by Mark Bennett
We had been into petty crime since we were kids, and sometimes that nearly got us into worse trouble. On one occasion, Steven and a couple of the boys had a run-in with a rat that gave one of the boys up over a load of hot gear from the industrial estate in East Ballarat. The gear had been sold to some bikie contacts, and the police had raided the clubhouse shortly afterward. The informant was beaten brutally as a result. It was mostly just petty crime, but we still took it seriously.
On some occasions a few of the boys, myself included, would get to the bikie club house in East Ballarat — a very close mate of mine, Mick, was involved in the club and with the circle of friends that regularly went camping and motorbike riding. When we were at the clubhouse we would have a few quiet beers at the bar and throw the pipe around. Most of us played footy on the Saturday, and we would meet up after the game and hit the night clubs in Ballarat. Some weekends we would get away to county towns such as Bendigo and Horsham or go south to Geelong.
One weekend we all hit Bendigo, about ten of us in total, and stayed in a motel at Kangaroo Flat. We destroyed the motel rooms, and the owner rang the police. I had just made it out of the motel before the police got there, and I took off to the local pub about thirty metres down the road. I was there having a beer when the police walked in and arrested me over the damages to the motel. We were charged over the damages and had to face court a month later, all of us receiving a fine.
Fred and Hasy were still partners, supplying dope to Ballarat, Bendigo, Geelong, Horsham and Melbourne. They were turning over large amounts of dope and also large sums of money. The police had been onto Fred for some time, but as usual Fred couldn’t care less. He was busted on numerous occasions, but whenever the police raided Fred and Hasy’s setup at the granny flat behind Fred’s parents’ house, Fred had always hidden his dope in a safe place next door, keeping nothing on his property. By this stage Fred’s parents knew what he was up to in the granny flat. Fred was still operating from the house in Sebastopol and his parents didn’t agree at all, so Fred and Hasy set up two houses in Ballarat to sell their dope from. Both houses only had a TV, a lounge and a fridge in each house, being purely set up as a front. They put two of their mates in each house to sell their dope, and the boys from our circle took it in turns to stay at the houses and do the business. The boys only had a few grams on them at all times, the dope always kept in neighbouring houses or hidden in stashes the police wouldn’t find if they raided either one of the houses. Fred and Hasy paid pretty good dollars for the boys to sit in each house to supply dope.
I didn’t get involved in sitting in the houses, but I would get to either house on the weekends on occasion, and spend some time with the boys. Both houses were flat out with people popping in any time of the day. Fred and Hasy were expanding, having the dope scene in Ballarat tied up and now looking to make contacts in Melbourne, and expand their business in other country towns like Horsham and Bendigo.
It was 1992. I had set up an indoor cricket team with a few of the boys; we called it ‘Off your head’. We played in two grand finals and won both. We only played once a week — between football training and indoor cricket we were very busy. On the weekends a few of the boys also played outdoor cricket in Ballarat. I wasn’t too keen on outdoor cricket so I never played, but the boys played good cricket.
We were a pretty tight group; the boys and I didn’t really trust that many people, and we kept most of the drug trafficking to ourselves. We became very loyal to each other. I had always helped Fred and Hasy out with their syndicate while they were selling their dope, doing them favours when they needed it as they didn’t charge me for dope. I was trusted by both Hasy and Fred to handle their cash from the houses. I would also take off with both Hasy and Fred to Melbourne, or interstate to Queensland and South Australia, to buy large amounts of dope from reliable contacts.
We had used my ute on many occasions to cart the dope back to Ballarat. I had a hidden area in the internal body in the back of the ute, so if we were pulled over by the police we would have to be very unlucky to be caught. We never got pulled over on the highways, and we were confident that even if we were, nothing would be uncovered, even if we were carrying kilos of dope from our interstate purchases. Demand was getting stronger and stronger by the day.
After the new year of 1992, the boys and I had taken off to buy some dope. We tried Adelaide, Sydney and the Queensland coast, but it was clear that it was dry — there was just no dope around. Hasy and Fred had bought their last load from a police officer just out of Ballarat. There was a drought in Victoria and across other parts of Australia, and with the dry climate there was very little dope around and people were holding on to their stashes for themselves. We had the connections in Queensland, Byron Bay, Nimbin, Adelaide, Melbourne and many more places, but there was nothing around at all.
The boys had to do something; there were people starving for a smoke. The three of us had tried everything and contacted everyone, but most people that would supply dope to us had dried out. It was getting to Easter time in 1992, when I mentioned to Fred and Hasy that one of my uncles was well connected to many high profile underworld figures in Australia, and overseas.
Norman Lee, my mother’s younger brother, had been close to my part of the family for years. Along with his partner in crime, Dennis Smith, the two were well respected in the underworld. I said to Hasy and Fred that we should go for a drive to see Norman down in Melbourne. At the time, Norman was running two factories: the main Lee family factory at Racecourse Road in Flemington, and his newer factory over in Tullamarine, near the airport. Norman had been running the Racecourse Road factory for years, since his father — my grandfather — handed operations over to him in the 1970s. The new factory had been open for around twelve months. The Lee family business had been running for decades, manufacturing dim sims and chop suey rolls, and supplied their products around Australia. The boys had agreed to give it a go, and see if Norman could help us out with the way he was connected to many people in the underworld. We drove down to see Norman at the new factory.
Once we got there, I parked the ute and said to Fred and Hasy to wait near the ute while I walked into the factory. I said hello to my uncle on the factory floor, and my cousins that were working at the factory on the day. I asked Norman if I could have a private word with him, and once we were alone in his office I asked if he could help me out in getting onto any dope. Norman said he could, making a call to someone on the spot; he got off the phone and said to me to give him a few hours to get the dope.
Norman had a heap of dope down at the docks, in a shipping container. He took off to the docks and picked up some dope from the stash for me and the boys, about five kilos worth. I paid my uncle what money we had when he got back with the dope; we still owed him a little, and Norman said to pay it back later. During this period, Norman was under surveillance from the police, and had been for some time. Norman didn’t know, and neither did we. Norman told us to give him a ring if we needed any more — Norman and Dennis were running the dope trade and the powder trade in Victoria. I knew that Norman was still heavily involved with some hardcore criminals.
Hasy, Fred, and I drove back to Ballarat with the drugs, all top quality stuff, hidden in the panels of the ute.
The drought was still on for many people in Australia at the time — we were lucky to get our hands on anything. Hasy and Fred cleaned up on Norman’s supply.
Around two days later after leaving the factory at Tullamarine with the five kilos of dope, there was a news flash on every radio station and TV channel in Australia that there had been a shootout at Tullamarine Airport, with one robber shot dead and two others severely injured. It was plastered all over the news — the man that was shot dead was my uncle Norman. He had held up the Ansett freight terminal at the airport, targeting an armoured van delivering millions of dollars in cash and jewellery.
Norman had been under surveillance for around six months prior to his death; so when I had bought t
he dope off him, the police had Norman under investigation at the factory. Operation Thorn was in effect, and on the day of the Ansett robbery the police had waited until the heist was just about done before moving in, turning the situation into a shootout. The robbers had been trying to flee when the police continued to open fire on them, Norman having the back of his head blown off in the pursuit.
I couldn’t believe what I had heard on the radio and seen on the TV. I had only just been to visit Norman, speaking to him face-to-face only two days before he was shot dead on July 28th, 1992.
Not long after the shooting, I dropped the cash off to Norman’s son Razz. He had no idea I had owed Norman for the drugs; I just gave him the money for the dope we had picked up two days before the shooting.
I attended the funeral and the wake with family and friends. The police had the whole family under surveillance at Fawkner Cemetery, and tailed us to the wake at the local RSL.
Chapter 7
Travelling
Around 1993 I slowly started to break away from some of my mates that were on dope and in the drug trade. I kept on playing football, and still attended barbeques at friends’ houses and dinners, but only with the people who I wanted to associate with. My brain had had enough of smoking dope, and also trying to cope with everything that had happened over the years — with the deaths of so many friends over the years, and now my uncle, I just felt under pressure.
I was still living at Wilson Street in Ballarat East after the death of Norman Lee. As before I was living with Taffy, Steven and Dale — my parents still lived in Melbourne. Steven was still having dramas in his relationship with Kate — the whole family had broken down, and Steven had tried everything to get back together with her and move back in with Kate and their three kids, but she didn’t want a bar of it.
One night, going into the new year of 1993, some friends of mine that lived just off York Street, Woza and Britty, held a barbeque. The barbeque was for an indoor cricket final that the boys and I had recently won — there were a few boys there from East Ballarat Cricket Club and also Dunnstown Football Club to help celebrate. I rocked up with Steve, Dale and Taffy on the night of the celebrations; I was speaking to Steve, who had mentioned to me that he was feeling a bit crook, and wasn’t acting his usual self at the barbeque. Most of the boys were drinking piss and smoking dope, but I gathered something was wrong with Steve throughout that week. At the barbeque, Steve said he was going to see his parents out at Snake Valley, which was around a thirty minute drive from Ballarat East; Steven hadn’t seen his parents for some time. After he had left from the barbeque, he got on the road straight to Snake Valley. We all assumed that Steven was heading out to see his parents, or to see his children.
After the barbeque at Britty’s house on the Saturday night, Dale, Taffy and I brought up Steven’s behaviour in the week prior to the barbeque celebrations; it was out of character for Steven, and we were pretty sure something was wrong as the four of us had lived together for some time — he was cut up over his broken relationship but recently he’d seemed worse.
I went to work on Monday at the butchers on Sturt Street — by this stage Dale was working there full time, and Taffy part-time — and later in the day we received a phone call from Steven’s family. He hadn’t turned up at either his parents’ house or his ex-girlfriend’s house. Steven’s dad said to me over the phone that the police had found Steve’s body in his car near Snake Valley: Steven had gassed himself while sitting in his car, and was dead by the time the cops found him.
At first the police were investigating Steven’s death, believing it to be suspicious, but after a week or so it was apparent that the cops couldn’t find any suspicious circumstances. Steven’s suicide was ruled as being linked to his relationship breakdown with Kate; there wasn’t any foul play as stated in the police report. We were shocked that Steven had committed suicide; the four of us had lived together for some time at Wilson Street. He didn’t drink or smoke dope, and while he was having trouble coping with the separation he was still a bloke that loved life. He had loved his car, and also was into motorbikes and horses.
His friends and family arranged the funeral in Ballarat, and only very select friends and family attended both the funeral and the wake. The family had decided to keep his funeral very private, out of respect for Steven.
The wake was held at the Golf House Hotel, over at Brown Hill; the publican was a close friend to his family, and on the night he closed the pub for the wake. Steven’s father had spoken to us briefly about him; the rumours were that Steve had mentioned to a family member that he was also hearing voices, around three weeks before his death. He had been seeing a doctor and his claims were on the doctor’s report — no one was sure if it was true, but either way he had been under enormous stress from his relationship breakdown and clearly hadn’t been coping well.
After Steven’s death the house was empty. Dale, Taffy and I barely said a word to each other. After a few weeks had passed, Steven’s family came by to pick up his belongings from Wilson Street. We all took it hard. I had known Steven for several years — he was a genuine mate with a heart of gold.
Around 1994, my parents had moved back to Ballarat, reclaiming the Wilson Street house in Ballarat East and renting out the unit at Meadow Heights. Over the last ten years, my parents had moved from one place to another. I moved out of Wilson Street, and relocated to Latrobe Street in Ballarat, moving in with Lucy, my girlfriend at the time. Taffy and Dale stayed on at Wilson Street with my parents.
Lucy and I had been seeing each other for around six months when we moved in together. Lucy had lived over at Ballarat East with her parents and four brothers, being brought up a strict Catholic. She worked at the YMCA on Camp Street as one of the managers for the Aquatic Centre, and was a hard netball player — she had represented Victoria at one point, but was happy playing with the Sebastopol team.
Lucy and I were renting our house on Latrobe Street. We bought ourselves Rottweilers, intending to breed them. We started with Nikita and Tyson, both police trained dogs — we had our first litter of pups eight months later. Both Nikita and Tyson were owned by a friend of ours that had to give both of the dogs away — she had just recently gotten married and had a child. The dogs were around two years old each, still at a young age to be trained.
I was still playing football for Ballarat East Football Club, right behind the butcher shop on Sturt Street. It was only a two minute walk from the shop to football training, which was definitely handy. Taffy was still working part-time at the butcher shop, and still living with my parents at the Wilson Street house with Dale. I was still managing the shop part-time when my brother wasn’t around — his old injuries from the motorbike crash still bothered him, and at times he would be at the clubhouse with the boys or out on a ride on their Harleys.
Life was pretty busy for me, managing the butcher shop part time while playing football. I wanted out of butchering as the hours were too long, leaving me with too little time for myself. After Steven’s death, things hadn’t felt the same — it was like a plague, with the friends that had died by suicide or either in an accident over the years. While playing football and looking after the shop part-time, I had my fair share of playing up with the boys, but I slowed things down for a while in Ballarat. I would still get out with a few selected mates and hit the night clubs if I had time, and get to barbeques and parties when I could.
On long weekends, we would get away to Bendigo or Horsham. One of our favourites was definitely Horsham — the ratio of woman to men in Horsham must have been ten to one, there were always more woman than blokes. I’d attend most of the long weekends, when all the boys would get up to the Murray River, on the border of Victoria and New South Wales. Most of us would take our dirt bikes up to the river, and a couple of mates would take up speedboats. There would be around thirty of us camping on the river, with most of the boys taking their girlfriends up — they loved camping out by the river. We would all help out in set
ting up the camp site, before running completely amok. The women would get on the piss with the boys; they were a tight group of young ladies, who would hit the local town for both the shopping and the pubs. When we did hit the river it was usually for either Christmas celebrations or the Easter weekend. Easter was better as there were fewer people around. After a hard year of working and sport — all the boys played football, and most of the girls were in netball teams — we would hit the local nightclubs in town to blow off steam, if we weren’t at the camp site.
Most of the time we would camp in our own spots, as we tried to keep away from populated areas — we wanted to keep our camping spot private. There would sometimes be people camping right along the river on the holiday period, but at least Easter was a little quieter, so that’s when the boys and I would get up to the river. It was pretty hard to keep our camp site secluded, and if the river was too busy we would have to stay in motels in the local town. Only thing was, there would always be a point where at least one of the boys would get into a fight, whether at the local night club or at one of the pubs in town, or at different camp sites along the river. On most occasions one of the boys would, some way or another, have a run in.
One Anzac Day weekend, around 1995, we had planned to go to Hot Gossip on Dana Street in Ballarat with some close friends. A few of us knew the owner of the Hot Gossip night club, which was only a stone’s throw from the Ballarat police station; we would all get free entry, and free drink cards. On that night a fight broke out in the night club, between the boys from the Sebastopol football club, that I had played football with, and with the boys from the Redan football club. We were all kicked out of Hot Gossip over the fight, and Taffy was charged with assault and needed to attend a hearing at the county court.