THE JACKSON WELLS REPORT

Christmas Day 1977, Maldive Islands

Keith Jackson

On this special day, I thought I’d ferret an old diary to recall what I was doing at this time 30 years ago, when I was part way through a two-year assignment for UNESCO in the Maldive Islands…..

Christmas Day. A United Nations holiday, but just another workday in Malé. The kids were awake at 3 am – sitting in bed reading until I sent them back to sleep to greet the day at a more conscionable hour. Sally got a bride doll and Simon a camera. And more. I gave Sue a book on identifying seashells (the clock had not arrived from Singapore) and received a new shirt and some old Maldivian coins. It was the most bountiful Christmas the kids have had. Fitting in the circumstances of an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

A progressive Christmas Party had been organised. The bus didn’t turn up so breakfast at Doug Fysh’s place got off to a late start. It was a mountainous meal when finally served – and not a trace of tuna in it. It set the day’s pattern. Morning tea at Huntingtons then lunch at our place, White Waves, consisting of Plumrose ham and canned vegetables together with a St Emilion claret that tasted a whole lot better slightly chilled than at room temperature. A regal enough feast for this remote part of the world, given that we haven’t had a recent ship.

I crashed in the afternoon, three months of recurring dysentery and fever leaving me vulnerable to even three cans of beer before lunch. Then to the Cable and Wireless bungalow for dinner, but I couldn’t eat. It was a pleasant Christmas Day. People enjoyed it. No heavy drinking – although we all had our share. We chatted, played darts, laughed, finally quitting at 11 pm, walking home along dark sandy streets with the surf rumbling in the background. I fell contentedly into bed.

On being mistaken for another

Keith Jackson

Each year the Sydney Cricket Ground Trust, through its chairman Rodney Cavalier AO, former NSW Education Minister, hosts a gathering of friends in the Members’ Pavilion overlooking the ‘sacred turf’, as Rodney calls it. Yesterday I was privileged to attend this event.

Over the last 20 years at various times I have been mistaken for various public figures who have wild hair, thick glasses, generous girth and roguish features. After the 1983 election, where I had waged a vigorous but ultimately unsuccessful campaign in the Labor interest, I had reason to visit Orange – some hours drive west of Sydney - and was enjoying a pre-prandial beer when I engaged the attention of a group of women on the other side of the horseshoe-shaped bar. They quizzed me on the election campaign and I marvelled at being recognised so far from home. Fame, I mused, spreads like honey. When the conversation was over, the group said in unison “Thanks Mr Combe’. And I realised I had been taken for David Combe, then Labor national secretary and the architect of Bob Hawke’s winning election campaign.

Then, some years ago, attending a function at the National Trust, I saw across the room my former opponent at the polls, Jim Carlton. He signalled me to join the group he was with and proceeded to introduce me as Federal Minister Laurie Ferguson, to whom – on a murky night – I bear a passing resemblance. My immediate dilemma, though, was whether to embarrass Jim before the group or to pretend to be Laurie. I chose the former, although the look on Jim’s face made me immediately regret the decision. I have been mistaken for Laurie many times since.

But yesterday, at the Sydney Cricket Ground, I was mistaken for Rodney Cavalier four times. A maiden Cavalier identity error and a standing record for a single day.

I must say that, on three of the four occasions where people robustly addressed me along the lines of “Good to see you, Rodney, how're you keeping?”, they were approaching me from behind – where, for all I know, there may be a passing similarity. But in the fourth case, much to my surprise, the engagement was full frontal.

I quickly decided that the appropriate strategy – given that the poor chap had no proper excuse (like “well, you do share a post-cranial similarity to Cavalier”) – was to pretend to be Rodney, wish the fellow well and tell him to have a drink on me (that is to say, Rodney). Whereupon he departed, appearing well satisfied with the encounter. God knows who he thought Rodney was when the great man got up to speak. An impostor, I presume.

Upon recounting this tale to Rodney later, he mildly observed that I clearly had the ability to walk backwards into any cricket ground in the land and get preferred treatment. I thought that was a useful idea and will now consider my options.

Photo: Rodney Cavalier, David Combe, Laurie Ferguson or Keith Jackson

Chef's reality – perception divide

Keith Jackson

Perception is not reality and is sometimes not even a close approximation of it. But it can feel real at the time. Here’s a fine example of the power of perception at work.

Chef Glenn Rochester entered the service lift in the basement of Melbourne’s Sofitel Hotel in June last year to go to the 35^th floor. Fifteen seconds into its ascent the lift fell, throwing Mr Rochester to the floor. Rescuers took 90 minutes to free the terrified chef.

But here’s the rub. Chef Rochester said he believed the lift had fallen about 15 floors, but the court was told it fell just 7.8 centimetres.

Kone Elevator was fined $50,000 and ordered to pay costs of $6,790. The $7,300 a centimetre was real enough.

Last of the summer wine

Keith Jackson

Vanquished prime minister John Howard hosted a luncheon for outgoing colleagues at The Lodge in Canberra today. The soiree was attended by about a dozen ministers and parliamentary secretaries, treasurer Peter Costello and foreign minister Alexander Downer not among them.

The three Liberal leadership contenders - Malcolm Turnbull, Brendan Nelson and Tony Abbott - were there, Turnbull entering through the back door. Philip Ruddock and Peter McGauran also saw their way clear to join the former PM in tucking into the last supper.

Legend has it that, when Bob Hawke, the last Labor leader to inherit The Lodge from a Coalition predecessor, asked to visit the wine cellar, he discovered to his disappointment that havoc had been wreaked on the best vintages in the dying days of the previous administration. But, as Hawkie was on the wagon by then, the grief was strictly academic.

Cheers.

Bike riding & the evidentiary approach

Benjamin Haslem

I recently decided to start riding a bicycle to work. Difficulty finding time to get fit and the looming "four-oh" were the main motivators. If I can't find the time to exercise, why not exercise in the time I'd usually be going to work.

The 11 km ride from Newtown to the Jackson Wells' office in Neutral Bay takes about 42 minutes. The same time it would take to catch a train from Macdonaldtown station to Wynyard and a bus to Neutral Bay. So what's this got to do with what we do at Jackson Wells?

We drive home the point to our clients that, when trying to influence stakeholders - be they government, media, community, customers, staff, unions or others - you need a watertight case.

At first blush, you may assume that my decision to ride a bike to work is doing my bit to tackle global warming. I'm reducing my carbon footprint. I'm not sure I am.

The main alternative to cycling would be train and bus. Removing my 87 kilogram body off an  eight-car suburban electric train would have a negligible effect on the amount of CO2 produced in powering said train. Most of a train's weight is rolling stock not passengers. Ditto for diesel-powered bus.

When I get to work, I have a shower from an electric-powered hot water tank. At home in the evenings, another shower (I don't expect my wife to put up with smelly hubbie). Again using electric-powered hot water. So already I'm doubling my hot water carbon footprint. So it's difficult to conclude my bike riding is doing anything to help the environment.

Let me link this to the practice of public relations. It demonstrates the need to drill down into arguments. Really test them. Is what's said going to be blown apart by a little critical analysis? We need to present the evidence to back our case and be prepared to counter any arguments in your path. What may appear on the surface to be a really good argument can turn out to be a load of crap. Like the environmental benefits of my bike ride to work.