The latter was well underway, and McMahon and Bland worked quickly to meet the other requests from cabinet. On 14 September, Bland suggested to McMahon that Menzies invite the press barons — including Warwick Fairfax, Rupert Murdoch, Frank Packer, and Sir John Williams, of the Herald and Weekly Times — to Canberra to take them into his confidence, and that detailed briefing materials be prepared for the press to use once the government revealed its hand. Bland also spoke with Fitzgibbon, the WWF’s general secretary: ‘I floated what was happening on the waterfront and the sorts of things that the government might do in the circumstances. Before I’d finished that meal I knew what his attitude would be,’ Bland recalled.73
On Thursday 23 September, McMahon presented the measures to the Coalition party room. He received a rapturous reception, particularly from the backbench, which had been itching for a fight with the WWF for years. The Bill, wrote Peter Howson that night, ‘is, in essence, a declaration of war against the Waterside Workers’ Federation. The party has never been so united.’74
On the same day, the WWF was holding a federal council meeting in Sydney. At midday, Fitzgibbon interrupted proceedings to report that he had been informed that legislation targeting the WWF and its right to recruit would be introduced to the Parliament that night.
That evening, staff of the Department of Labour and National Service began delivering a booklet detailing the new measures to newspaper editors around the country. At eight o’clock, following the dinner break, McMahon introduced the Stevedoring Industry Bill 1965 to the House.
He outlined the decline in man-hours on the waterfront throughout the country, and the costs that this had imposed. He set out the work stoppages and the burdens this had created. He set out the WWF’s campaign and its intransigence. He recited Docker’s denunciation of the arbitration system and subsequent lies. ‘This is how the Federation works,’ he said. ‘It makes agreements and dishonours them. It defies the arbitration system except when it suits its purposes. It breaks the rules of the trade union movement and then, when it is in difficulties, seeks its support.’ He noted that the WWF accounted for nearly a quarter of all industrial disputes, yet made up only one per cent of Australia’s workforce. He argued that wharfies were not poorly paid by any standard. Most colourfully of all, McMahon told the ‘sorry story’ of the WWF’s supposed propensity for hiring criminals:
A check of a batch of 990 names submitted recently to the Authority for recruitment in Melbourne revealed 260 men with criminal records. In Sydney a batch of 181 names included 33 with criminal records. In Gladstone 3 out of 12 had criminal records. There were men with long lists of convictions, up to the present time, of assault with violence, larceny, thieving and receiving; and this is an industry where pillaging is a problem. Some of the men whose names were submitted were actually facing criminal charges when they were nominated by the Federation.
‘The Federation has been given opportunity to behave responsibly,’ he said. ‘It has betrayed its trust, not only to this Parliament but to the Australian people.’75
McMahon’s speech was effective. Menzies called it ‘masterly’.76 Even Bland, so dismissive of McMahon, thought so: ‘Billy played this up marvelously.’77 The press latched onto the claims of criminality and came out almost entirely in favour of the Bill. It was a ‘politically courageous decision,’ wrote Maxwell Newton.78 Labor listened to the speech quietly, cautious that it was prelude to a snap election.79 It was only a week later, as the Bill was shuttled through the Parliament, that the opposition began to question it seriously. Most notably, and dangerously for McMahon, Labor picked up on the WWF’s vehement denials about the character of its members, and began asking for further information.
Initially, at least, McMahon continued to play up this angle. Twenty-five per cent of WWF-nominated workers had criminal records, he said.80 ‘Large numbers of people with criminal records of larceny, receiving, consorting, procuring, assault and battery, and offences of that kind were being employed,’ he said.81 ‘Cases of repeated convictions for such offences as assault and battery, thieving and receiving; such offences … as sodomy and similar offences; repeated assaults on females and procuring. There were many other types as well. All of those offences were shown in the records I examined. This is enough to convince me that the government was fully justified in taking the action it did.’82 The answers were sure and his performances sound. It was the confident, argumentative man his university peers had written about.
Labor could not lay a glove on McMahon. But boasts inevitably began to creep into his answers. ‘I have mentioned the total number and I have personally looked at a great number of records; in the case of New South Wales I have looked at every one,’ he said on 30 September.83 A fortnight later, when Calwell pressed him on the records, McMahon went too far: ‘I stand on the statement that these details have been checked and re-checked,’ he said. When Calwell asked who had checked, McMahon replied that he, his department, and ASIA had checked the records: ‘I repeat now that of the 990 named in Victoria, 260 did have criminal records.’84
The ALP’s focus on the records, and Arthur Calwell’s request to see them, prompted Bland to check them himself. What he found would have prompted a sharp gasp. The 260 men in Melbourne supposedly possessing criminal records had, in fact, not criminal records at all but merely police records. Some had been acquitted of crimes, or their cases had been withdrawn, or struck out, or adjourned. Some had been charged only with traffic offences. Perhaps worst of all, of the 260 ‘disreputable men’ McMahon had decried, almost half had subsequently been accepted by ASIA as fit for work on the waterside.85 Could they really have been so bad then? Or was ASIA at fault?
McMahon was in danger. If the true state of those records became public, it was certain that public opinion and the press would turn on him. The measures would be lost. The ALP would press for his resignation. The WWF would be emboldened. The months of preparation and secrecy would be for nothing.
But to Bland’s surprise, McMahon seemed unafraid when he was informed. ‘It is just no use crying over spilt milk,’ he responded. He was serene. As he noted, he had met with Menzies and decided on a course of action that could deflect Calwell. The deficiencies of the records would remain secret. His rebuke, therefore, was mild: ‘It seemed to me axiomatic that the most detailed check should have been made by the responsible officer at the highest level!’ McMahon was all too aware of the debt that he owed to Bland. His standing within the parliamentary Liberal Party had soared. His reputation within its membership was at a high. His public profile had lifted. ‘Secretary, the Stevedoring Bill was the most important we have introduced since I became Minister!’ he told Bland. Amid all this, could McMahon really fail to be generous?86
Everything, it seemed, had worked out favourably — at least publicly. The contingency plans to use scab labour, service personnel, and volunteers to keep the waterfront operational never had to be put into action. Press support never turned against the government. Within the union movement, the legislation seemed to have its desired effect. The ACTU, trying to calm the waters, had first condemned the Bill, then called for delay, then sought support for an ‘all-in’ conference to discuss issues on the waterfront. Those in the WWF who might disrupt that conference were cowed and wrangled into participating, and Charlie Fitzgibbon was able to overcome the communist elements that had made the union such a target.
On 13 October, subject to a promise that there would be no further port stoppages and an understanding that the stevedoring legislation was non-negotiable, Menzies announced that the proposed conference would go ahead with Woodward as chair. That conference, which went on for several months, resulted in agreement on a range of issues that had bedevilled the stevedoring industry. To Bland’s disgruntlement, a pensions scheme was designed and implemented.87 Permanent employment was introduced. New approaches, to discipline within the industry, to recruitment, to long-service leave and redundancy
, were accepted.
‘Well, we won, hands down,’ Bland later said, in a small triumphalist revision. ‘Billy received the plaudits. The Federation capitulated. Peace returned to the waterfront’.88
That peace enabled re-consideration of the marriage bar. Agitation for its removal was coming from the Equal Opportunities for Women Association, which Merle Thornton had founded in the aftermath of her protest at the Regatta Hotel,89 and from Labor member for Oxley, Bill Hayden, who was raising the matter repeatedly in the House.90 In November, McMahon took a Bland-drafted submission on its removal to cabinet. This time, he spoke in support of it. Given his earlier opposition, there were questions about his change of heart. Writing to Menzies, John Bunting wondered if it was McMahon’s advisers or his relationship with Sonia that accounted for his ‘new view of things’.91 Feminist activist Helen Crisp, who had pushed for the removal of the bar, similarly saw the coincidence.92 Nonetheless, on 30 November, cabinet finally accepted ‘the principle’ of employing married women. But it added a rider: before this was translated to legislation, another inter-departmental committee was to report on the administrative requirements, consequences, and impact of the change.93 Change, on some things, was slow.
MCMAHON’S courtship of Sonia Hopkins continued. Her feelings for him developed as the dinners and dancing went on. ‘I really liked being with him,’ Sonia later said. ‘He was very attentive and a very kind fellow.’ McMahon had fixed on her. He proposed marriage early and, although he had to renew the proposal repeatedly during the year, Sonia finally said yes. ‘He eventually wore me down by seeing me so often and constantly wooing me.’94
Apparently, making the proposal required some leeway from McMahon’s colleagues. Bert Kelly, deputy government whip, recalled McMahon’s staff telephoning to ask if McMahon could leave Parliament early. When Kelly refused, they came down to see him personally and ask again. Kelly refused once more, but, his curiosity aroused, asked why McMahon needed to leave. ‘We think tonight’s the night,’ they told him. ‘If you let him go we are sure he will pop the question, and he will come back properly engaged. And you know what this means to his office, this Parliament, and the nation.’
Whether the staff were being unduly dramatic or not, the explanation changed Kelly’s mind. McMahon was given leave, and duly popped the question. ‘I took all the credit for it,’ Kelly joked later.95
On 24 October, McMahon announced that he and Sonia were engaged. The press was invited to his flat for photographs and a quick comment. It was soon established that the engagement would not be long: they would be married in December.96 By all accounts, the difference in ages did not worry them. Nor did the quick development of their relationship: ‘When my feelings for him deepened, I said yes,’ Sonia said.97
McMahon was proud of himself and his fiancée, though he could be odd about it. In the days after his engagement was announced, he called Peter Kelly into his office and said, rather peculiarly, ‘You know I’m quite well off.’
‘Yes,’ Kelly said, wondering what was happening.
‘Well, Sonia is very, very, very, very well off,’ said McMahon.
‘Oh yes, that’s good,’ Kelly replied, still puzzled.98
Both parties were aware of the strengths and flaws of the other. McMahon discussed the pending marriage with Bland, and Sonia did the same when McMahon was in the House. ‘The turning point was her conviction that one day Bill would be PM and she would be the châtelaine of the Lodge,’ Bland recalled.99
The wedding was held in the late afternoon on 11 December at St Mark’s Anglican Church, at Darling Point.100 The night before, McMahon launched a book about journalism and toured Kings Cross, singing ‘Get Me to the Church on Time’ as he walked through the streets. He played squash in the morning, and arrived at the church in a morning coat and waistcoat, a white carnation bristling by a puffy white pocket square. The church was crowded with guests and well-wishers, and press thronged the streets outside. Sonia, in a high-necked, full-length lace gown, arrived at four o’clock in the company of her father. After the ceremony, it took almost half an hour for the couple to make their way to a waiting Commonwealth car barely thirty metres away. ‘Good luck, dears,’ one elderly lady called, grabbing McMahon by the sleeve.
A reception for their 300 guests followed at the Royal Sydney Golf Club, and then McMahon and his new wife departed for their honeymoon in the Pacific islands. They went to Tahiti, Mo’orea, and Pago Pago (modern-day American Samoa). While still on their honeymoon, McMahon received a phone call from Peter Kelly.
The prime minister had called a meeting of the Coalition parties for 20 January, Kelly told him. He was likely to announce his retirement. Holt would obviously stand for the leadership, and would almost certainly take it unopposed. The deputy leadership — the key to McMahon becoming treasurer — was about to become vacant. Kelly urged McMahon to return home, observing that although McMahon was well positioned, Hasluck was standing — with Menzies’ backing.
It was unsurprising that Hasluck had Menzies’ backing. Since 1949, there were clear, if subtle, signs of Menzies’ preference for Hasluck. The former diplomat, historian, and journalist from Western Australia had been promoted to the ministry before McMahon in 1951, and his portfolios — territories, defence, and then external affairs — had given him an autonomy that McMahon had not enjoyed until he took labour and national service. He was senior to McMahon in the cabinet pecking order and had been appointed to the UK Privy Council on Menzies’ recommendation on New Year’s Day. As the historian Geoffrey Bolton later noted, the implication of this honour was that Hasluck was of ‘prime ministerial quality’.101
McMahon returned to Sydney and immediately began to canvass for votes. He called everyone he could, drawing support from New South Wales and Queensland in particular. ‘Billy lobbied furiously,’ Tom Hughes recalled.102 It was a marked contrast to Hasluck, whose preference that colleagues recognise his ability unbidden caused him to refrain from anything beyond an announcement that he would stand. Still basking in the favourable press from his fight with the waterfront, McMahon worked his contacts within the media. In Incentive, Maxwell Newton covered the contest as if it was a commercial deal:
The essential point to be considered by the Liberals in the choice between Mr Hasluck and Mr McMahon for the deputy leadership of the party is, in the view of those proposing the cause of Mr McMahon, whether the Liberal Party wants to have as its deputy leader a man from the politically relatively insignificant state of Western Australia or one from New South Wales, where so many of the big battles of recent years have been fought and won. There is also the point that in New South Wales lies much of the money backing for the Liberal Party and, on this view, a deputy leader from New South Wales could be able to give the party much greater high level contact with such financial resources.103
According to Gordon Freeth, minister for shipping and transport, and one of McMahon’s critics, the contest was scurrilous, with whisperings, rumours, and behind-the-scenes machinations. ‘The press were getting stories about how unapproachable Paul Hasluck was, how he lacked ability and this kind of thing,’ he recalled. ‘It was a very wicked campaign.’104 This, the pressure of extra voices, and the brazen electioneering prompted disquiet. ‘This was the first time I recalled the Party being subjected to high pressure voting tactics and people brought in from outside to exercise their influence,’ Les Bury later said.105
Nonetheless, the tactics worked. At the party meeting on 20 January, Holt was elected unopposed to succeed Menzies. The soon-to-resign prime minister called for nominations for the deputy leadership. In the resulting ballot, McMahon narrowly defeated Hasluck, 37–33.
McMahon’s success owed much to developments over the previous two years. The fortuitous timing of Menzies’ resignation ensured that McMahon’s clash with the waterfront was still fresh in his colleagues’ minds; the favourable press he had attracted and engineered was stil
l lingering. Bland was later scathing of McMahon’s role in the whole affair — dismissing him as a figurehead who lied about giving years of thought to the problem — but he grudgingly saw that the clash was McMahon’s ‘greatest triumph’ and that it made him in his party’s eyes.106
McMahon’s marriage to Sonia had helped. It had all but erased the stigma that McMahon carried as a bachelor. Even Menzies, as he gave his farewell press conference that evening, saw fit to mention it. ‘I have one of my own [wife],’ he said. ‘Harold has his and Bill McMahon, God be praised, has one of his. We are not answerable for our wives. They, poor dears, are answerable for us.’107
McMahon’s opposition had helped as well. Hasluck’s refusal to lobby his colleagues allowed McMahon to cajole, flatter, duchess, and bargain with his peers almost without contest. However distasteful Hasluck may have found this kind of campaigning, it was an influential factor in his loss.
Yet there were signs in the victory that McMahon would have done well to heed. Peter Howson doubted that McMahon had got any votes from within the cabinet — a sign that close contact with McMahon did not breed admiration.108 That Menzies had backed Hasluck and not McMahon was another sign that he was not a favourite of the party: should his ambitions extend further than the Treasury, he would have to work out how to placate his critics.
Nonetheless, for the moment, McMahon was happy. When the new Holt government was sworn in on a sunny Australia Day, McMahon attended in full morning dress, a red carnation in his lapel, an effusive smile stretched across his face.109
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