A steep learning curve Training at Channel 3 was a process of osmosis. You learned from and were taught by those with whom you worked. TAFE (Technical and Further Education) training and certification was restricted to those with access to North Sydney. In regions such as Newcastle we were strongly dependent on our peers and our own abilities to learn from anything but formal sources, they just didn't exist. Instead our knowledge and skills were built on two intangibles; camaraderie and respect. Camaraderie, for in sharing you built friendships which created an environment conducive to learning, and respect, knowing that what you had learned was grounded in something passed on by your peers. To-day's knowledge-based economy would progress a little more equitably if such values were to be more widely adopted.
My first day as a news cameraman commenced after a week's training, travelling to jobs with the senior cameramen, John Longworth and Keith Davey to see how it was done. John had an adventurous streak in his approach which attracted me although Keith was the better teacher. Throsby Basin wharf has existed for so long that it is difficult to recall the harbour without it. Yet one of the first assignments Keith took me on was to capture some progress footage of the construction of this wharf. In one of those odd coincidences I was the one who filmed its official opening when it was completed.
Of greater attraction to me however were the exploits of Rod Margetts that we were sent to film that first week. I didn't think that it quite qualified as news but Rod was our floor manager and whom I'm sure carried a death wish. He had arranged with Joe Brown, one of our enthusiastic young engineers, to be towed behind a car in a parachute in Croudace Bay Park. I think I had found a kindred spirit.
Unfortunately for Rod, Joe's mini was not powerful enough to launch him and his adventurous idea looked like being shelved for another day. That is until a curious spectator offered Rod his FJ panelvan as a tow vehicle. The additional horsepower quickly had Rod airborne if that is the correct word, for with precious little control of the unruly parachute Rod more closely resembled a balloon fighting to be free of its tether. There were not as many trees in the park in 1968 as there are now but there was a toilet block which appeared to act as a magnet for Rod's wildly gyrating aerobatics.
Pleased that he had managed to get Rod airborne the guy in the panelvan kept accelerating apparently unperturbed by Rod's looming appointment with a brick wall. Rod's death wish was not be granted at least for this day and spread-eagled, he sailed past the side wall of the toilet block a living caricature of Wylie E. Coyote. Being a toilet block ensured that the incident generated that particular brand of ribald humour while leaving Rod contemplating further lessons in aerodynamics. Perhaps over time he did, for the last time I saw him he had risen to the rank of Colonel in the Australian Army and was commanding the Singleton base. Despite his lofty position he still maintained his irreverent wit on this occasion bemoaning OH&S legislation that had caused the army to reconfigure its helicopters to avoid back injuries to soldiers in accidents, "...they f ** king crash and they want us to worry about back injuries?"
On the Monday following my week's training with Keith I was given a camera, light meter, and film and deposited over at Carrington Slipways, the Lavericks then highly successful shipbuilding enterprise. My task was to cover the turning over of the hull of one of their ubiquitous tugs. In an innovative procedure the Lavericks built their tugs upside down so that their workmen were not compelled to be forever reaching up to accomplish their tasks. The challenge of course was to right the hull once this work was complete to allow the addition of the superstructure and deck fittings.
To right the hull special lugs were welded to the hull to which cables were attached from overhead cranes and in a coordinated but delicate manner the hull was overturned. Balance was the key so that no one lug or its constituent crane was overloaded. My first news assignment was to capture this process, an undertaking that would progress over a six to eight hour time frame, a little like watching grass grow. Hardly riveting material (pun not intended) but here I was shooting news, living the dream.
Condensing six to eight hours into thirty or forty seconds of air time would test my very limited understanding of story telling with a camera. That limited understanding meant that it was no great strain on resources to leave me on that one job for the day which gave me the opportunity to capture action that would not have been possible had I been there for only one or two hours which was a more normal allocation of time. The additional investment of time inadvertently elevated the story from the mundane to one of high interest.
By being in the right spot at the right time I was able to capture some shots of one of the supporting lugs that had stretched when things went a little awry. Had the lug collapsed completely it could have been a calamitous event but fortunately it was nothing more than a near miss. Equally had I not been there to capture it few would have been aware of the incident. But by the time the film was edited the incident became a disaster averted. Naturally I was chuffed with having turned in a worthwhile effort at my first attempt but the Lavericks were less than impressed. The incident was soon forgotten as Channel 3 continued to air stories on the growing success that was Carrington Slipways. My relationship with the Lavericks was to continue even after I left Channel 3.
Essential Tools
Fortunately the first news camera I was given to use was a reasonably robust piece of technology, a 16mm Bell and Howell 70DR. Spring wound and of solid metal construction it was small in comparison to units I was later to use. It was a camera favoured by war cameramen for its ability to withstand fairly severe impacts. In my hands it needed that ability. Sent to get some footage of the wild weather lashing the coast I struck out along Nobbys breakwater, always a good location for some spectacular wave action. And also better filmed from a Distance, I was to quickly learn. I took some footage of the wild seas then jumped back on the breakwater from the rock on which I had been perched. I never saw the wave come over the rock. But I felt its impact as it threw me on to the breakwater, wrenching the camera from my grasp. When finally the water subsided I was able to retrieve the camera finding that it surprisingly still worked. Rugged construction indeed!
As it passed this test with flying colours, or should that be swimmingly, I decided to further test the Bell's marine capabilities by trying to film underwater with it. Accompanied by journalist Graham Guy I was filming a story on a young female swimmer who was enjoying a degree of deserved success despite having only one leg. To make the story a little more visually interesting I thought I would capture some underwater footage by wrapping the Bell up in plastic wrap. It lasted only a handful of seconds before succumbing to the overwhelming volume of water. I dried out the camera but it was put out to pasture with the arrival of much lighter though significantly less robust electric drive cameras with reflex viewing and ten to one zoom lenses. Although still incapable of recording sound, from a cameraman's perspective they were a significant advancement on the Bell and Howell.
The strength of the Bell and Howell came at the price of silence. It was noisy, very noisy. We compared it somewhat unkindly to a chaff cutter. In the clamour of a war zone its noise would be indiscernible but when filming public meetings its noise would rival that of the person speaking. No matter where in the room you were the minute you pushed the trigger all eyes switched to you. It was most disconcerting so the arrival of the much quieter electric drive cameras was a welcome improvement.
Despite being more sophisticated the very nature of their electronics meant they were susceptible to moisture and Nobbys was again to be my nemesis. Unsurprisingly it was another wild weather story and although I took care to avoid the breakwater a freak wave burst over the Esplanade drenching me and the camera. As a surfer I am more than comfortable in salt water but it proved to be the end of that camera an expensive fact that didn't endear me to Murray Masterton our news editor.
Fortunately my accident was not the first to reveal the camera's susceptibility to moisture. While covering an autonomy day march by university students Keith's camera had been hit by a flying tomato which short circuited the camera's electronics. A formal complaint was filed with the university but it was left to the insurance company to replace it.
Recording sound with to-day's modern news cameras is a seamless process and bears no resemblance to the complexity of days past. Our earliest sound camera could only be described as a blunderbuss. It was big and heavy largely due to the sound deadening materials used in its construction to minimise its noise when running. And it came with an accoutrement of boxes and cables. Shooting sound consumed more film so the camera had detachable magazines that held 400 feet of film, four times what we would normally load. Although it was preferable to run it off a 240 volt power source it could be run off a battery - a twelve volt car battery which doubled as an anchor when necessary. All sound had to first pass through a separate amplifier, a box the size of a small suitcase with cable connections to the camera. Correctly exposing film had a degree of alchemy about it considering the variables involved. Recording sound brought additional variables into the picture (excuse the pun) for in the late '60's sound recording on film was an optical process which meant the soundtrack could suffer from the same errors as the visual side of the process, under or overexposure, with comparably disastrous results. To-day's mobile phones with built-in video cameras make a mockery of the complexities we had to daily resolve to present a polished product to the viewer at home. Those complexities meant that I didn't always get it right, certainly not on my first attempt which was to record some kind of drama performance at night.
Pg19
An assignment of this complexity would normally have been done by one of the senior guys, John or Keith. With their unavailability I saw an opportunity to gain some much needed experience and so willingly volunteered to take on the challenge. Despite understandable reservations on the part of the senior guys I loaded the vehicle and headed off for my first sound recording experience resplendent in collar, tie and emblazoned jacket, a long way from the white overalls of the floor crew. It was company policy that we were appropriately attired for night assignments. I hoped I looked more confident than I felt as I set about the task of running out cables, lights and camera gear.
When the large magazine that I'd attached to the top of the camera failed to work my confidence all but evaporated. I was to later learn that it had an intermittent connection something that added experience would have resolved. My solution was to simply load the camera with smaller rolls that I had fortuitously brought with me. It was to be a wasted effort for in discarding the magazine I had neglected to insert a cover plate over the gap in the top of the camera normally filled by the magazine. So while I had spent a lot of time ensuring the correct exposure for the film and the soundtrack I had failed completely to control the light pouring through the top of the camera which was sufficient to ensure that no image of any kind was recorded on the film. Examining the transparent film the next day was a crushing experience with my glaring oversight apparent to all. John kindly sprang to my defence claiming that I should never have been sent out to do the job in the first place given that I had next to no experience with the equipment. Some grumbling acknowledgements of the validity of his claim helped restore a little of my self confidence but the experience didn't quell my enthusiasm for a challenge.
Technological advances enabled us to replace our antiquated optical sound camera with a more modern magnetic sound recording camera. Of particular interest to me was the fact that it would work only with large magazines simplistically connected to the camera. No chance here of a gaping hole! Further improvements saw our original small suitcase-sized amplifier replaced by a small portable unit about the size of three VHS cassettes and comparable in weight. A new battery weighing around eight kilos completed this much improved camera package that was arguably portable... providing you were fit and healthy.
It was an exciting development for it allowed us to capture the natural sound of an event, something we scarcely contemplated with the previous cumbersome arrangement. Ambitious attempts on John and Keith's part to tame our original, primitive sound recording technology were at the expense of visual variety something this new camera promised to overcome. But it too had some limitations.
With the camera on my right shoulder, the amplifier and microphone slung over my left and the battery pack hanging over my back rapid movement was out of the question. It was all top heavy so balance was also a continuing concern. The obligatory cables remained a further hazard. So when Pat asked if I wanted a lift while I was covering a march in Hunter Street I instinctively said yes. But rather than strip off all the equipment I simply straddled the mudguard of the Mini and away we went up Hunter Street. The incident became a police matter although fortunately no charges were laid. As news editor, Murray Masterton had every reason to feel harried with such a miscreant in his charge.
In a more conservative mood I secured the sound camera to the tripod in a ward of the Royal Newcastle Hospital then proceeded to erect my lights. I'd only just completed this process when the legs of the tripod splayed out bringing the camera to an unscheduled meeting with the concrete floor. It survived the impact and I was able to complete the assignment but now with another black mark against my name.
With demand growing for more assignments to include sound came the need for a second sound camera and Channel 3 uncharacteristically purchased what was then arguably the Rolls Royce of 16mm cameras, an Arriflex 16BL. I loved that camera and I still have it. Despite still having a separate battery pack and amplifier it had been designed with portability in mind and was ergonomically superior to our existing sound camera. Naturally there was a daily bunfight over who was going to use it. In spite of my less than impressive track record with cameras I seemed to get a fair share of its use partly I have reasoned because I was prepared to take some risks. Although my failures were sometimes quite spectacular and I think it was that same preparedness that caused our news editors to deal quietly with some of my escapades rather than bawl me out and stifle initiative.
On the one occasion I took the Arriflex overseas I was forced to argue my rights to it with customs officials in the USA. And on more than one occasion I nearly totalled it and myself while filming episodes of Motorscope. We shared some legendary times including the capture of notorious criminals Baker and Crump in an adventurous coverage that would not have been possible with our other sound camera. The Arriflex survived its time in news and remains operable to-day.
To meet the expectation that every cameraman should be shooting sound Channel 3 decided to supply us all with sound cameras. But not Arriflex 16BLs, they were just too expensive on such a scale. Despite more reliable alternatives we were still over-ruled by the bean counters, acquiring five innovative but untried French manufactured sound cameras. By now the battery was an integral part of the camera but the separate amplifier and nuisance cable remained. I christened mine chasing a car rally through the Canberra forests and despite the dust it performed admirably.
It was a deluding test for soon they were plagued with a series of differing faults causing us to lose stories. It had been a false economy and after two years the company was forced to reluctantly replace them with our preferred option of an American product, a CP-16.
Perhaps chastened by the results of their previous decision they didn't skimp on this one and we were given state of the art equipment including an unprecedented fifteen to one zoom lens with a macro focussing capability. The CP-16 was an evolutionary camera purposely built to meet the harsh demands of television news filming. No longer were there any cables with both the battery and amplifier integrated into the body of the camera and a microphone shock mounted to the top. Reliable and eager workhorses they marked the zenith of film as a recording medium for television news.
I filmed the Star riot on the CP-16 and it was the only occasion it suffered any damage. Water from the firemen's hoses extinguished part of the audio circuitry. At the same time as my CP-16 was recording a spectacular piece of Newcastle's history it was itself also passing into history. Lurking in the news vehicle was a video set up we were trialling as part of a progressive approach to introduce a complete ENG (electronic news gathering) operation, including small microwave links for live telecasts. Fortunately I chose not to use it on this night as it was both heavy and cumbersome, handicaps that I didn't need.
Excited by the advantages of the new medium in terms of its potential to provide instant pictures I sought to use the video equipment as flexibly as I used my CP-16 despite the well-intentioned protests of some of my colleagues about the weight of the package. They were right about the weight for it was substantial and used by a solitary operator would have occasioned back problems. We were stepping back into the antiquity of our original optical sound camera and its handicaps in order to progress. My approach was unsustainable but it did reveal some of the ENG system's strengths and failings. Although the bean counters were looking at savings in material costs I was sold on the immediacy offered by the total package, my coverage of a fatal shooting giving an indication of its potential. Jim had called in over the two-way radio confirming a shooting about 6.15 pm. Using the video equipment I shot the story and we had it on air before the end of the bulletin at 7 pm. Had I shot it on film it would still have been travelling through the processor, as the shooting was at Warners Bay. Being able to nimbly navigate traffic was an unexpressed expectation of the job.
The ability to present news live I saw as the ultimate goal of electronic news gathering, witness the events in the US in September 2001. Pursuing this goal fired my interest and found me one bleak and wet morning Nelson Bay bound with John Dorney at the controls of the chopper in search of a yacht in distress. I told Robyn that at the very least I would get her live pictures from the chopper of the search in progress for the breakfast news bulletin. It was to be a bitter disappointment as the microwave link system did not work for reasons which were never clear. However I had taken the precaution of throwing on board my trusty CP-16 and was ultimately able to capture the successful rescue of the yacht's crew, on film. The story was to go national and when I returned to the newsroom Fin asked me how I had got on. I bitterly retorted that I had pictures but on film. I was furious and frustrated that the system had failed this critical test. Unfulfilled passion and beliefs create an inflammatory cocktail.
My relationship with Fin was such that my temperamental comments washed over him as he arranged national broadcasting of my footage. Our relationship remained intact, such conflicts being an everyday occupational hazard, but my disillusionment with the lack of informed support for our ENG endeavours by other key stakeholders was a turning point in my career. Each advance in technology had kept me with Channel 3 as I felt I needed to keep abreast of the changes if I was to ever seek a job as a cameraman elsewhere. But finally the time came to disconnect my future from technology and develop my skills in other areas.
Processing ~ the dark side of film
"Ken you have a choice to make. You can have one story in tonight's news or all of the other stories. Which do you want to lose?" It was hardly the sort of demand you would make of a journalist but it was the difficult reality we faced. Gunther and I were locked in the darkroom trying to resolve a problem with the processing machine while Ken Boys was on the outside anxious to despatch somebody to an incident at Nelson Bay. It was not the sort of argument that I particularly wanted to win as I had created the situation. But win it I did.
If capturing the news on film had its problems they didn't finish in the field. We still had to get the film through processing.
Anybody who has ever had their pictures lost, damaged or destroyed in 'processing' will fully appreciate the significance of processing in terms of producing a final image. During the week processing the film was the responsibility of a dedicated operator but on week-ends the cameramen were expected to process the film along with shooting and editing it. For me at least it was simply a mechanical process; splice the film clips together in the dark on to a reel, place the reel in the magazine, attach it to the machine then if all the chemicals were up to temperature push the 'go' button. Simple. Except that on this Sunday afternoon I had filled the reel to its maximum then turned the tensioning knob the wrong way causing the film to spool off the reel and jam the magazine. I needed help and turned to Gunther as my saviour. In the dark we removed the magazine allowing the film to spill out over the floor creating a mess we could only imagine. We couldn't even afford to walk around trying to resolve it for fear of stepping on the film. It was the ultimate touchy-feely situation except that we were dealing with Sunday night's news not something a little more sensual. Blunt though my earlier response to Ken's entreaty might have seemed it was also a frank admission that I had stuffed up big time. Ultimately Gunther and I were able to reload the recalcitrant celluloid and complete the processing run without further incident. Fortunately the Nelson Bay incident was largely a non-event.
With the transition to colour the black and white processing machine was fortuitously relocated to a new room that housed the colour machine. Fortuitous as that room had a direct access to the car park. On this day the drying cabinet of the machine failed which meant the film came out of the machine dripping wet. It had to be dried and quickly or risk becoming a sticky and unusable commodity. Drawing on all available bodies we created a human transport chain that carried the film well out into the car park where the breeze did what the machine couldn't do. A necessary if novel solution to the problem it carried its own peculiar set of hazards not the least having to prevent the film touching the ground which would have severely scratched it. Determining what length of film could be safely supported between two people was a risky judgement. But for all the advantage of the breeze it also carried dust and grit which were anathema to celluloid. Then there was the problem of getting all those hundreds of feet of film from the hands of the volunteers and back on to a reel without either breaking it or dropping it on the ground. We managed to do it with the viewer at home unaware of how close we had come to losing that night's local content.
It was always going to be that way. Such malfunctions although not frequent demonstrably captured our vulnerability to processing but also demonstrated our resourcefulness. The eventual introduction of videotape into news gathering reduced the risk of the ultimate loss of a day's work but changed the whole dynamics of the process along the way.
Colour my world
The technical quality of Australia's colour television broadcasting is reputedly the best in the world, its delayed introduction enabling the industry to avoid the shortcomings that plague other country's systems, most notably that of the United States. Colour television was an inevitability and its eventual arrival a major fillip to the industry. For coal face cameraman such as me the transition phase was an exciting if anxious time. As we were all self taught the new technology was going to have to be learned the same hard way, by experience. The enthronement of Bishop Shevill as the Anglican Bishop of Newcastle in August 1973 was considered an historic occasion and should therefore be filmed in colour despite the introduction of colour television being almost eighteen months away.
A city icon the Cathedral might be but for a cameraman its cavernous interior is a lighting nightmare. My experience in using colour film had been largely confined to shooting car rallies. The Cathedral was about as far removed from rallying as Timbuktu is from Kalamazoo. Quite how I drew the short straw for the assignment I don't recall. Maybe it was penance for some of the cameras I had damaged. Then again I was always up for a challenge and this was a big one. To make it an even more demanding challenge I had only small lights to use yet even so they would tax the capacity of the Cathedral's electricity supply to the point where our engineering department had to secure additional power through a separate box from Nesca (former Shortland County Council electricity retailer).
It took a full day to rig the cables and lights and because of the time frame, no opportunity for a rehearsal. The ceremony presented all the pomp and dignity one would expect of such an occasion and fortunately for me the lighting worked with no impact on the ceremony. Had there been a foul up I might have been condemned to purgatory or its Anglican equivalent for back then the church was very reticent in its dealings with the media and this occasion represented our greatest ever 'intrusion' into their affairs.
Despite the limited lighting and other constraints the results were acceptable but additional lighting would have been a great enhancement, a noteworthy lesson which after all was part of the purpose of the exercise. Herald photographer Allan Jolly, later complimented me on the lighting because he was able to produce a stunning image in black and white using just my lights. A backhanded compliment I suppose for although we screened the story it too was only in black and white, my early endeavours in colour consigned to the archives unseen.
But it's not news
Newcastle Airport's highly successful expansion over the past several years might have been predicted as far back as 1974 but for reasons to do with disaster planning not business planning. With the RAAF base adjacent to the Williamtown airport and a small but busy strip at Pelican (called Belmont and now defunct) the potential for a significant event involving an aircraft was apparent, one which was tragically realised at least twice with RAAF aircraft crashing at Sunnyside Street in Mayfield and at The Junction.
To test the preparedness of the region's emergency response resources and capabilities a mock disaster exercise was conducted at Stockton in 1974 based on the scenario of a commercial airliner crashing in the suburb. Apart from trying to dramatise the exercise through camera technique and editing it was just another story for the evening bulletin, forty feet of celluloid to find its way through the projector and into history's yawning chasm filed under 'B' for banal.
That was until Thorn Holdings makers of home appliances, most pertinently television sets, announced a series of awards for television news. News Editor Murray Masterton decided to enter my coverage of the mock disaster for the awards. I protested on the grounds that it was only a mock event and consequently lacked the essential drama of news. He argued that news was not only or always about drama and in his view my coverage captured all the essential elements of a well constructed and presented news story, characteristics that overshadowed the mock nature of its content.
He was right. And I received a 22 inch colour television set for my efforts as the inaugural winner of the country section (as distinct from capital city) of the National Thorn Awards. The award was presented at a formal function in Sydney but that's about all I can recall of it. After the function I was persuaded by a yet to be illuminated star, Ian Leslie (here I go name-dropping) to accompany him for some drinks to the Croatia Club - wherever that was.
On his recommendation I innocently consumed copious quantities of a transparent liquid called 'Slivovic' most of which ultimately drifted down the gutter outside of the club as blind inebriation wreaked its vengeance on my inexperienced palate not to mention the merry go round ride that my head was now experiencing seemingly without me. Although I had planned to spend the night in Sydney such self inflicted pain as I experienced was not part of the plan and made for an agonising journey back home the following morning.
At the time of the award the television industry was making its major transition to colour so a free colour television set was not to be sneezed at despite my continuing discomfort with my entry. I gave the set to my parents to replace their ageing black and white combo unit. Although still living at home with them I watched little on the Thorn, I'm not a spectator. Embarrassing though I found the win it did acknowledge certain of my skills which were to gain me a second Thom Award some years later.
To-day's toddlers will most likely never experience the thrill and excitement of a visit to the circus. Vicarious forces such as the lack of a suitable venue and the rise of the animal rights movement have over time drained the lifeblood from this once dynamic spectacle. As you drive along the swathe of bitumen called King Street extended you are driving through what used to be Birdwood Park and where elephants and tigers once roamed, though not freely. Geoff Greaves was (and still is) a circus tragic and he was also our Chief of Staff. That gave him responsibility for assigning crews to stories which meant that the circus' >arrival in town could be expected to generate a news story or two.
On this occasion Leo St. Leon (could a lion tamer have any other name?) brought with him a couple of tiger kittens to enhance the story. Kittens are generally recognised as cute, cuddly playthings but these tiger kittens were already larger than your average adult moggy and had to be restrained on leashes. Still I couldn't resist the temptation to play with them. They played rough. The strength and sharpness of their teeth and claws was beyond my expectation despite Leo's warnings. Fortunately they inflicted only light scratches thanks to Leo's intervention. It should have taught me that fundamentally wild animals always remain wild animals and consequently should be treated with greater caution than that which I generally observe. It didn't.
Despatched again by Geoff to yet another circus in Birdwood Park I was attracted to the playful antics of a young monkey. While patting it on the head it reached for my wrist a movement I thought indicated it was trying to swing. The alarm bells were mute. My wrist securely in its grasp gave it the leverage to sink its teeth into the soft flesh below my thumb. Suddenly this was no cute baby chimpanzee but a life threatening orangutan. And this time there was no helpful lion tamer to call on. Although I managed to free myself from the voracious primate I was now sporting a painful and somewhat bloody gash to my hand. Off to the Royal for stitches only to be queried by the staff about the nature of the incident. Having given me stitches following my altercation with an aircraft at Aeropelican it was a case of "not you again!" I appreciated their sense of humour even though the pain in my hand reduced my smile to a wan grimace.
I've always taken my work seriously at times attracting criticism for being too serious but every now and then 1 would unpredictably revolt. One of the landmark features of the Hamilton bus depot, Newcastle's major public transport repository, was an ancient fig tree that guarded the entrance to the depot. Occasionally vandals would set fire to it but this buxom old beast was sufficiently robust to withstand their attacks and the smokies quickly extinguished their efforts before harm was done to the tree. The story was no different on this afternoon except I was revolting. Following a call about a fire in the tree I had argued strongly with Fin over its newsworthiness and lost, reluctantly setting forth to Hamilton.
Dutifully I covered the event, the film was processed, scripted, edited and aired. In a conspiracy with a couple of my colleagues no journalist actually viewed the film before it went to air. Given the deadlines we frequently worked to this was not an uncommon practise but in this case it was to cause some later ructions. Unknown except by my conspiratorial colleagues I had shot the film at one third of its normal speed so that on replay the smokies resembled Keystone cops, frantically running around flailing the tree with their hoses. Not news but high farce, except that it had been scripted as a straight news story.
Whether the viewers picked the conflict or just assumed a technical fault I'll never know but I had made known my objection to covering the story in a most emphatic manner and Fin was not impressed. I can't recall our conversation when he returned to the newsroom but the make-up couldn't hide the black look on his face. Such 'larceny' probably wouldn't be tolerated to-day but that was a different and less terrorised era.
Parasailing is now one of the many thrill-seeking offerings at tourist resorts. Basically it involves towing a parachute up behind a speedboat then cruising around the waterway. Its initial introduction to Lake Macquarie was deemed newsworthy so with my penchant for trying to involve the viewer in the action I launched with the camera in one hand and the bridle in the other. It never occurred to me on launching that I would need to land the parachute back on dry land. People generally landed in the water as that was easier. I'd ignorantly set myself up for dunking yet another camera. My initial concerns however were about the height of the yacht masts I was passing, fervently hoping that the speedboat driver kept me above them but also out of the water. I couldn't help recalling Rod Margett's pioneering efforts all those years ago in Croudace Bay Park when he faced off against a toilet block. Like Rod I too was fortunate and landed securely back on good old terra firma. I wish that some of my hang-gliding landings had been as gentle.
Making the news
My involvement with aircraft was not always as fortuitous. World class golfer and high profile Novocastrian Jack Newton nearly lost his life in an altercation with an aircraft. Sadly he did lose an arm extinguishing his active and successful golf career. I was to be a little more fortunate. Armed with my first ever movie camera, a little 8mm device I was to do some of my earliest filming and my first aerials at Aeropelican courtesy of an indulgent Uncle Jim - I was still in high school and joy flights were out of my budget, just buying the film to feed the camera was a challenge.
It was a clear, sunny Saturday morning and I'd been despatched by Mary to cover the arrival at Aeropelican of a new amphibious aircraft, the fact that it was amphibious probably saved my life as the engine and propeller were centrally mounted on the aircraft just to the rear of the cockpit. In a regimented procedure aircraft take-off and land with monotonous precision which is reassuring for the passengers but makes for mundane, predictable footage. To address this and emphasise the different nature of this particular aircraft I stood close to the runway with the objective of capturing a dramatic, wide angle shot as it came into land. A cameraman's singular perspective, a good idea but poorly executed. Well not exactly poorly, more an error of judgement, a significant error of judgement! As the aircraft landed I zoomed out to reveal a projectile now closing rapidly with a landing path uncomfortably closer to me than I had anticipated. Rather than lose the shot by running away I decided instead to duck at a strategic moment and allow the wing to swoop over me, further enhancing the effect I was seeking. Split second timing was critical something I discovered was in short supply in my skill set. The wing sent me flying in one direction the camera the other giving the pilot the impression he had decapitated me. Poor bastard.
I bounced along the ground before uncertainly standing up quite sure of what had happened but quite unsure as to whether or not I should even be alive. Was I now immortal? The blood flowing from the gash on my forehead said otherwise. I retrieved the shattered pieces of my camera and headed back to the newsroom informing Mary over the 2-way radio that I'd had a camera problem and needed to return to obtain another camera to complete the assignment.
On arrival back in the newsroom Mary took one look at my bloodied head and vociferously ruled out any prospect of my returning to Aeropelican despite my strong protestations. She was a tough lady. Allan was despatched to finish my assignment while a doctor at Royal Newcastle hospital inserted some stitches in my scalp. Word inadvertently spread with Channel Seven ringing to gain a copy of the footage only to be told that they would have to retrieve it from the dust of the tarmac and process it themselves if they wanted to use it. How something so simple could have gone so wrong is a question I still ask myself. I'm sure Jack Newton does the same.
My two stitches were significantly less than the damage I inflicted on the leading edge of the aircraft's wing. I had opened up a rent about a foot long. After some temporary repairs it was again able to fly but for the next couple of years I would field calls from the Department of Aviation (now CASA) seeking my version of events.
They couldn't understand how on a clear day I had been run over by an aircraft. The stupidity of the cameraman had not been a consideration.
On that Saturday night I joined a quiet dinner party with Mary, Allan and Ricki. After a while I was encouraged to visit my girlfriend Cheryl and tell her of the day's events.
My attempts to convince her proved futile. In her eyes it was an implausible story, nobody gets run over by an aircraft and lives to tell about it .... so just how did you get the stitches? When Monday's Newcastle Morning Herald carried my picture with an accompanying story about the prang she was finally convinced. She will probably wait for the funeral announcements to be published before she'll accept that I am dead. It's an argument I can't lose... a pyrrhic victory.
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