Page 1 5/2/2014

Page 2 5/2/2014 - The Violent Years –

Part One

Good Company – Good Day To Die!

Part Two

Australia’s Era of Violent History

Part Three

Sex and Thugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll

Part Four

The Ethnic Invasion

Part Five

Controlling Australia’s Nightlife!

Page 3 5/2/2014 PART ONE:

Good Company … Good Day To Die

1. PRE – (Public Relations Exercise) 9

2. B.J.C. – Training Sessions 17

3. 3XY – Frankston Football Oval 24

4. Twelve Twenty – First visit from the Boss 30

5. One Thirty Five – Second visit from the Boss 41

6. Two Forty Five – Lull Before The Storm 50

7. Three Forty Five – The Hornet’s Nest 58

8. Lightning Strikes Twice…………………………………76

Page 4 5/2/2014 PART TWO:

AN ERA OF VIOLENT HISTORY

1. Up In The Morning and Off to School 84

2. Ring, Ring Goes the Bell 88

3. And the Teacher is Teaching the Golden Rule 90

4. Investing in Fitzroy 94

5. Newtown, Fitzroy – The Violent Years………………..100

6. Bob Jones, Fitzroy – The School Years 109

Page 5 5/2/2014 PART THREE:

SEX AND THUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ ROLL

1. The Phantom Twins

2. The Olympic Games –

3. The Northside Gangs

4. Got To Get Out

5. Back In The Deep End

Page 6 5/2/2014 PART FOUR:

THE ETHNIC INVASION

1. Wog’s, Dago’s & Spic’s………………………………….162

2. Marriage – Tracey-Lee Jones 162

3. Sly Grog

4. Dance Promotions

5. Trouble Shooters

6. 6pm, Ten, twelve, three & 6am closing - recovery

7. The Southern Cross

Page 7 5/2/2014 PART FIVE:

CONTROLLING AUSTRALIAS NIGHT LIFE

1. Berties, Sebastians 163

2. The Waiter’s Club

3. And The Catcher

4. R. V. Jones Twentieth Century Connection…………..428

5. In Search of Transcendence……………………………486

Page 8 5/2/2014 PART ONE:

Good Company … Good Day To Die

• Boxing Day... the day after Christmas has for almost as long as I can remember, always been a day of significance to me. Having spent my entire life either fighting and/or teaching others how to fight aka; martial arts (self-defense). In turn, using these skills to protect a large part of the global community via my Security Industry. And for a third and the major reason, is the name itself, Boxing Day… i.e. the day of the box, one version of the original meaning for this ‘Christmas Box’ in Britain was a name for a type of Christmas present.

• The day after Christmas, Boxing Day was a day off for servants (As acknowledgement for working so hard and for such long hours on this holiest of holy days) it was this day after when they received a present of a ‘Christmas Box’ from the master. The servants would in turn go home to give ‘Christmas Boxes’ to their families.

• Many, many years from now I will learn the true meaning and relevance to Christmas Day & Boxing Day with their earliest ‘Connection’ to Astro-theology and the infinite ‘Parallel Universe’. This information is already available in my third book titled:

• “CELTS” – “Connecting Europe’s LOST Tribal Societies”

Page 9 5/2/2014 • Always seemed to me this special day should have been put aside for one of history’s more famous warriors. 'Boxing Day', December 26, 1972 fell on a Tuesday that year. An event took place on this day, that would create a turning point in the life of Bob Jones, he and a group of his closest friends having to fight with the best of their well-trained technical skills, simply to stay alive... notoriety and fame, or perhaps notorious fame, I'm not sure - but I do know that on the 26 December 1972, 'Boxing Day & Bob Jones' would become that day the ‘media-created’ public national opprobrium.

Continuing through Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday (New Year’s Eve), and Monday (New Year's Day) January 1 st 1973, that whole week national media would devote radio debates, national and state newspapers would give it front page. Television would highlight news broadcasts and make it a feature of the current affairs type shows until it became an absolute phenomena. All of Australia’s media scandalized this event sharing a commonality that was being decisively more punitive than putative. Victoria's chief secretary of the time, Mr. Meagher must have felt the whole affair was prodigious enough for him to gain some political clout and stick his bloody prodigious political nose into my business. Demanding his government had an inquiry into this Bob Jones and his 'Private Army'. The then, Melbourne Herald the next day quoted him as saying he was "not enthusiastic about strong-arm men controlling large crowds". This featured

Page 10 5/2/2014 an aggressive photo of me on the front-page carrying the heading in bold print…

'MEAGHER TO LOOK AT POP GUARDS'

If you have sensed a mood of animosity at this point in the story, I make no attempt at an apology. I would like to take you back about three weeks prior to this particular Christmas. As a part of Bob Jones - Violent Years and for the first time in approximately 40 years tell someone my version in my own words. This way at least, I will be happy with your opinion of my level of guilt or innocent aspersion, whatever it may be... About the first week into December my office had been asked to organize a meeting with Trevor Smith, an upcoming entrepreneur in the radio industry, and the marketing team at Melbourne’s 3XY, the then top rating radio station (Who ten years earlier had employed Stan ‘The Man’ Rofe whom I had employed within my dance circuit during the early sixties. Stan would become a good friend, five years my senior I had a lot to learn from this man see the full story: “LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL”). I went along to this meeting and at first was excited and felt complimented. My security organization had been recommended to do Melbourne’s 'first-ever radio station promotion, of an open air all day FREE . I say "at first", because after all the back slapping and hype about how they knew no one else could do it as good as me etc… They hit me with, "Do you think you could handle this with yourself and about a dozen of your best guys". I was thinking more along the lines of starting at fifty. Then explaining why I thought they might want to play it safe, and employ a few more; perhaps as many as

Page 11 5/2/2014 a hundred to treat this negotiation with the proper respect deserving. This meeting continued ignoring my well-intended advice. To make matters worse, they began to format for me the bands and their pecking order of playing on the day, with approximate time schedules etc. While they rolled out ’s-who in the zoo capable of attracting an estimated 15,000 to 20,000 punters - I was thinking three guys on the main gates to screen the crowd. Three guys to protect administration and vendors and six around the stage to protect the acts - certainly did not leave any back up besides me in case things got ugly. with his Aztecs, Lobby Lloyd and the Coloured Balls, & Sherbet, with Carson and the list goes on... again I'm thinking, Billy’s been doing some big shows and does attract a lot of the 'rockers', a heavy drinking crowd. Lobby has a reputation of attracting Melbourne’s 'new second wave' generation of 'skinheads' and ‘sharpies’ not that they are big drinkers, but the two together? I was about to think out loud about my concerns for the welfare of their station’s fans, adverse publicity for 3XY - let alone the physical welfare of me and my guys! “Look Bob, we know you can see things our way - this is a free concert, the cost of the bands, setting up the stage, the rigging, advertising, administration, your security costs etc. 'No revenue... You Know', this show is going to cost - so we’re sure you can help out". Trevor had his patter down pat, about now I knew any argument out of me and I'd be informed, about 'those other security groups not quite as professional as mine’ that they still had to talk to.

Page 12 5/2/2014 "Okay Trevor I’m in, and thank you gentlemen I look forward to seeing you all on Boxing Day at the gig". Trevor Smith took me from the boardroom and into his adjoining office and gave me 13 security passes - 'ACCESS ALL AREAS' and a backstage list of band members, VIPs and friends who would have access to the backstage area... "The rest will already have passes tell your guys no one will be allowed backstage access without the correct 3XY Concert-Passes NO ONE.” That was fine of course but from past experience I knew it would only be them that would bend and break their own lax rules all day, but at least he was being professional and making the effort. Possibly Trevor read my mind and sensed my trepidation of the events potential of ‘turning tumult’ - and as if to ease the pain he offered, "Bob I know what you're thinking but we have spoken to the Mornington Peninsula Council and they like this 'promotion concept’. They believe it will be a good thing for the thriving local community, we’ve sent a letter to the local Frankston cops. Sergeant Bill Mitchell rang yesterday and said he was pleased you were doing the security and extremely pleased we are not allowing or selling any alcohol on the premises during the entire concert, and that he hoped this would be a big part of our advertising during the week leading into Boxing Day". Now he tells me the council and the cops and everybody already knew I'm doing the gig, if I'd known that I could have pushed for extra numbers - Oh well! Some you win, some you...

Page 13 5/2/2014 Later that week my office made some calls and set up meetings with what I've always called 'doing my PRE-promotions (Public Relations Exercises). Tuesday 12 th December I set off early around 7:30am for my trek down to Frankston for a 9am meeting with the local Fire Authority to inform them of my upcoming consignment. 9:30a.m. I was around at St. Johns Ambulance suggesting how my guys could be of assistance to their medics on concert day and could I possibly meet the crew while I was in town for the day... had morning tea with them and made a point of remembering them by first name basis, especially Judy, she was cute, especially in that uniform. Then it was off to a PRE-arranged interview at 3MP, the local Mornington Peninsula radio station, they expressed interest in using my PRE- recorded “Bodyguard to the Stars” radio show. We negotiated a price and everyone was happy. Of course that was followed by the usual local press photo of me smiling with clenched fists and editorial - about how good the whole BOXING DAY show was going to be. Had a counter lunch with Judy at the Frankston 'Pier Hotel', dropped her back at St. John's, just in time to make it for a 2pm meeting with Sergeant Bill Mitchell. We decided to walk the hundred meters to the venue of the "Boxing Day" free 3XY outdoor rock concert... THE FRANKSTON FOOTBALL OVAL The first thing that struck me was the fence that encircled the Frankston football oval - it was on average 5 ft. (1.2 m) high,; “Sergeant, excuse me”

Page 14 5/2/2014 If you want respect first give respect. Cops are like martial artists, they like to be respected for their titles and they work as hard as us to get their recognition; "Sergeant, I have a slight dilemma, I only have twelve guys and I need half for backstage/front-stage and half for administration and vendors as well as that main gate entrance. Now, there's no cover charge and that should allow free movement at the gates, 3XY are advertising ‘no grog' but look at that fence - I hope you can give me a hand to keep the grog from being passed over the fence when we knock them back at the gates". I guess he did not know my martial arts title as I got; "Bob, we've got the same problem, between what I've got at the Frankston station and what I can borrow from Dandenong station for the day, I also only have twelve members to assist me. If the concert gets the anticipated crowd of 15,000 to 20,000 I won't be breaking my group up, as cops we will be sticking together in one group. But we will help wherever we can within reason". I showed the Sergeant where the stage area and St. John’s, vendors and admin’ was going to be and told him only passes were allowed backstage but there would be a security section for drinks and light tucker for his boys and mine on the right-hand side of the stage. He seemed happy enough with everything we had discussed, except for that fence. During our walk back to the Frankston police station the Sergeant seemed to be checking how much grunt I had in me as he gave me a rundown on several of the ‘areas bad boys’, you know – who did this, who did that. How many gangs would come in from Dandenong, as far down the coast as the Rosebud Boys and I think with a little pride, he told me about his bad arsed Frankston

Page 15 5/2/2014 boy’s. I don’t think he was aware I worked the Peninsula for more than five years at a network of big shows promoted by a good mate, Bill Joseph, and some of his ‘stuff-was-rough’. I had worked Frankston Mechanics Hall recently for several years. This dance was promoted by an amazing teenager, Tony Mansuir, he called this baby of his MODVILLE. He booked good local bands and every Saturday night he featured a top liner NATIONAL act. I remember well the night he had the EASYBEATS and that was not so EASY for us. This was early 1968 about two years before they disbanded; they were at their peak and attracted one of Mr Mansuir’s biggest crowds ever - Including the biggest gangs from Frankston, Rosebud, Dromana and Dandenong. We were OK as that night I had a bloody wild crew of only the best stand-up fighters, all known for their hitting power ability. Dave Milne, Bill Sabodka, Sandy Fricker, Frank Gaspari and me did our usual infallible drills – Trevor ‘STRETCH’ Anderson and Peter Croft worked with us that night and they terrorized those gangs senseless knocking them all out one by one. Trevor Anderson, we called him STRETCH because he was flush on two meters tall (6’,6”) and at that time he was Australian Boxing Light Heavyweight Champion titleholder. Seven of us did some serious damage that night to a lot of bad arses (“Doing bad things – To bad people”) but more than a thousand teenagers inside the Mechanics Hall were safe from the violence on the front door, totally unaware what was even happening. So, Sergeant Billy Mitchell I do know every bad arse in town. I did not bother to check his grunt and suggest it was possible not only this side of town (the southeast), but I felt it was possible to draw gangs of rockers from the north side. And possibly skinheads and sharpie gangs

Page 16 5/2/2014 from the central city and the west side of town, to this 'free concert'. We were about to fill an entire football field with perhaps all of the notorious gangs from across the state. One more ‘Port of Call’ to the council for quick intro’s without bothering them with incidentals. Just a courtesy call before 4pm simply to let them know what I was about and then it was back to Melbourne as that was for me, a ‘done day of PRE-promotions’. Three days later on the 15 th December (Friday) the 3XY publicity machine kicked into gear and 'Peninsula Press was pumping'. On the Friday, Saturday and Sunday of that weekend 3MP was featuring PRE-recorded segmented interviews of myself, with tongue in cheek humor, 'blowing-the-whistle' on some of the local artists I had known for years, then the DJ would play a song relevant to the story I had just told. My stories were well received and these songs were all popular hits that the bands would be playing at the upcoming concert. This at that time was promoted as 'Bodyguard to the Stars’; the stories were fun times I'd had in the past with Johnny O’ Keefe & Shout (Sadly passed during these times of 1978. I had known Johnny O’Keefe since the very beginning – 1955 – these were my own notorious gang days when every singer and musician knew the name Bob Jones) , after JO’K came Billy Thorpe & The Aztecs, & the Meteors, Lobby Lloyd and his Colored Balls, My favorite guitarist , Real Thing Russell Morris,

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Bobby Bright & Laurie Allan, Normie Rowe, the Laurie Arthur Four, Mike Brady of MPD (Mike, Peter and Danny), the Hearse-men, Jimmy Barnes, John Swan, Angry Anderson, Jeff St John, , and about 95% of the rest of Australia's 'Rock ‘n Roll Rat Bags'. I am proud to say all of these artists were all ‘very good’ friends. Many of them new me as a notorious gang member from the mid-fifties and from the early sixties as a dance promoter (For a while they were all working for my BJC - (Bob Jones three-dance-Circuit), and now into the seventies as a bouncer and all of them saw me and my ‘Bob Jones Boys’ as ‘their protectors’. During the next week prior to the concert 3XY played spot ads on all their major segments and true to their word promoted the fact that alcohol would not be allowed onto the concert and security would be checking all bags etc.

3XY Free Concert – BJC Training Session #1

All during this week that 3XY were sprouting the ‘Ban on Alcohol’ , all the guys working the security for me were to have three training sessions - and think tanks - so as to hopefully pre-conceptualize anything that could go wrong, allowing us to visualize solutions to potential problems. On

Page 19 5/2/2014 the first session after a hard two hour workout of our normal BJC – 1 to 5 system of Fighting Fit drills. A lot of push ups – a lot of sit ups (the push ups were done with our clenched fists bridging on only the index and second knuckles to develop hard callous on the face of these two knuckles, to develop bone crunching power coming out of both hands. Next were full bridge rotations – with arms folded - while balancing on our feet and heads (alternating twisting body from facing the floor to facing the ceiling) to strengthen neck improving awareness of our ability to head-butt. Laying on our backs our alternating elbow to knee action sit ups was to develop timing and co- ordination in these lethal short range weapons. This gave us the two fold advantage of building the abdomen strong enough to be impervious to pain, while also working as our ‘core’ power base. “Left jab, right cross” followed by right ‘blitz’ round kick to legs – grab twist and ‘shoot’ (ie. Bridge the gap and grab and head-butt and then throw, as in judo) with a left side leg reef; ”Work your multiples, cover your angles!” I screamed at them. More push ups – more sit ups, right upper cut, again same side, right overhand – left ‘switch’ kick off your lead side; “Slide up, follow kick in!” I screamed at them; Take the left arm head lock – twist and shoot” with a left side hip throw…lots more push ups – lots more sit ups; “Move up, move up!” I’m still screaming; “Weave right, right rip, weave left and twist everything back into your left hook!” – now step across on your right grab the free arm and pull into a head-butt, twist and shoot with a right side shoulder throw, more of the same. Tons more pushups tons more sit ups;

Page 20 5/2/2014 “Start again from the top, let’s do everything again on the opposite side…orthodox to southpaw, let’s go!” I was still screaming. That’s how we did it back in those – the good old days, a lot of screaming (We figured we would be wise to be 100% fit just in case we had to fight multiple attackers) now I gave my gang the bad news…. ”I know its going to be hard enough with only, thirteen of us on this gig, it gets worse, the bloody fence around this Frankston Football Oval is just a nice height to prop up an eski or a slab, anyone can straddle over and grab the grog and ‘bingo’ booze for the boys and so much for 3XY’s goodwill no booze advertising.” The locals were as smart as me and Sergeant Billy Mitchell working out there wouldn’t be much we could do about that. We worked a while on our fire drills that the Fire Authority expected of us in the event of an emergency. Then it was onto our basic first aid drills to help support St. John’s, we knew they were going to be busy, oh yeah and I informed them Judy was out of bounds - ‘Hands Off’.

Finally, I informed them Sergeant Bill Mitchell seemed to have a good attitude, his numbers are the same as ours, the Sergeant said they were green (inexperienced) at ‘large crowd control’ of this magnitude. In fact, he was pretty sure his guys couldn’t even fight as they (The Victorian Police Force during this era) had very little or no training in Self-Defense.

“So, hey guys…if the shit hits the fan – I guess where on our own.”

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3XY Free Concert – BJC Training Session #2

This last comment really fired my guys up. A couple of days later at the next training session, they were really trying to kick and punch holes in the focus pads during a fast paced sweat and grunt ninety nine minute B.J.C. – Pyramid Kickboxing training session. Twenty-five times three minute rounds with sixty seconds rest between each round, anaerobically pumping each round building to full output for the last fifteen seconds of each round. The twenty-five rounds divided into rounds of skipping, speed ball, focus ball, short bags (hands, elbows and all five angles of head-butts), long bags (shin kicks and knee kicks), stationary bags (bags placed against a pole or wall for shin toughening). Focus hand mitts, forearm kick pads and many multiples of kick shield drills. Pairing up for Street-Boxing sparring (hands & elbows with elbow pads and ten ounce gloves) and followed by kickboxing sparring (with shin and knee pads to avoid injuries). We were having so much fun we thought twenty- five rounds felt like only five rounds (the days of Super Fitness – an era that the expression ‘Fighting Fit’ was born from and taken to even greater heights by today’s martial athletes). Then we wound down this session with our regular pre-concert drills, which I will cover in detail in future

Page 22 5/2/2014 chapters in this and future books. My main job on this and other and tours was always to oversee the whole event – although it was also necessary I spend time with the team working on the front gate. This way I would get a first hand view of the types of heads that would be rolling up to the event. Next, I needed to select two team leaders to assist me on concert day…Stuey ‘The Loader’ Lomax had been selected for this gig on the strength that he possibly saved my hide a month earlier during a violent situation on Melbourne south east side at the Matthew Flinders Hotel, a notorious venue of that era. I called Stuey ‘The Loader’ because in a crisis, his body movements reminded me of a ‘Front End Loader’. Stuey’s height of approximately 1.9 meters plus and his bodyweight of over a hundred kilos of muscle mass (very low ratio of body-fat) , gave him exceptional strength. With these three attributes he just picked up punters using his arms and hands like the ‘prongs and scoop’ and simply put punters ‘over there’ and out of the way, or he might throw them in front of passing cars – depends on the situation at hand. Stuey ‘The Loader’ was selected to head up the main gate team (Next coupla months, February, 1973 he will be selected to tour as one of the bodyguards on the ROLLING STONES TOUR – where he will punch a florist executive so hard he jams the elevator for three hours; see L.T.G.T.Roll). Dave ‘Bungles’ Berry was 1.8 meters and weighed about thirty kilos less than the Loader. Bungles came from a boxing background and what he lacked in overall size, he made up for with his heart of a lion. I had been his trainer now for almost three years and he was my first

Page 23 5/2/2014 ever of many Black Belt students that came through together at that first grading and was developing good people skills…that’s why I gave him the responsibility of running the team looking after the back stage area. What’s that, why did I call him ‘Bungles’? That’s another very funny story from my “GREATEST STORY NEVER TOLD”. Come to think of it! Why did I give Bungles backstage? Now it was time to break down the two teams of six further still, to four teams of three to allow us to practice our ‘alternating drills’ in the usual three men sequences, plus this allowed us better uniformity while working on our basic sign language ‘hand drills’ allowing us to “talk to one and other” – for up to fifty meters apart – without the punters knowing what we were “saying”. About now was a good time for the main gate team to take a break while Bungles Berry drilled his two groups of three on ‘back stage’ and ‘pit drills’. The ‘pits’ are the area between a waist to shoulder high security barrier mandatory for the front of stage. “If you have never worked the pits at an outdoor rock concert of this magnitude with only three people take my word for it, DON’T.” We finished off this session by making everyone familiar with 3XY’s back stage ‘catering area’ passes, back stage ‘band area’ and backstage of the ‘main stage area’ passes, stressing that importance for ‘industry awareness’ of us doing our gig by our professional ‘back stage’ – control – plus our own ‘industry awareness’ of who’s who in the zoo; The members of the bands, the crew, roadies or any visiting V.I.P’s like Molly Meldrum, Paul Dainty, Michael Guidinsky etc… “Treat them with kids’ gloves or you answer to me!”

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3XY Free Concert – BJC Training Session #3

The Saturday afternoon before the event (the day before Father Xmas would arrive on the Sunday night) was our last 3XY free concert training session, I still remember today that particular session. It was one of the classic grunters, we did heavy duty ‘Gauntlet Drills’ (working in pairs where one of us uses one of the guys as a shield and runs the gauntlet being punched, kicked and audibly abused by everyone else present who have formed two lines – these classes generally had well over a hundred training as in sixty days we have to secure this 3XY CONCERT then the inaugural SUNBURY FESTIVAL followed by ROLLING STONES DOWNUNDER making these security classes a regular theme in all states). We did ‘Delta’ drills (Where each one of us has turns at fighting three others – both standing and from a ground position with the attackers standing all the time), which I know, we all loved… as we did ten times more Deltas than Gauntlets (We could be seriously injured with the Gauntlet training, but that was the general idea) . Defense against mass multiple attack with ‘Double Delta’ drills had each of us imagining we were controlling the six points of two over locking triangles. This concept gave maximum strength to an imaginary circle that expanded and contracted depending on the pressure of the attack.

Page 25 5/2/2014 This was generally a seven man drill with the spare man protecting the center of the ‘magick circle’. Next and most important was us forming a ‘Delta Pyramid’ which was a drill designed for us to vacate a dangerous crowd situation ASAP with little or no concern for the crowd. This was dependent on the attitude of the attacking crowd. Then we finished off with some Richard Norton ‘Speed Drills’ just to wind up the workout with all of our reflexes and combinations running on total euphoria. Winding down this session with my ‘Musical Awareness Fighting Fit – Karaobics’ drills (i.e. fifty/fifty equally mixed karate/aerobics) , all my guys personally hand picked for this concert were developing into great pro’s. They were individually good bouncers (Todays version of Crowd Controllers except we knew what we were doing, these were the days when ‘Fans were Safe’) and with or without this type of training they were ‘The-Best-Bouncers-in- Town’. The next half hour was spent with all of our input discussion into ‘who knew who in the zoo’ what kind of music did they play, who was their audience ‘draw’, what was the musical indifference between the individual bands we would be working with at this particular concert. Most importantly, what was the ‘Danger-Scale’ of violence (if any) attached to the fans of any of the bands with the style of music they played. “Well guys, that’s about it, where probably ready for just about anything. There’s only one thing left that I would like to say! Don’t any of you think of yourselves as an individual. If you’re driving to the gig on Tuesday morning and you think of yourself even once. Don’t bother turning up at the gig. When the concert starts you are working as a total team in four groups of three with me as

Page 26 5/2/2014 a spare all of us with the focus of the job at hand. Within each group, remember our ‘Delta Drills’, two of you look after the other one and remember the thirteen of us are the team’, and all of us have one major responsibility above all else at this concert, make sure at all ‘Danger- Scale’ times the team is together.” “Oh Yeah, there is one other thing, if for any reason the shit does hit the fan – it will be me they will be after, I’d take it as a personal favor if the team keeps an eye on me. See you guys on ‘Boxing Day’ – 10am SHARP.

3XY Free Concert – Frankston Football Oval

Nicky Pappas was living at my house and we drove down early (Nicky had no nickname because Nicky was just Nick – one of my cool guys, he did occasionally get referred to as SNAPPAS, whenever he cut loose with his infamous ‘flying head-butt’ which always nailed any adversary, this technique was called the SNAP).

Page 27 5/2/2014 RRR RICHARD NORTON, NICKY ‘SNAPPAS’ PAPPAS & ME

The drive down that Boxing Day morning on December 26 th 1972 was to be one hot hell of a day, it was 9.30am when we arrived at the Frankston Football Oval and it was already 80 °F (I’m sorry, that’s 22.5 °C in today’s temperatures – what do you do? Oh Yeah, double the value of C and add 30 for the F). Backstage, which was distinguished by the tray of a semi-trailer was already a hive of industry with the usual swarm of roadies like

Page 28 5/2/2014 $crooge “Mad-Again’ Madigan (the first roadie in the world, according to me, and I know about these things). Norm E Swinee (My best Rock & Roll mate and Sydney’s top roadie was humping gear for Australia’s top band at this time in space – Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs). Lighting rig guys, sound tech guys and the stage riggers were still tightening bolts etc. Dave ‘Bungles’ Berry had been booked to start at 9am to be here in time to be security for the setting up. Nicky drew my attention to Bungles as I had not even recognised one of my main guys… He was sporting a new – a scalp hugging , plus he was sporting the remains of what I figured had been a fairly robust black eye in the past couple of days. When I first met Bungles, late in 1969 he had this same hairstyle, since he had been doing the martial arts with me he had I guessed fitted in, as Nicky and all my guys had grown their long as I had done since the mid sixties…my hair was auburn/red, the same color as my mothers and her mothers, and my daughter Tracey Lee. And mine was almost as long as my daughters but nowhere near as red – well, not since I was her age. When we had that last training session, four days ago on the Saturday afternoon Bungles hair was about half the length of mine. Bungles had worked that Saturday night at a discotheque called ‘BERTIES’ at No. 1 Spring Street – on the corner of Spring and Exhibition Streets on the top right hand corner of Melbourne’s square mile C.B.D. (that’s about 40% bigger than a square kilometre in today’s dimensions). There was a rumor around that Bungle’s had an altercation during the night at BERTIES which might explain the black eye – but the number two clippers job.

Page 29 5/2/2014 With no explanation from Bungles himself, our rules of current “bouncer etiquette’ of the day did not allow us to enquire! Black eyes were part and parcel of the job, as we used to say, ’occupational hazard’. Bungles would tell us when he was good and ready. As Nicky and I were contemplating ‘the cause and effect’ of a crew cut and black eye funky band, the ‘Murtceps’ had just finished a set. Another hot band ‘Black Feather’ were already on stage setting up and their drummer was all set up and just adjusting cymbal heights. The Fire Authority guys and the St. Johns ambulance team were setting up the first aid tent… Judy gave us a wave; wow – this day she was looking good, her St. Johns uniform was spotless. A snow-white blouse immaculately pressed with those St. Johns amulets on the shoulders. Her black skirt came down to her knees and she had on Flat heeled shoes…nothing sexy or anything – just nice and clean, and very attractive. Dave Berry had made Nicky and me some coffee and now it was 9.45am and almost miraculously the other ten members of our gang were parking their cars in the car park together and I said, “Bungles, Is there another ten mugs for coffee?” Always taking the opportunity for causing a laugh, he answered, “Yeah, there’s ten now coming across from the car park.” Far from mugs these guys were the elite of our trade, ten plus Nicky and Dave, I thought of them all affectionately as the Dirty-Dozen. Now we are feeling the energy, it might only be another day at the office for us – but this regular old football ground was about to transcribe itself into a pulsating Heavy Metal Rock ‘n’ Roll concert. Fifteen minutes later we had all had a mug of coffee, we

Page 30 5/2/2014 were all feeling relaxed and agreeing with one another that today felt already as if it was going to be generally a good time for all, even us. Just then ‘Sherbert’ Trans-Am swung off Nepean Highway onto the Grounds backstage. Now everyone was up, Daryl Braithwaite and members of Sherbert were all BJC associates. They did not train but they all wore the B.J.C. (Bob Jones Crosses). Plenty of backslapping and the friendly warmth of the now notorious BJC – Family ‘Black Power’ handshake that I had brought home from America just six months before all this excitement. I had been in the States for over six months, training and fighting in every tournament I could find. After six months of shaking hands with the most competitive black guys in the USA. Where they clasp hands then lock onto each other’s thumbs followed by palming their fingers to the tips. I thought this Black-Hand-Shake thing feels very cool. I will take this home and introduce it to all of my Black-Belts, and today every athlete in Australia shakes hands like BJMA. Right on ten o’clock and we took up our positions, three back and three front of stage, three with me on the main gate and three hanging loose between those two points – one hundred and twenty meters with St. John’s, 3XY and the sponsors and vendors tents in about the middle of us between the stage and gates. All this was down on the Nepean Highway and beachfront end which meant the rest of the entire oval was unattended. The next hour and a half was uneventful except for the steady flow of punters, our clickers told us we had 3,748 in the gate – we guessed the temperature at around 27 °C Double this C and add 30, got that?) . I figured everyone must have heard the advertising as we didn’t

Page 31 5/2/2014 have to knock back any alcohol; no one was bringing any in with them. Another half hour and now it’s Twelve O’clock on the button. The bands had already been playing for about an hour and it was about a half-hour since Sergeant Bill Mitchell had arrived. Bill and his boys were looking every bit the ‘Cock Rooster with Twelve Young Cocks’, I mean they had to be first, second year constables. Half of them would not have had to shave this morning or yesterday morning either for that matter, and while they were splitting their tough guys looks at the concert guys with their I’d like to take you to bed look at the concert girls, I just knew they wouldn’t see a brawl coming if it walked right up and hit them over the head with a baseball bat! About then I was feeling really good about my team and a little concerned for Sergeant Billy Mitchell and his ah, support group. Especially with what was turning up at the gates right now. The numbers were gaining enough momentum about as fast as the temperature and now, two out of three groups were carrying those eski’s and slabs as if this was New Years Eve already, and you could see they really thought we were quite stupid – we are knocking them back because of the 3XY policy. But they were thinking out loud ‘Arh shit, now I’ve got to walk up there and bunk it over the fence just like that last lot of guys are doing’. Most of them had enough respect to tell us they were taking the grog back to their cars and then go far enough around the ground that they would be out of our line of sight, which was some form of respect. Our hang loose team, had to come to work the gate with us, and gave us the ‘good news’ all the early birds and guys passed tons of grog over the fences since ten o’clock this morning. I had not had time to check on this

Page 32 5/2/2014 or backstage but no news is usually good news; I figured Bungles had his area in tow. 12.15pm, I checked with the clicker, it was Nicky’s turn to exercise his thumb and the reading was at 6,750. Wow, I thought – that’s 3000 in forty-five minutes….Now what’s that, for the first hour and a half we had 3,748. That’s 1250 every half hour now were doing 1000 every fifteen minutes for 6,750…Yeah, the way this traffic flow if picking up we’ll make the estimated 15-20 thousand easy.

12.20pm and we had our first visit from the boss, 3XY’s Trevor Smith appeared slightly agitated and asked could I go with him and solve a problem? This reminded me of the golden rule in business! Where the man with the gold makes the rules; “I’ll follow you Trevor” Which would also be a break off the main gates for a bit, better than that, we wound up at the St. John’s ambulance tent and you know who? “Hello Judy, Trevor said there’s a problem I should do something about.” Judy wasn’t looking as fresh as she had at 9.30am this morning. Just on three hours and she looked like she had done a hard day’s work already. “Oh Bob, I’m sorry to bother you, I asked Trevor to get you to see what can be done about these guys and girls that we are coming in here one after the other. Most are from the front of stage – the girls are getting crushed and the guys as well are suffering from heat exhaustion, they’ve got plenty of fluids, but that’s most of the problem”. She flashed a humorous smile at me; “But it’s the crushing at the front of the stage and the heat, can you help?” How could I say no…. I told Trevor there was probably bigger issues he could be attending to and I would check out backstage

Page 33 5/2/2014 and do my best. Bungles was looking after all the back stage area from the catering area and off the rear of stage area on his own and he had sent his two guys to the pits in front of stage to help out…as I got to the pits I saw five of my guys doing the job of twenty – there should have been another fifteen on the pit crew! Thorpie’s roadie, Norm E was helping out three girls in slight distress – he was good at helping distressed girls, he’d been doing that for years. Norm E was also a BJC associate; he was wearing one of my crosses. Norm E was not a trainee (Absolutely loved his cigarettes, scotch and the odd dose of dope) but he was certainly one of the best personal friends I could ever have wished for (I think of him often since he passed over at almost the same time as his employer, Billy Thorpe) . “Norm E, can you get me some spray cylinders, some buckets, a stack of towels from first aid and if possible a water connected hose out front here in the pits.” “Bob E is the Pope a catholic, you can trust old uncle Norm E – consider it done.” I then called my five pit guys into a huddle the Dallas Cowboys would have been envious of. “Norm E will be back ASAP”, I shouted above the music, “Use the sprays for now to spray the ones in front where they are packed in tight. Spray their hair till it’s wet, then spray their faces and in their mouths. Wet their tongues. OK? If you have to pull them over the barriers, use the buckets to wet down towels to place behind their necks to cool them down… It’s gonna get worse as it’s getting hotter, the traffic flow on the front gates looks like a dam that’s burst at the seams, when Norm E gets back with the hose I want you to lightly spray down the whole crowd at the front of stage – be sure not to drown them

Page 34 5/2/2014 and turn the whole place into a mud hole. Just lightly spray the lot of them every ten or fifteen minutes or whatever you think they need. I’ll leave it with you I’ve got to get back to the front gate.” I made a point of shaking hands with each of them with our personal family black-hand shake and I left hoping my confident air would do the trick. I never had a chance to think about it while it was happening, but now as I walk back thinking of what just transpired. I had no choices, so hopefully that will ease the pain. Nicky was still thumb pumping our clicker and being one of the main guys who knew heads almost as good as me I'd left him with northern suburbs rockers at about fifty and western suburbs skinheads and sharpies at over one hundred: "North-subs have jumped up to around eighty, including about a dozen Reservoir Dogs". This was twenty years before the movie of the same name (1992). I don't know which was more violent. "What about the West Sharps Nicky and please give me the answer I need." "I sure wish I could but its bad news, well over two hundred, including heaps of Lebanese Tigers - and now there's shitloads going straight over the fences where they park instead of walking all the way down here to us, then having to go back to get the grog over the fence, I can’t even estimate what numbers that entails." "How's everything else, how’s our score tally?" "I'm up three on you and Stuey's two up that’s because we've had to whack five cowboys while you were away." "Good on ya, can't even leave you for ten minutes."

Page 35 5/2/2014 "Holy bat shit, what's that?" shouted my front-end loader holding his hands over his ears. "That's 'Lobby Lloyd and his Colored Balls' and that holy bat shit is the volume cranked up - fifty percent – over the support bands - but that's all right 'Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs' will crank it up another fifty percent this afternoon” Nicky followed on; “Well most of these skinheads and sharpies are here for Lobby and the Balls, they might be the ones to give you a chance to catch up - seeing as your five down already." We call this brand of humor, 'takin' the mickey' or 'takin' the piss' out of one another; tend to do this on long hot stints like this. Always thought I should write them all down one day and write a play or something and call it 'BOUNCERS', or something similar. Actually in just over a decade from this 3XY concert someone does just that. Written by an Englishman, John Godber it had sell out crowds around Australia and New Zealand in 1985. The four man bouncer cast was a satirical send up of the antics of door-work, set in Northern England and being representative of any night of a week, and at any club. Politically it was also a reaction to Margaret Thatcher’s policies and the legacy she left for the North of England. The entire script was a faultless send up of exactly how door guys communicate while working doors at clubs. I nearly died laughing at all its home truths about my craft, that I saw it five times over as many years. One of these times was in Wellington, New Zealand. I had taken one of my favourite lady friends, as I parked the hire car I noticed the car behind me had its’ head lights left on. As we arrived at the theatre, I saw a ‘bouncer’

Page 36 5/2/2014 (bald as a badger) at the bottom of the entry stairs, arms folded over his chest, leaning against the doorway: “Hey ahr, excuse me, there’s a car half way up the block registration ‘such and such’ – has left the head lights on, I just…” “Yeah, what da fuck – yew want me ‘t’ do about that you fuckin’ guiney!” Wow was I pissed, I was just about to let my best shot go, when my lady friend who was holding my arm and felt the vibe. Lucky for everyone involved she flinched. This gave me time to realize this was one of the actors from the play, and to him he was already on stage playing the role looking for anyone to stire, he simply did not realize who I was or how I made a living…

Just as we were relaxing and having a good time - look who's arrived at the front gate, two of Australia’s most notorious street fighters. Billy Lewis (alias Billy Prentergast) and Franky McLachlan have been arch- enemies of mine, with an ongoing feud now in at least its third year, only enough time for hand signals for the team to tune in, and let me call this one all the way on my own. Billy Lewis was his fight name and he was an Australian Boxing Champion in the Welterweight division and also the Australian Wrestling Champion. Some say, he was at Olympic standards. Franky McLachlan was your strong silent type, two, maybe three centimeters taller than me with around 95 kgms of muscle and eyes that could make 'any point' without him speaking. During the

Page 37 5/2/2014 thirty years beyond today he would rob banks, outrun cops, take two bullets not outrunning cops, do fifteen years in pentridge prison, get out of prison and settle down. These days he manages a hotel an hour north of Melbourne. I must have knocked Billy Lewis back from a club one night or something or maybe he just doesn't like Bob Jones for some reason of his own… either way about a year ago I had taken my daughter to the Northside Drive- In movies (Drive in movies in the 70's were fenced off paddocks with a big cinema screen. Row after row of speaker boxes for you to park your car and watch the latest movie release - I can only feel sorry for any of you that never experienced that pleasure). Low budget films and feature movies of the day were divided by a thirty minute intermission for food and beverage. My daughter Tracey-Lee was on school holidays and I had access from her mother for a couple of days. Tracey-Lee had been on my case to see this particular movie - I knew this was something I shouldn't do, somewhere I shouldn't go without my own security. But blue eyed daughters with long red hair have a way of seeing any movie they want, especially when it can be months between sanctioned visits around my work times. It was a hot night and at interval Tracey-Lee and I went over to the food hall for drinks and goodies. The worst situation of a bouncer on his night off at the drive-in movies (One out with his young school age daughter) was waiting for me there as we walked into a crowd of several hundred drive-in movie buffs, I've thought, 'Oh shit!' At least thirty Northside guys almost any one of them could give the better than average street fighter a run for his money… a ferocious young street-fighter called Dave

Page 38 5/2/2014 Hedgcock was amongst this handsome group, but this occasion was still a few years before he and I would become the staunchest mates in Old Melbourne town.

"BOB JONES - ARE YOU STILL BARRIN' CUNTS!"

This was screamed at me from half way down the food hall. As you can imagine in the 70's this question had its desired effect. It was a challenge that the entire food hall was anticipating an acquired response. As everyone, literally everyone staff and customers were frozen in this next ten second time warp. At this point in my life I had been fighting - that is street fighting for twenty-five years, but now intuitional response was always identical. In the first instance, ‘FEAR’ – ‘False Estimate of the Actual Reality’, fear quickly turned to controlled anger which after all these years my adrenal glands in my kidneys would literally shoot adrenalin, cold adrenalin throughout all parts of my body that I was already preparing to explode into any form of attack I would need to survive. In what was left of this ten second void I was deliberately creating, with my emotions now controlled and contained I turned as if unconcerned to my daughter and said, "Tracey-Lee, listen to me carefully, in a matter of seconds something very nasty is about to start – when it does, you go and get in the car and lock the doors and windows. Do not open the car for anyone accept me…Tracey-Lee, do you understand me?" She was beautiful, no sign of fear (she had experienced me doing things like this for as long as she could remember) her petite slight nod of her head made me want to kill anyone or anything that would want to harm her. I knew right at this point my ten seconds had expired, I turned and looked through Billy Lewis' eyes, I

Page 39 5/2/2014 looked into his mind and in a firm 'quiet' tone (everybody was still frozen by the warp in space and you could have heard a pin drop in this food hall), I answered; "Only the ones that need to be barred." Another three, four seconds which seemed more like twenty Franky Mclachlan leant across and whispered something in Billy's ear and you could feel the whole atmosphere diffuse. I never did find out what that magical whisper was - but I do know if the magic wasn't there then, it's possible I might not be here now telling my side of the story. Tracey-Lee and me got our drinks and goodies, staff began serving customers and the hustle and bustle atmosphere of the food hall returned to as it had been before. Almost as if nothing had happened, as I was turning the key to open the door of the car, my little princess stated insestimably, "Daddy, I'm sure that man does not like you." Six months later, two of my guys, Peter Law and an Italian, who was called ‘Little Joe’ a short stocky physique and a professional mechanic by trade, it was rumored he could physically lift an engine out of a car. Whether that is correct or not he was one of the most powerfully built personalities I had ever had the pleasure of doing protection work with. They were doing a job for me at a suburban pub. Peter Law, who was my brother in-law at the time, rang me at the office. "Chief, Little Joe and me are working ‘two out’ as the third guy has done a no-show here at the Moreland Hotel (the Moreland Hotel in Coburg was one of my many contracted pubs) and shit - there's a dozen real bad arses here and I just know they are setting us up. Billy Lewis, that boxer that gave you a hard time at the drive-in with Tracey-Lee is here and I'm pretty sure he knows I'm your

Page 40 5/2/2014 brother in-law. What can you do for us? Lewis is stirring the whole place up!" "Peter, you stall it off - I'm there already!" From my place to Coburg is a good twenty five minutes plus, on this occasion the fully worked on G.T. Falcon I had at the time did it in 'fifteen'. "Where are they?" Peter nodded to his left, "Sitting at that long table over in that corner." "Let's go!" The three of us fronted the table, I had enough adrenalin and psyche to beat 'Muhammad Ali' who was at his peak at the time - Billy Lewis was also quick off the mark, he leapt up from his seat 'POW!' he hit Little Joe flush on the chin with a punch that more than likely won the Australian title for him, Peter round house kicked the guy sitting at the opposite end of the table to Billy Lewis. His shin caught him on the backside of his neck - he didn't want to know as his head bounced off the table with a dull thud. I grabbed two by the hair, smashed their heads together and dragged them back off their chairs, deliberately sprawling them on top of one another in a heap on the floor. Now it was my turn at Billy, one minor problem, all of the guys on the other side of the table had seen one of Billy's best shots plow into Little Joe's face and his head had not even rocked - did I mention how powerfully built Little Joe was - these five guys on the other side of the table watching this were in almost as much shock as Billy Lewis as Little Joe casually reached out and bear hugged Lewis in a vice like crushing grip. Lewis had already turned blue and was gasping for air that just couldn't get into his lungs past Little Joe's tree trunk arms. Then we all heard the Australian/Italian accent line that made Little Joe

Page 41 5/2/2014 so famous around the bouncer scene of Melbourne's Clubs, "I think betta if yoo, go hom now!" With that Little Joe tilted back and now Billy Lewis was air borne, his feet were six inches off the floor. My adrenalin was pumping every which way, I wanted Billy Lewis, I wanted anybody. As Little Joe carried Lewis out onto Moreland Road, everybody followed as if we were all together. "I think betta yoo do go hom now" and released his grip almost with a friendly gesture. I was thinking of taking just one shot at Lewis to send him bye bye, but he still could not get any air in. He looked as if he had bruised, cracked or broken ribs - unable to breathe he turned and walked away and everybody walked off with him. The only time I had seen Billy Lewis in the past twelve months was at the drive-in, then six months later in Coburg, and now here we are face to face again at 3XY's Free Concert!!! I took a deep look into Franky McLachlan's eyes they told me he did not want any of this, but he would buy a piece of whatever I was selling - my respect for him and his magic whisper had my eyes telling him I had nothing I wanted him to buy into. Then I turned my eyes to Billy Lewis looking for continued retina conversation, lights were on - but nobody home. "What goes around comes around, eh? Well I'm here today with thirty of my guys (I lied) but we'd prefer not to bar any CUNTS, actually we don't want any trouble here today, you and your friend have a good time." Now as I knew his name I felt a desire to comment; “Nice to see you here today Frank”, he nodded. I stepped to one side to let them through the gates and I got the feeling Billy Lewis was wondering if Little Joe was one of the thirty I had lied about.

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1.35pm, Sergeant Bill Mitchell and his now dirty dozen young cocks came single file through what was becoming a huge hot 'n' sweaty concert crowd. "Hi Bob", he said in a friendly tone. "We've had enough for now", he said convincingly, "I'm just taking my crew back to the station house for showers and lunch, we'll be back in an hour just after 2.30" "How's it going in there Sergeant? We've been flat out backstage and out here on the gates." "There's only been a couple of minor incidents, but while it's nothing serious we are turning a blind eye - between you and me and the gatepost, even if it got serious I don't know what we would do? Our cells certainly would not cater for this crowd. Plus we have only got enough food at the station for us." He waited for his boys to file past through the in-flow traffic, which was bedlam right as we spoke. "Hey, you're guys had a great idea in front of stage, they're watering the crowd down every ten minutes or so which has solved a big problem down there." "Thank you Sergeant, we try!" I countered as they headed off up the street towards the showers and lunch. "Showers and Lunch, what a great idea, hey Nicky, give the clicker to Big Dave and you go first for a shower spray in the pits and grab a bite. Take fifteen minutes and the others can take fifteen minutes each in turn." Nicky was about to bolt off at the suggestion of such a good idea; "Hey hang about Nick, what's the heat 'n' crowd tally." He looked pissed but he checked the clicker with Big Dave Steer (Big Dave steer and his brother Butch

Page 43 5/2/2014 were working the front gates with us; Dave’s the biggest dude out of all of us at this gig. Whenever we do our 'Delta Pyramid' training for these concerts the biggest becomes the stand by 'Delta Lead – the front guy' of the Delta, in case there might be a need for that event) - Nicky was busy doing his sums; "6,512 since 12.15, that's 13,260 including the ten percent allowance for fence climbers. Right now at 1.45, it's a pleasant 31C, C for Cool.” You notice Nicky said 'pleasant and cool' about the temperature, that's because I won't tolerate any of my guys complaining about anything on a gig like this. No matter how much anything might bug us, we play it down, that helps us keep it together during the gig. In five years from now (1977) on the world tour of ABBA, Europe's top band I would have an idea that would make us the first security organisation to introduce political correctness by employing female staff (all black belts from my martial arts organisation) to search all females for grog, weapons etc. But for now at the 3XY Free Concert it was good old fashioned humor at its best. Nicky and the boys gagging with any cute girls dressed in skimpy attire, shorts and bra sports tops, bikinis, even topless about having to search them for any miss demeanors they might be in possession of. My guys would get away with stuff that by this new millennium, the sexual harassment crew would not even believe. But hey, this is 1972 and we were simply having a good time!

Page 44 5/2/2014 2.00pm, we get our second visit from the boss. About an hour and a half ago Trevor looked agitated, now he's looking perturbed. If there is a mood scale between agitated and perturbed, I don't want to know because that kind of negativity is against our rules. But he's 'The Boss' and he's got that golden rule, "Bob, I need you to come and sort out another problem." "We are one short at the moment, will it take long, I don't want to leave my guys short." "If you fix it as quick as my last problem you will make me very happy." "I'll be as quick as I can, you guy's alright Stuey?" "Course!" Back at St. Johns for the second time, "Hello Judy, Dennis here tells me your having another slight problem needs fixing." "We have had more than our fair share of problems up until now and I would not call this situation a slight problem when I have these two gentlemen, one with a broken nose and we just put five stitches over this other ones eye…here!" Oops, she's perturbed with just enough agitation to identify she was not a happy lady, I get her, we actually need half a dozen Judy’s at this fiasco, and that would be nice. "Sorry Judy, I had no idea someone had been hurt." I said in my most sympathetic tone, I looked closer at the two injured non-soldiers. Both were dressed in sandals, jeans, shirts, vests, hippy style beads around their necks. One had a head band; the other had a bushy . My nose had been broken better than this and I'd had flasher cuts over my eyes, only difference was, I did something about the guys responsible for mine. "What's happened guys, you bang heads?"

Page 45 5/2/2014 "Nah, fuck off man! We was mine'n our own fuckin' business we was just tuggin' on a coupla joints, an’ neaz fuckin’ skinhead sharpies come up and bashed us and ripped off our gear", said the mouth behind the beard. "Yeah man!" said his mate the headband. About now I was wondering why Judy was so upset about these couple of shitheads. "Okay-Okay, I'll go and see what I can do", I lied, and that's my second lie today. "Where’d it happen?" in my most concerned cords. After they both gave me a Melways location (Melways, this is what you might call GPS) and a description of the culprits. Two teenagers with very and tattoos all over their arms, sounds like two skinheads out of hundreds mixed in amongst many thousands of punters. I gave Judy a wink and took Trevor by the arm and escorted him out of the tent. "Look Trevor, I meant well in there and I wanted Judy and those two invalids to think I cared - Don't get me wrong, I do, but there's stuff all that I can do about the situation." "What do you mean – you’ve got a location and a description - just go and get the guys involved and throw them out." With this comment I could see my boss Trevor did not get it. "All right, all right", I lied for the third time today. Trevor went back to his promoters tent and I went straight back to the front gate. Nicky was back from his pit shower and lunch and Stuey was taking his turn. I was just filling in Nicky, Big Dave and 'the boys' about the hippy dilemma and they were all laughing with me. They were pissing themselves laughing about me emphasizing the headband and the beard banging their

Page 46 5/2/2014 heads together. Plus they saw the humor as to how stupid it would for X amount of us to walk blindly onto this arena looking for a couple of guys with short hair and tattoo’s responsible for the broken nose and a cut eye. But they were laughing more about the fact Big Dave and his brother, Butch had added to the scoreboard just two minutes before I arrived back. Just now, Nicky was doing his sums again. "Nicky Pappas - three, Stuey Lomax - two and while the Chief was away, Big Dave and Butch were at play and they are one each, 'The Chief', still at zero." Playing a round of scoring points was a bouncer expression where in 'any situation' for 'whatever reason' there is an altercation with a patron who has 'gone mad'. Now in bouncers terms a patron who has 'gone mad', is one that is mucking up, and that means he wants to - or he thinks he wants to 'fight with one of us'. I mean, that's got to be mad…why? “Coz we’re pro's”. Would you jump in the ring with Mike Tyson, especially if you had boxing gloves on? Could you outrun Cathy Freeman over 200 metres? How could any punter beat Greg 'The Great White Shark' Norman at a round of golf with his scores of at least 'ten' under par? Does this make sense now? A punter wanting to fight one of us in the seventies had temporally 'gone mad'. See what happens when you read? You learn something everyday. "The chief, zero!" I was reminded by Nicky, they're on my case again, every time I leave the gate problem solving even for a few minutes - they're into it. "All right, you've had you're laugh at my expense, now would anyone mind telling me about Butch 'n' Big Daves' and you guys have got this scorecard going crazy."

Page 47 5/2/2014 Big Dave, not wanting to appear as if he starts trouble as soon as I am not around, offered to explain this situation with the 'Nicky Pappas Score Card'. "Just before you came back, after being away with Trevor. These five pricks came up all of them carrying a slab of beer each. I fronted the lead guy, who was exactly the same size as my little brother, Butch." (Little brother Butch by the way was the same size and weight as me). "Anyway I tell him he can't bring any booze in the front gate, he says; ‘Why?” and I say; “Coz I say, tha's why!’ " Nicky joins in; “That's when this punter breaths his breath of bravado as he puts the slab on the ground, and fronts right up to Big Dave, at this point we are not sure if he's just pumped up with his own ego or if he's actually ‘gone mad’ already. There were five of them so by now the three of us were all tuned in." Now they are all remembering the silliness of the whole situation and starting to laugh as each and all of them wanted to tell the story. "I really did not want to whack this silly fucker, he was a bit too small for me. So I thought I'd better keep communications going and attempt to talk this thing out. Listen Buddy, I don't want any trouble, this gate and the booze, it's not on! Some local council by law for today says no booze through the gate, that’s it. You've only got the coppers to worry about, I've got to answer to this fucking ferocious Red Dragon we call 'The Chief'. Why don't you just be a good bunch of lads, take your grog a hundred meters up there and hoist yourselves over the bloody fence – been good enough for everyone else."

Page 48 5/2/2014 "Why don't you and your chief and the coppers all go fuck yourselves!!" “OK! I get it, that’s enough talking” Nicky Pappas butts it to give the story its deserving flair, plus he has always been one of the best story tellers; “Now ‘Big Dave’s’ perturbed and more than agitated. This part of the journey had now come to point of no return. This was enough for our biggest guy at the gig to strike out with an open hand palm heel to one of this fuckers shoulders and by grabbing his other shoulder and pulling in – spinning the fucker right around. The outward open hand palm swung back around the punters neck causing Big Dave to have a reverse strangle on the punter locking him into his chest. These two bouncer brothers had been pulling this stunt off for at least a decade. Little brother Butch hit him with a short rising rip up into the stomach just below the center of the chest, 'BOOM!" right on the button smack in the center of the solar plexus, creating a contraction of the diaphragm. 'No way any air' can enter or leave the body for at least twenty seconds, which must have seemed more like twenty minutes to this punter.” Amidst mad laughter from all of us Big Dave took over the conversation; “When I let him go, he fell to his knees with a triple dose of Universal gravity - I picked up his slab of grog - Butch picked him back up on his feet and I shoved the slab into his chest hard enough to give him some air that brought some color back into his face, that's when I thought shit I'm still zero, so I gave one of his mates a half cocked open back hander. Checked with Nicky Pappas, the official umpire and scorekeeper…’Yes’, it’s a score - Nicky Pappas - three, Stuey - two, Butch and me - one each…The Chief, zero, not only zero, but now your down

Page 49 5/2/2014 by seven. That's when the five punters hobbled off a hundred meters around the bend to bunk themselves over the fence." Nicky Pappas finished off this session of humor as if they were all on stage performing a version of the 80’s play’ BOUNCER’ with; "And, in the middle of all this, Sergeant Bill Mitchell marched past us with his 'nice and clean dozen young cocks'. He took one look at us playing ‘Score-keep’ and shook his head, I did not see any of that , and smiled at me as he went by, he's alright for a cop." The next half hour was pretty much uneventful; this is more the norm whenever I’m on the job with them. The crowd was streaming in through the main gates, which by now gave us all the impression the dam had completely burst at the seams. The crowd was now flooding onto the main oval into a sea of musical enthusiasts. The word was out by now, and anyone with grog was tuned into fence climbing to avoid unnecessary conflict with the 'Jones Boys'. Talking about a sea of punters, during this past half hour the sky had become quite overcast and the temperature had dropped considerably although, it was still humid and muggy working the gates. I was happy our uniform for the day was chesty bond ‘security printed’ singlet’s with jeans and runners. I was thinking to myself that this would give little or no relief to the punters and their body heat within the density of themselves. The change in temperature was actually responsible for the upsurge in punters, they had been down on the beaches basking in the sunshine and I'm sure with the volume of the bands they would have been quite audible anywhere on the foreshore. With the sun now hiding behind the clouds they were deciding to come for a look. This made the guys happy, hundreds of young girls in all

Page 50 5/2/2014 varieties of skimpy bikinis etc that of course, many of them just had to be searched. "HEY JONESY!" Broke our almost tranquil atmosphere surrounding our front gate and us, did you ever have a friend in life that had a name for you that no one else in the world ever called you by? Jonesy was a term of endearment that identified the voice caller as being only 'Bungles'. I looked around and sure enough, edging his way through the flow of punters was the backstage boss, David 'Bungles' Berry. "Just thought I'd catch up with you guys for a spell, since the temperatures dropped, backstage is running like a dream. The pit boys are still working but nothing they can't handle." "Hey Bungles", Nicky butted in, "Can you give us a hand frisking some of these lovely young ladies, you know, it's a shit of a job - but hey! Someone’s gotta do it!" Boys will be boys I was thinking to myself, but they are getting away with it without offending too many. All in all it was all in fun, a bit of a lark to pass the time, and in the most part it was creating a good vibe between us and the punters which is the 'name of the game'. "Hey, Big Dave", I said enquiringly, "It's just 2.40, what's the temp’ 'n' tally?" "Funny thing, I just checked it as you spoke", he answered. "That drop in temperature since the clouds moved in its back to 27.5 °C, has caused these numbers levelling off during the last five, to ten minutes but since I've had the clicker and allowing now for 15% fence climbers we've had 10,206 through - that's a total of approximately 23,466 we've got on the ground."

Page 51 5/2/2014 With three hours still to go for this 3XY Free Concert and now with this swarm of beach-siders arriving I was assuming we would definitely be breaking everyone's top estimate of 25,000. Again I found myself thinking to myself with a crowd of punters of this magnitude, the last thing we need is any kind of disturbance or we would be playing more than football today, on this Frankston V.F.L. oval. Almost before I had time to finish this last sentence in my brain… "BOB JONES!" Came an aggressive voice from within the masses, which was certainly not as friendly as Bungles and his "Hey Jonesy!"

2.45pm and we now have the pleasure of our third visit from 'our boss' for the day, I quickly had to remind myself of that good old golden rule of business - 'The man with the gold makes the rules'. I found myself smiling as if it was a part of what I was being paid to do! It had been an hour since we had a visit from Mr. Trevor Smith. If it was fair to say he was perturbed last time he visited, by the look on his face I was guessing, this time around he was 'very perturbed'. "BOB!" followed the 'Bob Jones' with at least a pretend friendship tone. "We have ongoing problems with St. John's ambulance crew, they are on my case non - stop, can you come with me and ease some of the pressure?!" This seemed like a fair request; "Bungles, can you come with me to St. John's - Stuey, Nicky can you guys avoid playing 'Score-keep’ while I'm away this time? After all of you know, I am down seven!" The look of confusion on Trevors' face meant our dialogue had its desired effect. After all, we were talking

Page 52 5/2/2014 about whacking his punters, somehow I felt he would not understand even with an explanation. On our way to St. John's, Bungles and I were observing the mood of the crowd which now covered the entire oval. In the distance over near the home ground footy scoreboard was Sergeant 'Cock Rooster' and his 'Young Cocks' trailing single file through the dense crowd. Fifty yards to their right, Bungles and I both noticed a scuffle that did not appear to be over aggressive. What I noticed most about this mammoth crowd was the interesting blend of the stench of alcohol and the scent of mass scale dope. Dave and I eyeballed one another and both agreed this could easily be…

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM!

Popular blues band of this era, 'Carson' featured Broderick Smith on vocals and they were beating out their own brand of rock 'n roll as Bungles, Trevor and myself entered the St. John's tent. This could easily have been a television set for the series M.A.S.H. (Which was ‘the top’ rating series of the 70’s reflecting stages of the Korean War), only thing missing was Klinger. The first thing I noticed was one of the bikini clad cuties I saw Nicky

Page 53 5/2/2014 searching about an hour ago, now here she was getting around ten stitches in what looked like an ugly cut on the bottom of her foot. Judy was doing the fancy stitching, she looked up, caught my eye line and continued stitching as if she had not seen me - I think Bungles got the impression she did not even know me… "Well Janet" Must have been the name of the young bikini cutie with the cut foot; "We would not have half of this if the bloody security were doing anything about it!" Janet gave us a polite smile - 'Bloody Security' - the words rang in my ears, 'Bloody' was not a word I think Judy would use all that often - it made the point. I figured the least I could do was to get involved with 'the half of this' that according to Judy I was responsible for. Apparently since my head-banging hippy friends, there had been three more that St. John's had to send to the Frankston Hospital. Now here in the tent at the one time was the 'Magnificent Seven'. All the result of violence requiring either band aids, stitches or hospital treatment depending on evaluation of Judy or her male St. John's counterparts, who were all busy treating at least another dozen for heat exhaustion, de-hydration, intake of alcohol and a few that had to test the theory, 'more drugs are more fun’. All the violence patients shared a common base, a variety of rockers, skinheads and/or sharpies were 'drug testing' and giving out 'king-Hits' as part payment for the pleasure (Here we are in 1972, with Rock and Roll violence, drug testing and King-Hits, sounds like a scene from 2014). Trevor nodded towards the exit, I figured this would more than likely be the last time I would see my new friend Judy and there was probably no point in asking for a good-

Page 54 5/2/2014 bye kiss or anything similar - ah well, some you win, some you… Out the front of the tent Trevor turned on Bungles and me… "What the fuck am I paying you guys for??!!" Bungles eyes rolled and I knew enough about my buddy, he was about to whack 'the boss'. ‘Oh Shit’, I thought as I stepped across the line of fire Bungles was setting up between himself and his target. "Listen Trevor", I used as a linguistic white flag; "I'm sick of lying to you or anyone else about what’s going on here today - you have got us here in a situation as if we were a 'bakers dozen' fleas (for you younger ones a bakers dozen is actually thirteen) up an elephants arse, one swish of the tail and one backward step and the elephant would not even know he'd buried us!" Bungles eyes had rolled back to normal and he was nodding his agreement, which was a much better situation than him 'bashing the boss'. "Yeah, well tell that to the St. John's crew - I don't think that would console them. They've had a hell of a day. That seven in there is a total of twenty punters that have been punched out by idiots in the crowd. The other twenty or so makes forty patrons they have treated with minor problems and they've sent seven of them to the hospital that needed technical medical treatment." I was adding up the score in my mind, twenty major hits, the other twenty minors or so makes forty patrons, and did that include or was it plus the seven to hospital? About then Bungles and I did our usual eye connection, yep, we were on the same tram we both almost burst into uncontrollable laughter. Trevor 'the boss' sounded exactly like Nicky Pappas and his ‘Score-Card’ except the boss and the promotion/administration team had us bouncers

Page 55 5/2/2014 cold at seven hits to forty something… and Bob Jones still hadn't scored. "Well Trevor I can see this is a situation you and me can not come to a compromise. I've been doing this since the dawn of rock and roll, now I'm laying it on the line for you. If we go onto that oval over this shit with St. John's, it would be like a bee going into the hornets nest. There's no way I would risk any of my guys with that sort of nightmare. You and I know by now – there simply should be more staff in every area of this fiasco." "Well if that's your attitude, you're right there is no compromise. I just thought I'd hired the best security in town." With that Trevor walked off towards the 3XY administration tent, I guessed that was it and it was off to report the facts to his superiors. Dave and I were both high on adrenalin rush as we walked off towards the main gate. I was looking at the amount of drunks and space cadets off their faces. Mentally I was affirming the decision I had taken with our boss for the day. I was trying to respect his point of view and of course, I was feeling for all those injured punters and the stress placed on the St. John's crew. Yeah, I'm right - just look at that crowd - nearly 25,000 music fans out for a good time and only wanting that, but Christ! Drunks and space cadets, must be thousands of them and in amongst all that, hundreds of shitheads just dying for a crack at the Bob Jones Boys! Half way back to the main gate and I felt the heat coming off my buddy - he stopped dead in his tracks and I looked to see his eye balls roll back and I could feel the aggression radiating out of his entire body. "Bungles, cue me in…what's going down?" "There's that fuck!"

Page 56 5/2/2014 "Who?" "Those Greeks - see that half dozen Greeks coming towards us!" "Sure Bungles, I see them, I also know them, their bouncers from Chasers night club in Chapel Street." "Yeah! Well the big fucker in front, his name's Lee, we got it on at Berties last Saturday night. It was one on one, I knew he was a wrestler so I didn't want to kick or use any of our martial arts - I was giving him a fair deal - You know, just sticking to my boxing and that fucker grabbed my and…" Now I knew why Bungles had sacrificed his long hair for his new look crew cut - I guessed the black eye was one of those occupational hazards. I also knew Bungles' attitude as a fighter - I knew him well - There was something else on his chest, something was not right and whatever it was today seemed to be the day he was going to make it right. Lee was the head bouncer at Chasers and was one of the best wrestlers (Olympic Greco - style) in Victoria at that time and a hot runner for the Nationals. Lee, as I knew him was one of the good guys considering he did not work for the BJC. In fact, on several occasions I'd had him come to my main school and have him run some of my higher grades through his style of wrestling techniques. But hey! He's had a run in with Bungles and today that puts him on the opposition team. Just as I finished thinking all this out to myself we had all bridged the gap, we were all in one another's personal space. Bungles and Lee were chest to chest, the other five around me did not know. If they had not seen this coming, then I knew by the time they worked it all out, they would not ‘want to know’ anyway.

Page 57 5/2/2014 Where we were all standing the traffic of punters was really busy, Bungles and Lee had stepped a few paces into a clearing… "How've you been Bob? How's the concert been so far?" said one. "We just arrived, what's with your guy, Dave and Lee?" asked another. I didn't answer either, with the volume of the music and crowd noise I was straining to hear what actually was going down. I could just hear Bungles… "Saturday was shaping up into a good scrap until my long hair got in the way and everyone stuck their noses in and broke us up!" Lee said something, not being as angry as Bungles. I could not hear his response… "Now it's Tuesday and I don't have that fucking long hair to get in the way!" Again I could hardly hear Lee, not enough to… Just then Lee stepped back a half pace. Bungles glared at him for several seconds and then slowly nodded twice. Lee's right hand extended, Bungles paused, nodded once more very slowly then reached out and two men shook hands. They side stepped one and other and the six Greeks went off onto the oval and Bungles and I continued our trek towards the main gate. "Jonesy! Was I out of line?" "What do you mean?" "Was I out of line bringing an outside gripe to this concert today?" "No way mate, I had an exact altercation an hour ago with Billy Lewis and we both passed again for the third time, we will probably do it eventually. The main thing as I see it, you must have left a side door open and for

Page 58 5/2/2014 whatever reason, today he decided to take the side door. If it got any shit off your chest, we're all the better for it." All the guys on the main gate had been watching the whole thing go down and Nicky and Stuey had worked Saturday at BERTIES in Spring Street. They knew more than I did. None of us knew what Lee had said to Bungles and only I had half heard Bungles. All of us wanted to know but that 'old bouncer' etiquette doesn't allow any of us to ask the question. Bungles had hand slapped me with our own ‘Black-Power’ hand shake (Fresh back from my Competition Tour of America only six months ago from this date in 1972) , we would maybe find out another time. In our industry all these ‘start & stop’ altercations play havoc on the nervous system. The constant ‘switch on switch off’ of the adrenaline rushes. Plus alternating the ‘left and right brain’ frequencies from passive, violence, back to passive, over a period of time of continuation, builds up and if not released can become dangerous. As highly trained martial artists this situation will not be good for any amount of opponents if we were eventually faced with the necessary occasion to explode.

Page 59 5/2/2014 3.45pm, the past half hour had just been your normal rock concert 'stuff', I needed the time to let my 'adrenalin bursts' settle down. I had been giving our boss and that ambulance tent a fair amount of contemplation. Our ‘BOUNCER STAGE-PLAY’ mentality had us drifting to the martial arts scene, and our regular door work. How the latest weight training techniques along with protein, carbs and amino’s were working. Who were those shitheads we beat up three years ago at 'The Catcher' ('Catcher', now there's a bloody book on its own) and who's bonking who in the zoo. How will we cope with next month January, 1973 this will be our third SUNBURY FESTIVAL. Double maybe triple today’s crowd for four days compared to this one day event. Lucky our Sunbury promoters listened to me and booked two hundred of us to make sure things go right. Straight after Sunbury we will be featured on the world stage – Five of us are booked as Bodyguards to the ROLLING STONES and their WORLD TOUR as it comes to Australia & New Zealand. The Paul Dainty Corporation has spared no expense as he has hired enough of my guys to cover every aspect of National Security both here and in Western Springs, New Zealand. All of this intellectual amorality and if you saw that play, 'The Bouncers' you probably know why I was having private thoughts about the boss and the ambulance tent. I was staying focused on the event at hand, with all these other international events coming up – it was imperative todays concert will finish up being a huge success and lay the groundwork for our amazing future. The traffic of punters had all but stopped, I figured now was a good time for the last heat 'n' tally. "Hey guys, who's working the clicker? Where are we at?"

Page 60 5/2/2014 “The temperature has been sitting on 78 °F, for the last thirty minutes” Butch offered with a sound of authority. "78 °F", now what’s that for anyone who's not in the baby boomer category? What's the difference between these Fahrenheit and Centigrade equations’ ? Arhm? Subtract thirty then divide by two, apparently that gets you pretty close (78-30 = 48 ÷ 2 that's approximately 24 °C, whew… "4,390 that's including the now 20%," was the next authoritative thing Butch offered; "And 4,390 added to the 2.45 tally means we've got 27,850 on the oval as we speak… Fuck, that's over 2000 a piece if the shit hits the fan!" "Hey guys, cut the dribble - it's all but dead out here now. Let's all move in and hang about the St. John's tent, perhaps if the punters can maybe see us, it might settle them down some." Saying that, I led off and we wandered on down to the side of the oval - this had its desired effect, the crowd was buzzing with interest as to our new sentinel position. We had a good view of our guys working the stage, and them of us as well.

Page 61 5/2/2014

THE HORNETS NEST

4.15pm, THE HORNETS NEST! An air of arrogance is the description I would give the look that was on Mr. Trevor Smiths' face as he marched towards me flanked by a rather timid looking, slightly built (well he would have been a real hippie ten years earlier during those flamboyant sixties!) who was wearing a look of adversity. "Oh shit, here we go again guys…" "That's right, Mr. Jones. This time I hope to find out just what I'm paying you and your gang for!" He paused; "This guy’s wife is in the crowd, she's eight and a half months pregnant and some skinhead just kicked her in the stomach. There's an ambulance on the way for her and I was just wandering…What the fuck you are going to do about it?" Up till now, Trevor's typically acerbic-criticism had been really pissing me off, but a pregnant woman kicked, it appeared the real 'first blood' had been drawn and for us trained warriors it finally appeared it was time to go to war. "Alright, alright! This time you are right Trevor."

Page 62 5/2/2014 "I know,I know!" again with his newfound arrogance; "And I don't give a fuck about the hornets nest, I just want to know how many bee's I'm employing here today!" I put my hand on this fragile shoulder as a token of friendship and to hopefully gain his confidence… "What's your name buddy?" "Peter Thompson." "Hi Peter what's your wife's' first name?" "Margaret." "Tell you what Peter, you are going to take me to Margaret and together we will make sure she's alright, how's that sound?" "That sounds great, 'cos I really am worried about her, I’m concerned she might have our kid here!" From our new vantage point we had the stage in full view and I was already putting a plan into action. "Nicky, will you go backstage and tune Bungles and Billy Manne in what is about to go down and tell them and everyone backstage (That’s all six of them including the best lightweight team on the planet, Paul Flemming, George Roumeliotis, Paddy Holt and Malcolm Anderson) to keep an eye on us as we make our grand entrance. And Nicky, get back here as quick as you can.” Trevor Smith followed off as soon as Nicky returned, apparently happy with the news flash he had for his bosses. As all seven of us edged our way down through the fringe crowd moving onto the oval and into the mass crowd, I was thinking about what I looked for in my bouncers when I hand picked a team for this and most gigs - was a good even mix of physiques - Heavyweights, middleweights and lightweights. That was easy selection, I was a middleweight, therefore anyone around five/ten

Page 63 5/2/2014 kilos bigger or around five/ten kilos smaller were on the HEAVIES OR LIGHTWEIGHT TEAMS. Lobby Lloyd and the Coloured Balls were on stage, Skin-Heads & Sharpies were getting excited everywhere…

Every member of every band that performed on this day (And pretty soon they would all be on the stage at the one time) has always said the view from the stage was awesome - I have often imagined this scene – both before and after this event - from directly overhead in a hovering helicopter. As we walked through the centre of an almost 30,000 crowd (seven of us), the ones on our right (fifteen thousand of them) had absolutely no concept of us at this point. They were facing the stage and were engulfed by the volume and hypnotic primitive beat of bass guitar, drums and haunting guitars; these punters were away in the real true spirit of a 70’s ROCK AND ROLL CONCERT.

With my hand of friendship still sitting on the shoulder of Peter, my unhappy hippie, he suddenly felt to me as if I was being led into the depths of the ocean by an antediluvian prophet. The shuffling crowd side and back stepping to get out of our way was reminiscent of that Biblical epic of antiquity. It seemed as if the ocean was opening up in front of us, Saint Peter led the way, the ocean was rolling to the left as almost fifteen thousand people rolled with their many variations of silent critique ; ‘This has got to be serious. Something is going down. Bob Jones and his guys, they certainly aren't stupid. They wouldn't come this far, this late in the day unless this was a top priority’. We know they can fight, but seven into thirty thousand doesn’t equate.

Page 64 5/2/2014 I felt like pointing to Saint Peter and screaming out the answer to the masses; ‘This guy’s pregnant wife has been violently kicked, I just want you to know that, in case we don't make it out of here!’ Of course, even if I had yelled no one would have heard, possibly not many would have even cared. "Peter, when we get to Margaret - you must point out the skinhead that kicked her ASAP. This is how I make a living and I'm not retiring today as long as you point as quickly as you see him. And Peter even if we can’t see him, just point to any fucker. Then you, him and us – we are all out of there – we are home safe!" "Ah, Bob Jones, I don't quite know how to tell you this, but that Trevor, he's an excitable type of character. I tried to tell him but he was only half listening!" "Peter can you talk a bit louder, the bands volume, I can hardly hear what you're saying…what's that about Trevor only half listening?" "Well you see, Margaret didn't really get kicked." "Hey Nicky, get on the other side of Peter, he's got something he wants to tell us!" "Well, these skinheads & sharpies, they were hand passing a Fosters empty can, and short kicking it to one and other marking and shit you know, just sort of playing and mimicking a game of footy." "No, I don't Peter, but you tell us right now!" "Well, they were horsing around, I really don't think he meant any harm, my wife was sitting on fold-out garden chair a fair distance away, her legs and back were aching, you know?" "Get to the fucking point!" was Nicky's response. "Well, one of them jumped up to 'mark the can' landed and lost balance, fell and rolled across the ground

Page 65 5/2/2014 and one of his legs - sort of caught Margaret on the tummy and I think that might have set off her labor pains. I just wanted the management to get an ambulance for my wife. This is way out of my league; I don't really know what's going on here at all!" Peter might not have known, but those coppers certainly did. Our back up police contingency, Sergeant Billy Mitchell and his twelve members still in single file, were high tailing it over towards the scoreboard. Behind that and a quick hoist over the fence was the most direct line to the Frankston Police station and ‘they were home safe'. What had spent the last five hours looking all the part of a cock rooster and twelve young cocks had now degenerated to… "Hey guys, left of the scoreboard - there goes Mother Hen and her twelve chickens !" We all laughed to build up some sort of bravado, but I couldn't say I felt any impiety towards Billy Mitchell - this was no picnic we were heading into… "Listen Mate, when we get to Margaret, if you can’t see the guy that rolled over onto her, just point at any…” "Hey Chief, who the fuck are you talking to?" Nicky spoke from my right as I had thought Peter was between us, I looked - the void - Peter was gone. "Chief, I think he bolted when we were all looking & laughing at the coppers exiting behind the Scoreboard". Seemed like a natural deduction from Stuey the loader. The last twenty yards (twenty meters) had been hard going, the ocean doesn't open nearly as well without a spiritual guide - then Big Dave yelled for us all to hear… "Hey guys, over there, about seventy five meters on the right hand corner - there's the ambulance. Just about fifteen meters in front is Margaret, the ambulance guys are

Page 66 5/2/2014 putting her on the stretcher!" Stuey the loader butted in with the most incendiary news of the day… "Fuck me!…They're coming from everywhere, we’re slap bang in the middle of about two hundred fucking sharpies and about as many fuckin' skinheads & rockers!" Right now my brain was firing, my adrenalin was exploding from my kidneys - I gave myself a deliberate 'full-shot-of-fear' with a 'split-second-visual-graphic' of what could go wrong here and now… this clicked me into survival mode, right now instantly, I am convinced I am a time bomb ready to explode… The co-incidental timing could not have been better as these various gangs were just beginning to think about what might happen - an untrained pack of animals with no guidance except their lust for blood. We were way down the track, all those years of training and; 'BOOM!'… Boxing Day, December 26, 1972 - not for several years prior with my involvement with Melbourne City street gang life and for many years now as a club & disco bouncer - have I seen an explosion so effective. All seven of us exploded as if we were all fragments of the one bomb. Our fists, head-butts, elbows, knees and kicks all potentially lethal pieces of shrapnel exploding outward and into the enemy. All care taken to avoid the innocent, but absolutely no responsibility as this had become a life or death 'take no prisoners' situation for us. This situation is ‘controlled mayhem’ we fight very conscious of using peripheral vision, attacking as aggressively as we possibly can, while at all times covering each other’s backs. It is imperative none of us gets involved in fighting with any one person – the idea is to hit every person as many as we can, no matter what

Page 67 5/2/2014 happens. Move quickly and attack someone else. We know this round will only last thirty seconds so we must be effective, our effectiveness guaranties this time frame. We cannot afford for any one of us to get grabbed, stabbed, taken down or even be caused to lose balance, we must attack at maximum pace for the entire thirty seconds. Big Dave Speer, Butch Speer (Dave’s little brother) and Stuey Lomax all well over one hundred kilos - all very strong – they loved to alternate throwing everyone in all directions mixed with very powerful elbows & knees to any idiots who might want to hold their ground, total carnage. Vinnie ‘Mad-Dog’ Rando (Vinnie was of a smaller stature, when under pressure by bigger opponents – he was good at biting, thus ‘Mad-Dog’ Rando) , and Paul Flemming two of my best lightweights were as unique as Bruce Lee. Both had incredible kicking dynamics. They trained for many hundreds of hours to develop specialized kicking techniques. Days like today they throw right roundhouse kicks, step across same right leg used for lethal 360 degree spinning kicks, and then alternate same with left leg, all kicks head height. Another round of same action except this time low thigh right kick, step across drop down very low 360 degree right leg reverse sweeping kicks. Alternate low kicks on left side, and start again with the high kicks all the time at a pace to do more in thirty seconds than they had ever done in training - both aware and actually competing for who was causing the most damage. Nicky ‘Snappas’ Pappas had started working for me at CATCHER DISCOTHEQUE at 471 Flinders Street, Melbourne the toughest club in town during the late sixties. Protecting the CATCHER we had to fight all night in multiple situations, often against these same gang members present here today. He lived at my house, my

Page 68 5/2/2014 organizational center working and training full time for me. Next month he was booked for #2 and February for the ROLLING STONES WORLD TOUR. He trained fanatically with one mindset to do everything I did as good as he possibly could. On this day I had asked him what techniques he thought we would use today if the shit hit the fan and he suggested; “Nothing but head-butts & elbows” “Ok, I’m in, any chance for a side bet?” Side by side we did what he and I did best. Thirty seconds later I was well in front for us this was actually a fun thing – like two other guys might do a round of golf together and have a good day, and a lazy $20 bet on the side. Oh! Did I mention Nicky was a fanatical gambler? – I got him for $20 that day. I was determined to make up the seven points I was down so as to lead by example, and to prove I was a worthy leader (these guys were all my black belt students and they saw me as 'The Master' - 'The Chief'!). More so to myself while I had the opportunity as a martial artist under these definitely – street survival - life or death conditions to create my personal-apotheosis. One second at a time from thirty back to ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero seconds now the ‘implosion-was-coming’, thirty seconds mayhem was over - survival instincts mode - thirty seconds and we deliberately stop to assess how much damage had been inflicted. Now it was up to me to pull myself and the guys back, our attitudes must now appear contained. I knew we would be judged over this situation, by those actually physically involved here today, everyone witnessing the event, and by those that would hear the story afterwards. I had no sympathy for the injured, many were smart and

Page 69 5/2/2014 moved right out of our way, many only wanted to look some wanted to fight. They all got hurt – the one thing they did not understand – no matter how many of them there were, we still outnumbered them. This was because of our attitude. This was real, this was war. 'WAR', that’s what we had just done, 'Won Another Round'. Martial artists and particularly martial artists working in the security industry are not fundamentally pernicious. In training for survival we create this ability - in defense these incredible techniques are not to be misused – when used in offence the punishment must only fit the crime. I believe on this day we followed the unwritten law ; “Do unto others as you believe they are attempting to do to you” - my guys and my exaltation was intact.

The legal definition of reacting ‘in fear of your own life’ with self-defense is what a reasonable man would consider fair and proportionate. A Potential Military Build-up (PMB) of around thirty thousand, with the immediate enemy in the front five to ten rows being forcefully pushed forward by these PMB, were now numbering approximately three hundred & fifty. Most are caught up in the moment, the front two rows around us that are wishfully thinking to do us actual harm I estimated to be about 50 to 70. That’s between 7 & 10 a piece for the seven of us - let me be judged for my actions by any reasonable man except the then current Chief Secretary Mr. Meagher and/or the Australian Media. For years I have tried to explain the euphoria a martial artist who trains for survival feels when placed in the middle of an environmental-enmity of this magnitude. In the context of positives versus negatives (yin & yang), I

Page 70 5/2/2014 have tried to explain it this way to many higher ranked black belts. It is somewhere between an opposing army after years and years of ferocious warfare against you and your army. For no apparent reason in the middle-mayhem they raise a white flag, we are left with our euphoria deflated. Then on the other end of the scale, I associate it with a hit man or sniper (Military of course, not criminal) scoring his first ordered kill of a fellow human being, I am discussing here a warrior’s attitude where we experience the highest of the high – breathless, ethereal, almost ecclesiastical and somehow reverent. In short, armed with this euphoric-eulogy (yin & yang), we scared the living shit out of everyone who could see us coming and the bigger the explosion and the more effective the violent actions spreading our adversaries ‘out-wards’ - we created our 'environmental-magic-circle'. Leaving less enmity this savage bacchanal mob had to use against us. Now we had temporally taken control of the situation and as we stood within our magic circle, we covered one another's backs as if each back was our own. At this juncture we all automatically took on our well trained ‘Double Delta Shape’ (For your understanding of our DDS it is imaginary twin triangles spread out on the ground. These invisible triangles have a small circle at their center (Some call the star of David) that only we can see overlap each other; these imaginary lines on the ground with six precise points are what we have trained for hundreds of hours to use to protect and ‘control’ our Environmental-Magic-Circle. The bigger or smaller this E-M-C may become these imaginary triangles change a balanced ratio to suite. This has us never to close and never too far apart from one and other. We have ‘set well-

Page 71 5/2/2014 rehearsed patterns’ we fight in as we use these imaginary line arrangements. This ‘Double Delta Shape’ with its six focus points has each of us covering each other’s back which is the sole survival strategy of fighting this many attackers at the same time. We are only as strong as our weakest link and if one ‘goes’ we could possibly, all be ‘gone’. With a team of seven one stays in the circle in the center as a spotter and exchanges position if anyone tires or should get hurt. Their peripheral viewing at 360 degrees has them become aware of everything around immediate vicinity and continually scan for problem areas). All our training was paying off as no one was thinking of them-selves we were each thinking of the others wellbeing. At this point, if we can keep the enemy in the frontlines in a state of intimidation/fear/caution, in keeping their distance from us they will hold the crowd back. But if you do not watch them, they will parry again. Therefore, the battle strategy is very simple - we want the magic circle to be as big and as magick as possible – what they want is to swallow it up, squash and destroy us into the ground, the mind battle continues. Since the explosion more and more of the thirty thousand are developing an interest, they have all turned around to face the occasion and they can all see the magic circle. But unless you're in close you can't really work out what it is - human nature of natural inquisitivity demands that they all take a couple of steps surging towards this focus point and check it out. Just now, try to imagine yourself being in the magic circle with me, and a large proportion of this free concert crowd are taking steps towards us, that's you (the reader) and me and six of my best buddies sharing this magic moment in time.

Page 72 5/2/2014 "Hey Nicky, watch this!", as I ran full pace to a Big Falstaffian rocker type. A Mohawk hairstyle complete with all the tattoos, chains and piercings. He had been giving me his 'bad eye' and swearing constant abuse at the lot of us. There he was stuck in the front row as he saw me coming for him pressing back, he pressed to the sides, right then he'd worked out the only direction he could go was towards me, and that's the one direction he does not want to go. And then it hit him, my bone crushing fist followed by enough overhand elbows to plough him into the ground. Then I screamed at everyone around and out back of him with an almost ear shattering scream… "Sit down! Sit the fuck down now, on the ground!" Fifteen to twenty rows, about six hundred punters reacted without thinking with a bum to ground Mexican bum-wave that felt that good, thought I'd try it again. This time close to the left of the unconscious falstaffian laid out neatly on the ground in a small pool of his own blood. I had second prize on offer for our next most offensive patron, a gym buff with all the muscles in the correct places for good symmetry. He was well dressed, clean cut, very short hair style - as they all were - with the typical ‘bad-boy’ sharpie image with a typical tough-guy attitude. With both of his arms covered in cheap and nasty tattoos. This time I baulked with a short ‘controlled’ low round house kick to his left thigh. This kick deliberately did not reach the target, but forced a great expected reaction from him as I ploughed in with my own special patented head- butt (Two for one I thought, as I felt and heard that familiar crack and pop, I knew I had caught his nose and his cheekbone – with the powerful bridge bone of my high forehead - causing some serious damage), followed by a high round knee-kick, with the point of my knee plowed

Page 73 5/2/2014 through his solar plexus with my right leg (This guy’s diaphragm seriously needed some fresh air) . That same high knee leg short stepping across & thrusting my right side shoulder using my neck as a bridge under his right arm pit, full body twist in setting up a powerhouse right- side shoulder throw… as I threw my head forward and down pulling his arm with this momentum the crowd saw his entire body fly high directly above me up and over and 'crash' as I plowed him head first down into the ground then turning back at the crowd; "Sit down! Every one of you dumb fucks - sit down!" I screamed again, even louder than the first time, this time twenty five to thirty rows creating more than a thousand strong Mexican bum-wavers. "Hey Nicky, howzat? What do you reckon?" "Nothing short of a fucking miracle Chief! What was that John Lennon said about Jesus Christ six years ago?” We were both laughing our arses off, funny thing how we could find humor in a situation of such potential moribund magnitude. "What do you reckon Nicky, are we in good company or what?" I said wholeheartedly. "Sure are Chief, & it’s certainly a 'Good day to die'!" With that comment I noticed many of my initial bum- waivers were cautiously starting to regain their postures. I knew we needed to apply some more basic intimidation. "Come on then, have a go, see how big a Mexican bum-wave you can pull off!" I offered. "Big Dave, Stuey… Hey, have a go at the Mexican bum-wave, let’s get some arse on the grass", I challenged. "Nah, nope, never, not on, you can have that trick on your own, what if no one sits for me! That’d be drop dead embarrassment!"

Page 74 5/2/2014 About now as all my bum-waivers started standing up and regaining their composure, suffering from sheer distasteful embarrassment they started from all angles… "Hey Bob Jones you’re a cocksucker!" "You’re a fuckin' fag!" “I fucked your mother!" “She was a better fuck than your sister!” "Come here ya fuckin' mug and have a go with me!" from all sides and about five to ten rows back, they’re all really pissed off. Then the tide started to turn nasty, bottles again flying through the air, everywhere. Only sixty seconds has past and there’s no way now that any of us could get that Mexican bum-wave to work. Not even John Lennon or Jesus could work that miracle again, it had been done and now they were angry with a growing desire for vengeance.

Bouncing on the ground all around us, stomping their feet, punching their fists in the air, beating their chests and screaming fanatically at us with all the appearances, without the aptitude of a Maori Haka. All of the front three to five rows of at least two hundred & fifty drunks about to become uncontrollable - not looking good for us right at this moment in time. The falstaffian, the sharpie and another half dozen or more lying around the edges semi & unconscious all of them with smatterings of blood, one or two with several teeth biting grass. One or two slowly regaining their faculties, these were to our advantage as members of the mob were either tripping over them or having their legs jammed only to be easier base targets for us. Suddenly, within a few seconds there was now a dozen or more seriously unconscious with more teeth missing. Now the whole concert wanted to see

Page 75 5/2/2014 into our magic circle. From fifty to a hundred rows completely all around us, the entire 360 ° was surging forward and for the first time, really having those front liners slowly eating up our magic circle. The seven of us looked at one and other – we were holding what was left of the strength of our shrinking Double Delta Shape, shit, it was like we were stuck in 'stand up quick sand' and it was slowly starting to look as if we might get swallowed up. More bottles filled the air, spinning half filled cans spewing out tails of white froth as they bounced on the ground around us. As our magic circle was shrinking smaller and smaller - the spinning bottles and cans were going right over us and hitting mob members and worst luck some innocent punters who were simply there for a look and wound up stuck in the now, very condensed inner circle. "No more jokes Chief, fuck this is getting serious! “What do we do now?" Nicky asked as if he figured I always had the right answer to his questions. "Give me some time, I'm workin’ on it" I said somehow hoping to maintain the level of confidence we came in with. We just kept doing what we do best in a situation like this. We were stepping out & into that front line with punch kick or kick punch step back, fully working our ‘double-triangles’ (With the seventh spare in the center covering all 360 degrees) alternating changing angles and repeat. Big Dave & Stuey Lomax & Butch were worth their weight in gold, they had the bulk & size to do a lot of damage, and right now they were doing plenty. My off sider, today I have to call him Nicky Snappas, he was firing off those famous head-butts of his in all directions. We were all still doing damage considering none of us were getting caught out. I found myself thinking;

Page 76 5/2/2014 ‘This is a great team, many others would definitely have gone by the wayside already, what a powerful bunch of mates – things are really not looking so good for us at this moment. If only they can keep believing in my favorite warriors quote that Nicky expressed so honestly only a few moments ago… “We are in good company, what a great day to die!”

Just then the Sun-God must have smiled on us I could hear Bungles with his heart of a lion… "Hey Jonesy, we’re here!" was the purest magick. "Get out the fucking way idiot!" ordered Bungles WHACK! "You too you dumb fuck!" said Billy Manne with both fists clenched – his right fist with those rock hard calloused knuckles came off his right shoulder and landing right on target. CRACK! Billy Manne’s snake like strike hit the punters forehead between both eyes with both of those calloused knuckles imprinted and indented in the flesh. Looking more like two bullet holes, might as well have been fired out of a gun with blood flowing everywhere, that punter definitely needing an ambulance. Here was our reserves the BJC - Marines had arrived, I could not believe any one could be dumb enough, let alone six of them dumb enough to leave the comfort of the stage with the best view of our 'funeral'. "Fuck, don't any of you guys even think we were holding back! We left ten minutes ago when you all exploded. We did not want to miss any of that shit, but it took us all of ten minutes to work our way through that

Page 77 5/2/2014 fucking crowd…Their packed in around you guys like dags stuck to a dogs arse!" Time for some level thinking… Bungles and Billy Manne and our lightning lightweights had come onto the scene with a second explosion affording us the element of surprise. Their arrival was the reason the magic circle was 50% bigger than when the bomb hit. We had just doubled in size and all the opposition front liners had gone stone cold sober, not a beep, but you could feel them thinking… the swearing and the bottles had receded. Momentarily it was safe again, for both for us and the innocent punters. Even though we now numbered thirteen and we would see everything they threw at us, when it starts again because we were all watching out for each other, and now there were thirteen lookouts! But even now with two Double Deltas, we were facing between two to three hundred much more serious contenders, they will get serious again real soon if we give them too much thinking space. "Hey Nicky, you still want an answer?" "I thought you'd never ask… What are we doing?" "A Delta-Pyramid and we're outta here!" "Sounds good and I'm all packed and ready!" It was good to hear Nicky joking; we'd maintained our humor. "I'll just signal all the guys and we're gone already" Hand signaling for a Delta-Pyramid was as simple as starting with a screeching whistle to attract all of the teams' attention. Next was to outstretch my right arm fully outstretched with three fingers extended and gesturing towards the direction of St. John's tent. Now my hand signal communication had stated; 'Form a Delta-Pyramid (A single triangle) and right now, we're all outta here’. Big Dave Steer took up the lead facing the masse crowd with Stuey Lomax the loader

Page 78 5/2/2014 and Billy Manne flanking him and completing the Delta- Head. Dave Steer had been chosen to be the lead today for his frame size, body weight, and ability to move forward dividing big crowds and spreading them sideways out of our way. Even today, the sight of these three particular guys coming towards any large group would have this same Great-Dividing-Range effect. If he should have even the slightest problem, it would be a do-or-die contest between Billy Manne and Stuey Lomax to come to Big Dave’s aid. Once these three penetrated and split several members of the crowd in two, our next line of defense was Dave Berry and Butch Steer. These middle weights with great footwork mobility and heavy punching power giving the sides the strength it would need to open the crowd even further once the Delta-Head (i.e. the three biggest guy’s) had cut in. The lightning lightweights flanked the back corners on both sides of the pyramid. Their job was to actively spread the crowd out even further with their agile and multiple angular kicking skills. Multiple versatile angles of high and low, with jumping and spinning combinations, mixed with strength & speed – all these guys had full power in their kicks. Vinnie “Mad-Dog” Rando, George “The-Black-Panther” Roumeliotis, Malcolm “The-Count” Anderson, Paddy “Lightning-Bolt” Holt and “Fire-Ball” Flemming - all reputed to being the best kickers in BJMA – Bob Jones Martial Arts in those early days. I had carefully selected and specifically trained these slighter physiques, good looking, trendy young guys to replace my much more experienced, older, bigger, tougher looking bouncers for this kind of work. For this simple one equation, these younger average sized punters (skinheads and sharpies) could not feel victimized getting beat-up by

Page 79 5/2/2014 these lightning lightweights (They were all the same age and the same size – my guys were just better fighters) . My job (i.e. Bob Jones “The-Red-Dragon”) with the assistance of Nicky “Snappas” Pappas was for us to walk shoulder to shoulder backwards in the middle of the backline of the pyramid and make sure the punters just didn't simply come around and pour in from the back and swallow the ‘Delta-Pyramid’ from behind. In history, this technique was first created by the prehistoric European Celts as they came down from the Arctic-North. Thousands of years later it was re-adopted by Spartacus and the three hundred Spartans and again popularized by Julius Caesar and his legions of Romans. Here again at Frankston on Boxing Day, 1972 – it possibly saved the lives of the ‘Bob Jones Boys – The same ones the whole town was talkin’ about’.

THE INFAMOUS ROMAN DELTA PYRAMID

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4.35pm… Lighting Strikes Twice

For its time, our Delta-Pyramid moved like and resembled the modern military’s BLACK PANTHER - One of the most advanced ‘MBT’ – ‘Main Battle Tanks’ in the 21 st Century. By some really weird co-incidence the BLACK PANTHER SOCIETY (Which I had created within my martial arts and security organizations) was a select group comprising only the best-of-the-best fighters I had trained. A lot of damage had been passed onto the punters that dared to match our fighting skills. Like the Double Delta (The two invisible triangles) protected our ‘Magick-Circle’ (within reason), and when it came to mass crowd movement, once our Delta Pyramid got moving it would have been hard for anything to stop it. All the years of training together in case these situations might arise and as they did from time to time, we'd be ready, and we were. As we got back to St. John's, Billy Manne made the connection and joked! "Shit it took us more than ten minutes to get into you guys and the Delta got here in about ninety seconds!" For a while some disgruntled punters threw a few more bottles etc. but again we watched out for us;

Page 81 5/2/2014 "What's our injury call?" I requested - for the first time at any point on this day everyone spent a moment thinking of themselves instead of covering everybody else. "Zero", "zilch", nope", "nah", "nothin'" the responses were coming in fast and confident, when suddenly…’ 'BOING' A coke bottle bounced right off the top of Butch's head. The only injury we had in this whole violent deal and Butch Steer gets first prize - worth around five, maybe six stitches - on the crown of his head when we're supposedly home-safe inside the safety zone. “Oh well! Some you win, some you…”

By now, Bungles and his team had gone back-stage; Lobby Lloyd had cranked his amps up and over the top. The Bouncer Play was back on stage as Stuey ‘The Loader’ Lomax team rehearsed for lead rolls by re-telling all of the humor that had just transpired during the past twenty minutes… Mr. Trevor Smith was nowhere to be seen. The oval, full of punters had all began drinking more piss and the dopers were at it, doping again, all as if nothing had happened. I needed some time on my own. I wandered off to one side, sat down and started some deep soul searching. I knew one thing for sure I'd never work another major event concert with a thirty thousand crowd with only a dozen crowd controllers… NEVER!

The guys had given me my space and I had wandered off and found myself deep in thought. Simply sitting on the grass with my head resting on my forearms I was trying to come to terms with all the factors of today’s

Page 82 5/2/2014 events – all the violence resulting with so many injuries, of others – better them than any of us I offered myself as a temporary consolation. Then I found myself wondering where all this violence in my life may have stemmed from. Interesting how different images began forming from this thought process as I flicked through the history pages of this twenty five year Bob Jones Saga… I had no idea in the world almost a whole hour had transpired since our Double-Delta and Delta-Pyramid fiasco. I snapped myself out of my trance, stood and stretched and went back to join the guys. After all, I have several lifetimes ahead of me – there will be plenty of time for thinking.

5.25pm, they were doing my arse on the grass Mexican bum-wave stories, I listened and they were making me laugh when all of a sudden a loud screech of tires to our left from where we were standing around joking! This huge black square shaped van with that familiar power combination, everything in mass black with bright white POLICE signage. I had never seen anything like this before. Still had the dust settling around its tires as a big door at the back slid open. I didn't count, but I reckon twenty/twenty five extremely well-built coppers clambered out of this huge van. We all in turn eye lined one and other… "Shit guys, I think we are in deep trouble now!" We all just kept alternating looking at one and other, was our World War II about to commence. Then looking at these cops, this was movie stuff, I mean they were built like brick shit houses, full face helmets were worn by them all, they were dressed in snazzy black uniforms with black

Page 83 5/2/2014 shiny boots looked like they were left over from the Adolf Hitler ‘Nazi Police’ European regime. And same as him everything was black while glowing in the late afternoon sunshine was their highly polished silver Police-badges. Most had riot shields and they all had batons… I mean this was some special squad I had never seen cops like this except on American cop shows on television. I was thinking 4.15pm since that pregnant story began, 4.20pm since the Sergeant jumped the fence with his twelve disciples. The entire fiasco was all over by 4.45pm, my hour’s meditation and now it's 5.45pm - that’s exactly an hour and a half, that's about how long it would take a big van like that to do a City to Frankston run - I wondered if this is a VICTORIAN POLICE S.W.A.T team. Does it really matter where they come from? More to the point, I wondered what in hell they're doing here when this concert has only a half hour to go? Right now we don't have to wonder, these guys have formation drills that rivaled our Double-Delta and our Delta-Pyramid. In they came through the main gates and straight for us… it was as if they read the word 'SECURITY' printed across the chests of our singlets. Bungles, Billy Manne and the boys were repositioned back stage. Butch was with Judy getting his half a dozen stitches. Here I am with that original champion ‘A’ grade team, no need for commands as they all naturally took up the position of a six man Double-Delta (All of our six points of the double triangle were covered – even without our # 7, our center man reserve it would take a bloody good crew to break through our lines) . With me as the front man flanked by Big Dave and Stuey Lomax with all six points instead of facing out as we had with the surround-crowd, we were now all focused forward on the new competition we were ready

Page 84 5/2/2014 and braced, fully prepared for what was apparently coming our way in full force from a one direction. The boys had all thought quickly and courageously positioning themselves around me, covering my back. Now it was my turn to think quickly - think positive, it was time to contrive survival images and select whatever advantages I could muster. ‘Twenty five of them with shields taking up one hand and their baton in the other (neither hand is actually free, that’s got to be in our favor), they had these 25 rather impractical weapons suitable only for the limited movements of swinging down and thrusting forward (Exact copy of the Roman Legions from 2000 years ago) .

Their opposition was us, six competent martial artists being reputable experts with our nine natural weapons each, We had our lethal head-butts, both fists & elbows for striking, both shins & knees for kicking) that’s our total with 54 extremely practical weapons fully ambidextrous, being totally fluent from either and/or both orthodox (right-side) and southpaw (left-side) angles (Exact copy of the Aryan Celts as far back as thousands of years before the Catholics, Romans or Greeks all proven techniques) strategically positioned inside an impregnable Double-Delta.

“Someone should have told these twenty five constables they were still grossly out-numbered by only six of us”.

Here was a massive wall of robust cops shuffling in cadence behind a solid wall of their face masks and battle shields, each with their right hands already thrusting

Page 85 5/2/2014 batons - in time with each double step. Good awareness radio communication suddenly had this human wall veering away from us and moving directly across and into the crowd (This was a particularly smart maneuver as one of their up-line Stars & Stripes would have noticed we were focused and ready for a battle royal. And they would have heard from Sergeant Bill Mitchell’s report that we had already been there once today, they could see our Double-Delta foundation having us ready to rock. Plus innumerable drunken punters all looking in the other direction focused at the stage and Lobby Lloyd, these punters would be much easier prey. After all, all these coppers wanted was a big pinch list to report to impress the politicians and the next round of media). Almost immediately these unfortunate punters were being viciously attacked from behind with no possible warning. Then they were being dragged off to the van, of course the festival revelers objected and it was on again. Only this time we just stood and watched as punches, bottles, shields and batons clashed and punters were tied up in arm holds, run out by the hair and dragged every which way out through the gates and into the van. And there was the local Sergeant and his Frankston team doing a tag team system pairing punters in hand-cuffs. Roping them together like cattle in a chain formation, marching them off to the Frankston lock up ten at a time tied together in five pairs, hog tied from the cuffs with the rope fed back between their legs under their groins – the whole thing looking very medieval (If only we and the punters could have had today’s technology and all filmed this on mobile phones – how good would the six o’clock news have been) .

Page 86 5/2/2014 Almost as soon as these cops arrived, they disappeared leaving 53 punters charged with a variety of resisting arrest, abusive language and more seriously assaulting Police while obstructing them performing their duty. We never found out where they came from, why they came and did what they did or where they went when they left. In fact, because they attacked from behind hardly anybody besides us and the immediate punters in the vicinity even knew these cops in black even existed. But one thing is for sure, this Boxing Day - December 26 Free 3XY Peninsula Rock & Roll Concert definitely had Lightning-Strike-Twice on its Frankston Football Oval. The following morning 27/12/1972, a small column somewhere in the early pages of the Melbourne 'Sun' stated the police were called into a riot at a festival in Frankston sponsored by radio station, 3XY and a soft drink company - fifty three offenders were arrested with many varying charges laid - Mr. Meagher was quoted as saying;

"I think that the police did a good job when they were called in."

Mr. Meagher was anticipating a full report of the incident from Frankston’s Superintendent, Mr. H. O. Beever who apparently threw a bit of a red herring into the mix by giving the Bob Jones Boys a comprehensive and favorable report. For whatever reason this police report never saw the light of day – leaving everyone forever thinking we were the bad guys. Wednesday, all day, and the media had decided this was the story to run with for the next week. Radio, television and that evening the Melbourne 'Herald' gave it a front page headline (complete with an aggressive martial

Page 87 5/2/2014 art training photo of me), 'Meagher to look at pop guards' and a new quote from the day saying he was; "Not enthusiastic about strong arm men controlling large crowds". Next day, Thurs’ 28/12/72 another bold headline, 'Police hold 53 at Frankston pop show'. Chief Superintendent, Mr. A.V. Thompson in charge of the newly created Westernport district said last night that alcohol had been the main cause of trouble. "There was a lot of liquor being drunk, and considering the type of crowd. The number of arrests was not particularly large. The only really nasty incident came when some security guards were attacked by the crowd. The rest were relatively minor brawls", he said. Chief Superintendent Thompson said he estimated the size of the crowd in excess of 20,000 but other estimates were as high as 50,000 - reported in the Herald that evening. This report of Superintendent Thompson was the only favorable comments we received regarding this fiasco. Nowhere ever, did I read or see (Not in any local, or State, or National media) any credit reference to the 3XY Contracted BJC – SECURITY GROUP where thirteen (13) guys put it all on the line in the duty of protecting all punters that were there to enjoy a free concert of the best bands in the country. Of those 30.000 music lovers no more than 1% to 2% wanted trouble that day. A very funny thing is if you ask any of the 98% they all have the same concerns expressed in this paragraph. Even those 53 punters that were belted over the back of their heads with no warning, then thrust into a Gestapo armored tank. Locked up, charged, fined and given an;

ASSAULTING POLICE CONVICTION

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This was a criminal record to contend with for the rest of their lives, these punters never had a voice, and you can bet they didn’t get it when all the Politicians & Media swamped us with; The Police did a good job, go figure!

Nowhere ever, did I read or see (not even in the Guinness Book of Records) how sixty eight punters during eight hours of concert time wound up filling all the local hospitals and local medical centers.

How those fifty three punters were all bashed, arrested, locked up & charged in under fifteen minutes. This all happened during 'the second riot' at 5.45pm with the concert having approximately fifteen minutes to go, as it was now 6.00pm.

Of course the concert went late – Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs took us through till 7.00pm – the best and most pleasant hour of the day.

At no time did any of the media pick up on the mysterious pregnant lady. I have often wondered what happened to her and her husband. Are they still hippies? Do they still do drugs? Did they have a son or a daughter? Today, that baby born at the 3XY FREE CONCERT would be forty plus years of age. That child definitely would never have heard my side of the story that surrounded this violent birth? Perhaps only the father’s version and he was seriously full of drugs!

"Ah well, some you win, some you…"

Page 89 5/2/2014 PART TWO: AN ERA OF VIOLENT HISTORY

7. Up In The Morning and Off to School 84

8. Ring, Ring Goes the Bell 88

9. And the Teacher is Teaching the Golden Rule 90

10. Investing in Fitzroy 94

11. Newtown, Fitzroy – The Violent Years………………..100

12. Bob Jones, Fitzroy – The School Years 109

‘UP IN THE MORNING - AND OFF TO SCHOOL’

“Hay, Redah...” This strange voice comes from behind me, as I was in a strange new environment. This was my ‘first day ever’ that I had gone to school. I was wide eyed and inquisitive. Standing in the middle of this concrete jungle with more kids than I had ever seen in one place in my entire life, hundreds of them and

Page 90 5/2/2014 they all seemed so much bigger than me. Both hands were white knuckled, clenching onto my security blanket, a brown paper bag which held my dinner, two vegemite sangas. I was too young to realize that at dinner time I was supposed to eat the contents of my security blanket (At almost five years of age I was too young to imagine the relevance of this day and two world wars. The first chapter here in the story of Bob Jones and his VIOLENT YEARS was seemingly a climax to my personal World War I, now in my attempt at soul searching I enter my initial school year and it is the same year as the successful ending of Adolph Hitler’s most violent years ever recorded - World War II. (This same year within three months’ time April 30 th Adolph Hitler will shock the world; he will surrender and supposedly commit suicide).

“Hay Bluey, I’m talkin’ new…”

For almost an hour prior to those riot cops dragging off fifty three concert fans, I had gone off to one side to give myself some personal space. After what had gone down at this 3XY concert, even before the gestapo had arrived, I needed some serious contemplation about who actually was Bob Jones. Where did he come from and where in the hell he was heading. Then, after the cops attempt at the Guinness book of records I thought there has got to be a better way after twenty five years of living, eating, and breathing all this violence.

Perhaps if I go back to the beginning I can make some sense of this saga. Within that hour prior to the cops I only had time to mentally scan these twenty five years, but it was a start. My mum had walked with me the

Page 91 5/2/2014 couple of blocks from where we lived at number 7 Layfield Street, South Melbourne next door to where my Dad’s Mum and Dad lived at Number 6. At breakfast this morning my Grandparents had made a fuss as their grandson was embarking into what they described as being one of life’s new adventures of new discoveries. “Now you listen to me Robert, you go through these gates, and when the bell rings you do exactly what the teachers tell you! And don’t you let anyone touch these vegemite sangas (i.e. sandwiches)”, then she handed me the brown paper bag. “These are for you at dinner time (Dinner was the lunch call of this era) , and remember they cost money (This was still during the time of World War II – when everything costs money, sadly no one had any money). Now I’ll be back here at these gates to pick you up after school”. I was concentrating really hard to memorize my mum’s list of commands, go through the gates, do what the teacher tells me, don’t let anyone touch the vegemite sangas, mum will be here to pick me up. “And one more thing, if any of those school bullies come up to you, you let them know you’re as tough as Ned Kelly”. Whatever a bully does to you, you be sure to give him back double or you will answer to me. I had the commands in order in my mind, but who was Ned Bully? Mum bent over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, this kiss was as soft as butterfly and I walked through the gates clutching my expensive vegemite sangas against my chest. I was both excited & petrified at what my Grandma and Grandpop had called a ‘new adventure’. Dorcas Street, South Melbourne State School was a typical overcrowded inner suburban government ‘public school’, probably four hundred plus students. This

Page 92 5/2/2014 is the reason I was petrified… incomprehensible at the time to me, this was the first day of school after the Christmas holidays. As well as us first year beginners the whole four hundred kids were hanging about all waiting for this ‘bell’ to ring. For the third time since my mother had left me alone in my new adventure, I heard this aggression coming from somewhere behind me…

“Hay Ginger, how cum new got bright red ‘hair?”

‘Redah, Bluey talkin’ new, Ginger bright red hair’ – I thought about this, my hair was red, my eyes were bright blue, Ginger I did not understand. Maybe this aggression from behind could be coming at me. One thing I thought to myself, if I don't turn around it might go away. I was still adjusting to the fear running through my body as everywhere I looked all I could see was big kids. Not only the most, but also the biggest kids I had ever seen, they all looked to me like Giants. I had no comprehension of myself being a grade one’er and these other kids got as big as grade sixer’s - as I would later discover.

“Hay, you”

Was the next thing I would hear, as a heavy shove on my back and shoulders sent me crashing face down. The bitumen my knees landed on took the skin right off both my knee caps, instinctively I turned my head in as I rolled forward and over landing flat on my back. This natural survival instinct was great for protecting everything except the skin on my knees and my expensive dinner. As my brown paper bag went sprawling further than me it burst at

Page 93 5/2/2014 the seams and my two vegemite sangas fell apart all over the ground. All I could think about was if no one else tells my mum about this, well I certainly won’t! I rolled over and sat up and looked at the reason I was down here on the ground. He was much bigger than me but not as big as most of the other kids. Later I would discover he was a grade three’er. I quickly tucked my legs back and pushed myself up to a standing position – this kid was still bigger than me but he didn’t look anywhere as big as he had from my seated ground position looking up at him. I looked across at my broken vegemite sangas just as I heard a loud squawking and screeching overhead….

‘RING, RING, RING GOES THE BELL’

As the school bell tolled three times I turned my gaze upwards to the sky where there were dozens of hungry and large white Port Melbourne seagulls. Some were circling around and some were hovering and anticipating the risk involved in swooping down to the ground for my dinner as their breakfast. ‘WHACK’!

Page 94 5/2/2014 Next thing, I’m flat on my bum again from the force of an open hand slap across the side of my face. From the ground I quickly looked around the school yard and saw that the ringing of the bell had the kids running in all directions. The seagulls had landed and were fighting violently on the ground just over from me and several of these ‘white as snow’ warriors had my black vegemite all over their chests and wings. Right at this second I thought to myself, my knees are all bloody but I can’t feel anything, my face is throbbing, but I didn’t even feel the strike. All I could think about was the fear of my mum. If she could see that broken brown paper bag and what was left of my sangas, that apparently ‘cost so much money’, I’d be dead for sure! My five year old brain and body filled with rage, I knew right then that Bob (Robert) Jones was gonna have a piece of this Ned Bully, whoever he was (It would be years after that I would realise that this bell ringing would be the bell of the first round in a fight that would last for the rest of my life). I ran at him on my hands and on the toes of my shoes and collided with him with my head and shoulders, reaching around his legs and locking my arms at the back of his knees. I hugged and kept on pushing from my toes, a short step forward and lunging with all the strength I could muster. As he toppled over I scampered forward along his body straddling my self over his chest. Not even realizing somebody was trying to pull me off him, I had grabbed his hair and subconsciously I had clenched my five year old right fist and was pounding him over and over about the head, neck and shoulders. As I pounded I looked forward at the seagulls – one of them stood proud

Page 95 5/2/2014 with his chest expanded, his wings were fully flared and I saw that he had taken control…

THE TEACHER IS TEACHING THE GOLDEN RULE

It was a lady teacher who had tried unsuccessfully to pull me off Ned Bully, but it wasn’t until a male teacher came to her assistance that they were able to break my grip on his hair and drag me to my feet. I would soon ‘discover’ she was Ms Hopkins and she held me while the male teacher tended the crying, quivering wimp of a boy on the ground. Right then, I noticed the anxiety of both teachers as they were both shaking from head to foot. My hate and anger had subdued, I was relaxed and all fear had long gone. Somebody had picked on me three times, knocked me down twice and I felt it was all his fault I had to fight so I did, and I’d won – I felt good! “You tend after that one, Mr Watson, this one looks like he’ll be one of mine”. As she escorted me off across the school ground with a handful of the back of my shirt, I looked back at the ‘king of the seagulls’ still in total control of my dinner and I felt even better. Then I thought - One of hers?

Page 96 5/2/2014 All six hundred and something kids were lined up in blocks and lines of boys going this way and girls going that way, never before had I seen such a spectacular site. “Now my lad, you stand there and not a peep out of you, we’ll sort this lot out after…” (Do what the Teacher tells you to do was one of my Mum’s commands echoing in the back of my mind) We all sang something about ‘God save our gracious King’ (I was hoping they meant my king of the seagulls). The headmaster gave a welcome speech that I did not either understand or perhaps even listen to, and then they all recited some prayers. Then in turn we apparently all marched into the South Melbourne state school into our separate classrooms. That’s when I noticed for the first time that all the big kids had disappeared and forty something of us in this room were all pretty much the same size, now ‘this was an adventure’. Ms Hopkins had been guiding us all the while; I could feel her focusing on my every move. Then I noticed Ms Hopkins was like that seagull, she was as pretty as he was handsome and had long white hair flowing down over her back. I guessed she was nearly the same age as my mum and like my mum and the seagull, she was totally in control. She lined us up with the desks, told us to sit, and we all did. Now she told us her name and said she was our teacher, then she had each kid in class stand and say their name out loud… “Bob Jones” I called out when it was my turn. “That’s good children, but before we go any further, Master Jones will come to the front of the class. He has something he wants to tell everyone”. What is this, I thought. Is she really just another Ned Bully. I did as I was told; I went and stood at the front of the class. I tried, I really tried to do as I was told, to tell

Page 97 5/2/2014 everyone in class how the fight had started. Something deep inside of me would not let the words come out, something was saying that this whole thing was between me and Ned Bully and I just could not tell… “So, the cat has got Master Jones by the tongue”. I was confused why I could not tell and equally confused about the Master and the cat. ‘CRACK’ Was the loud sound of Ms Hopkins striking her desk with what I would soon learn was a wooden ruler. Sounding like an explosion, like a car backfiring. “Well, I’ll have to teach Master Jones why it is wrong to fight at school” Ms Hopkins didn’t look pretty anymore; she looked nasty as my mum when she’s mad. My right hand was already hurting (from all the pounding on Ned Bully’s head) as Ms Hopkins grabbed me by the fingers and outstretched my right arm and palm. ‘CRACK’, “That’s for fighting in school”, then she took my palm and stretched it out again, ‘CRACK’, for the second time. “And that’s for not telling. Now go to your seat Master Robert Jones”. Not even thirty minutes since my forehead was blessed by that kiss as soft as butterfly wings, then my first ever violent altercation causing the dispersal of my dinner, and now, Ms Hopkins had turned from pretty to pretty nasty. As I sat down at my desk I thought to myself what is this adventure called school? My knee caps still had bits of bitumen in them where the skin was missing, my face was throbbing where I had been struck, not only my palm but my knuckles on my right hand were throbbing, but

Page 98 5/2/2014 none of this was actually hurting me, the only thing that was hurting, really hurting, was something deep inside of me coming from somewhere near that voice that wouldn’t let me tell. Sometime in the distant future I would discover that the only thing hurting on that day was my pride. The bell rang for dinner time and we all filed out of class and into the school yard. I went and sat on a long bench and was enjoying the South Melbourne sunshine on my face. I was thinking about the king of the seagulls and if he had enjoyed my dinner. I wondered how the boy I beat on was feeling, if he was alright. I was thinking about Ms Hopkins and her reasons for striking me with that wooden ruler. I was wondering if she would have enjoyed ‘punishing’ me. Suddenly I was surrounded by a half a dozen or more really friendly kids from my class (Ms Hopkins must have been right, and I must have been wrong, after all she was the teacher and I was the pupil – but I learned one thing that day - if you fight and win you have a lot of friends). All these years later I can’t remember one of the boys name but I remember him for two reasons - one, he wore bi-focal glasses that made his eyes look really big and the other reason was he shared his spaghetti dinner with me and he became my first real ‘adventure friend’. My second newfound friend was what I remember to be the prettiest girl in class as she gave me half of her dinner grape’s, the grapes may have influenced that ‘pretty’ thought. My new found friend number three, a boy with an intimidated smile gave me half his orange juice. Vegie sangas versus spaghetti dinner, grapes and orange juice – I knew right there I would live to fight again.

Page 99 5/2/2014 The afternoon passed and at 3.30 the bell rang again for the end of my first ever day at school. Mum was at the gate and I wanted to tell her about all my new schoolbooks and avoid mentioning the sangas. “God Robert, what in hell have you been up to” she screamed; “Just wait till I get you home and your father sees the mess you are in”. That’s another story and I’m sure you’ve all been there. I can’t remember much of the rest of my first year of school except I do remember Ms Hopkins having to ‘crack’ me a few more times and towards the end of that year Ms Hopkins promoted me to Mr Watsons office. Mr Watson was a big man, he was even bigger than my dad, and was the Vice Principle of Dorcas Street South Melbourne State School. I felt three ‘cracks’ of his ruler and more than my pride was hurting on that day.

INVESTMENT IN FITZROY

Page 100 5/2/2014 Next thing I remember about this time of my life it was my first time annual school holidays. All the family had gathered for Xmas dinner (Oh, I’m sorry, perhaps I should explain – back in these days breakfast was break-the-fast, the midday meal was known as dinner and the evening meal was known as tea. If we ate later into the evening, it was known as supper. That’s why the king of the seagulls ate my dinner for his break-the-fast). Christmas lunch, so many people, it was all so exciting for a child my age, many family members and many special tenants who also lived within our environment. While Grandpa and my Dad were carving servings from the Christmas pork and huge side of lamb my Dad made the announcement that we (Dad, Mum and me) were going to shift from South Melbourne into a new house at 54 Argyle Street, Fitzroy. Shift to another house, what can this mean, what about my school I had finally gotten used to. What about the pretty Ms Hopkins and I especially wondered how we can leave Grandma and Grand pop. I will miss the village atmosphere of our two Four Level Grand Manors and the Town Hall and opposite that the Post Office and Courthouse. Just down the hill in Bank Street were all the Clarendon Street shops and only a couple of blocks walk to the South Melbourne Markets. What about all of my young friends on the streets, and most of all, these two four story Grand Manors where we shared our lives with so many interesting people. Constantly coming and going as tenants of Grandma and Grandpop in number 6 and my Mum and Dad and me in number 7 Layfield Street. Besides us as immediate family each house had enough rooms to accommodate sixteen people. And now I knew what a tenant was, I would miss these thirty two tenants that lived in all the rented rooms of

Page 101 5/2/2014 my parents and Grandparents. How could we possibly up and leave all this? I didn’t understand. Mum tried to explain that dad had for some time been working in Real Estate for a company called Kellott & Theobald out somewhere in a place called Northcote. This Fitzroy thing was all a part of his plan of investing and expanding. Life was a lot simpler when my Dad was the manager of the Cadbury’s Chocolate Factory in Smith Street, near Collingwood. Then all of this became really confusing when mum tried to explain how she met and fell in love with my Dad while working as a waitress during the war at a restaurant apparently owned by my Dad and his brother, Uncle Walter. This was all far too complicated for a grade one’er. How does your Mum marry your second Dad and then try to explain it to you? Six days later, New Year’s Day had become a part of the big plan it was today the three of us would set off in Dad’s brand new car, a bright red convertible Vauxhall. On this day we had the canvas soft-top back between the rear seats and the boot (The Trunk). On this model Vauxhall there were the ‘flashiest’ chrome strips in the shape of a ‘V’ from the front centre of the bonnet tapering off to the sides of the windscreen. Australian cars of this era were mostly all black so this car of my Dad’s had to be one of the first colored cars, it definitely was the first in war-torn Fitzroy (Newtown) . My Dad tried to explain to me how he had chosen this bright red car with the ‘V’ stripes. He said the ‘V’ represented winning, to have Victory was to win, and how this gives you control. He then said he bought this particular color because he thought of it as the same color as his son’s hair. For something that always got me into so much

Page 102 5/2/2014 trouble, finally I could be really proud of the color of my hair. On this day, I remember, ‘I loved my Dad’. It especially made me feel good when he explained that’s why his first name was Victor and that’s exactly why my middle name was Victor, after him. This “control”, made me think of my; ‘King of the Pigeons, my winning my first ever school-fight and being awarded my spaghetti, grapes and orange juice dinner – all this connected with me’ because of “control”. This all made me think about our new adventure as a family, how all together now we were changing our living environment. 54 Argyle Street, Fitzroy, ‘the new Jones family home’, was a double fronted, six roomed weatherboard house (reputed to have been built in the middle 1880’s). It had a corrugated iron roof colored dark green and a homestead style verandah which extended across the entire width of the house. A large door in the centre, complete with side panels of beautifully handcrafted leadlight glass that for me was ‘the redeeming feature of the house’. There were two medium sized windows that could ‘half slide from bottom up to open’ (this was the air-conditioning of the day) with a narrow sill, one window either side of this door with everything painted crème with green accessories matching the roof. This exemplified the simplicity of the era and the mode of building of the late nineteenth century. A chest height crème picket fence matched the length of the verandah and had an iron framed wire gate painted green in line with the front door. This picket fence housed a one meter wide, well-manicured garden also the length of the verandah with paved walkway between the gate and front door.

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On the left side of the house was a narrow laneway running down the length of the property, abutting the rear fence line of the houses that faced onto Fitzroy Street. On the right hand side, number 54 Argyle had its own rear entrance walkway with a second iron framed wire gate. A two meter fence made of corrugated iron sheets standing vertical, bordered another walk through which led to the rear of our new house. All the houses down the block to the right were Edwardian style, single fronted, two story brick veneer terraces. These were built just prior to the turn of the century. Thinking back, all this information my Dad was sharing with us, I’m sure, was his way of saying, as an Estate Agent, he had done his necessary research – todays equivalent of due diligence. As we walked down the passage way that divided the house equally into lounge and separate dining room, two bedrooms, kitchen and a spare room that he would use as a home office. As we approached the end of the passageway, I was thinking to myself again, how I would miss the South Melbourne Manors. As we walked through the rear door of ‘our new house’ dad said;

“Now here is the real reason that this house is such a good investment!” I could not believe my eyes; I rubbed my eyes and took another wide eyed evaluation… I counted seven doorways and windows to the left and seven doorways and windows to the right, and in the centre of the yard was a large timber stairway that appeared to climb a huge brick wall across the back of these two lines of ‘doors and windows’.

Page 104 5/2/2014 Two thirds of the way up this brick wall the ‘huge staircase’ veered both left and right, going up again onto a full length verandah (that matched the front of the house) that gave access to identical doors and windows as downstairs, seven doors and windows on both sides ran the length of these verandahs on both floors. “Twenty eight separate units” said my father proudly. “Number 1 on the left is a share base kitchen. Number 27 and 28 on the right are communal showers and toilets, the remaining twenty five units up and down are rented out, with a waiting list, for between 5 to 8 shillings a week” (That’s approximately $1.00 to $1.60 today – that bloody violent World War II at this point in time was still playing havoc with the economy) .

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Page 106 5/2/2014 At this stage, I found dad’s arithmetic a bit fast for me to follow. Mum looked as if she agreed with dad’s theory ‘this was a good investment’. As for me, I had almost forgotten about the South Melbourne Manors with this many people living ‘out back’ of our house, I thought I was shifting to Disneyland, although you can appreciate I did not yet know what Disneyland was. (And this description does certainly not match the previous photo of the same house. This description is very real through the eyes of a six year old and my memory of the very proud dialogue of 54 Argyle’s new owners, my mum and my dad. I would like the reader to understand this was within a year of the horrific ending of World War II. These inner Melbourne suburbs were full of squalor and poverty; both of my parents were successful go-getters in life and business. They did their best to make 54 Argyle Street their Disneyland and for me and the twenty-five tenants it worked. The previous picture was taken after we had been long gone in search of new lives and new adventures - twenty five years later in the late sixties. By 1970 it became so dilapidated it was classified as an unsafe slum area and ordered to be demolished, 54 Argyle had lasted an unbelievable ninety five years. Argyle Street originally acquired its name from the ship ‘THE ARGYLE’ which had transported many migrants and many convicts to early colonial Australia. Many had settled around Newtown (Fitzroy) and as some became local councilors they named the street after the ship).

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NEWTOWN, FITZROY – AUSTRALIAS VIOLENT YEARS

In reality, Fitzroy originally called ‘Newtown’ is the oldest suburb in Victoria. Almost a hundred years later, Newtown would have a name change, and from then on would be referred to in the text as ‘South Fitzroy’ & ‘North Fitzroy’. In 1839 when the area between Melbourne and Alexandra Parade (Saint Brigid’s Catholic School) was subdivided into vacant lots and offered for sale, not long after the remaining Newtown area was renamed Collingwood.

Page 108 5/2/2014 Because of its proximity of the newly found ‘village of Melbourne’ (which got its name change from Village to Melbourne two years earlier in 1837 from the then British Prime Minister, Viscount Melbourne). The site for this Melbourne village was selected by John Batman, two years earlier in 1835, when he conned the local aborigines with a deal for their land west and north of the bay on behalf of the Port Phillip Association. Newtown spread fast to keep abreast with the constant overflow of population growth of the village of Melbourne. This ever growing population kept Newtown in constant slum conditions, creating almost unbearable hardship and escalating violence for all its inhabitants that did not possess British aristocracy bloodlines.

To trace the origins of these Violent Years, we need to wind the clock of history back approximately another fifty years, back to the founding of the first British penal colony on the shores of Port Jackson in 1788. This original settlement, the colony of New South Wales consisted of about 1500 people established at Sydney Cove on 26 January of that year. Slightly more than fifty percent of this 1500 were convicts and the other half were soldiers, guards, and British bureaucratic officials. On the banks of the Derwent in 1803, a penal colony was established in Tasmania, which was known as Van Diemen’s Land. This prison was only for prisoners who had re-offended on the ‘Mainland’ since arriving from Britain. One year later another penal settlement was established at Port Dalrymple on Van Diemen’s north coast. The following year, in late 1805, a shipment of food and other supplies did not arrive and these settlement’s populations were threatened with starvation. Realizing the

Page 109 5/2/2014 seriousness of this situation the Lieutenant Governor, David Collins made the anti-canonical decision to administer arms to all settlers, soldiers, guards and ‘prisoners’ alike and ordered them out to bring back an abundance of kangaroos and edible wildlife as a matter of survival. Many kangaroos were shot and bought back to the settlements. It would be many years before any of the prisoners were shot or captured and brought back. As many decided they were free and they were armed, and all were the mainland most hardened and desperate criminals (Now mostly known as Outlaws) . Hobart Town as the new settlement was known, had now also become known as a place to be avoided if at all possible. There was worse, second and third offenders after arrival and many of the most notorious, dissolute and depraved convict arrivals to our shores, were shipped off far out into the South Pacific onto Norfolk Island. This was termed the Euphemistic Officialese of this era. The guards here had a reputation of being just as cruel and sadistic and they subjected these inmates (inmates? Perhaps a strange equation to a regime of grim brutality, with all the suffering & constant oppression these convicts endured creating a form of bondsman ship, they became good mates). Australia in 1828, this whole new colony was still a prison, taking more and more burden from the overcrowding problem of the prison system of Britain. This was the year our colony would have its first full scale census and it was calculated we had a ‘white population’ of 36,598 that was inclusive of almost fifty percent convicts numbering 15,728. Between 1788 & 1828 it was estimated our indigenous ‘true’ Australians had many more than one million ‘black population’.

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Horrific headlines appeared daily in ‘The Australian’ and the Sydney ‘Monitor’ and other publications of the time of violence befitting violence. This year of census was also the year of the hangman’s ‘drop’, this was a ‘trap door contraption’ making executions more expeditious as we were hanging our fellow countrymen at an average of as many as forty a year. It was quite common to receive this sentence for horse, cattle and in some cases, sheep stealing. Headlines often covered the exploits of the ‘watchmen’ (as the police were termed) against the ‘bolters’ (the term for escapees). If these bolters escaped the hangman’s noose, they may be shipped off to Van Diemen’s Land, or much worse Norfolk Island. If they were one of the ‘lucky ones’, they would simply be sentenced to twenty five, fifty, and on occasion, one hundred lashes. If one of these bolters made it to the

Page 111 5/2/2014 bush they were then faced with the wrath of the Aboriginal mass population who might spear them if provoked, or just watch them roam around hopelessly in the bush until they died of starvation, died of thirst and/or heat exhaustion or simply decided to go back and face the lashes.

The major media headlines were usually reserved for a breed of men that could buck the entire system. These were the men that could outsmart the watchmen; they were bolters of the bush that could survive all odds. The media branded them ‘The Bushrangers’. John Caesar had arrived on the first fleet to Botany Bay (1778), sentenced to seven year’s ‘transportation’. Caesar had been a Negro slave on a West Indian plantation, he had ‘bolted’ as a stow away to on a British plantation ship, a petty crime of theft for food earned him his seven year transportation on that maiden voyage to Britain’s new penal colony. Shortly after arrival the media had coined the phrase ‘Black Caesar’ as he was now in ‘White Australia’. A big man in stature standing almost two meters (he was 6ft 4ins) an imposing figure with a powerful physique, thus his measly ration of prison food left him hungry enough to take the challenge to periodically steal some food. He was convicted and his punishment was five hundred lashes. This inhumane penalty left his back skinless to the bone. Within a year of this ‘White Australia’ hospitality, he must have again been extremely hungry as he, for the second time, stole some food. Only this time to avoid punishment, he bolted into the bush, only to face a hostile Aboriginal tribe forcing him to retreat to the authorities. They obliged this second offence by sentencing him to a

Page 112 5/2/2014 term on Norfolk Island. After serving his time and upon being returned to Australia, he bolted again at the first opportunity, only to be recaptured and again flogged unmercifully. The next and final time he decided to bolt, he took several Irish inmates with him who felt empathy for the ‘black man’. They met up with other escapees and ‘Black Caesar’ now had the prestigious media title of the colonies ‘first bushranger’ and ‘black bushranger’ at that. For almost five years, he and his Irish gang robbed and plumaged and he ate abundant food to his hearts content. The Governor, John Hunter placed a bounty of five gallons (about 23 litres) of rum on the bushrangers head, a formidable reward of the time. Within eight years of the settlement of our colony in 1796 he was hunted down and shot dead at Liberty Plains, near the present suburb of Burwood in West Sydney. What an adversity that those watchers of the day could not grant an extra ration of food for the extra work he always did due to his incredible strength. ‘Black Caesar’ would become New South Wales history claim to the colony’s ‘first’ Van Diemen’s Land and Norfolk Island fame with the ‘worst’ and most feared reputation…

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NED KELLY – Born 1854, Hung in 1880

What would become a part of Victoria’s mythology and written into the annals of icon-mania folklore of ‘Victoria’s Violent History would be the Australian legend of Ned Kelly’. Born in June of 1854 and hung in Melbourne on November 11th 1880 at twenty six years of age, but enough for now of bushrangers and Ned Kelly, his time will come to be born into this story of the violent years. Suffice that you should know he is the favourite supposedly bad guy out of Australia’s folk-lore that Bob (Robert) Jones reveres and understands exactly why he

Page 114 5/2/2014 lived as he did. Given the same conditions of oligarchical oppression would have retorted to the same actions. During this period of time in our penal history (almost fifty years prior to the establishment of the villages of Melbourne and Newtown) and prior to the first census of 1828 I have painted a rather bleak picture of the treatment of our earliest arriving convicts, this in turn creating an attitude of the populace to the police which was at best ambivalent. This all fades away into oblivion if we take any time to observe the attitudes of our British Oligarchical rulers and their Aristotelian principles towards anyone not British, and not white… This continents indigenous people, from their dreamtime, know they have been living in harmony with nature for much more than several hundred thousand years, perhaps even since the dawn of human creation. This, the oldest of the elders, knows to be true. Modern archeologists have played around with their newfound fossils etc., and have extended their original guesses in the 1780’s, of one, two, or three thousand years until later on during the twentieth century they conceded maybe as long as forty thousand years. Even more recent archeological finds in the north of Western Australia, place our Aborigines history at as much as possibly one hundred and eighty thousand years, amazing how modern science will argue natures science of wise men ‘who know’. ‘White Australia’ had never counted the Aborigines as a part of our census population as prior to Gough Whitlam, abolishing the ‘white Australia policy’ in 1972 and definitely prior to our Federation in 1901. Our British hierarchy did not consider these indigenous ‘Australiana’ as human, at best they were clever animals.

Page 115 5/2/2014 In the last decade of the 1700’s as ‘our’ penal ships started arriving on the shores of ‘their’ land there were more than a million Aborigines enjoying the freedom of a nomadic lifestyle. There had been much larger numbers at various times in their history but natural disasters on many occasions had taken their toll. Nothing would match Britain’s Aristotelian Oligarchy and their attitude towards this ‘black race’ open season murder (with almost zero legal restraints), extensive and ongoing physical violence, diseases brought here by the 'white man', hunger and the worst killer of all, their broken 'spirit’ had all assailed them. All around Australia in many regions, entire societies had been vanquished. By the time the British Empire felt it was time for Federation in 1901 almost seventy percent of the estimated 270 indigenous languages and 600 dialects were in the process of disappearing entirely, along with ninety percent of the original indigenous population murdered - leaving their culture appearing as ragged and emaciated as the Aborigines themselves. Their children were habitually ‘borrowed’ from them in the government lie of ‘society assimilation’, when in fact, most of these children wound up abused as cheap (free) labor. The girls became house servants and their brothers were put to unpaid work on the farms - all were sexually abused. White men predators have raped black women for over two hundred years, yes, it still goes on, all the while this convict history of Australia and this abuse of an entire race with ethnic cleansing, had for the most part, been denied.

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“Our British hierarchy did not consider these indigenous ‘Australiana’ as human, at best they were clever animals”

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John "Jack" Broughton (c. 5 July 1704 – 8 January 1789)

Another violent attitude that arrived on the very first fleets was the noble art of ‘bare knuckle’ prize fighting and within twenty-five years of settlement we would establish our first official ‘Australian champion’ fighter. In 1814 two ex-convicts, John Parton and Charles Sefton slugged one another for more than one and a half-hours. When Sefton could no longer continue beyond fifty rounds, John Parton emerged as Australia’s first boxing titleholder. Australia wide, thousands of pugilistic bouts in the early settlement years, followed a set of rules drawn up in 1743 (Having arrived in Australia on the very first fleet in 1788) by the then English champion Jack Broughton which eventually, after almost one hundred and fifty years would be updated by Scottish nobleman John Sholto Douglas, the 8 th Marquis of Queensberry with his revolutionary ideas on

Page 118 5/2/2014 safety for the combatants. If the referee counted to ten seconds during any knockdown, the fighter who remained standing would win the bout by knockout (KO). Fifteen by three-minute rounds would be maximum allowed, and a one-minute rest period between each round became mandatory. And the rule that took the longest to enforce… all boxers will wear padding on their fists in the form of what will become known as ‘English Gentlemen’s boxing gloves’. Around the turn of the twentieth century and within the first decade of the 1900's these new modern rules from 1872 gave the locally born non-convict and ex- convict community a legitimate sport of their own, one that rivaled ‘the establishments’ horse racing. Ned Kelly excelled at this sport winning many bare knuckle bouts starting as a fifteen year old. His first prison stint as a teenager was for assaulting police even though it was a clear case of self-defense. My Frankston oval escapade has already defined how easy assault charges can unfold. And believe me my VIOLENT YEARS stories have just begun, there will be much more covered in the way of Political, Religious and economically driven deceit. During the sports historically ‘more violent years’ under Jack Broughton’s British rules, fights often lasted for hours (Many times resulting in serious injury and death) . Bouts had no official number of rounds to be contested, and a round was recorded each time a fighter was knocked down or if either fighter should drop to one knee on the ground as a result of receiving a heavy blow. Two trainers for each fighter, along with the referee were allowed in the ring at all times to spray their fighter down and/or doctor them back to ‘fight condition’ within the allowed ‘thirty seconds’ time frame. Fight condition meant within that thirty seconds, the fallen fighter had to toe-the-

Page 119 5/2/2014 scratch which the referee would etch with the side of his foot in the dust (this was before boxing rings became popular). Wrestling throws were legal and often if both agreed, kicking was allowed while ‘both combatants were standing upright’; kicking on the ground was definitely frowned upon. Hence the colloquialisms, that people fought ‘toe-to-toe’, or that a man did not feel ‘up-to- scratch’. The sport also coined the phrase ‘cant-toe-the- line’ meaning to surrender, or simply not capable of continuing, In the 1840’s the established free and easy rules of Broughton were modified to outlaw head-butting, gouging & kicking. With this new degree of apparent respectability crowd attendance at boxing matches grew to incredible popularity, perhaps paving the way for another violent sport, soon (in 1858) the self-styled VFA - ‘Victorian Football Association’ would also become legendary. If several or numerous bare knuckle altercations eventuated during a regular game of football, either between players or members and fans in the stadiums or with the most violent of all, the notorious riots ‘behind the goals’ - the game could take on legendary status.

Despite all of this violence of our early years our population was always on the increase. Like the gold rushes of California of 1848 and 1849 had captured the imagination of the world creating a hysteria which swept across Western Europe and Asia and created an open floodgate of population into West Coast California. This worldwide inertia flowed across to our humble criminal beginnings with the colony’s first gold discovery in payable

Page 120 5/2/2014 quantities at Bathurst, New South Wales in 1851. Later in this same year prospectors announced the existence of the fabulously wealthy alluvial fields at Ballarat and Bendigo. Massive population explosions in Sydney and more so in Melbourne (which was basically only in it’s infancy at this time) - this prodigious growth created the separate state of Victoria, previously known as the Port Phillip district of New South Wales. Victoria’s population in 1851 was 97,000, which jumped to 168,000 in twelve months. Within a decade, this newest formed state of the colonies had a population in excess of well over half a million. All new of violence, previously unanticipated, swept these two growth metropolis’s, as New South Wales and Victoria were swamped with these new immigrant Australians known as ‘gold diggers’ from the United States of America, all the corners of Europe and ‘Asian peoples’, Chinese, Indian, Afghan, Japanese, and so on, played havoc with our British overlords historical ‘White Australia Policy’, for the next fifty years up to the turn of the century and including the 1901 federation. Victoria, Melbourne, North & South Fitzroy and now Collingwood saw incredible hikes in property values, which for the common man created only more hardship, which in turn created even more inner suburban crime and violence. In 1880 the Australian Law system would hang an icon by the neck until he was dead. 10.00am on the 11.11.1880 Ned Kelly met with that fatal length of rope at Pentridge Prison. Multiple thousands of objectors met day after day outside the Old Melbourne Goal rallying against this decision. In 1880 the population of Melbourne was 280,000. Prior to the hanging an unbelievable 33,000

Page 121 5/2/2014 signatures were gathered on petitions in outrage to this Oligarchical Event. Imagine for one moment that percentage ratio against any offender in today’s legal system with Melbourne’s population now of approximately five million residents.

In 1880 a Melbourne farm laborer, James Glover, married with three children was abused with sixty hours work per week for 11 shillings wages. He paid 1.6 shillings rent for his accommodation at the Masters farmhouse, leaving him 9.4 shillings to live on. This was totally impossible. With this kind of oppression of a working man and his family will drive any husband/father to absolute extremes.

For capture of Ned Kelly there was a reward offered for; EIGHT THOUSAND POUNDS – DEAD OR ALIVE Work that out with today’s dollar value (130 years later) and it would still be what it always has been, the highest reward ever offered anywhere for anyone. I don’t know about you reading this but it makes me think there are many things we have never been told about this individual. A national depression struck in the 1890’s as volunteers marched off to fulfil military duties as imperial subjects, suppressing base resistance in South Africa or boxer rebels in China, fears of some terrible Asian military invasion were growing. When the Constitution of Australia came into force, on 1 January 1901, the colonies collectively became states of the Commonwealth of Australia. Then came the continuing story of violence and oppression with World War I. Followed again by another (this time devastating) recession of the 1930’s, only to be followed by another war, World War II. At this point we are almost half way

Page 122 5/2/2014 through what will eventually become the most murderous Century in the history of humankind.

BOB JONES– THE EARLY YEARS CONTINUE

With this history of the violent years of the planet earth, one would think the problems of an average school boy of my era would be miniscule. Not so, one of the planets biggest problems, was about to become a part of my life’s ‘new adventure’. We had settled into 54 Argyle Street, South Fitzroy and mum had taken me for an interview to start up at my new school, St.Brigid’s on the corner of Alexander Parade and Nicholson Street in North Fitzroy, a six block walk from my new home. On my first day, mum had dropped me off, I was not so afraid of the school ground, as being a grade two’er, I had already done this once before, but what did scare the hell out of me was all of the ‘teachers’. They were all dressed in black, the male teachers wore a white collar around their necks and all the female teachers had long black dresses hanging down to the ground. Because it was summer they wore white hats that had huge white points stretching out as wide as their shoulders, and all of them wore long black beads with big crosses hanging off them. Of course, I would soon discover that they were priests

Page 123 5/2/2014 and nuns and that they were not really ‘brothers and sisters’, as I, in my mind first envisaged. This was the largest Catholic school in the area, and was much larger than Dorcas Street, and about now I was really missing Ms Hopkins and there were no Port Melbourne seagulls anywhere in sight. Mum left me at the gate with the usual commands I had now memorized and as the bell rang I waited to see if I would lose any skin off my knees. All us kids lined up where we were told and we were given a stern talking to about discipline and about learning and that’s what we had better do, or else!.

One sunny day, in our red Vauxhall convertible, dad, mum and me were going for a drive out Sydney Road. We past this huge big grey building with barbed wire all over the place, my dad told me, “Son, that’s a place that you never want to go, that’s Pentridge Prison, this is where all the criminals live”. Just as I was wondering what a criminal was… “Anyone who’s bad and breaks the law will have the police catch up with them, then it’s off to the courthouse and a ‘judge’ decides how long the criminal will have to live here, in the Pentridge Prison ”.

All of these regular comments re civil correctness made sense as I learned more about this second father of mine. Born into farm life in the country hills of Sylvan, Victoria he worked with his five brothers on a large family owned property. Grandpa Jones, then a relatively young man and for whatever reason he regularly took to any of the boys with

Page 124 5/2/2014 lashes from a four meter stock whip. Working 10 to 12 hours a day with only Sundays off was a near killer without the violent actions of this lash. Over the years this violence and laborious lifestyle became unbearable and my Dad finally decided to simply pack up and take off, just as Bruce and Walter, two of his older brothers had already done six months earlier. Since the two eldest sons had absconded Grandpa Jones had become much more demanding on his sons that were left to do the work, the whippings became intense. Dad started thinking it could not be any worse in the big city of Melbourne. This turned out to be wishful thinking as this was within a decade of the end of World War I. The era at the ending of The Squizzy Taylor rampage and only a couple of years before the Big Depression would begin. Regardless, my Dad arrived in the big city scene as a teenager. He was as strong as a bull due to being forced to work hard labor for ridicules amounts of hours on the farm – he was tough as nails due to being flogged on a regular basis with a stock whip. He was now living in Collingwood, one of the few inner suburbs of Melbourne amongst the squalor of the common man, with the out-of- control corruption & crime at all levels of society was certainly a new education. Pure luck would land him a job laboring on the floor at Macrobertsons Chocolate Factory at 416 Gore Street, Fitzroy (A huge trademark building of the Melbourne skyline of the day with its tremendous electronic signage). His attitude to hard work soon placed him in management. This carried him through the Great depression on good wages and he saved diligently. Apparently a certain amount of people continue eating their favorite chocolates even during a depression. When Macrobertsons decided

Page 125 5/2/2014 to shift their operations to Ringwood Dad decided it was time to take on his own new adventure journey. Joining the Victorian Police force with a desire to do whatever he could to improve the lot of the common man, and help wherever with all of this street crime and corporate corruption. Finding out no matter how hard he fought these two fronts it was an impossible task to even make a dent. Even worse as he told me in later life; ‘When you breathe and live to catch the shit of human mentality, you have no choice but to think like that shit’. He figured World War II would be a better cause that he could dedicate himself to, and signed up. Possibly due to him being almost thirty years of age he was positioned in Darwin (Totally disappointed as he felt this would have him miss the action he was so desperately seeking). How wrong could he have been as the Japanese had recently BOMBED PEARL HARBOUR and eight weeks later they came to Australia for the BATTLE OF DARWIN with much more air power dropping much more and much heavier artillery on the Darwin Harbor and surrounds on 19 th February, 1942. These air attacks on Darwin & surrounds continued for almost two years until November 1943, by which time the Japanese had bombed Darwin 64 times. During the war other towns in northern Australia were also the target of Japanese air attack, with bombs being dropped on Townsville, Katherine, Wyndham, Derby, Broome and Port Hedland. On an extremely ‘Violent Night’ during many days of continuous and relentless bombing he had dug into his trenches with several of his best mates close by. Hearing two of these mates let out with that terrifying final scream, that one that is cut short as it accompanies death. He

Page 126 5/2/2014 instinctively knew he had lost two of his best mates on that violent night, awakening early from a horrific dazed sleep full of nightmares and convulsions to find his nervous system in a state of total disarray. His full head of thick black hair had disappeared; he was bald on the top with thin strands of snow white hair remaining on the sides and the back of his head. This would age his appearance ten years during eight hours overnight. After this violent stint in the face of the Japanese attacking Darwin, without even leaving Australia he came home suffering shell shock and post war depression. From here he was sent for medical rehabilitation, this care was almost nonexistent of the very much needed psychiatric evaluation & treatment. Shortly afterwards an honorable discharge had him invest into a restaurant with older brother Walter (Who had left the farm and the whip six months earlier). Their new Café Algarve needed staff and apparently mum got a job waitressing. Victor Sydney Jones fell in love and married my Mum. I think my mum married as a natural support line for her and her young son. Perhaps from this situation a marital love flourished although it was rarely visually prevalent (These were different times – these post war acculturations). Regardless, we all went to live together in South Melbourne at #7 with my notorious Grandpa living next door at #6, although I never did see the infamous stock- whip.

Now, to an almost seven year old all this stuff about bad guys and prisons should have been pretty terrifying stuff, for me I already held an intrigue. Saint Brigid’s had a huge red fence right around the entire school and I was

Page 127 5/2/2014 wondering to myself if there was any connection to that horrible Pentridge prison. Now, this comment of “or else!” had me thinking ‘I had better learn or I will be in real trouble’. Next came time for prayer, a lot more prayer than we had at Dorcas Street that first day. Funny thing this morning, there was no mention of ‘God Saving Our Gracious King’, then the same filing off and into our new classrooms and it felt good to be a grade two’er. More prayers, learning, discipline, and then more prayers was pretty much all we did during that first week. The pecking order of the school yard was easy for me, a year at Dorcas Street, a half a dozen altercation wins under my belt, a lot of friends, gave me an air of confidence that the other kids must have sensed. Any cracks about my red hair were put in their place right away, what I did not have an answer for was my inferiority status of starting in grade two. How come I had gone to a ‘state school’ before I came to Saint Brigid’s ‘A Catholic school’? I had no answer because I did not understand. Mum had tried to explain I was a Protestant and not mention that to anyone. Protestant, not to be mentioned to Catholics, I did not understand but I did like the word. My teacher was Sister Josephine, but we were told just to call her ‘Sister’. Sister was elderly, she was at least double the age of Ms Hopkins, she looked very unhappy all the time and she would delight in picking on me constantly, even when I tried to learn, and hardest of all when I tried that discipline. Sister could never remember my name because whenever she spoke to me she called me ‘smart Alec’, “Sister, my name is Bob, Bob Jones”, “I know that, smart Alec”.

Page 128 5/2/2014 I constantly tried to explain to my mum that I was sure this particular sister did not like me, and that I was sure I did not like her or Saint Brigid’s, it was like that prison Dad told me about. But my mum and dad, with all their tenants and their investments and everything, never had time to really listen to me. I figured as usual this is something else I will have to handle by myself. After the first week of walking me to school, mum said now I could go on my own as long as I was ‘extra careful crossing with the green light in Brunswick Street over Alexander Parade as it is a main road for traffic in and out of the city’. There were two lanes of traffic each way and back, then it had a wide nature strip in the center, bordered by stones that someone said those convicts from Pentridge had laid a long time ago. I noticed every few days that a man with a horse and cart with bags and boxes of bottles, went up Alexander Parade towards the cemetery, all the way up at the top of that big hill. “Bottles, boddlo”, he would call out and then every couple of houses… “Whoa, pull up Phar Lap”. Of course, it was not the real Phar Lap, I would discover. Phar Lap had died in 1932 as the tragic hero of Australian horse racing. For many years, stuffed and in a glass case, he was in the Melbourne Museum, which in those days blended with the Art Gallery so he seemed a work of art as well as a Shrine of Pilgrimage, I used to go and look at Phar Lap in his glass case when I was a bit older. On the back of this boddlo’s cart was a platform just a step off the ground, and on this platform a steel frame that supports a huge hessian bag that the boddlo throws old newspapers into. Boy, if I ever jumped in that bag and buried myself under the papers when no one was looking,

Page 129 5/2/2014 I’d disappear from everyone’s view, including Sister Josephine and then I’d have the whole day off school, now this would be an ‘adventure’. I thought about this for a long time, must have been a coupla weeks, then after a Saturday and Sunday, it was Monday morning. I had got to school about 8.30am and I was thinking to myself, ‘this is a good day for waggin’ it this sunny Monday morning’. “Bottles, boddlo… bottles, boddlo”, I could hear him coming from up over Brunswick Street, I reckoned. Oh boy, if only he gets here before the bell rings. He did, I looked around, no Sister Josephine, no other nuns or priests in sight. I dodged the traffic to the nature strip in the middle of Alexander Parade. Now as I checked the inward bound city traffic, I watched out for the boddlo. Both were all clear, no traffic due to the red light at Brunswick Street, and the boddlo had gone into one of the terraced houses with a sugar bag over his shoulder. One quick look every which way, up onto his platform careful not to startle Phar Lap, I clambered up a stack of folded sugar bags onto the back of the cart, up onto the steel frame and I dived over the rail and into the big bag, in amongst hundreds of newspapers and magazines. My heart was pounding itself almost out of my chest, exactly like just before I have to fight another kid. Only thing different, it didn’t stop like as soon as I started to fight. This time it just kept pounding, and when the boddlo came out I could hear the bottles clinking as he took them from the bag and stacked them in the boxes along the side of the cart. My heart was now punching the inside of my chest and then it was punching my back trying to burst its way out of my body. I closed my eyes so tight! Just to be sure no one could see me. It must have taken all of an

Page 130 5/2/2014 hour for the next six blocks as he continued to load up his cart at every coupla houses. “Giddup, Phar Lap,… bottles, boddlo….bottles, boddlo. Whoa, pull up Phar Lap”, was all I could hear during that time it took me to pry a small hole between the strands of hessian. At the top of the hill, crossing over what I would later discover to be Lygon Street, Carlton, there it was, my ‘Adventure Land’, I could see through my magic hole it was ‘The Melbourne Cemetery’. So much for an almost seven year old to ‘discover’, years later I would learn that this stretch of road that Phar Lap must have thought was Flemington Race Course, as he cantered along Cemetery Road East, swung around and down Swanston Street between The Melbourne University and Queen Elizabeth Hospital. The next time I heard; “Whoa, pull up Phar Lap”, was at a row of terraces opposite the university and as soon as the boddlo went into that house I made my break, out of the bag flipped my legs over the steel frame and onto the tray, I slid down the hessian bags and jumped off the ramp, I was free and it was only two blocks back to my ‘Adventure Land’. I was practicing my learning by looking at all the biggest and best grave stones, and practiced ‘me readin’ and ‘me arithmatic’, 1-8-8-2 to 1-9-3-2 (that was the same year Phar Lap went to horse heaven), P-E-T-E-R to P-A- U-L and M-A-R-Y, were names I could read on different headstones from over a hundred years ago. Many years later I would remember these three names in my role as a grown up bodyguard. One grave was so full of beautiful fresh flowers, it smelt like Ms Hopkins. As I thought about my teacher from my old State School I found myself comparing her to my new teacher, Sister Josephine and

Page 131 5/2/2014 my new school that was like that prison Pentridge my Dad warned me about. Comfortable and at ease with myself and a little tired from my adventure journey, I laid down on this gravestone in the midday sunshine and I dozed off to sleep for some time. I was having my favorite dream about my ‘King of the Pigeons’ , mine and my Dads names, and about ‘winning’ and maintaining ‘control’. “Hey Reddah”, This voice woke me up with a shock, two kids, one as big as me the other about a year older, a fat kid with freckles and brown hair, suddenly I felt angry. “Who called me Reddah?” I demanded to know; “I did ya silly shit, what are ya so angry about?” said the kid my age and my size with a real summer holiday brown complexion. He had black hair, cut in a short ‘crew cut’ and he had incredible sparkling blue eyes… “Well – I don’t like anyone callin’ me by me hair”, I said building my anger; “An’ if you do it again I’ll have to punch both of ya as hard as I can”, giving little or no room for negotiation. Years later I would learn you always leave a side door open, never push to a corner leaving nowhere to go. This day it didn’t matter about ‘no side door’ left open. “Hay, I’m Paul this is me brother Terry, I like ya, what’s ya name, and hey, we don’t want any punches”. “My names Bob, Bob Jones, Robert Victor Jones, I like my friends to call me Bob and I’m waggin’ it coz I don’t like me school or me flamin’ teacher”. “Oh, yeah, we are waggin’ it too, but we are waggin’ it coz today’s Mondy, and after Saturdy an Sundy there’s heaps o’ bottles here everywhere in the cemetery. Me an’ me brother Terry have ta get all these bottles for the boddlo by two o’clock”. It was then I noticed how worn out and how dirty their clothes were and I figured their father

Page 132 5/2/2014 didn’t do any investing or have any tenants paying rent every week to live in their two ‘Town Houses’ with 32 tenants in South Melbourne and the ‘outback’ in South Fitzroy with 25 tenants. “We get a half penny for any bottles with chips or chinks. An a penny for the good ones, an any Marchants or any soft drink bottles we get a tray, so for thrupence we gotta find heapsa softies”, I was thinking when Paul grows up he’ll be a damn good investor and he’ll have a lotta tenants. Just then Terry chipped in… “We aint got no dad, so we waggit an make sum money to help ou’ our mum pay ‘er bills”, that’s when I noticed the hessian bags off to one side at least half full of bottles, I guessed. A couple of young boddlo’s I guessed. “Hay, we god an extra bag, ya wanna give us a hand and well split even three ways when na boddlo gets ‘ere?” Boy this new adventure was the best, we filled a full bag each, and I was the lucky one, I found the most Marchants and softies. Turned out they had ‘borrowed’ three hessian bags that morning off the boddlo. “An neez boddle bags a werf a zack each (A zack was slang for sixpence) three bags, that’s one deenah an’ sixpence. Plus no chippies or chinks in any of ‘em, ‘nat many Marchants ‘n’ soft ones… nats so much divide by three.” Paul was so smart, all that ‘rithmatic, all out of his head! I did not understand how the hessian bags were worth a zack each if they were borrowed off the Boddlo, lucky it was Paul who was so smart at ‘rithmatic. “Nah Paul, ya gotta divide by four coz we hafta count in ya mum for her share”, I declared. Turned out they ‘borrowed’ those three hessian bags this morning when I had my eyes squeezed so tight no one could see me. I had made two new best friends.

Page 133 5/2/2014 We ‘shook hands’ on our ‘deal’ and we made a pact to spend every Monday together, forever… we heard the bell ringing at the Carlton State School two blocks away in Neill Street and I figured I would have to hoof it to be home from school about normal time and I’d need a secure place for my quarter share that worked out to be two bob and eight pence. That’s what I liked best about money, twelve pennies was a shilling, but it had the same name as me.

‘WHACK’, and a crowd of more than one hundred during one lunchtime roared in the schoolyard as I hit Ronnie Johnson flush across the side of his head with a roundhouse elbow. This short-range weapon had by now won several of my childhood bareknuckle encounters. I had learned to use my elbows one time when both my hands, fists and every finger was really sore from a previous scuffle. Ronnie was in the same grade (grade two) as Brian, and me. He was bigger than either of us and much stronger physically than I was. Brian was my best friend at Saint Brigid’s Catholic School. Brian and I had become friends over recent weeks (no need for Brian to have a surname – especially due to the story he had ‘confessed’ to me, which began our friendship). Due to the fact he was always so quiet, not just like other quiet kids, he was the first kid I’d known that ‘lived pretty much in a constant state of sadness’, and I was just happy to be alive, regularly playing truancy, joking, fighting, having fun, and always getting into trouble with Sister Josephine. I guessed it was a case of opposites attracting, anyway, I had taken the time to teach Brian how to waggit. Whenever we were in the boddlo’s bag, or just sittin’ in the

Page 134 5/2/2014 cemetery feedin’ the pigeons with our vegemite sangas or foolin’ around with the rest of the ‘cemetery gang’, there was now at least a dozen of us, these were the only times my mate Brian would let his defenses down and laugh ‘with us’. The days we did go to school he would just shrink into his shell, back again into that constant state of unhappiness. That fateful day ‘of confession’, the four of us interlocked all our hands together and swore an oath on all our ‘mothers to the grave’, that we would ‘never tell’ Brian’s secret… his breathing faltered, and his fists clenched as he began to tell us how his dad was a nasty drunk who regularly beat up on his mum, and beat up on Brian and his kid sister several times every week, especially when he lost money gambling, or often as not he was out of work and angry. “I got all this shit happnin at ‘ome” he almost cried thinking about it, and then he continued; “Then since I started school last year at Saint Brigid’s…” he paused and he looked down at the tombstone we were all sitting on; “Ya promised ya wont never tell”, another long pause like he was searching for hidden words. Well that bruvu O’Rielly who teaches all us choirboys our hym singin’, he mucks about wiv sum of us”, Paul butted in, “Wha’ ya mean, dis bruvu O’Rielly creep, heez a poof or sumphin’?” Paul was not only good at rithmatic, he was real good at reasoning as well, what’s a poof? I would have to ask Paul in a quieter moment. “Ah, I dunno, but he gets me out the back of the alter an he mucks around… you know, he mucks aroun’ wif me clothes and mucks aroun wif me under me clothes, an sometimes he takes me clothes off an it gets worse,

Page 135 5/2/2014 much worse an’ he hurts me worse than me dad when dad beats me”. “Jees, I hates dem poofs, I got a mate, Joey, and ’ez in na boy scouts… an nat scout master, ‘eez a poofta to and ‘e makes Joey cry all da time as well”. We all went very quiet for a long time thinking about our best mate’s ‘confession’.

Ronnie Johnson, this bigger kid than us, was a bit of a bully in our Saint Brigid’s grade two class (By now I had learned much about Ned Kelly, and I knew enough to understand Ned would never be a bully) . He had tested me a couple of times but had left a side door open for me, just in case. But on this day in question, he had made a big mistake, he had picked on Brian (being at school, Brian was in his shell as usual) and to pick on a mate that was even worse than picking on me. “Hay, ya big shit for brains, ya pickin on me mate?” “I don’t wan’ no trubble wiv yoo, Bob Jones” “Okay, okay Ronnie, no trouble wiv me” then I hit him three times with my fists hard and as fast as I could. Ronnie Johnson could not fight, he was just bigger and stronger and a bully. He closed his eyes and grabbed me around the chest and attempted to squeeze the stuffing out of me, and of course, to stop me from hitting him. I had been in this position with bigger kids twice before, in what I now called ‘my magic circle’ and it was getting easier. I slid one leg in-between Ronnie's legs, relaxed and hung down on his arms, making him strain to hold me up. Boy, Ronnie was even stronger than the other two, for about ten more seconds, yep then he was

Page 136 5/2/2014 weaker than a kitten and snorting like the puff’n’billy tourist train up in the Belgrave mountains at Cockatoo.

‘WHACK’, the desired crowd had arrived as a result of the three punches and the short stand-up wrestling match. I knew I had this Ronnie, fighting with me was something he did not want any part of. He was tired and as usual my fighting now filled me with electric energy, I don’t know why or how, I just know it does and will do it every time its needed. This desired crowd was just so I could show as many kids as possible he was just a bully. Whack, was that sound as I caught him with my elbow and Ronnie Johnson went ploughing into the bitumen took all the skin right off both of his knees. I was standing in the middle of my magic circle, all around was about a hundred kids, All the girls were screaming and all the boys, especially the bigger kids, were cheering. Even though Ronnie Johnson had picked on me mate and had backed down from me, I still felt real good thinking about Brian and the reason for his ‘unhappiness shell’. Feelin’ good was short lived. Two of the brothers and Sister Josephine came hustling through the crowd; “I knew it, I knew it would be you again you smart Alec”. Sister Josephine grabbed me by my ear and marched me off across the schoolyard . (Only my mum and my dad knew about the problem I had with my ears at this stage of my life. In another couple of years it would take a serious operation on my ears, at the eye and ear hospital up at the top of Brunswick Street in Alexander Parade, to fix. In those early years if I ever put anything smaller than my elbow into either ear I could suffer thunderous earache for hours or sometimes days).

Page 137 5/2/2014 By the time Sister Josephine had dragged me across the yard and into the school chapel, my whole head was throbbing and I was suffering from one of those earaches that I knew would last for days. She marched me all the way by the ear, down the centre aisle between row after row of polished red cedar pews each with their kneeling prayer rails. Past the ‘holy water’, up to where dozens of candles were burning. Now she pulled my ear down and dropped me to my knees and then twisted my ear back until my eyes focussed on the feet of the good Lord himself, Jesus Christ!

WHERE JESUS LIVED WHEN I WAS A KID

Page 138 5/2/2014 This divine statue of Jesus had always scared ‘the Hell’ out of me. It was at least twice as big as any man on earth, well from my perspective he certainly was (Jesus must have been one of those Giants they often talked about in our Bible reading sessions) it looked both serene and intimidating at the same time. I always wondered if he was really that big before; “Now you little gutter snipe, you little smart Alec, you listen to me as God is my witness”. As she said the word God, she took her black beads up in her other hand and rolled them between her fingers with her thumb, raised them and kissed them. I was looking at the feet of Jesus and had never noticed before his feet were crossed one over the other with a big bolt that had him nailed to that huge ‘old oak’ cross. There was blood all over his feet which appeared to be dripping down off his toes. I thought ‘Jeez, I bet that hurts as much as my ear is aching right now!’ Now, she twisted my ear to make my eye line rise slowly up the body of Jesus. “Bob Jones, you little smart Alec, do you think you can fool me or the Lord God? More thumb and finger rolling of the beads and another kiss for her Lord God. “Jesus might be here in the chapel but he sees everywhere, he watches all over all evil. Every time you’re bad, he tells me! Ha, how else did you think I always know when you’re being bad?” Another two twists of my ear and I saw the loin cloth Jesus was wearing and she now had me focused on his anorexic ribcage with more blood drops on his upper chest and collar bones. “You know, don’t you with your damned red hair of the devil, you will never amount to anything, you are ‘No good’ you are ‘Bad’ nothing but a smart Alec”. Sister Josephine really was hurting me now as she twisted my

Page 139 5/2/2014 ear across to the left and twisted me back across to the right. This I guess, had its desired effect, I had never been this scared in my life. I had just noticed for the first time poor Jesus, he had huge steel nails driven right through the centre of his hands and there was blood everywhere, but you know, not a sound out of Jesus. Then she twisted my ear one last time. “Bob Jones, you will live your life in hell on earth and in your afterlife you will live in Purgatory eternally and there shall be no repentance for you, as the Lord God is my witness”. More frantic kissing as she finally let go of my ear and held her beads with both hands and kissed her cross, and kissed her cross, and… I placed my hand over my ear and it was throbbing and then I saw, for the first time ever really, the face of Jesus. I saw horns digging into his forehead and temples with blood trickling down over his cheeks and nose and onto his shoulders and chest. Then I noticed his whole body, his skin was pearl white, much whiter than mine, then an electric shock of fear struck me along with mass confusion as I saw his eyes and hair, the color of mine, he had ‘blue’ eyes and his shoulder length hair was ‘red’. What was this evil woman of the church trying to tell me, at one time had Jesus been bad? What is the difference between Jesus and the Devil is there any difference? All those times I had been hit across my open palms with my ‘teachers’ wooden rulers, Oh no! Was Sister Josephine telling me I would have nails driven through my hands? I had been getting so scared for so long, now my whole system was transforming across into anger. I set myself and looked into the eyes of Jesus Christ as if I was about to strike my fists out at the whole world (This is the first

Page 140 5/2/2014 time in my life I have ever tried to express this experience in writing, in fact, I have never orated these words before). I stared deep into the eyes of Jesus and an extreme calm came over me as all my fear and anger subsided. Most amazing of all there was no more pain in my ears, all that thundering earache had totally disappeared. As each of our eyes focused within the others, I thought to myself that Jesus wanted me to receive his personal message...

‘Master Robert Jones, I am truly sorry for what is happening to you and your friends down there at this moment in time. I would love to make things better but as you can see, my hands are tied’.

On this actual day I made a lifetime promise to myself that as I travel through this life for as long as that might take – I will sever this relationship with these evil people dressed in black cloaks with white collars & white pointed hats. I will fight this evil religion and as I learn more about how evil all other religions are I will broaden my attack and fight against all of their deceit. At this early age I already know about winning and ‘control’ and as I grow older and start my martial arts journey I do learn how to;

CONCEIVE - BELIEVE - ACHIEVE & RECEIVE

During this new journey and as I become a teacher I will lead by example and everyone I ever befriend I will guide them on a better path. Explain to them about the true meaning of FEAR as the major tool used for religious and financial domination. FEAR is a major tool used by our politicians to control the proletarians.

Page 141 5/2/2014 Personal FEAR, in the very beginning often starts from the bully concept in the school yard. This becomes the major enemy throughout our lives that we must face continually, challenge & defeat. When you overcome your personal fears you will then master your own destiny:

“FEAR”, “False Estimate - of the - Actual Reality”

I remember how my father always emphasized that as I gained life’s experiences, as I get older I would be lucky if I could count my best friends on the fingers of one hand. I have always respected his advice as his building blocks. As I am passing through my life, personal friends number already in the multiple thousands. By the time I have achieved my ultimate 10 th Degree (The top and final step on the martial arts ‘Ladder of Life’). During the year 2020 and beyond - within the realm of the computer world - I have already promised myself that my ‘friends’ will number in the multiple millions - and I always keep my promises …

UNITY IS THE LORE OF THE UNIVERSE ‘Our ability to penetrate & unite all things of matter & Spirit’

School number three in as many years…George St Three years and we shift to 25 Harry Street Thornbury and I am off to Penders Grove Thornbury

One year and off to Ivanhoe Grammar

Off to 54 Mitchell St Northcote

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PART THREE:

SEX AND THUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ ROLL

13. The Phantom Twins 141

14. The Olympic Games – Melbourne

15. The Northside Gangs

16. Got To Get Out

17. Back In The Deep End THE PHANTOM TWINS

THE OLYMPIC GAMES – MELBOURNE

THE NORTHSIDE GANGS

GOT TO GET OUT

BACK IN THE DEEP END

R. V. JONES & 20th CENTURY CONNECTIONS – PART ONE

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The Robert V. Jones violence story actually commenced with his mother becoming pregnant during those inaugural days of World War II. From the embryo stage and for the next nine months of incubation he would ‘unknowingly sense’ the stresses of his mother, and the traumatic energy of the world surrounding the both of them. Being born into and experiencing adolescence through an entire World War, was no cause for any limitations on the amount of love showered upon this infant that was born with not only his mother’s red hair, he was also born blessed with her audacious Irish attitude & accompanying infallible Celtic spirit. This sharing of solo parent sibling togetherness and matriarchal lovingness, was almost as if they both knew what was about to happen as a result of this bloody war, and what it was about to take away from both of them.

These bloody and Violent Years of World War II were created by the Dictator of Nazi Germany dir Fuhrer Adolf Hitler. An Aryan Jewish connection presents itself here with Alois Shicklgruber, Adolf’s father was born of a Jewish mother Maria Anna Shicklgruber. Like the Celts, Jewish children take the mothers name. He would change his name to Alois Hitler (i.e. German for ‘one who lives in a hut’) this allowed his son to be born legally as Adolf Hitler. Adolf Hitler and his ‘Germanic Global Vision’ for a superior human race, via a breeding program of pure Germanic Aryans Hitler had come marginally close to success, the taking over and complete control of planet earth. This would be at the sacrifice of more than sixty millions of human lives (10% of these being six million of his Grandmothers race) and mass devastation of much of Europe -

Page 144 5/2/2014 also resulting in the death of the biological father of a very young Bob Jones.

Bobs father, being born of a Jewish mother and being given ‘his’ father’s Scottish name Thompson (Due to his Jewish mother being excommunicated from her ‘faith’ as a result of this mixed religious communion – had their grandson not share the Jewish family name of ‘Rothschild’), this meant that these parents of Bobs generic father unwittingly supplied Bob Jones with a strong 2nd generation Jewish connection. Bobs father never really having time to know this son of his (Not even having time to marry the mother) had gone overseas, for what he believed to be the defense of Australian shores. Coming to a rude awakening with several years inside prisoner of war camps eventually contributing to his premature death!

Hitler’s allies, the Japanese, had bombed Pearl Harbor and bought America into a war the Yanks were not particularly interested in. The Japanese bombed their way across the Pacific, continuing down through the South Pacific, devastating Papua New Guinea and eventually Darwin, Australia. Before the end of this ‘bloody’ war his mother would seemingly fall in love and marry the proprietor (Victor Sydney Jones) of the restaurant ‘Algarve’ where she was waiting tables.

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“When will the global unison of human thought ever cease such simplistic contrivance of evil?”

: Robert V. Jones – 21st century warrior

Page 146 5/2/2014 Defending our northern shores against the Japanese air attacks would have a young Robert Victor Jones’ stepfather experience sufferable post war trauma for the rest of his natural life. This mindless cost of human life and suffering continued until the Americans introduced the world to a new dimension of modern warfare. The catastrophic ‘American Atom Bomb’, our 20th Century ultimate ‘terrorist attack’, which was truly the ultimate ‘weapon of mass destruction’ for its time in our history. This was aimed specifically at the Japanese civilian population of the city of Hiroshima and three days later at Nagasaki, becoming responsible for the murder of 250,000 men women and (60%) children.

‘It is a little-known fact that 3,000 civilian U.S. citizens were in Hiroshima at the time of the bombing—about the same number as were killed in 9/11. Most were women and children, and history has nearly succeeded in erasing all knowledge of them’.

This ‘necessary’ act of terror totally annihilating all elderly citizens, mothers, wives and young children. Three entire generations eliminated from the planet earth in a miniscule moment of time, leaving an indelible spot within the subconscious mind of a young master bob jones. At this time a young mother named Hilda (Heather) Mary Sharrock was considering changing her marriageable surname from Sharrock to Thompson or Jones. She was also endeavoring to teach her five year old son the meaning behind such a devastating world war, with its cause for them exchanging names and fathers. Plus at the same time as the war was coming to an end she was preparing her now seemingly grown up son for his first day at primary school, his own real adventure. These cities total structural devastation which caused the demise of Japans

Page 147 5/2/2014 military spirit (With this horrendous terrorist attack murdering parents, wives, children and grandparents – what was left for the young Japanese soldier to fight for) this would create the final chapter written into our history for the crumbling of Adolf Hitler and his Germanic Empire. This bellicose dictator’s supposed eventual suicide (if you believe the propaganda produced by the winners club) brought long awaited peace to the world. Albeit only temporary due to continued conflicting years in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Israel and Palestine etc; (All of whom today have developed Nuclear Power Warfare capabilities. Plus China, plus India plus? This ‘WIN’ was followed by mass depression and psychological meltdown of our young heroes returning home to western ‘free- world’ shores. ‘Totally’ wounded; physically, mentally & worst of all, spiritually. Practically nothing in the way of support for the then hard to identify ‘psychological post trauma stress syndromes’ was provided during these times. With what little there was, having no benefit as these men through both war and peace had been assimilated into a ‘fanatically religious’ patriarchal based society. Where it was unmanly to complain about anything, let alone ask anyone for help. Bob Jones’ parents and his grandparents had lived through two world wars divided by ‘The Great Depression’. He remembers well his step-father’s advice during these adolescent years;

“Son, two world wars were bad enough, but I hope as you grow and travel through life, that you will never have to live through a repeat of anything comparative to this depression. In a war we can still be our own individual heroes but in times of depression, nothing strips a man more of his individual dignity and identity and the basic rites of being a human”.

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PART TWO – CELTIC ARTWORK HERE

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As a result of this half a century of violence including the recent World War II, our country had a serious genetic imbalance. Due to our conceived convict heritage, British Empire war mongering Sir Winston Churchill made a point of always- placing Australian militia right there in the front lines of all war zones.

‘Why should a British soldier suffer when it was just as easy to sacrifice the son of a Celtic colonial convict, after all, history dictates how these Celts love a good fight’.

This fact has been emphatically proven with war records showing Australians far surpassing all, becoming the highest death and injury rates of all the British Colonies during both world wars. Now, in the middle of the 20th Century, and we as a Nation identified with our problem resulting from Sir Winston Churchill’s war time decision making skills. His good mate, our *Prime Minister Sir Robert Menzies in an attempt to ease this genetic imbalance, decided to open up immigration with an affordable ten-pound (at this time we still had currency equivalent to the British pound) one-way tickets for young male

Page 149 5/2/2014 Italians, followed by the male youth of Greece, and then many others. With no organized social integration programs, there was a definite ‘common man’ animosity towards these ‘unusually different ethnic males’ arriving upon our shores. This gave birth to a Violent Decade of extreme racism of which a teenage Bob Jones would be thrust into the ‘front-lines’.

*Prime Minister Sir Robert Menzies, the longest serving Liberal leader in Australian history, the same leader that was exporting for profits, many thousands of tons of scrap iron to the Japanese. This was within one year prior to the declaration of commencement of ‘this, the Second World War’. Earning him the nationwide nickname of ‘PIG IRON BOB’, and with satirical endearment he was publicly criticized and condemned with:

“Hey, Pig Iron Bob, if you keep sellin’ this fuckin’ steel to those bloody Jap’s, there’s a big chance they will turn it into bombs and come ‘ere ‘n blow the fuck out of this beautiful country, and us as well!”

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This was the antiwar and political sentiment of this time in our history, preached fervently by Labor Union leaders and their good mates (supposedly a bad element of our society’s tough ‘bad guys’, our Painters and Dockers). Their warnings fell on

Page 151 5/2/2014 tone deaf ears. Finally with no other recourse these tough ‘bad guys’ disrupted our docklands. They did this with nationwide supported strikes of all their union and bad guy dockland mates refusing to load any more of that f…..g scrap iron onto any ships bound for f…..g Japan. History would certainly suggest these national strikes were finally performed, supposedly by a bunch of tough ‘good guys’. How different things may have been without them?

Some things never change, our second longest running Liberal Prime Minister, Mr John Howard unashamedly established his open trade export of uranium to Communist controlled China. Plus ‘his’ commitment of many of ‘our’ 18 - 20 year old kids, risking their wellbeing as well as their lives in Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan for the New World Orders multiple trillion dollar ‘OIL’ supply and demand industry – not to mention the multiple trillion dollar ‘poppy harvesting plantations’ for the supply of 90% of the world’s heroin supply. One can only hope we do not have a World War III anytime in the near or too distant future. Can you dare to even imagine what might be used as weapons whenever this war might eventuate? It’s beyond me but one thing is for sure… After a World War III we will be back to ‘chucking yonnies and point sharpened sticks’ at one and other again. I’m sure we all know if history teaches us anything, this humbling fact is more than likely to eventuate. Especially with irrational Presidents of the United States of America, like our recent war mongering George W. Bush (Johnny Howard’s best mate) and the new puppet of the global regime Barack Obama. I’m sure as you read this, you are also aware these same leaders have totally abolished the entire concept of Painters and Dockers of post war fame. Next time around where will our tough ‘good-bad-guys’ come from to help save

Page 152 5/2/2014 the day? Certainly not from our current style of (i) Pompous politician pretenders, (ii) Or our overpaid corporate entity recession leaders, (iii) Most certainly not from our pathetic pedophile priests.

‘War Babies”, (today’s Baby Boomers) was an expression given to all children born during and within the first ten years of the end of the war. During this decade and while experiencing national post war poverty and growing up in Melbourne’s inner suburban slums, these youthful adolescent years had Bob Jones learning the ‘social skills’ of the time. With slingshot-ting, being skillful stone throwing (chucking yonnies) being the weapon of the day and with handmade ‘Billy carts’ as the military mode of transport for these multiple gangs of young kids fuelled by religious fanaticism. This Anglo Celtic socially influenced stigma of this era was to hate Protestant pigs, Catholic dogs and definitely don’t mix with those Jew boys. Without even knowing which of these Abrahamic God fearing groups he belonged to, Bob learned to fight ferociously, gaining gravel rash on his knees, while still wearing short pants.

Within a few years, and now as a mature adolescent it was kosher to hate with a passion ‘anyone’ who lived in an adjoining suburb. Simply living on the other side of ‘that’ street or road was socially intolerable. Our mobility beyond the Billy carts eventually became flash fast cars. Alcohol and females all of a sudden became something you went to bed with… and the violence was becoming even more life threatening (This was all many decades before major outlaw biker gangs, ‘movie star’ gangsters and Asian drug lords - all sharing a Trillion dollar industry - would come into vogue. You do not need to concern yourself with the social problems of this epidemic: everything is

Page 153 5/2/2014 well entrenched, we are already living within the midst of this as an extremely violent participation of our new millennium!).

We already had Irish gangsters that no one dared talk about and we had crooked Irish coppers (with a hierarchy of Freemasonry at the time) that no one knew anything about, but talked about constantly anyway (A throw back result of violent blood stains on our 19th Century colonial days with blood spilt on the Eureka Stockade flag being only one of many ‘casus belli’ altercations that divided good guys and crooks from these anti-social cops and their despot oligarchic political bosses).

Unlike the decade following the first World War, when ‘ gang gangsters’ like Squizzy Taylor fought and died on the inner suburban streets over the financial control of the very lucrative heroin and cocaine trade. The number one drug of addiction of these Post War II days was ‘speed’; these pills were available from the same guys that sold them to long distance truck drivers. To be a tuned in and switched on teenager was to buy a used and emptied Bryant & Mays slide out match box (complete with that Celtic Goddess with the long flowing red hair, and that one bare shoulder on the cover) packed with marijuana and carrying a price tag with no change out of a quid (one pound). These could be purchased from certain members of inner suburban and city street gangs with names like The Phantom Twins (the ‘family’ of choice of the now young teenage Bob Jones), Panthers, Ruby’s Rebels, Night prowlers. Within the areas of inner suburbs they were either North or South, East or West side gangs. Or simply by taking the name of your outer suburb, which ‘every’ suburb did, and adding the word ‘boys’ became a cause to die for. Devoid of the recent religious dogma and with their ever increasing

Page 154 5/2/2014 numbers of membership, these individually formed extremely violent teenage street gangs became a way of belonging. An extended family, they were group protection and your very own ‘big brother’ fraternity and security. This was the Reality Show program of the era, except that to watch this form of gang-life you had to live amongst it!

During this period in our reasonably modern history, Australia was not unique; this was a post war, worldwide phenomena! And just as we thought one war had ended, there was suddenly a new global fear. Global politicians had developed a new ‘fear-factor’ known as the ‘COLD WAR’ a title born from the catastrophic effect of the American Atom bomb. We were now media informed on an ‘every day’ basis that Russia had devised the same technology and any day, either of these two super powers may at any time use this devastation against one and other. For the next decade we lived with the constant intimidation that any day we were living might well be our last. Simply by either the Americans and/or the Russians pressing what we had come to know as ‘THE RED BUTTON’. Plus what will unfold in the next chapter you are about to read, was also identified right around the globe as war torn immigrants travelled from country to country. They were simply, looking for anywhere that they might be accepted and allowed to belong. Almost always being confronted with racial animosity by the local inhabitants, followed by questionable and intimidating suspicion and always with the accompanying violence!

By now as a mature aged teenager, Bob Jones the now fully seasoned fighter, entered into a new era of uncontrollable escalating violence. With the full approval and support of all ‘his

Page 155 5/2/2014 - Big Brother - peers’, with many of these ex-war heroes questioning;

“What the hell was all the fighting about? Is this what we fought and died for? Our way of life, our jobs, our houses and our women being swallowed up by these government sponsored marauding invaders, these fucking wogs”.

Bob Jones and his young *Celtic Anglo Saxon buddies rose to the occasion with what was expected of them, with what they knew well. By now the Australian media propaganda machine was looking for a name to tag these youthful undesirables to help boost media ratings, magazine and daily newspaper sales. American media had come up with the controversial as much as it was demeaning - JD’s (Juvenile Delinquents) although on the streets of downtown USA, they referred to themselves as ‘GREASERS’. The United Kingdom media had gone with ‘TEDDY BOYS’ due to their stylish clothing based on a previous Edwardian Period, & the flamboyant King Edward VII.

The post war decade of the 1950’s bought a new era of some economic power to the youth of the world, spending their money on expensive tailored clothing they felt as if they were reflections of King Eddie, imitations of the bourgeois. Passing them-selves off as something that they were not, these ‘TEDDY BOYS’ were often referred to as a Bodge (Cockney for something that is a copy, not the real deal). This English slang word had the Australian media show a degree of creativity calling our misguided youth ‘BODGIES & WIDGIES’ as they identified there were both male and female practitioners of this crisis of mid-century hooliganism! According to every ounce of media exposure given to the youth of this era, everything was

Page 156 5/2/2014 their fault; youth were the scourge of the earth, and what, if anything could be done about them. Apparently at this time in world history there must have been an acute shortage of trained psychologists and social welfare workers, no one suggested we may all have been a product of our environment and the current ‘post war - world stage’ was not the best example of what could be deemed, acceptable behavior.

*One positive to be taken from all of this could be that prewar adolescents either grew into big boys and girls, or young men and women – there was no such thing as a teenager. Beyond the apparent anti-social stigma, the flash ‘false’ clothes and the ‘Greased Hair’, these ‘characters’ along with the rest of the world youth and their new found economic power born from a new disposable income – the post war turbulence of the 50’s & 60’s gave to the world a new product brand name for mass marketing, a TEENAGER!

Government immigration policies and media acerbic critique were the major factors these previously intolerant and separate gangs now united their hatred for these ‘invading’ ethnics with tribal warfare on the streets and in the work place. Adding to this dilemma, frequent attacks became a community menace within ‘their’ newly established gambling houses, ‘ethnic coffee shops and clubrooms’. These wogs, wops and dagoes were the newfound social, political and religious enemy of the day, and much blood was spilt for several years as Bob Jones further honed his fighting skills!

*Celtic Anglo Saxon is what an ‘Australian’ was during the first one hundred and fifty years of the ‘white man’ settlement of this historically ‘black mans’ continent. During this post war period

Page 157 5/2/2014 the population of this colony of the United Kingdom was 8,000,000 (Compared with today’s population of 23,000,000) with all of us now feeling ‘connected’ unknowingly by our United Kingdom, Eurasian Anglo, Viking, Saxon Celtic heritage.

During these early times of this country’s violent history, our equally violent teenage Bob Jones was euphemistically schooled with that antiquated ‘White Australia Policy’. Not only was he socially expected to ‘hate’ these ‘dark skinned’ wogs, wops and dagoes by his peers, it was government policy with their ‘white Australia policy’ for him to have absolutely no tolerance for ‘anyone’ whose skin was ‘not Celtic Anglo Saxon white’. And in whichever ‘One-God’ of the ‘three’ major Abraham religions these marauding invaders found ‘their GOD’, the other two were definitely WRONG, a resolution worth fighting for, to the DEATH!

This is definitely the ultimate paradox when compared to today’s attitude towards social acceptances, political correctness and religious tolerances. This is a completely different story of ethnocentrism for another time, and one day I will tell it through my eyes and my unusual and controversially unique Celtic ‘Indigenous’ research. If post WW I Melbourne’s roaring twenties Street gangster Squizzy Taylor and his American counterparts of Al Capone and associates had lived to see the new millennium they would be extremely pleased…

Their heroin, cocaine trade has now improvised an unlimited range of designer drugs making it the largest nontaxable cash flow business in existence throughout the world today! They would be equally impressed with the current faltering of economic world powers, the International mass imprisonment

Page 158 5/2/2014 of pedophile priests and with ‘our’ world governments simply negotiating the time and place of the continuance of the money making war syndrome. Squizzie’s razor gangs and big Al’s baseball bat have become machete wielders and now the institutions of these designer gangsters, crooked coppers, gun blasting outlaw biker gangs and Asian drug Lords have all joined the one corporate entity together. With all of it making record ratings statistics as multiple television extravaganzas. Yes, with all these ‘advancements in our civilization’, the world’s gangsters from the infamous roaring twenties would be extremely pleased; in fact they would think they are in paradise.

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PART THREE – CELTIC ARTWORK HERE

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The century that ‘murdered peace’ while musical icon John Lennon and his song writing friends were trying to explain what they felt was going wrong with the whole planet, he tried to make a dramatic point when some journalist enquired was he a religious man and asking;

“John Lennon, do you believe in Jesus?”

“Jesus, you mean Jesus Christ, well right now I am more popular than Jesus Christ”

The mainstream religious bigots took instant offence without giving it a second thought of what the man was really trying to

Page 159 5/2/2014 convey and clarify. There was and today almost fifty years on from that ‘Dear John’ comment, so much more murder and earthly disharmony that his point must have been;

“How fucked up was the world at that point in time. Make love – not war, war is really stupid. Hey man, you know, we really should ‘give peace a chance’ what if they threw a war, and nobody turned up – what would they do?” And for these principles, the man John Lennon was viciously murdered!

That a simple rock star could even become such an icon and with one simple comment upset the whole world to such an extent many individuals wanted the man dead. When he felt the planet had so many really important issues that needed discussion and attention by our leaders. Right now in this new millennium there are European football stars and several other athletes are better known and more cared about than your Jesus Christ of John’s 1970’s era. But still today, the current powerbrokers - with any power to make a difference – do any of them actually care about our Planets Problems? Two of the world’s most influential academics who regularly spoke out, comedian George Carlin and philosopher Christopher Hitchins have both since passed over and their messages will be missed; perhaps the stand-up comedian – transcending philosopher Russell Brand with his recent comments will hopefully become someone the youth will take notice of.

The Twentieth Century has now been acknowledged as the most violent ‘one hundred years’ we have ever experienced, with the catastrophic cost of more human lives than ever previously recorded . This, our peer’s education system

Page 160 5/2/2014 informs us, is the natural process of civilization. Yes, of course by this we can see, we are ‘civilized’? Celtic Anglo Saxon Australian Federation in 1901, a little over one hundred years which means Robert V, Jones is ‘somewhere’ between one quarter to a half of this British colonies age.

From this, he has drawn personal experience and knowledge of the atrocities against our indigenous Aboriginals, the absolute abuse of those early convicts (Irish slaves would be more precise). Add to these the suffering poor, the uneducated, the sick, the mentally disadvantaged and the physically handicapped, and not excluding our elderly. All of these, our fellow Australians have suffered continuously under this British Colonial Oligarchy. And, with our new millennium, agnostic politically religious agendas, not only in our beautiful country of Australia, the whole ‘world of the common man’ has much more suffering to endure. Not meaning to cause undue alarm, but we all should be prepared… there is most undoubtedly much more on the way!

On the subject of history as we can perceive the written word, although much has been detailed by the best liars belonging to the winners clubs. It may well be as ‘they’ would have us believe, that our civilization’s survival depends upon all this violence. Perhaps there is even an effect on world economy control and world population control - culling. Whatever the reasons, the first two decades of this new millennium are a world-wide economic disaster, global warming dilemmas, more natural disasters, more famine, much more violence with an escalation of higher death rate than we had recorded at the beginning of the last century, which turned out to be our most murderous ‘one’ hundred years of recorded

Page 161 5/2/2014 history ever. The final estimates of violence stemming from individuals differences during the entire 20th century cost approximately 250 million human lives. Now there is a statistic we are well on the way of matching in this 21st century, think about that, who gives a damn? What the world needs now… is millions and many more millions with John Lennon’s attitude!

“Jesus Christ, where is Jesus when you really need him?”

When we look at these early times of the 21st Century our media is full of the same grim assessments. Last Century it was the escalation threat of the Cold War between the Soviet Union and America. Right now it is the escalation of the ‘fictitious-terrorist’ & his imaginary weapons of mass destruction with the very real threat of nuclear weapons programs in countries such as India, Pakistan, Iran, and North Korea. We are ‘not allowed’ to discuss the world’s biggest threat, the fastest growing religious force, Islam and it’s no tolerance to humor standpoint. When their Koran can openly state over and over;

“Kill the infidels, if they do not agree with us, kill them”. This philosophy is as violent as many references in the Old Testament of the Christians. And they both make Mein Kamp appear to be a book of nursery rhythms. The ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel are two of many others that have been fighting over land issues and religious superiority for 5,000 years, and they will not be stopping any time soon. While China as a communist super power, having almost a quarter of the world’s population, with currently the fastest growing military force is of concern to many. Sometime within the near future of this 21 st Century - when everything will

Page 162 5/2/2014 somehow, have found some form of normality and equilibrium - we can only hope some young historian studying these facts and statistics ‘will be capable’ of wondering in amazement at just how the twentieth century got it all so wrong. Today, we have learned so much from history that now this is called our modern civilization, hmm!

Keeping pace with the violence of the planet earth through adolescence, youth, puberty, restless teenage conflict and now, at just short of twenty years of age Robert V. Jones was married; he had experienced fatherhood and journeyed through an extremely passionate and tumultuous teenage love affair, then failed marriage. Now in his early twenties, single again, disappointed, extremely angry at the world and professionally working in the entertainment and security industry, he found himself living a nocturnal existence as a complete way of violence.

His whole life in tatters, it seemed to him at this point in his life that the only thing he had ever been really successful at… was violence! And even worse than that, he was economically out of control – with more than 200 staff in almost full time employment throughout Victoria. With planned expansion nationwide both in Australia & New Zealand, this staff will increase to 500 and eventually 1000. The financial rewards just kept pouring in, contributing to his train of thought that violence and success was one and the same, somehow in this world of Bob Jones security and associates it all seemed so normal. Spiraling out of control for the next decade, only one thing saved him from total destruction. He had become a ‘born again’, not in a religious sense, as a matter of fact, quite the opposite!

Page 163 5/2/2014 PART FOUR:

THE ETHNIC INVASION

18. Marriage – Tracey-Lee Jones

19. Sly Grog

20. Dance Promotions

21. Trouble Shooters

22. 6pm, Ten, twelve, three & 6am closing - recovery

23. The Southern Cross

Page 164 5/2/2014 PART FIVE:

CONTROLLING AUSTRALIAS NIGHT LIFE

24. Berties, Sebastians

25. The Waiter’s Club

26. And The Catcher

27. R. V. Jones Twentieth Century Connection…………..428

28. In Search of Transcendence……………………………486

BERTIES, SEBASTIANS

THE WAITERS CLUB

Page 165 5/2/2014 AND THE CATCHER

IN SEARCH OF TRANSCENDENCE

In 1962 (The year the most famous Spanish matador, Juan Belmonte, an early hero of mine had shot himself, dead) I had witnessed a demonstration of the martial arts by a visiting world renowned expert of that era, Captain Donn F. Draeger. I was totally mesmerized by this man’s captive personality, his incredible physical talents and his philosophical approach to life, his many reflections of warrior ways, and the spirit of the sword with its connections to that of the samurai warrior code and that of the historical bullfighter/matador. I instantly began a quest in searching for instruction in these arts. Three years later I would commence training in the martial arts in 1965 as a ‘white’ belt and by 1970 - 1972 had achieved my First Degree and 2 nd Degree ‘Black Belt’ Grading’s. Together with this martial arts ‘Brotherhood Blood Grading’ and the 1972 Boxing Day fiasco, Police violence and derogatory media hype I was processing thoughts that it was time for change. And at this

Page 166 5/2/2014 pivotal point in his life, during these seven short years, I was ‘almost’ totally transformed as a human being. Perhaps today’s ‘powers in charge’ that watched their elders control planet earth during the 20th century might learn something from a study of the ancient martial arts? What a paradox, a really violent young man, living an extremely volatile lifestyle, and he starts to study a hypothetically - often publicly misperceived - violent martial art. As a result the young man is reborn experiencing the beginnings of a very real shift in consciousness.

1965, the year I began training in the martial arts, beyond the battle of the colored belts and since receiving that First Degree Black Belt in 1970 creating such a personal challenge for change – I found myself thinking back to these days long passed, reminiscing. I remembered my teacher’s comments at my grading as if it were only yesterday;

“Right now as you are tying the double circles of the knot of this black belt around your waist I want you to know this is a journey of a lifestyle commitment, from now on there may be times where you might stop training but as a black belt you can never drop out!” I now realized that as a black belt in the martial arts, I could never be that same person again – as we say in the martial arts – I had been “CONCEIVED”.

Then two years later on March, 3rd 1972 (One week before I would leave for an extensive six months American Training & Competition Tour), w ith my abiding by the oath of the warrior code came the searching of within my own soul for aspiration – during an extremely violent grading that’s purpose was to exemplify the conversion of any normal man’s mentality and physicality and spirituality to that of a rebirthed warrior

Page 167 5/2/2014 extraordinaire. Seemingly for this result it was necessary for the spilling of much blood for my proof of allegiance through the fighting spirit of 2nd Degree, actually referred to as ‘the Blood grading’.

Fighting thirty different First Degree black belts from as many different styles for thirty rounds of three minutes duration, without any rest except for a five minute rest at round twenty five, called ‘Hitting The Wall’ for that exact reason. Pushing myself beyond limits I had ever experienced in any form of physical endurance in my life, if one could “BELIEVE” in the Devil and hell, that’s about where I went - and from where I returned! Over all of my years in these arts this was once a grading many decided ‘not-to-even-go-there’. And of those that did many never got through. Today with the new age concept of public indemnity, duty of care, a sense of right and wrong regarding the safety and welfare of the student, teaching responsibly etc, and of course not to overlook ‘civil law suites’.

For all of these reasons this grading has been redesigned into something much safer and much more appealing for almost everyone to attempt. Even the name has changed today, as this grading does still focus very much on one’s personal endurance it is now known as; ‘MARTIAL ARTS MARATHON’. Even though this grading is much safer these days when students apply themselves aptly to its challenge, they still elevate to the occasion, physically, mentally and spiritually. I have no regrets, and with those famous lyrics of Frank Sinatra, also of that era;

“I did it my way”

Page 168 5/2/2014 At the very beginning of this story, after that hour of serious contemplation before Police arrived & performed their theatrics - and as a result of these antics - I knew at the first opportunity I must psychoanalyze my twenty five years of extreme violence. There just had to be a better way for me moving forward, I certainly cannot spend the rest of my life guided by actions where I am always winding up - rightly or wrongly - hurting others.

Here in my affiant excursion of the VIOLENT YEARS I have made an honest attempt to look at every aspect of my life thus far. I must say, as hypercritical as it perhaps may sound I believe I have always fought every fight with ‘cause and effect’ being the decider of my intentions. But at this stage in my life, especially with this entire Boxing Day fiasco including the Police intervention, I now know I no longer need any of this as a part of who I want to be as I move forward. Gough Whitlam, our Prime minister of this era (As he put an end to the controversial Vietnam War) suggested for Australia, while unknowingly he and I made the same decision;

“It is time for a change”!

As catastrophic as my life has been and with today seemingly as the epitome I am finally at piece, I finally see my direction. Boxing Day 1972, and I have studied the Martial Arts for seven years to date and I am proudly a BJMA - 2nd Degree Black Belt. In six days it will be 1973 and in January I am heading up the security for Australia’s first of four annual SUNBURY outdoor music festivals which will draw a first time crowd of 50,000 punters and expose me to national

Page 169 5/2/2014 acclaim (Already much more positive than the media I had received for the last six days) . One week later in February my security company will take on the ROLLING STONES World Tour of the Pacific Region. Being bodyguard to Mick Jagger will catapult the Bob Jones name to international rock and roll acclaim. Above all of this my Martial Arts “Journey” must become my number one priority for every decision I make. I will pledge to align myself to this “Fifty Five Year Journey” and I will lead by example so that my Martial Arts World can follow in the footsteps of serious intention. As I apply myself to this pledge I will pass through all of the individual Degrees and good health and wellbeing will see me arrive at 10 th Degree in 2020 – Then I can take my life to that next level and really make a difference to the planet Earth.

And one day this worldly adventure of mine will become:

THE GREATEST STORY NEVER TOLD

KEVIN BORICH – AUSTRALIA’S AND MY FAVORITE LEA

Page 170 5/2/2014

“SHAKIN’-THE-CAGE”

MICK FLEETWOOD & BILLY THORPE – IN THE DAYS OF THE ZOO

Page 171 5/2/2014 Page 172 5/2/2014

Page 173 5/2/2014 MY FAVORITE AUSTRALIAN BAND – MAX MERRIT & METEORS

CAUCASIAN SHEPHERD

Page 174 5/2/2014