsule of tragic history. He was credited with saving many lives.
The conditions were appalling and, in flying low to search for those in distress, he had to constantly lift up to avoid the lips of giant waves coming from all directions, all while the wind tried to buffet and wrestle him from the sky.
He told CNN in a 2002 interview, "I'm used to flying through weather fronts, but this was sitting like a whirlwind, and here was Stand Aside in the middle of this with half its roof missing."
What guts, what class!
Ticehurst later said that every time he heard a Mayday call after the tragic 1998 Sydney to Hobart, "it sent a shiver down my spine''
But Gary, modest as ever, would often say that he was just doing his job.
Veteran yachting journalist and former Sydney to Hobart Media Director, Peter Campbell, said, “he was a wonderful character, a wonderful pilot, an absolutely wonderful, fearless pilot."
In tribute, Gary’s ashes were scattered at sea during the 2011 Sydney to Hobart by the crew of legendary racer, ‘Wild Oats’, its owner, Bob Oatley, said, "Gary Ticehurst was a vital part of every Sydney to Hobart race, his presence meant so much to so many of the sailors. He was such a great man."
On August 18th, 2011, we lost Gary, journalist, Paul Lockyer and cameraman, John Bean when NTV crashed near Lake Eyre in South Australia. They will all be sadly missed.
Andrew Taylor
Award winning cameraman and long term friend and colleague

Vince O’Farrell was born in Innisfail, Queensland in 1960, the fourth child of Vincent and Leila O’Farrell and he had four sisters: Noeleen, Erin, Patricia, and Karen. Their father was a train driver who worked for Queensland Rail for 47 years.
A distant relative was Henry James O'Farrell, a troubled man who was the first person to attempt a political assassination in Australia. He shot and wounded Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, the fourth child of Queen Victoria, while in the Sydney suburb of Clontarf on March 12, 1868. Henry was found guilty of attempted murder and at the age of 35, was hanged on April 1, 1868 in Darlinghurst Gaol.
Growing up, Vince was always drawing. He used Hobbytex to create personalised T-shirts for family and friends that showed an emerging wicked sense of humour. Vince drew on anything, even the contents of the fruit-bowl would acquire smiles with happy faces they had drawn on them. At fourteen, Vince’s high school art teacher entered one of his pen and ink drawing titled Fear in an international art competition and won an award; the drawing was on display in an exhibition in Iran before it was returned to him.
After leaving school Vince worked as a plumber for 3 years before changing direction, to work as a radio announcer (DJ) for 7 years. He started cartooning in 1977 contributing to The Innisfail Advocate in North Queensland (Founded in 1906 as The Johnstone River Advocate) before progressing to The Cairns Post. (Founded in 1883)

Putti, O’Farrell was briefly distracted by T-shirts, putting cartooning aside and moving to Sydney to set up a T-shirt printing business, but Warren Brown - who was cartooning for The Illawarra Mercury - noticed his T-shirt drawings and suggested he relocate to Wollongong to cartoon on The Illawarra Mercury.
In 1986 he took up Brown’s suggestion and while O’Farrell probably didn’t give it any thought, The Illawarra Mercury is even older than the two Queensland newspapers he contributed too, having been founded in 1855. Working on The Illawarra Mercury - a regional newspaper in New South Wales - did not stop Vince O’Farrell achieving the level of prominence many cartoonists working on capital city newspapers would like to have.
A former editor of The Illawarra Mercury, Nick Hartgerink, once said even the subjects of his O’Farrell’s satire appreciated his wicked sense of humour. “He could really destroy your image in his cartoons, and you could love him for it - that is a skill that few people have,”
Politicians were, as always, prime targets.
Noreen Hay, when a member in the New South Wales Legislative Assembly, representing Wollongong from 2003 to 2016 was often the target in O’Farrell’s cartoons and was once told, “Noreen, when you make it into the cartoon you know you have really hit the big time."
David Campbell, Lord Mayor of Wollongong from 1991 to1999, once said, “He sent up politicians mercilessly, and they loved him for it.”.
Bob Carr - who was Premier of New South Wales from 1995 to 2005 - considered O'Farrell to be one of the best political cartoonists in Australia. When in office former Prime Ministers John Howard, Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard regularly featured in his cartoons.
As a clear sign of his ability to communicate pithy images that reflected the times O’Farrell won many a People’s Choice awards. One of his cartoons in 2008, received the People's Choice award in the exhibition in Canberra. When the exhibition travelled to Melbourne, he received 1822 votes to win the People’s choice award there. He picked up People's Choice awards in two other cities the exhibition travelled to as well.
O’Farrell had cartoons selected to go into the Bring the House Down exhibition in 2001, the Life Love Politics in 2002 and the Behind the Lines exhibitions in 2003, 2004 2008, 2009, 2011, 2010 when conducted by the National Museum of Australia.
He was nominated as Cartoonist of the Year in 2003 at the Australian Cartoonists Association Stanley Awards.
O’Farrell is represented in Russ Radcliffe’s, Best Australian Political Cartoons books, in most of the years between 2004 and 2011. ‘‘It’s always good recognition for the paper to get that kind of stuff put in a collection of Australia’s best cartoons,’’ he said.
In 1990, the general manager of the Intercontinental Hotel in Sydney, Wolfgang Grim (with help from Barry Humphries), opened the Sketches Bar and Bistro with 380 cartoons decorating the walls. There was also a tourism cartoon award announced for 1991, which many of the best cartoonists in the country entered and O’Farrell won it, first prize was a night’s accommodation in one of the best rooms in the house and dinner in Sketches for 100 people.
O’Farrell also won six Rotary Club of Coffs Harbour City cartoon awards, conducted by the National Cartoon Museum in Coffs Harbour.
O’Farrell's work also gained prominence overseas. Early in his career he started sending cartoons to the Artizans syndicated in North America, with success. One of his cartoons depicting a tear-stained Statue of Liberty, shortly after the World Trade Centre attack on September 11, 2001, reached a global audience and was published in many newspapers.
In 2005 he switched to The Cagle Post syndicate in Santa Barbara, sending them three cartoons a week and receiving positive feedback from American editors. He also became a regular contributor to a number of North American, British and Irish newspapers.
But not everybody was happy.
Like any satirist, O’Farrell found his critics often seemed to outweigh fans of his work saying, ‘‘With the American stuff, I got a lot of hate mail. I was very anti-Iraq war and I did a lot of anti-George Bush cartoons and the emails just flooded my inbox on a daily basis.’’ He also said, he had learnt to take criticism as a compliment because people were reading his stuff and it was making an impact. “You very rarely get emails from people who appreciate your work, you tend to get the opposite.”
Clearly, O’Farrell was ahead of his times in 2024 one of the biggest revenue earners for Sky Australia are American consumers of Aussie comments on US politics.
Added to his involvement with the USA, O’Farrell joined the Association of American Editorial Cartoonists as an international member. It is a professional association of near 200 cartoonists concerned with promoting the interests of editorial cartoonists in the United States, Canada and Mexico.
O’Farrell was also involved with their newspaper education program, supplying a drawing for their Cartoons for the Classroom initiative. He supplied a drawing related to something in the news, and the students were invited to offer a caption. There was no right or wrong answer, it was an exercise making students think about the topic in the drawing.
This syndication of his political cartoons brought him to the attention of the Walt Disney Company, but he turned down, what would have been a lucrative offer, saying, “You can say a lot of things with cartoons that you can't say otherwise, I couldn't see myself drawing Mickey Mouse every day.’’
Putting out his daily contributions for the Illawarra Mercury held far more interest.
In 1988 O’Farrell said he and Warren Brown were working on a comic strip which he claimed would be 'bigger than Mickey Mouse’. It was Egyptian themed called Giza, with a style reminiscent of the Wizard of Id. They had some success with it, but because of other commitments they didn’t have the time to keep it going.
O’Farrell took over as editorial cartoonist in late 1988, after Brown moved to Sydney, to become the editorial cartoonist on The Daily Mirror before moving onto The Daily Telegraph in 1991. In his first week, after he took over the cartooning duties, O’Farrell received a death threat in response to a cartoon he drew poking fun at a truck drivers’ blockade.
O’Farrell drew cartoons six days of the week, while also drawing daily comic strip about a dog called Chadwick that was named after the pet dog he had when growing up. After it had been published for 18 months, he tried to get it syndicated in Australia, but claimed the agents he approached were arrogant, and only interested in handling established American products.
Vince’s way of cartooning changed dramatically over the years.
Originally, he spent eight hours drawing a cartoon by hand on paper, with a full collection of pens, pencils and paint brushes. Then like most other political cartoonists, he began working on a computer and in colour. “Vince would retire to his room and ponder the day’s events, before deciding on his target,’’ Hartgerink recalled. ‘’He invariably hit the mark. I’d go down to see what he was up to, and hear chuckling coming through the door. He’d show me his idea, and I’d be chuckling too.”
Writing in The Illawarra Mercury, in 2015, when she was deputy editor, Lisa Wachsmuth revealed that during his time at The Mercury, O’Farrell battled mental illness, suffering from bipolar disorder, that had only been diagnosed when he was in his mid-thirties.
It was a terrible illness which at times forced him to miss months of work and spend long stays in hospital. On the many days he was unable to draw a cartoon, freelance cartoonists filled in for him. But, even when O’Farrell was sick, if he could make it to work, he would produce an outstanding cartoon.
O’Farrell said while bipolar was debilitating, the disease had also provided him with inspiration suited to his craft. ‘‘Bipolar disorder is something that can make your mind very foggy,’’ he said. ‘‘But at same time ... the dark side of an illness like that, that’s where I always found the poison pen could come out in satire. I was able to look at things in a dark kind of way which works well with satire rather than doing squeaky clean kind of American cartoons.’’
Wachsmuth said, Vince, was very brave and even went public about his debilitating depression When Peter Cullen, was the editor of The Illawarra Mercury he used to say to his staff, ‘’No one’s irreplaceable … apart from Vince.’’
But as with all newspapers, nothing stays the same for ever. After working on The Illawarra Mercury for 27 years, O’Farrell resigned in July 2013. He was looking for new challenges, embracing the digital revolution, planning to have his own satirical website, complete with articles and cartoons, ‘‘It’s going to be an experiment,’’ he said. Sister, Karen Neumann described him; ‘’He was always up to mischief and much of our time at work was a mix of hysterical practical jokes and much laughter. No-one was spared,’’
But the move did not work out the way O’Farrell had anticipated. ‘’He wasn’t the same after he left The Mercury, that bright light just kept getting dimmer.’’ Said Karen
While O’Farrell battled mental illness, it was his physical health that finally failed him.
He passed away on Sunday December 20, 2015, aged just 55, leaving behind his wife Josie, children Luke and Jessie, family, friends, an overabundance of followers and a terrific legacy of insight and wit.
Lindsay Foyle.
Lindsay Foyle – Cartoonist, Journalist, former deputy editor of ‘The Bulletin’, and a past president of the Australian Cartoonists Association.

Since 2013, the Chris Watson Award for Outstanding Regional Print and Online Journalism has kept alive and aloft the memory of a one-of-a-kind newspaper veteran. An esteemed editorial leader, a mentor to many, a giant of Newcastle and Hunter Region journalism who practically bled ink during a 45-year media career.
There was another Chris Watson, though – the one simply known as ‘Watto’ by his mates.
A gentle, generous, gregarious man whose gift-giving was legendary, as was his love of a quiet punt, a punnet of fried chicken, a Jimmy Buffet tune and a colourful Hawaiian shirt adorning his broad back.
For years, Watto defied his bulk as a fearless, peerless bowler for the Newcastle Herald’s fighting 5th grade cricket team, while also being an ace tennis player and a dab hand at darts. Photos commonly show Watto clutching a post-game beer, and he carried a membership card for a Newcastle nightclub with the inscription, “valid until the Tooheys runs out”. Not even Andrew Johns could say that.
Old age and the painful ravages of decay were rarely contemplated during what many would consider a hedonistic life, utterly devoid of vegetables. To be “Watto-ed” meant you’d witnessed another dawn from his spa. A day at the races was an entrée to a night on the town. His dinner parties were legendary for the cuisine and quantity of grog.
It’s this character, this down-to-earth nature, that made Chris the exceptional journalist that he was. It instilled in him an innate understanding of his true blue-collar readership, born from humble Hunter Region roots and self-effacing, streetwise manner. Never was he too big for his boots.
Eventually, sadly, his working life would be curtailed. First came the onset of Type 2 diabetes, which wasn’t a wake-up call, more a snooze button, for the Grand Pooh-Bah of a convivial tribe known as the Fat Boys. Ultimately, throat cancer claimed Watson’s life at the age of 63, precluding a richly deserved retirement after more than four decades on the job.
Shortly after his passing, the Kennedy Awards chose to honour Watson’s service, and in a sense, it was fitting that he went out as a dyed-in-the-wool newspaperman, revered by his contemporaries. His wit and intellect were dry and razor-sharp to the end.
Today, former colleagues fondly recall a complete all-rounder – an outstanding reporter with an uncanny nose for news, a gifted creative writer, superb sub-editor, chief of staff, long-serving deputy editor and eventually an editor.
That laid-back temperament sometimes masked a tenacious devotion to his craft. Indeed, fellow journalist, Neil Jameson, says Watson’s skill as a journalist was only rivalled by his love of teaching others: “In an industry beset with healthy egos he was an absolute contradiction – the best brain in the room who invariably put the career advancement of others before his own”.
Former Herald Weekender Editor, Amy De Lore, concurs, saying that Watson’s management style always put the paper's needs and the community’s interests before personal ambition. "He was the force behind the scenes at the Herald; the bridge between various editors with different management styles and approaches to delivery of the news,” she says.
Among those to benefit from Watson’s support and tutelage are Seven Network political correspondent, Mark Riley, broadcaster, Tony Squires, ACM Editorial Director, Rod Quinn and Paul Ramadge, formerly Editor of The Age.
Watson joined the Newcastle Morning Herald in 1971 as a general reporter, adept at sniffing out a local yarn after serving his cadetship on the Hunter coalfields with the Cessnock Eagle, a semiweekly publication that closed in 1978. He eventually gravitated to the Herald’s subs desk and from there rose steadily into senior roles.
Along with a skeleton staff, Watson remained behind in the evacuated newspaper office during the aftermath of the 1989 Newcastle earthquake. Phones rang hot as the natural disaster claimed 13 lives, injured hundreds more, and left some 50,000 buildings scarred.
When the lateness of the hour meant the Sydney Olympics announcement would defeat newspaper deadlines, Watson covered all bases by drafting page ones for any possible outcome and during the 2000 Olympic Games he worked as a production coordinator for the national Fairfax coverage.
On September 11, 2001, with the Herald's night shift wrapping up as New York’s Twin Towers began to collapse, Watson directed a team of volunteers to produce a second edition that landed on Hunter lawns by dawn.
Initially reluctant to assume the senior management mantle, Watson held the unique honour of being acting editor of the Newcastle Herald on three separate occasions between 1996 and 2000, before cementing the role in the mid-2000s.
During his time at the helm, the paper became the “people’s paper”, providing a strong and dogged voice for regional issues. Reporters felt empowered to dig deeper, sans fear or favour, and the subs team set the loftiest quality standards.
Watson was a man who’d risen from their ranks and remained “one of them”, always approachable and ready to listen, unfailingly dedicated. He also formed a powerful bond with then General Manager, Julie Ainsworth, who’d also kicked off her newspaper advertising career in Cessnock.
His dedication to regional news and mentoring young journalists resulted in Watson being awarded the coveted Most Outstanding Contribution to Journalism award at the Northern NSW Journalism Awards in 2009. He had also won numerous other ‘‘Prodis’’.
Certainly, he was old-school – long before tweets, Watson carried two pens in his top pocket, ready to jot down notes on a sodden coaster. Yet he wasn’t old hat. He’d seen the Newcastle Herald transform from broadsheet to tabloid, and as an industry leader he readily embraced the digital revolution.
In the twilight of his career, Watson was content to step back from the frontline to run the special publications division as a lone hand in an office piled with books and papers. His love for both world travel and journalism found a serendipitous intersection when Watson founded the Herald’s travel magazine. Famously unfashionable, his travel wardrobe generally comprised a sarong, two shirts and a toothbrush.
Similarly, a penchant for history, music and culture were all woven into one-off publications that somehow attracted enough advertising dollars to break even. Behind them all, however, was that profound news sense and understanding of the audience mindset. Readers lapped them up.
Watson’s talent could’ve seen him hold a senior position in any newspaper in Australia, however his love of the Hunter and the Herald kept him steadfastly in Newcastle.
Somewhere along the line, a friend became family for many of his long-time colleagues and confidantes. “Watto” was the glue who bound social clusters, the loyal linchpin who schooled his mates in the value of a champagne at sunset, a concert in the vineyards, KFC on Christmas Eve, and travel to remote Pacific isles.
He infused a beige existence with a Hawaiian shirt of colour, while also living and breathing for the black-and-white world of newspaper print. From the reporters’ desk, the subs’ table and the editor’s chair he covered every major story in the Hunter over 40-plus years and harboured an unquenchable belief in the duty of his team to report local news.
Australian Community Media’s Head of Dailies, Chad Watson (no relation), says “Watto” is remembered indelibly as a true great of the Herald and the Hunter. ‘‘Watto always put others first,’’ Chad says. “His generosity and wise counsel were something to behold and cherish.”
Chris Watson, Watto, was simply brilliant company, at work and play.
Not just a good bloke but the best. A peerless, fearless journalist.
Unforgettable, like the award for excellence that sustains his memory.
Mark Rothfield
Mark joined the Newcastle Herald in 1981 as a first-year cadet journalist, later serving as editor of the Weekender and H2 sections and is currently the content director for Club Marine Magazine and freelance writer.

Peter Frilingos was a giant of sports media, a fearless and dedicated journalist who moulded an era in rugby league through print, television and radio.
And aside from his epic achievements as an elite reporter, Peter Frilingos stood above most through his honour and integrity.
Peter ‘Chippy’ Frilingos was chief rugby league writer for Sydney’s Daily Telegraph when he died in May, 2004 doing what he loved most – chasing down the next back page exclusive.
Frilingos, 59, was at his desk inside New Corp’s Holt Street headquarters interviewing then NRL CEO David Gallop when he collapsed and died of a heart attack.
He left behind a family he cherished and adored - wife Maureen and children Matthew, Alison and Anna - and a legacy of being tough, relentless yet fair.
Frilingos broke many of the biggest stories in rugby league’s long history through a passion for his job and an insatiable desire to be first with the news.
‘Chippy’ is also remembered for his humour, honesty and spirit. He was never short of a comment and never short of an opinion.
The legendary Frilingos never accepted being lied to and refused to shy away from a controversial story.
He joined News Limited as a copyboy on the Daily Mirror in February 1962, and celebrated 40 seasons of covering rugby league in Sydney the year before he died.
He was also an intrinsic part of 2GB's Continuous Call rugby league commentary team and a regular panellist on Fox Sports’ Main Game and Back Page television shows.
“Of all the bulletproof people in the world, and of all the people who more than any other person was the heart and soul of The Daily Telegraph, it was Peter,” said then Daily Telegraph editor, Campbell Reid. “In the last couple of days we had celebrated an unbelievable career as this city's leading rugby league writer, a duty he performed with unsurpassed passion and professionalism.”
Frilingos’ sudden death shocked colleagues across all media platforms.
He was the mainstay of the Daily Telegraph sports department, a larger-than-life figure who possessed hunger and humility.
Even fickle rugby league fans felt his loss. His word was his bond.
Former News Limited Chief Executive Officer, John Hartigan, said: “He was one of the greatest sports writers this country has produced, a master writer of rugby league. Legend is a word that is often overused but this is what he was." Ex Sunday Telegraph sports editor Billy Rule once wrote: “Chippy was a man with personality, belief, the quickest of wits and the strongest of convictions.”
Aside from his incredible devotion to his family, his true loves were rugby league, rock fishing and being a journalist for News Limited. Peter was a great journalist because he was a storyteller. Not only did he get the yarns but he knew how to tell them and rarely would he be able to stay in his chair doing so.
“He would get up, grab you firmly by the arm, lock your eyes with a bug-eyed stare, then pull back waving his arms above his head as if he was falling out of a plane.”
Littered through each story were phrases such as: “What don't you understand about the words”, “no-one cares!”, “in the fair-dinkum department”, “hang on, hang on, hang on – let's cut the hysteria”, “what am I speaking – Swahili?, and, of course, his morning greeting of, “any atrocities?”
He covered or, more often than not, broke all the big stories that engulfed rugby league.
Indeed he did.
Frilingos covered 40 rugby league grand finals, 69 State of Origin games and five Kangaroo tours.
His news sense and knowledge also helped drive 2GB’s Continuous Call team to the top of Sydney’s rugby league radio ratings along with high-profile colleagues Ray Hadley, Steve Roach and Bob Fulton.
Hadley said: “Peter Frilingos was my mate and colleague from the first day of the Continuous Call team in 1987 until his untimely passing in 2004. He was a brilliant journalist and equally brilliant on radio. His sharp wit, memory and knowledge of the game was unmatched.”
Frilingos, a 2019 NRL Hall of Fame inductee, was respected by all in the game – from head coaches to debutant players. They all knew ‘Chippy’ and all admired him.
Tributes for Frilingos flowed after his death, even then Prime Minister John Howard offered his condolences.
“Rugby league meant everything to him and, even when the headlines were at their most bleak, he never lost his enthusiasm for the sport,” said journo and TV presenter Mike Gibson.
Gallop was stunned and saddened.
“He was one of the most dedicated men to his profession that you could imagine,” Gallop said. “Chippy’ inspired us to look for answers to the game’s issues. Everyone will remember not only his strong views but that he would respect your right to disagree and be fair in presenting an alternative view. There was always the assurance that he would be fair in representing an alternate opinion. He was part of the game for four decades and his death represents a tremendous loss.”
In between nailing big stories, Frilingos taught rookie reporters about professionalism, accuracy and decency. He showed young journalists how to build contacts and ensure they weren’t taking short cuts.
Above all though, Frilingos was a true family man. Rule once said: “One day when I told him I was having an argument with my wife he simply advised me to ‘say sorry’. I explained that I was in the right and it wasn't up to me to apologise. He got up, grabbed me by the arm and pointed at me with his other finger: ‘Mate, aren't you listening. Even when she's wrong, just say sorry. Your wife is the most important thing in your life and part of the deal is keeping her happy. Say sorry. Among all the memories, that is the advice that stands out – and my wife is eternally grateful. Apart from the regular lectures on rugby league, the best advice he gave me was about family.”
This correspondent once wrote: “He was fiercely determined and often ruthless in the pursuit of a story, Chippy was routinely polite and respectful. He was old school.”
I sat next to him for 15 years. He mentored me; I listened and learned. He taught those around him about professionalism. As much as he is missed, I am glad a man of his stature and integrity isn’t around today to be subjected to the filth of today’s social media.
Chippy was once described as a human whirlwind. He was the heart and soul of The Daily Telegraph newsroom; a legendary rugby league reporter, a giant of his profession.
He had a wicked sense of humour and loved telling stories from the past. He mostly enjoyed yarns about boozy nights out by colleagues that went wrong.
Former ARL Chief Executive, Geoff Carr, said Frilingos’ contribution to rugby league was enormous. “He was someone who cared tremendously about the game and what it stood for. He'd covered Kangaroo tours, grand finals and every aspect of rugby league,”
Frilingos had a Dally M medal named after him – the Peter Frilingos headline moment and the Media Centre at Parramatta’s old Parramatta Stadium was named after Çhippy’.
Small awards for a true legend who loved his job and was loved by all those around him.
Dean Ritchie
Dean Richie -A news breaking sport journalist for over 30 years.

It is 27 years since James Oram farewelled us all at his wake, three weeks before he died. And, oh, how we miss him.

We miss not only his outrageous behaviour, designed to offend the offendable, his wit, his fellowship and his wisdom … more than all those elements, we miss his writing. Because, in my view, Jim’s death signalled the end of an era in journalism – a time when the work of great writers embellished the news with colour, context, insight and beautifully crafted sentences that played to the theatre of the mind and took readers inside a story.

Great writing used to be a mainstay of journalism. Ernest Hemingway, Tom Wolfe and Hunter S Thompson were reporters before they became syndicated feature writers and authors; readers lapped up the forceful and entertaining works of columnists like Jimmy Breslin or, locally, Ron Saw; the writing talents of Ian Moffit and Rob Drewe propelled them from newspapers to vibrant careers as authors.

But times and technology constantly move and television’s ability to show the news meant there was less demand for colour writers to tell what happened. Flamboyance was frowned on and adjectives, the stardust of colour writing, were subbed out of existence in favour of spare, tight, reporting.

More recently, the economic upheavals in publishing, the speed of coverage of breaking news and the demands of the 24-hour news cycle have left little time or inclination to devote resources to reflective, in-depth, reporting.

This is where James Oram excelled. He was an all-rounder, just as capable of quickly cobbling together details of a car crash as he was producing a three-part feature on Jack Thompson’s love life. Or writing a book on Pope John Paul II, six weeks after a puff of white smoke signalled his election.

The revelation that Thompson lived with two sisters was, in the Seventies, a shocking and titillating affair; an invitation for enthusiastic tabloid headline writers to strut their stuff. But the canny Oram argued that the facts were enticing enough to be simply reported and there was no need to add titillation.

When Cardinal Karol Wojtyła became Pope John Paul II in 1978 he was the first non-Italian in 450 years to rise to the top of the Vatican. Oram was despatched to Poland – he spoke no Polish and had no contacts in Warsaw – but nevertheless managed to interview Wojtyla’s family, friends, priests and politicians as he dashed off 85,000 words in six weeks to produce a quickie book, The People’s Pope, for Harper Collins. It sold around the world in the millions.

But Oram was aggrieved that he did not share in the profits and at one of the Press fancy dress balls that were held regularly in that era, he dressed up as the Pope, with his partner Marie Ussher looking like a cheap hooker. He introduced himself as, “I am the Pope, and this harlot is Harper Collins.”

This was classic Oram. His behaviour was often shocking. Sometimes, as with the Pope, it was deliberate; more often it was because of too much liquor and too many illicit substances.

Oram’s capacity and willingness to cause outrage had its roots in his upbringing. He was born in New Zealand and raised in the secretive bosom of the Plymouth Brethren sect. He rebelled against the strictures imposed by the church, declared schooling a useless exercise and ran away to join a circus. He rode motor bikes on the Wall of Death as a 15-year-old before joining the Southland Times as a cadet reporter.

NZ was never going to be big enough for the ambitious Oram who moved to Melbourne in the late Fifties and covered police rounds for the Sun. In 1960 he went to London and joined Today, a youth-oriented magazine.

His first big break came when he did a story on a little-known rock band called the Beatles, then third on the bill of a troupe touring the British midlands. He got to know all the players from Merseyside and helped the Rolling Stones make a name for themselves in the UK. It was obvious, then, when the Beatles came to Australia, Oram would be assigned to cover their tour.

The entertainment beat became Oram’s specialty and on his return to Australia he joined Everybody’s magazine where he quickly earned a reputation for his enticing showbiz writing. He pumped out two books – The Business of Pop, and The Hellraisers in the mid-Sixties, covered the Beatles making their film Help! in the Bahamas, and joined the Mirror in 1970.

Soon, he was the Mirror’s go-to man for royal visits. His first job was to ensure photographers got a range of close-up photos of the Queen so he had a reserve of pictures – laughing, smiling, bored, surprised, alarmed, unhappy, angry, if possible – to support any stories that might bob up on the tour.

For instance, when he was in the Papua New Guinea highlands, he witnessed thousands of tribesmen in coloured paint and feathers dancing before the Queen. “The headline was shrieking in my brain” he said at the time. “Queen meets cannibals’ … and we had a picture of Herself looking suitably alarmed.”

Oram, an early and devout republican, claimed he enjoyed royal tours because they confirmed everything he believed in about hereditary privilege. But he kept those thoughts to himself and, by his presence at decades of press functions during royal tours, became well known to the Queen.

“She used to say each time we met: ‘Ah, Mr Oram. And how is Mr Murdoch?” Oram recalled. “But she never asked how we always had a picture to suit the story.”

Oram had another encounter with royalty. The British actor Terence Cooper was in Sydney when Margrethe, Queen of Denmark, arrived for a charity function. Oram was assigned to cover the dinner in the presence of Sydney’s social elite.

But first, he had lunch with Trouper Cooper. As the veteran police reporter Norm Lipson recalled, “Cooper was a very tall fellow who didn’t mind a bit of fun. He was a mid-range celebrity who had a role in the James Bond film Casino Royale.”

"As Jim told it, the pair of them kicked on after lunch and visited several city establishments until, come the evening, both were as full as Bill Gates’ bank account.

"Like any good Aussie bloke, Jim could not brush his mate and drinking companion, so he invited him to come along and hang out with the media. Free booze, free tucker, and then maybe kick on up at the Cross.

As her majesty sashayed into the grand ball room flanked by lines of socialites and media, Cooper, from the second row, leaned over Oram and pinched the queen on the bum. As her majesty turned in shock and disgust, she fixed on Oram as the culprit. Cooper feigned ignorance and innocence and Oram refused to give him up.

Jim used to tell me he didn’t care what people said about him or his unacceptable behaviour, but he was adamant he never goosed the Queen of Denmark."

In today’s era of pursed-lipped politically correct wokism Oram would surely have been called out. But in Oram’s time mad-cap irresponsibility served to put down the markers on the path to legendary status.

Oram’s capacity to produce under pressure was never more vividly exhibited than on the night of the 1978 Hilton bombing in Sydney. The city’s then No 1 radio station, 2SM, staged a rock concert at the Opera House forecourt on a balmy February evening and Oram was a guest. Much booze was imbibed and perhaps some weed was inhaled. Around 2 am Oram staggered to his home in nearby Darlinghurst and, just as he was trying to put his key in his front door lock, he heard a loud explosion from the city direction.

Regardless of the state of his impairment Oram bolted for a taxi and arrived at the Hilton before police closed it off. He spoke to victims and watched as first responders went to work and wrote a riveting account of the action inside the crime scene for the Mirror’s first edition.

While at the Mirror, and after he left, Oram wrote several books on the showbiz stars of the era – Paul Hogan, Neighbours, Home and Away, Flying Doctors and Mel Gibson. He also wrote for the Sydney Sun Herald and, after his death, inspired an award for feature writing.

While Oram’s specialty was showbiz, he also made astute and valued contributions to cultural debates. In a strident condemnation of the rumours and conspiracy theories surrounding the death – by dingo – of baby Azaria Chamberlain at Uluru, Oram drew on his childhood traumas to explain why these fake theories gained such currency.

“The Chamberlains were members of a small sect with strict beliefs not always in line with mainstream churches,” he wrote. “Seventh Day Adventists are so committed to their faith it dictates their every move. Biblical quotes drop from their lips in the way comments on the weather might from other less religious people. They live religion. They see it as a stepping stone to eternal happiness, which is why the Chamberlains were able to treat Azaria’s disappearance so calmly. They would see her again in Heaven.

Australians don’t see much beyond tomorrow and could not understand this belief, this passion. Nor could they cope with it. And so they turned on the Chamberlains the hatred reserved for people who worship in different temples and they became obsessed. So did politicians.”

When James Oram learned in 1996 that he had bowel cancer and was on borrowed time he did two things at once – weeks before he died, he hosted his own wake at his home and, in a concession to previously derided convention, married his long-time partner, Marie.

He cavorted and caroused with his mates as he downed the last beers of his life and announced: “I am having the most excellent death.” He was 60.
Mark Day
Mark Day - Editor, Journalist and colleague of James ‘Jim’ Oram.

Caroline Jones was one in a million, a radio and television journalist and broadcaster whose career prospered for half a century.
Jones was born on 1 January 1938 and raised in Murrurundi, NSW.
Journalism is in Caroline Jones’s blood, her grandfather was a rural newspaper editor, and she always wanted to be a journalist but it wasn’t until her late 20s that she started in the industry. It came sometime after being turned away from a cadetship after finishing high school.
“I think it was because although I was quite good at writing English and so on, I was a bit timid. I didn’t look or sound as though I had much drive. And so nobody took me on.”
But in 1963 she got a break and started her illustrious career with the ABC in Canberra in and became the first female reporter for the daily This Day Tonight current affairs television program that had an audience of two million viewers a week.
“That was a big deal to be asked to go there, especially since they were all men.”
The team she joined included Bill Peach, Ray Martin and Richard Carleton.
But she more than held her own and always with a quiet respectful charm.
This may have been at least partly due to her upbringing in the bush, Murrurundi to be exact.
″Murrurundi was very formative for me, I was growing up in a country community and that stays with you your whole life.”
She was also the presenter of the august Four Corners from 1972 to 1981 her new role made headlines that would now make us cringe,
“Girl will take over Four Corners.”, “Brawn now, beauty next.”, “She doesn’t particularly appeal to me as a sex symbol.”
“Now I think we can just have a good laugh at headlines like those because they are so outrageous. And to young women in the media now, they are completely unbelievable. But they are part of our history.”
“While I was the first woman to anchor and to report, on Four Corners, I was by no means the only woman there,” she told ABC Alumni in 2021.
“The program depended on the essential work of fact researchers, film researchers, archivists, script assistants and admin staff, not to mention make-up – all women, all highly capable, and all paid at a lower rate than their male counterparts.”
She changed the world by her simple example.
I first met her as a cadet reporter in the ABC’s Public Affairs Radio unit producers of ‘AM’, ‘PM, ‘The World Today’ and ‘City Extra’ that Caroline hosted.
She was an absolute professional with a slightly distant grace and elegance. Nothing seemed to ever fluster her even when I organised a studio guest, a young Frenchman who was riding a bike around the world, who, as it turned out, hardly spoke a word of English. As I died in the control room Caroline just got him to play his guitar and sing a beautiful song in French. Day saved!
A quietly religious person, Caroline, also hosted a spirituality-focused radio program called The Search For Meaning on ABC Radio National, for eight years.
In 1996, Jones began hosting the weekly biographical program Australian Story on ABC television. As Australian Story founding executive producer Deborah Fleming once said: “There are many people in the media who are respected. I think there are very few who manage to be both respected and loved.”
Caroline loved her work, loved her life and won numerous awards
Jones worked alongside Aboriginal broadcasters at Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association in Alice Springs as they produced their first cultural and current affairs programs for television.
In 1998 she was appointed an Ambassador for Reconciliation by the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation, became an officer of the Order of Australia in 1988 and in 1989 was awarded the Archbishop of Sydney Citation in recognition of her contribution to Christian ideals in radio and television.
The National Trust of Australia voted Jones an Australian Living Treasure in 1997 and was made an Honorary Doctor of Letters (DLitt) by the University of the Sunshine Coast and the University of Sydney.
Caroline won a Logie in 1972, several Australian Media Peace prizes and in 2021 was inducted into the Australian Media Hall of Fame.
The National Press Club now has an annual award, ‘The Caroline Jones Women in Media Young Journalist’s Award’.
Caroline Jones died following a fall at her home in Sydney on 20 May 2022, at the age of 84.
What a life, what a woman.
David Margan
David Margan -Journalist and Kennedy Foundation Communications Consultant

As journalists, it’s an expectation we find the right words to describe an event or a situation.
In a case like this, where do you even start?
You could know every word in the dictionary, but still, the emotions in your body would make you feel as if you haven’t used the right one.
You probably wouldn’t have seen Bridget Munro’s name in a reporter super or by-line, or heard her mentioned in an introduction or seen her piece-to-camera or live cross.
How do you measure the contribution of those ‘behind-the-scenes’ colleagues – especially those whose potential was enormous and, rather painfully, never had the chance to be fully realised?
Not only was Bridget Munro one of the most talented and respected news producers in Australia, but she was also my loving wife, an amazing mother to Gracie and Margot, a wonderfully thoughtful friend and most importantly, a mentor to so many young journalists. Journalists who’d go on to be regularly name checked and mentioned and frequently calling on the quiet, yet sound, advice Bridget would pass on.
The hardest word to write so far? ‘Was’.
Growing up in Canberra, it was fitting that Bridget would make a name for herself in the Press Gallery at Parliament House.
After completing her journalism degree at the University of Technology in Sydney, Bridget completed internships at 10 News First Sydney and Nine News Sydney.
Like so many other journalists, her breakthrough in the media industry came working for Sky News Australia as Liaison Producer. It’s at the Martin Place newsroom in Sydney where our paths would first cross. I was working there at the time as a Sport Producer for Seven News Sydney.
After five months in the entry-level role, Bridget moved to APAC (Australia’s Public Affairs Channel), where she would begin to develop her skills as a producer.
It was in July of 2015 when Bridget’s big breakthrough in the industry came. An opening in Sky News Australia’s Parliament House bureau saw Bridget return home. It was there, in the hallowed halls of Australia’s Federal Parliament, that Bridget would fulfill a lifelong dream.
She would become the producer and voice in the ear for some of Australia’s best journalists such as Kieran Gilbert, David Speers, Laura Jayes and serving politicians including Richard Marles, Christopher Pyne and Kristina Kenneally.
If politics was a drug, Bridget was addicted.
On the day it was announced Malcolm Turnbull would challenge Tony Abbott for the Liberal Party leadership, Bridget – who wasn’t on shift at the time – immediately went straight back to Parliament House to assist with the rolling coverage for Sky News.
She ended up working a 16-hour day but that meant nothing to Bridget. It’s often said a superstar team beats a team of superstars, and that was Bridget’s approach to working with others.
After working for two years in Parliament House, Bridget relocated to Sydney to live with me and joined the team at SBS News. It didn’t take long to recognise Bridget’s talents. She quickly rose through the ranks and became one of the most trusted members of the news team, producing SBS’s flagship 6:30pm World News bulletin.
Rising stars at SBS were put under her management and tutelage, and to no surprise, many have gone on to achieve great success.
Other people’s success meant as much to Bridget as it did her own.
The role of a daily news producer in a busy newsroom is not often celebrated, it is a role that requires a passion for news, a cool head under pressure and a commitment to make your on-air colleagues shine. Bridget was all these things and more.
The ultimate perfectionist, she hated making mistakes, no matter how small they were and Bridget looked at pressure as a privilege, when so many others would struggle as the intensity as of the clock marched unremittingly to broadcast. Not even a software crash would stop her, Bridget would always find a way to get the bulletin to air.
And all the while, it would always be done with a smile.
Behind the smile was a wicked sense of humour, always looking for the ‘real story’ and when it came to gossip, she was every bit the news hound, savouring every detail from the sordid to the superb.
Like all the good and great journalists Bridget liked people and so was always interested in their lives. Her curiosity came from a place of caring – genuine and heartfelt and like the best journalists, there would always be a follow-up question, and another. It was the same with her colleagues as she always asked ‘how they were.’
When you found Bridget twisting her hair you knew she was lost in deep thought and now her two daughters have adopted the same mannerism. Even on maternity leave, Bridget was a news junkie and would pretend to produce the bulletin from our loungeroom.
Within three years of working at SBS, Bridget began to fill in as Managing Editor, the 2nd most important role in the newsroom. Such was her trajectory.
And others in the industry recognised it too, in 2022 when she was asked to be a Walkleys’ judge.
Bridget was primed to return to SBS in 2024 and leading up to her comeback, most emails and texts to her colleagues would often finish with the words ‘so looking forward to coming back!’
However, the universe had other ideas.
On November 20, 2023, Bridget collapsed at home, held in my arms as she took her last breaths.
Two days later, Bridget was pronounced dead at Campbelltown Hospital.
The news of her death sent shockwaves through the media industry.
It couldn’t be true, could it?
It was. That word again… ‘was.’
As journalists, we tell the truth, but nobody wanted this to be correct.
It’s the breaking news we dread.
At the age of 34, one of Australia’s most talented media professionals was taken from us cruelly.
More than 700 people attended Bridget’s funeral in the Southern Highlands. Mittagong locals said they had never seen such a big crowd for a funeral at the local church.
We all dream of making an impact during our time on this planet and Bridget did that and then some.
So much so, news of her passing was acknowledged by the highest office in the land.
A motion of condolence in Federal Parliament showed the reverence in which Bridget was held. in.
Prime Minister Anthony Albanese said, “Bridget was universally loved and respected with a smile that lit up every room.” And “Bridget was rightly proud of her accomplishments in her career. She loved what she did; but her greatest joy in life was her family, and we're all thinking of them at this very sad time.”
Opposition Leader, Peter Dutton also paid his respects “I join with the Prime Minister in mourning the loss of a person way too young to leave this world, Bridget Munro… It is a very sad moment that we mark but an important one, because we want to pay tribute to Bridget's work here in the building, as the Prime Minister pointed out, with Sky News and SBS. She was a very respected colleague of many within the press gallery…”
When the House stops in this way, you know you’ve left a legacy.
They are just two of many and knowing this tribute will now be in the Kennedy Foundation’s Hall of Honour for eternity will help tell Bridget’s story in years to come.
I couldn’t bring myself to go through the many hundreds of beautiful words from some of the biggest names in the business, acknowledging Bridget’s contribution as a colleague, mentor, friend – a formidable newswoman.
Bridget Jean Munro, there are so many testimonials, how do you pick the right one?
Her life, so short, is the one that counts as a partner, a mother, a colleague and via her contribution to Australian journalism measured by her quiet, yet enduring, influence.
Adrian Arciuli
Adrian Arciuli - Loving husband and SBS Sport Lead

What an absolute legend of a bloke, and journalist, was Matt Price.
It’s a bit of a cliche to say they ‘broke the mould’… but they he literally did.
The problem of trying to explain who Matt was and what he was to journalism is where to start.
He came into your life like a bolt of lightning.
Bang. ‘Hi, I’m Matt. You’re that guy from Queensland…’ And then, he’d never leave, and you didn’t want him to go.
He was hilarious, self-deprecating, smart, generous, happy, impossibly up….
If you ever called him and asked, ‘what’s happening?’, he’d never say ‘nothing much’.
There was always something happening. Of course there was. This is Matt Price. He’d launch straight into a ‘you wouldn’t believe what’s happened’ type of story and proceed to tell you all about it before saying ‘I’ve got to go’. And he’d be gone.
And he wouldn’t even ask what you called about!
Hilarious.
He was an out and out family man - he loved his wife Sue and children Jack, Matilda and Harry.
So much so he traversed the country constantly from the family home in Perth to Canberra and Sydney, where the bulk of his work was. He didn’t want to upset their idyllic Perth life, but the West couldn’t hold his talents, and he knew it without ever saying it out loud.
He was an incredible journalist. Like truly incredible.
Former long-time News Corp Chairman and CEO John Hartigan would ask Matt to edit one of the company’s papers, but he’d knock it back, saying his family needed him more than the company.
He cut his teeth in TV - at one stage Channel 9 were convinced he was going to be the new ‘Laurie Oakes’. In fact, they wanted him to be. He knocked that back. He’d knock back 7 too, over and over. And the ABC, which always asked him to host Media Watch.
He helped pioneer Sky News here and in the UK.
But for all his prowess on TV, he found his true calling when he joined The Australian.
Writing was his go, and his true love.
As entertaining as he was on ‘The Insiders on of a Sunday morning alongside his great mate Annabel Crabb and others, he was even more entertaining in words. Magazine pieces, features, page leads, sport columns - whatever any section editor at The Australian needed, Matt delivered.
And, boy, could he write fast. Eighteen pars, 30 minutes to deadline, done… easy as.
Of everything he did with the pen, it was his almost daily column in The Australian titled ‘The Sketch’ which was his triumph. It was a commentary on the politics of the day. It would be on page one or page three - always hovering around the front somewhere.
Short. Sharp. Cutting. It was magic.
It enabled him to showcase his genius… the way he could skewer a pollie with a few words.
But even the words had a smile on their face as they did the skewering, such was the nature of the man.
Matt was very generous to everyone he met. The same with politicians. But when it came to his words, he wrote what he thought and no-one got a free pass.
When Mark Latham became federal opposition leader and was running for the Lodge, Matt wrote ‘The Sketch’ about what he thought Latham’s biggest problem was in trying to become PM. It was that he had ‘Manboobs’.
It was that funny. Anyway, we all thought so, but Latham didn’t.
Away from journalism and family, in no particular order, he loved Bob Dylan and the Fremantle Dockers. And I mean he loved them.
He wrote a column on the Dockers for The Australian and, in 2003, they were compiled in a book titled ‘Way To Go: Sadness, Euphoria and the Fremantle Dockers’.
He also had favourite words, ‘Magnificent’ was one of them.
For instance, upon finding out a colleague had been issued a corporate credit card, Matt, with a huge smile on his face, simply said ‘Magnificent’ and picked up the phone and booked a table for two at Longrain.
“Great Man’’ he liked to call people. Made you feel special, until you realised there were about 40 greats in every room.
Just like Matt would come into people’s lives like a bolt of lightning, cancer did the same to him. He was diagnosed with brain cancer in early October, 2007, as Australia was preparing to toss out John Howard and install Kevin Rudd as Prime Minister.
Less than two months later, on Sunday, November 25, Matt died. Rudd had beaten Howard the day before. Matt sent Rudd a text on the Saturday night, congratulating him.
Hours later, surrounded by Sue and the kids, he left us.
People talk about, ‘brave cancer battles’ and someone ‘who fought until the end’… but the cruellest part of all was Matt didn’t even get a chance to fight. By the time the cancer was found, it was too late and it was all over.
Matt phoned me after the diagnosis, just the once.
He explained that he ran into a door a couple of times, but thought nothing of it, other than it was weird to miss a doorway.
But, he said, the big moment came when former West Coast Eagle Chris Mainwaring died. Matt was on a short break with Sue, but the paper phoned and wanted him to punch out a tribute piece.
Bread and butter for Matt. Not a problem. It never was. Except, on that particular day, it was a big problem for Matt.
He told me he couldn’t get the words in his brain, into his computer.
After taking hours to write something which normally took him 30 minutes, he told Sue something was wrong.
Mainwaring died on October 1, 2007, Matt died just eight weeks later.
On the Sunday night of the day he died, a lot of Matt’s Sydney friends got together at the Dolphin Hotel in Surry Hills. We sat around like stunned mullets. The look on everyone’s face told the story.
Days later we were in Perth for his funeral. Which was as beautiful as it was gut-wrenching. The final journalistic words must go to John Hartigan. Who loved Matt, like we all did.
This is an excerpt from the eulogy he gave at the church in Perth in 2007.
‘The passion of his writing. The passion of his friendship.
The love of his family, which he wore like a badge on his lapel.
I’ve tried to analyse why his death has emotionally brought our great company to its knees.
The profound sense of loss from one end of the country to the other.
Why Matt Price, son of an accountant born in Perth, WA has touched the fabric of such a broad cross-section of this great country – and beyond.
I knew the answer from the start, but I wanted to keep testing my theory.
Matt made everyone feel special. He made you feel as if you were the only person who mattered.
At his core was decency.
He cared about what you were saying, never dismissed or ignored you whatever your position in life.
Cynical and satirical but never hurtful or hateful.
Just looking at Matt made you want to smile.
His big open face made you want to give him a hug.
Seeing him walk into our offices made people feel like they were home.
Matt was one of our eccentric sons who reflected everything that was wonderful about journalism and life.
He had many great gifts.
He was a prodigiously talented writer who could summarise a situation with great perception and often with a terrific sense of humour.
When you read what he wrote, you felt he had written it just for you.
He was a person for all people. There was not a single person who disliked him.’
Well said Harto. I still have Matt’s number in my phone. And I still miss him.
Neil Breen
Channel Nine’s Neil Breen was a long-time friend of Matt’s from their time together at News Corp. They dined together often at Longrain and Rupert always paid.

HALL OF HONOUR

HALL OF HONOUR HALL OF HONOUR

LES KENNEDY

SEAN FLANNERY

HARRY POTTER

DAVID LECKIE AM

CLIFF NEVILLE

REBECCA WILSON

TOM KRAUSE

JOHN NEWFONG

MIKE WILLESEE AO

PETER RUEHL

PAUL LOCKYER

ROD ALLEN

GARY TICEHURST

VINCE O'FARRELL

CHRIS WATSON

PETER FRILLINGOS

JIM ORAM

CAROLINE JONES AO

BRIDGET MUNRO

MATT PRICE

HALL OF HONOUR