Lies, Bikinis and Redemption
Continuing with Jerry’s story from Part 1, he had been house leader for several years and was building a wooden dinghy in the garage. This boat-building project was funded by St Vincent de Paul. The nun I replaced, Sister Celia, had assured me that he was able to manage the house and maintain the discipline required for its successful operation. It seemed like her faith in a human had been misplaced. Better to have faith in something higher. So, while the party was still going I tipped all the alcohol down the sink and asked all the randoms to leave. Stupidly, I then told Jerry that he had used his last chance and the next time he transgressed he would be down the road. He thanked me profusely and despite my many randomly timed visits to the house over the next months, I never found anything untoward. I am not sure how long he had been pulling the wool over Sister Celia’s eyes.
I gave Jerry my address when I left Australia and told him to look me up if he ever visited whānau in Aotearoa. A few years later, I was working in my garden on Waiheke Island when up the path strode a large smiling Polynesian. As he got closer, I realised it was Jerry. Over lunch he told me about his life since we last met. He laughed when he said, “You were too soft, Ross. You should have kicked me out of that house in Sydney. I was getting five unemployment benefits under five different names and we were partying every night. St Vincent de Paul were so gullible, they believed everything I told them.”
I guess there are always going to be smiling liars from all classes of society. People like Jerry from a lower socio-economic group (although with his five Aussie benefits I imagine he could have afforded the high-end bars and cafes of Sydney or Auckland), through to wealthy criminal tax evaders or tax avoiders who employ strategies which, although legal, are left wanting when it comes to integrity. I can think of one of our prominent very well-off politicians who actually tried to claim a tax allowance for living in his own house near parliament building, despite the average Kiwi struggling to make ends meet. Although I don’t condone Jerry’s behaviour, my hackles go up when I hear people wanting to crack down on dole-bludgers, referring only to the unemployed or low-income earners. Or those who say, “Everyone has the same chance in life. We deserve all we have.” Really? Do kids from poverty-stricken homes who walk to school bare-footed without having eaten breakfast have the same chance in life as children attending a private school, who are driven there in late model Audis and who live in multi-million-dollar dwellings? I think not.
One of my colleagues at St Vincent de Paul was a woman in her sixties called Val. She owned a house at a beach north of Sydney near to the continuing care facility where her 40-year-old daughter Ann was a resident. Ann suffered from severe autism and Val visited her several times a week and took her for short nature walks. I spent several weekends at Val’s beach house and joined her on some walks with Ann. Val told me that her daughter had been born without any abnormal symptoms but that after her childhood vaccinations she started to behave differently and eventually became severely autistic. She was adamant that Ann’s condition was related to the MMR vaccine. It was at the time when a later discredited research paper reputedly showed that there was a correlation between autism and vaccines. There were a lot of articles circulating about this supposed correlation and they held sway for quite a few years much to the frustration of the medical fraternity. Given the reaction of a large number of people to the very quickly developed Covid vaccines here and abroad, I am sure the vaccine debate will continue for a long time to come.
Another friend I spent some time with in Sydney was an old mate from Mount Maunganui, Bryan, who had moved to Australia after helping establish a small backyard swimsuit making business in his hometown. The Bay of Plenty women loved the designs and the business started to take off. They called it Expozay. Soon, the high demand for the sexy colourful swimsuits forced production in a garden shed by some young surfers into a huge cutting and sewing operation employing 60 machinists and many more retail staff. Bryan morphed from the laid-back boy next door kind of guy into the still laid-back Australian sales manager for what was turning into a very successful international company.
One of his business partners claimed, “Bryan was an exceptional salesman; with his red hair and red beard he was unforgettable. On his first New Zealand run he sold bikinis into the snowfields.” Expozay went on to become a famous international brand, winning many industry awards and being showcased by models such as Lorraine Downs and Rachel Hunter. Wow, it’s amazing what a creative idea can generate and become.
After nine months, my sojourn in Sydney came to an end and it was time to return to Aotearoa in time for the birth of my first child. I had enjoyed my time in Sydney working for good people, who had a genuine desire to help those in need, and I left the King’s Cross area with a sad heart. The Matthew Talbot Hostel fed and housed hundreds of men every night and tried to provide safe environments for those who wanted to become independent and better themselves. The Catholic brothers and sisters together with the lay people who ran the hostel, always accepted that there would be the inevitable rip-off artists like Jerry who would scam their system. They realised that for every hundred people there will always be a few lost souls who are hard to help, but the great thing is they keep on trying. Happy New Year.
Words by Ross Liggins
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