Wherever we travelled, there was always an adventure. The kids loved it and I was truly happy spending time with my family.
In 2012, we travelled to Thailand, a country I have since visited on business many times and come to love. A week of work and relaxation, taking in Bangkok and then Koh Samui.
The following year, we travelled to Europe and New York. I was working on creative writing projects and revelled in the interaction with the publishing and film-producing scene. Being away from the pressures of forensic work, and spending quality time with those I loved most, made a huge difference to my mood and, consequently, my perception of life. The wounds were healing.
Later that year, we returned to LA to attend a book launch, poolside at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I had written several chapters for a book on men’s ageing in conjunction with leading cosmetic surgeon, Dr Michael Zacharia. The launch was well attended by a feast of Hollywood notables. Narcissism, after all, is the golden thread in a city where nothing other than self-interest prevails.
And yet, all the hoopla belied a seeping, silent malaise in my marriage.
For Carla, the accumulated burden of dealing with years of unrelenting pressure, at times in a very public domain, became too much.
When Carla told me how she was feeling, my self-confidence was shattered. Desperate to re-establish myself, the old boogie of burying myself in work returned. I felt compelled to make things right. But, in reality, it was all so wrong.
Within six months of that amazing trip to the US, we were finished. Decades of shared experience, and dreams, gone. Just like that, or perhaps not quite . . .
No one and everyone is to blame when a marriage fails. Blindsided to its inevitability when your limits of tolerance are spent, I realise now that our relationship was, for years, essentially a cadaver on life support. The rich colour which characterised our betrothal had slowly leeched away. The frequent laughter and zany interactions were gradually reduced to stilted conversation, tension and barbs. The music and magic had dissipated.
The trips away were an unconscious attempt to infuse some excitement into our union. They certainly were a distraction.
Carla, to her credit, had supported me through it all, or most of it. The board, the coke, the loss of my reputation and livelihood.
Despite the huge emotional toll she had suffered and endured, Carla embraced the role of super stepmother to Jesse and Tom when their beautiful mother, Sue, was so cruelly taken. She also nurtured our children when I was psychologically and physically spent, with not one iota of energy in reserve for those I loved the most.
For that she has my continued gratitude and respect.
And yet, in the end, our shared experience was too much for us both. Our coping mechanisms drove us in different directions. Bleary, bone weary, emotionally zapped, it was over.
REFLECTIONS
It is 9 p.m. on 3 October 2016, the anniversary of my arrival in Melbourne in 1981. I am sitting in the lounge room of my apartment in the eastern suburbs of Sydney. The light is fading but the lights of the harbour’s north and south head, and the magnificent eastern suburbs mist, never ceases to inspire me. I recognise the privileged life that I have led, even with its major tragedies and setbacks. I am in a deeply pensive mood as I cast my mind back over the subsequent decades.
What a ride. I can still clearly remember the morning I arrived at Tullamarine Airport to be met by my late business partner Dr David Sime. I was twenty-eight years of age and filled with aspiration, motivation and the expectation of an amazing life. I cannot believe that thirty-five years have passed and my career is coming to an end. I have had the privilege of being exposed to and exploring aspects of the human condition and psyche that others can only dream about. My work has provided me with extraordinary insights to the human condition and a deep sense of wisdom that is extremely difficult to articulate.
And yet, on this day, any sense of accomplishment and euphoria eludes me. I received an email from my closest and most longstanding friend, who has been suffering motor neuron disease for two years. He cannot breathe without choking. He cannot sleep. He cannot swallow. He has no future. He wants nothing other than to die. Today, if possible. The elephant has been floating around the room since the initial diagnosis.
I realise that what really matters to me is my family and my friends. Those people who have shared the journey, stood by me through thick and thin and who continue to support me. Without sounding ungrateful about the opportunities afforded to me, and my success, in this moment my work feels entirely meaningless.
It would be a wonderful thing to complete this book on a positive note, and yet when I look back over the past thirty-eight years of my career, I realise that I have been exposed to the darkest side of human nature for the majority of the time. It continues to affect me.
Notwithstanding some 30,000 individuals I have assessed and no doubt assisted at some level with their problems, on this particular day I feel empty. I have endured so much loss. The premature deaths of close friends, the loss of my first wife Sue to cancer, the loss of a child, the death of my second marriage, the loss of my business partner Dr David Sime three weeks after Andrew Fraser was busted, the loss of my reputation and the sudden death of my best mate several years ago. And now I’m faced with yet more loss. I struggle to make sense of it all. I feel entirely powerless. When it is all said and done, despite the existential highs and lows, our lives are ultimately insignificant and brief.
The primary lesson of my life, which I wish to share for those who are willing to listen, is to leave your ego in a box. Accomplishment is a transitory phenomenon, but connectedness and love for others is not.
Now at the age of sixty-three, I look back filled with deep sadness and a sense of regret concerning the choices I made at critical times in my development. The accolades of decades past are now to me mere artefacts, which carry no real significance. The big cases, the hoopla, the press, the television, excessive hours of devotion to my career – it all seems so superficial and such a waste. I deeply regret not spending more time with my children and I deeply regret my huge investment in my ego at an enormous cost to precious time that cannot be recovered.
My greatest achievement has been that of fatherhood. I did my best, although I believe I could have done better. Despite years of crap, and primarily through the stability of Carla, all of my children have excelled. Tom finished a double degree in law and business but has since become more interested in human behaviour. He is now back at university, where he is excelling in pursuing qualifications to become a psychologist. Jessica has completed a master’s degree in art curatorship, and Gabby a double degree in law and international relations. Laura has returned to university to study teaching. Always the lad, Nick has a scholarship at one of Melbourne’s most prestigious private schools. I share a mutual love and deep respect with all my children and I categorically adore them all.
As to the human condition, as I best see it, I continue to look for the good in people. That said, I am also firmly of the view that some people are born evil and that no amount of social engineering, therapy, support or medication can alter that fundamental construct in their psyche. I have dealt with some of the most evil people that this wonderful country has had to suffer and endure. Those individuals have no redeeming qualities and, in my view, many of them deserve to remain in jail. There is little that can be done for them and the danger to the community is too great otherwise.
Some may feel that my comments regarding drug use are self-serving. It has now been over seventeen years since my cocaine use was exposed and relinquished. To put this in some context, it occurred last century. We have seen Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and now Barack Obama come and go during this time. A long time indeed.
And yet, to some in the community, particularly in Melbourne, it is as if it was yesterday. Despite my rehabilitation, I continue to suffer snide remarks, opprobrium and occasional expressions of abject stupidity from the bench and from those individ
uals who are charged with serving the community and administering justice in an objective and fair manner. Beyond punishment, it is commonly accepted that rehabilitation is the overarching principle in dealing with offenders. It no longer matters to me. My life has moved forward.
In many ways, I would probably have been better off listening to my friends who recognised my sensitivities, my love of music and literature, and totally avoided the career that I embarked upon. That said, it has been an extraordinary ride. Certainly, if my life had been markedly different I would have remained as a public servant or pursued other interests at a professional level, including organisational psychology. I doubt, however, that I would have had the professional enrichment I have enjoyed over nearly four decades, with the richness and depth of exposure to the spectrum of the human condition, had this occurred. Despite the pressures and traumas, it has ultimately been a privilege to work in my chosen speciality.
*
For the first time in over seventeen years I have been able to listen to the Dylan masterpieces ‘Not Dark Yet’ and ‘Tryin’ to Get to Heaven’.
These haunting, beautiful songs were my constant companions during the last months of Sue’s life. I listened to them every evening, late, when the family was in bed. It became a ritual as I watched over my two eldest as they slept, knowing the shared inner terror we were experiencing. I felt but never articulated these emotions. We survived in an atmosphere of denial. To puncture the defence would have been impossible. Especially for me . . .
Each night, the ritual, chopping the lines, lighting the log fire. Embracing its comforting warmth, I would stare at the art and listen to the poetry of Dylan. At times, it was a powerful buffer. At other times, no amount of coke, art or music could distract me from the reality of my powerlessness to change it all. As much as I wished it was not so, I could not conquer Sue’s looming death.
Cocaine?
A fruitless, destructive attempt to escape my grief. Perhaps, in my own way, I was attempting to join her. Suicide by stealth.
There were certainly times when I considered taking my life. I held back. They all needed me.
And so, instead, I strangled all emotions, night after night. Coke gave me a brief respite before the reality of the new day dawned, with all the pain and exhaustion that inevitably followed.
After Sue died, I could never muster the strength to revisit these songs. I tried once and collapsed in a sob.
And yet, tonight, I can.
Is this resolution?
I don’t know.
I do know I can now look back on my life. Less overwhelmed, more reflective.
Quite a ride.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I have been blessed with an extraordinary life. It has been enriched by the interactions and intersections with many people. So little space to do them justice.
The seeds for this book were planted in 1996. I had been approached at the time by a former colleague, Dr Jonathan Upfal, about producing a memoir of my career. Although I had only been in practice at that time for eighteen years, the nature and high profile of the cases which I had undertaken as a forensic psychologist meant there was ample material for such a book.
Although I had written in excess of 20,000 forensic reports at that time, these were highly specialised documents and as far as writing an autobiography was concerned, I was a complete novice. Jonathan had very graciously organised a meeting with a publishing house and after several meetings we agreed upon a working title ‘Crime on the Couch’. He was also of great assistance and had a collaborative involvement in the first few chapters of this book.
During the course of 1996 my mood deteriorated. As the year progressed I found it increasingly difficult to maintain my obligations to this project, and as a consequence it lapsed. The difficult years which followed, chronicled in detail in the book you have just read, meant it remained on the shelf for some time.
During the time I was deregistered, Jacqueline Gillespie, a close friend, approached me. Jacqueline had written a bestselling work Once I was a Princess, about the abduction of her children by her former husband, who is part of the Malaysian Royal Family. I had been integrally involved in supporting Jacqueline during this extremely difficult time in her life and I was very grateful for the unconditional encouragement she gave me when she suggested that I should revisit my memoirs, as in her view this was a story ‘which had to be told’.
During the latter part of 2000, I was well into my recovery. Having been drug free for more than twelve months, my cognition, creativity and intellect resurfaced. With the assistance of an agent, I was introduced to Random House and signed a publishing deal, although due to a confluence of factors the book was never released to the public.
I have now been drug free for nearly eighteen years. I was readmitted to practice in early 2004 and have worked assiduously to regain my reputation and professional kudos. I am pleased and proud to state that I once again enjoy an exceptionally busy practice involving consulting throughout Australia and overseas. My quality of life, however, is far more harmonious and of equal importance. With the considerable benefit of maturity and hindsight, I have now finally mustered the courage to tell the story ‘which had to be told’. I have added additional chapters to my original manuscript, covering the recovery process and my return to the workplace and describing my contemporary life. Time can be a wonderful healer and much of the venom which was in the original tome has been removed. I have used synonyms to protect former friends whose reputations I have no desire to destroy.
At the age of sixty-three I have lost much of the arrogance of youth and approached the privilege of my profession with far greater humility, based in large measure on my direct identification with many of the patients I have seen over the years who have suffered profound soul-destroying depression and the compounding effects of addiction.
This book is a memoir, both professional and personal, and so contains details of patients I have treated or assessed in the course of my work. To protect the confidentiality of my patients who are still living, and to uphold my ethical duties to them and to my profession, I have either protected the identity of the patient, or, where their identity is known, not divulged any information which is not already publicly available.
The list of people who provided advice and unconditional support, as well as love to me at a time when my entire universe had collapsed, is far too extensive to list in this modest work. Nonetheless the following individuals need to be publicly recognised:
First and foremost
To my fiercely loyal, amazingly competent PA and great friend, Rosemary Rovetto. Without your unwavering support my practice, let alone this book, would not exist. Through good times and bad, you have been my professional rock. Thank you.
The Mechanics and Panel Beaters
A heartfelt debt of gratitude to Wendy Squires. Your encouragement, your patience and your friendship in bringing this concept to life is well acknowledged.
Thank you, too, Angus Fontaine, my visionary publisher. You saw the potential and busted my balls to meet deadlines. We got there.
To Georgia Douglas and Deonie Fiford. The brilliance of your editing has transformed a Ford Edsel to a red Ferrari. We hope . . .
To my publicist, Clare Keighery. And to Pan Macmillan Australia for having the courage to take on this project. It has been a pleasure and a privilege to work with such an esteemed company.
Creative Team
The brilliant Rex Dupain, friend for 51 years
The generous Tara Moss.
Hugh Riminton, an extraordinary talent.
Piers Laverty, a lifetime of friendship.
Charles Waterstreet (The Real Rake).
Early Life
The late Dr Graham Ellis, we started kindy on the same day, friend for 54 years.
The late Wayne Garstang, another ‘Grammar’ misfit, friend for 51 years.
Jimmy Manzie, musician and mate ’Ol 55, friend for 51 years.
Azo Be
ll, musician, rebellious Grammar boy, friend for 51 years.
Bob Stow, motorcycle enthusiast, rebellious Grammar boy, friend for 51 years.
Doug Bryant, friend for 54 years.
The late Robert Keishan (a life cut too short).
Stephen Ward, friend for 60 years.
Craig Moran, friend for 60 years.
Mark Douglas Mawson, friend for 51 years.
Dr John Ritchie, legendary Grammar ambassador, friend for 51 years.
Tony and Laurelle Simpson, friends for 47 years.
Dr Carolyn Lechowicz, Dr Jane Innes, Gillian Simpson, Lynda Dwyer – decades of friendship.
Mentors, Friends and Supporters
The late Harry Duff, Governor H.M. Prison Parramatta. ‘If you can be conned, you can be fucked.’ . . . I listened.
The late Dr David Alexander Sime, business partner, trusted friend, maven. A true gift.
Irene Mamontoff, Chief Psychologist, Department of Corrective Services 1978. You gave me my first job in the toughest jail in the country.
The late Terry Dorey, forensic psychologist.
Chris Miles, jail nurse. Your wisdom and humour continues to inspire.
Bob Kumar (Your Honour) . . . my privilege.
Peter McIllwaine, founding partner Davidson Trahaire.
Leslie Pearson, friend for 60 years.
Brian Rolfe, your generosity, kindness and faith in me during the dark ages, and beyond, has survived me.
Kalli Rolfe, for your love, support and wisdom. A true friend.
Philip Dunn QC . . . quite a ride.
Justice Robert Redlich QC. Thank you.
Judge Liz Gaynor. Thank you.
Justice Terry Forrest. Thank you.
Remy van de Wiel QC. Thank you.
Judge Gregory John Lyon PhD QC. Thank you.
The late Judge Robert Kent QC.
The late John Harber Phillips AC QC (former Chief Justice of Victoria).
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