Gough Whitlam, 21st Prime Minister of Australia.

Oh this is a sad day. There’ll be buckets of political tributes to the great man but for me it was personal so that’s what I’ll remember here.

Gough Whitlam was the giant of Australian life who I admired the most. More than that, for a short period of 4 years (1981-85), he allowed me to be his friend. He must have known I was in awe of him (which, don’t worry his large ego didn’t mind) but he had a knack of making me feel his equal even though he was 40 years older than I and so far ahead of my fledgling 24 year-old knowledge. Even though our conversations were very eclectic, ranging across politics, history, art, music, the cosmos and our lives, he allowed me to feel that I wasn’t out of my depth except when he’d occasionally pepper his sentences with classical Greek and Latin which would remind me just how broad the gulf really was. I remember laughing often and loudly because he was also very witty with a wonderfully wry sense of humour. He also didn’t suffer from false modesty and some of his humour recognized his ‘own greatness’. He was fond of the notion that God wouldn’t welcome him warmly to heaven because he wouldn’t like the competition. It seemed he also liked to stir Catholics a little (he was a protestant) and he recounted with mischievous joy a time he’d asked a clergyman, a bishop I think, if he could rent a cathedral crypt space when he died. He got a quizzical look, to which he added, “I’ll only need it for three days”. It seemed it was one of his favourite self-referential jokes and a good one. Curiously, I was reminded of this by Tony Burke’s recollection of a similar story.

Our meeting was typical of him. He was the ultimate elitist – not because he aspired to be or as a conceit but because he really was elite – but he was also completely down to earth. Why else would he have spent several hours after a Labor Party champagne breakfast fundraiser, sitting on the bank of a lake drinking champagne with a young person like me. I remember when his minder, state Labor deputy leader, Mal Bryce, quietly approached the great man and reminded Gough that he had a plane to catch. I think Gough quietly enjoyed playing with people and the look on Mal’s face was priceless when he replied, “You can get me another flight, can’t you Mal?”. I remember leaving that first meeting completely enthralled; we’d talked about anything and everything and that was the first time I could remember having had such a wide-ranging conversation with anyone.

The next time we met was early the following year when he was the guest of the State Labor Executive at Trades Hall in Perth. After he’d done the necessary circulating, he sought me out and we picked up, it seemed, exactly where we’d left off. We sat at the only table against the far wall and chatted and it seemed we were in a bubble of our own. Why he’d chosen me, of all the exalted people in that hall, to spend his precious time with I didn’t know but the way he had of making me feel like I was the most important person in the room, was a wonderful character trait. Despite his immense intellect and achievement he went to great length to make me feel at ease with him and he left me feeling greatly elevated by the experience. Before he left, he signed a copy of his book, The Truth of the Matter for me and gave me his card with his private number scrawled on the back and said, “Call me”. He said it in such a way that I knew he meant it. Over the next year (until he moved to Paris) I did occasionally call him even though I did feel daunted by the prospect. At the time I was a “young turk” on the rise in the union movement and so I always opened with a request for advice which always went over well but he very quickly moved on to other subjects; he also always kindly remembered to enquire (by name) about my wife, (at the time) Judy and and son, Toby (and later, also my daughter, Alison). That was another of his talents, his amazing memory for minutiae: he not only remembered my wife and children’s names but also their birthdays and the details of their lives. The warmth of his conversation was so disarming and engaging and I always came away feeling invigorated and uplifted. In retrospect, I know that there were many people like me, who were singled out and made to feel like they were a friend. This was part of the genius of Gough Whitlam and one of the many reasons he’ll be so mourned today.

Judy often remarked that my head was full of useless knowledge and that I should go on the quiz show Sale of the Century. I only mention this because I think the only time I felt like that large store of useless trivia was of any real use was when talking with Gough. However, whatever topical fact I was able to conjure into the conversation, he was always able to trump and expand upon it. I never minded this because it always broadened my own knowledge and understanding and because he did it with such unabashed joy, seemingly because it allowed him to expound freely on the subjects of our focus.

I think I was very conscious of the privilege that Gough had bestowed on me so I didn’t discuss my conversations with him with anyone; they were my much cherished secret. When he was appointed to UNESCO, our contact became restricted to the few times he returned to Sydney but he still welcomed my call.

As my life spiraled out of control for a time after my family departed and my brother died (1985-87), we sadly lost touch. I so regret that because who knows how much more wisdom I might have acquired from the crumbs of Gough’s enormous insight.

On this day, I’m very conscious of the loss of the greatest man I’ve ever known or will ever know and someone I am so proud and humbled to have briefly called a friend. Such a sad, sad, sad day. Goodbye Gough.

Gough Whitlam governed through a tumultuous period of Australian history.

Do you have any recollections of Gough that you’d like to share?

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