Stories from Australia in the 1980's

Austin and the America’s cup: I know boats!

“Any boss who sacks anyone for not turning up today, is a bum!”- Australian Prime minister, Bob Hawke.

In 1983, when Australia II crossed the finish line ahead of the boat from the USA, the Liberty, the longest winning streak in sporting history, 132 years to be precise, was finally broken and the whole of Australia celebrated long into the night. The America’s Cup was now in the hands of that little country down under, (or more accurately, the Royal Perth Yacht club), which had now earned the right to keep the cup and hold the next battle for the auld mug, off the coast of Western Australia, in four years time. This was going to be a huge international event held in my home town and everyone in Perth licked their lips in anticipation, for what was to come a few years later.

In those days, Perth was a backwater town, not accustomed at all to glitz, glamour and grandeur. Hence, those of the higher echelons of the society, set about performing a large scale upgrade of the place, a cosmetic surgery if you will, of the kind of scope Joan Rivers may have undertaken, in an attempt to match the anticipated needs and desires of international figures, millionaires and billionaires, such high profile occasions attract. The city of Fremantle, where Perth’s major port resides, was in a bad state of repair and so was given a total make over. Working man’s pubs were turned into fancy cocktail bars stocking imported beers instead of the simple local lagers, posh restaurants popped up like never before, serving all kinds of fancy dishes and international cuisines and a large eyesore of a “luxury” hotel was built at Scarborough beach, completely contrasting with the beach’s, and Perth’s, natural, simplistic beauty. To this day, it is the only high rise hotel along the metropolitan coast line.

All of this was done to make Perth more “acceptable” to the wider international, jet set community.

By the begining of 1987, the whole city was a buzz with excitement. This was going to be the biggest international event held in Perth in quite some time and as such, a huge novelty for the city and it’s people. There were a multitude of events planned in celebration, before, during and after the races had been completed, and the America’s Cup became THE topic of conversation around water coolers, at beach sides, cafe’s, pubs and family gatherings, despite the fact, the majority of West Australians had previously held little interest and knew very little about the sport of sailing.

For local Perth socialites however, attending any one of a number of exclusive events being held during that period, was an extremely desirable affirmation of importance, even if most of the interstate, let alone international guests, wouldn’t have had any clue as to the existence of some of these lovies, nor their relevance.

One such event was a lavish black tie gala held in honour of the organisers, boat crews and boat owners, which was by invitation only, and among the invited guests were to be glitterati, obscenely wealthy international guests, movie stars, politicians, famous Australian personalities and of course, Perth socialite darlings. It was the era of the yuppie and therefore, many who identified as such, aspired to be on the guest list, as it would affirm their financial success and social status.

For the majority of people in Perth however, it was the type of social gathering you wouldn’t have dreamed of attending. It was just that little too ostentatious and beyond the realm of possibility and normality for the average “Sandgroper,” more accustomed to simplistic fare and occasion, such as afternoon fish and chips at the beach and a stubby of your favourite West Aussie beer. Hence, many of my friends, being menial university students, paid little heed to it.

I said many, but not all.

My friend Austin, had recently begun an internship at a highly respectable investment firm and had almost immediately fallen in with a yuppie crowd, a natural consequence of the job. Many of his colleagues dreamed of going to this gala and it was a big topic of conversation around the office in the early days of 1987.

While working late one night, Austin overheard the CEO of the company on the phone, confirming he had acquired two tickets for this all important soiree. Austin was intrigued. As soon as the head honcho had left the building for the evening, Austin daringly snuck into his office, and lo and behold, after a forensic search of the room, discovered an envelope in one of the drawers of a rather large oak desk, which contained a formal letter of invitation and two stylish invitations exquisitely designed and decorated in a dark gold calligraphy. As he stood looking at these prized items now resting in his hands, an idea began to form in Austin’s mind.

The firm’s new colour photocopier, white out, some fine marker pens and his recently developed skills as a forger, were all the tools he needed. He then set about his task in the now predominantly empty building, with many of his colleagues having already left for the day.

To anyone passing by the office, it would have appeared the company had found itself a diligent, hard working, go getter in Austin.

Eventually, having completed his work for the evening, and feeling rather pleased with himself, Austin headed home with not one, not two, but four perfectly reproduced tickets for this highly sort after event.

“You’re not on the list.” was the rather gruff response from the head of security, as Austin, his best friend Smithy, and their partners, resplendent in black ties, tux, tails and ball gowns, stood outside the venue waiting to be admitted to the gala, a couple of nights later.

“ There must be some kind of mistake. Please check with your superior.” Austin suggested in a calm, rather assured manner.

As the doorman disappeared inside, Austin reassured his now anxious guests that everything would be fine. The limo and tuxedos he had hired using his “borrowed” father’s credit card and a little bit of bravado, should be more than enough to convince the organisers they were legitimate guests.

However, as soon as he saw the young immaculately coiffured woman marching purposefully towards them, clipboard in hand, adorned in a black Versace gown that just screamed importance, Austin sensed that maybe this time, his ruse was about to fall into one big heap.

The millionaire’s daughter was no fool. With one look at this pimply faced “Mr Austin Riley,” she was able to ascertain that he lacked the airs and graces of someone who would be invited to such an extravagant event. His companions even more so. Besides, she was sure she had seen him somewhere before. Maybe at the Cottesloe Sunday session? Yes! That’s it! This Austin guy was the drunken creep who had tried to hit on her and spilt red wine all over her brand new, white Givenchy dress!

Oh how she loved that dress.

“I’m sorry. But if you are not on my list you are not invited and therefore not welcome,” She announced rather coldly, not bothering to even check the invitation list.

Austin was now stuck. He had an overwhelming urge to plead & beg. But he knew he had to suppress that urge, just in case they finally somehow managed to enter. He was supposed to be playing the slighted, important businessman & he had to stay in character.

It was at that moment the gods decided to smile on Austin.

Roger Johnson, a well known and highly respected newsreader for a local TV station, happened to arrive with his lovely wife Susan and on noticing Austin standing at the doorway, greeted him with a smile.

“ Austin! Good to see you!” Roger enthused, shaking Austin’s hand and patting him warmly on the shoulder.

“ Hi Roger! Hi Susan!” a relieved Austin exclaimed quite loudly so that the gatekeepers got the message.

Austin was a connected guy.

“Are you coming in or are you helping out on the door tonight?” Roger enquired jovially.

“It seems they have omitted my name some how from the list!” Austin revealed with a notable hint of indignation, making a point of glaring at the door staff as he did so.

“Well if you need any help, let me know.” Roger alluded in a rather ingenuine, offhand kind of way, that was more as a method of extracting himself from the conversation than any real offer of assistance. He then pulled his wife towards the door and without bothering to say anything else, entered the venue.

Now whether Roger’s extremely brief conversation had confirmed Austin’s authenticity, or whether it was a genuine fear that maybe his failure to be admitted would become a big news story, one can not say. Whatever it was, the millionaire’s daughter’s demeanour changed dramatically as the realization took hold she may have made a grave mistake and underestimated who this Austin Riley really was. She decided she needed to act immediately to redress a potentially disastrous faux pas of her own making.

“My sincerest apologies Mr Riley. There appears to have been an error on our part. The unfortunate thing is we have assigned all our tables already. But not to worry. I will make sure the staff organise a table for you & your guests and I will assign a waiter specifically to your table to make sure your every need is seen to, OK? Follow me.”

And just like that, Austin, Smithy, and their partners, were sat at a specially arranged, last minute, table for four, not too far away from the head table, where they were treated like royalty & enjoyed their fill of champagne, cocktails and culinary exquisite delicacies, on the house.

Later, they sipped fine whiskeys and liqueurs as they hobnobbed with celebrities, politicians and glitterati, many of whom while beguiled by Austin’s charms, struggled to figure out exactly who he was and why his presence had been requested at such a high society event.

***

A few weeks later, dressed in an old, ripped, white t-shirt, blue board shorts that had seen better days and rather worn out rubber flip flops on his feet, Austin was lost in thought as he cut his neighbour’s vast front lawn in the hot afternoon sun. This was a demanding, part time weekend job he had been forced to take on, since his pocket money at the time was a mere $1 a week and interns weren’t paid a lot of money at his company.

Suddenly he heard someone call out his name.

“ Austin! Would you like something to drink? You must be thirsty!”

“ Thanks Roger, that’d be great!”

Kit Calder-White is the author of the Soundtrack Of My Life series. Volume one: First Love is available now on Amazon and from most online book retailers.