When Dean became the prime suspect in the Hall murder investigation, some of his so-called friends turned their back on him. Dean and Kelly were unable to find employment and forced on the dole.
In August Kelly fell pregnant. Soon after that, they announced their engagement. Kelly’s parents refused to finance their wedding or attend the ceremony. I was invited but was reluctant to go. I wished Dean hadn’t moved out. I saw his engagement as another nail in the coffin of his career. I knew he had to stand on his own two feet some time, but would have preferred him to do so when he’d enough money in the bank to buy his own place. This 26-year-old was unemployed, in debt, renting, stressed-out by the murder charges and bearing the full weight of domestic responsibility. Not the best situation for the Australian heavyweight boxing champion. So much for my ‘no distractions’ rule. Kelly was strongly behind .him staying away from the farm. She neither wanted her baby to be around so many animals, nor her husband under my dominating influence. -
In September Dean and Kelly married in a lovely floral setting on the Central Coast. Kelly looked radiant, Dean handsome in a white suit. At the last moment I took Margaret along. It was a very strained occasion for me because I didn’t agree with what was happening. After the ceremony I stood by and sadly watched while they took the official wedding photographs. I was never asked to be included, which didn’t make me feel any better.
It was obvious Dean’s heart wasn’t in boxing. For months he’d been playing around, pretending and making excuses. He often didn’t turn up at the farm for his training sessions and if he did, I’d sometimes find him fiddling with an old Holden instead of punching bags and skipping. This concerned me greatly; it was only seven weeks before Dean was to meet Kevin Barry in Adelaide.
If Dean lost the fight and was stripped of his Australian heavyweight title, what would he do? He had no trade or profession to fall back on. I’d not prepared myself for my boys losing interest in boxing when they had everything going for them.
When I tried to spur Dean on, we ended up having the most terrible arguments. Dean always felt that I was having a go at him and he was right. I wanted Dean to look honestly at himself and recognise his weaknesses, instead of pretending they weren’t there. Dean had never liked the truth, especially when it hurt. He was always one for excuses.
Troy stayed in constant training despite the turmoil following the arrests of Dean and me. He was watching the international scene closely, frustrated he hadn’t been able to fight the world champion. Mathew Hilton, who we felt had purposefully avoided fighting Troy, had been beaten by an American, Robert Hines. I immediately approached Robert’s trainer with an offer and was waiting for his response. Meanwhile, I made sure Troy’s reflexes stayed razor sharp—it was only a matter of time before our challenge would be accepted.
In October, Troy and Guy flew to Adelaide to fight. Dean was going to fight Kevin Barry, but suffered a stress fracture to his right hand on the punchbag and had to be pulled from the competition. I was privately relieved because I didn’t feel he was trim and fit enough to beat Kevin.
Troy was confident and in form. In 11 pro fights he’d suffered one loss and had seven KOs. But Zimbabwean Gilbert Josamu had had 16 fights, two losses and six KOs, and Troy’s junior light-middleweight title was at stake. Gilbert came in with African dancers and drummers, looking snappy and full of fight. Worse, Gilbert’s clean punches to the head were stacking up points. Suddenly, Troy’s right uppercut to the jaw felled him. He beat the count, but Troy’s barrage put him back on his back in seconds. The ref signalled the end of the fight before he got to 10, 150 seconds from the bell. Troy told the press and crowd he wanted a world title fight. They cheered.
Guy went 10 rounds with American Randy Smith. Randy had gone the distance with two former world champions and the current one. Guy won on points unanimously.
Later that month Dean and I had to attend the Wyong Court where additional charges were laid: I was charged with being an accessory before the fact; Dean was charged with murder. The police were suspicious that Dean had washed his sandshoes and a jumper (among other clothing) just before they raided his house, on the grounds Dean might have something to hide. Dean thought all charges were ridiculous.
Outside the courthouse, I noticed a foundation stone laid there in 1924 by Thomas Ley, who was then the New South Wales Minister for Justice. When I saw that name, skin prickled at the back of my neck. The same Thomas Ley had returned to England after his posting in Australia and had committed what was known as The Chalk Pit Murder with an accomplice called Smith who I met in Dartmoor back in 1948. Apparently Ley and Smith both murdered a man who was making out with Ley’s girlfriend. Ley was sentenced to death, reprieved, and later died in Broadmoor Asylum.
October 1988 was not a good month for Guy either. The ABF stripped Guy of his light-heavyweight title because he hadn’t returned a signed contract for a defence against Jeff Harding. I went to court to challenge the ABF decision. Costs were expected to be around $3,000 and the ABF would pay if we won, and Guy and I could pay it from future purses if we didn’t.
Guy and his brothers fought at Bruce Stadium, Canberra, before 1400 people and many more bogong moths, some smashed by fists and ground by boots, upsetting Guy.
Dean’s hand recovered about the time his misbehaviour wrecked his fitness and he was 10 kilograms over ideal weight. He won, Dean sending Kevin Barry, a fitter, solid brawler from Adelaide who’d been chasing Dean a long time, to the canvas in Round 4.
Guy KOed American Gerard Brown with a jabbing left and chopping right in Round 2. Gerard never mastered Guy’s rangy lefts, despite his 12 wins and three defeats in pro boxing. (We invited the wrath of the ABF in announcing Guy as the national champion.) Troy’s opponent, tough tall black American, Ricky Stackhouse, attacked and Troy danced and countered hard and cleanly, winning on points. Herb Hild wrote:
Troy has the ideal temperament to be a champion. He is cool, he is clinical, he stalks, he probes for chinks in his opponent’s armour. Even when he unleashes his combination he does it with dispassionate precision.
What the press didn’t know is that Troy had an agonising broken jaw and burst eardrum after that night, and was to stay out of the ring for six months, losing peak condition. And he had to fight the winner of the IBF championship showdown between the titleholder, the US’s Darrin Van Home and Italy’s Gianfranco Rossi, for junior middleweight champion of the world in 18 months.
Margaret continued to visit the farm every weekend to feed her dog and have a chat. I looked forward to seeing her smiling face; a friend in a hostile world. Margaret’s own marriage was crumbling and I gave her every support. I’d no respect for her husband and encouraged Margaret to stick up for her rights and not let him get away with his selfish behaviour.
Whereas my personal relationship with Margaret was strengthening, my working relationship with my sons continued to deteriorate. I was now having particular trouble with Guy and Sharon as I couldn’t support their relationship. Not surprisingly, Guy felt that I didn’t like Sharon and resented me criticising her.
Three weeks before his last fight Guy was still sleeping with Sharon. Dean and Guy also went against my wishes and had the occasional late night. Good sensible rules were being broken, and it filled me with despair. Did they think they were superhumans who could have sex, party on and still come out on top?
Their impulsive youthfullness was so destructive. All our years of hard work and sacrifice, building towards a goal, and now Dean and Guy were turning against what I knew to be the right way. Everybody said we couldn’t do it and we were on the verge of proving them right. I couldn’t stand the thought.
But when my sons won a match and raised their fist to the roar of the crowd, the arc lights, the snapping cameras, I could see in their faces they didn’t want to be ordinary. They loved the attention and glory. Who wouldn’t? Shelves of trophies. National heroes. Exceptional athletes. They were on the brink of big money and international sta
rdom. So why all the arguments? Ultimately, didn’t we all want the same thing?
31 Trials and Tribulations
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.
Shakespeare, Hamlet
I couldn’t stand the emotional pain. Why had my boys ceased to love and respect me? Troy couldn’t workout properly; his jaw prevented him running and sparring. But he no longer seemed interested, even told the media that there’d been good moments but on the whole he hadn’t enjoyed the past 10 years. ‘I don’t want to be a millionaire or a hero. All I want is to be happy and live comfortably.’ He missed socialising and wanted to surf and play soccer.
After weeks of friction, I decided I should try to make amends to Guy, who thought I didn’t like Sharon. Sharon was unemployed, so I went to the secretary of the Ettalong Memorial Club and arranged for her to be considered for employment. She gave me an application form and I passed it to Guy for her. But Guy reported back that Sharon wasn’t going to fill it in. Disappointed, I said, ‘I made the move to get Sharon that job. It was more than a good job with a future, it was to show there were no hard feelings.’ But Guy wasn’t interested.
Marty and I organised a fight for Guy against New Zealander Pilau Taito. Pilau ignored the ref’s instruction to ‘come out fighting’ and went to tap Guy’s gloves, an alternative start. Guy floored him instantly. The crowd wasn’t pleased with a fight over in seconds and yelled for Guy to fight Jeff Harding—I said Guy would, but not on a Mordey promotion. Dean fought another New Zealander, Young Haumona, cousin of Maile who Dean had twice defeated and was WBC rated. But Dean was too strong and won the Australasian belt. Success in the ring, but a different story back home.
The three were still training with me, but after each morning’s session they seemed to go on strike. There was so much work to do around the property and they didn’t seem prepared to do their usual chores or help out. Even the boxing ring had fallen into disrepair. The farm was fast turning ramshackle and there was little I could do about it.
While the boys were earning as professional fighters, they never paid any board or lodgings. I received 25 per cent of their earnings which went on paying for food and bills. I never saved money.
I’d always cooked for the boys. If the larder was getting empty, I’d ask them for a loan of $10 or $20 to buy food. This money would be added to their boxing purse; the boys were always paid back. Guy began to buy and cook his own food. Later, Troy followed suit. I felt they did this so that I couldn’t ask them for money. The larder became empty. Neither boy asked if I needed food; they didn’t seem to care if I ate or starved.
Despite the difficulties I was having with Guy’s bid for independence, as a boxer he was improving at a terrific rate. Suddenly, he announced he was going to leave home to live at Sharon’s parents’ house in Berkeley Vale. I could tell from his body language how much he resented the authority I held over him. As a young man in his mid twenties, he needed more personal space and independence. Guy claimed to the media that my training schedules were intolerable, but he still wanted me to be his trainer and was prepared to return each day to workout.
Sharon naturally wanted to be seen as much as possible with Guy which meant going out on a more regular basis than I’d permit. The two became engaged and planned to marry the following year. I knew that after Guy left he’d be distracted—by Sharon, her family and friends—making it more difficult for me to train him. However, there was nothing I could do; my glorious visions were being shattered by those who had so much to gain from them.
In February 1989 Dean’s wife Kelly gave birth to Rebekka. When she was only a few days old I saw my lovely grandchild in hospital. Dean was exuberant and Kelly tired but happy. I gently picked Rebekka up and held her in my arms. At that moment I felt warmly accepted. This gave me the fleeting hope that perhaps Dean, Kelly and I could one day sort out our differences and reunite as a family again.
On another couple of occasions I visited Dean and Kelly at their house. There was a lot of tension between us and I didn’t really feel welcome. Kelly knew I wanted more control over Dean in terms of his diet, exercise, sleep patterns and mind-set so I could keep him in top physical condition. No doubt she had other ambitions for Dean on a more domestic level. I was a nuisance she could do without.
Marty and I arranged a Commonwealth title fight for Guy at the State Sports Centre, Sydney. The then champion, Canadian Willie The Hammer Featherstone, also trained by his father, came out of his corner with aggressive body punches and pushed Guy to the ropes, but Guy’s ringcraft protected him and he began to dominate with swift accurate counterpunches. I tried to unnerve Willie, yelling, ‘Virgil Hill.’ Hill had defeated Willie in a world title fight. The fight was Guy’s after 12 rounds, a new title to complement his brother’s Commonwealth one. Also, he was Australian champion again; the court decision irrelevant. His world rating improved and people began to talk of him as a contender.
Days before the fight ticket sales were low. Marty and I realised we had to do something drastic in order to pay Willie and his connections. Marty put his house on the line to get a loan. Later, a Sky Channel deal for Troy’s next three fights, $100,000 paid in advance, got him out of trouble. But my legal costs from the court challenge blew out and Guy refused to help. The team spirit seemed decidedly one way. At the weigh-in Kelly pulled their daughter Rebekka away from me as I bent down to her carrycot, a hostile public upsetting gesture. At home Troy was tense and tetchy being alone with me; he’d rather have been with his brothers; and he was mixing more with outsiders.
Troy broke his toe—playing indoor soccer, foolish rebel—weeks before he met the crafty Welshman, Mike Harris, but he won on a TKO in Round 8. Both Troy and Guy successfully defended their titles at Jupiter’s Casino on the Gold Coast, beating Ghana’s Judis Clottey in a lacklustre bout and England’s Roy Skeldon respectively. Shy Guy punched aggressively and totally outclassed Roy, who said Guy was world title material. He went to No. 3 WBC and No. 6 IBF, and was on his way to the top. Troy went up to Queensland for a few days and when he returned we had the news he’d been waiting for. The No. 1 contender for 18 months, Troy had a crack at the big one at last, against Gianfranco for a $75,000 purse, more if he won.
Troy’s rebellion made him difficult to train; he wanted to do things his way. I felt his preparation for the Rossi fight was below par and feared he might not perform with his usual brilliance.
Troy also wanted to go out at night to socialise. ‘No, I want you in! Resting, in bed, up training of a morning, that’s it. You’ve got no time to be an ordinary person. If you’re an ordinary person you can’t be Troy Waters the boxing champion, the international star! You can’t have it both ways. The trainers, Gus Deamata and Angelo Dundee wouldn’t let Mike Tyson or Muhammad Ali do it. So why should I let you?’
This was a terrible time in my life. I slept badly, worrying about my relationship with my sons and the court proceedings. The murder charge was having a terrible effect on Dean. He was very disillusioned he didn’t get adequate support from so-called friends. His own sister, her husband and his wife’s brother made public accusations against him. Dean had lost 13 kilos in weight and wanted to start campaigning in the lighter division of cruiser-weight. I told Dean he’d never achieve this if he didn’t come home to train on a more regular basis. It wasn’t very often that I saw him for a morning workout. Dean’s actions were clouded by the depression he was experiencing. For the past year he’d been unable to get a security guard’s licence and couldn’t earn money for his family.
Dean needed a guiding light so it wasn’t surprising he became a born-again Christian. However I was particularly peeved when he only spoke of love for Christine! I couldn’t understand this, considering what Christine was still saying publicly to defame him and our family. I later heard Dean had been thinking of taking his own life but thankfully his religious beliefs pulled him through.
March 1989, our day of judgement, when the pre-trial
murder committal proceedings were held at Sydney’s Central Local Court before magistrate Bill Pierce. Chris Murphy appeared for Dean and arranged for barrister Patrick Costello to represent me. I knew that I wouldn’t be called to give evidence; I hadn’t made any statements to the police, so there was nothing to cross-examine me about. It was unlikely Dean would be at this stage either.
My friend Margaret attended the proceedings every day to give me support. She also let me stay at her place to save repeated journeys to and from the Central Coast. It was one of the very rare occasions I took my beanie off my head and wore a suit and tie. I felt odd in smart clothing but needed to make the right impression. There was too much at stake.
Even before the proceedings began, Chris Murphy had made it known to the public that Allen Hall was a man with many enemies. Early in the proceedings, Allen’s 3-metre-long computer criminal record was read out, his offences going back as far as 1969: drug dealing, drug cultivation, breaking and entering, violence and assault.
Some evidence came forth that the public wasn’t aware of. Apparently another drug dealer had been stabbed to death eight days after Allen’s death only a few kilometres from his house. The police hadn’t been able to establish a drug-link between Allen and this other man but it was a strong possibility. Also, there was a newspaper report of aircraft landing at night ‘without lights’ at Warnervale airport.
Early in proceedings Pat Costello asked the police if they’d found guns or anything else, including forensic evidence, that would connect me with the crime. The answer was No. Pat then asked for my immediate dismissal. There was an adjournment to discuss this and the decision came back that the case would continue. Chris Murphy told me it would be best if I saw it through to the end and wiped my slate clean. That was fine, but every hour Chris and Pat were in the courtroom cost me hundreds more dollars.
Hellbent: Ces Waters & Me Page 33