by Mark Bennett
Later that night Jason had met up with some of the boys, and before the next morning he had died from a drug overdose. I received a phone call from Greg, the butcher, telling me he wouldn’t be at work and about what had happened to Jason.
I couldn’t make the funeral service due to work commitments, but I would have loved to attend and pay my respects. Jason was feared in some parts of Broadmeadows, but his family was well-respected in the local area.
Chapter 12
Hospital
A few months after Jason passed away, Jody had popped into see me at the shop. I hadn’t seen Jody since I left the Broadmeadows Shopping Centre butcher shop, and things had been awkward between us since we ended the affair. We went down to the coffee shop further along Snell Grove, and we chatted for a while. She still worked at the butcher shop as a cashier. Jason was brought up in our conversation; Jody lived in Jacana, around the corner from Jason, and had known the whole family for years. She had attended Jason’s funeral. We spoke about the old times and her situation with her husband, as well as what I was up to in my life. It sounded like she still wasn’t getting along with her husband. We were there for hours — she seemed a little all over the place and to me it didn’t seem like she was thinking straight.
About a week later, Jody had driven up towards Yea, which was around a forty-five minute drive from Melbourne, intending to visit her sister. Jody’s sister had only been living up at Yea with her husband and four children for a short time, and had just finished building their new home. Before Jody arrived at her sister’s house, she turned into the state forest about five minutes away from Yea. She pulled over on one of the dirt roads, set up a hose running from the exhaust pipe to the window and gassed herself in the car. Four days later she was found in the bush by a man walking his dog.
During this period my sister was still working, promoting products and cooking samples for passers-by out the front of the butchers at Broadmeadows Shopping Centre. Both Jody and my sister had worked together at the butchers and had been close — when the manager there received the call telling him about Jody’s suicide, she rang me to pass on the news.
I couldn’t attend the funeral or wake — Jody’s mother and sister had known that we had an affair, many years before, and I was told that the husband knew as well. I couldn’t be there as a result, so I couldn’t pay my respects to Jody and her family.
Not long after Jody had died, I was considering closing the Snell Grove shop. There were a few reasons. One was that someone was in the shop at night stealing kilos of meat in small portions. The people next door had different men caught on camera walking in and out of the shop with meat and poultry; this had been going on for some time. During this period the shop was running at a loss; every week I would still buy the same amount of stock, but not make any money.
This went on for at least four months, and I couldn’t pinpoint what was going on. I had sacked a number of staff, trying to scale down costs, but still I wasn’t making any money. Prior to this, the business plan had been on target, but the shop had gone backwards within three months. I had people in my bank accounts taking money, and I had cheques bouncing even though I knew that the funds were there. At one point I had my bank manager ring me at the shop to say that my house was paid off, and the property was discharged for some unknown reason. It was all very confusing.
This was also the time that men had come into the shop while I was trading, saying to me that I should go over and see my grandfather in the nursing home. They were suggesting that I should write a book on my grandfather’s life.
I kept trading, and left Greg to look after the shop as needed while I started taking more time off to find out what the hell was going on, especially with my grandfather. I had considered closing down, but for the time being I still ran the butcher shop.
I spent some time with my grandfather in the nursing home in Footscray. During this period I was stressed out; all the recent deaths were still heavy on my mind, and with everything that was happening with the shop I felt like I was being pushed into a corner. I was also wondering what was going on with my grandfather at the nursing home. Nothing was adding up.
It was at this time that I had my breakdown and was admitted to Royal Park mental hospital. The hospital medical report claimed that I was on amphetamines, which was not true. This was also the time I first started to get the idea that Ray Chuck Bennett was my father, based on blood tests they conducted on me while I was there. By the time I got out, I was a wreck and had other medical problems — my ankles were shot and needed surgery from my treatment within the mental hospital. I had major surgery, and at the same time I closed my shop — there was just no point in keeping it open.
After closing the shop, I was slowly becoming more stable and healthy. I was researching my grandfather’s life more and more, and had decided I was going to write a book on his life as one of the first major dim sim and chop suey roll manufacturers in Australia. As I was researching his life I came across the Great Bookie Robbery that occurred in 1976. I was now putting it all together: my life history, my grandfather’s life, and the bookie robbery. I started working on the book immediately following the closure of the Snell Grove shop.
I was still working on refurbishing my house as I put my book drafts together; it took some time for me to get back on track after my recent trips to hospital. After the shop was closed, I eventually decided to sell my house and put all the money that I had left into writing my books.
I went to Ballarat to see my family and friends on regular occasions while recovering, usually on public holidays or long weekends, and I would take the time to see a few of the boys that I grew up with in Ballarat. My older brother and I would catch up with the boys at the local pubs, and on occasions the local nightclubs. He still owned a butcher shop in Ballarat, so whenever we went to a barbeque he provided the meat. I always enjoyed spending some time with my mates — they still hit the booze and dope pretty hard.
After being in Ballarat one weekend with the boys, I headed back home to Melbourne with Benj, one of my brother’s old mates from the Ballarat bikie club, on the Sunday. Benj had been living in Melbourne for a few years now, working as both a butcher and a bricklayer, and we came back together from Ballarat on this occasion. He lived in Collingwood, while I was still living in Glenroy. I dropped Benj off in Collingwood before driving back to my house in Glenroy. I received a call from Benj later that night, about 10 pm, and we spoke for a while. There was someone else’s voice in the background but I didn’t recognise who it was.
On Monday morning, one of Benj’s workmates found him dead. The police concluded he had died from a drug overdose. On Tuesday, I got a phone call from my brother Basil, telling me about Benj’s death. He didn’t seem the type; he had been a drinker, but never would have thought about drugs. My older brother was in shock over how Benj had died.
The family held the funeral and wake in Ballarat, his hometown. Yet another very close friend to my family had died. I had been working on the books detailing the bookie robbery and my grandfather’s life story, and I decided that I needed to expand that and talk about all the people I was close to, and had passed away over the years due to illness and tragedy.
Not long after Benj’s funeral, another death wasn’t far away. My old schoolmates Alby and Bezza, still mourning the death of their older brother Trevor, mentioned to me that Old Gus was sick. Gus was one of my regulars at the Snell Grove butchers, always popping in to say hi. I had known Gus from knocking around with his boys at school; Alby, Bezza and I would always be out motorbike riding, and would often knock off Coca-Cola cans from the back of Gus’ truck and sell them to the kids at school. Gus had been admitted to the Northern Hospital in Epping not long after I closed the butchers.
I popped into the Northern Hospital to visit Old Gus — at the time the whole family were there. I paid my respects to Gus’ family — it was strictly family that was allowed to see him at that point. Old Gus died a few days later at
Northern Hospital.
Chapter 13
Last Respects
It was 2008, and I was keeping active, having been keeping in touch with many of my mates from footy and the local area through parties and keeping contact with the local footy clubs. A heap of the boys had played basketball for the Broncos, a team based in Broadmeadows. Big Scotty was one of many that had followed me down to the butchers at Snell Close; he had played basketball for the Broncos for years, and also coached for a few years, getting the team into a couple of grand finals. Big Scotty had recently moved out of his own house after he separated from his girlfriend and was living with his parents.
One weekend I had been to the local football with Big Scotty and a few of the boys — it was one of the finals, at the Glenroy ground — and we went to Big Scotty’s place afterwards for a barbeque while his parents were away on holidays. Most of the boys had rocked up to the barbeque. Later on, some of the boys that were at Scotty’s all jumped into his van and rotated around a couple of mates’ houses in Broadmeadows, Oak Park and Glenroy. A few of us hit Macca and Joanne’s house in Broadmeadows. Macca had grown up on Justin Avenue in Glenroy, and Joanne had grown up in the same street as me — they had been together for many years, and had four children between them.
Macca had also been at the barbeque on the day. Most of the boys went from their run-around to the Pascoe Vale Hotel just opposite the train station, and stayed until stumps. The barbeque went through to the next day, and most of the boys kept drinking until late Sunday night, taking the Monday off work. Some of the boys even did a pub crawl when they left Big Scotty’s house on the Sunday night. On the Monday when the bender had stopped, Big Scotty dropped everybody off home and made his way home to his parents’ house in Glenroy.
About a week later I was up at Broadmeadows Town Centre doing some shopping and ran into Big Scotty and his girlfriend BJ. I stopped and said hello to both of them. It was good seeing them together — their relationship had been on the rocks for a while.
A few days later I received a call from Alby. He told me that Big Scotty had died; he’d had a massive heart attack while asleep, and his parents had found him in bed. Unfortunately, Big Scotty had left behind his wife and children at the time of his death.
During this period around 2010, I still lived in Glenroy, around the corner from where I had once lived with my sister and brother-in-law back in the early 1980s. I knew many people that had grown up in the local area, and still loved the area — I’d spent so much of my childhood around here, running amok with my mates on motorbikes and knocking around with the boys from the local suburbs.
Back then, in 1984 when I was about thirteen, I had a thing for Joanne, who had lived down the road along Justin Avenue in Glenroy. At the time I lived on the same street, with my sister. I had seen Joanne on many occasions walking up the street to the milk bar to buy groceries for her parents. The families already knew each other; my older brother was best mates with Joanne’s older brother. After months of smoothing Joanne over we started to see other off and on, not really a major relationship. She would pop in to my place — the granny flat out the back of my sister’s house — and I would pop into her parents’ house down the road. On some occasions I would have Joanne on the back of the dirt bike and take her on joyrides around the local area, while catching up with some mates. We had seen each other for around six weeks or so, nothing too serious.
By the time I moved back to Melbourne after the years of living in Ballarat, Joanne had married Macca — it seemed like most of my mates from that time were married and had families now.
I ran into Joanne one day while on a walk with Cass, a friend of mine that had just gone through a dirty divorce settlement with her ex-husband. We were just near the Justin Avenue shops. I spoke to Joanne and asked her how Macca and the kids were going; we didn’t speak long, and she went into the milk bar, just like she had when getting groceries for her parents all those years ago.
That same day, Joanne walked up to the overpass on Widford Street, got onto the rail and threw herself off the bridge. Neither Cass nor I picked up on anything odd with Joanne when we said hi to her, and yet she killed herself on the same day.
The tragic death devastated Macca and the kids, and shattered their family and friends. Her sudden death was unexpected. Joanne was very close to many people in the area. The funeral was held at Fawkner Cemetery and the wake at the back of Macca’s house in Broadmeadows.
I was forty-two years old, and working and living by myself. My main project at the time was the books that I was writing on behalf of my family and friends. I was a little hesitant at first to put the true story together — I was extremely close to everyone that would be detailed in the book. For those who had died, the tragedy was still fresh for me.
I still travelled to Ballarat on occasions, sometimes just to get away until I got back on my feet. I enjoyed seeing the boys and spending time with my older brother — I would catch up with him on many occasions, having a bit of fun and getting on the piss. We also got to the race track and had a few bets in between the beers.
On this particular weekend that I drove up, it was the Ballarat Cup and a few of the boys had made arrangements to attend. We had a few wins on the races; nothing enormous but still a good day. After spending the day at the races, we had gone back to Herb’s house in Wendouree for a bender and barbeque. Herb was the other one of Basil’s solid mates from the bikie club, next to Benj. We had a long session at Herb’s house after the races.
Herb was telling the boys that he had been crook for some time. Herb had been working for Basil at the butcher shop on a part time basis, but he had been sick for a while and wasn’t getting any better. Around midnight, all the boys decided to hit the local pub, the George Hotel, for more drinks and to play up. We partied pretty much through to Sunday morning, and spent the day at the clubhouse. I finally called it a weekend at midnight on Sunday night, heading back to the motel I was staying at for the weekend. I couldn’t push on any longer, as I had to be back in Melbourne on Monday.
After arriving back in Melbourne late Monday afternoon, I received a phone call from Basil. Herb was in hospital, and very ill — it looked like what had been building up for a while had finally hit him. Herb died late Tuesday evening. Basil had been to see Herb on the Tuesday, before he had died.
Around 2012, during the Christmas celebrations, I was doing a bit of work for a very good friend in Broadmeadows, Wayno, who lived behind the Olsen Place shops. I was with Wayno three or four times throughout the week, as I was helping him out. On Christmas Day Wayno had brought his boy a motorbike for Christmas, putting the bike together and taking it for a test ride on Christmas Eve. Wayno was hit by a car, and among other injuries he broke his neck in the accident. Luckily, Wayno survived; he was rushed to hospital on life support. He spent six weeks in hospital from the accident; he was one lucky man to get out of the accident with only plates and pins in his back, neck and legs.
Luckily there wasn’t another funeral in Broadmeadows — the last thing I had wanted to do was to pay my last respects to Wayno, and his family and friends, like I had done so many times before.
Also by Mark Bennett:
The Great Bookie Robbery
Parts ONE and TWO
The Great Bookie Robbery of 1976 is one of the most notorious armed robberies Australia has ever known. It is also one of the most mysterious in recent history, with official facts blurred together with theory and wild rumours. Just how many millions of dollars was stolen on the day? And what became of the members of the crew that pulled off the daring heist?
As the son of the robbery’s mastermind, Mark Lee Bennett has spent years not only researching the Great Bookie Robbery, but the history of his own family and the way his father and uncle came to be the career criminals wanted by police and rivals alike. The result is a piece of history as seen through the lives of developing criminals in the Melbourne underworld.
Part true crime, part family
biography and part memoir, this is the story of the Great Bookie Robbery as you’ve never read it before.
The Great Bookie Robbery of 1976 wasn’t just one of the biggest heists in Australian history. It was also a curse. On the robbers and their families; on the law enforcement unit that sought answers; on the victims the aftermath left in its wake.
Following on from the story of the Great Bookie Robbery as written by Mark Lee Bennett, the illegitimate son of career criminal Ray Chuck Bennett, this is the follow-up of what happened to the survivors, and the families of notorious criminals now known for pulling off one of the biggest heists in Australian history.
Where the Great Bookie Robbery itself is a story of criminals and record-breaking heists, this is a story of the tragedy and bloodshed that can come as a result of crime.