Understandably, Gorton’s critics in the party were dissatisfied. Les Irwin, Liberal member for the New South Wales seat of Mitchell, had called for a party-room meeting to grapple with the result.3 The party organisation in New South Wales was concerned.4 The party’s executive in Queensland stated that it would have to discuss the election.5 David Fairbairn, the minister for national development and member for the New South Wales seat of Farrer, who had been aggrieved by Gorton’s intervention in a matter involving oil companies Esso and BHP, met the prime minister three days after the election, and saw no sign of contrition. Nor was there any sign that Gorton’s outlook had been shaken by the result. ‘Absolutely none,’ he told John McEwen.6
This proved decisive. In a two-line telegram he sent to Gorton on 30 October, Fairbairn informed the prime minister that he had ‘reluctantly decided’ that he could not serve in a Gorton-led cabinet.7 Moreover, as he stated in a subsequent press conference, Fairbairn was considering standing for the leadership of the party at the next meeting.8
At first, Gorton thought it was a joke. Half an hour later, when he read Fairbairn’s press release repeating the statements, humour gave way to shock. He was flabbergasted, he said. His supporters swung into action to back up their leader. Statements of firm support were issued both privately and in public. The idea of a leadership challenge, to them, was ridiculous. ‘I was dead against it,’ said Tom Hughes. ‘Dead against it.’9 Yet Fairbairn was not alone. Critics of Gorton were also mobilising. Kevin Cairns, the Liberal member for the Queensland seat of Lilley and deputy government whip, informed Gorton that, like Fairbairn, he was not prepared to serve, even in his ‘humble position’.
Fairbairn’s telegram and subsequent movements towards declaring himself were a jolt to McMahon. The treasurer ‘felt a move should be initiated’ within a day of the election,10 but he was not prepared to lead a challenge unless he could be guaranteed a majority of support. He wanted to avert any situation in which McEwen could intervene and wreck his ambitions again. But things were not going to work that way, he was told. Howson, who had said publicly that he was uncommitted but pleased that someone with ‘the guts to stand up for his convictions’ was bringing the leadership issue on, told McMahon that he would need to declare his hand.11 On the next day, 29 October, McMahon was vacillating. He wanted to challenge Gorton, but could hardly summon the courage to do so: ‘It’s still obvious he’s going through an agony of soul,’ Howson recorded.12 By 31 October, Howson thought McMahon’s chances were good, but that the treasurer needed to declare himself immediately.13 Boldness was required — McMahon needed to gamble.
The next day, McMahon spoke with Frank Packer and said that he was seriously considering a challenge.14 Packer was on board, and willing to provide encouragement as well as influence. Disillusioned with Gorton after he told Packer ‘where to get off’ during a debate on wool marketing, Sir Frank saw to it that an editorial ran in The Sunday Telegraph on 2 November applying the pressure where it would most matter:
Mr McEwen should be able to see that if we are to have a new Prime Minister he must be chosen from those men who have commanded the respect of the Party, who have the capcity to rehabilitate its image in the electorate, and who — by seniority, experience, and accomplishment — have proved that they have the potential for the country’s most important office.15
McEwen was way ahead of Packer. On 31 October, he had rung Sir Murray Tyrrell, official secretary to the governor-general, Paul Hasluck, to sound him out about meeting with Hasluck ‘without it being known’. According to Tyrrell, McEwen mentioned that it was to be a ‘penetrating conversation’. When Tyrrell questioned the wisdom of a meeting, specifically mentioning ‘past history’ (that is, Casey), McEwen conceded that he should not come to Government House. Nonetheless, McEwen kept talking. ‘It looks as if McMahon will be a candidate,’ he said. ‘I don’t propose to veto him. That would only help him and I don’t propose to encourage him. But I would require a tight letter of understanding with him.’16
In a press conference on the morning of 3 November, McEwen responded to Packer’s lobbying. Exasperated and concerned with Gorton, angered and clearly conscious of the groundswell of discontent enveloping the government in the wake of the election, aware that he would soon retire, and acknowledging that it seemed poor form to deny the Liberal Party the chance to elect its most experienced figure, the Country Party leader intimated to journalists that his refusal to countenance McMahon as leader was no longer in force.17 ‘Mr McMahon and I have been for years on an amicable daily relationship, working together as cabinet ministers on Christian name terms,’ McEwen said. ‘I am not playing any cat and mouse situation on an issue of such great importance to the stable government of this country. I am sure that if Mr McMahon is concerned to know my attitude he would come and see me.’18
McMahon was so surprised at McEwen’s statement that he did not even question the clear power dynamic at play. He was so eager, so excited, so hopeful for what it might portend that he refused to countenance any delay. Already in Melbourne for the Melbourne Cup, which was to take place the next day, he did not wait for a Commonwealth car to be organised. It was a sure measure of his excitement and urgency that he paid for a taxi from his own pocket to take him immediately to McEwen’s flat in Toorak, where he could bend the knee.
An hour later, he emerged from that flat radiating joy. Unbridled excitement, energy, hope — all of these were the result. ‘McMahon was jubilant,’ McEwen put it, tartly.19 Everything had been overturned.
McMahon called as many journalists as he could. The news burst from him like laughter: ‘He says I can run!’20
AT six-thirty that evening, McMahon issued a statement to the press. Negotiated with McEwen, it was carefully worded and notably bereft of the excitement that had characterised McMahon’s earlier reaction:
After reading Mr McEwen’s statement this afternoon, I had a discussion with him. It was friendly and in general terms. I am sure that if I were successful in the ballot for the leadership of the Liberal Party, there would be no objection from him. It would, of course, be necessary to make the usual arrangements for co-operation between the two Coalition parties. I have informed Mr Gorton that I intend to submit my name to the ballot.21
Fairbairn had confirmed, earlier in the day, that he, too, would stand, and offered his reasons for doing so: the brawls with the states had caused ill-will and disunity, the prime minister’s antagonism of the DLP had been unwise, and there seemed to be no prospect of change in Gorton’s attitudes.22
In the ensuing melee of press coverage, the mention of coalition ‘arrangements’ in McMahon’s statement nearly went unnoticed. As some observers saw, McEwen was, like Page in 1923, taking advantage of the upheaval in his coalition partner to strengthen his party’s position within the government. As McEwen was soon to demand, the price of the continuation of the coalition agreement was an assurance that all major government decisions were first approved by cabinet; the appointment of another Country Party minister; and the inclusion of another Country Party minister in the cabinet yet again, in order to develop experience ahead of McEwen’s anticipated retirement within the year. While a good deal for the Country Party, there were some who were concerned by the price. ‘I can’t say I was happy,’ Doug Anthony said, of the lifting of the veto on McMahon.23
McEwen’s stance was a blow to Gorton: his decision not to stand in the way of the challengers was conspicuous and, as Reid pointed out, gave an impetus to McMahon’s candidacy.24 Gorton clearly recognised the danger. Amid the continuing efforts of his office and supporters to consolidate a majority, the prime minister made conciliatory noises about the campaign, his government, and the future.25
But Gorton also had extensive support, most notably in the Senate. Within three days of the election, Victorian Liberal Party senator Magnus Cormack had organised a meeting at Melbourne’s Australia Club to marshal Gorton’s supporters a
nd ensure that, but for four or five, all Liberal senators would vote for the prime minister.26
McMahon, meanwhile, began to canvass with the aid of his supporters and allies. Howson kept in touch with him, as did Alan Reid. Writing ahead of the ballot, but published after it, Reid told readers of The Bulletin that ‘a new face’ was necessary if the government wished to avoid annihilation at the next poll: nothing else would do.27 In Queensland, Eric Robinson and supporters on the state party executive were agitating to deliver a rebuke to the prime minister in the form of a directive expressing dissatisfaction, disapproval, and distrust of him.28 In New South Wales, a member of the Young Liberals from McMahon’s electorate, Bruce MacCarthy, succeeded in having a motion of no confidence in Gorton’s leadership debated and passed at the Liberal Youth Council. The finality of that motion was only halted when a rescission motion held the matter over until the next meeting.29 McMahon also made time to quell a vocal critic. Responding to demands from New South Wales premier Bob Askin that he declare his position on states’ rights, McMahon told the press on 4 November that he was a ‘confirmed federalist’. Askin’s about-face was blatant. In the morning, he had said that McMahon was the least sympathetic federal politician he had worked with in five years; by the evening, mollified and appropriately acknowledged, Askin was walking away from any involvement at all: ‘I now propose to leave the election of the prime minister to the federal members.’30
Meanwhile, concerned that McMahon might fall short, his allies lobbied Gorton to retain him as treasurer no matter what might occur. Jeff Bate cabled the prime minister for this reason. Frank Packer ordered David McNicoll to deliver the same message. At this craven bit of politicking, Gorton deadpanned. After a long pause, he asked McNicoll how he would feel if someone he worked with was undermining him. To McNicoll’s remark that it would be an unpleasant situation, Gorton was straightforward. ‘Well, that’s how I feel about Bill McMahon. Tell Frank I appreciate his loyalty to Bill, but I can give no guarantee of keeping him in the Treasury.’31 Said Gorton later of Packer: ‘He’d do anything to help McMahon.’32
For some MPs, the choice was simple. Gorton supporter Tom Hughes was straightforward: ‘Fairbairn didn’t have the intellectual capacity to be prime minister, nor McMahon.’33 For others, the choice came down to questions of character, and here memories were long and reservations clear. On 31 October, from a sense of fairness, Gorton informed Bert Kelly, the minister for the navy, that he would be dropped from the ministry should Gorton win. The warning offered Kelly the opportunity to line up behind a candidate who would retain him. But even now, with the axe looming, Kelly’s reservations were sufficient to prevent him making an easy choice. Fairbairn, he confided in his diary, ‘didn’t have the other qualities necessary for leadership’. He was ‘very tempted’ to vote for McMahon — the treasurer’s economic principles were much in line with his own. But he saw a problem: ‘The point that was niggling me was Billy McMahon’s trustworthiness.’ Kelly rang Freeth, newly defeated, and asked what he should do:
He [Freeth] said he had very good reason for knowing that McMahon was still behaving in an untrustworthy manner and that, although he didn’t hold Gorton in very high regard as an administrator, he himself would vote for Gorton because of Billy’s (McMahon’s) defects of character.
Freeth’s advice confirmed what was already — thanks to Gorton’s honesty — in Kelly’s mind. Kelly would vote for Gorton.34 For those not in the Parliament, the choices were not attractive. Observing the government from his home in Melbourne, Menzies wrote to his daughter that although Gorton had ‘grave defects of mental equipment and hard work and experience’, the treasurer was not a viable choice. ‘McMahon is simply not to be trusted.’35
It was this kind of reservation that led the dissident MPs supporting McMahon and Fairbairn to give undertakings about preferences. Should the contest go to a second ballot, in the absence of an absolute majority, the loser’s supporters would move en masse to the other.36 Would this be enough? Publicly, McMahon was ebullient about his prospects: ‘Yes, I think we will win,’ he told reporters.37 Privately, however, he knew that he would not.
When members and senators gathered at Parliament House on the wet Canberra morning of 7 November, it was clear that the challengers would fall short. For the past few days, Gorton supporters had been running the line that the public had only just elected Gorton — was the Liberal Party really going to overturn all that and elect someone else? According to Howson, McEwen called him fifteen minutes before the meeting was to take place to suggest that the insurrectionists ‘cause a blue’. McEwen supposedly suggested that, if sufficiently provoked, Gorton might lose his temper and simultaneously lose support.38 Whatever the truth of that advice, it was not to be. The anti-Gorton candidates and their supporters could not agree on tactics. While there were a few willing to bring on an open debate, no one made moves to force it. Chaired by the Speaker, Bill Aston, the meeting went immediately to a ballot.
The count took time — enough to suggest that the vote was closer than expected. Eventually, the three scrutineers returned to the party room and announced that Gorton had been re-elected to the leadership by an absolute majority. Because the Liberal Party did not disclose the figures, estimates of the count were rife. Gorton believed that he had received forty-five votes at a minimum, twelve more than necessary for a majority.39 Others were less certain about the scale. Reid believed that McMahon and Fairbairn together attracted at least thirty votes.40 Peter Howson thought it was along similar lines.
The ballot for the deputy leadership was not close. McMahon easily fought off Snedden and the surprise candidacy of Queenslander Alan Hulme; supposedly, it took only three minutes for the scrutineers to count the votes.41
The meeting broke for lunch, then resumed to discuss a proposal on electing the ministry. Following this, Gorton presented himself to journalists. Telling them he was pleased with the result, he was also clearly aware of the need for conciliation: he echoed his statements of a few days before, promising to discover the causes of the dissatisfaction expressed by electors. He refused to discuss whether McMahon would remain treasurer, and dismissed out of hand any suggestions that the government was losing too much experience and talent.42
Halfway through the press conference, McMahon appeared in the crowded room. He pushed his way through the press of bodies, at one point shoving a cameraman so as to get to the front before the radio and television coverage went off the air: ‘Get out of my way!’ When the press caught sight of him, they called out for photos of goodwill between him and Gorton. ‘Why not!’ McMahon said. ‘Yes, why not!’43 The two men shook hands and, when the press sought to ask him questions, McMahon took the seat that Gorton had vacated.
His answers were earnest, unctuous. He did not put a toe out of line. ‘John Gorton has been elected the leader of the Liberal Party,’ McMahon said. ‘We in the party have given our unqualified allegiance to him as the leader, and there are no divisions in the party itself.’
Would he continue in his portfolio? asked a journalist.
‘I won’t express a view,’ McMahon said. ‘Of course it’s always my wish to remain treasurer, but I do not wish to commit the prime minister.’44
Gorton was looking on icily — but on show, yet again, was the determination, the professionalism, the cool calculation that McMahon brought to so many of his political dealings. McMahon had lost the ballot, but he was determined to wait for another opportunity.45
WHAT to do with McMahon figured large in many subsequent discussions. In the evening of 7 November, Gorton called upon Hasluck to ‘talk things over’. Gorton was clearly angered about the actions of the malcontents and how McMahon had conducted himself. ‘He recounted,’ Hasluck wrote later, ‘that Malcolm Mackay, the member for Evans — “that oily man of God” — had insinuated himself among Gorton’s supporters and dropped hints as heavy as bricks.’ When Gorton refused to make any promi
ses about promotions or quid pro quos, Mackay went to McMahon and was supposedly promised a ministry. ‘Gorton alleged that McMahon had made promises of portfolios to “all sorts of people”,’ wrote Hasluck.46
Hasluck’s subsequent advice on how to tackle the problems exposed by the election was accepted, but soon Gorton was cutting to the real purpose of his meeting: ‘You want to know what I’m going to do with McMahon,’ he said.
It would be the happiest thing if he could get rid of McMahon, Gorton confided. But he knew he could not get rid of the treasurer entirely. Nonetheless, Gorton said, ‘he was not going to have McMahon as treasurer’. The experiences of the past two years were enough. On McMahon’s orders, according to Gorton, Treasury officials had withheld information. McMahon had misinformed him or hidden information in order to ensure that various policies failed. McMahon had told lies about communication between the state premiers and himself. Furthermore, ‘a great deal of the difficulty in federal–state relations’ was due to McMahon telling lies. He could not have McMahon as treasurer and simultaneously implement his policies and improve his relationships with the state governments, Gorton told Hasluck.
McMahon would go to external affairs, Gorton said. Unable to kick McMahon out of the ministry, he would instead consign him to a portfolio where he would be continually out of the country. When Hasluck mentioned that McMahon could use the change as an opportunity to gain sympathy for himself, Gorton cut across him again: ‘That’s what John McEwen thinks, too.’ He was well aware of how the press had alleged divisions between himself, Hasluck, and Fairhall, and how McMahon could revive it for his own advantage. Hasluck thus cautioned Gorton that if he was set on transferring McMahon, he needed a ‘stronger, more intelligent and more industrious’ minister for defence — one who would ‘not intrigue with McMahon’. Gorton, however, had it all worked out. Malcolm Fraser, minister for education and science, and one of Gorton’s strongest supporters, would go to defence. Les Bury, the minister for labour and national service, would replace McMahon as treasurer.
Tiberius with a Telephone Page 35