Jamie: Is your life story going to be made into a film?
Roy S: Well, put it like this. We’ve been given £75,000 up front to give them the option for six months with another £100,000 to come on the first day of filming, then 6 per cent of the gross profits so I sure hope so. It’s to be called “Propaganda” and its being done by an American company. It looks like Ray Winstone is gonna play me in the film.
Jamie: It goes without saying that you are one of the toughest guys in Britain regardless of if there are two, or two thousand tough guys. Are you able to control that anger that you once had or do you still explode? For instance, if someone spilt your beer in a pub would you consider it something worth fighting for? Or if someone cut you up in a car in road rage?
Roy S: I wouldn’t fight over a spilt beer but I did get cut up by a guy in a car outside my house the other week so I got out and knocked him out. I drove up the road after and sat for a while just to give him a chance to come round and piss off, so no police were involved. When I come back to my house twenty minutes later he was still spark out slumped over the steering wheel of his van.
Jamie: I would give my life for my children. What would you be prepared to give your own life for?
Roy S: I’d fight for my two dogs, my family, a friend or anyone who I knew was suffering.
Jamie: We often hear it said that “if anyone touches one of my kids I will kill them” but the reality is that children do get harmed and killed but we don’t see parents killing in revenge. Why do you think that is?
Roy S: Because paedophiles move away and are untraceable. If they committed a crime against a kid and stayed living locally where people could get to them then they would not last long. We would do them inside the nick if we could get to them.
Jamie: What would make you kill?
Roy S: Next question.
Jamie: What would you do if you saw somebody mugging an OAP or battering a child or animal?
Roy S: Jump them and sort them out.
Jamie: Do you think that the journey travelled, pain suffered and life you have lost is worth the wealthy lifestyle you have now?
Roy S: I wouldn’t change anything but wouldn’t advise anyone else to do what I’ve done because the cream years of my life are gone. But none of the screws that tried to make me suffer have the luxurious lifestyle that I have now.
Jamie: Many youngsters and the not so young look up to you as a hero and role model that people can triumph over disaster. This is a big responsibility to bear because you are famous now and many people aspire to be like you, so how does that make you feel?
Roy S: I would turn youngsters against following in my footsteps. I lost my life from twenty-seven to thirty-seven and would not recommend that to anyone. All that I have today is from going into the gym and training hard, not from being a gangster.
Jamie: Is there anything else that you still want to achieve before you retire?
Roy S: No, I’ve done the book and I’m content with that.
Jamie: What makes every day worthwhile to you?
Roy S: Everyday is nice for me. I have a successful business, I love my dogs, and I train. Life is just nice. I love Mondays, which is when I collect the rent from my properties. What more could I want?
Jamie: What is your stance on men that are violent towards women?
Roy S: Any geezer that whacks a bird is an arsehole. I wouldn’t even whack a guy who was drunk and incapable of fighting. I would go back and do him the next day.
Jamie: What message or advice to young people who think it’s cool to want to be a gangster or villain?
Roy S: It’s not cool. In the old days there were not the opportunities to earn money like you can now honestly. You can become a millionaire from making a computer programme, writing books and ways that you could not ever imagine when I was young. We had the choice of being hard up or going out and nicking a few quid here and there. Life is much better without crime. You can live a better life on the dole these days than you could get from grafting hard in the old days. These days I get my income from my lorry park, car-site, my houses and my life story. Nothing could draw me into crime ever again.
GREGORY PETER JOHN SMITH (AUSTRALIA)
Bandit
Introducing … Gregory Peter John Smith
BORN IN JUNE 1952 in Melbourne, Australia, Gregory David Roberts was originally named Gregory Peter John Smithand was one seriously tough man. As a teenager Smithwas rebellious and in 1969, at just seventeen years old, he became a radical political activist and one of the founding members of the Anarchist People’s Liberation Army. Bright and intelligent, Smith attended the prestigious University of Melbourne but as a disaffected student leader in 1974 he occupied the university Council Chambers, and in 1975 joined the Black Week Aboriginal Activism Movement. In 1977, after the break-up of his marriage and loss of daughter in a custody dispute, Smith turned to heroin and to support his drug habit embarked on a series of armed robberies at building society branches, credit unions and shops across the region. He was eventually captured and sentenced to nineteen years’ imprisonment but just two years later, in 1980, Smith escaped in broad daylight to become one of Australia’s most wanted men. Helped by a motorcycle gang, Smith quickly fled to New Zealand for a short while, before fleeing to India where he became involved with the Bombay (Mumbai) mafia, smuggling drugs, gold and passports. He also smuggled guns into Afghanistan and fought with the Mujahedin against the Soviets. Wounded in action, he was evacuated to Pakistan but returned to Bombay where he was appointed. controller of the mafia forgery unit and became a passport smuggler to Nigeria, Zaire, Iraq, Iran, Mauritius and Sri Lanka. After breaking up with the Bombay mafia, Smith went on freelance drug-smuggling missions to Europe but in 1990 was captured in Frankfurt, Germany, and imprisoned. He served two years in solitary confinement and four years in mainstream prison back in Australia, where he began writing his bestselling novel Shantaram.
Smith has had a remarkable life which is chronicled specially for this book by writer Vicki Schofield.
THE BUILDING SOCIETY BANDIT
By Vicki Schofield
There are some people who believe that Gregory David Roberts should not be a successful writer. If you are a member of the Crime Victims Support Association in Australia, your view might be that he profits from other people’s misery through his writing. On the other hand, he might argue back that by sharing his experiences, he is teaching others not to go down a similar path to his. As a criminal, he was known as Gregory Peter John Smith. Whether you are sceptical or not about his intentions, there is no denying that he has a completely different life today from when he was on the run from police, when he acted as a drug smuggler for the Mumbai mafia or when he defended himself in some of the most notorious prisons in the world.
Smith has established himself as a celebrity, rubbing shoulders with some of the most famous entertainers in Hollywood. He has been an admired guest at conferences, speaking about the importance of philanthropy and respect for the common man. Even his press photos depict an image of someone who could easily be mistaken for a hippie or shaman, with his long hair plaited behind his back and his calm demeanour. When you catch a glimpse of him, you would never think that he is a hardened survivor of horrid circumstances, or that he once sparked a massive manhunt in Australia that lasted ten years. This was the man who was described as going from “one day to the next terrorizing” people.
The transition of his image is surprising, and it could be the reason he felt the need to change his name. He had travelled for years using fake passports and false identities. Perhaps this contributed to his feeling of disconnection from the person he was years before. Smith reiterates that his actions were shameful, especially those of his youth where he had threatened people with a gun to hand over money. He insists that he has written about his experiences to teach others what he has learned from falling into an underbelly world of drugs and crime. If you are one of the many people who have read his story, S
hantaram, you may feel empathy for what he has been through, and you may wonder as to how he could have survived all that he has. His biggest regret is putting all of his effort into criminal activities, when he could have been doing what he always wanted: writing.
For a man who was considered of high intelligence by those who convicted him, how did Smith end up a hardened man in the first place? Rarely does he discuss the early years when his wayward behaviour began. On 1 June 1978, Smith was convicted and sentenced to twenty-three years in jail for a spree of armed robberies. At the time, Mr Justice O’Bryan, the presiding judge, stated firmly, “Seldom is a man presented before this court on so many serious crimes at one time.” Smith’s one-year run as a bandit proved impressive. He had covered a lot of ground in his short run of robberies. During his trial, he pleaded guilty to twenty-four charges of armed robbery, confessing to reaping in over AUS$32,000, collected from cinemas, shops and building societies. O’Bryan did not hold back in expressing his disapproval for Smith’s disregard for a respected future. He described Smith as an appalling waste of talent, foolishly choosing to become a full-time junkie. O’Bryan reminded Smith that he could easily sentence him to a hundred years in prison within the current judicial system. But he chose to show some mercy and Smith was handed down twenty-three years instead. This was still arguably a harsh sentence for someone who carried a toy gun and was never actually physically violent towards his victims. (That would come later in life.) Smith’s sentence was partly the result of bad timing as the Australian Parliament had only recently increased the maximum penalty for armed robbery to twenty-five years.
For a couple of years before Smith’s crime spree, there had been a growing intolerance in Victoria for robbers and bandits. Between 1970 and 1976, an overwhelming AUS$5 million was stolen in Victoria, and Inspector Paul Delianis was becoming concerned with the increasing trend of such crimes. Local university criminologists hypothesized that it was because these acts were becoming glorified, especially for young people. As long as no one got physically hurt in the process, some youths thought that no real harm was done. It was as if the criminals were regarded in the same fashion as other victorious characters, stealing from the well off, like Butch Cassidy or Robin Hood. The press failed to help curb this idolization by branding the criminals in the media. At twenty-six, Smith was labelled “The Building Society Bandit” for his particular taste in robbery targets.
The focus on small targets such as shops, building societies and service stations concerned Inspector Delianis as much as the increase in the number of robberies. Previously, being a thief was more about getting the big payout, the one that would set you up for life or at least a long time. Usually, it would mean barging into a bank and cleaning them out for a hefty sum. But some of the bandits, like Smith, worked out that hitting the smaller targets meant that the payout was easier to get their hands on, and that the risk was minimal in comparison to banks. Less security meant less hassle. For authorities, it meant that the money was more difficult to trace and eventually recoup. This, too, was a blow to the local police.
As previously mentioned, Smith was a thief who did not physically harm anyone in the process and considered by some to be a hero. Victoria police had difficulty tracking the Building Society Bandit for a year until their luck turned and they finally caught up with him in February 1978. While attempting to pull another quick cash job in a shop, his effort was thwarted by an intolerant shopkeeper. It was a careless failure on Smith’s part, but he would learn from this mistake and continue to head into a career of international crime beyond the petty money he was used to getting.
Whether or not he acknowledged it, Smith had been warming up to the idea of having brushes with the law for a couple of years preceding his sentence. Raised in a rough working-class neighbourhood, he began with good intentions, initially intending on building a life like any other average family. At eighteen, he married his girlfriend and had a daughter shortly afterwards. In order to support them, he worked in a factory during the day whilst attended university classes in the evening. He had entered the University of Melbourne with prominent grades and a talent for creative writing. Even so, Smith still exhibited a bit of deviance while being a student. He proved to have other interests than school, work and family. At five foot ten inches, with medium build, he did not appear on the outside to be a menacing figure in his youth, but years of martial-arts training had encouraged his strength and his ability to defend himself. There was certainly a sense of non-acceptance of the status quo by Smith, as he spent a lot of his time amongst activists and anarchist groups. He was often fighting for a variety of left-wing causes.
By the time he was in his early twenties, Smith had established a significant presence on the University of Melbourne campus, being elected Student Leader of the University Council in 1974. Participating in demonstrations was not satisfying enough for him. He wanted to create a new organization: the Australian Independence Group. The group began to have a negative impact on the university campus. This conflict reached its peak in the mid 1970s, when the Student Union banned the group for having some members exhibiting threatening behaviour. The university tagged them as a “bunch of thugs” attempting to use intimidation to gain power. Out of fear for what could happen to its members, the Student Council moved its headquarters to a more secure location.
While the Australian Independence Group continued to become more of a burrowing problem within the university, Smith’s focus had shifted to solely concentrating on getting his next heroin hit. He admits that his immaturity got the better of him when he was faced with a personal problem he could not handle. Specifically, it was the deterioration of his marriage and the loss of custody of his daughter that proved too much. He had built a significant parental bond with his daughter, often seen by fellow classmates taking her to university and sitting in the cafe while he worked on his assignments. In retrospect, he admits he should have straightened himself out, stayed clean and put time into his writing instead. At least then he would have had a greater chance of possibility seeing her.
However, everyone has a different point of weakness and so, on the day that the decision was made about his daughter, he buckled. A friend who came to console him offered him his first hit of heroin to combat the pain and he accepted. Smith has said that he was always meticulous when using heroin; he was careful about where and when to insert the needle and left few marks on his arm. He soon discovered that the numbness would come at a hefty price and he would need some new way of funding the habit, especially as his family grew tired of him sponging money off them and began to turn him away. In the summer of 1977, Smith finally reached the conclusion that the only way he could fund his habit was to do something drastic. He figured that a movie cinema would make an easy first target. Upon arrival, he doubted himself and was unsure he could complete the task in hand. Desperation and cravings overwhelmed him, and he swallowed back any apprehension that he had left. Earlier in the day, he had attempted to obtain some methadone to treat his addiction, but discovered that it was unavailable from the usual collection point. Slumped in the men’s toilets, he waited for the right moment, each sound startling him. His thoughts of retreating from the cinema were interrupted unexpectedly when a small fire erupted in one of the rubbish bins. Someone had carelessly tossed their cigarette into the trash. Smith claims that he extinguished it himself, and that the cinema ushers came and thanked him. Minutes later, he approached the counter and threatened them with a gun.
Smith was like a bumbling professor on his first robbery. His technique needed some refinement, as he made a couple of awkward mistakes. After he grabbed the bag, holding the measly bit of money from the cinema till, he sprinted out the door and collided with two police officers on the street. The money fell to the floor and he quickly snapped it up and cradled it in his arms. He was able to offer the officers a feeble excuse for his clumsiness. Smith never aroused any suspicion in them, and he was left to run free, and to continue to stea
l fifteen more times that year.
Although Smith has said that he was often polite to his victims and that he was nicknamed the “Gentleman Bandit”, Mr Justice O’Bryan expressed different opinions of him on the day of his sentencing. Even though Smith only ever carried a toy gun, the judge was keen to point out that Smith had terrorized people to support his habit, threatened at least three women with their lives and robbed some people twice in one day. Smith retaliated by appealing his twenty-three-year sentence, with no chance of parole for sixteen years, saying that it was excessive. His attorney argued that too much emphasis was placed on his deviance from society, when more concentration should have been placed on his potential for rehabilitation. This was disregarded and Smith was sent to Pentridge Prison.
It was evident that Pentridge had a bulk of issues to deal with in the 1970s, before Smith even set foot there. It was nicknamed the Bluestone College, and it was recognized as a place where criminals developed an even harder attitude and acquired new criminal skills. Smith was placed in the H division, also known as the “high security, discipline and protection division”. To inmates, it was known as the Hell division. Overcrowding and tight budgeting had raised some public concerns about Pentridge’s efficiency in disciplining inmates. In 1979, not long after Smith was imprisoned, a significant riot broke out on one of the other divisions in Pentridge. Several prisoners had been drinking their own home-brew, which led to them savagely attacking officers and setting any objects at their disposal on fire. At one point, several of them managed to make it to the top of the prison roof, but were herded back towards the cells by police with batons. It sparked an outcry in the local media for a more disciplined, regulated institution.
The Mammoth Book of Hard Bastards (Mammoth Books) Page 46