Jacks and Jokers

by Matthew Condon

  Bearing the laconic traits of a rural upbringing as part of a large Catholic family, Slade moved to Canberra in 1971 and joined the Commonwealth Police before heading to the Document Examination Bureau based at North Head in Manly, Sydney. Over the next three years he became an expert in forensic document examination. He then specialised in photographic intelligence gathering.

  When Cyclone Tracy hit on Christmas Eve and into Christmas Day in 1974, police from across Australia were mobilised. The catastrophic storm killed 71 people. Terry Lewis was there as part of the Queensland contingent. So too was Jim Slade, who landed in Darwin on Boxing Day.

  ‘It was my job to photograph everything that normal police would have done in relation to dead bodies and forensic work,’ Slade remembers. ‘It was also to provide a good visual photographic record of what happened up there. I was up there for a few months. I had a Bolex [camera] and hundred-foot rolls of 16 mm film coming out my arse.’

  After Tracy, the ambitious, perhaps impetuous, Slade wanted to move forward with his career. ‘I had a very big interest in intelligence and I really wanted to pursue that,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t interested in politi­cal intelligence like ASIO, I was very interested in crime intelligence.’

  At the same time he was also raising a growing family with wife Chris; their three children – Tanya, Paul and Mark – all suffered from asthma. A family doctor suggested they move north to the sub-tropical climes of Queensland.

  Jim Slade was sworn in as a constable of the Queensland Police Force in late July 1976. He had unwittingly joined a force rife with political in-fighting and low on morale. In addition, the war between the Police Union and Commissioner Ray Whitrod was about to hit fever pitch. Premier Bjelke-Petersen was secretly trying to remove Whitrod, and Inspector Terry Lewis of Charleville was lobbying the Premier and politicians against the Whitrod regime.

  Slade, the forensic shooter, had no interest in politics. He was just itching to gather intelligence on crooks, to get out into the field, to work undercover and bring some substantial kills to the table. He was initially posted to the working-class suburb of Woodridge and it was there that he rode out, from a distance, the great battle of Whitrod.

  Within months, he would be hand-picked to work in a squad in headquarters that would bring him face to face, many times over, with some of the biggest criminal cases of the 1970s. He would go on to be anointed by none other than one of Queensland’s finest ever detectives, and later one of its most notorious – Tony Murphy.

  Town and City

  Brisbane’s activist students had been relatively quiet since the Springbok apartheid demonstrations, which had rocked the city five years earlier, but by July 1976 something again stirred their ire. Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser refused to increase student allowances across the country, and it was enough to fire up students on campus at the University of Queensland in St Lucia.

  Student Union president Richard Spencer – studying law and economics – began mobilising recruits in June. A half-page advertisement in the 22 June issue of the university magazine Semper Floreat declared: ‘Protest Demand Against Federal Government Education Cuts. Student Strike! Thurs 29 July 10 am – 3 pm. March into Town. Rally City Square 1 pm.’

  About 1000 students marched with cloth banners and placards affixed to timber sticks from the campus, down Sir Fred Schonell Drive, up Gailey Road then around the bend of the river at Toowong, along Coronation Drive, and into the city to King George Square. Their protest signs were innocuous. ‘Save Education’, some of them read.

  Spencer recalls: ‘I was committed to doing it grandly and, using the portable megaphone, collected a bumper crop of students to rally and “march” from campus. [It was] more fun than lectures.

  ‘Off we strode, chanting, enjoying the camaraderie, a sunny day … along Gailey Road where we waved at the Special Branch officers photographing from a strategic block of units, on past the Regatta [Hotel] and straight down Coronation Drive.’

  At the head of the march was diminutive student Rosemary Severin, 27, of Bardon. Severin worked as a part-time cleaner to support her studies. It was her first ever protest march. As the group progressed alongside the river, police stood prepared to block the march beneath the cream stone arches of the William Jolly Bridge. At the forefront of the police blockade was the burly Brisbane Metropolitan Traffic Superintendent Inspector Michael Beattie.

  High on the bridge were stationed news cameramen from the city’s television stations up on Mount Coot-tha. They had the perfect vantage point to witness the protest if violence broke out.

  ‘I went to the rear to drive the march forward in case there was any nonsense,’ Spencer recalls. ‘Inspector Beattie and his colleagues moved in and broke up the bannered frontline. In the melee Rosemary Severin was assaulted. I pushed the column from the rear in the manner of Rawhide/Bonanza and returned to the front … with the rear moving forward [and] the re-grouping … an amorphous unstoppable tank … basically we ran over/through/around the police … Rosemary was brought to my attention and I felt a large egg contusion on her head.’

  As the Courier-Mail reported: ‘Police, shepherding them in cars, stopped the march in Coronation Drive near Grey Street and confiscated large banners and some posters mounted on sticks. There was a brief tug of war. The students claimed police brutality. A girl said she was hit with a baton.’

  That girl was Severin. ‘Whoever hit me gave me a hard hit,’ she later said. ‘And I think he did it on purpose. I can’t believe it was an accident.’

  It transpired that it was Beattie who struck Severin on the back of the head. He claimed it was unintentional. He said he drew his baton to wrap students on the knuckles and force them to relinquish their ‘illegal’ banners, when ‘a head got in the way’.

  After the fracas the students finally gathered in King George Square. ‘There the rally settled into some rambling political speeches,’ says Spencer. ‘I caught up with University Librarian Derek Fielding and told him I would be making [a] complaint to the Police Commissioner. He promised to inform Zelman Cowen [UQ Vice-Chancellor].

  ‘Then I gave my speech – it was short, to the point: the march had been ambushed and attacked by the police, a student injured and I would be making [a] complaint. This was the bite which appeared on the TV news that night.’

  The following day Cowen telephoned Spencer and offered to accompany him to the office of Commissioner Whitrod at police headquarters where the complaint would be formally lodged.

  ‘Whitrod was glum,’ remembers Spencer. ‘I made [the] complaint, Zelman supported … Whitrod readily yet resignedly promised to investigate, at once admitting the process would be challenging due to the “old guard”. We got word the press was gathering outside and it was arranged we would leave by a back entrance, which we did.’

  Commissioner Whitrod, on further advice from his minister, Max Hodges, ordered an inquiry into the Beattie assault. In a memo to Hodges dated 30 July, Whitrod wrote:

  At the request of the President of the Queensland Students Union, MR. RICHARD SPENCER, who called on me today, accompanied by the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Queensland, Sir Zelman Cowen, I have agreed to enquire into the conduct of police on duty on Thursday, 29th July 1976 in relation to a demonstration by University Students.

  I have detailed Chief Superintendent Becker, who is the Senior Officer responsible for FORCE discipline, and Inspector W. Galligan, Officer-in-Charge, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION BRANCH, who is also President of the Police Officers Union.

  They are to begin their investigation on Monday next and complete it at the earliest opportunity. R.W. Whitrod, Commissioner of Police.

  The scenario was, in microcosm, the distillation of all of Whitrod’s problems since coming to Queensland. Here he was faced with an old-school member of the force using violence against a young, defenceless university student. Here an ugly, ill-educated brutality clashed with aca
demia. It underlined everything he had been working for and cherished, both morally and intellectually.

  It was the perfect storm for Premier Bjelke-Petersen. With everything he thought he knew about the growing chaos in the police force and the disenchantment of the rank and file, picked up on his aerial zig-zagging across the state, it gave the Premier the ideal opportunity to slap down his Police Minister and Commissioner.

  On Sunday 1 August the Sunday Mail revealed the Premier’s fury in a page-one story: JOH DELAYS INQUIRY ON STUDENT CLASH. Bjelke-Petersen stated that the so-called inquiry would be referred to state Cabinet. He, not the Police Commissioner, would decide if an inquiry would be held.

  In his defence, Whitrod said he had acted under ‘certain instructions’ from Hodges. ‘I cannot reveal what these instructions were,’ he told the press. ‘The only person who can tell you is the Minister himself.’ Hodges could not be contacted for comment.

  On Tuesday 3 August, a petite Severin was pictured on page one of the Courier-Mail, nursing her still sore head. Over in George Street, Cabinet met to thrash out the issue. To the shock of observers at that meeting, the brawl between Bjelke-Petersen and Hodges turned into a real ‘dog fight’.

  ‘We decided that if there is an inquiry, it should be into those who broke the law,’ said a defiant Premier.

  That afternoon, Hodges released his own press statement. ‘I was standing up for a principle. I was trying to find out what happened and who was at fault.’ Regarding the rumours he was about to be removed as Police Minister, Hodges said he’d ‘tough it out’.

  Two days later, unbeknown to Hodges and Whitrod, Bjelke-Petersen received a letter from former National Party candidate for the seat of Ryan (encompassing western suburban Brisbane and in particular, Bardon, and Lewis’s residence at 12 Garfield Drive), Doug Mactaggart.

  Mactaggart came from a well-known Queensland family of respected stock and station agents. He was archetypal country and deemed ‘a good bloke’.

  MP for Landsborough, Mike Ahern, knew the Mactaggart family well. ‘He [Doug] would judge you by the strength of your handshake,’ says Ahern. ‘He got conned [by Lewis]. He didn’t know. Lewis put it over him very well.’

  In fact years earlier, when Lewis was removed as head of the JAB, promoted to commissioned rank and was about to be exiled in Charleville, a farewell party for Lewis was held at the National Hotel.

  The function was also an opportunity for the incoming head of the JAB, Ron Edington, to be introduced to the troops. ‘I’ll never forget it,’ Edington recalls. ‘They asked me to come down to the National Hotel and introduced me to everyone as taking Terry’s place. I waited outside the pub for a good while then I went in and had a couple of beers. Bischof was there. They introduced me and told me they had a big night [planned] that night, they were [going down] to Mactaggart’s, the family that had the wool store. They had a penthouse. They went down there and finished the night there.’

  It was typical of Lewis to see someone like Mactaggart as a potential conduit to the Premier – he had both the ear of Bjelke-Petersen and sitting members of the National Party – if there was an opportunistic crack, Lewis would find it.

  How then could it hurt if Lewis offered to help Mactaggart in his election campaign and hand out flyers and how-to-vote cards for the man who may become the member for Ryan? If Mactaggart won, it might pay off dividends somewhere down the track.

  Mactaggart’s letter to the Premier was virtually a character reference for Lewis. It read: ‘I know that he has no religious bias whatsoever. His honesty is unquestionable. He is loyal to your Government and incidentally he supported my Ryan campaign.’

  By the following Tuesday, Hodges was out of the Police Ministry, replaced by Tom Newbery. In the cabinet reshuffle, Hodges was given Tourism.

  The Premier said of Hodges’ removal: ‘I’ve known for a long time that the Police Union has had disagreements with Mr Hodges and the Police Commissioner. This is the opportunity to give a change of drivers. A change is good. A change of climate for your health is good.’

  To his surprise, student protestor Richard Spencer was contacted by a disappointed Hodges: ‘I was to receive, out of the blue, a telephone call from Police Minister Max Hodges. He was disturbed that he was being replaced. He did not agree with the course taken by Bjelke[-Petersen]. I think he wanted to reach out and say it was not his doing. It was like talking to the glum Whitrod, only more agitated …’

  Two days after Hodges was dumped, the Premier wrote back to Mactaggart: ‘Rest assured I will be closely watching future promotions to see if there is any way I can help Terry.’

  As the letter attested, there was little question Bjelke-Petersen had Lewis in mind for higher rank during the Hodges drama. And with Hodges gone, Whitrod had lost his most important ally.

  Even Queensland Police Union chief Ron Edington had heard of the Mactaggart connection. ‘Lewis, being smart, socially, he got onto this bloody wool broker bloke, Mactaggart,’ says Edington. ‘Mactaggart was strong with Joh so he said, “Promote Lewis”.’

  Simultaneously, out in Charleville, Lewis’s duties, (since his verbal altercation with Hodges at the civic function in Cunnamulla, and after both Hodges and Whitrod had made their surprise visit to town), were taking on a slightly more politicised hue.

  His diaries recorded that he acted on a complaint issued to Minister Ron Camm (his ally at the civic dinner just a few months earlier). Then, at the urging of local member Neil Turner, Lewis was asked to address a meeting of the Young National Party on ‘Crime in the Community’.

  A short time later, he recorded that he went to the Charleville airport with Turner and ‘met Hon. K. Tomkins, Minister for Lands; Mr J.Corbett, MHR, member for Maranoa’ and others, and conveyed them to the Charleville Motel. On that same night he ‘met Mr Sparkes … [State] President … National Party’.

  Almost overnight, Inspector Terence Lewis was mixing with some extremely influential political high-flyers.

  Back in Brisbane, Whitrod was a commissioner alone and defenceless.

  In the Foul Wake of Frank Bischof

  For a few short years in the late 1950s and early 1960s, Mrs Mary Margaret Fels, farmer’s wife of Underwood Road, Eight Mile Plains, lived a life of excitement and luxury that she could not have imagined. As the lover of former Police Commissioner Frank Bischof, she was treated to holidays on the Gold Coast, hobnobbing with the likes of the Roberts boys from the National Hotel and the rest of Brisbane high society who partied in their holiday houses along Hedges Avenue at Mermaid Beach. Sometimes she took her youngest son Ross along for the trip. It was a world away from the Fels family’s little vegetable farm on the fringe of the Brisbane CBD.

  By the mid-1970s, a decade after the scandal blew up, and the mother of six was demonised in the Brisbane gossip rags and sued for defamation by Bischof, her marriage to husband Alonzo was all but over. She moved to the little township of Buderim on the Sunshine Coast, 90 kilo­metres north of Brisbane, and home to the largest ginger factory in the Southern Hemisphere. There she settled into a de facto relationship that, under the circumstances, brought her and her children some happiness.

  Alonzo, however, never stopped loving Mary. They both refused to talk to anyone, inside or outside the family, about the Bischof scandal. Alonzo also moved on, selling the Underwood Road farm. He never took up another relationship.

  Nobody knew the truth at the heart of the Fels scandal – not the press and not the public. No one was aware of the depth of Bischof’s depravity that had destroyed a good, hard-working Brisbane family, and would continue to wreak havoc for many years.

  In the late 1950s one of the Fels boys, Geoff, had come to the attention of police for a silly teenage prank – he’d lifted some hubcaps off a car. Mary had taken her son to see Commissioner Bischof, who famously held ‘clinics’ every Saturday at his office headquarters at North Quay. There, he
set wayward boys and girls onto the straight and narrow, proffering his firm, fatherly advice that would steer the children towards a clean-living and morally correct life.

  To the public, the clinic was tangible evidence of Bischof’s deep commitment to the youth of Queensland. He would, in 1963, establish the Juvenile Aid Bureau – the first of its kind in Australia – and install Terry Lewis as its founding head. Hundreds of children drifted through Uncle Frank’s clinics over the years.

  This was the first meeting between the soon-to-be lovers and also how Bischof met Geoff. He would soon meet Geoff’s brother Dennis, and in turn their little brother Ross Fels. Mary could not have known what she had drawn herself and her children into.

  An affair with Bischof commenced. Was it the excitement, the novelty, for the farmer’s wife from Eight Mile Plains? Was it the thrill of a life she could have never dreamt of, being so close to a man with immense power, a celebrity of sorts, a snappy dresser, punter and socialite with seemingly endless rolls of cash at his disposal?

  It may have blinded her to Bischof’s other target – her children. When the affair with Fels was eventually made public in the 1960s, Bischof wrangled with his lover through the courts, keeping the full story away from the public gaze. In the end, it was settled in court and disappeared. Sub judice had seen to that.

  Throughout the court battle, Bischof had ordered police to monitor and harass the Fels family. It was nothing for them to see police cars parked out the front of the farm, watching their every move. Bischof needed to contain them – but why?

  While the saga destroyed the Fels’, Bischof saw out his commissionership partying at the National Hotel, milling with judges and politicians at the racetrack, throwing his muscle about, and extorting huge sums of graft from SP bookmakers, brothels and anywhere else he could turn a quid.