Hockey: Not Your Average Joe (8 page)

The pressure on the government during this period was immense; it might even have been easier to abandon the sale. Nigel Stokes, from Bankers Trust, says, ‘In retrospect I think the State Bank sale was important to get through. State government-owned banks expose the state government.’ His point is this: wind forward to 2007 and the banking crisis Australia faced. What would have happened to a state bank? Stokes gives big credit to Joe for the NSW government’s decision to hold the line and not waver in its commitment to the sale. The net result was that Colonial Mutual Life ended up being the buyer, providing a continuing branch network. The sale took time, and was run by two ministers – initially in Souris’s office and then through Peter Collins’s office. In both cases, Joe was by their side.

Collins was the MP for Willoughby, where Richard Hockey’s real estate business was based. Their families knew each other, and Joe’s parents had become good solid Liberal Party branch members. Collins was also part of the St John’s College alumni, and he welcomed Joe as his right-hand man for the sale of the State Bank. Collins, who had barely scraped into Fahey’s first ministry, was back in the fold as treasurer. But from the start, he knew the sale wasn’t going to be easy. The Liberals were still hanging on by a thread, and the Opposition was making life as difficult as it could. The government framed the sale to exclude the big four banks, so the State Bank wasn’t gobbled up, but that led inevitably to criticism. Joe’s job was to work with all sides to provide a seamless process. He worked with the legal and accounting services to set the framework, monitoring the bidders, and reporting daily to Collins on the issues arising and how they should be resolved.

Fahey’s majority relied on the Independents he had to court and the government left nothing to chance. Joe spent days and nights looking at the likely prices, the conditions attached to them, any looming industrial action and how the sale was faring politically. Time passed. He loved it, but it consumed him at work and at home. Fortunately, Melissa was working day and night, too, and the pair would often share a can of tuna, late in the night, for dinner. Collins was relying a lot on Joe, because he had political carriage of the sale. ‘If it had failed, I would have worn it,’ Collins says.

It was in the final stages of the State Bank sale that Joe and Collins had a chat about the likelihood of Ted Mack, the sitting Independent MP for North Sydney, retiring. Collins’s Willoughby electorate took in half the federal seat.

‘Joe knew that I certainly harboured federal ambitions. I said, Joe we’re in the middle of selling the bank. As much as I’d love to run for the seat I can’t. If I do and anything happens to the sale of the State Bank, I’ll be blamed forever, so I’ve really got to see the process through. So I can’t run for it. He said, “Well if you’re not going to run for it I’d like to.” I said, you have my full support, and thank you very much for the conversation and [for] asking me.’ Joe was being politic, ticking a box; there was no doubt in his mind that he would have run anyway.

Collins, who also had the arts portfolio, didn’t only take over the privatisation plans from George Souris. He also tried, like Souris, to develop Joe’s passion for the arts, and he did that on Joe’s second trip to visit Moody’s and Standard & Poor’s. On this trip, Collins and Joe squeezed in a trip to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Coming back, they had scheduled a day in LA, visiting Universal Studios and meeting Gale Anne Hurd, the producer of
The Terminator
and
Aliens
. They lunched on Rodeo Drive and were invited along to the
Mrs Doubtfire
premiere that night. Joe’s room, in the iconic Chateau Marmont, looked out over Sunset Boulevard. Outside the hotel, at that time, stood a 21-metre-high neon sign of the Marlboro Man, and every 15 seconds Joe’s entire room would flash red. That evening, he and his minister caught a limousine down to the movie premiere, walking just ahead of Pierce Brosnan. Did Joe pick up any passion for the arts there?

‘I didn’t see it,’ Collins says now.

Back home, the main focus – for both Collins and Joe – was the sale of the State Bank. Entire books could be written on that particular sale, and the difficulties encountered along the way. But an indication of how fraught it became comes from John O’Neill, who ran the bank from 1987 until it was privatised. He was 14 years Joe’s senior. And it is O’Neill’s wife who sometimes reminds him of the shouting matches that Joe and he had during that time. One example he gives was in 1994, as the sale was pending. The State Bank had won an award that was run by a personal-investment magazine. O’Neill, rightly proud, agreed to an interview with the magazine.

‘I was pretty honest and direct about my answers and made a statement that it was remarkable that we’d actually come out the other side of the recession and had transformed the bank … because there were times in that two- to three-year dark period of the recession where I didn’t think we were going to make it, and that became the headline,’ O’Neill says.

He joined his family in Noosa for a short break. Just as the family was departing for the beach, his phone rang. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Joe screamed down the line. ‘We’re trying to sell this bank and you’re talking it down.’ O’Neill’s children, still only young, were witness to the conversation and his wife, Jules, ushered them out of the room. The yelling only got louder and, in exasperation, O’Neill thumped the marble kitchen bench so hard that his hand gave him trouble for ages.

Joe was young, ambitious and a political animal. He saw the sale as another important notch in his belt and he believed that O’Neill, in the interview, was trashing the bank. But in another telling pointer to Joe’s personality, he and O’Neill have remained good friends. O’Neill, now chair of Echo Entertainment Group, also joined the long list of Joe’s referees when he stood for pre-selection in North Sydney.

In a show of how allegiances can change quickly in politics, once the State Bank deal was done it was premier John Fahey who asked Joe to take on the job as his director of policy. Joe initially said no. After all, it had been Fahey who had told George Souris that he doubted Joe would make a good chief-of-staff. Now he was asking him to work for him? If he didn’t want him last time, why this time? But Collins knew it was a good stepping stone and urged him to take it. ‘I had a standing conversation with Joe’s parents, which was: “Your son will be prime minister one day.” It’s very difficult for people not to like Joe Hockey,’ he says.

Joe, who had both eyes on winning Liberal Party pre-selection in the seat of North Sydney and then becoming a federal politician, was only flirting with dismissing the offer, and moved to the premier’s office within days. Fahey now admits he didn’t see what Joe offered in the early days. ‘I was probably in a corner of the world where life was pretty damn serious when you’re trying to run a minority government. I guess it took me a while to appreciate the depth and real qualities of Joe.’ Fahey says Joe’s enthusiasm was his big advantage but he didn’t, in the early days, focus on the minutiae that was sometimes required. He believes that’s changed. ‘I think he’s matured and grown significantly, but there was a feeling back in those days that while he got madly enthusiastic and excited about these projects … there was a general feeling that he wasn’t down where he understood everything that was happening or covered all the bases on the work that he was doing.’

Still, it didn’t take long for Joe to win over his new boss. ‘By the time Joe came to my office, there was a clear understanding on my part that this man had a lot more substance than I first saw.’ Joe was focused on winning the 1994 pre-selection for a good part of the short time he was in Fahey’s office. That would be held in September 1994 – six months before the Fahey government was tossed out in March 1995 and replaced by Bob Carr’s Labor team.

SEVEN

It was showtime.
The coveted pre-selection for the seat of North Sydney was finally underway, the list of those wanting to making the transition from party faithful to Liberal Party candidate running to 13. Ted Mack, an Independent, held the seat but rumours abounded over whether he would commit to another term. Everyone turning up on this day, 17 September 1994, believed the electorate of North Sydney rightly belonged to the Liberals. Created for the first parliamentary elections following Federation in 1901, the ALP had never represented the people in North Sydney.

In many eyes, Concetta Fierravanti-Wells was considered the frontrunner, certainly early on. Ian Longbottom also thought he had a good chance, having been elected to Lane Cove Council as an Independent three years earlier and having runs on the board on local issues. But there were others vying for attention, including another two councillors. The state’s Liberal director, Barry O’Farrell, had alerted John Howard that Dr Kerryn Phelps might stand. Howard was happy for her to join the race, having faced 26 opponents in his own pre-selection for the seat of Bennelong, and he loved the idea of talented outsiders being included. Dick Smith, who Liberal stalwart Bill Heffernan says came to see him, might have even had his eye on it at one stage. But by the time the pre-selection was held, neither his nor Phelps’s name appeared. Joe Hockey, also listed as one of the 13 vying for the plum pre-selection, was quietly confident. The 200 or so selectors – about 120 of them local with the rest being made up from other areas of NSW – gathered in a big old room at the Anzac Club in North Sydney. It was obvious on this day that, whoever won, a new generation of Liberals was ready to take its place in Canberra.

Joe’s campaign advisory coterie included John Brogden – who had worked for NSW local government minister Ted Pickering, John Fahey and NSW Attorney-General John Hannaford – and Jonathan O’Dea, by then a lawyer and part-time North Sydney councillor. Matt Hingerty, who was president of the Kirribilli branch of the Liberal Party, was also onside, and the team left nothing to chance. Pre-selection victories were number victories; they had to win 101 of the 200 votes and so they set about recruiting Liberals and developing a strategy to win. Joe did a lot of the recruiting into branches, with family and friends signed up to boost numbers. Jonathan O’Dea who had encouraged Joe to throw his hat into the ring, signed up to the Liberal Party, too.

Brogden, who had taken up a post at public relations company Cosway Australia earlier that year, and had helped to sell the state budgets when Joe was working for Peter Collins, was pivotal in the publicity campaign. Brogden knew Joe could win people over, and he knew on the day that Joe would speak well. Still, he thought Joe needed to extend his image beyond that of a young lawyer and footballer. North Sydney pre-selectors would demand more. Joe had to be seen as a broad thinker, a cut above the rest of the pack, and this notion led to a campaign brochure unlike those that had been seen to date.

In six pages of slick political endorsements, Joe Hockey looked serious, staring out from the front cover promising to make a difference in North Sydney. His large family was featured, as was his experience: NSW 1990–91 divisional president, member of the Young Liberal federal executive in 1990–91, policy vice-president in 1989–90, delegate to the Young Liberals Council 1989–94, and branch policy vice-president and secretary of Killara Young Liberals. That was all good, but matched easily by other candidates who had been elected to council. It was the endorsements, featured in the brochure, that stood out.

John O’Neill, who had worked with Joe as managing director of the State Bank of NSW, told pre-selectors that Joe ‘understands what makes Middle Australia tick’. Bruce Baird, then the minister for transport and roads, lauded him as ‘one of the most outstanding Liberals of his generation’. So did Peter Collins, as treasurer of NSW: ‘I will state with certainty that Joe Hockey will make one of the most outstanding ministers of a future Liberal Government.’ George Souris, then the minister for land and water conservation, gave him credit for the GIO float: ‘To the extent that the public float of the GIO was an outright success can be directly attributed to the dedication and intellectual capacity of Joe Hockey.’ Even Bill Jocelyn, the managing director of GIO Australia, joined in on that score: ‘There is no doubt that from the owners’ side he can take most of the credit for the sale of GIO occurring in a way that maximised price yet minimised disturbance to staff and customers.’

The list went on, including local councillors, specialist doctors, the St Aloysius’ College headmaster, the primate of the Armenian Apostolic Church and local business leaders. But the one that would stand out in all the minds of those in Joe’s inner circle was the cleverly worded affirmation delivered by prominent Australian actress Kate Fitzpatrick, who had a stint with Peter Collins as a policy advisor on the arts. Joe’s artistic interests, or lack of them, had been the brunt of jokes when he worked for both Souris and Collins. They’d both tried to ignite a passion, but had so far failed. Still, it was an important interest to many of the well-heeled voters of North Sydney, and Brogden wanted to address it. ‘Little is known about his support for many branches of the arts,’ Kate Fitzpatrick wrote. It was true – little was known because he had such little interest. ‘Joe is the kind of candidate both sides of politics need and ordinary people despair of ever finding,’ she said.

Joe’s five-point plan to a better government was also listed between photographs of him with constituents and local landmarks, as well as with Melissa, the woman he had married less than a year earlier. A cheap last-minute pamphlet, tearing him down as an inexperienced student politician, did the rounds, but did little to dampen the effect of the slick campaign brochure put together by Brogden and sent directly to pre-selectors.

Concetta Fierravanti-Wells wore her nerves for all to see, and it showed in her performance on the day of the pre-selection. Ian Longbottom gave it his best shot, relying on his achievements in local government and in business. At 46, he was older than many of the candidates, but he sat well in the electorate. He had young children going through the state education system, and ageing parents. He had always belonged to the Liberal Party and helped out at every election he could. But when Joe walked out to take his place in front of selectors, he looked like he owned the position. ‘He behaved like the front-runner; he looked foreman material on the day,’ Hingerty says now.

Hingerty had heard the speech dozens of times. They’d practised it, tweaked it, and drafted and re-drafted. Now it was up to Joe to deliver. And he did. A stirring eight-minute talk about the kid, born of an immigrant dad, who grew up in Northbridge to find a holey cricket net that almost cost a friend’s life. It was parish pump stuff, delivered with drama and emotion. And it showed politics worked, because the nets had been replaced. The selectors loved it. Bill Heffernan, who thought Joe’s family had provided him with a good compass in life, loved every word of it because it showed that Joe’s interest in politics stemmed from an interest in the public good. ‘It did the job on the day,’ he says.

But the speech itself was only the warm-up gig; it was the 12-minute question period that followed where Joe knew he had it in the bag. In part, that’s because he had lined up a question from someone in the audience, a strong supporter called Barbara Elliott whose husband was Joe’s family doctor. He had wanted a hostile question, to show pre-selectors what he was made of, and he’d suggested it to Barbara. Her hand shot up. ‘Shouldn’t we get rid of Alexander Downer?’ she asked.

Earlier that year, in May 1994, Downer had won the leadership in a ballot with the incumbent leader John Hewson. But while enjoying an immediate spike in approval, Downer’s ratings quickly plummeted on the back of a series of embarrassing public blunders. Joe didn’t flinch. He knew the question was coming because he’d authored it. And he’d practised his answer.

‘You know what, Barb?’ Joe responded. ‘Thanks very much for that question. My view is that we are all part of a team, and if the leader stumbles, our job is to pick him up, dust him off, and move forward side by side.’ Joe knew by the cheers that went up around the room that he’d soon be declared the Liberal Party candidate for North Sydney. And he was. His performance meant he was chosen in the first round, scoring 105 of 199 votes.

Despite the win, for a short while the result mystified Joe and his campaign team. They’d counted and re-counted and had expected 106 votes. Had someone promised to support him, and then changed their mind? Later he found out that one selector, a young Islamic woman, had suffered a miscarriage and couldn’t make it to the pre-selection. That would have been his 106th vote.

Concetta Fierravanti-Wells looked devastated, finding the experience bruising for many years. Ian Longbottom felt dudded. He says he knew which way selectors would swing after he’d received a phone call from a local Liberal Party leader the night before the pre-selection. ‘He said, “I have to tell you the bad news … you are not going to win tomorrow … it is pre-ordained.” Longbottom, who went on to serve as mayor of Lane Cove Council for six years, says he was offended that branches could be ‘stacked’. That meant ‘on all sides of politics, the best person doesn’t necessarily get the nod. I’m not having a shot at Joe; I’m having a shot at the system. Joe is probably a smarter man than I because he knew the system. He’d been through student politics. He knew how the system worked.’

But it’s certainly left a chasm in the relationship between the two men, worsened by an ugly public exchange where Longbottom questioned why Joe and Melissa would qualify to run in the 2000 Olympic torch relay – prompting Joe to give him an earful, and accuse him of being a ‘sleaze’. Longbottom bit back, writing a column in local newspaper
The Village Observer
: ‘Joe, you are just another precious pollie that [sic] can’t take any criticism and please don’t bring up the North Sydney pre-selection again, it’s old hat and we all know that the Liberal and Labor systems for pre-selection are, in the main, a rort and favour good old party, or union, hacks that have hardly any business or community experience. Oh, and another thing Joe. I don’t kowtow to a “big” pollie with a “big” voice, and I don’t take to threats, try it on someone else!’

Four days after the pre-selection, John Fahey walked into Joe’s office. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, referring to Joe’s luck. Ted Mack had just announced he would retire, saying he had delayed the announcement until after the pre-selection to ‘discourage carpetbaggers’ and allow other Independent candidates to consider their options. Joe denies any knowledge that Mack was planning to retire, other than rumours that many had heard. Mack agrees, saying he never alerted Joe or anyone else.

‘If I announced before it, there would have been 50 people running for the safest seat in Australia,’ he says. That makes sense; the Liberal Party would hardly have allowed an untried 29-year-old to steal a prized seat over someone more senior who belonged in the bosom of the organisation. But Joe certainly knew the Independent MP would find it hard-up against a big-spending campaign backing a local Liberal moderate, and he was banking on that pushing Mack to retire ahead of the next election, in 1996.

Joe had first come to Mack’s attention years earlier when his local paper had published a report about a Young Liberal group that wanted to take over North Sydney Council. Mack was the mayor at that time and he remembers reading the threat with ‘wry amusement’. He thought it was a rash sort of student politics. Mack says that while he didn’t tell Joe or anyone else he was resigning before the Liberal Party pre-selection, once Joe was declared the Liberal candidate and Mack’s retirement was made public, he telephoned him and invited him to his office to wade through the files and see what he wanted to keep. He also took the opportunity to give him a lecture on his weight. ‘He was already pretty big when he first ran. I had heart trouble, which was brought on by my overeating and lack of exercise. Once you get into federal parliament, you’re either sitting in a car going to Canberra or sitting in a plane and you’re sitting in the office and everywhere you go people push food and grog at you – that’s why so many MPs are overweight,’ he says. ‘I warned him about it.’

Months later, the NSW Liberals were turfed out at the polls. Joe was still working in John Fahey’s office. He knew, if he played his cards right, he’d be off to Canberra the following year, in 1996. Offered jobs at both Lend Lease or back at Corrs, he opted for the road most travelled. But having won over the pre-selectors, he knew there was more work to do at home.

Melissa didn’t take to public politics well. She’d suffer the pre-selection functions, but thought many believed her job was simply to stand by her man. She was a trader with Bankers Trust, one of the nation’s leading investment banks. She had been a physiotherapist, and a NSW champion sprinter, narrowly missing Olympic selection. She was committed to her husband of a year, and loved the ideals laid down by the Liberal Party, but she was her own person and didn’t like anyone else thinking otherwise. ‘I hated every second of it,’ she says now. ‘I was 30 and we’d only been married for a little while. I considered myself this independent strong woman and then I started going to these pre-selection functions and had to meet this person and that person. I couldn’t believe the attitude of some of these people. It was like I ceased to exist as a person in my own right and now I was just Joe’s wife.’ Melissa says she was asked how she planned to help her husband embark on his wonderful political career. ‘That was the worst year of my life. I questioned everything. And I thought, I don’t even know if I can do this.’

It was Carolyn Hewson, whose husband, John, had served at the top of the Liberal Party, who offered a piece of advice that Melissa clung to for the next couple of years. ‘She said to me that the only advice she could give me was … however you start is how you will be expected to continue. That was great advice.’ Melissa determined to go and do her job, and let her husband get on with his career. ‘I didn’t see him coming to work with me and sitting next to me on the dealing floor and giving me a hand with the markets, so I didn’t need to be going to all these functions and just hanging around.’ Joe didn’t expect anything else. His grandmother had been strong and independent. So had his mother. He loved strong, feisty women, and Melissa ranked top of that list.